A MIX-UP IN DATES
Paul's announcement threw his friends into a state of consternation.
As they viewed the wire braces, neatly cut with a pair of nippers, they
recalled Pete Deveaux's act of whispering in the ear of one of his
party just preceding the recent fight, and realized now its full
import. This fellow had slunk out of the crowd, slipped over to the
unguarded airplane, and performed the unprincipled trick without any
risk of being caught at it.
Since there was no chance for immediate redress from the guilty party,
who were almost out of sight to the eastward, all our flyers could do
was to bend every effort to make repairs as fast as possible. After
considerable skirmishing around, they managed to secure some wire from
one of the vessels in the harbor. The severed strands were then
removed and new pieces cut to length.
It was found that the weight of the machine upon the unsupported skid,
had cracked the skid past repair; so they had to whittle out another
from some tough wood, which the natives brought them from the nearby
forest, before they could connect the new wires and were ready to start.
Finally they took off at a few minutes past noon, more than three hours
behind their rivals. It was disheartening, to say the least--all the
more so on account of the fact that their delay had again been caused
by the sinister acts of the other crew. They made up their minds that
if they should meet Pete Deveaux and his crowd at another stop,
something worse than a single fistic encounter would take place!
As they soared away toward Nukahiva, with Upolu growing constantly
dimmer, John, who had been studying the schedule, turned to his
companions and asked:
"Do any of you fellows know what date this is?"
"Let's see," mused Bob, at the throttle; "we left Port Darwin the
evening of the 26th; the evening of the 27th we were still at sea, and
the next morning--the 28th--"
"You're ahead of time just one day," laughed John. "This is the 27th
of the month."
"How do you make that out?" asked Bob. "Didn't we leave Port Darwin on
the 26th?"
"Yes," admitted John.
"And the following evening we were at sea?'
"Granted. That was last evening--the 27th."
"Then any dunce can see that to-day is the 28th," said Bob witheringly.
"That's what I say, too," supported Paul.
But John only laughed harder, and this time Tom joined him.
"John's right," said Tom; "to-day is the 27th."
"It _can't_ be," protested Bob. "You own up that yesterday was the
27th, don't you?"
"I certainly do," chuckled John; "but you forget one thing, young man:
that same evening, all in a moment's time, we crossed the One Hundred
and Eightieth Meridian--the date-line of the world--and while it was
Thursday, the 27th on the west side of this line, it became Wednesday,
the 26th the instant we crossed over to the east side."
"Oh, sure!" exclaimed Bob and Paul, feeling very silly. And the latter
added: "That's where we gain a day in our lives--and to think that Bob
and I were asleep at that auspicious moment!"
"I know an old maid who swears she is fifteen years younger than she
really looks," commented Tom. "I think she must have done a lot of
globe trotting, and always east!"
"There's no danger of the fair sex ever circling the globe in a
westerly direction," laughed John, "for that would make them one day
older every time."
The day could not have been better. Hardly a cloud was to be seen on
the horizon, and the regular trade-winds blowing westward were soft and
steady, and they were making excellent time.
Grandpa frisked about, perching on this object and that, and
occasionally running back into some secret nook where he had hidden his
supply of nuts. With one of these in his paw he would jump up on
something, crack it in his powerful small jaws, and look very wise and
serious as he picked out the meats with his slim fingers.
Finally the monkey had his fill, and hopped up into Tom's lap. He
began to play with Tom's hair, smoothing it down pretty soon with the
flyer's comb, which he discovered in a pocket. So handy was Grandpa
with this utensil that the others went into peals of laughter. Tiring
of this, the monkey's eye caught sight of several freckles upon the
back of Tom's hand. He tried in vain to pick the freckles off; then he
became excited, for he could not understand why they would not lift up.
He chattered scoldingly at everybody; then tried again. Failing, he
sprang down and went to a far corner, in a fine sulk. Evidently he
thought Tom was playing a trick on him, and had glued the freckles down
someway just to tease him; for Tom, it must be admitted, was greatly
given to bothering Grandpa in some such manner.
Shortly before ten o'clock the following morning all hands were up to
take a look at their next stopping-off place--Nukahiva, the main island
of the Marquesas group, the place where they hoped to find a supply of
helium-gas awaiting them.
A fine island this--as fine a volcanic upheaval as one will find
anywhere. Sheer walls of cloud-capped rock 6,000 feet high, some
literally overhanging the crystal-clear water, and all embossed and
engraved with strangely patterned basalt. There are pillars,
battlements, and turrets; so that, with half-closed eyes, it seems you
are approaching a temple, a medieval castle, or a mosque of the East.
And the valleys--deep, choked with the most rampant growths of
luxuriant vegetation, in the heart of which silvery streams gurgle
their way tortuously along--fade away into mysterious purple mists.
Small wonder that this gorgeously beautiful island should have been the
home for a century of one of the finest races of primitive people the
world has ever known! Sad indeed is it that to-day the Marquesans are
rapidly dying off from consumption and fever introduced into their fair
domain by civilization itself.
Nestling in a good-sized valley near the harbor our flyers saw scores
of native houses, as they drew nearer. These were constructed of
yellow bamboo, tastefully twisted together in a kind of wickerwork, and
thatched with the long tapering leaves of the palmetto. Here, too, was
the big white T of their hopes.
In a short time they had safely landed, one hour behind schedule.
Their rivals had left an hour and ten minutes before. But joy of joys!
here were four tanks of helium, and with a filling of this they would
show those fellows how to fly!
As fast as they could work, our friends overhauled their machine and
put it in shape for the long trip to San Christobal. They would have
given almost anything to have joined the many natives they saw swimming
in the cool waters of the harbor, but felt that they could not afford
to waste a single minute.
At twelve-thirty, with the sun at its zenith, they once more took to
the air. This was Thursday. By Friday evening they should be at the
Gallapagos Islands--their last stop before Panama. What a cheering
thought it was!
Heading just a trifle north of east, they ran almost full-out. It was
easy to note the difference in the behavior of the Sky-Bird since her
helium tanks had been fully charged. She sped along as she had in the
very beginning of their journey--like a long bullet fired from some
gigantic cannon. How the engine did sing! The wind rushed by them
like a hurricane, and they had to shout in order to be heard when they
had anything to say to each other.
Satisfied that all was going right, Tom and John soon turned in, for
they were very sleepy. When the operating crew awoke them it was dark.
Bob then got into wireless communication with Panama, and delivered a
message for Mr. Giddings. Following this, he and Paul also took to the
hammocks.
When the two youths awoke it was morning, and the Sky-Bird was not
behaving as well as when they had retired. Looking outside they saw
the reason for this. The entire heavens ahead were hidden under
dun-colored clouds which in places seemed to be gathering themselves
together into formidable leaden arrangement. The gentle trade-winds
had developed into a stiff wind. Down below, the sea was covered with
whitecaps, while in the distance the water was swinging into immense
swells with foaming crests.
John and Tom both looked worried. The two younger boys felt more
uneasy when they noticed this.
"I guess we're in for a pretty hard storm," said John, as he gave the
throttle up to Paul. "Tom and I will stay up a while and see how
things turn out. The Sky-Bird's down to about a hundred an hour now.
Better keep her there, Buddy. That's fast enough in a blow like this."
A few minutes later a fork of lightning split the sky ahead. This was
followed by another off to the right, then by one off to the left.
Then they heard the rumble of thunder, and a heavy gray haze slowly
began to engulf the sea, rapidly approaching.
"That's rain," cried Paul. "Say, John, if you're not too done out
maybe you had better take the stick again; I'm afraid I won't be equal
to what's coming."
His brother complied. John did not wish to frighten his comrades, but
the truth is he knew this would be the worst storm he had ever faced in
his four years of flying.
"We'll try to get above those clouds," he said quietly. He did not
like to tell them just what he thought--that if they did not get above
the clouds without delay they would either be struck by lightning or
torn to pieces by the terrible whirlpool of winds which he knew those
churning black masses ahead contained.