THE DRIFTING BOAT
“Queer yarn that sailor told; wasn’t it,” remarked Ned, when the _Comet_
had soared aloft, leaving the wreck of the _Hassen_ below on the
heaving billows.
“It was that,” agreed Jerry, “but it’s mighty lucky we found the ship,
and met him. Otherwise we wouldn’t have known where to look for the
small boat.”
“As it is it’s going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack,”
commented Bob. “I don’t believe we’ll ever find them. Or, if we do, it
will be--too late!”
“Quit giving us such a correct imitation of gloom and despair,”
exclaimed Jerry. “Go cook something, Chunky, and you’ll feel better.”
“I guess I will,” agreed the stout lad, with a smile. “I’m hungry.”
“So am I,” admitted Ned. “We all are. Get up a good meal, Chunky. It
will do us all good!”
It was getting late in the afternoon, for they had spent more time
aboard the wreck than they realized. Now they were on the go once more,
seeking the small boat containing Mr. Sheldon and his daughter.
Off to the eastward sailed the _Comet_ in the direction indicated by
the lone sailor. Jerry kept his craft far enough down so that there
would be no chance of missing the boat. But from her position in the
air, those aboard the _Comet_ could easily see even a small object
on the surface of the sea, and thus, in this search, the boys would
have an advantage over a water craft, for the range of vision of those
aboard such a vessel is comparatively limited.
Jerry sent the motorship about in ever-increasing circles, and the eyes
of one or another of the boys were constantly directed downward. They
would take no chances of missing the small boat.
“Grub’s ready!” called Bob. “Shall I bring yours to the pilot house,
Jerry?”
“No, I guess we all might as well sit down at the table and eat in
comfort.”
“But we may miss the boat,” objected the stout lad.
“I’ll start the gas machine, and we’ll stay as nearly as we can in one
place until after we’ve eaten,” said Jerry. “If the boat drifts within
range we can easily see it through the glass floor. I’ll work the
propellers just enough against the wind to hold us almost stationary.
Get busy on the gas generator, Ned.”
Soon a hissing in the motor room told them that the powerful vapor was
being made. It would soon fill the lifting-bags, and the _Comet_ could
then navigate as a dirigible balloon.
Until such time, however, Jerry kept her going as an aeroplane,
watching below for any small boat.
“It will soon be dark,” Ned remarked.
“Then we’ll start the searchlight,” answered Jerry. “How about the gas?”
“I guess we’ve got pressure enough.”
“Then fill the containers. I’m anxious to get at some of Chunky’s grub.”
In a short time the airship floated almost motionless above the sea,
the propellers moving just enough to overcome the slight wind. Then,
needing no attention on the part of the boys, the _Comet_ could look
after herself while our friends ate.
“Say, this is all to the horse radish!” cried Ned, as he tasted
something which Bob put on his plate. “What is it?”
“Fried chicken,” answered the stout youth. “Glad you like it. It’s only
canned, of course, but I seasoned it up, and----”
“It’s dandy!” interrupted Jerry. “Got plenty of it, Chunky, my boy?”
“You needn’t ever ask Bob that,” mumbled Ned, with his mouth full.
“You can always trust him to cook enough. He’s thinking of himself.”
“Thanks,” returned the amateur cook.
With occasional glances through the glass floor of the dining cabin,
the boys finished their meal. They felt much better after it, and,
strangely enough, more hopeful.
It is wonderful how a satisfied appetite can make a person feel less
gloomy. While before dinner something may seem impossible of execution,
after a good meal difficulties vanish as if by magic.
It was so with the motor boys. Of course there was a certain element of
luck, or chance, in their quest, as there is in anything in this world,
but after Bob’s fine spread they felt that luck was going to be even
more with them in the future than it had been in the past.
“Are you going to navigate to-night, or just drift about, Jerry?” asked
Ned, as the tall lad went to the pilot house.
“I think we’ll drift. If we sail we might lose too much ground and have
to come back over it in the morning. If what the old sailor thought
was true--that Mr. Sheldon has no oars in his boat--he can’t make any
progress himself. He’ll just have to drift about, at the mercy of the
wind and ocean currents.
“Now the wind that blows him will also blow us, so we will be able
to go in the same direction. Of course we can’t count on the ocean
currents, but we’ll just have to take a chance on them. So I think
we’ll keep ourselves up as a dirigible balloon, and only use the
propellers if we find the wind is getting too strong for us.”
Jerry’s chums agreed with this line of reasoning. There was no need to
appeal to Professor Snodgrass. He was interested only in his collection
of bugs, and unless there was actual need of his services he seldom
took any share in navigating the _Comet_. Just then he was busy trying
to capture a little hopping insect he had seen on the deck.
“Look out!” suddenly cried Ned, as he saw the little scientist make a
grab for the bug in question. This was on the after deck, around which
was only a light railing, with spaces here and there to minimize the
air pressure. The spaces were large enough for a man to slip through,
and the professor was in imminent danger of doing this as he made a
dart for the specimen.
Ned, alive to the risk Mr. Snodgrass was taking, slid toward him,
and grabbed him by the feet. It was only just in time, too, for the
professor might easily have gone overboard, falling a thousand feet
into the sea below.
“Ah, I have him! The beauty!” cried the little bald-headed man, as he
peered between his fingers at something held in his hand. “I have the
prize!”
“And I have you!” panted Ned. “Do you realize that you nearly went
overboard?”
“No! Did I really?” asked Mr. Snodgrass. “It was very good of you to
catch me. I just couldn’t let that prize get away. It is a very rare
specimen of a pink flea.”
“Gracious!” cried Jerry, who had run out of the pilot house on hearing
Ned’s cry. “I hope there aren’t any more aboard!”
“I wish I could get half a dozen,” said the professor, as he rose from
the deck. “I could sell them to various museums for a good sum.”
“Well, if you take many more chances like that,” said Ned with a laugh,
“you’ll never get any more specimens--not even the hermit crabs you’re
after.”
“Oh, I’ll be careful,” promised the scientist. “I do hope I can get
those crabs. Do you think you boys will be able to manage a submarine
when this trip is over?”
“We’ll see,” said Jerry, non-committally.
They cruised about a little longer, and then, as darkness came on,
the big search-light was set aglow, making a white illumination on
the surface of the sea. Jerry let the airship sink lower now, for he
realized that to pick up a small boat during the night would be no easy
task. They divided the night into watches, as one boy could easily do
all that was required to the motors and engines, and, at the same time,
keep watch out below.
The night passed without incident, save that the wind sprang up about
three o’clock, making it necessary to work the propellers at a higher
rate of speed to overcome the air currents. Then morning dawned, but
there was no sight, on the heaving sea, of the small boat they sought.
The wreck of the _Hassen_ had also disappeared below the horizon.
“And as for that submarine,” said Bob, “I guess that has gone back to
Germany.”
“You see how groundless your fears were about her attacking the vessel
your uncle was on,” spoke Ned. “You’re almost as bad as Andy Rush,
Chunky.”
“Not quite,” said Jerry, with a laugh, defending his stout chum.
After breakfast they again started circling about, trying to locate the
small boat. Every minute was precious now, for they all realized that
Mr. Sheldon and his daughter might be suffering greatly from lack of
food and water. They had been in the open boat for some time.
Noon came, and still no success.
“It doesn’t look very hopeful,” said Bob, with a sigh he could not hide.
“Oh, we’re not going to give up yet,” declared Jerry with a confidence
he did not altogether feel. “We’ve got plenty of time yet to find them.”
The afternoon was wearing away. It looked as though the motor boys
would have to spend another night floating above the sea.
Jerry, who was alone in the pilot house, called to Ned:
“I say, old fellow, come here a minute. I see something, but I’ve been
staring at it so long that my eyes are swimming. Take a look and see
what you make of it.”
Ned, with repressed excitement, looked to where his chum pointed. Then
he took an observation through a powerful glass.
“It’s a small boat, all right,” he spoke finally, in a low voice, “and
it’s drifting about. But whether it’s the one we are looking for is
another question.”
“We’ll soon see,” returned Jerry, almost in a whisper. Then he speeded
up the motor and headed the _Comet_ for that small speck on the great
ocean.