“But he thinks he is to be a soldier,” said Morey.
“That’s all right,” suggested the lieutenant, “I’ll scare up an old uniform and we’ll rig him out in it. It will satisfy him and do no one any harm.”
This was done that evening. When the reservation ambulance started for Washington and the train at noon the next day, among the other corps privates to be transferred to Green Springs under Sergeant Burns, was Morey, in a stiff new uniform, and with a soldier’s kit. Lieutenant Purcell preceded the detachment in a ’bus and Amos went with him—in reality as the lieutenant’s personal servant, but so far as the black boy knew, as much of a soldier as any in the squad. Three hours later, to Amos’ consternation, the party alighted in the village of Linden. The camp wagon was waiting and long before night Lieutenant Purcell and his men were at Green Springs.
Morey was assigned to a tent with three other privates, and Amos—protesting but finally obeying Morey’s orders—was located in Lieutenant Purcell’s cook tent with another darkey. Amos had expected to shoulder a gun, and had visions of at once stealing away to exhibit himself in Lee’s Court House. But he found the duty of waiting on Lieutenant Purcell’s table more pressing.
Even a quick examination satisfied Morey that he had made no mistake. The camp and its surroundings seemed a fairy land to him. High up on the slope of the Blue Mountains, well concealed behind a barrier of mountain ash trees, lay a plateau. This plateau led into a broad rift in the mountain. Deep in this valley, next the spring that gave the place its name, was the camp. A score of tents surrounding a square, housed the soldiers and officers selected by the War Department to be trained in the use of the aeroplane. Just below the camp and fronting a slope leading to the plateau outside were two large tents. In one of these were two aeroplanes—Wright machines—and in the other was a shop and quarters for two civilian representatives of the airship manufacturers.
Fascinated by the surroundings and the daily routine of the work Morey threw himself enthusiastically into the experiments. He was young, full of ideas and more than willing. He was assigned to the shop division and in three weeks he was as well informed on the theory and construction of an aeroplane as the experts themselves. So intent was he upon his duties that he seemed to have no thought for any thing else. But no day went by in which he did not inquire of his superior officer whether any message had come for him from Major Squiers or the real estate firm. But his frequent and keen disappointment in this hope always passed away in the fervor with which he executed his tasks. The men were not allowed to send messages from the camp. Nor were they permitted to visit Linden unless accompanied by an officer.
Lieutenant Purcell had tried several men in short flights, always making longer ones himself, generally about sundown. Morey now had his first experience in the machine. Corporal Appleton was the favored pupil. One evening early in July, Lieutenant Purcell and Corporal Appleton were preparing for a trial flight. The car was on the track, the lieutenant was in place at the levers and the corporal was just mounting alongside his superior when the latter looked up, sprang from the car and ordered Appleton away and into custody. The soldier was partly intoxicated.
Without a spoken word Lieutenant Purcell turned toward Morey and nodded his head. In another moment the young Virginian was by the officer’s side, the aeroplane had been released and the craft was swirling forward and upward. Almost before Morey could catch his breath the world seemed dropping from beneath him. There was a long, slanting curve and Morey’s heart almost stopped beating. He closed his eyes and gripped the fragile frame. A cold sweat covered his body. Again the car swayed. The boy, almost dizzy with fear, gasped and bit his lips. The whirr of the propellers filled the air. Then, suddenly, came the sense of smoothness, the absence of vibration, the feeling that without jar or quiver the delicate vehicle was floating.
At last Morey opened his eyes. He closed them quickly. So far beneath them that the sense of height was almost sickening, the plain and forest were rushing by with the speed of an express. But he began to reason. He had at last achieved a step in his ambition. With all the grit he had he pulled himself together. Again he opened his eyes—this time to keep them open. His companion was not afraid. Why should he be?
“How is she doing?” he exclaimed suddenly, surprised at his own calmness.