The Flying Reporter

by Lewis E. Theiss

The sailors, eager for news from shore, flocked around Jimmy. They plied him with questions. When he had answered all they asked, he put a few questions himself. He wanted to know about all the interesting things he saw. The huge anchor chain and the anchor itself interested Jimmy. The chain was the thickest chain Jimmy had ever seen. The links were made of iron two inches thick, and each link was strengthened by a cast-iron stud. Jimmy whistled when the captain told him that a single fathom of the chain weighed close to 200 pounds, and that the entire chain, measuring only 120 fathoms, weighed about twelve tons. Of course, the chain had to be moved by an engine.

The anchors, too, attracted Jimmy. One of them was at the bottom of the sea, of course, but the other was stopped fast at the bow of the vessel, ready to be let down at a moment’s notice. It was a mushroom anchor, and got its name from its shape; for it looked for all the world like a huge metal toadstool. The circular edge of the anchor was sharp, so it would bite into the bottom of the sea easily.

But the thing that interested Jimmie most was the light. This, the captain said, was an occulting white light, that was visible for twelve out of every fifteen seconds. The light at the forward masthead is always used, excepting when that light is out of commission. Then the after light shines.

“If there was a string of lights like this one, each with a distinctive flash,” said Jimmy, “a fellow could find his way by night at sea as easily as he can follow his route on land when he follows the Air Mail beacons.”

“There is a string of lights all along the coast,” said the captain, “and each has its distinctive flash. Most of them are on land, but a few are floating lights, like this, which mark danger points far out from shore.”

Jimmy discovered that the great twelve-inch steam fog-whistle blows for three seconds in each fifteen, when the fog is bad at this light station, and the fog bell rings once every thirty seconds. Once every twelve seconds the submarine bell strikes two groups of two strokes each. And the radio fog-signal of the Ambrose lightship is a continuous string of dashes, exactly like the signal of the radio beacons along the lighted airway. Thus, whether a passing ship’s captain sees the light or merely hears the fog-horn, or detects the radio signal, he knows what lightship he is passing.

Jimmy was so much interested in learning about the lightship that he could have spent hours aboard of her, but the captain warned him that the liner was visible on the horizon. Jimmy knew it was time for him to be stirring. His plane was drawn up to the ship and he got carefully aboard of her. Soon he was in the air. He came down close to the pilot-boat, which was ready to put a pilot aboard the approaching steamer. The men on this boat said they would get his photographs for him when they put the pilot aboard the liner.

The big steamer came plowing along, her speed gradually lessening, until she was practically at a standstill. Meantime a rowboat had taken the pilot from the pilot-boat to the side of the liner. The pilot climbed up the ladder at the side of the ship and spoke to the photographer who stood at the rail, ready with his photographs. These were carefully wrapped for protection. He handed them to a sailor who slipped down the ladder with them and put them in the hands of one of the men in the rowboat. The little craft headed about and pulled for the pilot-boat. The liner began to move slowly and presently was steaming away at a rapid rate.

Jimmy was all ready to board his plane when the men got back with his pictures. He stowed them in his coat, climbed carefully aboard his ship, and floated away to a safe distance. Then he rose from the water, headed his plane straight for his landing-place on the southern shore of Long Island, and went streaking back with his pictures. He gave them to a waiting messenger and hustled to get back to his own field.

As he drew near the hangar he noticed great activity. Mechanics were bustling about, ships were on the line, ready to take off, and pilots were getting into their flying togs. Jimmy knew something was in the air. He was just about to ask some one what was up when a mechanic who looked after his ship spied him and shouted: “Call up your office. You are wanted. There’s a big story that broke up in Pennsylvania. I’ve got your ship ready to go at a moment’s notice. She’s been warming up for half an hour.”