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A Narrow Escape · The Non-Stop Stowaway

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  Chapter two of The Non Stop Stowaway. This is a LibriVox recording. All
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  LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,
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  please visit LibriVox dot org. Read by voice over Leon The Non Stop Stowaway
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  by Clayton Knight. A narrow escape in the morning. As Kiwi and the
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  two men rowed away from the little houseboat, clouds hung low over the bay.
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  The wind whipped up tiny white caps, and in the bow of the
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  boat, where Kiwi sat, he felt the wavelets going slap slap. As
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  they drew toward the shore. A sand bank showed yellow against the dark gray
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  of the sky. Jack had received weather reports during the night from the wireless
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  he had installed on their floating home, and with a quick look around,
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  dismissed the threatening appearance of things with a curt this will all clear away by
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  noon. I'm sure Kiwi's spirits rose, for it had begun to look as
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  though his flight might be postponed again. On the ride over to the field
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  in the car, Jack said, well, Skipper, do we try out
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  your comic streamlining on the wheels today? Not many pilots have any faith in
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  them. I can't see myself where they will add much to our speed.
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  Well, replied the skipper. I'll admit that they look like a pair of
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  tin pans, but if they add even five miles an hour to the speed
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  of our bus, that amount, spread over seventy hours will mean a lot
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  for our chances of arriving in India. At any rate, we'll give them
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  a try today if those mechanics have managed to get them installed. By the
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  time they drew up in front of the hangar, the weather looked more threatening.
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  There was little activity outside the long row of hangers that line up the
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  field. Old Bill had waved from the little window of his restaurant as they
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  passed. Only one machine was standing on the line, and the mechanics were
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  half heartedly turning the propeller over At their own hangar. The two smudgy mechanics
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  were still busy with the streamlining. There seemed little chance that the plane would
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  be ready much before noon. Kiwi wandered up the line of hangars to see
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  what other excitement he could find. He liked to listen to the flying talk
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  that was practically the only topic of conversation around the field. He had learned
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  to respect those rather dingy buildings, some of which were now in a sad
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  state of disrepair. They had served other purposes during the war. Dad had
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  even pointed out the deserted and dilapidated buildings that had been used for barracks where
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  he had eaten and slept before being sent overseas. He had also pointed out
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  to Kiwi the building they had used as a kitchen where he had washed dishes
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  and peeled potatoes for twelve hours at a stretch as a punishment for being caught
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  in his bed after the whistle for Reveli had blown. There was little now
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  to make them glamorous. No uniforms to be seen, no sound of bugles,
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  no high hopes for adventurous times across the seas. In fact, they
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  seemed to Kiwi a bit too spooky, even in daylight. He seldom stayed
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  long in any one of them. Dad had given him the feeling that they
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  were crowded with the unseen presence of rollicking young fellows who had once stayed there,
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  who had gone away and had never returned. They had learned to fly,
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  had mounted into the high heavens, had come to know a world apart,
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  a world of mountainous clouds, with the ground far below blue gray in
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  the early morning, a silent kingdom of its own, its silence sometimes shattered
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  by the rattle of machine guns and the bursts of anti aircraft shells. Just
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  before noon, as the sky seemed to lighten somewhat, Kiwi noticed their machine
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  being wheeled from the hangar with its new streamlining in place. He hurried back
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  and was told that they would soon start. As chucks were put under the
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  wheels, He climbed up into the cockpit beside his dad. It was a
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  tiny place, with just enough room for two men, crowded with instruments and
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  wheels. Even the seat was a gasoline tank, for gasoline was to be
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  the life of their flight, and every possible ounce had to be carried when
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  the real hop off came. During most of the tests, the tanks were
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  only partly filled. He watched Dad as he adjusted the levers, and as
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  the mechanics said switch off, suck in, Dad leaned out and repeated it
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  after him. The mechanic turned the propeller over several times to get a rich
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  mixture in each cylinder. Then, as the mechanic called out contact, Dad
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  threw over his switches, and after a couple of false starts, the engine
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  roared into life. For a few moments as it warmed up, Dad watched
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  the dial, which told a number of revolutions his engine was making. Then,
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  as he felt all was ready, he opened wide the throttle and the
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  whole plane quivered with the roar of the engine. As soon as his instruments
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  showed him that the engine was developing its full power, he throttled back and
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  motioned to Jack to hop in. As Jack started to do so, he
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  said, we haven't the wireless aeriel. Connors is splicing on a new piece.
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  Never mind, Dad replied, we won't need it this time. Dad's
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  invitation to Jack meant that there would be no room in front for Kiwi,
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  but Dad said, we you slip over the tank and ride in the compartment
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  in the back. There was scarcely room for him to squeeze through in the
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  space between the top of the tank and the under side of the wing.
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  The chocks were withdrawn and they went bumping out across the field to the far
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  side and turned into the wind. Then, as the engine opened up,
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  Kiwi felt the tail lift. They went rolling across the ground and with a
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  last gentle bump were in the air, Kiwi looked out to see the ground
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  apparently falling away from him, and the hangers, houses and fields took on
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  a toy like appearance. He was now accustomed to this sensation, but he
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  would always remember his first flight and how odd it had seemed to have the
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  ground slip away from beneath him in this strange manner. He remembered the queer
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  feeling he had had when they made their first turn. It seemed as though
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  they were perfectly stationary, and that the whole earth had suddenly started to tilt
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  up until it stood on edge. Kiwi remembered too, his first experience in
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  clouds. The clouds were not very high, and he had motioned to Dad
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  to go up through them. As they started up, they were soon surrounded
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  by a fog so dense that even the wing tips faded from sight. They
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  had flown on for what seemed to him an endless time, when Dad shook
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  his head, motioned that the clouds were too thick and started down. Wires
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  screamed with the vibration, and Kiwi kept a sharp look out over the side
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  for the first appearance of the ground. Surely, they must see it soon.
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  Then, with a sudden start, he looked over his shoulder to find
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  the earth apparently above him. It took him some seconds to convince himself that
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  this was really the ground in such an unusual place. There above him was
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  this uncanny earth, with the trees lining the tiny roads, half hiding the
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  toy like houses. Dad had afterwards explained to him that in trying to get
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  up through the clouds he had lost all sense of direction. That when he
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  had shut off his engine and pointed the plane to what he thought was down,
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  they had fallen sideways rather than straight down, which accounted for the earth
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  appearing in this unexpected quarter. However, on this first flight in the new
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  machine, he had no such experience, for they had taken off in a
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  straight line and climbed to nearly a thousand feet before any turn was made.
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  Also, being completely enclosed in his little compartment, he felt much more secure.
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  He peered out of the windows, first on one side and then on
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  the other. As they came back over the field, he looked down to
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  see several figures rushing about and another plane taking off. Dad headed out toward
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  the ocean. It was Kiwi's first view of the Atlantic, which extended far
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  off toward the misty horizon, dotted here and there with busy ships going about
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  their errands. A long trail of smoke marked a big liner heading for the
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  port of New York. Its decks and lifeboats showed dazzling white against the dark
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  blue of the water. Then Dad turned and they headed back toward the field.
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  Suddenly, almost from nowhere, there appeared to Kiwi a plane with silver
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  wings and blue body. The plane that he had noticed taking off a short
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  time before. It came close and tried to fly level with them. Kiwi,
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  fascinated, watched the pilot as he waved to them. He continued to
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  wave and then pointed to the side of his machine. Kiwi noticed then,
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  in large white chalked letters, the words your right wheel gone. The pilot
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  of this machine seemed unable to catch up with them, and so attract Dad's
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  and Jack's attention. As they roared along, Kiwi crossed over to the right
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  side, looked out of his little window, and there, hanging down useless
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  was the streamlining and no sign of the wheel. His first thought was,
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  now, Dad will show them what it means to be a good pilot.
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  Then it crossed his mind, perhaps Dad doesn't know it's gone. He scrambled
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  up onto the huge tank and wormed his way toward the front. Jack saw
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  him coming and motioned him back. The roar of the motor drowned out Kiwi's
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  voice as he tried to tell them what had happened, but Jack did finally
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  understand. As Kiwi pointed frantically toward the other plane, still trying to overtake
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  them, Dad gave a startled glance toward the plane and read the message your
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  right wheel gone. He motioned to Jack to open his cockpit window and verify
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  their predicament. There was a nodding of heads showing that both understood. When
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  they got back to the field, they flew low while Dad waved his arm
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  to let those on the ground know that they were aware of their plight.
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  The news of their mishap had evidently traveled, for a crowd was gathering and
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  more and more cars were arriving. They made no attempt to land, for
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  they could see that another plane was about to take off, and a mechanic
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  was even then chalking a new message to them. They circled around until this
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  plane drew alongside and against its dark background, they read a longer message land
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  at Mitchell Ambulance. There no crowds. Dad waved his arm to let them
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  know he understood. Then he drew over the other field and circled around for
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  several minutes, which came to seem like hours. They could see the activity
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  on the ground as every preparation was made to take care of the inevitable crash.
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  To land a heavy plane such as theirs on one wheel was a thing
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  that had been seldom, if ever, tried before. Kiwi had heard stories
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  of pilots who had landed not knowing one wheel was off, and he knew
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  that the consequences were often very serious. Planes turned over so quickly once the
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  axle caught and dug into the ground. But he also knew that warned as
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  they had been of the loss of their wheel, there was a good chance
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  that Dad would pull them through. He thought of the hours of work that
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  had been spent on this machine, and of the high hole hopes they had
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  that it would carry Dad and Jack thousands of miles across land and water,
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  and he realized how dashed their hopes would be if there were irreparable damage.
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  Jack's had appeared above the tank. He motioned to Kiwi forward and then explained
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  to him by gestures how he must brace himself. When the final moments of
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  landing came, Kiwi nodded and felt that here was his chance to show Dad
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  and Jack that he had the necessary courage. He knew that he would prove
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  equal to the test. As he dropped back into his compartment, he looked
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  down on the field. A group of men had marked a cross with wide
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  strips of cloth in the middle of the field, showing the best place to
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  land. In front of the operation's office was a little group of people beside
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  the ambulance with a red cross on its side. As he looked farther along,
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  he saw the red and the polished nickel of a fire truck. Men
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  were hurrying to differ parts of the field with what he knew to be fire
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  extinguishers. The stage was set for the try. As they circled around,
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  heading into the wind, he felt Dad throttle back the engine and the long,
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  slow glide to the field was started. The spectators on the ground were
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  no more tense than Kiwi through the long seconds of this dive. To uncertainty.
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  The silence after the engine had been throttled down was broken only by the
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  rush of the wind through the struts. He braced himself. He felt Dad
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  tip the plane over so that the left wheel would touch first. As the
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  plane lost momentum, the other axle dropped caught in the ground, and with
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  a terrific crunching of metal, they spun around and came to a stop.
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  He he heard cheers and voices and saw Dad's scared face come through the trap
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  door in the bottom. Are you all right, Kiwi? Dad lifted him
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  down with shaking arms, and they were at once surrounded by a group of
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  people, slapping Dad on the back and telling him what a wonderful job he
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  had done. They looked the precious plane over. Some damage had been done,
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  but nothing that could not be fixed within a few days. One of
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  the wingtips had been slightly torn and they would need a new propeller. It
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  seemed no time at all until cameramen appeared, and nothing would do but that
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  Dad must pose with Kiwi on his shoulder and Jack smiling by his side.
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  Within a few minutes, planes from the other field began arriving. The pilots
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  were amazed to find all three unhurt, and were loud in their praise of
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  the marvelous way in which Dad had made the landing. He stood there,
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  cool and collected, smoking a cigarette, the color now back in his tanned
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  cheeks, his wavy chestnut hair very much awrye As he took off his helmet
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  and goggles, there was nothing to show of the tense strain he had been
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  under except a slightly drawn look about his gray eyes. He was shorter and
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  less striking in appearance than Jack, but the crowd of pilots singled him out
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  and gave him that praise which only one pilot can give to another. They
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  made a fuss over Kiwi too, and he had the feeling that he had
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  been weighed and not found, wanting that in this emergency he had kept his
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  head and done the right thing. For the first time, Dad seemed to
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  notice Kiwi's nondescript clothes as if photographers were snapping pictures. True, very little
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  attention had been paid to what he wore. There had seemed to be so
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  many more important things to be looked after. But as they were riding back
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  to their old hangar, Dad said, Kiwi, I think tomorrow would be
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  a good time for you and me to make a trip into town, and
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  we will get you a new outfit. If you will insist upon getting your
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  pictures in the papers. The folks back home will want to see you in
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  the sort of clothes a young aviator should wear. Will it be a uniform
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  Dad like yours? Kiwi had asked, absolutely, if that's what you want,
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  had been Dad's promise. End of chapter two,