Here was a condition the boys had never foreseen; they were undoubtedly
“rattled.” At their present high speed the wings were folded in their
utmost. Let the speed be reduced, the planes would automatically
expand; they were headed into the wind--an extra inch of surface to
catch the terrific pressure might cause the _Flyer_ to turn turtle.
The only possibility that remained for those on board to save Bob was
the desperate chance that they might be able to haul the ladder in,
hand over hand, until the boy was near enough to crawl into the hull
himself. None of the boys had much hope of being able to accomplish
the feat, and indeed the first minute of tugging on the rope ladder
convinced them that it was an utter impossibility to haul it in against
the terrific wind current created by the machine.
“No hope!” sighed Buck, wiping the perspiration from his face.
“Wait! I have it! Rig up that windlass in the storeroom. I’ll bet we
can haul him in on that,” exclaimed Alan.
The windlass was brought and the loose end of the ladder finally lashed
to it. The barrel crank of the windlass they attached to one of the
machines in the engine room, and then the previous ladder attachments
were cut loose. Buck started the donkey-engine, and all were delighted
to see that with each chug of the engine another lap of the ladder was
dragged aboard and wound about the windlass.
Buck speeded the little engine up faster and the clinging figure below
rapidly rose from sixty to fifty, to forty, to twenty, to ten, to two
feet of the porthole, when strong, eager arms were outstretched to drag
him aboard. Poor Bob was so numb with cold and so exhausted from the
frightful strain he had undergone, that he collapsed almost as soon as
he found himself in safety.
“Safety” is, however, no word to describe the situation of the
_Flyer’s_ crew. The big airship was shooting on, on, on at an abrupt
angle up into uncharted space, the limits of which are beyond the
deductions or comprehension of science. The highest cloud strata had
been surmounted long since; a strange darkness seemed to close over
them, making it necessary to turn on the electric lights.
The _Ocean Flyer_ was passing into a region of the most intense cold.
First frost appeared on the plate glass of the portholes; then this
rapidly thickened to a thick coating of ice which prevented all view of
the outside. Even the wind funnel device on the _Flyer’s_ prow, which
had in past flights proved practical in keeping the interior heated,
was now inadequate. The ship became so cold that the boys’ breath
steamed; their hands turned blue and their noses reddened. Soon it even
became necessary for them to put on their heaviest underclothing and
fur overcoats. They had to huddle close together for warmth.
The altitude gauge began acting queerly; it had long since passed the
ten-mile mark.
The young aeronauts had the choice of only two expedients in this
desperate emergency. They could keep on going as they were, trusting to
luck; or they might shut off the gas supply and take a chance of having
the _Flyer_ turn on its back. Their chances of coming right-side-up
were better now; there was no air-movement in this high altitude. But
suddenly Buck made a discovery that made a choice unnecessary.
“Look, fellows!” he cried, pointing at the gauge which showed the angle
of flight. “Sure as you live, her nose is dropping every second.”
Ned nodded his head gravely. “I’ve been hoping for that. The air’s
getting too thin to give the rudder enough resistance. Our speed’s
lessening every minute. We’ll soon be on an even keel--and then we at
least stand a chance.”
“Won’t we just drop like a rock?” gasped Alan in dismay.
“Why no. Not if we keep our engines going. We simply won’t gain any
ground. I’ll give you an exhibition of fancy flying about that time.
We’ll try ‘dodging.’”
“Play tag with the clouds?” grinned Buck.
“We’ll play tug-o’-war with our rudder. We’d naturally drop headfirst
without the propellers. We’ll use our power just often enough and
strong enough to keep level. In other words, we’ll jump down.”
“And where will we land?” asked Buck. “We’re headed west, aren’t we?”
“We won’t be in Belgium when we see terra firma, and I wouldn’t be
surprised if we got pretty well across Germany--”
“We can’t land there.”
“Well, we can’t land here, that’s sure. We’ve got to take a chance. Me
to the engines--we start dropping in five minutes.”
The floor of the cabin was nearly level; then it began to rock
violently. From the alternate hum and silence of the engines, the
others knew that Ned had begun the descent. Aside from that, the
airship was as steady as ever.
In the meantime Buck busied himself in the cook’s galley, and
when he finally emerged carrying steaming hot pots of coffee and
savory-smelling victuals, you may well believe that the half frozen
boys greeted him with enthusiasm. They shouted up to Ned through the
speaking-tube:
“Lash the plane gears fast where they are and come on down. Buck’s got
ready a fine lot of stuff for us to eat.”
“You boys go ahead and enjoy it without me for a little while,” Ned
answered from his place in the pilot house. “I’m going to have just one
more try at that broken lever.”