IN DANGER OF THE SEA
Bob drew a deep breath and dropped down beside his companion. For several
minutes they sat silent, each staring stonily into the other’s white
face. At last the boy murmured huskily:
“Fitz, are the feathers es—escaping very fast? Can’t we do something to
stop the leak?”
The goblin shook his head.
“Not very fast,” he said slowly, moistening his dry lips by rubbing them
together, “just one at a time.”
“Is the rip in the bag a very big one?”
“No.”
Bob brightened.
“Couldn’t we climb up some way and fix it?” he inquired.
The goblin gave a negative shake of the head.
“No,” he replied, “it’s ’way up near the top of the bag.”
“Well, what’re we going to do, Fitz?”
“There’s nothing we _can_ do, Bob. The feathers are escaping—one now and
then; and, little by little, the balloon will lose its buoyancy and sink
into the sea. We’re lost!”
“Look here, Fitz,” Bob cried sharply. “Surely you’re not going to give up
that way. I didn’t think it of you. There must be something we can do to
save ourselves.”
The goblin dropped his chin upon his breast and, rolling his head,
muttered: “Nothing!”
“But,” the lad persisted, “we _must_ do something. There’s a little air
still left in the tank, and when we sink too low we can let that out, and
rise again. If we sail as fast as we can, can’t we cross the ocean before
we drop into it?”
Fitz Mee leaped to his feet like one electrified.
“Thank you, Bob—thank you!” he cried, grasping his companion’s hand.
“You’ve given me hope. We’ll try your project; and if we lose, we’ll have
the satisfaction of knowing we died trying!” And he set his jaws with a
resolute snap.
“I can’t see where there’ll be much satisfaction in that for us—after
we’re dead,” the lad muttered under his breath.
The goblin hurried to the selector, and gradually turned the thumb-screw
until the machine was wide open—the current was all on.
The balloon instantly responded, and began to fly through the air at
a speed little short of miraculous; its two occupants had to throw
themselves prostrate and cling to the locker for safety. The still
summer air appeared to be blowing a hurricane; the placid, heaving ocean
appeared to be racing toward the west, a foaming, tossing torrent. One
by one, a few each minute, the feathers escaped through the rent in the
striped bag; and foot by foot, very slowly and very surely, the aërial
vehicle yielded to the overmastering power of gravitation.
On, on and on they sped, reeling off miles as a watch ticks off seconds.
Neither the boy nor the goblin found anything to say. Both fully realized
that they were running a race with death, and the knowledge awed them to
silence.
The noon hour came, and still they were flying like mad, due east.
Fitz cautiously lifted his head, put the binocular to his eyes, and
looked away toward the south.
“There’s the Azores,” he said, shouting in order to make himself heard,
his tone expressing relief and satisfaction.
“The Azores?” Bob bellowed in reply.
“Yes—the islands.”
“Oh!”
“Yes; we’re making good time.”
“Well, hadn’t we better stop there?”
“No.”
“We’re only a few hundred feet above the water.”
The goblin shook his big head in a decided negative.
“Why not?” the boy insisted.
“I’m afraid to stop there.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes; I’m afraid there’s no geese on those islands.”
“Geese?”
“Yes, we’ve got to have goose feathers to refill our balloon bag.”
“Oh, I see! Well, what’re you going to try to do, Fitz?”
“Going to try to make the coast of Portugal. We’ll find geese there.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes; Portuguese.”
And Fitz Mee laughed at his own pun until his fat face became purple and
his breath came and went in wheezing gasps.
“Oh, shut up!” Bob cried angrily. “This is no time to be laughing.”
“Laughing will do just as much good as crying, Bob,” Fitz made answer,
but instantly sobering. “I believe we’ll come out all right. There
_are_ geese in Portugal; and I think we’ll be able to make the coast of
that country. We’re making good time; and we’ve not had to exhaust the
air-tank yet. We’ll drive ahead and hope for the best.”
One hour, two hours, three hours passed. The balloon descended so low
that the car threatened to dip into the waves. The goblin released the
remaining air in the tank, and again they soared aloft, but only a few
hundred feet. Another hour and again they were dangerously near to the
water.
Bob cried: “Why Fitz, the sun’s ’most down! This has been an awful short
afternoon.”
[Illustration]
“Yes,” the goblin nodded, “and the forenoon was short, too. You must
remember we’re moving east very rapidly—running away from the sun,
running to meet the night. It’ll be dark soon. I wish we’d sight the
coast; it seems to me it’s about time we were doing so.”
“What’s that wavy blue line ahead of us?” Bob inquired.
“I don’t see anything,” Fitz answered.
“I do,” the boy insisted positively. “Give me the glass.”
“It must be land, then,” the goblin suggested.
“It _is_ land!” Bob cried joyfully. “We’re going to be all right, Fitz.”
“I—I hope so,” Fitz made answer; “I hope we’ll make it.”
Warned by his companion’s tone and manner that danger was imminent, the
lad jerked the binocular from his eyes and dropped his gaze to the ocean.
One glance was sufficient; the car was threatening to dip into the water
at any moment.
“Oh, Fitz!” the boy wailed. “What are we to do?”
“I don’t know!” Fitz whimpered, wringing his hands and wriggling about
upon the locker. “We can’t do anything—oh, we can’t do anything! We’re
lost—lost!”
“Look here, Fitz Mee, you old Convulsions!” Bob cried angrily. “You got
me into this thing; now you’ve got to help get me out. Wake up! You’re
playing the baby. And you called me a coward! You’re the coward! Wake
up!” roughly shaking him, “We’ve got to throw something overboard; and
I’ll throw _you_, in about a minute.”
Just then the car hit the water a glancing spat that threw a blinding
cloud of brine over the two aëronauts. The balloon rebounded from the
impact and continued its mad speed.
“Whee!” screamed Fitz Mee. “You’re right, Bob. We must lighten the
balloon some way; one more lick like that will tear the car loose from
the bag. Raise the lids of the locker, and throw out a lot of the old
stuff we won’t need.”
Frantically they began to lighten ship, flinging into the sea odds and
ends of various kinds—the accumulation of many voyages. It availed
them little, however; the balloon ascended but a few feet, and skimmed
dangerously near to the water, into which it threatened to take a final
plunge at any moment.
Now the coast line was plainly visible to the naked eye; and now it
was but a few miles away, the hills and rocks standing out distinctly.
Yet how far off it seemed to the despairing aëronauts! Neither spoke;
each held his breath and his tongue, expecting to have to make a final
struggle and swim for life.
Lower and lower sank the balloon. Once more the car spatted the water,
and this time it did not rebound, but went tearing along at railroad
speed, deluging and almost drowning its occupants. For a few minutes the
two lost all sense of their surroundings, nearly lost consciousness.
Then the car struck the shelving, sandy shore with a smart bump, and the
balloon came to a full stop. The wild and dangerous ride was over!
“Saved!” sputtered Fitz Mee, jumping from the car and dancing up and down.
“Saved!” coughed Bob, indulging in similar antics.
Then they tearfully embraced, whirling round and round, their saturated
garments dripping a circle of wet upon the yellow sands.
The sun was gone from sight; the shades of night were stealing in upon
them.
“We can’t do anything to-night toward resuming our voyage,” the goblin
remarked; “it’s almost dark now. Then you’re wet and weak and I’m
famished and faint. We’ll spend the hours of darkness here upon the warm
sands, and in the morning we’ll look around us.”
“All right,” the boy agreed; “I guess that’s the best we can do.”
By dint of a deal of tugging and grunting, they drew the balloon up out
of reach of wave and tide. Then they wrung their garments, swallowed a
number of food-tablets and drink-pellets and lay down to sleep under the
shelter of an overhanging cliff.
The sun was an hour high when they awoke. Simultaneously they opened
their eyes and sprang to their feet. Sleep had much refreshed them; the
warm air and sand had dried their garments. After partaking of a hearty
but hasty breakfast, they began to look around them.
At their feet lay their balloon, a sorry wreck. But close examination
made plain the fact that it could be easily repaired and put in shape. A
short distance to the north a river put into the sea. They sauntered to
the mouth of it, and took in the view of the broad fertile valley. A mile
or two up the stream lay a small village.
“I’ll tell you what we’ve got to do, Bob,” Fitz remarked reflectively,
scratching his head.
“Well, what?” inquired the boy.
“We’ve got to go into that town.”
“What for?”
“For cord and goose feathers. We need the cord to splice the broken ropes
of our car, and we need the feathers to refill our bag.”
“Yes,” the lad mumbled, “we need those articles all right, Fitz; but
maybe the people of the village don’t have such things.”
“Of course they do,” the goblin sneered superiorly.
“How do you know?” the boy said tauntingly.
“Well, I know.”
“No, you don’t; you just guess.”
“A goblin never guesses at anything.”
“I guess he does; you guessed we’d get drowned—but we didn’t.”
“Shut up!”
“_You_ shut up!”
“I won’t!”
“Neither will I!”
Then they stood and silently glared at each other for a full half minute.
Finally both began to look foolish, and burst out laughing.
“Fitz, you’re too hot-headed, you old Epilepsy,” Bob giggled.
“I know it,” tittered the goblin; “but so are you, Roberty-Boberty.”
“I know it,” the boy admitted; “but I can’t stay mad at you, Fitz.”
“I can’t stay mad at you, either, Bob. Now let’s stop our foolishness and
go to that village, and see about the cord and feathers we need.”
“All right. But how are we to get the things, Fitz? Have you any money?”
“I’ve got gold; that’s just as good.”
“Gold?”
“Yes. Look here.”
The goblin took a bag of yellow nuggets from his pocket and emptied them
out and shook them before the boy’s eyes.
“Is that gold?” Bob inquired, interested and not a little excited.
“Yes, to be sure,” Fitz Mee answered.
“Where did you get it?”
“In Goblinland.”
“Is there much of it there?”
“Bushels of it. These nuggets are as common there as pebbles are in your
country.”
“Indeed!” the lad exclaimed, in wide-eyed wonder and admiration. “You
goblins must be mighty rich.”
“We don’t put any value upon gold,” was the complacent reply; “we never
use it at home.”
Bob was thoughtfully silent for some seconds.
“What’re you thinking about?” his companion inquired with a shrewd and
cunning smile.
“Thinking how rich I can be when I go back home,” was the a frank
admission. Then abruptly: “What’s that coming down the road yonder, Fitz?”
[Illustration]
“Hello!” the goblin ejaculated delightedly. “We won’t have to tramp to
the village. That’s a gooseherd. See; he has the geese tethered together
with twine and is guiding them with a crook. We’ll wait here and buy them
of him.”
The gooseherd and his flock drew near. He was a tall, angular young man,
ragged and barefoot. His merry whistle rose above the strident quacks of
his charges, and his flat feet softly spatted the dust of the highway in
time to his own music.
Fitz Mee stepped forward, politely lifted his cap and said in greeting:
“Good morning, Sir Gooseherd.”
The young man stopped in his tracks and dropped his crook and his jaw at
the same time. Plainly he was startled at the sudden appearance of the
little green sprite and his companion, and just as plainly he was greatly
frightened.
“We desire to purchase your geese,” the goblin ventured, boldly
advancing. “How much gold will buy them?”
The gooseherd let out a shrill yell of terror and turned and fled up the
road as fast as his long legs could carry him. The geese attempted to
flee also, but, being tethered together, became hopelessly and helplessly
entangled and fell to the ground, a flapping, quacking mass.
Bob and Fitz laughed heartily.
“Hurrah!” the goblin whooped. “The geese and cord are ours, anyhow.”
“But we didn’t pay the fellow,” Bob objected.
“I’ll fix that,” his comrade assured him. “When we’ve plucked the
feathers off the geese, I’ll tie the bag of nuggets around the neck of
one, and then we’ll turn ’em loose. The young fellow’ll find ’em and get
the gold. And now we must hurry up and get through with this job and be
off from this coast; the gooseherd may come back and bring his friends
with him.”
The two diminutive aëronauts laboriously disentangled the geese and
drove them to the immediate vicinity of the wrecked balloon. There they
plucked the feathers off the quacking, quaking fowls, and refilled the
balloon-bag and closed the rent. Then they turned the stripped and
complaining birds loose, one meekly bearing the bag of gold; and finally
they spliced the broken ropes of the car and were ready to resume their
voyage.
“Jump in and pump up the tank a little, Bob,” Fitz cried joyfully. “I’ll
be ready to weigh anchor when you say the word.”
But at that moment came the patter of many feet upon the dry sand,
followed by a shower of clubs and stones that rattled about the car and
the heads of its occupants, and instantly the balloon was surrounded by a
crowd of gaping, leering villagers!
“Captured!” groaned Fitz Mee.
“Captured!” echoed Bob.
The villagers began to close in upon them, brandishing rude weapons and
uttering hoarse cries of rage.
In sheer desperation the goblin squirmed and grimaced, and ended his
ridiculous performance by uttering a blood-curdling “boo!”
The startled villagers fell back in indecision and alarm, tumbling over
one another in frantic efforts to get out of reach of the little green
sprite. Taking instant advantage of the respite, Bob whipped out his
knife and cut the anchor rope, and with a smart jerk the balloon sprang
aloft.
“Saved!” murmured the boy. “Saved, Fitz Mee!”
He received no answer; and he hurriedly turned to look for his companion
who, a moment before, had been at his side. Then he sank back upon the
locker, overcome with wonder and dismay. Fitz Mee was not in the car; Bob
was alone!