A TEST OF COURAGE
AT FIRST the well went down rapidly. The earth was soft and sandy near
the surface, and with even an ordinary drilling outfit progress would
have been fairly rapid. But Tom’s newly perfected drill fairly ate its
way through the soil, “like a gimlet going through a nice soft piece of
cheese,” as Ned expressed it. They were all delighted with the
performance of the new invention, and promised themselves an early and
successful strike.
But this rapid progress did not keep up long. After the first hundred
feet or so, the ground became harder, and they often encountered rocks
that slowed up even Tom’s marvelous drill. It kept hammering away,
though, and gradually thrust through obstacles that would have
splintered and shattered any ordinary well-boring outfit.
Deeper and deeper grew the hole, and heavier and heavier grew the pipe
as it was sunk through the earth’s crust. The big derrick creaked and
groaned, and they had to stop drilling for several days while they added
massive beams to the structure to reënforce it. Then drilling was
resumed, but as the shaft sank deeper and deeper, and still with no sign
of oil, one member after another of the party began to get discouraged.
At first they would hardly admit this, even to themselves, but at last
the facts had to be faced.
Mr. Damon had arrived a few days before the strengthening of the
derrick. At first he had been his usual bright and voluble self, but as
day followed day even his good spirits died away, and at length he put
in words what the others had been thinking for some time past.
“Bless my oil cups, Tom, I’m the last man in the world to want to
discourage you, but it begins to look to me as though there wasn’t a
drop of oil on this whole farm—except what they burn in the lamps at
night.”
“I must admit that it begins to look that way, as you say,” Tom replied.
“But don’t forget that more than once oil has been struck at greater
depths than we’ve penetrated so far. Why, we’re not down a thousand feet
yet, and the famous ‘spouter’ well didn’t break until they’d gone down
to nearly fourteen hundred. Besides, we’ve struck a softer stratum of
earth now, and the old drill is beginning to bite through in fine style
once more.”
“That new drill of yours has done wonders, and if you let it go I think
it would reach China eventually, but even then it might not strike an
oil deposit. Why, bless my good, muscular right arm, if you go down much
farther, you’ll have to strengthen your derrick again. A thousand feet
of iron pipe weighs something, let me tell you.”
“Well, if the derrick breaks, we’ll build a new one,” returned Tom,
doggedly. “I’ve got a hunch that there’s oil under this farm, and I want
pretty good proof that there isn’t before I give up looking for it.
Besides, it isn’t only ourselves that we’ve got to think of. Can’t you
imagine how disappointed Mr. Goby and his daughter would be if we had to
admit failure?”
“Yes, and then there’s the Hankinshaw gang, too,” chimed in Ned. “They’d
have the laugh on us good and plenty if we went to all this trouble and
then didn’t get anything after all. We’d just be saving them the expense
of doing the work themselves.”
“Very true. But you’ve got to look at this from a business viewpoint,”
came from Mr. Damon. “Every ten feet you go deeper now will cost you
many times more than the same distance did at first, and if the chances
seem all against you, it’s better policy to take your losses and get out
while you’ve got something left. That blessed hunch of yours, Tom, may
prove to be a very expensive one before you’re through.”
“That’s very true, Mr. Damon. But remember that it hasn’t cost us nearly
as much to drill this hole as it would if we had reached the same depth
with the ordinary drilling equipment. I think we’d better add a little
more bracing to the derrick and drill through another hundred feet or
so. If we don’t strike oil here, I want to feel that we did our best,
anyway. There may be oil within ten feet of the drill point right now.”
Tom’s confidence and eagerness were infectious, and while Mr. Damon
still shook his head doubtfully and blessed everything he could think
of, it was finally decided to “carry on” a little while longer. Ned,
while still unconvinced, did not advance any further arguments against a
continuation of the drilling, as he knew how bitterly disappointed Carol
would be if they failed in the undertaking.
Day followed day at the scene of the drilling, and still there was the
same heartbreaking lack of success. Deeper and deeper went the drill,
faster now, but still with no result. Finally their supply of pipe ran
out, and it was almost a week before they could get more—a week during
which Tom paced restlessly about the confines of the farm, counting the
minutes until they could resume operations. The time was not entirely
wasted, however, as they added some heavy shoring to the derrick,
together with some new crossbeams to support those that were bending and
splitting under the tremendous strain.
In drilling for oil, as the drill bores a hole through the earth’s
crust, lengths of wrought-iron pipe are lowered into the hole to keep
the earth from caving in and filling the shaft. When one length of pipe,
usually twelve to fifteen feet, is all the way in, another length is
coupled on to it, and this in turn is sunk as the drill goes deeper.
Now, the entire weight of this pipe is supported by a wooden—or, in
some cases, steel—framework, which is erected over the boring. One
length of four-inch pipe is not such a trifling weight, and when dozens
of these lengths are coupled together, their combined weight becomes
enormous. Quite often the pipe or its supports will break, and then the
whole length drops down into the hole and has to be fished out again
before operations can be resumed. This is often a very difficult job,
and may hold up progress for many days. In the feverish rush to get the
shaft sunk, derricks are often overloaded until they fall under the
strain, often badly injuring or killing the workmen, and in any event
causing delay and expense.
Tom and his friends had guarded as far as possible against these
accidents, and so far had had no trouble in that direction. But with
every length of pipe that was added to that already in the hole, the
chance of an accident grew greater.
However, Tom, with characteristic grit, had determined to see the
enterprise through to a finish, and the others of the party, seeing that
he was not to be dissuaded, concealed as far as possible their own
despondency as to the outcome.
“Bless my suspenders, Tom Swift, you look as though you had lost your
last friend!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, one day. “The world won’t come to an
end just because we’ve happened to run out of pipe. We’ll have more in a
few days, and in the meantime you ought to be getting a rest instead of
pacing up and down like a wild animal in its cage. You’ll make yourself
sick if you don’t look out—bless my pill box, but you will!”
“I’ll get well fast enough when we strike oil,” Tom assured him.
“When we strike oil! Bless my timepiece! What about now? Now, Tom
Swift?”
Tom laughed, but merely reiterated that he would be well enough when the
oil began to flow.
“That’s all right. But in the meantime, why not be sociable?” came from
Ned, as he linked his arm with that of his friend “You take hold of him
on the other side, Mr. Damon, and we’ll trot him up to the farmhouse and
give him a good home-cooked meal. In other words, we’ll feed the brute.”