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Bill Bolton—Flying Midshipman   By:

Bill Bolton—Flying Midshipman by Noel Sainsbury

First Page:

BILL BOLTON Flying Midshipman

BY

Lieutenant Noel Sainsbury, Jr.

Author of Bill Bolton and Winged Cartwheels Bill Bolton and the Flying Fish Bill Bolton and Hidden Danger

THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING CO. CHICAGO

Copyright , 1933 The Goldsmith Publishing Company

MADE IN U. S. A.

Dedication

To OLIVER TEMPLETON JOHNSON, JR. known to his friends as "Buzz" an inveterate reader of my books.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I THE HURRICANE

CHAPTER II THE KEY

CHAPTER III PRISONERS

CHAPTER IV THE INVITATION

CHAPTER V TAKEN FOR A RIDE

CHAPTER VI OSCEOLA

CHAPTER VII THE ATTEMPT

CHAPTER VIII WHAT HAPPENED IN THE SWAMP

CHAPTER IX WHAT HAPPENED IN THE COMPOUND

CHAPTER X WHAT HAPPENED IN THE MORNING

CHAPTER XI WHAT HAPPENED IN THE AIR

CHAPTER XII 'TWIXT WIND AND WATER

CHAPTER XIII OSCEOLA FINDS A WAY

CHAPTER XIV IN THE DUGOUT

CHAPTER XV SEMINOLES

CHAPTER XVI THE ADVANCE

CHAPTER XVII THE ATTACK

CHAPTER XVIII BIG CYPRESS AGAIN

BILL BOLTON FLYING MIDSHIPMAN

CHAPTER I THE HURRICANE

"I can't keep her in the air any longer, Dad!"

Bill Bolton shot the words into the mouthpiece of his headphone and pushed the stick gently forward. The amphibian which he was driving nosed into a long gliding arc toward the angry whitecaps of the Bay of Florida, a thousand feet below.

"Too much wind?" called back Mr. Bolton from his seat in the rear cockpit.

With a sharp bank Bill saved the plane a side slip as an unusually heavy gust caught her.

"Too much wind is right. Those black clouds to the southeast mean a hurricane or I'm a landlubber. We're soon going to be in for it good and plenty. It's already kicked up a heavy sea below. I should have landed sooner."

"If we crash, we'll have a long swim," was his father's sole comment.

Bill cut his gun and having brought the plane into the teeth of the wind which was increasing in violence momentarily, he shot a quick glance overside. Row after row of spume capped combers met his eye and his face became grim with determination.

At an altitude of perhaps twenty five feet he began to draw the stick slowly backward, breaking his glide. Careful not to stall her, with his eyes on the water just ahead he allowed the nose to come gradually up until the amphibian was in level flight. In such a wind this proved a most difficult evolution, for savage squalls lashed the plane until she acted like a wild colt on a leading rope; and a crash seemed imminent.

Struggling to keep the plane on an even keel, Bill continued to pull back his stick, raising the nose and depressing the tail. Then with a final pull he stalled her, the heel of the step made contact with the top of a whitecap and amid a cloud of spray the amphibian skimmed ahead on the water. Before her nose could play off, Bill had the sea anchor overside and a moment later the heavy boat was tugging on the line to the collapsible canvas bucket that kept her head into the wind.

Bill whipped off his headphone and goggles. Then he made the pilot's cockpit secure by cleating down a waterproof tarpaulin over the top, flush with the deck, and climbed into the rear cockpit which had seats for two passengers.

Vast clouds growing out of the southeast almost covered the heavens now, concealing the sun. And as it grew darker the wind's velocity steadily increased... Continue reading book >>




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