“But, remember,” explained Captain Napier more than once to those who persisted in crowding around him, “I’m frank to confess we’re going to take advantage of a technicality in our attempt to do this. And the twelve hour trip, if we can make it, will be from London to New York—not eastward. At the speed we have planned to make, we couldn’t do it; we’d have to be in the air seventeen hours. Going over, we’ve got to add five hours and a fraction to this because of the time we lose; that’ll make us twenty-two hours going. We ought to reach London between twelve and one o’clock to-morrow. But coming back,” and Ned’s face showed a grin, “look out! We’ll gain five hours in clock time. We’re goin’ to start back at one thirty P. M. We’ll be in the air seventeen hours again but we’ll get here in twelve hours by the watch—at one thirty the next morning.”
So far the big aeroplane had not made a single daylight flight. Every test had been made under cover of darkness. And in spite of the long voyage now about to begin and all the activity that this had necessitated, the secret of the Ocean Flyer had not passed beyond its makers and their friends. With fuel, chemical and lubricator tanks full, every tool and appliance in place, provisions and clothing aboard, the final inspection of the car took place just before noon when Mrs. Atkinson and Mrs. Osborne went aboard.
Roy Osborne, the young professional who was to act as observer and assistant to the pilot, hardly needs a description. About the age of Ned and Alan, he was already an experienced aviator. More than once he had represented the Aeroplane Company on daring and dangerous airship expeditions. When not so employed he was the factory expert testing new machines. He also had a national reputation, and considering his mother’s aversion to having him undertake the present trip, the boys were doubly fortunate in signing him as a member of the crew. Mrs. Osborne had only consented after her husband, Chief Engineer Osborne, had decided that there wasn’t a mechanical defect in the new aeroplane and that, in his judgment, it had better than an even chance to make a successful flight.
In spite of some forced joviality the luncheon was not very lively.
“Don’t eat too much, boys,” suggested Buck Stewart. “The pantry is well stocked. I’m going to serve tea about five o’clock, dinner at seven and supper at midnight, wind and weather permitting.”
“You mean Captain Napier permitting,” suggested Bob. “We’ll probably eat and sleep when he gives the word.”
“In less than an hour, Roy,” spoke up Ned, evading comment on the statement, “we’ll find out all about your ‘pick up crane.’ If it don’t work,” he went on with a smile, “and our freight is dumped into the sea, we’ll come about, hang you through the engine room trap and make you pick it up with your hands.”
“Give me the wheel,” answered Roy with spirit, “and I’ll pick it up. But my crane won’t reach out and grab your bundle unless you put the machine where it ought to go.”
These references were to the devices installed on the Herald’s sea tug and on the airship for picking up the matrices while in flight. A somewhat enlarged copy of Roy’s land crane had been selected. The tug, of twenty-foot beam, was equipped with two twenty-foot masts stepped abaft the engine house. These provided a space of fifteen feet in the clear between their tops. Some experience in tackling a foot ball dummy had given Roy the idea for the equipment of these spars. On the top of each, to which it was elevated by a block and tackle, was a spring hook that released instantly under sharp pressure. Between these hooks extended a looped rope or cable, to the center of which was attached the article to be taken aboard by the flying car.
On the aeroplane, well to the front, a hinged metal arm dropped about ten feet below the car bottom. It was in the shape of a long, acute letter V with one side against the bottom of the airship and the other pointing forward on a wide angle at its mouth. The acute end of the arm ended at the trap door in the bottom of the engine room. Rushing toward the freight to be loaded, suspended between the masts and held by the spring hooks, the metal V crane would be lowered in place. As its arm passed under either the freight itself or the cable holding it, the metal crane would guide the package or cable swiftly along the angle until the narrowing slot of the apex caught and held the object. At the impact, the spring hooks released the suspension cable and the motion of the aeroplane held the freed article until it could be secured through the trap door. At the apex of the crane the arms were jointed and held in place by a bolt. By loosening this, the lower arm could be folded parallel with the upper one and thus made fast against the car bottom until needed again.