“When your chance comes I’m sure you will,” said the elder man very kindly, and he patted the boy on the head.
Before the first flight was made Lieutenant Purcell arrived—three days later—and the next day a sudden message came that the official board was on the proving ground on the south shore of Staten Island. There was hurry and anxiety but no commotion in the distant New Jersey station. At six in the afternoon Corporal Steele, bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves, made a short experimental flight. Major Squiers had left the camp at four o’clock to board a waiting tug at Jersey City. At twenty minutes past six, after a safe return to the plaza, where he took on two cordite bombs weighing thirty pounds each, the eager aviator was off like a bird over the Jersey flats. At half past six he had disappeared in the smoke wafting southward from Jersey City.
Just after seven o’clock Lieutenant Purcell received this message by telephone:
“Steele’s flight was admirable but he failed in his drop. Both bombs delivered at once and too soon. They struck the water and disappeared without exploding. If he returns successfully and there is time before dark, make a second trial. Attempt nothing after dark. Take no chances with shipping in the bay.”
Corporal Steele was on the starting plateau at a quarter past seven. The operator was chagrined, but not discouraged. His control of the machine had been perfect. He at once insisted that there should be an automatic device for releasing the explosive independently of the operator’s hands. But, in the midst of his explanation, Lieutenant Purcell turned to Morey. There was at least three quarters of an hour of twilight remaining. The aeroplane was turned, two new bombs were hastily brought and Morey got into the seat.
His great chance had come at last. Calmly and distinctly he gave the word and the car was hurled into the still evening air. Taking advantage of his start Morey held his forward or horizontal rudder skyward and allowed the obedient aeroplane to mount upward as it flew through the almost breezeless air. Up and up he soared until the grey marsh beneath was only a haze. A thousand feet above the tidewater swamp the young aviator brought himself to a horizontal course. Before and beyond him he could make out the horizon-bounded sea. In a few moments the outlines of Staten Island became clear in the dusk and then the unmistakable grey target rose out of the water beyond.
The two bombs had been suspended in little net hammocks on each side of the aviator. On each was a wire handle. Morey reached into his pocket and took out his new knife. Opening the largest blade he placed the knife between his teeth. Then carefully, while some distance from the target vessel, he drew the other bomb from its hammock and placed it in his lap. He was ready.
A thousand yards from the anchored marsh he settled himself and judged his distance. He was counting on some breeze at sea. He could feel it gently wafting landward from the northeast. His experience at Green Springs had taught him every movement of the machine. As he drew nearer to the vessel he bore off into the breeze as if to pass to one side of the target. He seemed about to sail by it on the north when with a quick shift of his vertical rudders he turned. The aeroplane trembled, seemed to catch itself for a moment and then, with a long, graceful curve it headed for the vessel and darted downward like a bird.
There was another rapid movement of the horizontal rudders and the darting fall was checked. The airship wavered as if to gather itself for a new flight. The swiftly beating propellers sent the air against the planes and the machine began to rise once more. There was an instant’s pause. The boy’s hand shot forward to cut away the hanging bomb with the keen blade. At the same instant Morey’s knees opened and the deadly package in his lap slid between his legs. Almost at the same moment the two bombs crashed upon the steel deck and the aeroplane had darted on.