PRISONERS IN DIRE PERIL.
"Locked in, by gosh!" exclaimed Ben Stubbs, as the lock clicked.
"What can they mean to do with us?" wondered Frank.
"So far we've been treated like lords, but I don't like the idea of
being penned up in this cabin," said Harry.
Much more speculation was indulged in by the boys, but without their
arriving any further at an accurate idea of what was likely to be
their ultimate fate at the hands of Luther Barr's men. While they were
still talking the light went out, as Malvoise had warned them it
would, and they were plunged in total darkness.
Not being heroes of romance, but just healthy boys, the two lads were
asleep a few minutes after they threw themselves in their bunks, which
were provided with excellent springs, and bed-clothing of good
material. As for Ben Stubbs, as he himself said, he could have slept
on a whale's back so long as the animal didn't dive.
How long he slept Frank had, of course, no means of estimating, as it
was too pitchy black in the cabin for him to see the dial of his
watch, but he opened his eyes with a start and soon found out that he
had been aroused by what seemed an unusual disturbance aboard the
dirigible.
He heard the trampling of feet as the crew ran to and fro, and the
shouting of orders in Malvoise's voice. The cabin port was closed and
locked on the outside, although the cabin seemed perfectly ventilated
by some other aperture; so it was impossible for Frank to distinguish
what was said, but the tones of the Frenchman's voice conveyed intense
excitement.
The motion of the air-ship, too, seemed strange.
When they had gone to sleep it seemed as if they were sleeping in a
room ashore, so perfectly evenly did the ship rush ahead through the
night; but now every portion of her frame seemed to be complaining in
its own particular voice, and she groaned and strained like a ship in
a storm.
Frank aroused Harry, and a few minutes later Ben Stubbs, too, was
awakened by the peculiar motion of the ship.
"What's happening?" he demanded, as one of the air sailors ran heavily
along the deck overhead.
"I don't know," rejoined Frank; "but it seems to me that we are in a
storm of some kind.--Hark!"
As he spoke there was a blue glare of lightning outside, in which the
ropes and stays of the ship, seen through the closed port, stood out
as in an etching. Simultaneously there came a terrific crash of
thunder. They were evidently in a bad storm.
"I wish we were outside instead of cooped up in here," exclaimed Ben.
"I like to be out on deck in bad weather and not penned up in a cubby
hole."
"Let's try the door," suggested Frank, "we might be able to force the
lock."
But the lock was evidently put on to stay, and tug and strain as they
would, they could not budge it an inch.
The motion of the ship by this time was so violent as to make them
feel quite seasick. She swayed from side to side and now and then took
long dips.
"I know what they are doing," exclaimed Frank as the ship executed the
latest of these diving maneuvers; "they are setting their aeroplanes
low so as to try and find a smooth current of air."
"They've got a fine chance to, if it's blowing as hard as it seems to
be," was Harry's comment.
The uproar on deck grew louder.
They could now hear Malvoise's voice, directing the crew to strengthen
this stay or lend a hand on that rudder brace.
The ship was evidently passing through a crisis.
It was hard for the boys to remain cooped up in their pen, but
deliverance was near at hand.
The door was suddenly flung open, and Malvoise himself stood framed in
the square of light from the illuminated saloon behind him.
"You had better come out of there," he said briefly, "we are in a bad
storm."
"Are we in danger?" asked Harry.
"I don't know yet. If it doesn't blow any harder we may be able to
weather it."
"And if not?"
"If not, we may go to the bottom."
"Is anything wrong with the ship?" was Frank's next question.
"Yes, the engine is not working right. It is not developing enough
power to keep us driving against the storm. I am afraid it may strike
us broadside on and tear the cabin and decks loose from the gas-bag,"
replied the Frenchman.
As the boys and Ben gained the deck, the storm struck them in its full
fury. It was not cold, they were too far south for that, but the wind
fairly drove their breath back down their throats.
"Say, let's grab on to a stay or something," gasped Harry, "I don't
want to get blown overboard."
They fairly fought their way to the edge of the navigating deck, which
was swaying in a sickening fashion, and clung to one of the stout
mainstays of the stressed and storm-driven gas bag above them.
Far below, the sea roared and its wave crests gleamed with
phosphorescent light, as the furious wind ripped off their tops and
sent them scurrying over the heaving waters.
But, bad as the wind was, a far graver peril menaced the dirigible,
and the boys knew it. The lightning was zipping and ripping across the
sky in every direction, and, in the event of a bolt striking the craft
to which they clung, the boys knew that they might as well be sitting
on a keg of exploding dynamite. There would a blinding crash as the
gas exploded, and then oblivion.
As they hung on for dear life, Malvoise, his face gleaming white in
the glare cast from one of the cabin ports, came up to them.
"Do you think you can take the wheel for a while?" he asked Frank.
"What with fear and exhaustion Constantio is almost unable to stand
up."
Frank agreed, and, followed by the others he entered the pilot-house.
With the exception of the binnacle light above the compass and a small
shaded incandescent that shed a glow on the height indicator, the
place was as black as a well.
"How is she doing now?" the boys heard Malvoise ask the inventor.
"Ah, senor, poor thing, she is torn and strained in every direction.
My heart bleeds for her!" exclaimed the Spaniard.
"Yes--yes," broke in Malvoise impatiently; "but can she last out?"
"I do not know," came the reply of the other. "It is much to ask of
any dirigible to last out such a storm. See," he turned the light on
to the wind-gauge--it showed a pressure of sixty miles an hour, "it is
a wonder to me she has not been torn apart," he declared.
"Well, you'd better go and get some sleep now," said Malvoise
abruptly, "one of these boys here will take care of the ship while you
nap."
"Very well," said the Spaniard, "do not drive her too hard against the
wind, senor, but rather let the wind drive her. Good-night."
He staggered out on to the swaying, plunging deck and vanished. Frank
had taken the wheel as the Spaniard relinquished it and he was
astonished to find how, in spite of its gears, the wind-stressed
rudder tore and tugged at the spokes.
"The strain on the rudder must be terrific," he thought to himself;
"it's a wonder it has held out as long as it has."
Taking a casual glance at the height indicator, Frank gave a start. It
indicated twelve thousand feet. It was higher than the boy had ever
been before.
For several minutes he was too busy easing the dirigible through a
blast that seemed as if it would rip her apart to notice the gauge
again. When he had an opportunity to do so, he gave a whistle of
surprise.
The dirigible had now climbed on the wings of the storm to an altitude
of fourteen thousand feet.
Glancing through the pilot-house window the young helmsman saw
tattered shreds of storm clouds driven by at a terrific speed; but
fast as they went, the dirigible was hurried along with them at an
equal speed. The rapid motion had a tendency first to exhilarate and
then to turn dizzy those who participated in it.
All at once a sharp whistle sounded from a tube placed so that it was
close to the helmsman's ear.
"A signal from the engine-room," cried Malvoise, "answer it."
"Hullo!" called Frank, turning back the whistler at the mouth of the
tube. Then he placed his ear to it.
"Two cylinders are missing fire," came the hail, "to make repairs we
shall have to stop the engine."
"Keep on with what power you have," shouted back Frank. "We've got to
keep going."
There was no need to explain to the others what the bad news from the
engine-room was. They had guessed from his reply.
And still the dirigible rose.
She was now at an altitude of fifteen thousand feet, and even as Frank
gazed at the indicator she soared higher.
It grew bitterly cold.
"Something will have to be done," he shouted to Malvoise, "if we keep
on going higher the air will soon be so rarefied that we shall be
unable to breathe."
"Set your dropping planes," shouted Malvoise, above the turmoil.
"I have tried to," yelled back Frank, "but she won't drop unless the
engine forces her ahead faster. The wind is stronger than we are."
"Let out the gas," suggested Harry.
Frank shook his head.
"I don't want to do that except in case of actual necessity," he said.
"We may need all we have before long."
"I can feel an awful pressure on my ear drums!" suddenly exclaimed
Harry.
"No wonder," was Frank's rejoinder; "look at that."
He pointed to the gauge.
The dirigible had now been driven to a height of eighteen thousand
five hundred feet, and breathing was really becoming painful.
Desperately Frank struggled to get the sinking planes to act, but the
wind pressure on the bag counteracted all his efforts in this
direction. So fast was the hurricane now driving the gas-bag ahead
that the sub-structure lagged behind, straining at its confining stays
and braces.
All at once Harry gave a cry and sank to the floor of the pilot-house.
Malvoise, the next instant, hastened to the deck and cried:
"Air, air!"
Frank felt a warm liquid streaming from his nose and ears. He put up
his hand. It came away stained red. Even tough old Ben Stubbs felt the
baleful effect of the high altitude.
"I'll be hornswoggled if I can stand this much longer," he gasped out
to Frank.
"Can you take the wheel?" replied the young aviator. Ben nodded.
"Then take it. I'm going to get this ship down."
Frank reeled from the pilot-house on to the deck. He almost stumbled
over the body of Malvoise as he did so. It lay as inanimate as in
death where it had been thrown against the railing by the impact of
the ship's wild swaying.
"You'll go overboard if you're not careful," Frank found himself
saying in a voice he hardly recognized as his own.
Making his way aft the lad encountered the red-headed sailor, Wells.
"Oh, sir, what is happening?" gasped the poor fellow.
"We've gone too high," replied Frank, every word cutting his chest as
if a knife had been plunged into it. "Where's the valve cord?"
"Aft there, sir, it's belayed to the starboard rail."
As he spoke the man pitched forward as if he had been shot and lay
inanimate on his face.