Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in France and Belgium: Or, Saving the Fortunes of the Trouvilles

By Horace Porter

"Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in France and Belgium" is a historical adventure book written for young adults. The novel tells many stories of air fights, battles and everyday struggles of these young volunteered pilots and regular soldiers in WW2. This edition is enriched with many authentic illustrations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Jul 21, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547104667

Book preview

Horace Porter

Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in France and Belgium

Or, Saving the Fortunes of the Trouvilles

EAN 8596547104667

DigiCat, 2022

Contact: [e-mail]

Table of Contents

CHAPTER I. THRILLING VOYAGE IN A SEA-PLANE.

CHAPTER II. A LOOK BACKWARD.

CHAPTER III. FAREWELL TO THE FACTORY.

CHAPTER IV. DRAGGED BY A ZEPPELIN.

CHAPTER V. RAN AWAY WITH AN AUTOMOBILE.

CHAPTER VI. DEATH RIDE OF AN AVIATOR.

CHAPTER VII. ALONE ON A STRANGE COAST.

CHAPTER VIII. ONE DARK NIGHT IN YPRES.

CHAPTER IX. TESTING BILLY’S NERVE.

CHAPTER X. ON THE ROAD TO ROULERS.

CHAPTER XI. THEY MEET A GENERAL.

CHAPTER XII. WITH THE BRITISH ARMY.

CHAPTER XIII. THE BOYS UNDER FIRE.

CHAPTER XIV. IN AN ARMORED MOTOR CAR.

CHAPTER XV. FAREWELL TO FRANCOIS.

CHAPTER XVI. THE VALLEY OF THE MEUSE.

CHAPTER XVII. THE POINT OF ROCKS.

CHAPTER XVIII. AT THE MOUTH OF THE TUNNEL.

CHAPTER XIX. THROUGH THE SECRET PASSAGE.

CHAPTER XX. BEHIND CHÂTEAU PANELS.

CHAPTER XXI. HENRI FINDS THE KEY.

CHAPTER XXII. THE FORTUNE OF THE TROUVILLES.

CHAPTER XXIII. TRAILED BY A CHASSEUR.

CHAPTER XXIV. A RACE FOR LIFE.

CHAPTER XXV. THE SERGEANT TO THE RESCUE.

CHAPTER XXVI. ORDERS TO MOVE.

CHAPTER XXVII. THE BOYS GO GUN HUNTING.

CHAPTER XXVIII. GOOD NEWS FROM DOVER.

CHAPTER XXIX. SAVED THE DAY!

CHAPTER XXX. SETTING OUT FOR THE SEA.

CHAPTER XXXI. LIKE A MIRACLE OF OLD.

CHAPTER XXXII. LIKE A DREAM OF GOOD LUCK.

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE SEALED PACKET.

CHAPTER XXXIV. AT THE FRONT DOOR OF PARIS.

CHAPTER XXXV. THE FLIGHT UP THE SEINE.

CHAPTER XXXVI. THE WAY THAT WENT WRONG.

CHAPTER XXXVII. OUT OF A SPIDER’S WEB.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE FORTUNE DELIVERED.

CHAPTER XXXIX. THE CALL OF THE AIR.

CHAPTER XL. CAPTURED BY THE GERMANS.

CHAPTER XLI. THE BOYS PUT ON THE GRAY.

CHAPTER XLII. FOUGHT TO THE FINISH.

CHAPTER XLIII. SETTING OF A DEATH TRAP.

CHAPTER XLIV. A LIFE IN THE BALANCE.

CHAPTER XLV. THE WAYS OF THE SECRET SERVICE.

CHAPTER XLVI. THE FACE IN THE MIRROR.

CHAPTER XLVII. THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE.

CHAPTER I.

THRILLING VOYAGE IN A SEA-PLANE.

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It was a muggy night in Dover—not an unusual thing in Dover—but nevertheless the wind had an extra whip in it and was lashing the outside Channel into a state of wild waves. An acetylene flare revealed several muffled figures flitting here and there on the harbor brink. There was a glint from polished surface, a flash-like, downward rush of a long, tapering hull, and a splash in the dark waters below. A sea-plane had been deftly launched. Motors hummed, a wide wake streamed away to the rear of the wonder craft, which, suddenly, as if by magic drawn upward from the tide, joined the winds that sported aloft.

Captain Leonidas Johnson, noted as an airman in the four quarters of the globe, sat tight behind the rudder wheel, and back in the band-box engine room was Josiah Freeman, one time of Boston, U. S. A.

Two aboard were not of the regular crew. Behind the wind-screen were Billy Barry and Henri Trouville, our Aviator Boys, bound for the coast of France, and bound to get there.

Ever higher and higher, the intrepid navigators sailed into a clearing atmosphere, where the clouds were being gathered into a moonlight bath. The 120’s were forcing a speed of something like a mile to the minute, and doing it at 2000 feet above the sea level.

Through Dover Straits the swift trend of the great mechanical bird was toward the North Sea, the blurring high lights of Dover fading in the distance rearward and Calais showing a glimmer on the distant right.

Captain Johnson switched on the ghost light to get his bearings from the facing dials, and speaking to the shadowy figures in the observation seat indulged in a bit of humor by asking:

You young daredevils, how does this strike you?

An answering high note from Billy:

You’re doing bully, Captain, but mind your eye and don’t knock a hole in Dunkirk by flying too low.

Well, of all the nerve, chuckled the veteran wheelman, ‘flying too low,’ and the sky almost close enough to touch.

A pressure forward on the elevating lever shot the sea-plane downward, and the turn again to level keel was made a scant five hundred feet above the choppy surface of the Channel.

We’ll take to boating again at Dunkirk, observed the captain, but the observation was heard only by himself, for now the wind and the waves and the motors and the straining of the aircraft combined to drown even a voice like the captain’s.

There was destined to be no landing that night at Dunkirk. An offshore gale, not to be denied, suddenly swept the Channel with howling force. Rising, dipping, twisting, the sea-plane dashed on in uncertain course, and when at last it had outridden the storm, Ostend was in sight—the Atlantic City of the Belgians.

The stanch aircraft, with engines silenced, rocked now upon the heaving tide. Its tanks were empty. Not a drop of petrol in them. Retreat was impossible, and in the broad light of the new day there was no place of concealment.

While four shivering shapes shifted cramped positions and gratefully welcomed the warming sun-rays, they were under survey of powerful field-glasses in the hands of a gray-garbed sentry.

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CHAPTER II.

A LOOK BACKWARD.

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After following Billy and Henri in their perilous and thrilling night ride, it has occurred that they should have first been properly introduced and their mission in the great war zone duly explained. Only a few weeks preceding their first adventure, as described in the initial chapter, they were giving flying exhibitions in Texas, U. S. A.

That’s a pair for you! proudly remarked Colonel McCready to a little group of soldiers and civilians intently looking skyward, marking the swift and graceful approach through the sunlit air of a wide-winged biplane, the very queen of the Flying Squadron.

With whirring motor stilled, the great bird for a moment hovered over the parade ground, then glided to the earth, ran for a short distance along the ground and stopped a few feet from the admiring circle.

That’s a pair for you! repeated Colonel McCready, as he reached for the shoulders of the youth whose master hand had set the planes for the exquisitely exact landing and gave a kindly nod to the young companion of the pilot.

I’ll wager, continued the colonel delightedly, that it was a painless cutting of Texas air, this flight; too fast to stick anywhere. Fifty-five miles in sixty minutes, or better, I think, and just a couple of kids—size them up, gentlemen—Mr. William Thomas Barry and Mr. Henri Armond Trouville.

Billy Barry adroitly climbed out of the little cockpit behind the rudder wheel and patiently submitted to the colonel’s hearty slaps on the back. Billy never suffered from nerves—he never had any nerves, only nerve, as his Uncle Jacob up in the land where the spruce comes from used to say. Billy’s uncle furnished the seasoned wood for aëroplane building, and Billy’s brother Joe was boss of the factory where the flyers are made. Billy knew the business from the ground up, and down, too, it might be added.

And let it be known that Henri Trouville is also a boy of some parts in the game of flying. He loved mechanics, trained right in the shops, and even aspired to radiotelegraphy, map making aloft, and other fine arts of the flying profession. Henri has nerves and also nerve. He weighs fifty pounds less than Billy, but could put the latter to his best scuffle in a wrestling match. Both of them hustled every waking minute—the only difference being that pay days meant more to Billy than they did to Henri.

No brothers were ever more firmly knit than they—this hardy knot of spruce from Maine, U. S. A., and this good young sprout from the lilies of France.

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There’s a pair for you!

Say, Colonel, said Billy, with a fine attempt at salute, if I didn’t know the timber in those paddles I wouldn’t have felt so gay when we hit the cross-currents back yonder. I——

Yes, yes, laughed the colonel, you are always ready to offer a trade argument when I want to show you off. Now you come out of your shell, Henri, and tell us what you think of the new engine.

There is sure some high power in that make, sir, replied Henri. Never stops, either, until you make it.

All you boys need, broke in Major Packard, is a polishing bit of instruction in military reconnaissance, and you would be a handy aid for the service.

While I am only factory broke, Major, modestly asserted Billy, Henri there can draw a pretty good map on the wing, if that counts for anything, and do the radio reporting as good as the next. What a fellow he is, too, with an engine; he can tell by the cough in three seconds just where the trouble is. If I was going into the scout business, believe me, I might be able to make a hit by dropping information slips through the card chute.

The dark-eyed, slender Henri shook a finger at his talkative comrade.

Spare me, old boy, if you please, he pleaded. Gentlemen, turning to the others, who were watching the housing of the aëroplane, this bluffer wouldn’t even speak to me when the altitude meter, a little while ago, registered 3,000 feet. Then he had a wheel in his hands; down here he has it in his head!

Bully for you, comrade, cried Billy. I couldn’t have come back that neatly if I tried. But then, you know, I have to work to live, and you only live to work.

With this happy exchange the boys moved double quick in the direction of quarters and the mess table.

Colonel McCready, with the others proceeding to leisurely follow the eager food seekers, in his own peculiar style went on to say:

There’s a couple of youngsters who have been riding a buckboard through some fifty miles of space, several thousand feet from nowhere, at a clip that would razzle-dazzle an eagle, and, by my soul, they act like they had just returned from a croquet tournament!

Our Aviator Boys had grown fearless as air riders. They had learned just what to do in cases of emergency, in fact were trained to the hour in cross-country flying. Rare opportunity, however, was soon to present itself to give them a supreme test of courage and skill.

Little they reckoned, this June evening down by the Alamo, what the near future held in store for them.

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CHAPTER III.

FAREWELL TO THE FACTORY.

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An archduke had been killed on Servian soil, and war had raised its dreadful shadow over stricken Liège. The gray legions of the Kaiser were worrying the throat of France. From the far-off valley of the Meuse came a call of distress for Henri Trouville.

Billy Barry was very busy that day with the work of constructing hollow wooden beams and struts, and had just completed an inspection of a brand-new monoplane which the factory had sold to a rich young fellow who had taken a fancy to the flying sport. Coming out of the factory, he met his chum and flying partner. Henri did not wear his usual smile. With downcast head and his hands clasped behind him he was a picture of gloom.

Hello, Henri, what’s hurting you? was Billy’s anxious question.

Billy boy, Henri sadly replied, it’s good night to you and the factory for me. I’m going home.

Say, Buddy, cried Billy, holding up his arm as though to ward off a shock, where did you get your fever? Must have been overwarm in your shop to-day.

It’s straight goods, persisted Henri. The world has fallen down on Trouville and I’ve got to go back and find what is under it.

Billy with a sob in his voice: Old pal, if it’s you—then it’s you and me for it. I don’t care whether it’s mahogany, ash, spruce, lance-wood, black walnut or hickory in the frame, we’ll ride it together.

Oh, Billy! tearfully argued Henri; it’s a flame into which you’d jump—and—and—it wouldn’t do at all. So, be a good fellow and say good-by right here and get it over.

You can’t shake me. Billy was very positive in this. We made ’em look up at Atlantic City. We can just as well cause an eye-strain at Ostend or any other old point over the water. The long way to Tipperary or the near watch on the Rhine—it’s all one to me. I’m going, going with you, Buddy. Here’s a hand on it!

The boys passed together through the factory gate, looking neither to the right nor to the left, nor backward—on their way to great endeavor and to perils they knew not of.

Out to sea in a mighty Cunarder, the flying kids, as everybody aboard called them, chiefly interested themselves in the ship’s collection of maps. As they did not intend to become soldiers they were too shrewd to go hunting ’round war zone cities asking questions as to how to get to this place or that. They had no desire to be taken for spies.

Right here, Billy, said Henri, indicating with pencil point, is where we would be to-night if I could borrow the wings of a gull.

Billy, leaning over the map, remarked that a crow’s wings would suit him better, adding:

For we would certainly have to do some tall dodging in that part of the country just now.

Do you know, questioned Henri earnestly, that I haven’t told you yet of the big driving reason for this dangerous journey?

Well, admitted Billy, you didn’t exactly furnish a diagram, but that didn’t make much difference. The main point to me was that you tried to say good-by to your twin.

Billy, continued Henri, drawing closer, and in voice only reaching the ear at his lips, behind a panel in the Château Trouville are gold and jewels to the value of over a million francs. It is all that remains of a once far greater fortune. My mother, when all hope of turning back the invading armies had gone, fled to Paris in such haste that she took with her little more of worth than the rings on her hands. She may be in want even now—and she never wanted before in her life. I am her free man—my brothers are in the trenches with the Allies somewhere, I don’t know where. It’s up to me to save her fortune and pour it into her lap.

It’s the finest thing I know, said Billy. Show me the panel!

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Planning their first movement abroad, the boys that night decided to make for Dover after landing. It was a most convenient point from which to proceed to the French coast, and there they expected to find two tried and true friends, airmen, too, Captain Leonidas Johnson and Josiah Freeman, formerly employed as experts in the factory at home, and both of whom owed much to Billy’s uncle in the way of personal as well as business favors.

What happened at Dover has already been told, and now to return to them, stranded in the water off the Belgian coast.

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CHAPTER IV.

DRAGGED BY A ZEPPELIN.

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For hours Billy had been stationed as lookout on the stranded hydroplane. He was taking cat-naps, for it had been quite a while since he last enjoyed a bed. While an expected round-shot from the shore did not come to disturb the tired airmen, something else happened just about as startling. In a waking moment Billy happened to look up, and there he saw a great dirigible circling above the harbor. The boy’s eyes were wide open now.

Henri, he loudly whispered, prodding his sleeping chum with a ready foot. Look alive, boy! They’re coming after us from the top side!

Henri, alive in a jiffy, passed a friendly kick to Captain Johnson, and he in turn bestowed a rib jab upon Freeman. Then