INTO THE SARGASSO.
The days slipped rapidly by until one fine morning, about a week after
the events narrated in our last chapter, Ben Stubbs and Frank
announced that their observations showed that they had doubled the
southernmost cape of Florida (which had been the scene of some earlier
thrilling adventures described in the second volume of this series,
"The Boy Aviators on Secret Service"), and were now on a direct course
for the mysterious region of the Sargasso Sea. For three days more
they went steadily onward toward the rising sun, occasionally sighting
a school of porpoises and scaring up whole legions of flying-fish with
their sharp bow. The days were glorious--a trifle hot, perhaps, but
none of the boys minded that; and at night the stars, "as big as
lamps," Billy declared they looked in the far southern latitude they
had now reached, gave almost as much light as the moon in our chilly
northern clime.
Every day, now, some one of the party took turns with the glasses
under a small shelter erected with canvas and oars in the bow of the
boat, and painstakingly scanned the horizon all about for any sight of
the Brigand or Luther Barr's dirigible. But although once or twice
they saw distant smoke, it always turned out to be a false alarm, and
they hourly grew nearer the Sargasso without having made out a trace
of the rival treasure-hunters. This fact put them all in high spirits,
and each of the boys was already busy building lofty air-castles
concerning what he would do with the treasure when he got it.
Much of the time, too, was occupied in clearing away the lashings of
the planes and other apparatus and parts of the Golden Eagle attached
to the cabin top forward, and discussing plans to erect her at sea.
Frank perhaps was the only one of the party who fully realized the
extreme difficulties that confronted them. However, the water was at
present smooth as glass almost and seemed likely to remain so, if
Bluewater Bill and Ben Stubbs were to be relied on as weather
prophets.
"We are getting into the Doldrums now for fair," the old sailor
announced one morning, pointing to the horizon, where a big,
full-rigged vessel lay motionless in the breathless atmosphere. "That
ship yonder may not get out of here for a week."
The chart now showed that they were far out of the track of all ships
and on a lonely sea, so that the becalmed wind-jammer had probably
been driven off her course in the same hurricane that menaced them and
was likely to be a long time before she got out of her melancholy
predicament.
One day Billy, who was leaning over the side, gave a sharp cry and
drew back from the bulwarks.
"Come here, fellows--ugh, what an awful-looking thing," he cried.
He pointed down at the sea. The others rushed to his side, and as they
gazed into the water, which was as clear as crystal for a considerable
depth, they felt like echoing his exclamation of repulsion.
Through the opalescent green overside could be seen a huge shadowy
shape slowly settling downward, though from the depth two menacing
eyes gleamed upward at the young watchers.
From every side of the creature's round, barrel-like body stretched
huge arms covered with myriads of suckers. It looked like some evil
spirit of the deep, and the boys estimated the length of its arms as
at least twenty-five feet. It slowly waved the long feelers as if in
farewell as it sank.
"That there's a devil-fish," proclaimed Ben, who had joined the group
as the monster vanished, "some calls 'em octopus, but devil-fish is a
better word, to my thinking."
The boys agreed with him.
"Surely that must have been an unusually large one, Ben?" exclaimed
Frank, still with the feeling of repulsion with which the monster had
imbued him strong upon him.
"A big one," echoed Ben. "Oh, no, not so extra big--though he was
sizeable, I'll admit. I've never seen such things myself, but I've
heard crews of whalers tell of having been attacked by one of them
critters, and sometimes they come back to the ship several men short.
Them devil-fish are as ferocious as tigers and many's the poor
sponge-diver they have gobbled up."
"Are there any in Sargasso Sea?" asked Billy, who seemed fascinated by
the subject.
"I should say there are," put in Bluewater Bill, "and they grow there
as big as elephants to a rabbit compared to this fellow. I don't doubt
that some of them has lived there for hundreds of years, just like
turtles. You see it's a fine place for feeding in, among all that
seaweed, and when a ship gets in there and some poor chap goes crazy
and jumps overboard, why, then they have an extra nice morsel to make
'em get fat and live long."
"Well, that's a nice prospect," said Billy. "I don't know but what I
should prefer their room to their company."
"Same here," chorused the others.
Hour by hour now the seaweed began to get thicker. At first spread in
isolated clumps and drifting prettily on the waves, it now became so
dense as to be a menace.
"We'll have to turn back," announced Frank, "we can't afford to risk
snarling up the propeller."
Accordingly the Bolo's head was put about and she was headed westward
again. When the seaweed became so thin as to not offer any serious
impediment to navigation, the Bolo's heavy anchor was dropped. Luckily
she carried six hundred feet of one inch manila, but even this was
hardly enough for the depth of water and had to be eked out with every
bit of chain and cable that could be spared. Fortunately under the
circumstances the Bolo carried a capstan which could be thrown into a
gear with the engine, otherwise it would have been impossible for her
to anchor in that depth of water, as her crew could never have got up
the mud-hook by hand.
The weather promised to be clear, and a consultation of the barometer
showed the instrument to be absolutely steady. After breakfast the
next day, therefore, the work of erecting the Golden Eagle at sea was
begun. First the pontoons were lowered over the side and the boys,
working from the Bolo's dory, connected them by the rigid vanadium
steel framework provided for that purpose, and which fitted into
brackets bolted to the sides of the tubes themselves. When connected
up they formed a sort of catamaran with a space of about twenty-five
feet intervening between them. The chassis of the Golden Eagle, which
was in sections, was then erected on a framework previously built and
which was attached to the floating pontoons. This work occupied the
greater part of two days, and impatient as Frank was to be off, he
would not allow it to be slighted.
[Illustration: Erecting the Golden Eagle on the pontoons.]
The wing-supporting framework rising from the chassis next engaged the
young workmen's attention, each part being screwed to the other and
fixed in place with nuts locked by a spring devised for the purpose by
Frank. This was necessary, as the incessant jarring of an aeroplane's
powerful engines will work loose the most tightly screwed on nut if it
is not locked, and, of course, the working loose of even a minor part
on an air craft is a serious proposition indeed. The vanadium steel
quadrangle being in place, the next task was to adjust the wide
stretching wing-frames of the big plane. This was a tough job, but the
boys managed to overcome the tendency of the floating craft to capsize
under the uneven burden by placing a raft made of boards from the
cabin floor of the Bolo under each wing tip as it was screwed in
place.
Of course, as soon as the frames were bolted on on either side and the
weight was equalized, the aeroplane balanced on her pontoons and there
was no need for artificial support. Getting the engine in place came
next, and for a time seemed to promise serious difficulties; but this
problem was finally solved by towing the pontoon-supported air-ship
alongside the Bolo, and then using her main boom as a derrick. Billy
Lathrop and Ben Stubbs hauled on a tackle attached to the engine, and
thence to the end of the boom, and the heavy bit of machinery swung
outboard without a hitch. It was then an easy matter to lower the
motor on to its bed, which had been previously set in place. It didn't
take long to bolt the engine down, lay the propeller bearings and set
the main shaft and its twin connections in place and "true" them up.
The last work, before adjusting the tanks for gasolene and oil, was to
affix the propellers themselves. This was accomplished by erecting a
rough stand on a platform of the cabin floor boards.
At last everything was pronounced ready for a start and the finishing
touches were completed. Harry even lovingly touched up some scratched
places about the frame with the contents of a paint-pot he had found
in a locker.
It was at this point that Billy Barnes made a great discovery.
"But say, Frank," he exclaimed, "when you start the propellers she is
going to fly even though you may want her to skim the water."
"Is she, mister know-it-all?" laughed Frank, "that shows all you know.
See this pump?" He indicated a small centrifugal affair geared to the
main shaft.
Billy nodded.
"Well," explained Frank, "when we want to keep the Golden Eagle down
on earth, or rather sea, we fill the pontoon tanks to the necessary
weight with this pump. When I want to rise, I pump the water out
again."
"Gee, that's simple--like all your ideas, Frank," said the admiring
Billy.
"When are we going to try a trial trip?" demanded Lathrop.
"No reason why we shouldn't start right away on one," declared Frank,
"if you fellows will bear a hand and fill up the gasolene, radiator
and lubricator tanks."
The receptacles were quickly replenished with fuel, water and oil, and
then the young aviators waited in a thrilling state of suspense while
Frank tested the engine. After a few adjustments of the bed, the
machine fell to work as evenly as it had at Mineola, and Frank
announced that he was ready to cast off the lines that restrained the
aeroplane to the side of the Bolo.
With Frank in the driving seat, Harry at the engines and the others
grouped in the chassis the start was made.
At Harry's cry of "All right," the young leader started up the power
and threw in the propeller clutch. A shout broke from the throats of
the adventurers as the Golden Eagle began to move gracefully ahead in
her new element.
Soon she began to gather speed and skim rapidly over the water as
Frank increased the power; but he soon came to a stop.
"We'll have to put more water in the tanks," he announced, "she's
trying to rise."
More water was quickly pumped in by running the machine pump on the
engine with the propellers cut out. As the ship settled lower and
lower, Frank watched her carefully.
"That's enough," he cried at length to Harry, who was filling the
tanks. The pump was stopped and the automatic caps screwed on the
valve opening of the pontoons.
Once more Frank threw in the propeller clutch and started up the
engine. This time he ran the motor to high speed without the aeroplane
rising more than enough to just gracefully skim the top of the water,
like a drinking swallow.
"It's better than flying," enthusiastically cried Billy, hugging
Lathrop in his excitement, "and you don't have to keep still either,"
he added.
"Wall, I've followed the water for a good many years, but I never went
to sea on a water air-ship before," was Bluewater Bill's contribution.
"You like it, don't you?" demanded Billy, almost fiercely.
"You bet cher life, I do," was Bill's truthful, if vulgarly expressed,
rejoinder.
On and on skimmed the Golden Eagle, seemingly as much at home on the
surface of the gently heaving South Atlantic as in the upper air
currents. So exhilarating was the sensation, that Frank kept the
winged craft straight on, holding her to her course with the air
rudder, which worked as well on the water as in the clouds.
Then swinging in a long circle, so that the strain on the long
pontoons and their bracings would not be too great, he brought the
ship about and headed her back for the Bolo, that lay, a tiny speck,
on the far horizon, so far and fast had they traveled.
They came back at the same swift gait as they had taken the outward
spin, and all voted this new form of water riding as enjoyable as
anything they had ever experienced.
That night was spent in making final arrangements for the dash in
search of the golden galleon. As the adventurers did not want to carry
more weight than could be avoided, it was agreed that Bluewater Bill,
Lathrop and Billy Barnes should remain on board the Bolo, while the
Boy Aviators and Ben Stubbs started on the aerial search for the
treasure ship.
From the latitude and longitude in which they were then anchored,
Bluewater Bill judged that the galleon could not lie much more than
two hundred miles to the southeast, out across the wilderness of
Sargasso. Of course she might have shifted, but from an aeroplane it
is possible to survey a tremendous area, and the young adventurers
were confident of being able to pick up the prize.
Two more bitterly disappointed youths than Billy and Lathrop could
hardly be imagined than they were when they learned that it would be
impossible to take them on the scouting expedition. Frank, however,
pointed out the utter foolishness of overloading the Golden
Eagle--more especially as they might have to bring back a heavy load.
Being sensible boys, both Billy and Lathrop, therefore, soon got over
their gloom.
Early the next morning, the final provisions were loaded into the
aeroplane's chassis and her barometer, auto-clock and other
instruments were adjusted by the Bolo's own and set in place. A
careful note was then made of the Bolo's position and noted in Frank's
pocket log-book. This done there only remained farewells to be said
and these were necessarily brief.
It was ten-thirty o'clock on a cloudless, breathless morning that the
Golden Eagle, with her pontoons empty, except for a supply of drinking
water carried in the small reserve tanks at either end, shot into the
air from the glassy sea.
Had any strangers been there to witness the start they could not have
forborne to cheer at the sight the noble ship presented, soaring
onward higher and higher, like a mighty sea-bird winging its way
toward the unknown wastes of the mysterious Sargasso.