CAUGHT IN THE FOG
TOM SWIFT, the young inventor, did not give up making the _Silver Cloud_
fight her way into the very teeth of the hurricane, and, though the ship
seemed to turn and twist as though to escape the ordeal, he held her to
her task. The motors hummed, the big propellers whirled their way,
tossing aside the roaring winds, and the _Silver Cloud_ moved ahead.
“Only an all metal ship would stand this!” murmured Tom, as, with Ned
beside him, he stood in the control cabin and watched the various gages
which indicated the height and speed of the craft.
“Yes, a fabric envelope like those of the Zeppelins, even on a metal
frame, would be torn off,” Ned agreed.
He knew something about reading the gages and he noted, with Tom, that
now the great craft would be forced down slightly, and again, when
getting into some “pocket” where the hurricane was not of such powerful
strength, she would ascend.
Her forward speed was cut at times from around a hundred miles an hour,
which it had been in the calm atmosphere, to less than thirty. But Tom
Swift had not yet used all the power in his motors.
“Here goes for a big test, though!” he presently decided. “The engines
have been run on the blocks long enough to wear the pistons smooth, so I
think I can chance giving her about all she’ll take. Let’s see if we
can’t run through this hurricane.”
Tom signaled for more speed to the motor compartments. The _Silver
Cloud_ trembled, but, after a moment of uncertainty, the occupants of
the control cabin saw the needle of the speed dial begin to move slowly
toward the higher figures.
“Sixty!” called Ned.
“Good!” murmured Tom, who was steering the ship.
“Seventy!” cried Ned.
“She can do better than that!” Tom said.
“Up to a hundred now!” reported Ned a moment later.
“That’s good, considering the wind is dead against her,” Tom agreed.
“But if she’s to make a trip around the world, as I hope, she may meet
with even worse winds than this, and to beat them she’ll have to do at
least a hundred and fifty now.”
“She can’t!” Ned declared. “Never!”
“Well, if I can get to one twenty-five I’ll be satisfied,” Tom said.
The ship throbbed, trembled, and vibrated from end to end. In the motor
compartments, which Ned visited in turn, to make sure all was well, the
men tense, eager, and anxious, bent over their machines and gages. The
one great fear was lest some bearing should overheat or an oil feed or
fuel pipe break, thus cutting down the power.
Nothing like this happened, and when Ned Newton got back to the control
cabin he glanced at the speed gage and cried:
“One hundred and thirty!”
“Good!” shouted his chum. “That beats the hurricane!”
A moment later there came a signal from Mr. Larson:
“We have run through the storm.”
This was immediately noticed, for the speed of the ship went to one
hundred and sixty miles an hour, there being no head wind now to hold
her back. But as such speed was needlessly racing the motors, Tom cut it
down to a normal rate of eighty miles.
“Well, you did it,” Ned remarked when, having swept through the
hurricane area, they turned about and headed for Shopton on a course
that would not again take them into a danger zone.
“The airship did it!” replied Tom. “Give her the credit.”
“Are you satisfied?” asked Ned.
“Not altogether,” Tom admitted. “I can see where I can make some
improvements. But they will come later. On the whole, I think she did
very well, and in a severe test, too.”
“I’ll say it was severe!” murmured Ned, rubbing some bruised spots where
he had been tossed against the cabin walls.
That evening the _Silver Cloud_ was housed in her hangar, safe and sound
save for a few minor mishaps. There was great rejoicing in the Swift
plant, for it was felt that the work was a big success.
“But I’ll make her better yet,” declared Tom.
“Then the Jardines will be sorry they called the game off,” predicted
Ned.
“Maybe,” said Tom, with a grim smile. “We’ll see.”
“Gosh!” Ned suddenly exclaimed.
“What’s the matter?”
“I forgot, in the hurricane, all about eating those sandwiches!” laughed
Ned.
There were still more busy days of work in the Swift plant when once
again the big dirigible was in her hangar. Several changes were carried
out, one motor that had shown a weakness was replaced and different
propellers were put on.
A number of new instruments were adjusted and several pieces of
apparatus designed for comfort and safety, which had not been installed
on the trial trip, were added. Also, the passengers’ main cabin and some
of the staterooms were partly finished.
“We could pretty nearly make a trip around the world now,” Ned observed,
as he went over the ship one night with his chum.
“Yes,” was the answer. “But I want another test first.”
“We got a good write-up in the papers about the one we had,” Ned stated,
showing Tom a bundle of press clippings. “They called it another Swift
triumph.”
“Yes,” Tom chuckled. “But they ain’t seen nothin’ yet, as the joke has
it. Let ’em wait!”
“It’s queer we haven’t heard a word from the Jardines,” went on Ned.
“You’d think they might at least wish us well.”
“I don’t want to hear from that crazy Martin,” Tom said. “But Lawrence
seemed businesslike. He might at least make us a rebate for the
advertising we’re giving his oralum metal.”
“Sure,” agreed Ned. “But he’s hard-boiled!”
A week later the _Silver Cloud_ was ready for another test. She took the
air more easily, for the lifting power of the gas had been increased
somewhat, and she moved along more smoothly under the power of her
motors.
“Going to buck another hurricane?” asked Ned, with a laugh, as he stood
in the control cabin with Tom.
“Not unless we have to. But we can do it.”
They moved speedily through the air, the members of the crew getting
more familiar with their duties. There seemed to be no hitch in the
smooth performance of the great airship.
“I’ll head south,” Tom decided after a while.
“You’ll have to go higher than this if you do,” Ned told him. “You know
the Moochie range of mountains lie south and there are some pretty tall
peaks.”
“We can clear them,” Tom declared. “But I will go higher.”
The _Silver Cloud_ rose above those masses of vapor for which she was
named and sailed through the brilliant sunlight. Then she passed over a
large lake, heading for the high mountains. In a little while a warning
came from the weather observer:
“Fog ahead!”
“Confound the luck!” exclaimed Tom, for fog is one element no airship,
however powerful, has ever been able to conquer.
“Go up!” advised Ned.
But when Tom called for a more detailed report, Mr. Larson said the fog
was more dense above than below, so the ship descended.
They were now cruising, though at reduced speed, through what was a
dense, white vapor, and even Tom Swift was rather apprehensive.
Suddenly a signal of alarm came from Mr. Larson.
“Stop! Back up!” he called through the telephone.
Tom’s hand was on the lever to signal the motor rooms when there came a
sudden jar, a dull thud, and the ship stood still, held fast in what
seemed to be a bank of dense fog.