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[Illustration: AS HERC TURNED, HE WAS CERTAIN THAT HE HAD SEEN A FACE
VANISH QUICKLY FROM THE CASEMENT.
                                                             --Page 62.
]




  THE
  DREADNOUGHT BOYS
  ON AERO SERVICE

  BY
  CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON

  AUTHOR OF "THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON BATTLE PRACTICE," "THE
  DREADNOUGHT BOYS ABOARD A DESTROYER," "THE DREADNOUGHT
  BOYS ON A SUBMARINE," ETC.

  NEW YORK
  HURST & COMPANY
  PUBLISHERS




  Copyright, 1912,
  BY
  HURST & COMPANY




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                               PAGE

      I. SOMETHING NEW IN NAVAL LIFE                       5

     II. "IF HE'S A MAN, HE'LL STAND UP"                  17

    III. FOR THE TROPHY OF THE FLEET                      30

     IV. THE AERO SQUAD                                   39

      V. UNCLE SAM'S MEN-BIRDS                            50

     VI. NED INVENTS SOMETHING                            59

    VII. A RESCUE BY AEROPLANE                            73

   VIII. HERC GETS A "TALKING TO"                         84

     IX. A CONSPIRACY IS RIPENING                         93

      X. A DREADNOUGHT BOY AT BAY                        103

     XI. IN THEIR ENEMIES' HANDS                         113

    XII. "STOP WHERE YOU ARE!"                           123

   XIII. HARMLESS AS A RATTLESNAKE                       136

    XIV. FLYING FOR A RECORD                             148

     XV. A DROP FROM SPACE                               156

    XVI. THE SETTING OF A TRAP                           167

   XVII. THE SPRINGING THEREOF                           178

  XVIII. ON BOARD THE SLOOP                              190

    XIX. "BY WIRELESS!"                                  200

     XX. NED, CAST AWAY                                  213

    XXI. A STRIKE FOR UNCLE SAM                          223

   XXII. SOME ADVENTURES BY THE WAY                      233

  XXIII. "YOU ARE A PRISONER OF THE GOVERNMENT!"         243

   XXIV. A DASH FOR FREEDOM                              255

    XXV. THE MYSTERIOUS SCHOONER--CONCLUSION             267




The Dreadnought Boys on Aero Service




CHAPTER I.

SOMETHING NEW IN NAVAL LIFE.


One breezy day in early June, when a fresh wind off shore was whipping
the water into sparkling white caps, excitement and comment fairly
hummed about the crowded foredecks of the big Dreadnought _Manhattan_.

The formidable looking sea-fighter lay with half a dozen other smaller
naval vessels--battleships and cruisers--in the stretch of water known
as Hampton Roads, which, sheltered by rising ground, has, from time
immemorial, formed an anchorage for our fighting-ships, and is as rich
in historical associations as any strip of sea within the jurisdiction
of the United States.

The cause of all the turmoil, which was agitating every jackie on the
vessel, was a notice which had been posted on the ship's bulletin board
that morning.

It was tacked up in the midst of notices of band concerts, challenges
to boxing matches, lost or found articles, and the like. At first
it had not attracted much attention. But soon one jackie, and then
another, had scanned it till, by means of the thought-wireless, which
prevails on a man-of-war, the whole fore part of the ship was now
vibrant and buzzing with the intelligence.

The notice which had excited so much attention read as follows:

"Enlisted Men and Petty Officers: You are instructed to send your
volunteer applications for positions in the experimental Aero squad.
All applications to be made in writing to Lieutenant De Frees in charge
of the experiment station."

"Aero service, eh?" grunted more than one grizzled old shell-back,
"well, I've served my time in many an old sea-going hooker, but hanged
if I'd venture my precious skin on board a sky-clipper."

"Aye, aye, mate. Let the youngsters risk their lily-white necks if they
want to," formed the burden of the growled responses, "but you and me
'ull smoke Uncle Sam's baccy, and take our pay with a good deck under
our feet."

But this state of caution did not extend to the younger members of
the ship's company. Least of all to Boatswain's Mate Herc--otherwise
Hercules--Taylor and his inseparable chum, Ned Strong, the latter of
whom was now chief gunner's mate of the biggest vessel in the navy.

Neither Ned nor Herc smoked. By observation of those who did indulge in
the practice, they had discovered that the use of tobacco affected more
senses than one, and rendered a man incapable of the highest physical
proficiency. The custom of smoking not only impaired the eyesight of
many a gunner, but in the athletic sports, of which both lads were
so fond, it also showed its bad effects. Ned knew of more than one
promising young gun-pointer who had been compelled to relinquish his
laurels on account of tobacco-affected eyesight.

As a consequence, the two trim, clean-cut lads, their faces bronzed and
clear from sea air and clean living, stood apart from the group about
the "smoke-lamp."

"I'm going to send in my name," announced Ned with twinkling eyes. "The
aero section of the navy is going to be an important one in the future.
There is a good chance for a chap to advance himself in such work."

"By the great horn spoon!" muttered Herc, in his enthusiastic,
whimsical way, "I'm with you, Ned. We'll be regular sky-pilots before
the summer's out!"

He began to rub his shoulder-blades, while a humorous smile played over
his freckled, straightforward features.

"What's the matter?" asked Ned, noting Herc's brisk rubbing of the part
aforesaid.

"Oh, hum! I thought I felt my wings sprouting," replied Herc, with a
broad grin.

"Tell you what, we've a few minutes yet. Let's get our ditty boxes--or
'ditto' boxes, as you used to call them--and write our applications at
once."

"Let's talk a while longer," said Herc, with an odd look.

"Why, what's the matter? Surely you aren't regretting your
determination already."

Herc, for reply, bent over and touched his feet.

"No; they're not cold," he said; "I thought for a minute they were."
Then he looked up into the cloudless blue vault of the heavens.

"Say, Ned, it's an awful long way up there, isn't it? How far, I
wonder?"

"What do you want to know for?" asked Ned, moving away.

"Oh, nothing. Only I'd like to know how far we are likely to tumble, in
case we get our applications accepted, and in case we fly as high as
the sky, and in case----"

"Oh, come on, Herc," urged Ned; "time enough to worry about that when
we are assigned to aero duty."

"All that goes up must come down," said Herc sagely, joining Ned
nevertheless, "but we've reversed the process."

"How do you make that out?"

"Well, when we were on submarine duty we explored the bottom of the
sea, didn't we? And now, if all goes well, we're going to venture
aloft."

Ned burst into a laugh, and they moved off arm in arm, exchanging
greetings with the crowd of blue jackets lounging about at the
after-dinner rest. As they threaded their way among them, Herc burst
into song:

"'There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft!' That's me, Ned."

"First freckled cherub I ever heard of," chuckled Ned.

Leaving the two lads to write their letters, we feel that it is now
our duty to let our readers know something more about Ned Strong and
Herc Taylor. They are two lads worth knowing. Neither of them much over
eighteen years of age, they had, during their short career in the navy,
each made his mark in no uncertain fashion. In his chosen branch of the
service, Ned Strong was admired by the officers and adored by the men.
His advance had been rapid, and some of his more enthusiastic friends
were already hinting at a commission in sight for him in the time to
come.

As for the merry, light-hearted Herc Taylor, that befreckled youth
had as many friends among officers and men as Ned, and was one of the
youngest bos'un's mates in the navy.

As readers of the Dreadnought Boys series know, both lads had entered
the navy, like so many other "likely" recruits, from a farm. From the
first a measure of luck had been theirs. But dogged perseverance, and a
determination to overcome all obstacles by honorable means, had, also,
aided them not a little in their rapid advance.

In "_The Dreadnought Boys on Battle Practice_," we followed the early
steps of their life in the navy. It was not all as pleasant as they had
imagined it would be. To the boys, as "rookies," much hard, and not
over-pleasant work, fell. But scrubbing decks, cleaning paint and the
like, they accepted in good part. "It's helping to keep our $5,000,000
home trim and fit," was the way Ned used to put it.

A ship's bully tried his best to make their paths thorny, but Ned,
in a battle that will live long in forecastle annals, bested him.
Kennell tried to take a despicable revenge. With a gang of rascals,
he concerned himself in a plot to injure the Dreadnought Boys. But
his machinations came to naught. Instead, Ned became the means of
saving the inventor of a new explosive and type of gun from a serious
predicament. Right after this, Herc's turn came, when he displayed
wonderful heroism following a disastrous "flare-back."

Following the stirring days at Guantanamo, came a voyage on a
torpedo-boat destroyer, the celebrated _Beale_. The two lads, on
this cruise, found themselves plunged into the very thick of a
South American revolution. The uprising seriously affected American
interests, and, by a stroke of good fortune, our lads were able to play
a prominent part in bringing the situation to a successful outcome. In
this book one of the many exciting adventures described was the lads'
escape from a prison, when it was shelled during a hot engagement, and
their subsequent daredevil dash on board a revolutionary torpedo craft.

By this time, although, of course, their participation in the
revolution could not be "mentioned in the despatches," the boys had
placed themselves in line for promotion. The eyes of their superiors
were on them. But success did not spoil them or "swell their heads."
They were still just as ready to fulfill an order promptly and
cheerfully as in their apprentice days. As that is the spirit that wins
in the navy, the Dreadnought Boys were singled out for some hazardous
work on board a new type of submarine. Enemies of Uncle Sam nearly
succeeded in sinking the diving boat for good and all with an infernal
machine, but the boys providentially discovered the plot in time, and
saved many lives. In that book, too, they had an interesting encounter
with Sound pirates, and played a rather prominent part in the pretty
romance of the diving boat's inventor.

The opening of this book finds them back on regular duty. Although the
routine of battleship life in times of peace may seem tame and humdrum,
the boys, nevertheless, devoted themselves to it with the same cheerful
zest which had carried them through so many dashing adventures.

But the quiet and monotonous daily existence which they had enjoyed
during and since the winter cruise to European stations, was not to
last long. Although they did not know it, the Dreadnought Boys were on
the brink of some most remarkable happenings.

"By the way," said Herc, as, their letters written and deposited in
the ship's post-office, the two chums emerged on deck once more, "you
haven't let this aerial business drive the recollection of to-morrow's
races out of your mind, have you?"

He referred to some contests ashore, which had been arranged with
enthusiasm by the officers and crews of the ships of the squadron.

"I should say not," laughed Ned. "Why?"

"Nothing, only there are a few chaps in the fleet who'd like to see us
both fall down hard. You're in good trim, Ned?"

"I think so. Feel fit, anyway."

"I needn't have asked you. I know you're always in good shape."

"I can return the compliment," laughed Ned.

Just then the bugles began singing the calls for the busy afternoon's
practice-work on guns and at drill. With a hasty word, the chums
separated and hurried to take their places in the big machine of which
they were already important cogs.




CHAPTER II.

"IF HE'S A MAN, HE'LL STAND UP."


The passage of Ned and Herc from the foredeck in quest of their
ditty-boxes had not gone unnoted by two men lounging at ease under the
shadow of the great 13-inch guns projecting from the forward turret.
The big circular steel structure acted as a wind-break, and the pair
lay here smoking and talking in low tones.

"I'd give fifty dollars to know Ned Strong's secret," observed one
of them, flicking the ashes from a cigar upon the spotless decks, a
deliberate infraction of the ship's laws. Selden Merritt was one of the
few "before the mast" men on board who smoked cigars. A pipe and a plug
of black, rank tobacco usually does for your jackie, but Merritt was an
exception to the rule.

"It would be worth it," agreed his companion, a heavily-set chap of
about nineteen. His cap was off, and his black, bristly hair, cut
pompadour, stood straight up from his rather low forehead.

Merritt was a man of about twenty-four, blonde, thin and "race-horsey"
in build. He had the reputation of having been a college man and
champion runner, until, losing prestige and reputation through
dissipation, he had been forced to enlist. It had proved the best thing
he ever did. Four years in the navy had given him a pink, clear skin, a
bright eye and an erect carriage. But it had not taken a furtive sneer
out of his expression, nor altered his disposition, which was mean and
crafty. His bearing, however, was rather distinguished, with a certain
swagger, and his talk showed that he was an educated man.

"Did you have much to do with them on their first cruise?" inquired
Merritt's companion, Ray Chance.

"No, they were both enlisted men. But they managed to give a black
eye, in a figurative way, to a good friend of mine."

"You mean Bill Kennell?"

"Yes. I hear that he's been pardoned from prison--political pull. But
that doesn't alter the fact that they accomplished his downfall."

"Well, I never liked either of them. I heard about them by reputation
before I came to the _Manhattan_ from the _Dixie_. I like them still
less from what I've seen of them on board here. I think this fellow
Strong is a big faker."

"Yes. I'm sick and disgusted with him and the airs he gives himself.
His dear chum and inseparable is almost as bad. I'd like to take a fall
out of both of them."

"You'll get your chance to-morrow in the squadron's games. You can beat
Ned Strong running the best day he ever stepped on a track."

"I ought to be able to, and I mean to do it, too. I don't like bluffs,
and this chap Strong is a false alarm if ever there was one."

"Say, you fellows," suddenly interpolated a voice, "if you think
Strong is such a bluff, why don't you tell him so?"

The interruption came from a short, stocky, little blue-jacket,
lounging nearby. He had been reading a book on gunnery, but the raised
voices of the Dreadnought Boy's detractors had aroused his attention.
His blue eyes twinkled rather humorously, as he eyed the agile,
long-limbed Merritt and his sallow, dark-haired companion.

"Hullo, Benjamin Franklin; were you rubbering on our conversation?"
said Merritt, assuming an indignant expression.

"Ben Franklin" was the nickname given to the studious tar whose right
name was Stephen Wynn.

"It didn't take any 'rubbering,' as you call it, to overhear you," said
Wynn quietly; "if you take my advice, when you want to say mean things
about Ned Strong or his chum, you'll lower your voice aboard this ship.
They've got quite a few friends."

"Just the same," maintained Merritt, "the chap isn't all he sets up to
be. He's got some secret, like all such fellows."

"I guess his secret is hard work and attention to duty," said Wynn
rather shortly, returning to his reading.

"You don't seriously think that there is any chance of Strong's giving
you a tussle for the first place?" asked Ray Chance.

"Frankly, I don't. But there is always a possibility of mistaking one's
man. I'm wise enough to know that."

"But you have arranged in some way to make success certain?"

Merritt gave Chance a quizzical look.

"You know me," he said, with a knowing wink, "Chalmers of the old
_Luzzy_ (sailor slang for the _Louisiana_) is an old friend of mine. He
dislikes Strong as much as I do. He's the next best man in the race. If
things go wrong, we've got a little system arranged to pocket friend
Strong. But how about you? You are pitted against Taylor in the pole
vault, aren't you?"

"Yes, and I ain't worrying, you bet."

Merritt still retained a good choice of diction, a relic of his college
days, but Chance's talk was was more uncouth and less polished.

"Good! I don't mind telling you I've got some money out on myself.
Enough to swamp a good deal of my pay, in fact. I've got to win."

"About the same thing here," grinned Chance; "if I lose, it's all up
with me financially. I'm in pretty deep."

"Tell you what," said Merritt suddenly, "I hear that there will be
extra pay and bonuses attaching to this aero duty. Let's send in
applications, and then if we get trimmed in the races and jumps we will
have a chance to get some extra coin."

"That's a good idea," agreed Chance. But as they started to carry out
their intention, the same bugle calls that had hastened the steps of
Ned and Herc recalled them to duty.

Stephen Wynn arose with a sigh, and thrust his book inside his loose
blouse. "Ben Franklin" disliked to leave his studies for duty. But
he was a smart sailor, and formed one of Ned's gun crew. Merritt and
Chance were on one of the after turrets.

"Those fellows took care to sink their voices after they found out I'd
overheard them," said Wynn to himself, as he fell in with the rest of
the blue-jackets. "I'll bet that they were plotting some mischief to
Strong and Taylor. At any rate, I'll put them on their guard at the
first opportunity I get."

At three-thirty, or seven bells, the gun drills and calisthenic
exercises were over, and a brief space of leisure ensued. Wynn,
according to his determination, sought out Ned and Herc. He lost no
time in communicating his suspicions to them. But, somewhat to his
astonishment, neither of the lads seemed much impressed.

"A fellow who plots and backbites in dark corners is not one to be
scared of," said Ned. "But just the same, Ben Franklin, I'm obliged to
you. I guess we'll keep our eyes on our two friends, eh, Herc?"

"Not worth bothering with," observed Herc, "as the car conductor said
when the fellow offered him a plugged dime. If they can win fair and
square, we won't grudge it to them."

"Well, I've warned you," said "Ben Franklin." "By the way, what makes
those fellows so sore at you?"

"Oh, Merritt, so I've heard, was a friend of Bill Kennell. He was
the fellow, you know, who kidnapped Mr. Varian in Cuba. He naturally
dislikes us for the part we played in apprehending Kennell. As for
Chance, he was in my gun crew up to a few weeks ago. I had to have him
up 'at the stick' for insubordination once or twice, and I guess it's
stuck in his craw."

"If it hadn't been for you, Ned, he'd have gone to the brig," put in
Herc.

"Oh, well, I thought that a taste of the brig would be too severe,"
said Ned. "I hoped a good wigging by the 'old man' (the captain) would
be sufficient, but it wasn't. Then Chance sulked and played sick. He
took in the doctor for a while, but it didn't last. He was punished and
restored to duty with an after gun crew following that."

"And blames you for all his troubles," said Herc indignantly, "and I
guess I come in for a share of his dislike."

"Oh, life's too short to worry about Merritt and Chance," said Ned,
breaking off the conversation. "It looks as if we'd have a glorious
day to-morrow," he went on, adroitly turning the topic of talk.
The ruse succeeded. The three shipmates fell to discussing the
coming games. Others joined them, and the time passed rapidly till
five-thirty,--three bells--when all hands were piped to supper, a plain
but substantial meal. For the benefit of our non-seafaring reader,
we will tell him that on this particular night it consisted of:--hot
roast-beef hash, cold boiled ham, canned peaches, bread, butter and tea
or coffee. Thus, it will be seen that Uncle Sam does not starve his
blue-jackets.

Supper was in full swing when Ned, who was at the head of the table
which seated his "mess," was the recipient of a surprising testimonial.

It came in the shape of a hot baked potato, flung with accuracy and
speed. It struck the Dreadnought Boy in the eye, and burst, spreading
its pasty contents over his features. Herc, who sat by Ned, leaped to
his feet in a flash, while Ned hastily pawed the mass out of his eyes.

"I saw who threw that," cried Herc, his face aflame, the freckles
looming up like spots on the sun; "if he's a man, he'll stand up."

A stir ran through the forecastle. Herc's finger pointed to a distant
table and rested on the form of Merritt. Chance sat by him. Both had
been laughing an instant before, but as Merritt saw that he had been
found out his face assumed a rather sickly grin.

"Sit down, Herc," ordered Ned rather sternly, "I'll attend to this. Am
I to understand that you threw that potato?" he demanded, fixing his
gaze straight on Merritt's face.

The other's eyes sank. He looked disturbed and a bit scared. Ned's
voice had held no uncertain ring.

"It--it was just a joke," he said. "You don't need to get huffy about
it."

"Rather a strenuous joke, wasn't it?" asked Ned in a firm, calm
voice, while the eyes of every man in the place were fixed on him in
breathless attention.

"I--I didn't mean to hit you," went on Merritt. "I just wanted to give
you a jump. It was just a joke--that's all."

"That being the case," resumed Ned, "I shall have to ask you to remove
the consequences of your _joke_."

So saying, he deliberately threw the remains of the potato on the deck.

"Now, come here and pick that up and carry it back," he said, with a
flash in his eyes. "We'll carry this joke through to its conclusion."

Merritt turned pale and hesitated. Then he caught Ned's eye. A certain
glint in it seemed to galvanize him into action. Amid a roar of
laughter from the entire assemblage, Merritt, red and white by turns,
crossed to Ned's table and carefully picked up every scrap of the
débris.

"What are you laughing at?" he glared at Herc, as he made his way back
to his own place.

"At your joke," sputtered Herc, affecting a spasm of amusement. "Ho!
ho! ho! That's one of the best jokes I've ever