STILL CRIPPLED
Brannigan and his associates had become extremely anxious because of
the absence of the captain of the flying boat and his friends. And
when they reappeared at the bottom of the gorge with five of the lost
men of whom they had been in search, the mechanicians were inclined
to think it almost a miraculous happening.
It was, however, rather a serious occasion. The fact that two of
the castaways, as well as thirty thousand dollars in treasure, were
utterly lost cast a cloud over all their minds.
Besides, although the mechanicians had repaired the airtight pontoon
and rigged it to the end of the seaplane wing again, there was a
question in all their minds as to whether the big flying boat could
be raised from the bottom of the ice gorge without bringing her into
collision again with the walls.
The five new passengers crowded the carrying quarters of the
seaplane, too. She had not been built with the idea of carrying more
than twelve people, and now there were sixteen. Tom believed that
under a fair test the _Winged Arrow_ would sail with several tons
more weight than she had ever yet carried. But this jump-off was
going to be no fair test.
“We’ve got to take a chance,” said the young inventor.
“If only we are successful!” murmured Ned.
When they were all inside and the doors were closed, the young
inventor went over the machinery with great care, personally trying
out each part. He dared not empty the compressed air tanks, although
he would have liked to do that until the plane had risen above the
walls of the gorge. The air was needed for balance, however; he was
confident of that.
There was not room to turn the plane around as she rested on her
wheels and tail, the ice cliffs were too near together; while ahead
of her was a very short straight run for her to gain the speed to fly.
It was a ticklish undertaking. If, under the thrust of her powerful
motors, she went head on into one wall or the other of the cañon, Tom
was pretty sure that the _Winged Arrow_ would never get out of the
heart of this giant iceberg.
“If we leave both the plane and Mr. Damon’s treasure here in the ice,
we shall certainly have to mark this venture down as a total loss,”
murmured Tom, to his chum.
“Huh! we won’t mark anything down,” replied Ned. “We will have a hot
time ever getting to land. Don’t forget that.”
“I am not likely to overlook it,” confessed the young inventor. “I
never had one of my inventions put to so severe a test before. And
our lives, you must remember, depend upon the thing working right.”
“Go on. Do your worst,” urged Ned. “If I am to spend the rest of
my natural life on this chunk of ice, I want to know it as soon as
possible. Let’s get it over.”
Tom would not do a thing in haste, however. Not until he had made
sure that the mechanism would work perfectly did he signal Brannigan
to start his motors. He stood at the controls until the motors were
roaring well before he started the propellers.
The huge boat began to move slowly. Almost at once she lifted under
the pressure of the propellers. Her nose came up like the head of a
spirited horse. Mr. Wakefield Damon gave voice to one of his excited
explosions:
“Bless all my kites and balloons, she’s going up!”
“That’s what we want!” exclaimed Ned. “The higher, the better!”
She was going up! Better than she had ever taken the air before.
Everybody in the pilot room broke into a cheer, and Tom Swift was as
proud as ever he had felt before in his life over anything he had
built.
Put to the severest sort of test, the _Winged Arrow_ was making good.
How proud his father would be when he told him of this jump-off from
the bottom of the cleft in the huge iceberg! And Mary! Aside from the
exploration party finding and rescuing her father, Tom knew that Mary
Nestor would comprehend the feelings of the inventor of the flying
boat which had made this success possible.
On a short slant skyward, the plane rose higher and higher. The long
Arctic day was just ended, the sun had dropped below the horizon’s
edge, and a number of pale stars were showing in the vault above.
The flying boat scaled the heights of the ice cliffs and finally
poised over the deep cleft in which they had spent so many uncertain
hours. Tom believed that his task here was done. He meant to fly
now to Iceland, as he had promised Captain Karofsen, and leave the
schooner captain and his men at some handy port.
The young inventor had no intention of being entangled in any plot
engendered by the Russian Government or its agents. Let all that be
explained from America. He was sure that Monsieur Polansky had never
obtained his credentials from the Navy Department by fair means and
that there would be no real trouble awaiting him when he got back to
Shopton.
He smiled upon Ned, who stood beside him, and began to wheel the
flying boat till her nose pointed to the east. Somewhere in that
direction—so far away that he could not see it—lay Iceland.
“What is that?” demanded Mr. Wakefield Damon suddenly. “Look at that
smoke. Why, you’d think that ice mountain was a crater of a volcano!
Bless my smokepipes! it is the equal of old Mount Hekla.”
The phenomenon to which Mr. Damon pointed startled them all. A
spiral of smoke seemed to be rising, as he said, out of the higher
pinnacle of ice. The _Winged Arrow_ was circling that peak. How was
it possible for smoke to come out of a hole in the ice when, as far
as they knew, there was no living human being on the berg they were
leaving?
“Let’s get around to the other side,” cried Ned. “Goodness me! maybe
there are other folks cast away here.”
“It nefer is _dem_?” questioned Captain Olaf Karofsen excitedly.
Tom changed the controls. The great flying boat heeled over a little
as her nose drove into the wind. As she passed out from the shelter
of the pinnacle of ice the power of the gale smote upon the seaplane
as it had not before. The wind howled and whistled.
Tom signaled to the power room for the compressed air pump to be
started again. In this gale he realized the boat would roll, and this
was dangerous. She needed more balance-weight.
Again the structure rolled and groaned. Mr. Damon and Mr. Nestor
cried out. They had not experienced this motion before. The _Winged
Arrow_ came to an even keel, then once more dipped sideways.
With a crash one wing-end scraped along the hill of ice. The rebound
carried the plane away from the wall of ice; but she began to
descend, slowly but surely.
Tom speeded up, and the groaning boat shot away from the hillside.
Behind them the spiral of smoke came from a cleft into which it had
been impossible for any of them to see. The flying boat was flapping
downward like a broken-winged bird!
“Are we wrecked? Is it a smash-up?” queried Mr. Nestor anxiously.
“Bless my anchors!” gasped Mr. Damon.
“We’ve got to make a landing,” said Tom, with some show of
cheerfulness. “But there is a pretty level field of ice to make it
on. I think we shall be all right.”
The next moment the boat was bouncing on its wheels and tail. The
power had been shut off. Soon they came to a halt and it was possible
to discover how badly the flying boat was damaged, if damaged at all.