A NIGHT OF TERROR
After the first shock of Tom's announcement, the two men, who were
traveling with him in the airship, showed no signs of fear. Yet it
was alarming to know that one was speeding over the mighty ocean,
before a terrific gale, with nothing more substantial under one that
a comparatively frail airship.
Still Mr. Damon knew Tom of old, and had confidence in his ability,
and, while Mr. Fenwick was not so well acquainted with our hero, he
had heard much about him, and put faith in his skill to carry them
out of their present difficulty.
"Are you sure you can't turn around and go back?" asked Mr. Fenwick.
His knowledge of air-currents was rather limited.
"It is out of the question," replied Tom, simply. "We would surely
rip this craft to pieces if we attempted to buffet this storm."
"Is it so bad, then?" asked Mr. Damon, forgetting to bless anything
in the tense excitement of the moment.
"It might be worse," was the reply of the young inventor. "The wind
is blowing about eighty miles an hour at times, and to try to turn
now would mean that we would tear the planes loose from the ship.
True, we could still keep up by means of the gas bag, but even that
might be injured. Going as we are, in the same direction as that in
which the wind is blowing, we do not feel the full effect of it."
"But, perhaps, if we went lower down, or higher up, we could get in
a different current of air," suggested Mr. Fenwick, who had made
some study of aeronautics.
"I'll try," assented Tom, simply. He shifted the elevating rudder,
and the WHIZZER began to go up, slowly, for there was great lateral
pressure on her large surface. But Tom knew his business, and urged
the craft steadily. The powerful electric engines, which were the
invention of Mr. Fenwick, stood them in good stead, and the
barograph soon showed that they were steadily mounting.
"Is the wind pressure any less?" inquired Mr. Damon, anxiously.
"On the contrary, it seems to be increasing," replied Tom, with a
glance at the anemometer. "It's nearly ninety miles an hour now."
"Then, aided by the propellers, we must be making over a hundred
miles an hour." said the inventor.
"We are,--a hundred and thirty," assented Tom.
"We'll be blown across the ocean at this rate," exclaimed Mr. Damon.
"Bless my soul! I didn't count on that."
"Perhaps we had better go down," suggested Mr. Fenwick. "I don't
believe we can get above the gale."
"I'm afraid not," came from Tom. "It may be a bit better down
below."
Accordingly, the rudder was changed, and the WHIZZER pointed her
nose downward. None of the lifting gas was let out, as it was
desired to save that for emergencies.
Down, down, down, went the great airship, until the adventurers
within, by gazing through the plate glass window in the floor of the
cabin, could see the heaving, white-capped billows, tossing and
tumbling below them.
"Look out, or we'll be into them!" shouted Mr. Damon.
"I guess we may as well go back to the level where we were,"
declared Tom. "The wind, both above and below that particular strata
is stronger, and we will be safer up above. Our only chance is to
scud before it, until it has blown itself out. And I hope it will be
soon."
"Why?" asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice.
"Because we may be blown so far that we can not get back while our
power holds out, and then--" Tom did not finish, but Mr. Damon knew
what he meant--death in the tossing ocean, far from land, when the
WHIZZER, unable to float in the air any longer, should drop into the
storm-enraged Atlantic.
They were again on a level, where the gale blew less furiously than
either above or below, but this was not much relief. It seemed as if
the airship would go to pieces, so much was it swayed and tossed
about. But Mr. Fenwick, if he had done nothing else, had made a
staunch craft, which stood the travelers in good stead.
All the rest of that day they swept on, at about the same speed.
There was nothing for them to do, save watch the machinery,
occasionally replenishing the oil tanks, or making minor
adjustments.
"Well," finally remarked Mr. Damon, when the afternoon was waning
away, "if there's nothing else to do, suppose we eat. Bless my
appetite, but I'm hungry! and I believe you said, Mr. Fenwick, that
you had plenty of food aboard."
"So we have, but the excitement of being blown out to sea on our
first real trip, made me forget all about it. I'll get dinner at
once, if you can put up with an amateur's cooking."
"And I'll help," offered Mr. Damon. "Tom can attend to the airship,
and we'll serve the meals. It will take our minds off our troubles."
There was a well equipped kitchen aboard the WHIZZER and soon savory
odors were coming from it. In spite of the terror of their
situation, and it was not to be denied that they were in peril, they
all made a good meal, though it was difficult to drink coffee and
other liquids, owing to the sudden lurches which the airship gave
from time to time as the gale tossed her to and fro.
Night came, and, as the blackness settled down, the gale seemed to
increase in fury. It howled through the slender wire rigging of the
WHIZZER, and sent the craft careening from side to side, and
sometimes thrust her down into a cavern of the air, only to lift her
high again, almost like a ship on the heaving ocean below them.
As darkness settled in blacker and blacker, Tom had a glimpse below
him, of tossing lights on the water.
"We just passed over some vessel," he announced. "I hope they are in
no worse plight than we are." Then, there suddenly came to him a
thought of the parents of Mary Nestor, who were somewhere on the
ocean, in the yacht RESOLUTE bound for the West Indies.
"I wonder if they're out in this storm, too?" mused Tom. "If they
are, unless the vessel is a staunch one, they may be in danger."
The thought of the parents of the girl he cared so much for being in
peril, was not reassuring to Tom, and he began to busy himself about
the machinery of the airship, to take his mind from the presentiment
that something might happen to the RESOLUTE.
"We'll have our own troubles before morning," the lad mused, "if
this wind doesn't die down."
There was no indication that this was going to be the case, for the
gale increased rather than diminished. Tom looked at their speed
gage. They were making a good ninety miles an hour, for it had been
decided that it was best to keep the engine and propellers going, as
they steadied the ship.
"Ninety miles an hour," murmured Tom. "And we've been going at that
rate for ten hours now. That's nearly a thousand miles. We are quite
a distance out to sea."
He looked at a compass, and noted that, instead of being headed
directly across the Atlantic they were bearing in a southerly
direction.
"At this rate, we won't come far from getting to the West Indies
ourselves," reasoned the young inventor. "But I think the gale will
die away before morning."
The storm did not, however. More fiercely it blew through the hours
of darkness. It was a night of terror, for they dared not go to
sleep, not knowing at what moment the ship might turn turtle, or
even rend apart, and plunge with them into the depths of the sea.
So they sat up, occasionally attending to the machinery, and noting
the various gages. Mr. Damon made hot coffee, which they drank from
time to time, and it served to refresh them.
There came a sudden burst of fury from the storm, and the airship
rocked as if she was going over.
"Bless my heart!" cried Mr. Damon, springing up. "That was a close
call!"
Tom said nothing. Mr. Fenwick looked pale and alarmed.
The hours passed. They were swept ever onward, at about the same
speed, sometimes being whirled downward, and again tossed upward at
the will of the wind. The airship was well-nigh helpless, and Tom,
as he realized their position, could not repress a fear in his heart
as he thought of the parents of the girl he loved being tossed about
on the swirling ocean, in a frail pleasure yacht.