MALAY PIRATES
TYPHOON in itself has a sinister sound, and when, coupled with that, was
the knowledge of what such a storm was capable of doing, it is no wonder
that there were anxious hearts aboard the _Air Monarch_.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned of his chum, as he realized that Tom was
not going to be able to do as he hoped and send the craft up into a calm
area above the outburst.
“I don’t quite know,” was the answer. “It’s just as if we were being
pulled or pushed down.”
“If we land in that sea—well——” Ned did not finish, but Tom knew what
his chum meant. If it was bad in the air it was worse on the water.
A typhoon is a hurricane of the worst sort, this particular name for
violent wind and sea disturbances being common to China and Japan where
these storms rage from May to November, being at their worst in the
summer months. Tom and his party had arrived just at the very height of
the stormy season, and were now in the grip of a typhoon of the most
dangerous character.
“Our only chance is to fight it!” cried Tom, while he aided Peltok in
handling the wheel. “Once we are forced down, we’ll be swamped.”
The craft was built to navigate on water, it is true, but not amid big
waves and swells kicked up by a hurricane. Yet it might chance that Tom
would have to battle with the elements of water as well as those of the
air.
For a time it seemed that the typhoon would conquer and force the
machine down. At first Tom thought something had gone wrong with the
machinery, so reluctant was his ship to respond to the controls. But
when he looked at the wind gage near the front window and noted that its
hand was hovering around the 150 mark on the dial, he understood what
was taking place.
The wind was approaching a rate of two hundred miles an hour, and as the
_Air Monarch_ was not making that speed she was being blown back, and
her propellers were not even holding her stationary in the gale. Not
only was she being forced back, but she was being forced downward.
“We’ve got to have more power!” cried Tom. “Turn on the super-gas!”
“There isn’t much left,” said Hartman. “You were to save that for the
last lap!”
“There won’t be any last lap if we don’t get above this typhoon!”
shouted Tom. “Turn it on!”
“On she goes!” echoed the mechanic.
With Hartman at the super-charger, while Tom and Peltok managed the
wheel, Ned and Brinkley looked to the oiling systems. If they failed
now, when it was necessary to run the motors at their top speed, it
would be disastrous.
Though the wind howled about them and heavy rain now dashed against the
thick plate glass of the windows, and though the typhoon was increasing
in power, it was soon evident that the machine was doing better. With
the increase in speed and power of the motors, because of Tom’s newly
invented gas, the _Air Monarch_ began to recover lost ground, and soon
she began progressing straight into the teeth of the hurricane. To have
turned and sailed before it would have meant that she would be turned
over and over, her wings shorn off and that she would be dropped into
the raging sea, a helpless wreck.
“We’ll make it! We’ll make it!” exulted Tom, as he saw the speed
indicator hand slowly move along until it was passing the two hundred
mark. He knew his ship was capable of over two hundred and fifty miles
an hour, or more than four miles a minute, though how long she could
keep up this speed was a problem. And the young inventor knew he could
not hope to reach that goal with a typhoon blowing against him at more
than half that speed.
So Tom was satisfied when he saw his craft making a little more than the
two hundred mile rate, and he had hopes of coming out of the contest not
only with a whole skin himself but with his plane intact.
Howling and yelling, the wind threatened to tear the machine apart. But
the _Air Monarch_ was stanchly made, and she forged ahead. Now and then
some more violent outburst than usual caused the craft to dip down
toward the raging sea, but Tom and Peltok forced her up again, and she
rode above the waves, though sometimes perilously close to their crests.
There is one thing about typhoons that is in their favor, if such a
thing can be said. This is that they do not last long. From the very
nature of these storms, they cannot last long.
So, after about half an hour, there was a diminishing of the force of
the hurricane, as Tom could note on the gage, and he was able to send
his craft up higher, soon being in a region of comparative calm.
“Oh, boy! That was some blow!” Tom confided to Ned, when he could let
Peltok manage the wheel alone and the young inventor went to get some
rest in the main cabin with his chum.
“I’ll say it was!” Ned echoed. “Do they have many of these out here?”
“More or less. We’re well out of that one.”
The typhoon was passing almost as quickly as it had arisen, and when it
was possible to slow down the motors, to save as much as possible of the
now precious super-gas, Tom gave orders to that effect.
They were now over a portion of the ocean that had not, as yet,
responded to the whipping and lashing of the terrific wind, and Peltok,
who had given Hartman charge of the wheel, came in to say:
“I think we had better drop down to the water and give the airship an
overhauling. No telling what might have been strained by that gale.”
“I agree with you,” Tom said. “We’ll make a landing, or rather,” he
added, with a smile, “a watering. There is a large island near here, I
think,” he went on, consulting the map, “and we can be sheltered in the
harbor if we have to make any repairs.”
The typhoon had passed. The rain was over. The setting sun came out
clear and bright from behind the black clouds as the _Air Monarch_
gently settled down in the sea near a large island, with smaller islands
clustered about it.
“Pleasant place, this,” remarked Ned.
“It looks so,” agreed Tom. “I hope we find nothing wrong and can soon be
on our way again. We have lost a lot of time.”
“And we’re likely to lose something else, too!” suddenly exclaimed
Hartman, as the craft came to a stop at the entrance to a natural harbor
on one side of the large island.
“What’s the matter?” asked Tom, who was shutting off the motors.
“Look!” exclaimed the mechanic, and as he pointed ahead Tom and his
friends saw, swarming toward them, a number of long, low boats, filled
with savage warriors who set up a hideous howling.
“Malay pirates!” cried Tom, recognizing the natives. “We’ll have a
hornet’s nest about our ears in a minute! Malay pirates!”
On came the savages chanting a war song to keep time with the flashing
paddles as they urged their boats toward the floating aeroplane.