CHAPTER V
A WOODLAND EXPERT

The aeroplane was caught in a furious snow squall. While descending it ran into the swirling tumult which in an instant enveloped it like a blanket, the myriads of particles filling the air so thickly that the terrified Bohunkus could not see the ailerons and even the aviator was partly shrouded from sight. Harvey Hamilton was faintly visible as he leaned over and manipulated the levers. Not only was the snow everywhere, but the machine itself was rocking like a ship laboring in a storm. It tipped so fearfully that the negro believed it was about to capsize and tumble them out. He shrieked in his terror, and held fast for life.

Harvey paid no heed to him. He had enough to engage his skill and wits. He recalled that Professor Sperbeck had told him what to do when caught in one of those elemental outbursts. Instead of running away from it, he headed for its center, so far as he could locate it, as the navigator does when gripped by the typhoon of the Indian Ocean.

Within five minutes of the aerial explosion, as it may be called, the biplane was sailing in the same calm as before. The sun was shining low in the sky and all was as serene as the mildest summer day that ever soothed earth and heavens. The gust had come and gone so quickly that it seemed like some frightful nightmare. The youths might have doubted the evidence of their senses, but for the reminder of the snowflakes on the wings, different parts of the machine and their clothing. They had entered so balmy a temperature, however, that the particles soon dissolved and left only a slight moisture behind them.

“Wal, if dat don’t beat all creation,” mused Bohunkus; “de fust ting I knowed I didn’t know anyting and de next dat I knowed wasn’t anyting. Wonder if Harv seed dat yell I let out when dat rumpus hit me on de side ob my head.”

The aviator acted as if unaware of the dusky youth’s presence. Knowing the gasoline was nearly gone, he centered his thoughts upon making a landing. To his astonishment he saw an immense forest below him, many miles in extent. This seemed remarkable in view of the fact that only a short time before he had sailed over a large city, which could not be far to the south. He would have turned about and made for it, knowing he could renew his supply of fuel there, and find accommodations for himself and companion. But the fluid was lower than he had supposed. It would not carry him thither and he must volplane, or glide to earth, the best he could.

It need not be said that a stretch of woods is the worst place in the world for an aeroplane to descend to the earth. In fact it is impossible to land without wrecking the apparatus and endangering the lives of those it is carrying.

The keen eyes of the youth were scanning the ground below when to his surprise he caught sight of a village of considerable size to the westward. Why he had not observed it before passed his comprehension. It was barely two miles distant and he was wondering whether he had enough gasoline left to carry him over the woods to the broken country beyond when he made a second and pleasing discovery. A short distance ahead an open space in the forest showed, – one of those natural breaks that are occasionally seen in wide stretches of wilderness. It was several acres in extent and seemed at that altitude to be free of stumps and covered with a sparse growth of dry grass, so level that it formed an ideal landing place. He did not hesitate to make use of it.

Now when an aeroplane comes down to earth, the greatest care is necessary to avoid descending too suddenly. A violent bump is likely to injure the small wheels beneath or the machine itself. The aviator therefore oscillates downward somewhat after the manner of a pendulum. When near the ground, he shifts his steering gear so that the machine glides sideways for a little way. Then he circles about or takes a zig-zag course, until it is safe to shut off power and alight. As our old friend Darius Green said, the danger is not so much in rising and sailing through the sky as it is in ’lighting.

Harvey Hamilton displayed fine skill, seesawing back and forth until at the right moment the three small wheels touched the ground, the machine under the slight momentum ran forward for two or three rods, and then came to a standstill. A perfect landing had been effected.

“Gee, but dat’s what I call splendacious!” exclaimed Bohunkus; “it’s jest de way I’d done it myself.”

The aviator leaped lightly from his seat, and his companion did so more deliberately. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. Harvey gave him no attention until he had examined the different parts of the machine and found them in order. Then he looked gravely at the African and asked:

“Didn’t I hear you make some remark at the moment we dived into that snow squall?”

“P’raps yo’ did, for de weather was so funny dat it war nat’ral dat I should indulge in some obserwation inasmuch as to de same.”

“But why use so loud tones?”

“Dat was necessumsary on ’count ob de prewailing disturbance ob de atmospheric air wat was surrounding us.”

“I’m glad to hear your explanation, but it sounded to me as if you were scared.”

“Me scared! Yo’ hurts my feelings, Harv; but I say, ain’t yo’ gwine to tie de machine fast?”

“What for?”

“To keep it from running away.”

“It won’t do that unless some one runs away with it; but, Bunk, we can’t do any more flying till we get some gasoline and oil, and it doesn’t look to me as if there is much chance of buying any in these parts.”

“Mebbe we can git it ober dere.”

“Where?”

“At dat house jest behind yo’.”

Harvey turned about and met another surprise, for on the farther edge of the natural clearing stood a dilapidated log dwelling, with portions of several outbuildings visible around and beyond it.

“I must be going blind!” was his exclamation; “I came near passing this spot without seeing it and never noticed that house.”

But the young man was hardly just to himself. In his concentration of attention upon a landing place, he had given heed to nothing else, and the descent engaged his utmost care until it was finished. It was different with his companion, who had more freedom of vision. Moreover, the primitive structure which the aviator now saw for the first time was so enclosed by trees that it was hardly noticeable from above.

No fence was visible, but a small, tumble-down porch was in front of the broad door, which was open and showed a short, dumpy woman, slovenly dressed and filling all of the space except that which was above her head, because of her short stature. Her husband, scrawny, stoop-shouldered, without coat, waistcoat or necktie, wearing a straw hat whose rim pointed straight upward at the back and almost straight downward in front, with a yellow tuft of whiskers on his receding chin, and a set of big projecting teeth, was slouching toward the two young men, as if impelled by a curiosity natural in the circumstances. The thumb of each hand was thrust behind a suspender button in front, and it was evident that he felt some distrust until Harvey Hamilton’s genial “Good afternoon!” greeted him. His trousers were tucked in the tops of his thick boots, which now moved a little faster, but came to a stop several paces off, as if the owner was still timid.

“How’r you?” he asked with a nod, in response to Harvey’s salutation; “what sort of thing might you be calling that? Is it an aeroplane?”

“That’s its name; you have heard of them.”

“I’ve read about them in the newspapers and studied pictures of the blamed things, but yours is the first one I ever laid eyes on.”

Despite the uncouth manner of the man, it was evident that he possessed considerable intelligence. He stepped closer and made inquiries about the machine, its different parts and their functions, and finally remarked:

“It’s coming, sure.”

“What do you refer to?” asked Harvey.

“The day when those things will be as common as automobiles and bicycles. If I don’t peg out in the next ten years, I expect to own one myself.”

“I certainly hope so, for you will get great pleasure from it.”

“Not to mention a broken neck or arm or leg,” he remarked with a chuckle. “Now I suppose you call this contrivance a biplane because it has double wings?”

“That is the reason.”

“And it seems to me,” he added, turning his head to one side and squinting, “the length is a little greater from the nose of the forward rudder to the end of the tail than between the wing tips?”

“You are correct again; there is a difference of about two feet.”

“The wings are curved a bit; I have read that that shape is better than the flat form to support you in air.”

“Experiments have proved it so.”

“And this stuff,” he continued, touching his forefinger to the taut covering of one of the wings, “is rubberized linen?”

“It is with our machine, though some aviators prefer other material.”

“Spruce seems to be the chief wood in your biplane.”

“Because of its lightness and strength.”

“The horizontal rudder in front must be used in ascending and descending and the two vertical ones at the rear for steering your course. I should judge,” he said, scrutinizing the motor, “that your engine has about sixty-horse power.”

“You hit it exactly; I am astonished by your knowledge.”

“It all comes from remembering what I read. And the wing tips are the ailerons, and the engine weighs about three hundred pounds.”

“A trifle less, the whole weight of the aeroplane being eight hundred pounds.”

“Your propeller is made of black walnut, and has eight laminations, and when under full headway revolves more than a thousand times a minute.”

“See here,” said Harvey; “don’t say you haven’t examined aeroplanes before.”

“As I told you, I never saw one until now, but what’s the use of reading anything unless you keep it in your memory? That’s my principle.”

CHAPTER VI
WORKING FOR DINNER

Further conversation justified the astonishment of Harvey Hamilton. The countryman, who gave his name as Abisha Wharton, showed a knowledge of aviation and heavier-than-air machines such as few amateurs possess. In the midst of his bright remarks he abruptly checked himself.

“What time is it?”

Harvey glanced at the little watch on his wrist.

“Twenty minutes of six.”

“You two will take supper with me.”

Bohunkus Johnson, who had been silently listening while the three were standing, heaved an enormous sigh.

“Dat’s what I’se been waitin’ to hear mentioned eber since we landed; yas, we’ll take supper wid yo’; I neber was so hungry in my life.”

“I appreciate your kindness, which I accept on condition that we pay you or your wife for it. We have started on an outing, and that is our rule.”

“I didn’t have that in mind when I spoke, but if you insist on giving the old lady a little tip, we sha’n’t quarrel; leastways I know she won’t.”

“That is settled then. Now I should like to hire you to do me a favor. I don’t suppose you keep gasoline in your home?”

“Never had a drop; we use only candles and such light as the fire on the hearth gives.”

“How near is there a store where we can buy the stuff?”

“I suppose Peters has it, for he sells everything from a toothpick to a folding bed. He keeps the main store at Darbytown, two miles away. I drive there nearly every day.”

“Will you do so now, and buy me ten gallons of gasoline and two gallons of cylinder oil?”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t; certainly I’ll do it. Do you want it right off?”

“Can you go to town and back before dark?”

“My horse isn’t noted for his swiftness,” replied Abisha with a grin, “but I can come purty nigh making it, if I start now.”

“Dat’s a good idee; while yo’s gone, Harv and me can put ourselves outside ob dat supper dat yo’ remarked about.”

Harvey’s first thought was to accompany his new friend to the village, but when he saw the rickety animal and the dilapidated wagon to which he was soon harnessed, he forebore out of consideration for the brute. Besides, it looked as if he was likely to fail with the task. Accordingly, our young friend handed a five-dollar bill to his host and repeated his instructions. Then he and Bohunkus sauntered to the rude porch, where Mrs. Wharton came forth at the call of her husband, and was introduced to the visitors, whose names were given by Harvey. She promised that the evening meal should suit them and passed inside to look after its preparation.

The winding wagon road was well marked, and Abisha Wharton, seated in the front of his rattling vehicle, struck his bony horse so smart a blow that the animal broke into a loping trot, and speedily passed from sight among the trees in the direction of Darbytown. Harvey and Bohunkus, having nothing to hold their attention, strolled to the woodpile and sat down on one of the small logs lying there, awaiting cutting into proper length and size for the old-fashioned stove in the kitchen. A few minutes later the wife came out and gathered all that was ready for use. As she straightened up, she remarked with a sniff:

“That Abisha Wharton is too lazy ever to cut ’nough wood to last a day; all he keers about is to smoke his pipe, or fish, or read his papers and books.”

When she had gone in, Harvey said to his companion:

“We haven’t anything to do for an hour or so; let’s make ourselves useful.”

“I’m agreeable,” replied Bohunkus, lifting one of the heavy pieces and depositing it in the two X’s which formed the wood horse. The saw lay near and was fairly sharp. The colored youth was powerful and had good wind. He bent to work with a vigor that soon severed the piece in the middle. He immediately picked up another to subject it to the same process, while Harvey swung the rather dull axe and split the wood for the stove. It was all clean white hickory, with so straight a grain that a slight blow caused it to break apart. The work was light and Harvey offered to relieve his companion at the saw.

“Don’t bodder me; dis am fun; besides,” added Bohunkus, “I cac’late to make it up when I git at de supper table; I tell yo’, Harv, yo’ll hab to gib dat lady a big tip.”

“I certainly shall if I wish to save her from losing on you.”

For nearly an hour the two wrought without stopping to rest. By that time, most of the wood was cut and heaped into a sightly pile. The odor of the hickory was fragrant, and it made a pretty sight, besides which we all know that it has hardly a superior for fuel, unless it be applewood.

By and by the woman of the house came to the door and looked at the two boys. She was delighted, for she saw enough wood ready cut for the stove to last her for a week at least. Bohunkus was bending over the saw horse with one knee on the stick, while a tiny stream of grains shot out above and below, keeping time with the motion of the implement, and Harvey swung the axe aloft with an effect that kept the respective tasks equal. Gazing at them for a moment, the housewife called:

“Supper’s waiting!”

“So am I!” replied Bohunkus, who, having a stick partly sawn in two worked with such energy that the projecting end quickly fell to the ground. Harvey would not allow him to leave until the pieces were split and piled upon the others.

“Now let us each carry in an armful.”

They loaded themselves, and Harvey led the way into the house, where the smiling woman directed them to the kitchen. There being no box they dumped the wood upon the floor, then seated themselves at the table, and she waited upon them.

Despite her untidy appearance, Mrs. Wharton gave them an abundant and well-cooked meal, to which it need not be said both did justice. They were blessed with good appetites, Bohunkus especially being noted at home for his capacity in that line. They pleased the hostess by their compliments, but more so by their enjoyment of the meal.

It was a mild, balmy night, and at the suggestion of the woman they carried their stools outside and sat in front of the house and on the edge of the clearing, to await the return of the master of the household. Sooner than they expected, they heard the rattle of the wheels and the sound of his voice, as he urged his tired animal onward. It took but a few minutes for him to unfasten, water and lead him to the stable. Then the man came forward and greeted his friends.

“How did you make out?” asked Harvey.

“I got what I went after, of course; the gasoline and oil are in the wagon, and there’s about three dollars coming to you.”

“Which you will keep,” replied Harvey. “We have finished an excellent meal and shall wait here for you if you don’t mind.”

“I’m agreeable to anything,” remarked the man, as he slouched inside, where by the light of a candle he ate the evening meal with his wife. Our friends could not help hearing what she said, for she had a sharp voice and spoke in a high key. She berated him for his shiftlessness and declared he ought to be ashamed to allow two strangers to saw and split the wood which had too long awaited his attention. She made other observations that it is not worth while to repeat, but evidently the man was used to nagging, for it did not affect his appetite and he only grunted now and then by way of reply or to signify that he heard.

When Abisha brought out his chair and lighted his corncob pipe, it was fully dark. The night was without a moon, and the sky had so clouded that only here and there a twinkling star showed.

“Do you ever fly at night?” asked their host.

“We have never done so,” replied Harvey, “because there is nothing to be gained and it is dangerous.”

“Why dangerous?”

“We can’t carry enough gasoline to keep us in the air more than two hours, and it is a risky thing to land in the darkness. If I hadn’t caught sight of this open space, it would have gone hard with us even when the sun was shining.”

“It’s a wonderful discovery,” repeated Wharton, as if speaking with himself, “but a lot of improvements will have to be made. One of them is to carry more gasoline or find some stuff that will serve better. How long has anyone been able to sail with an aeroplane without landing?”

“I believe the record is something like five hours.”

“In two or three years or less time, they will keep aloft for a day or more. They’ll have to do it in order to cross the Atlantic.”

“There is little prospect of ever doing that.”

“Wellman tried it in a balloon, but was not able to make more than a start.”

“I agree with you that the day is not distant when the Atlantic will be crossed as regularly by heavier-than-air machines as it is by the Mauretania and Lusitania, but in the meantime we have got to make many improvements; that of carrying enough fuel being the most important.”

At this point Bohunkus felt that an observation was due from him.

“Humph! it’s easy ’nough to fix dat.”

“How?”

“Hab reg’lar gasumline stations all de way ’cross de ocean, so dat anyone can stop and load up when he wants to.”

“How would you keep the stations in place?” gravely inquired Wharton.

“Anchor ’em, ob course.”

“But the ocean is several miles in depth in many portions.”

“What ob dat? Can’t you make chains or ropes dat long? Seems to me some folks is mighty dumb.”

“I’ve noticed that myself,” remarked the host without a smile. Failing to catch the drift of his comment, Bohunkus held his peace for the next few minutes, but in the middle of a remark by his companion, he suddenly leaped to his feet with the gasping question:

“What’s dat?”