AN ACCIDENT
For a few moments it seemed as if the Falcon would surely turn turtle
and plunge into the seething ocean. The storm had burst with such
suddenness that Tom, who was piloting his air craft, was taken
unawares. He had not been using much power or the airship would have
been better able to weather the blast that burst with such fury over
her. But as it was, merely drifting along, she was almost like a great
sheet of paper. Down she was forced, until the high-flying spray from
the waves actually wet the lower part of the car, and Ned, looking
through one of the glass windows, saw, in the darkness, the
phosphorescent gleam of the water so near to them.
"Tom!" he cried in alarm. "We're sinking!"
"Bless my bath sponge! Don't say that!" gasped Mr. Damon.
"That's why I called you," yelled the young inventor. "We've got to
rise above the storm if possible. Go to the gas machine, Ned, and turn
it on full strength. I'll speed up the motor, and we may be able to cut
up that way. But get the gas on as soon as you can. The bag is only
about half full. Force in all you can!
"Mr. Damon, can you take the wheel? It doesn't make any difference
which way we go as long as you keep her before the wind, and yank back
the elevating rudder as far as she'll go! We must head up."
"All right, Tom," answered the eccentric man, as he fairly jumped to
take the place of the young inventor at the helm.
"Can I do anything?" asked the Russian, as Tom raced for the engine
room, to speed the motor up to the last notch.
"I guess not. Everything is covered, unless you want to help Mr. Damon.
In this blow it will be hard to work the rudder levers."
"All right," replied Ivan Petrofsky, and then there came another
sickening roll of the airship, that threatened to turn her completely
over.
"Lively!" yelled Tom, clinging to various supports as he made his way
to the engine room. "Lively, all hands, or we'll be awash in another
minute!"
And indeed it seemed that this might be so, for with the wind forcing
her down, and the hungry waves leaping up, as if to clutch her to
themselves, the Falcon was having anything but an easy time of it.
It was the work of but an instant however, when Tom reached the engine
room, to jerk the accelerator lever toward him, and the motor responded
at once. With a low, humming whine the wheels and gears redoubled their
speed, and the great propellers beat the air with fiercer strokes.
At the same time Tom heard the hiss of the gas as it rushed into the
envelope from the generating machine, as Ned opened the release valve.
"Now we ought to go up," the young inventor murmured, as he anxiously
watched the barograph, and noted the position of the swinging pendulum
which told of the roll and dip of the air craft.
For a moment she hung in the balance, neither the increased speed of
the propellers, nor the force of the gas having any seeming effect. Mr.
Damon and the Russian, clinging to the rudder levers, to avoid being
dashed against the sides of the pilot house, held them as far back as
they could, to gain the full power of the elevation planes. But even
this seemed to do no good.
The power of the gale was such, that, even with the motor and gas
machine working to their limit, the Falcon only held her own. She swept
along, barely missing the crests of the giant waves.
"She's got to go up! She's got to go up!" cried Tom desperately, as if
by very will power he could send her aloft. And then, when there came a
lull in the fierce blowing of the wind, the elevation rudder took hold,
and like a bird that sees the danger below, and flies toward the
clouds, the airship shot up suddenly.
"That's it!" cried Tom in relief, as he noted the needle of the
barograph swinging over, indicating an ever-increasing height. "Now
we're safe."
They were not quite yet, but at last the power of machinery had
prevailed over that of the elements. Through the pelting rain, and amid
the glare of the lightning, and the thunder of heaven's artillery, the
airship forced her way, up and up and up.
Setting the motor controller to give the maximum power until he
released it, Tom hastened to the gas-generating apparatus. He found Ned
attending to it, so that it was now working satisfactorily.
"How about it, Tom?" cried his chum anxiously.
"All right now, Ned, but it was a close shave! I thought we were done
for, platinum mine, rescue of exiles, and all."
"So did I. Shall I keep on with the gas?"
"Yes, until the indicator shows that the bag is full. I'm going to the
pilot house."
Running there, Tom found that Mr. Damon and the Russian had about all
they could manage. The young inventor helped them and then, when the
Falcon was well started on her upward course, Tom set the automatic
steering machine, and they had a breathing spell.
To get above the sweep of the blast was no easy task, for the wind
strata seemed to be several miles high, and Tom did not want to risk an
accident by going to such an elevation. So, when having gone up about a
mile, he found a comparatively calm area he held to that, and the
Falcon sped along with the occupants feeling fairly comfortable, for
there was no longer that rolling and tumbling motion.
The storm kept up all night, but the danger was practically over,
unless something should happen to the machinery, and Tom and Ned kept
careful watch to prevent this. In the morning they could look down on
the storm-swept ocean below them, and there was a feeling of
thankfulness in their hearts that they were not engulfed in it.
"This is a pretty hard initiation for an amateur," remarked Mr.
Petrofsky. "I never imagined I should be as brave as this in an airship
in a storm."
"Oh, you can get used to almost anything," commented Mr. Damon.
It was three days before the storm blew itself out and then came
pleasant weather, during which the Falcon flew rapidly along. Our
friends busied themselves about many things, talked of what lay before
them, and made such plans as they could.
It was the evening of the fifth day, and they expected to sight the
coast of France in the morning. Tom was in the pilot house, setting the
course for the night run, and Ned had gone to the engine room to look
after the oiling of the motor.
Hardly had he reached the compartment than there was a loud report, a
brilliant flash of fire, and the machinery stopped dead.
"What is it?" cried Tom, as he came in on the run, for the indicators
in the pilot house had told him something was wrong.
"An accident!" cried Ned. "A breakdown, Tom! What shall we do?"