Chapter SEVEN

An air of anxiety hung over the United States Naval Station at Pearl Harbor on the Island of Oahu, six miles west of Honolulu. In the office of the commandant sat Captain James H. Smith, an expression of deep concern spread over his weather-beaten face. Seated with him and sharing his gloomy thoughts was Air Commander Heathcote, commander of the aerial forces using the Hawaiian archipelago as their basis.

Both had just been discussing the airship Wilbur Wright which was now several hours overdue. Not a single word had been received from her. The fate of the Langley, only a few hours previously, was freshly engraven on their memories. In fact the passengers were still aboard the tramp steamer Yang-Tsze, which was ploughing its lubberly way toward Manila. Now there loomed up the possibility that the Wilbur Wright had shared the same fate.

Both officers had dispatched every craft that was available under their command to search the seas and the air, in accordance with orders from Washington. All were in immediate wireless intercommunication with each other, but none had sighted or heard from the overdue airship.

Thus they sat and discussed the possibilities of the situation while waiting impotently for information. Presently a messenger came in from the naval radio station with a penciled note from the operator. It stated that a distress signal had been received from the Wilbur Wright, but that the operator had been unable to receive it completely owing to interference from another station, that was working on the same wavelength as the Wilbur Wright.

Captain Smith showed the note to Heathcote, and the two men immediately walked over to the wireless station. There the operator was frantically endeavoring to get into touch with the Wilbur Wright. Upon the entrance of the two commanders, the operator ceased his efforts long enough to advise them of what had occurred.

“I heard an S.O.S. call, Sir,” he said, “and it was signed by the Wilbur Wright. The interference made it impossible to get the message, but I got parts of it. I have been trying to get the Wilbur Wright again, but now I don’t receive any answer at all, and the other station has also stopped sending. I sent out a general call too, in the hope that the nearby craft might answer in case the Wilbur Wright didn’t, but there’s no reply. Here’s what I managed to get through the interference.”

The operator handed Captain Smith a slip of paper on which was written parts of a message, just as they had been received by the operator, as follows:

“Captain Smith ** *** ** Honol * Wilbu * Wright *** itude 15.2 ** 52.35 ** craft believe ***** pirate ***”

“That’s all I could get, Sir,” added the operator “and it’s just as it came in.”

Captain Smith and Commander Heathcote both pored over the fragmentary message intently for several seconds. Then the former said:

“It looks as though he were being attacked by the pirate and was trying to tell us. Those figures are undoubtedly his position.”

“Yes,” said Heathcote, “that’s probably the case. The first of those figures is most likely to be his latitude, and the other his longitude. There must be a figure missing though. It’s probably 15.2 N. and 152.35 E. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to send out some patrol craft in that general direction. I’ll order my outfit to proceed there immediately. It may be that the station interfereing was the pirate himself.”

Turning to the operator Commodore Heathcote asked whether any of the aircraft, or the naval vessels had received the call from the airship.

“I imagine they did, Sir,” replied the former, “but as soon as the call came in I told everybody to keep off while I took the message. They would probably listen in too, and take the message down, but I don’t think they got anything more than I did. I didn’t bother to ask them, because I have been busy trying to raise the Wilbur Wright ever since. If you want me to I’ll ask them now.”

“You might as well,” said the Commodore, “and then when you get the flagships I’ll give you a message to send to the commanders.”

The operator proceeded to send out a general call, and shortly afterwards received replies from the flagships of the naval unit and the aircraft squadron. He asked both of them whether they had received the message from the Wilbur Wright, and after a brief wireless communication learned they had received no more than he.

While the operator was calling the patrol craft, the two commanders had picked up a chart and pin-pointed the position given in the message.

“It’s about four hundred miles from here,” said Heathcote. We could probably get out there as soon as any of the ships on patrol duty. The big P. Q. flying boat is the fastest thing around here. It’s practically ready to take off any minute. I’m going out in her, do you want to come along?”

“You bet,” replied Captain Smith, glad to be active, and greatly relieved that some of the uncertainty had passed.

Heathcote turned over a message he had hurriedly written to the wireless operator and ordered him to send it immediately to the commander of the patrol aircraft. It advised the commander to proceed to the position given with all possible speed, and make a careful search within a radius of one hundred miles, and also to listen carefully for any wireless messages from the Wilbur Wright.

The two officers then went out to the seaplane landing beach, and gave orders to the handling crew to get the P-Q flying boat ready. This was quickly obeyed, and ten minutes later the big aircraft had risen gracefully from the smooth waters of the harbor and was circling rapidly to an altitude of five thousand feet. As soon as this height was attained, the ship was straightened out and placed on a direct course to the position given in the message from the Wilbur Wright. Swiftly it passed over the mountainous archipelago, skirting the lofty peaks of the volcanoes.

Two hours later the look-out man in the forward gun nest shouted back through the inter-communicating telephone: “There are some small objects in the water, Sir. I can’t make out what they are.”

Commodore Heathcote took his glasses and looked down, and then ordered his pilot to make a landing near them. He also swept the skies in search of other aircraft. In the distance the war planes that had been on patrol duty were coming up at rapid speed. Heathcote ordered the wireless operator of the P-Q to tell them he was going to land and request them to circle around the vicinity until further orders.

The pilot of the P-Q threw over the wheel control and pushed the rudder bar with his feet. The big flying boat nosed over and down, then went into a swift spiral dive. In rapid corkscrew movements it swept down through the air five thousand feet in sixty seconds, and then straightened out fifty feet above the surface of the sea. Two seconds later it was skimming over the smooth surface less than a hundred feet from the nearest boat.

All doubt as to the nature of the objects in the water had now vanished. There were six lifeboats, and they were from the airship Wilbur Wright. As the flying boat taxied over towards them the passengers let loose a rousing cheer and waved a welcome to their rescuers. Through his glasses Commodore Heathcote made out the uniformed figure of Captain Johnstone in the leading lifeboat. He told his pilot to taxi over toward it. A few moments later the P-Q drew up alongside.

“What happened, Captain?” shouted Commodore Heathcote.

“We were shot down by an airplane,” replied the airship commander, “we have a lady passenger in serious condition and in need of immediate hospital attention. It is Mrs. Ingleton, Secretary of the Navy’s wife. Have you got any machine that would take her to Honolulu quickly? She is in a critical condition. As soon as you take her off I’ll come over and tell you what happened.”