“To the house!” cried the professor, raising his voice to overcome
yonder sullen roar, which was now beginning to come their way. “Trust
all to the aeromotor, and 'twill be well with us!”
The wiry little man of science himself fell to work with an energy which
told how serious he regarded the emergency, and, acting under his lead,
the brothers manfully played their part.
Just as had been done many times before this day, a queer-looking
machine was shoved out from the shed, gliding along the wooden ways
prepared for that express purpose, while Professor Featherwit hurried
aboard a few articles which past experience warned him might prove of
service in the hours to come, then sharply cried to his nephews:
“Get aboard, lads! Time enough, yet none to spare in idle motions. See!
The storm is drifting our way in deadly earnest!”
And so it seemed, in good sooth.
Now fairly at its dread work of destruction, tearing up the rain
dampened dirt and playing with mighty boulders, tossing them here and
there, as a giant of olden tales might play with jackstones, snapping
off sturdy trees and whipping them to splinters even while hurling them
as a farmer sows his grain.
Just the one brief look at that aerial monster, then both lads hung fast
to the hand-rail of rope, while the professor put that cunning machinery
in motion, causing the air-ship to rise from its ways with a sudden
swooping movement, then soaring upward and onward, in a fair curve, as
graceful and steady as a bird on wing.
All this took some little time, even while the trio were working as men
only can when dear life is at stake; but the flying-machine was
afloat and fairly off upon the most marvellous journey mortals ever
accomplished, and that ere yonder death-balloon could cover half the
distance between.
“Grand! Glorious! Magnificent!” fairly exploded the professor, when he
could risk a more comprehensive look, right hand tightly gripping the
polished lever through which he controlled that admirable mechanism. “I
have longed for just such an opportunity, and now--the camera, Bruno! We
must never neglect to improve such a marvellous chance for--get out the
camera, lad!”
“Get out of the road, rather!” bluntly shouted Waldo, face unusually
pale, as he stared at yonder awful force in action. “Of course I'm not
scared, or anything like that, uncle Phaeton, but--I want to rack out o'
this just about the quickest the law allows! Yes, I DO, now!”
“Wonderful! Marvellous! Incredible! That rara avis, an exception to all
exceptions!” declared the professor, more deeply stirred than either of
his nephews had ever seen him before. “A genuine tornado which has
no eastern drift; which heads as directly as possible towards the
northwest, and at the same time--incredible!”
Only ears of his own caught these sentences in their entirety, for now
the storm was fairly bellowing in its might, formed of a variety of
sounds which baffles all description, but which, in itself, was more
than sufficient to chill the blood of even a brave man. Yet, almost as
though magnetised by that frightful force, the professor was holding his
air-ship steady, loitering there in its direct path, rather than fleeing
from what surely would prove utter destruction to man and machine alike.
For a few moments Bruno withstood the temptation, but then leaned far
enough to grasp both hand and tiller, forcing them in the requisite
direction, causing the aeromotor to swing easily around and dart away
almost at right angles to the track of the tornado.
That roar was now as of a thousand heavily laden trains rumbling over
hollow bridges, and the professor could only nod his approval when thus
aroused from the dangerous fascination. Another minute, and the air-ship
was floating towards the rear of the balloon-shaped cloud itself, each
second granting the passengers a varying view of the wonder.
True to the firm hand which set its machinery in motion, the
flying-machine maintained that gentle curve until it swung around well
to the rear of the cloud, where again Professor Featherwit broke out in
ecstatic praises of their marvellous good fortune.
“'Tis worth a life's ransom, for never until now hath mortal being been
blessed with such a magnificent opportunity for taking notes and drawing
deductions which--”
The professor nimbly ducked his head to dodge a ragged splinter of
freshly torn wood which came whistling past, cast far away from the
tornado proper by those erratic winds. And at the same instant the
machine itself recoiled, shivering and creaking in all its cunning
joints under a gust of wind which seemed composed of both ice and fire.
“Oh, I say!” gasped Waldo, when he could rally from the sudden blow.
“Turn the old thing the other way, uncle Phaeton, and let's go look
for--well, almost anything's better than this old cyclone!”
“Tornado, lad,” swiftly corrected the man of precision, leaning far
forward, and gazing enthralled upon the vision which fairly thrilled
his heart to its very centre. “Never again may we have such another
opportunity for making--”
They were now directly in the rear of the storm, and as the air-ship
headed across that track of destruction, it gave a drunken stagger,
casting down its inmates, from whose parching lips burst cries of
varying import.
“Air! I'm choking!” gasped Bruno, tearing open his shirt-collar with a
spasmodic motion.
“Hold me fast!” echoed Waldo, clinging desperately to the life-line.
“It's drawing me--into the--ah!”
Even the professor gave certain symptoms of alarm for that moment,
but then the danger seemed past as the ship darted fairly across the
storm-trail, hovering to the east of that aerial phantom.
There was no difficulty in filling their lungs now, and once more
Professor Featherwit headed the flying-machine directly for the
balloon-shaped cloud, modulating its pace so as to maintain their
relative position fairly well.
“Take note how it progresses,--by fits and starts, as it were,” observed
Featherwit, now in his glory, eyes asparkle and muscles aquiver, hair
bristling as though full of electricity, face glowing with almost
painful interest, as those shifting scenes were for ever imprinted upon
his brain.
“Sort of a hop, step, and jump, and that's a fact,” agreed Waldo, now a
bit more at his ease since that awful sense of suffocation was lacking.
“I thought all cyclones--”
“Tornado, my DEAR boy!” expostulated the professor.
“I thought they all went in holy hurry, like they were sent for and
had mighty little time in which to get there. But this one,--see how it
stops to dance a jig and bore holes in the earth!”
“Another exception to the general rule, which is as you say,” admitted
the professor. “Different tornadoes have been timed as moving from
twelve to seventy miles an hour, one passing a given point in half a
score of seconds, at another time being registered as fully half an hour
in clearing a single section.
“Take the destructive storm at Mount Carmel, Illinois, in June of '77.
That made progress at the rate of thirty-four miles an hour, yet its
force was so mighty that it tore away the spire, vane, and heavy gilded
ball of the Methodist church, and kept it in air over a distance of
fifteen miles.
“Still later was the Texas tornado, doing its awful work at the rate of
more than sixty miles an hour; while that which swept through Frankfort,
Kansas, on May 17, 1896, was fully a half-hour in crossing a half-mile
stretch of bottom-land adjoining the Vermillion River, pausing in its
dizzy waltz upon a single spot for long minutes at a time.”
“Couldn't have been much left when it got through dancing, if that
storm was anything like this one,” declared Waldo, shivering a bit as
he watched the awful destruction being wrought right before their
fascinated eyes.
Trees were twisted off and doubled up like blades of dry grass. Mighty
rocks were torn apart from the rugged hills, and huge boulders were
tossed into air as though composed of paper. And over all ascended
the horrid roar of ruin beyond description, while from that misshapen
balloon-cloud, with its flattened top, the electric fluid shone and
flashed, now in great sheets as of flame, then in vicious spurts and
darts as though innumerable snakes of fire had been turned loose by the
winds.
Still the aerial demon bored its almost sluggish course straight towards
the northwest, in this, as in all else, seemingly bent on proving itself
the exception to all exceptions as Professor Featherwit declared.
The savant himself was now in his glory, holding the tiller between arm
and side, the better to manipulate his hand-camera, with which he was
taking repeated snap-shots for future development and reference.
Truly, as he more than once declared, mortal man never had, nor mortal
man ever would have, such a glorious opportunity for recording the
varying phases of nature in travail as was now vouchsafed themselves.
“Just think of it, lads!” he cried, almost beside himself with
enthusiasm. “This alone will be sufficient to carry our names ringing
through all time down the corridors of undying fame! This alone would be
more than enough to--Look pleasant, please!”
In spite of that awful vision so perilously close before them, and the
natural uncertainty which attended such a reckless venture, Waldo could
not repress a chuckle at that comical conclusion, so frequently used
towards himself when their uncle was coaxing them to pose before his pet
camera.
“Is it--surely this is not safe, uncle Phaeton?” ventured Bruno, as
another retrograde gust of air smote their apparently frail conveyance
with sudden force.
“Let's call it a day's work, and knock off,” chimed in Waldo. “If
the blamed thing should take a notion to balk, and rear back on its
haunches, where'd we come out at?”
Professor Featherwit made an impatient gesture by way of answer. Speech
just then would have been worse than useless, for that tremendous
roaring, crashing, thundering of all sounds, seemed to fall back and
envelop the air-ship as with a pall.
A shower of sand and fine debris poured over and around them, filling
ears and mouths, and blinding eyes for the moment, forcing the brothers
closer to the floor of the aerostat, and even compelling the eager
professor to remit his taking of notes for future generations.
Then, thin and reed-like, yet serving to pierce that temporary obscurity
and horrible jangle of outer sounds, came the voice of their relative:
“Fear not, my children! The Lord is our shield, and so long as he
willeth, just so long shall we--Ha! didn't I tell ye so?”
For the blinding veil was torn away, and once again the trio of
adventurers might watch yonder grandly awesome march of devastation.
“Heading direct for the Olympics!” declared Professor Featherwit,
digging the sand out of his eyes and striving to clean his glasses
without removing them, clinging to tiller and camera through all. “What
a grand and glorious guide 'twould be for us!”
“If we could only hitch on--like a tin can to the tail of a dog!”
suggested Waldo, with boyish sarcasm. “Not any of that in mine, thank
you! I can wait. No such mighty rush. No,--SIR!”
There came no answer to his words, for just then that swooping air-demon
turned to vivid fire, lightning playing back and forth, from side
to side, in every conceivable direction, until in spite of the broad
daylight its glory pained those watching eyes.
“Did you ever witness the like!” awesomely cried Bruno, gazing like one
fascinated. “Who could or would ever believe all that, even if tongue
were able to portray its wondrous beauty?”
“What a place that would be for popping corn!” contributed Waldo,
practical or nothing, even under such peculiar circumstances. “If I had
to play poppy, though, I'd want a precious long handle to the concern!”
More intensely interested than ever, Professor Featherwit plied his
shutter, taking shot after shot at yonder aerial phenomena, feeling that
future generations would surely rise up to call him blessed when the
results of his experiments were once fairly spread before the world.
And hence it came to pass that still more thrilling experiences came
unto these daring navigators of space, and that almost before one or the
other of them could fairly realise that greater danger really menaced
both their air-ship and their lives.
Another whirly-gust of sand and other debris assailed the
flying-machine, and while sight was thus rendered almost useless for
the time being, the aerostat began to sway and reel from side to side,
shivering as though caught by an irresistible power, yet against which
it battled as though instinct with life and brain-power.
Once again the adventurers found it difficult to breathe, while an
unseen power seemed pressing them to that floor as though--Thank heaven!
Just as before, that cloud was swept away, and again air came to fill
those painfully oppressed lungs. Once again the trio cleared their eyes
and stared about, only to utter simultaneous cries of alarm.
For, brief though that period of blindness had been, 'twas amply
sufficient to carry the aeromotor perilously near yonder storm-centre,
and though Professor Featherwit gripped hard his tiller, trying all he
knew to turn the air-ship for a safer quarter,-'twas all in vain!
“Haste,--make haste, uncle Phaeton!” hoarsely panted Bruno, leaning to
aid the professor. “We will be sucked in and--hasten, for life!”
“I can't,--we're already--in the--suction!”