AN ALARMING DISCOVERY
One of the first questions our flyers asked of Oliver Torrey, after
they had helped him remove his wet clothing, was:
"Where are your friends?"
The _Clarion_ flyer shook his head sadly. "They're done for--drowned.
I'm the only one left of our crew. That was an awful storm, boys! I
don't see how you ever survived it."
"We did it by flying over the greater part of it," said Tom. "How did
it happen to get you fellows?"
"Pete and Chuck were operating," explained Oliver Torrey. "Sam and I
both wanted to get above the tornado, but they said they thought it
wouldn't amount to much. When they saw how bad it really was, it was
too late. A whirlpool of wind struck us at three thousand feet, Pete
lost control, and we went into a nose-dive from which we never
recovered. When we struck the sea the force crushed in the front of
the cabin, stunning Pete, and before any of us could grab him the waves
had washed him out of our sight. Chuck, Sam, and I managed to get out
and climb up on the fuselage; but the seas were running so high that
half of the time we were buried in water. Coming out of one of these
deluges, I looked around and saw that I was alone. Then the storm
passed, and things looked better for me. But I was just about ready to
give up when I saw the Sky-Bird coming."
Oliver Torrey paused a moment, wiped his haggard face, and then
continued, as he looked earnestly at his rescuers:
"Boys, I never can thank you enough for saving my worthless life. It's
awful to think that we guys let Pete Deveaux coax us into doing all
those dirty things to hold you back. I guess we deserved this
punishment. If I ever get back to Panama I'll certainly make what
amends I can by telling the whole disgraceful story to the world."
Tom stepped in front of the _Clarion_ flyer, and shook his finger in
his face. "Torrey," said Tom, "I think at heart you are all right; but
listen! Mr. Wrenn, who hired you fellows, is a straight man through
and through. If this story gets out it will be published broadcast,
and people will think he abetted your crimes against us. So, for his
sake----"
"I see; I hadn't thought of that," ejaculated Torrey. "I will keep
still; as far as the public'll ever know, they'll think this was a fair
and square contest--and so it was on your part."
It must be remembered that John and Tom had had no sleep since the day
previous. They were so tired by now, especially John, that they were
very glad to retire to the hammocks, leaving Paul and Bob to take care
of the Sky-Bird. Oliver Torrey was also exhausted, and accepted with
alacrity Paul's invitation to him to jump into the spare hammock.
Within five minutes the two youths were the only ones awake.
It seemed good to the boys to feel that soon they would be at San
Cristobal, their last stop before the final hop. They flew along with
the throttle wide open for the next hour, eager to make up for the
delay caused by the storm and the rescue of Torrey. Then they reduced
the speed a little, to make sure they would not overheat the engine,
but still they made good time.
Shortly before six o'clock that afternoon they sighted a blue haze
which a little later developed into a group of several islands. These
they knew, by consulting their chart, were the Gallapagos, the home of
the largest land-turtles ever known, monsters so enormous that one of
them could walk off with two half-grown boys on his broad back.
There are over two thousand volcano cones in these islands, and soon
our friends were almost in the midst of them. On all sides and at all
distances were rugged peaks one hundred to two thousand feet high,
rising sheer from a rose-pink sea over which the declining sun played
ravishingly. Along the shores pelicans soared above the shallow
inlets, watching for unwary fish. Tiny birds darted in and out among
the cliffs. Down in the crystal depths of the sea, over shelves of
coral, vague shapes hovered and passed and repassed--sharks, dolphins,
turtles, and grunts, even the ghastly devil-fish.
All life seemed confined to water and to air; never was dry land so
desolate-looking as those myriads of barren volcanic cones. Yet one of
these islands was peopled with human beings--San Cristobal.
Which one was it? The easternmost of the group, said the chart.
Circling that way. Bob gave a yelp like a pup which sees his younger
master after he has been away all day.
"I see Dalrymple Rock!" he cried, with the binoculars to his eyes. "I
see Wreck Point, too, and a bay between 'em, with houses on the beach.
That looks like our number, all right. What more do you want, Paul?"
"Nothing," laughed Paul,--"except our landing field. Find that, wake
up the other fellows, and I'll be satisfied."
In a moment Bob pointed out a flat field marked with the welcome white
T, then he aroused John and Tom while Paul was bringing the Sky-Bird
down. From a rickety old pier, also from the shores where they had
gathered, a crowd of curious natives rushed forward to witness the
landing of the most startling object they had ever seen. They were a
mixture of South Americans, mostly Ecuadoreans, and not until our
friends stepped out of the cabin did they summon up enough courage to
get very close to the machine.
Among them was the owner of the island--a good-looking young
Ecuadorean, highly educated, who was to look after their interests in
the matter of fuel,--and the chief of police (presumably "chief,"
because there is only one representative of the law in the Galapagos).
The owner of San Cristobal informed the flyers in excellent
French,--which all of them except Oliver Torrey could speak,--that he
was delighted to welcome the first airplane crew to his little domain;
that weeks ago the ship had brought gasoline and oil, which was now
awaiting their pleasure in the little nearby shanty; that he and his
police officer and the peons were eager to serve them in any way they
could; and would the brave American aviators favor him and his police
officer by joining them at the hacienda for dinner that evening?
Our friends graciously accepted this invitation, upon finding that
their host would appoint a watch for the airplane. They then went with
him to his pretty hacienda in the valley--a green, undulating country,
dotted with grazing cattle and horses, patches of sugar-cane, coffee
bushes, and lime trees, stretching away to a cloud-capped range of
mountains.
Situated upon a hillock, in the midst of this entrancing valley, and
surrounded by the peons' grass houses, was the owner's home. Here the
flyers partook of an excellent repast, garnished with the best the
island could afford, including tender wild duck from the surrounding
lagoons and savory turtle soup. Then followed songs by their host, and
jolly college melodies by themselves, accompanied by the sweet strains
of a guitar in the hands of the police officer.
Out in the compound, the peons also celebrated the occasion. There
were great oil flares, thrummings of guitars, gyrating dancers in
bright-hued ponchos, merry cries, the laughing of children, the barking
of dogs.
Everybody seemed thoroughly happy and contented. And, after all, what
else matters? That is the Ecuadorean point of view, and who shall say
it is a bad one?
It was difficult for the boys to remind themselves that here they were
precisely on the equator, so positively chilly was it. And yet they
were. It was the third time which they had touched that imaginary
girdle of the earth in the past week or so; and it was to be their last
crossing. How inspiring the thought that they were now within one hop
of their goal; that sometime on the morrow they would probably reach
Panama well within their time limit of ten days!
The fact is, they had only 650 miles ahead of them--a distance which
could easily be covered, barring accidents, inside of five hours, and
they had until one o'clock the following day in which to reach their
destination. When they realized this, and were pressed most
insistently by the owner of the island to spend the night, under the
shelter of his roof, where there were two spare beds, the tired,
bed-hungry flyers decided to remain over, Oliver Torrey going to the
house of the police "chief." Torrey was really in no physical
condition, as it was, to continue the flight immediately, for he had
suffered a chill as the result of his exposure, and felt very weak.
Next morning they were up at the break of day, and at once began the
task of refilling the tanks of the Sky-Bird and giving her machinery a
general overhauling. Torrey felt much better, and assisted in these
operations. His gratitude to the boys for deciding not to divulge the
duplicity of the unfortunate crew with whom he had been connected was
very great, and he spared no effort to help them on toward
success--which goes to show that this fellow was not at all bad at
heart but had simply gotten in with a bad crowd.
It was a good thing that the flyers went over their engines. John
found a loose coupling in one, and a stretched fan belt in the other.
Had they gone on in this condition trouble would have been sure to
visit them. It was small wonder, however, that something should not be
out of good working order, for these faithful pieces of mechanism had
been given the hardest kind of usage day in and day out, each in its
turn, and sometimes working together, in this long flight around the
earth. Their final test had been the storm. More than once the boys
had marveled at the remarkable efficiency of their motive power. What
a tribute to the mechanical genius of modern man had these engines
paid! They were almost human in intelligence, more than human in their
untiring zeal.
The repairs were not difficult to make; the belt was cut and fastened
again with a leather lace borrowed from the police "chief's" shoe, and
the careful use of a wrench and other tools out of their kit finally
fixed the loose coupling. But these operations had consumed
unlooked-for valuable time, and when they had had breakfast with their
friends and were ready at last to go, they found that the watch of
their host indicated the hour of nine.
Setting their own watches to this local time, as had been their custom
in all towns upon arriving or leaving, our flyers once more thanked
their entertainers for courtesies extended, wished them good-bye, and
got in their machine.
As they taxied swiftly down the course, the rush of wind from the big
propeller sent more than one Ecuadorean's wide-brimmed hat flying from
his head, and to the enjoyment of all, a native who was perched
precariously upon an up-ended cask was blown heels-over-head backwards.
No sooner had they straightened out upon their northeasterly course
than Bob sat down to his instruments and called up the Panama wireless
station. In about ten minutes he got it, and told of their position
and the accident to the _Clarion_. They all knew that when the news of
this catastrophe reached the American newspapers there would be the
greatest excitement, and that Mr. Wrenn would not only be grievously
disappointed but horrified at the fate of the three members of his crew.
They now had just four hours in which to reach their goal. That meant
they must travel at an average rate of better than 160 miles an hour.
Since they had gone considerably faster than this when the occasion had
warranted it in the past, they felt no anxieties now. John, who was at
the throttle, opened the Sky-Bird up to 165, and at this gait they
skimmed swiftly along over the blue-green waters of the big Pacific.
"This speed ought to bring us in by twelve-thirty--a good half-hour
ahead of our limit,--so there's no need of rushing matters," said John,
to which sentiment his comrades agreed.
By eleven o'clock all were keenly on the look-out. Each flyer coveted
the honor of being the first one to see the coastline of Central
America, the resting-place of Panama.
Paul, with the binoculars to his eyes, was the one to win. It was just
exactly 11:25 when he shouted in true mariner's style: "Land ho, my
hearties!"
Taking the glass, one by one his comrades gladly echoed the
announcement.
But suddenly Bob's face turned chalky. "Jiminy, fellows," he cried,
"what boneheads we are! We have been figuring on San Cristobal time
all the while. Panama's close to an hour ahead!"
"And we've only got thirty-five minutes in which to land!" said Tom.
"Huckleberry pie! Boneheads we are! Boneheads, boneheads! I repeat
it--boneheads, boneheads! It's all off now."
Tom actually wrung his hands in his misery, and the others felt just
about as humiliated and disgusted with themselves.
"Here's where our prize goes a-flickering," groaned Paul. "We never
can make Panama in thirty-five minutes!"
"I don't know about that," declared his brother grimly. "Here goes for
the effort, anyhow. I'll make the Sky-Bird fly as she has never flown
before!"
With that he brought the throttle wide open, and two minutes later
threw the second engine into commission.