Summary

John Henry Goldfrap The Boy Aviators on Secret Service…

Quatty writhed in a paroxysm of terror on the quivering floor of the pilot-house as the whole fabric of the aeroplane shook as if it had been convulsed by an earthquake.
Like a big ungainly bird it ran rapidly over the ground for a few dozen yards and then as it gathered speed under its rapidly revolving propellers, Frank threw in the top speed clutch and jerked back the lever that controlled the rising planes. Like a perfectly trained animal the big air-craft obeyed and rose as gracefully as a butterfly into the air.
Source: Gutenberg

John Henry Goldfrap The Boy Aviators on Secret Service…

But Quatty, whatever his other faults might be, knew the Everglades as a city dweller knows his own streets, and by the darker landmarks of various hammocks and islets he steered the craft as unerringly as a cab-driver who wishes to drive in a certain direction.
Occasionally as they brushed against a sunken log, or shoal of rank-smelling mud, there would be a heavy flop in the water or a rustling sound in the dry grass.
“Whatever is that, Quatty?” asked Harry after the sound had been several times repeated.
“Moccasins. Dey bite you, you die plenty quick,” responded Quatty.
Source: Gutenberg

John Henry Goldfrap The Boy Aviators on Secret Service…

In a few days now they would be in the Archipelago and the plunge into the unknown would have to be taken. As he gazed about him at the sleeping party—Harry and Billy, light and careless, Lathrop, apparently made of far better metal than Frank had believed, and at old grizzled Ben Stubbs sleeping, like most woodsmen, as soundly as an infant, he felt a sensation of heavy responsibility steal over him.
Was the expedition well advised? It might all end in nothing or even in disaster. These thoughts flitted through Frank’s brain as he lay awake and pondered the situation.
Source: Gutenberg

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