BUCKING A HURRICANE
WHAT at first seemed almost an impossible undertaking gradually became
less and less so as the days passed. So about a week after Tom Swift had
changed his plans and made what seemed a momentous decision, work was
resumed on the _Silver Cloud_ at almost doubled speed.
How the necessary money was raised, partly by straining credit to the
uttermost and partly by selling some valuable patents, and how
permission was finally squeezed out of Lawrence Jardine to sell at cost
price the necessary oralum plates needed to finish the craft—all this,
as Tom and Ned said afterward, seemed like part of a nightmare. They had
never worked harder in their lives.
But they were successful, and though Lawrence Jardine refused to lend
his name, money, or influence to the further completion of the big
dirigible, it was continued without his help—save his somewhat grudging
acquiescence to sell the oralum plates.
All this time not another word was heard from Martin Jardine nor the
grotesque dwarf who seemed like some uncanny familiar spirit of his.
They appeared to have dropped out of sight and hearing, and Tom did not
try to locate them.
“We’re well through with such folks,” he said to his chum.
“That’s right,” agreed Ned. “I’m glad your father and Mary are away from
here enjoying themselves. They’d be upset if they knew all we have gone
through.”
“I guess that’s right,” Tom assented wearily.
“How are they up at Mt. Camon?” asked Ned.
“All right. It’s pretty dry there. No rain at all.”
“The whole country is suffering from that,” observed Ned. “There have
been a number of small forest fires and there may be more.”
“I hope not!” exclaimed Tom. “If the woods around that hotel where Mary
and the folks are ever got to burning, nothing could put the blaze out.
I don’t like to think of it!”
“Then don’t,” advised Ned. “The fire wardens are on the watch and they
have plenty of help. Now about the notes we have to sign to get that
bank loan.”
“Oh, yes,” Tom replied. “Gosh! I hope I can finish that dirigible and
sell her, or get some money out of her. If I can’t, I’ll be bankrupt.
But this is about the last money we’ll need. I’ll have the craft
finished this day week.”
“Let’s hope so,” responded Ned. “We haven’t much credit left and the
cash is going fast. Maybe when you’ve made a successful trip, Uncle Sam
or one of the commercial companies will buy the _Silver Cloud_.”
“Maybe, is a slight foundation of hope on which to spend so much money.
Anyhow, we’ll soon give her a trial.”
It was decided not to finish the craft completely, that is, the cabin
accommodations for passengers would be omitted temporarily.
“What we’ll do,” said Tom, talking the matter over with Ned, “will be to
make it mechanically perfect. You and I and the crew can rough it on the
trial trip; I mean as to sleeping and eating. Later, if she behaves as I
hope she will, we may interest some capitalists and finish the
passengers’ cabins in _de luxe_ style for transoceanic travel.”
“Like the Zeppelins,” suggested Ned.
“That’s it. But now we’ll save all the money we can.”
In general, however, the original plans were carried out. The big all
metal envelope to hold the lifting gas was finished. The various motor
compartments were constructed within it and the powerful propellers,
thrust out here and there to get a grip on the air, alone showed the
motive power. By putting the motor gondolas inside the envelope much air
resistance was done away with. This was one of Tom’s original ideas.
The quarters for the crew were simply finished and those for the
navigating officers contained no luxuries. The young inventor said he
was willing to sleep on the floor of his cabin and eat off his lap to
save money for essentials.
Tom received a letter each day from his wife, telling of events at the
Mt. Camon hotel. More than once she asked when he was coming up for his
vacation. She said that Mrs. Lawrence Jardine and her children were
still at the place, and from the fact that Mary was friendly with her
Tom guessed that the wife of the head of the Jardine concern had been
discreet in not telling of the fiasco.
Tom wrote back that he would be up soon, but he did not tell Mary of a
daring plan he had in mind. This was to sail the _Silver Cloud_ over the
wooded mountain on top of which the hotel was perched.
“That is if I can get her to go,” Tom said to his chum.
“I never saw anything yet, from a motor cycle to a submarine, you
couldn’t get going if you tried hard enough,” returned Ned.
“Well, you can bet I’m going to try!” declared Tom Swift emphatically.
From then on there were days and nights of hard work on the big
dirigible. In a way, Tom Swift was glad of the Jardine episode since it
left him his own master and he could build the airship as he pleased
without the eccentric suggestions of Martin Jardine and the menace of
having the grotesque dwarf around.
“Huh!” exclaimed Koku when told that Chock would not return. “If him do
I bust him open same as Radicate bust watermelons!”
“That’s going some!” chuckled Tom.
So the work went on, hammer and tongs, tongs and hammer, until at last
the oralum envelope was completed and proved gas tight. The motors had
been tested and worked very well, but they would do better after a trial
spin, Tom said. The quarters for the crew, for Tom, Ned and the
executives of his plant, were roughly finished so they could be used,
and at last all was in readiness for a trial flight.
Great tanks of the new lifting gas had been charged in readiness, and
there was an apparatus aboard the _Silver Cloud_ for making more gas in
case of emergency.
“But one filling ought to last for ten thousand miles,” Tom declared to
Ned.
“How about food?” asked the young financial man the night before the day
set for the test when they were examining the ship and talking matters
over.
“We shan’t be in the air long enough for that,” Tom replied.
“Can’t tell. Might get stuck up there,” suggested Ned. “I’m going to ask
Mrs. Baggert to make some sandwiches.”
“All right. Now I’ve got to see that those gas pressure gages register
properly. Then we’ll be all set.”
The day for the test flight broke calm and clear. Tom was glad of this.
There was activity in the plant long before sunrise, and by the time Old
Sol’s rosy beams were warming the earth all was in readiness.
Tom Swift was in the navigating cabin, which was in the nose of the
ship. Above him was a weather expert, Mr. Kirby Larson, who had been in
the United States Government service. Mr. Larson had to himself the
little cabin which Martin Jardine had wanted to make into a personal
stateroom.
“All ready!” cried Tom to the ground crew of men who were to walk the
big dirigible out of the hangar.
“All ready!” came from the captain of this crew.
“Go!” ordered Tom.
Slowly the _Silver Cloud_ left her birthplace, and for the first time
emerged into the open. The full lifting power of the gas was not exerted
until she was clear of the hangar, and then Tom, having received word
that all was clear, cried:
“Let go!”
The ground crew loosed the mooring ropes, the power of the lifting gas
began to make itself felt, and the great dirigible slowly rose like some
immense but graceful creature of the air.
“Half speed ahead!” Tom signalled to the various motor compartments, and
the great machines began to whirl the propellers in unison. The _Silver
Cloud_, looking very like her namesake, went upward and ahead.
A cheer rose from the crowd below, workmen of the Swift plant. But as
the ship passed over the high fence and came into view generally,
another crowd of townspeople and other curious folk who had heard about
the latest Swift achievement set up loud shouts of surprise and
approbation.
“She’s the biggest airship in the world!” cried one man.
This was true. For the _Silver Cloud_ was nearly a thousand feet long.
“Well, Ned, she’s going up!” Tom said to his chum, as, together, they
stood in the control cabin.
“Of course she is!” exclaimed Ned. “I wish your father were here to see
it.”
“I wish those Jardines were here, or at least the head of the company!”
snapped Tom.
“Why?”
“Because if he sees she’s a success he might buy her and we’d get our
money back.”
“Of course there’s no great market yet for a giant airship, but if this
one is a success we’ll hope you won’t have any trouble in selling her at
a profit,” remarked Ned slowly. “But is this as fast as she can go?”
“I should say not!” chuckled Tom. “But I’ve got to start the new motors
easily at first.”
In a little while the craft was gathering speed and when she had arisen
several thousand feet into the air she was humming along at nearly a
hundred miles an hour. She was capable of more than this.
As Tom Swift and Ned Newton were rejoicing over what seemed like a
wonderful success a signal from Mr. Larson in the upper weather
observatory came to them.
“You had better turn about,” he said.
“Why?” asked Tom.
“We are heading for a low pressure area and I think there is a storm
center there. The instruments indicate a powerful wind blowing—one of
hurricane strength. Turn back.”
To the surprise of Ned Newton, the young inventor, instead of giving the
signal to turn the airship, kept her headed in a straight course.
“What’s the idea?” asked Ned. “You’re running into trouble—into a
hurricane!”
“That’s just what I want to do,” replied Tom. “If this craft is any good
at all, she can’t be sailed in fair weather only. She’ll have to stand
storm and stress; and if she won’t, now is the time to discover it. I’m
going to buck the hurricane!”
“Whew!” whistled the young financial man. “Then I’m glad I brought along
some sandwiches.”
“Why?”
“We may get shipwrecked and need them.”
“We shan’t get shipwrecked,” said Tom Swift confidently. “But I’d like
to see how she acts in a big wind.”
A little later the _Silver Cloud_ began to pitch and toss.
“I think you’re going to get your wish,” cried Ned, clinging to a safety
hand rail in the cabin.
There was a call from the weather observer in his high cabin.
“Hurricane just ahead!” he reported. “Turn back!”
“Full speed ahead!” Tom ordered to the motor rooms.
Then the _Silver Cloud_ was battling with a powerful, furious wind.
“Feel that drop!” cried Ned, as the craft was whirled toward the earth.
“Will she stand it, Tom?”
“She’s got to stand it!” was the fierce reply of the young inventor.
For a few moments, in spite of the brave words of Tom Swift, it was
almost touch and go in the fight between the big dirigible and the
powerful wind.