THE UNCONSCIOUS CREW
Hardly able to believe or realize what Bob shouted, Jerry and Ned
looked to where he pointed. There, in the air over their heads, perhaps
a mile or two miles high, was a cigar-shaped, black object, floating
along in a gentle wind. It looked like some big bird, winging its way
over the ocean, but well the boys knew no birds would be so far from
land.
“It’s the balloon! The dirigible!” cried Bob again.
“By Jove, Chunky!” yelled Ned, “I believe you’re right! Speed up,
Jerry! Can it be possible that we have really found her, and at last we
will be able to see Mr. Jackson?”
“It’s the balloon, all right,” agreed Jerry slowly. “But whether it’s
the one we want or not, is another question.”
“We’ll soon settle that. I’ll get the telescope,” cried Ned.
He rushed into the main cabin, and came back with the powerful glass.
This he focused on the black object, which seemed to increase in size
as the _Comet_, shooting upward, came nearer and nearer to it.
“Well?” asked Jerry anxiously.
“I can’t make out any name on it,” replied Ned, “but it’s a dirigible
balloon, all right, and it’s hardly likely to be any other than the
disabled _Manhattan_.”
“Can you see any one on board?” asked Bob.
“No; I can’t make out a soul. But they may be all inside the cabin.”
“Or dead,” thought Jerry grimly, but he did not say so. He would hope
for the best.
“Let’s get there as fast as we can!” proposed Ned eagerly. “They may
need help very much.”
“And they may be hungry!” added Bob. “I’ll go get things ready for a
meal.” And this time his chums did not laugh at him. The occasion was
too serious.
“We’d better be getting out the ropes and planks ready for a rescue,”
suggested Jerry.
“Are you really going to take off those people, if there are any in
that balloon?” asked the professor, laying aside his note-books.
“That’s the only thing to do,” said Jerry. “We can’t tow their disabled
craft back, and the only thing to do is to rescue them in mid-air.
Ned, suppose you and Mr. Snodgrass get out the planks and ropes, while
Bob attends to the food, and I’ll get the _Comet_ to the balloon as
fast as the propellers will take her.”
“Sure!” cried Ned eagerly. “Oh, to think that at last I’ve really got
Mr. Jackson where he can’t get away from me! I wish I could send dad a
wireless message, telling him of our success!”
“Better wait until you get the signature,” suggested Jerry, for,
somehow, he did not like the fact that there came no signal from the
floating balloon. If the crew on board was alive, he argued, they
would naturally give some indication when they saw a craft coming to
their rescue. But there was not the slightest sign of life aboard the
_Manhattan_.
More and more swiftly through the air rushed the _Comet_. She was now
so close that many details of the balloon could be made out, and the
boys at once recognized it as the one they had seen leave the aviation
grounds as they approached. It was the missing _Manhattan_ beyond a
doubt.
Ned and the professor were busy laying out the planks; Bob could be
heard rattling about in the galley, and Jerry was doing his utmost to
get the top limit of speed from the motor. The _Comet_ was now on a
level with the balloon, and was rapidly approaching.
Setting the automatic steering apparatus, Jerry took up a telescope,
and once more gazed through it at the balloon. As the craft came into
focus, the youth uttered a strange cry.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Ned, running toward his chum.
“Look,” answered Jerry hoarsely, passing over the glass.
“They’re all dead!” gasped the merchant’s son, as he focused the
telescope. “All dead!”
For the sight that came to him through the glass was that of a number
of men lying in various positions in the after or open cabin of the
_Manhattan_. Men were stretched out on the floor, some were humped over
in chairs, and one could be seen half in and half out of an open door
that led into the cabin.
“They’re all dead!” cried Ned again. “We’re too late!”
“Maybe they’re only unconscious,” suggested Jerry hopefully, though his
heart misgave him. “We’ll go closer and see.”
Bob came from the galley to join his chums. As he reached them he
sniffed the air suspiciously.
“What’s that funny smell?” he asked. “It’s like gas. Have you started
our gas-machine, Jerry?”
“Our gas-machine? No, but--I have it!” he cried suddenly.
“What is it?” demanded Ned, catching a gleam of hope in Jerry’s tone.
“It _is_ gas! It’s gas escaping from the disabled balloon! That’s what
has made the crew of the _Manhattan_ unconscious. Perhaps they’re not
dead at all, but overcome by gas. We must keep on to the rescue!”