The Boy Aviators in Nicaragua; or, In League with the Insurgents

In the food basket, besides the blankets and medicines already mentioned and some folding knives and forks, the boys packed:

Four pounds of beans, a small box of hardtack, a plentiful supply of soup and meat tablets as used by the German army and which contain a supply of nutriment far in excess of their bulk, five pounds of bacon, the same quantity of ham, tins of salt, pepper and seasoning, a can of butter for special occasions and two cans of condensed milk, and five packages of self-raising flour.

“There doesn’t look to be enough there to feed a flock of canary birds,” remarked Billy, as he watched the stowing of the grub.

“That’s because you don’t know the exact science of modern rations,” replied Frank, “experiments in Germany have proved that the condensed soups and meat essences we have in that are alone capable of sustaining life for a long period, the other things are luxuries.”

“Well, me for porterhouse steaks and food you can get your teeth into,” replied Billy. “Count me out on this tabloid table-d’hôte idea.”

“It’s easy to see you were never cut out for an aeronaut,” laughed Harry, “here, lay hold of this bar and make yourself useful.”

The body of the car was raised on screw-jacks, when the work of attaching it to the planes had been completed, and the food basket carefully slung underneath, where it was readily getatable through a small hinged hatch in the floor of the pilot’s cockpit. Then came the work of attaching to the bottom of the frame, and to the tail, the wheels and spring braces which were devised to make a descent in the airship as easy as alighting from a taxicab. The wheels were also to aid in starting the craft.

Frank and Harry had come to the conclusion long before they finished building the Golden Eagle that they did not want to have to cart around a runway with them to give the ship start when they wished to make a flight, as is the case with the Wright Brothers’ machines. Their air craft was equipped with pneumatic tired-wheels like those of a bicycle, only several times as strong, in order to give her a good running start when her twin propellers were started.

When they wished the Golden Eagle to soar aloft from the ground, all that was necessary to do with this equipment was to throw in a clutch geared to the rear pair of wheels and the Golden Eagle, like a great bird with her wings spread, began to glide over the ground, and in a few seconds the pressure of the air under her curved planes gave her the necessary lift and she shot up like a hawk, or her namesake, leaving the eyrie.

The forward pair of wheels were movable, castor-fashion, so that when the ship struck the ground they were free to head in any direction in which the ship might take the earth. The rear wheels were attached to the body of the aeroplane in the same manner, except that they had a device connected with them which made it possible to lock them when the operator wished to throw in the clutch that started the engine up. The forward wheels also had a detachable steering appliance connected with them so that in starting the machine it could be steered in any direction the operator desired, like an automobile.

Besides these wheels the forepart of the Golden Eagle possessed a pair of inclined planes moving on an axis. To the outer ends of these planes were attached powerful springs. The action of these planes when the forward end of the ship struck the ground on them was of course made free from jar by the spring attachment which acted as a sort of buffer. The wheeled arm attached to the bird-like tail astern was geared in a similar fashion and was designed to support this important part of the aeroplane and protect it from damage when the Golden Eagle settled.

Frank eagerly explained the uses and action of all the devices to his father and Jimmie Blakely, the latter of whom had neglected his work shamefully since the Golden Eagle had been roosting under its palm-thatched shed. How the ship got its name was at once apparent as soon as the boys had completed covering its wings. The balloon silk they used was of a rich orange hue and indeed the ship looked like nothing so much as a great golden bird.

The last task the boys had to tackle was the delicate one of placing the engine and its condenser in position and connecting it to the gasolene, water and lubricating tanks. Then there was the job of putting in the ignition apparatus and wiring it up to the spark plugs of the motor. Frank and Harry used the jump-spark system as being both simpler and easier to repair in time of trouble than the make and break method. The spark for starting was obtained from batteries, but when under way the Golden Eagle’s engine was “sparked” by a magneto. Both boys always carried a supply of extra spark plugs in case of the carbonization of the ones already in the cylinders and they had had very little trouble indeed with this important part of their engine, one which gives more bother usually than any other part of the motor. The spark plugs were hooded with waterproof caps as a precaution against short-circuiting by rain or dampness.

The twin propellers of the Chester boys’ craft, four-bladed ones of bronze, framed and covered with specially prepared and varnished fabric. These frames were internally braced by specially tested steel wire and had shown themselves in every way capable of standing the terrific strain that 1200 revolutions a minute put on them. The shafts connecting them with the engine were of the best Tobin bronze, a non-corrosive material and one of the most suitable metals for the construction of propeller shafts.

It took Frank and Harry the best part of another day to adjust the engine to its bed and true up all its connecting parts with spirit-level and plumb-line. This work they had to do alone as it required expert knowledge of the most exhaustive kind.

At last, however, everything was adjusted and screwed in place in a way to satisfy even the critical Frank, who went over every joint and fastening with an eye that spied out immediately the slightest weakness. When everything was announced to be complete at last, a holiday was declared on the estancia and all hands gathered round the palm-thatched shed to watch Frank and Harry tune up the Golden Eagle’s engine.

Frank’s eyes fairly shone as he stepped lightly into the car and opened the valve that sent a flow of life-giving gasolene along a brass tube to the carbureters.

Before he did this, however, the hands had been busy for an hour filling coffee bags with earth and heavy stones and piling them down on all sides of the Golden Eagle. Stout stakes were also driven into the ground and the craft securely roped to them in such a way that she could not free herself when her propellers began to whiz round.

“Now, then, hold tight, everybody!” shouted Frank, as he “tickled” the carbureter, and Harry threw in the switch. The Boy Aviator gave the flywheel a light twist back against the compression – there was a loud “bang,” that made the women shriek and the next minute the engine of the Golden Eagle was purring away as contentedly as if it had never been separated from the craft of which it was the heart and packed up for its long voyage.

But the natives, – where were they? With the exception of one tubby little fellow who was sprawling on the ground and who scrambled to his feet and made off at top speed as soon as possible, there was not one to be seen of all the crowd that had clustered round the Golden Eagle but a few minutes before.

They had not heeded Frank’s warning cry, – somewhat naturally, not understanding it, – and when the huge propellers began to whirl round, creating a regular whirlwind in which hats were snatched from heads, and dresses blown every which way, they had, with one concerted howl of “Witchcraft,” fled to their quarters, where only a great deal of persuasion induced them to leave.

By supper time that night, the boys were delighted to think that their beautiful craft was ready to soar again. Everything in fact was ready for an immediate flight. The sand-bags were removed, the ropes untied from the stakes, and the batteries carefully seen to. It was with light hearts that the boys hurried to the house for their evening meal. As for Billy, he danced a sort of what he was pleased to call a “Pean of Triumph,” round the ship. The performance of the engine and the general trim and trig appearance of the Chester boys’ flyer had aroused him to such a height of admiration and enthusiasm that he declared himself quite willing to take a trip in it himself – which was “going some” for Billy.

CHAPTER VIII.

BILLY BARNES TAKES THE WARPATH

The next day Frank and Harry busied themselves in their father’s laboratory during most of the morning. They had been delighted to find such a completely equipped repository of chemicals as it proved to be, and their admiration of their father’s researches was only equalled by their natural surprise at finding such a workshop on a Nicaraguan plantation.

“I always knew you were a great dab at chemistry, father,” remarked Harry, “but I never dreamed that you had a regular Institute of Scientific Research on tap.”

“By the way,” asked Frank, who had been busy taking stock of the various chemicals, “have you any picric acid here, father?”

“I believe I have, my boy,” replied Mr. Chester, “but that’s dangerous stuff to fool with. You know it’s a high explosive.”

“Perfectly,” rejoined Frank, “and it’s for that very reason I want it.”

“I confess I don’t understand you,” was his father’s reply.

“It’s simply this,” replied Frank, with a smile at his bewilderment, “it has become a by no means uncommon practice, though of course most of the better class clubs have made rules against it, to mix picric acid with gasolene in racing motor boats and air crafts. It is usually very injurious to the engine, however, and I don’t suppose any one would want to use it except in an emergency.”

“What do you want it for, then?” asked his father in surprise.

“Well, I believe in always looking ahead, for very often it’s the unexpected that happens,” rejoined Frank. “Our engine now can turn up 1200 revolutions a minute. I believe that with the use of picric acid in the gasolene we could give her as much additional power as 1500 revolutions a minute.”

“Well?” inquired his father expectantly.

“That being so,” went on Frank, “the Golden Eagle would have just that much more lifting power, the stability of an airship depending upon the speed at which she travels through the atmosphere. So you see,” he concluded with a smile, “that some day we might want to carry an extra passenger and in that case a gallon of picric acid would come in mighty handy.”

After a little more argument Frank won his point, and that night the boys stored aboard the Golden Eagle– after first carefully seeing that it was not in a position where it was likely to prove dangerous – a stone carboy of the explosive acid. They had hardly completed the work when the sound of wheels was heard on the drive, and when they reentered the house they found that Don Pachecho and his beautiful daughter were the visitors.

Señora Ruiz showed plain evidences of her suffering over the news of her husband’s death. The boys, who had heard of the disastrous battle from their father, avoided all reference of course to the revolution, but it was Don Pachecho himself who brought the subject up.

“Have you heard the latest news of the revolution. Señor?” he asked, after the introductions were over, and Billy had whispered to Harry what a fine photograph of “an old Spanish don” Mr. Chester’s neighbor would make.

Mr. Chester shook his head. Indeed, since a couple of days before the man who carried messages and letters between the hacienda and Greytown, had reported that Zelaya’s forces had cut the telegraph wires and taken complete charge of the cables, the party at the plantation had heard nothing of the movements of either the insurgents or the troops of the government.

“I learned from a party of rubber-cutters who passed the plantation to-day,” went on Don Pachecho, “that Estrada’s troops have suffered a further defeat and that Zelaya’s men, under General Rogero, crazed with their victories are burning and destroying property and committing all sorts of outrages everywhere.”

“Where was this last defeat?” asked Mr. Chester, seriously.

“It cannot have been more than fifty miles from here,” continued Don Pachecho, “that is what makes it so ominous. It means,” he went on, his voice rising, “that if Estrada cannot hold them in check that the government troops will drive him back on Greytown within a few hours and then you know what will happen,” he shrugged his shoulders.

“Yes, we can hardly expect much mercy from Rogero,” commented Mr. Chester. He then described to Don Pachecho what had taken place in Greytown the day that he had met the boys and Billy Barnes. Billy himself also conveyed his suspicions of Rogero as the murderer of Dr. Moneague.

The old don was greatly agitated at this news.

“Ah, the inhuman scoundrel!” he cried, raising his wrinkled hands above his head, “it was without doubt he that killed Moneague. And he now holds the secret of the lost mines. With his power over Zelaya and the wealth that is now at his disposal, he can speedily become powerful enough to ruin us all. I am an old man, Señors, but I do not think that of all the men I have ever seen, that I have met one who was this man’s equal in the resources of evil. Woe betide the man who falls into his clutches.”

Billy had been listening to this conversation with great attention and he now struck in with:

“What do you suppose he has done with the plan of the lost mines, sir?”

Don Pachecho shrugged his shoulders.

“Señor Barnes, there is only one thing that he can do with it, and that is to keep it always about him. I do not suppose it has been off his immediate person since he killed poor Moneague.”

Billy sat lost in thought for a while. Then he raised his head.