“Indeed we are,” chimed in Mr. Fenwick.
“I’m awfully sorry the airship is wrecked, though,” spoke Tom. “I suppose it’s my fault. I should have turned back before we got over the ocean, and while the storm was not at its height. I saw that the wind was freshening, but I never supposed it would grow to a gale so suddenly. The poor old Whizzer—there’s not much left of her!”
“Now don’t distress yourself in the least,” insisted Mr. Fenwick. “I’m proud to have built a ship that could navigate at all. I see where I made lots of mistakes, and as soon as I get back to Philadelphia, I’m going to build a better one, if you’ll help me, Tom Swift.”
“I certainly will,” promised the young inventor.
“And I’ll take a voyage with you!” cried Mr. Damon. “Bless my teaspoon, Tom, but will you kindly pass the bacon and eggs again!”
There was a jolly laugh at the eccentric man, in which he himself joined, and the little party felt better. They were seated on bits of broken boxes taken from the wreck, forming a little circle about the gasolene stove, which Tom had set up on the beach. The wind had almost entirely died away, though the sea was still heaving in great billows, and masses of surf.
They had no exact idea of the time, for all their watches had stopped when the shock of the wreck came, but presently the sun peeped out from the clouds, and, from knowing the time when they had begun to fall, they judged it was about ten o’clock, and accordingly set their timepieces.
“Well,” observed Tom, as he collected the dishes, which they had also secured from the wreck, “we must begin to think about a place to spend the night. I think we can rig up a shelter from some of the canvas of the wing-planes, and from what is left of the cabin. It doesn’t need to be very heavy, for from the warmth of the atmosphere, I should say we were pretty well south.”
It was quite warm, now that the storm was over, and, as they looked at the vegetation of the island, they saw that it was almost wholly tropical.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if we were on one of the smaller of the West Indian islands,” said Tom. “We certainly came far enough, flying a hundred miles or more an hour, to have reached them. But this one doesn’t appear to be inhabited.”
“We haven’t been all over it yet,” said Mr. Damon. “We may find cannibals on the other side.”
“Cannibals don’t live in this part of the world,” Tom assured him. “No, I think this island is practically unknown. The storm brought us here, and it might have landed us in a worse place.”
As he spoke he thought of the yacht Resolute, and he wondered how her passengers, including the parents of Mary Nestor, had fared during the terrible blow.
“I hope they weren’t wrecked, as we were,” mused Tom.
But there was little time for idle thoughts. If they were going to build a shelter, they knew that they must speedily get at it. Accordingly, with a feeling of thankfulness that their lives had been spared, they set to work taking apart such of the wreck as could the more easily be got at.
Boards, sticks, and planks were scattered about, and, with the pieces of canvas from the wing-planes, and some spare material which was carried on board, they soon had a fairly good shack, which would be protection enough in that warm climate.
Next they got out the food and supplies, their spare clothing and other belongings, few of which had been harmed in the fall from the clouds. These things were piled under another rude shelter which they constructed.
By this time it was three o’clock, and they ate again. Then they prepared to spend the night in their hastily made camp. They collected driftwood, with which to make a fire, and, after supper, which was prepared on the gasolene stove, they sat about the cheerful blaze, discussing their adventures.
“Tomorrow we will explore the island,” said Tom, as he rolled himself up in his blankets and turned over to sleep. The others followed his example, for it was decided that no watch need be kept. Thus passed several hours in comparative quiet.
It must have been about midnight that Tom was suddenly awakened by a feeling as if someone was shaking him. He sat up quickly and called out:
“What’s the matter?”
“Eh? What’s that? Bless my soul! What’s going on?” shouted Mr. Damon.
“Did you shake me?” inquired Tom.
“I? No. What—?”
Then they realized that another earth-tremor was making the whole island tremble.
Tom leaped from his blankets, followed by Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, and rushed outside the shack. They felt the earth shaking, but it was over in a few seconds. The shock was a slight one, nothing like as severe as the one in the morning. But it set their nerves on edge.
“Another earthquake!” groaned Mr. Damon. “How often are we to have them?”
“I don’t know,” answered Tom, soberly.
They passed the remainder of the night sleeping in blankets on the warm sands, near the fire, for they feared lest a shock might bring the shack down about their heads. However, the night passed with no more terrors.
CHAPTER XV
The Other Castaways
“Well, we’re all alive, at any rate,” announced Tom, when the bright sun, shining into his eyes, had awakened him. He sat up, tossed aside his blankets, and stood up. The day was a fine one, and the violence of the sea had greatly subsided during the night, their shack had suffered not at all from the slight shock in the darkness.
“Now for a dip in old Briney,” the lad added, as he walked down to the surf, “I think it will make me feel better.”
“I’m with you,” added Mr. Fenwick, and Mr. Damon also joined the bathers. They came up from the waves, tingling with health, and their bruises and bumps, including Tom’s cut leg, felt much better.
“You did get quite a gash; didn’t you,” observed Mr. Fenwick, as he noticed Tom’s leg. “Better put something on it. I have antiseptic dressings and bandages in the airship, if we can find them.”
“I’ll look for them, after breakfast,” Tom promised, and following a fairly substantial meal, considering the exigencies under which it was prepared, he got out the medicine chest, of which part remained in the wreck of the Whizzer, and dressed his wound. He felt much better after that.
“Well, what’s our program for today?” Mr. Damon wanted to know, as they sat about, after they had washed up what few dishes they used.
“Let’s make a better house to stay in,” proposed Mr. Fenwick. “We may have to remain here for some time, and I’d like a more substantial residence.”
“I think the one we now have will do,” suggested Tom. “I was going to propose making it even less substantial.”
“Why so?”
“Because, in the event of an earthquake, while we are sleeping in it, we will not be injured. Made of light pieces of wood and canvas it can’t harm us very much if it falls on us.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Damon. “In earthquake countries all the houses are low, and built of light materials.”
“Ha! So I recollect now,” spoke Mr. Fenwick. “I used to read that in my geography, but I never thought it would apply to me. But do you think we will be subject to the quakes?”
“I’m afraid so,” was Tom’s reply. “We’ve had two, now, within a short time, and there is no way of telling when the next will come. We will hope there won’t be any more, but—”
He did not finish his sentence, but the others knew what he meant. Thereupon they fell to work, and soon had made a shelter that, while very light and frail, would afford them all the protection needed in that mild climate, and, at the same time, there would be no danger should an earthquake collapse it, and bring it down about their heads while they were sleeping in it.
For they decided that they needed some shelter from the night dews, as it was exceedingly uncomfortable to rest on the sands even wrapped in blankets, and with a driftwood fire burning nearby.
It was noon when they had their shack rebuilt to their liking, and they stopp
ed for dinner. There was quite a variety of stores in the airship, enough for a much larger party than that of our three friends, and they varied their meals as much as possible. Of course all the stuff they had was canned, though there are some salted and smoked meats. But canned food can be had in a variety of forms now-a-days, so the castaways did not lack much.
“What do you say to an exploring expedition this afternoon?” asked Tom, as they sat about after dinner. “We ought to find out what kind of an island we’re on.”
“I agree with you,” came from Mr. Fenwick. “Perhaps on the other side we will stand a much better chance of speaking some passing vessel. I have been watching the horizon for some time, now, but I haven’t seen the sign of a ship.”
“All right, then we’ll explore, and see what sort of an island we have taken possession of,” went on Tom.
“And see if it isn’t already in possession of natives—or cannibals,” suggested Mr. Damon. “Bless my frying pan! but I should hate to be captured by cannibals at my time of life.”
“Don’t worry; there are none here,” Tom assured him again.
They set out on their journey around the island. They agreed that it would be best to follow the beach around, as it was easier walking that way, since the interior of the place consisted of rugged rocks in a sort of miniature mountain chain.
“We will make a circuit of the place,” proposed Tom, “and then, if we can discover nothing, we’ll go inland. The centre of the island is quite high, and we ought to be able to see in any direction for a great distance from the topmost peak. We may be able to signal a vessel.”
“I hope so!” cried Mr. Damon. “I want to send word home that I am all right. My wife will worry when she learns that the airship, in which I set out, has disappeared.”
“I fancy we all would like to send word home,” added Mr. Fenwick. “My wife never wanted me to build this airship, and, now that I have sailed in it, and have been wrecked, I know she’ll say ‘I told you so,’ as soon as I get back to Philadelphia.”
Tom said nothing, but he thought to himself that it might be some time before Mrs. Fenwick would have a chance to utter those significant words to her husband.
Following the beach line, they walked for several miles. The island was larger than they had supposed, and it soon became evident that it would take at least a day to get all around it.
“In which case we will need some lunch with us.” said Tom. “I think the best thing we can do now is to return to camp, and get ready for a longer expedition tomorrow.”
Mr. Fenwick was of the same mind, but Mr. Damon called out:
“Let’s go just beyond that cliff, and see what sort of a view is to be had from there. Then we’ll turn back.”
To oblige him they followed. They had not gone more than a hundred yards toward the cliff, than there came the preliminary rumbling and roaring that they had come to associate with an earthquake. At the same time, the ground began to shiver and shake.
“Here comes another one!” cried Tom, reeling about. He saw Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick topple to the beach. The roaring increased, and the rumbling was like thunder, close at hand. The island seemed to rock to its very centre.
Suddenly the whole cliff toward which they had been walking, appeared to shake itself loose. In another instant it was flung outward and into the sea, a great mass of rock and stone.
The island ceased trembling, and the roaring stopped. Tom rose to his feet, followed by his companions. He looked toward the place where the cliff had been. Its removal by the earthquake gave them a view of a part of the beach that had hitherto been hidden from them.
And what Tom saw caused him to cry out in astonishment. For he beheld, gathered around a little fire on the sand, a party of men and women. Some were standing, clinging to one another in terror. Some were prostrate on the ground. Others were running to and fro in bewilderment.
“More castaways!” cried Tom. “More castaways,” and, he added under his breath, “more unfortunates on earthquake island!”
CHAPTER XVI
An Alarming Theory
For a few seconds, following Tom’s announcement to his two companions, neither Mr. Damon nor Mr. Fenwick spoke. They had arisen from the beach, where the shock of the earthquake had thrown them, and were now staring toward the other band of castaways, who, in turn were gazing toward our three friends. There was a violent agitation in the sea, caused by the fall of the great cliff, and immense waves rushed up on shore, but all the islanders were beyond the reach of the rollers.
“Is it—do I really—am I dreaming or not?” at length gasped Mr. Damon.
“Is this a mirage, or do we really see people, Tom?” inquired Mr. Fenwick.
“They are real enough people,” replied the lad, himself somewhat dazed by the unexpected appearance of the other castaways.
“But how—why—how did they get here?” went on the inventor of the Whizzer.
“As long as they’re not cannibals, we’re all right,” murmured Mr. Damon. “They seem to be persons like ourselves, Tom.”
“They are,” agreed the lad, “and they appear to be in the same sort of trouble as ourselves. Let’s go forward, and meet them.”
The tremor of the earthquake had now subsided, and the little band that was gathered about a big fire of driftwood was calmer. Those who had fallen, or who had thrown themselves on the sand, arose, and began feeling of their arms and legs to see if they had sustained any injuries. Others advanced toward our friends.
“Nine of them,” murmured Tom, as he counted the little band of castaways, “and they don’t seem to have been able to save much from the wreck of their craft, whatever it was.” The beach all about them was bare, save for a boat drawn up out of reach of high water.
“Do you suppose they are a party from some disabled airship, Tom,” asked Mr. Fenwick.
“Not from an airship,” answered the lad. “Probably from some vessel that was wrecked in the gale. But we will soon find out who they are.”
Tom led the way for his two friends. The fall of the cliff had made a rugged path around the base of it, over rocks, to where the other people stood. Tom scrambled in and out among the boulders, in spite of the pain it caused his wounded leg. He was anxious to know who the other castaways were, and how they had come there.
Several of the larger party were now advancing to meet the lad and his friends. Tom could see two women and seven men.
A moment later, when the lad had a good view of one of the ladies and a gentleman, he could not repress a cry of astonishment. Then he rubbed his eyes to make sure it was not some blur or defect of vision. No, his first impression had been correct.
“Mr. Nestor!” cried Tom, recognizing the father of his girl friend. “And Mrs. Nestor!” he added a moment later.
“Why—of all things—look—Amos—it’s—it can’t be possible—and yet—why, it’s Tom Swift!” cried the lady.
“Tom—Tom Swift—here?” ejaculated the man at her side.
“Yes—Tom Swift—the young inventor—of Shopton—don’t you know—the lad who saved Mary’s life in the runaway—Tom Swift!”
“Tom Swift!” murmured Mr. Nestor. “Is it possible!”
“I’m Tom Swift, all right,” answered the owner of that name, “but how in the world did you get on this island, Mr. Nestor?”
“I might ask you the same thing, Tom. The yacht Resolute, on which we were making a voyage to the West Indies, as guests of Mr. George Hosbrook, was wrecked in the awful gale. We took to the boats and managed to reach this island. The yacht sunk, and we only had a little food. We are almost starved! But how came you here?”
“Mr. Fenwick’s airship was wrecked, and we dropped down here. What a coincidence! To think that I should meet you here! But if you’re hungry, it’s the best thing in the world that we met you, for, though our airship was wrecked, we have a large supply of food. Come over to our camp, and we’ll give you all you want!”
Tom had rushed forw
ard, and was shaking hands with Mary’s parents, so unexpectedly met with, when Mr. Nestor called out:
“Come over here, Mr. Hosbrook. I want you to meet a friend of mine.”
A moment later, the millionaire owner of the ill-fated Resolute was shaking hands with Tom.
“I can’t understand it,” Mr. Hosbrook said. “To think of meeting other people on this desolate island—this island of earthquakes.”
“Oh, please don’t speak of earthquakes!” cried Mrs. Nestor. “We are in mortal terror! There have been several since we landed in the most terrible storm day before yesterday. Isn’t it awful! It is a regular earthquake island!”
“That’s what I call it,” spoke Tom, grimly.
The others of the larger party of refugees now came up. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, and Mr. Hosbrook, there was Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Anderson, friends of the millionaire; Mr. Ralph Parker, who was spoken of as a scientist, Mr. Barcoe Jenks, who seemed an odd sort of individual, always looking about suspiciously, Captain Mentor, who had been in command of the yacht, and Jake Fordam, the mate of the vessel.
“And are these all who were saved?” asked Tom, as he introduced his two friends, and told briefly of their air voyage.
“No,” answered Mr. Hosbrook, “two other boatloads, one containing most of the crew, and the other containing some of my guests, got away before our boat left. I trust they have been rescued, but we have heard nothing about them. However, our own lives may not long be safe, if these earthquakes continue.”
“But did I understand you to say, Mr. Swift, that you had food?” he went on. “If you have, I will gladly pay you any price for some, especially for these two ladies, who must be faint. I have lost all my ready cash, but if we ever reach civilization, I will—”
“Don’t speak of such a thing as pay,” interrupted Mr. Fenwick. “All that we have we’ll gladly share with you. Come over to our camp. We have enough for all, and we can cook on our gasolene stove. Don’t speak of pay, I beg of you.”
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 72
