A CLOSE CALL
DOUBTFUL it was, for what seemed a long time, whether or not the _Air
Monarch_ would justify her name and rise from the water. She seemed held
fast to the surface of the sea along which the craft was being driven by
the force of her propellers whirled by the two powerful motors, now both
working well.
“Will she make it, Tom?” cried Ned, above the roar and howl of the
hurricane which seemed bent on destroying the globe-circling craft.
“Can’t tell yet,” was the grim answer. “We’re just about holding our own
and no more!”
Tom had headed his craft into the very teeth of the strong wind, for
this is the proper way in which to make an aeroplane rise. If the pilot
should try to rise with the wind the chances are that his ship’s tail
would flip up and he’d find himself standing on his head with the nose
of the machine buried deep in the earth.
But such was the power of the wind, and such its peculiar downward
pressing force that, for a time, it seemed that the ship would not rise.
She seemed held down as by a giant’s hands.
“We’ve got to get up more speed!” yelled Tom to those in the motor room.
“I’m giving her all the gas she’ll take!” shouted Peltok.
“Turn on the super-charger!” the young inventor directed. “If ever we
needed that high-test gas of mine we need it now!”
He referred to the new gasoline he had been experimenting on when he had
to leap through the window of his shop to avoid being blown up.
“That ought to do the trick!” exclaimed Hartman, who had seen some
demonstrations of the new fuel.
“Turn it on,” cried Tom again, and his mechanics made haste to carry out
this order.
Meanwhile the hurricane was increasing in violence. The wind howled as
if in rage that any man-made craft should try to fight it. The sea, too,
was whipped into salty spray and the waves were rapidly becoming larger
and more dangerous. Two or three times water sprayed all the way over
the _Air Monarch_, and when Ned discovered that some was entering the
interior of the ship through an open window he hastened to close it.
“All ready, Chief!” called Brinkley, addressing Tom Swift. “Here goes
for the super-charger!”
“If she doesn’t rise now she never will!” murmured Tom as he yanked the
throttle around to turn on full power with the new fuel, a tank of which
had been hastily connected with the carburetor.
If the motors had hummed and purred before, they fairly roared now with
this new form of gas, and Tom exulted in his heart.
“It wouldn’t do to use that all the while, though,” he said to himself.
“It would rack the engines to pieces. But it’s good to have in an
emergency. Now let’s see if we can take off.”
The craft was now skimming the surface of the sea at a greater speed
than she had ever before attained on water. Tom pulled the throttle back
another notch, advanced his sparking system a trifle, and then pulled
the handle that tilted the tail rudder. Until this was done the _Air
Monarch_ would sail along on an even keel. But with the back rudder
tilted so that a current of air would strike on the lower surface, the
effect would be to elevate the nose of the ship and send it up into the
air on a long slant.
“I hope she’ll work,” Tom told himself, as he pulled the lever.
There came another burst of wind, and now it began to rain in a torrent,
while lightning flashed from the cloud-obscured sky and the deep booming
of thunder seemed to shake the craft from stem to stern.
The machine quivered. It seemed to be a struggle between the elements of
air and water as to which should claim her, but in the end the air won.
“We’re rising!” cried Ned, who stood behind Tom. But the young inventor
had already noted on the altitude gage that the machine was leaving the
sea and going up.
“Not much too soon, either!” muttered Peltok, who stood with the two
machinists in the motor room where another gage showed them that the
fight was being won.
“We’re all right now,” said Tom with an air of relief as he guided his
craft on a long slant up through the wind, the rain, the lightning and
thunder. “We’re all right now.”
The engines were still rotating furiously under the power of the new
gas, and Tom kept them at this speed until he was well up above the
surface of the sea. Then, turning the craft about, to take advantage of
the wind, instead of heading into it, he ordered the ordinary motor fuel
gasoline turned on and slowed down his ship.
Slowed down, yes, but the _Air Monarch_ was still moving along at a
terrific speed. And Tom knew that speed was necessary, for he had lost
considerable time. He had counted on some delays, but the fewer of these
there were the better. And Tom preferred to have them come, if they
must, when he was back again on United States soil. For if the _Air
Monarch_ failed him then, he could use his Airline Express.
Up, up and up soared the powerful craft, boring her way through the
storm. Now she was where she properly belonged, for though Tom’s craft
could travel on land or water she was designed, primarily, for the air.
“Going above the storm, Tom?” asked Ned when things were more nearly
normal aboard.
“Going to try,” was the answer. “But there’s a big area of disturbance,
I think.”
So it proved. For it took an hour of hard work before Tom could force
his machine to climb high enough to be above the howling wind and
rattling rain. But then the _Air Monarch_ found herself in a calm
atmosphere, above the clouds with the sun shining, and in that peaceful
region, far away from the hurricane and the lashing sea, she sailed
along on her journey.
“Well, she came out of that pretty well,” remarked the young inventor as
he turned the wheel over to Peltok while he went with Ned to work out
their position. Ned was good at figures, and intricate calculations were
necessary to determine how many miles had been traveled in the machine.
“She done noble, as Eradicate would say,” agreed Ned. “But it’s getting
on toward dark, Tom,” he observed, as he noted the position of the sun.
“That’s right. It will soon be night. But I think we can still travel
on.”
“About where do you guess we are?”
“About half-way across the Atlantic, I think. But we’ve got to work it
out. We lost considerable by being forced down.”
When the observations had been made and the computation completed it was
found that Tom was a little off—that about twelve hundred miles had
been covered in the twelve hours since the start. But this was very
good, considering the time lost, and Tom felt that the first day, or
rather, the first half day, was a successful one.
As evening came on, supper was got ready and served several miles high
in the air. But eating thus was no longer a novelty to Tom and Ned. They
had done it too often on other daring cruises.
They had been blown somewhat off their course by the hurricane, but
managed to get back on it when the stars began to appear and then, the
night watches having been arranged, the _Air Monarch_ was driven along
through the darkness. There was little danger in thus traveling at night
unless some accident should befall the craft itself. Though a number of
air machines had started in the great race, Tom had no fear of colliding
with them.
“I think the _Red Arrow_ is ahead of us, though,” he said to his chum as
they made ready to turn in for a sleep.
“It doesn’t seem to worry you.”
“What’s the use of worrying? The race has hardly begun yet. I’m
satisfied.”
Through the hours of darkness the craft was driven on, the five taking
turns in steering, even Ned being able to keep on the course by means of
observing several compasses, though he did not attempt to regulate the
motors, which, however, were practically automatic once they were
started.
A rosy tint in the east apprised Tom and his friends that the sun was
rising and that morning was at hand. It was the second day of the great
race, and a hasty calculation, while Brinkley was preparing breakfast,
told Tom that they were approaching the coast of Spain.
A few hours later Ned, taking an observation, exclaimed:
“There’s some sort of a big harbor down there. Might be a good place to
land, Tom, since you say we’ve about crossed the Atlantic. What place do
you think that is?”
“Lisbon, Portugal!” exclaimed Peltok. “I know it. I have been there many
times. It is a good place to land!”
“Then we’ll go down!” decided Tom. “We’ll get oil and gas. We’ve done
pretty well to cross the Atlantic in about twenty-four hours. But that
doesn’t mean we can always make as good time as that.”
Amid screams from the whistles of steamers in the Lisbon harbor, the big
craft slowly settled down, Tom, who was steering, picking out a clear
space in which to anchor.
Like a great bird, the _Air Monarch_ dropped into the peaceful waters
and slowly came to a stop. At once there were signs of activity on all
the vessels within sight while the wharves alongshore became black with
a mass of humanity drawn by the news of the arrival of the strange
craft.
“Seems as if they were expecting us,” observed Ned.
“Shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Tom. “This world race has attracted a lot of
attention.”
“Do you think any of the other contestants are here, or have been here
and gone?” went on Ned.
“We’ll soon find out,” his chum answered.
Suddenly Hartman uttered a cry and pointed upward. There, hovering above
them, was a great craft, painted red—a hydroplane—and it seemed to be
steering straight for them.
“The _Red Arrow_!” cried Tom. “We were ahead of him after all!”
“But he’s going to land on top of us!” cried Ned. “Look out! Keep off!”
he yelled.
The _Red Arrow_ came down swiftly, and it was a close call for the _Air
Monarch_ as Kilborn’s craft landed, skimmed over the water, and came
within a few feet of crashing into Tom’s craft.