"Very well then," said the Secretary of State, turning to address his colleagues of the Cabinet, "I suggest that we ask General Bronson to issue such instructions by wire or wireless to these young men at once, so that they may personally receive their instructions here tomorrow morning."
"Yes, but—" the Assistant Secretary of State, still scowling in the direction of General Bronson, started to say something; but inasmuch as it sounded like a remonstrance, and as his innate conservatism and antipathy to things modern were well known, he was interrupted by the Secretary of the Navy.
"It is the only feasible thing to do," he said. "Therefore it ought to be done at once."
"Very well, then," answered the Assistant Secretary of State reluctantly, while the others present agreed without further question or qualification.
"My understanding is, then," said General Bronson, rising and making ready to depart to carry out his share of the problem, "that I am at once to get in touch with the members of this crew, to have them come here by plane, and if possible be on hand by tomorrow morning."
"Correct, sir," responded the Secretary of War. "You probably will instruct them to land on the field over near Fort Meyer?"
"Yes, sir," responded General Bronson, and, saluting in true military style, left the room.
Thus it was, although the four young men in far-off Halifax could not know the preliminaries which had led up to it, that before 11 o'clock that morning a code message that was to be of world importance went sizzling through the air from one powerful wireless station to another, finally to be relayed by wire to the point outside Halifax proper, where the flying field and hangars marked the point from which the first Transatlantic aeroplane flight was to be attempted.
When they had received and translated it, the young men stood for a full minute looking at each other—as Big Jack explained it afterward, entirely flabbergasted.