Ned and Bob were immediately awakened and a hasty examination of the
engines showed plainly the terrible truth of Bob’s prophecy.
“We’ll drop like a rock!” he repeated hoarsely, trying to control the
tremor in his voice.
The boys stared at each other, blank horror in each face.
“Oh, if only we had not been forced to chop away the big wing planes,”
groaned Alan. “With them spread, the force of our fall would surely
have been checked and given us at least a fighting chance for our
lives!”
“No use of crying over spilt milk,” said Ned. “We’ve got to decide upon
something quickly. The engines are slowing down now and a fall of 2,000
feet upon the surface of the Atlantic will dash us to pieces just as
surely as if we hit bed rock. What can we do?”
“Nothing,” answered Bob with grim resignation, “nothing except to shake
hands and tell each other we hope to meet in the hereafter again. We
are doomed, boys, and you all know it.”
Outside it was already getting light. Morning sunlight blushed rosily
over the eastern sky, and the gray tossing surface of the pitiless
ocean far below became dimly visible. At first sight it appeared to be
wholly devoid of any sail, but closer inspection through the binoculars
finally brought to view a large ship beating its way toward them,
perhaps three miles to the north. Long streams of smoke hung on the
horizon line in its wake.
“See!” exclaimed Ned. “One of the big passenger liners--a Cunarder by
her build, I should guess. If only they were near enough to see and
save us!”
“No hope,” muttered Bob dully.
“_The wireless!_” yelled Buck, springing suddenly to his feet. “We can
signal to them with that!”
In a trice he was gone and his nervous fingers were flashing out a
frantic call.
“_S. O. S! S. O. S! S. O. S!_”
Two more seconds passed. Then a blue electric spark leaped across the
instrument. The big ocean liner had intercepted the message and was
asking for information.
Buck’s fingers ticked out his plea like lightning:
“Airship falling three miles south of you ... help quickly ... help
quickly.”
The eagerly watching boys by the portholes could see the effect of this
message upon the distant vessel. Great volumes of black smoke began to
vomit from her three funnels as full steam ahead was put on. Her course
was changed slightly and she forged as rapidly as might be in their
direction. Tiny black figures could be seen crowding the decks and
rigging of the distant liner.
The boys were a-quiver with excitement and hope until a sudden,
unaccustomed quiet around them forced itself upon their notice.
“What is it?” queried Bob.
Ned answered him quietly:
“Boys, the engines have stopped running--we are about to fall!”
Each was ashamed to show the mortal fear that agitated him. White-faced
they gripped hands in silent farewell.
“Hurry now,” Ned cried, in command to the very last, “run and get into
pneumatic life-jackets and each one lash his hands to the handle of a
parachute. When once the _Flyer_ begins to drop, we’ll have to jump
quick, or the force of the contrary air will turn our chutes inside
out. Be quick, boys!”
For perhaps three minutes the _Ocean Flyer_ hung motionless, as if
suspended there in the air. Then she wavered slightly and suddenly the
stupendous plunge straight downwards began.
With each passing second, as earth gravity took a more relentless hold
upon the falling vessel, the momentum increased until it attained a
velocity past computing. Like a stone it whizzed down through the
whistling air to an unmarked resting place in the foam-crested waves
far below.
All of the four boys jumped wide out from the outer taffrail the
instant the fall began. Their parachutes spread and bellied to meet the
upward rush of air, which struck the stout umbrella-like frames with a
reactionary force that nearly tore the boys’ arms from their sockets.
The _Ocean Flyer_ shot swiftly down past them before their own more
gradual descent became perceptible.
Down, down, down, down, through seemingly endless space they sank with
that intolerable strain on their arms and the blood pounding madly at
their temples.
Down, down, down!
Ned ventured a hasty glance below him. There swung the big Cunard
liner not a quarter of a mile away. There raced the lifeboats filled
with jackies in white, bending rhythmically to and fro, while the long
oars glistened like silver in the morning sun. A raucous blast of
encouragement from the liner’s whistles half stunned the senses.
Ned closed his eyes again. It seemed as if he had been hours floating
down through the air. Had it not been for the stout cords which secured
his blue, swollen wrists to the handle of the parachute, he could not
have kept his hold.
Hearty shouts--_English_ words--resounded almost beneath him. A little
puff of wind carried the parachute off a hundred yards to one side and
then it began sinking again.
Ned felt something icy cold lave, submerge and rise higher and higher
up around his body. It was the waves.
Up they crept, first to his ankles, then to his thighs, then above
his waist, then closed around his neck. The parachute collapsed, but
the pneumatic life-jacket buckled around him buoyed Ned up. The spray
buffeted saltily against his mouth and smarted in his eyes. His body
became numb from the chill of the icy water. Then--
“All aboard there, mates!” shouted gruff, cheery voices, and strong
hands seized upon Ned and dragged him half-insensible into the
lifeboat. Alan and Buck were already huddled shivering there, and Bob
was rescued a few minutes later.
Propelled by the powerful arms of sixteen sailors, the lifeboat fairly
leaped over the waves toward where hundreds of curious, pitying faces
lined the taffrails of the big liner.
“Where are you bound?” asked Bob of the boatswain.
“From Liverpool to New York, U. S. A.,” came the cheery answer. “We’ll
sight the Statue of Liberty in the harbor within six days.”
Ned felt the clasp of Alan’s hand in his.
“Well, we’ve seen the last of the _Ocean Flyer_,” Alan said drearily.
“We’ve lost the finest craft of its kind in existence.”
“Never mind, Alan,” answered Ned, renewed vigor sparkling in his eyes.
“We’ve accomplished all that we set out to do and I promise you that,
back in New York again, we’ll build a brave new airship beside which
the old _Flyer_ would have seemed like a joke. Remember that we’re now
bound for the ‘land of the free.’”
“And ‘the brave,’” rejoined Bob quickly, casting an affectionate glance
over at Alan and Buck.
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are
mentioned.
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.