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CHAPTER VII
BOUND FOR VERDUN

For three days more the boys wandered about Paris,—three days of the most fearful suspense; and then began the battle of the Marne. Every airplane in and about Paris was at the front, on the line somewhere, and the boys were deprived of the opportunity to see the new friend they had made at the Bois de Boulogne station.

They were so sure of being able to go to Verdun that Albert wrote to his father of their plans, in the hope that he would consider it wise to leave Switzerland for that point, where they might meet.

The Germans had been defeated; Paris was safe, the French line having held firmly all the way to Verdun. The determination to go there was firmly fixed in their minds, but they could see no way to accomplish the purpose. A visit to Tom at the hospital only resulted in their being told that the lieutenant was in the field, no one knew where.

"I have an idea," said Ralph, as they emerged from their room one morning.

"What is it?" asked Alfred.

"We might get attached to the Red Cross some way, and that would be sure to take us to the front," replied Ralph.

"That would be just as hard as to get in with the flying people," answered Alfred.

"That may be so, too, but I can't see any other way."

They again called at the Continental Hotel in the hope that there might be some further news. To their surprise they found a letter from Alfred's father with a check for their personal expenses. While reading the letter they overheard a conversation which gave them the solution, as they thought, of their difficulties.

"No," said a voice, "they will not ticket us to any point near the firing line, but we might go to St. Dizier, and from there work our way north."

"Good idea; let's book at once," said the second voice.

"Come on," said Alfred. "That's the right tip. Let's find out where St. Dizier is."

The clerk informed them: "It is about a hundred and sixty miles east of Paris."

"Then it can't be far from Verdun," remarked Alfred.

"Sixty miles southwest, I should judge," was the answer.

"Do you think we would have any trouble in reaching that point?" asked Ralph.

"I think the trains are still running, but they may not adhere to the regular schedule. The line runs south of the war zone, you know," said the clerk.

That settled it. They hurried to the Banque Française, and having secured currency for the check, started for the booking office as fast as they could walk. It was impossible at this time to get a conveyance as only the underground railways and a few tram cars were in service, the government having requisitioned all the horses, and automobiles a week previous to this time.

They booked second class, the official stating that the tickets were sold at the risk of the holders, and that they would have to take their chances on the trains, so they were at the eastern railway station before one o'clock, in the hope that the regular through train at two that day would be able to accommodate them. In this they were disappointed, so they waited about until five o'clock, and had the good fortune to have the tickets accepted by the gateman.

They passed through an immense crowd of newly arrived soldiers, and were jostled about by hosts of men, women and children who were departing for the southeast, most of them bound for Chaumont. Within an hour they finally found a train bound for their destination, but it was another hour before the train began to move.

The trip was a weary one all through the night, as they seemed to stop at every station, although it was the fast express. The intense excitement of the people all along the line; the passing of trains; the crying out of the latest news; and the bustle of the new arrivals in the already crowded compartments, made sleep impossible. The sun had been up two hours before the station of St. Dizier was announced.

The boys were out and scampering along the platform ahead of most of the crowd. As they passed out the end of the station they noticed a sign on a train: "For Bar-le-Duc, 10 o'clock."

"Let's see where that place is," said Alfred.

The information was obtained. It was twenty kilometers northeast.

"That's the place we must go; it's twenty miles toward Verdun, and now is our time," said Ralph.

"Let's have something to eat first," said Alfred.

After the meal they booked for Bar-le-Duc, and this train started promptly. Only two coaches were reserved for civilians, the others being filled with soldiers. The town, which was reached shortly before noon, had the appearance of an armed camp. Here they received the startling news that the Germans were at St. Mihiel, thirty-five miles northeast of that place.

There was no sign of panic there, however. Verdun, Toul and Nancy were still intact, and there was no fear that either place would yield.

Before they had been in the city an hour they saw a dozen or more airplanes overhead, and it was not long thereafter until they learned that one of the most famous stations belonging to the flyers was located north of the place. A conveyance was readily obtained, as a line of busses paralleled the railway track, and in another hour they were on the plateau where the great hangars were located.

As they were crossing the field, and approaching the first tier of hangars the boys noticed the two men whose conversation had been overheard in the Continental hotel. "They are the very men," said Alfred; "I wonder what they are here for?"

The men stopped and looked at the boys for an instant. Ralph approached them and said, with a smile: "You beat us here after all."

The men appeared to be puzzled at being thus addressed. Alfred saw that they did not understand Ralph's greeting, and said: "We are under obligations to you for telling us how to get here, and I want to thank you."

"I don't exactly understand," said one of the men.

"We heard you talking about making this trip, and as we wanted to get to the front without knowing just how to do it, your conversation helped us out," said Ralph.

"I'll bet you're American boys," said one of them, laughing.

"Indeed, we are," said Alfred.

"Belong to the service?" asked the other.

"Oh, yes," answered Ralph,—"that is, we did belong to it."

"Which branch?" asked the man.

"Messenger service in Belgium, aviation and trench service with the English, and Red Cross in the French army," answered Alfred.

This response was answered by hearty laughter on the part of both men, and one of them responded: "That is a pretty comprehensive service, I should say."

"Where are you from?" asked the other.

"New York," answered Ralph. "Why, you look like Americans, too."

"We're from the same place," was the answer.

"And you look like newspaper men," remarked Alfred.

"That's a good guess," was the reply. "But how did you know?" he asked.

"I saw you taking notes as we walked across the field," answered Alfred.

"Good inference," he replied. "Are you looking for a job?"

"Yes, we're going into the aviation service," answered Ralph, with all the assurance of a winner.

"See you again," was the final reply, as the two men left them.

"Now, I wonder if they have any American flags at this place?" remarked Ralph.

They marched back and forth without a sign of that much desired emblem. At one of the hangars two men were tugging at a machine, and slowly bringing it out of the hangar. Without a word the boys sprang forward and assisted in the operation, an act which brought thanks from the men. Then, more in curiosity than anything else, they slowly walked around the machine and examined its construction.

The aviator watched them for a few moments. Evidently, to his mind, the boys knew all about flying machines, or, at least, must have had some acquaintance with them. This seemed to interest him, and he began a conversation with them. He soon learned their history, and bestowed words of praise on them for what they had done.

"So you want to be aviators, eh?" he inquired.

"Yes, and we'll do anything to get in," said Alfred.

"To be aviators in the service of the Government it will be necessary to take the Regulation course," said the man.

"There isn't time for that," said Ralph. "We can help out now, even if we don't do any flying, can't we?"

The man chuckled. "I suppose you can tighten up bolts, examine, and stretch the stay wires, and things like that?" he remarked.

"As well as take out the engine and overhaul it," added Ralph.

"Well, yes; that's a pretty good job; do you think you could do that?" he asked.

"Why, yes; we know something about it," replied Ralph.

"Well, stay around here; we want some handy fellows; but I'm afraid you'll have a hard job to get on the pay roll," he added.

"Never mind about that end of it; we want to be doing something; that's the main thing," said Alfred.

It would not be interesting to go through the long details of work that the boys entered into under those circumstances. Each day for more than two months the boys found plenty of work to do. They became general favorites at the camp, and while their services were not recognized in an official way, as the regulations did not permit of the employment of minors, still, in view of the fact that they had such an interesting history, and had entered into the work with such zest the commandant at the station permitted them to remain, and eventually provided them with rations and quarters, to which was added a small pay, such as attached to those in the messenger service.

During this period the boys had many opportunities to go aloft on practice drills, and on more than one occasion they had the privilege of operating the machines while in flight, accompanied, of course, by the regular pilots. Attached to the station were a half-dozen machines used for the purpose of teaching control, and to enable pupils to become familiar with the handling of the machines. They were designed merely to skim the ground, the power being so limited that they could not be raised from the ground except for very short glides. These the boys frequently used, and the experienced aviators were greatly pleased at their wonderful progress. It was a strict rule, however, that none but regularly licensed aviators should pilot the government machines, and that prohibited them from handling the machines on regular service.

It was during the second week of the third month that the boys had the first opportunity of showing their capabilities. During a trial flight with sub-lieutenant Guyon, while at an altitude of five thousand feet, Ralph noticed the machine dart downwardly, and, glancing back, saw Guyon's head fall forward, and his hand drop from the lever.

Without waiting to inform Alfred he crawled out of the pit, and seizing the control lever, pushed it back in time to bring the ship to an even keel. Alfred saw the motion, and followed Ralph. Together they succeeded in drawing the pilot to one side, thus enabling Ralph to let himself down into the position which enabled him to handle the lateral controls, that were operated by the feet.

With Ralph thus fully in control of the machine, Alfred turned his attention to poor Guyon, who tried to raise his head, and occasionally gasped, as though trying to recover his breath. It was not until the machine was nearing the earth that he opened his eyes, and seemed to realize his position, but he was too weak to give any instructions or render assistance.

Ralph made a good landing, and the moment the machine ceased to move Alfred jumped from it, and ran to the office of the surgeon.

"Something is the matter with the lieutenant!" he cried, as he entered the door.

"What is the trouble? Where is he?" asked the surgeon, as he moved out of the door in response to Alfred's appeal.

"He was taken sick while we were in the air," said Alfred.

"And how did you happen to get down safely?" asked the surgeon.

"We took charge of the machine," replied Alfred.

"Who are we?" he asked.

"Ralph and myself; we were up with him."

The lieutenant was being taken from the machine when the surgeon arrived. Restoratives were at once applied, and within a half hour the attack seemed to wear itself away, and he began to show a normal color.

His eyes rested on Alfred when he awoke from the first quiet nap, and raising his hand approvingly said: "That was a good job, Alfred; couldn't have been better."

"What do you mean?" asked Alfred.

"You brought us down all right, I mean," he replied.

"Oh, Ralph did that," was the reply of Alfred.

"Well, no matter; you fellows didn't get rattled; that's the main thing," said the lieutenant.

An incident of this kind could not remain a secret long in a camp of this character. The Commandant took particular occasion to commend them for their performance, and it was a long step in their favor when the corps moved to the north to take its place in the great aviation camp directly south of Verdun.

CHAPTER VIII
AN AEROPLANE AMIDST THE LIGHTNINGS

Two days after the occurrence related in the preceding chapter, the first section of the Corps was ordered to proceed to the Verdun station. Lieutenant Guyon belonged to this part of the force, and, as he had now recovered, was instrumental in securing the assignment of the boys to his care.

"Then we can go along?" asked Ralph, with some doubts and misgivings, as they were packing the belongings of the lieutenant.

"I have arranged that," said the lieutenant.

"What is that?" asked Alfred, who appeared at the door of the hangar.

"We are going," shouted Ralph.

"Yes; you might as well get your things packed and put them in the machine," said the lieutenant.

The boys laughed, for outside of a few trinkets, and underclothing, they had nothing of importance to take along. They remarked that it was singular how few things seemed to be really needed, traveling, as they did, from place to place at a moment's notice.

"When do you intend to start?" asked Ralph.

"Whenever we are ready," was the reply. "We intend to leave in squadron formation and manoeuver for an hour, and afterwards each is to make for the station on his own hook."

Shortly thereafter the first signal was given. The machine was pushed out and lined up. At the second signal the machines were mounted. At the third tap the motors began to hum, and soon there was a movement in the whole line. It was a splendid spectacle, as the machines left the ground, and rose majestically toward the west, the direction from which the wind was blowing.

The manoeuvers were particularly interesting to the boys, and the lieutenant led his section in the formation during the entire practice until the captain's flag on the great Duperdessun indicated that the machines were free. After making a great sweep to the west the lieutenant turned to the left, encircling the town, and pointed due east.

Before they had proceeded fifteen kilometers, something happened to the engine, for it ceased to hum. They were then at an altitude of a mile, and inability to start the motor made it necessary for them to volplane to the earth. Sighting a considerable town to the left, which was located south of a canal, the machine was directed toward a smooth, open field, not far from the environs, and after landing they learned that the place was Ligny-en-Barrois.

It was found that through some accident the petrol tank had started a leak, and that the liquid was slowly oozing out during the flight, without giving the first indication until the engines failed. It was just the kind of an accident which necessitated the removal of the reservoir in order to make the proper repair.

"Which is the fastest machine?" asked Alfred, while they were waiting for the return of the reservoir.

"The Morane, by all means," replied the lieutenant.

"I thought the Caudrons were the best?" remarked Ralph.

"It depends on what you mean by best," answered the lieutenant. "The different machines are used for various purposes, and while speed is important, there are other things just as necessary."

"What other things?" asked Alfred.

"Well, bomb-dropping for one thing; then, some machines are better adapted than others for directing artillery fire, or for using machine guns," said the lieutenant.

"The captain has a Caudron," said Alfred, "and he doesn't use a gun on it either."

"No; the Caudron is admirably adapted for observations, and is used almost wholly in France for directing artillery fire," answered the lieutenant.

"It seems to me that this machine is good for observing," said Ralph.

"Yes; and it is used for that purpose, but it is now being put to use for photographing purposes,—that is, most of the Maurice Farman types are so used," answered the lieutenant.

"Why is that?" asked Alfred.

"For two reasons; first, because you will see we can get a good view downward; and, second, because it is the most stable machine in flight, the latter making it especially well adapted to take good views," replied the lieutenant.

"Which are the largest ships?" asked Ralph.

"The Voisin and the Breguet, by all means. They are able to carry heavy loads, and are used as bomb-dropping machines, as their fuselages are especially well adapted to carry and release the missiles," said the lieutenant.

"But I saw a Voisin at one of the hangars which had a big gun on it," said Ralph.

"Ah, that was the Voisin Cannon, which carries a 37-millimetre gun," said the lieutenant. "That is used for bombarding captive balloons and Zeppelins, if the latter should ever make their appearance."

"A 37-millimetre gun?" repeated Alfred.

"Yes; that's about one and a half inch in your measure," answered the lieutenant.

Within an hour the reservoir was again in position, and there was no delay in again mounting into the air. "We might take a little trip due east, as far as Toul, and north of that point we may have the privilege of seeing some of the enemy," remarked the lieutenant, as they mounted the machine.

A beautiful silver thread now appeared on the landscape to the east, as they reached their greatest altitude. Looking back there was a smaller thread to the west, and, apparently, the same distance from their viewpoint. They thus had the opportunity of seeing, at one glance, two of the most noted rivers which figure in the great war,—the Meuse to the east, and the Marne in the west, these streams at this point being within thirty miles of each other.

It was, probably, imprudent for them to take an out-of-the-way course to reach their destination, but the temptation was very great. The sun was still shining brightly when they started from Ligny-en-Barrois, but it was now growing dark from the overspreading clouds, and as soon as Toul was sighted the lieutenant turned the machine northward.

To the west it could now be seen that the threatening clouds were coming up, and they appeared to be sweeping toward the east with great speed, at right angles to the aviators' course.

"I wonder what the lieutenant will do?" queried Ralph half to himself, as he looked at the clouds, and then glanced back to the officer.

The lieutenant shook his head, and pointed the machine further to the left.

"Why, I believe he is going right into it!" remarked Alfred in amazement to Ralph.

But the officer now made a wide swinging turn. A view of the heavens indicated that the storm was an extensive one, and that the speed of the wind had increased most alarmingly, for, in looking down they seemed to stand still over the little hamlet beneath them. The wind, into which they were flying, was traveling at the same speed as the machine.

There was but one course to follow. They must return to the earth, otherwise they would be driven far over into the German lines. By setting the control lever so as to depress the nose of the machine they rapidly descended, the lever being intermittently drawn back to a normal position, so as to keep the ship on an even keel and prevent it from performing a loop in the air.

The landing was easily made, notwithstanding the wind, and they found they were near Commercy, west of the Meuse, about thirty-five miles south of Verdun. A terrific rainstorm then followed, which lasted more than an hour.

"Were you ever in a rainstorm while flying?"

"Never but once," replied the lieutenant, "and that was in thunder and lightning, too, which was the most terrific thing I ever went through."

"Tell us about it!" said Alfred.

"I almost shudder at it when I stop to think of the hour when I faced the lightning right where it is made," said the lieutenant. "It was in the second week of the war, just east of Rheims, when the Germans were sweeping across the frontier and had passed Charleville. I had a double-seated Nieuporte, with an assistant handling the machine, while I was making observations.

"Shortly after getting the first glimpse of the moving German columns I noticed that it was growing dark, but when you are aloft that is not noticed as quickly as when on terra firma. The great hosts of Germans interested me intensely, and we kept on until I estimated that we were fully ten miles behind the advance columns, when my assistant shouted through the tube: 'Look back; what are your orders?'

"I saw that to continue would be disastrous, so I gave the order to turn. This gave us the first opportunity to determine our speed, or, to state it more accurately, the speed of the wind, for you will recall that when we turned this afternoon, we seemed to stand still above the town.

"Within ten minutes of the time I turned the machine to the west the first heavy rolling clouds seemed to meet us. The earth was quickly blotted from sight, and heavy rumblings were heard, but no indications of lightning. I knew that heavy black clouds were dangerous, and they were so black that it was impossible to see my assistant, three feet distant.

"I could not decide what to do, so I finally shouted through the tube: 'keep on a straight course to the west,' for I knew that to land at that point would bring us right into the great German column. There was no rain falling at the time, but the cloud was like the densest mist. The machine was still moving,—that is, the engine was merrily humming, and my assistant's voice startled me as he shouted: 'There is something wrong; compass out of order.'

"During the flashes I could see him pointing to the compass, and I leaned over, and caught a glimpse of the dial. The pointer was swinging around violently. The lightning now seemed to be incessant, and the rumbling of the thunders was weird beyond description. Sometimes, immediately after a vivid flash, a thick spray would deluge our faces."

"What were you thinking about while all this was happening?" asked Alfred.

"What impressed me most was the wonderful difference between the appearance of those electrical discharges when viewed in the usual way from the surface of the earth. I did not notice any forked lightning, nor did it show itself in streaks, darting hither and thither. It seemed to be more like balls of fire, suddenly appearing here and there, and when each ball burst into flame, there would be a crackling sound, at any rate, so it seemed, for I dared not stop the engine.

"But the most remarkable thing was the odor which was present. It had a pungent smell, not at all unpleasant, but decidedly exhilarating in its effects. I suppose we were taking in ample doses of laughing gas, for I assure you that after the first experience, we had no particular sense of danger. It was most fascinating, and I felt as though I was being raised up on my seat. Occasionally I would try to figure out how this would end, but on the whole it was devoid of terror."

"How long were you in the storm?" asked Ralph.

"Well, I was so fascinated that I had forgotten to look at the watch. I held it before me, and soon noticed that it was nearly five o'clock, so that we were over an hour and a half in the thick of it. During this experience what gave me the queerest feeling was the compass, the needle of which could not be seen, it swung around with such velocity. Were we going with the storm, or not? That was the thing uppermost in my mind. If we were being carried along we might be even in Belgium by the time I noted the watch.

"Then I tried an experiment. I ordered my assistant to make a turning movement. This convinced me that we were really going with the storm, and were now far over into German territory. Strange as it may seem, we were not thrown hither and thither; the ship sailed along smoothly. I feared to make the next experiment,—that is, to direct the machine toward the earth, for, while everything worked perfectly, I had a feeling that it would be safer to reach the earth with an engine running than with a dead one. Slowly the machine went down; it seemed to get lighter, but now the thunder came in sharp claps, and the form of the lightning changed. I could distinctly see what the observer sees when on the earth, long, zig-zag streaks multiplied a hundred times more than anything I ever witnessed while on earth."

"How high were you up when you got out of the clouds?" asked Ralph.

"Seven hundred and seventy meters (about 2,900 feet), as indicated on the barometer."

"Could you see the earth?" asked Alfred.

"No, indeed; the rain was pouring down; it was splashing over us and all about us, and I signalled to go up again, and we soon entered the clouds; but during all this time the needle of the compass kept spinning, so that we knew nothing of the direction we were traveling."

"But couldn't you tell which way the wind was blowing?" asked Ralph.

"No; we were moving with the great air current, sometimes sailing with it, and at other times against it, but with nothing below to indicate the direction. We could not possibly say whether we were going north or south."

"I think if I should be in the air and couldn't see the earth I would know a way to tell which way the storm was moving," said Ralph.

"How?" asked the lieutenant, as he leaned forward.

"Why, the rain would come down at an angle, if the wind should be blowing, wouldn't it?" replied Alfred.

"Quite true, that would be the case on the earth; but it would not be so up where the raindrops are being formed; there the little particles of water move along with the wind stream; but that is not all; when you are in a machine in a great wind movement, the ship must move through the wind in one direction or the other at all times so as to keep aloft, hence, whether you are going with or against the wind, the rain drops appear to be coming down at an angle, and this, in itself would be sufficient to deceive you, or, at any rate prevent you from determining the direction in which you happened to be sailing."

"How did you get down?" asked Alfred.

"That was the interesting part of it. After a half hour more of flying I again ordered the assistant to go down two hundred meters. It was now evident that the storm was abating. Soon we again passed out of the rain clouds, and the assistant shouted that he had reached the level indicated. 'Go lower,' I shouted. As we did so it grew lighter, and we began to feel a relief. 'Lower yet,' I ordered. At 600 meters the rain poured steadily, but still nothing was visible."

"You were up then about a half a mile," said Ralph.

"Just about that," was the reply. "Soon we noticed a peculiar white patch, and then another. This was puzzle to me. 'Go still lower,' I shouted, and down went the machine. Then we saw some white houses, and I almost shouted for joy. But where could we be? We were passing over a city, a city located within the bend of a large river. I racked my brain to find out where and what it could be. If it was the river Meuse it might be Verdun, or Sedan, or Charleville. We were forced to go down still lower, and then I could see forts, and I felt sure we were over Sedan.

"We were even then going east. I was so agitated that I could hardly speak, and motioned to my assistant to turn around. He understood, and the ship was swung around; we were now going right into the blinding rain, but we were fifty miles behind the German advance columns, and in order to enable us to make more rapid progress I told the assistant to change the course nearly due south. We were flying very low, certainly not over a thousand feet.

"Thus far we had not seen a soldier, or any evidences of warfare. In a half hour we sighted another stream. My heart leaped with joy, for I was sure it must be the Aisne. To assure myself of this we followed the stream for twenty kilometers, and then the forests of Argonne came into sight, thus assuring me of the position. I knew that the army of the Crown Prince was in that region, and it would not be safe to descend; I, therefore, directed the machine to the west, crossed the river, and was about to go still lower, when I heard a boom,—several of them.

"This startled me, you may be sure. 'Up, up!' I shouted. The machine obeyed. We rose to an altitude of eight hundred meters, then suddenly the engine stopped. My assistant turned and shouted: 'We have no petrol.' I crawled back and tested the tank. It was empty. 'Volplane to the south,' I said. It was the only thing I could do. Now that the engine was silent the sounds from the earth were startling. There was terrific firing to the right and left, and all about us; but we must go down; there was no help for that.

"Soon the earth again came in sight, and then the location of the batteries was made out by the volumes of smoke, which could be seen at each volley. My assistant tried to hold up the machine as long as possible, but we were now down to 300 meters, then the barometer registered 250. We both noticed a large, apparently smooth field, and the final volplane began. We landed a hundred feet from a first-line trench, and although the Germans made it hot for us for about fifteen minutes we were soon able to reach the laterals and thus escape their fire. But the machine was in a bad condition when we rescued it that night. It was literally shot full of holes. What is left of it is now in the end warehouse where the scraps are kept."