CHAPTER XI
A NIGHT OF TERROR
After the first shock of Tom's announcement, the two men, who weretraveling with him in the airship, showed no signs of fear. Yet itwas alarming to know that one was speeding over the mighty ocean,before a terrific gale, with nothing more substantial under one thata comparatively frail airship.
Still Mr. Damon knew Tom of old, and had confidence in his ability,and, while Mr. Fenwick was not so well acquainted with our hero, hehad heard much about him, and put faith in his skill to carry themout of their present difficulty.
"Are you sure you can't turn around and go back?" asked Mr. Fenwick.His knowledge of air-currents was rather limited.
"It is out of the question," replied Tom, simply. "We would surelyrip this craft to pieces if we attempted to buffet this storm."
"Is it so bad, then?" asked Mr. Damon, forgetting to bless anythingin the tense excitement of the moment.
"It might be worse," was the reply of the young inventor. "The windis blowing about eighty miles an hour at times, and to try to turnnow would mean that we would tear the planes loose from the ship.True, we could still keep up by means of the gas bag, but even thatmight be injured. Going as we are, in the same direction as that inwhich the wind is blowing, we do not feel the full effect of it."
"But, perhaps, if we went lower down, or higher up, we could get ina different current of air," suggested Mr. Fenwick, who had madesome study of aeronautics.
"I'll try," assented Tom, simply. He shifted the elevating rudder,and the WHIZZER began to go up, slowly, for there was great lateralpressure on her large surface. But Tom knew his business, and urgedthe craft steadily. The powerful electric engines, which were theinvention of Mr. Fenwick, stood them in good stead, and thebarograph soon showed that they were steadily mounting.
"Is the wind pressure any less?" inquired Mr. Damon, anxiously.
"On the contrary, it seems to be increasing," replied Tom, with aglance at the anemometer. "It's nearly ninety miles an hour now."
"Then, aided by the propellers, we must be making over a hundredmiles an hour." said the inventor.
"We are,--a hundred and thirty," assented Tom.
"We'll be blown across the ocean at this rate," exclaimed Mr. Damon."Bless my soul! I didn't count on that."
"Perhaps we had better go down," suggested Mr. Fenwick. "I don'tbelieve we can get above the gale."
"I'm afraid not," came from Tom. "It may be a bit better downbelow."
Accordingly, the rudder was changed, and the WHIZZER pointed hernose downward. None of the lifting gas was let out, as it wasdesired to save that for emergencies.
Down, down, down, went the great airship, until the adventurerswithin, by gazing through the plate glass window in the floor of thecabin, could see the heaving, white-capped billows, tossing andtumbling below them.
"Look out, or we'll be into them!" shouted Mr. Damon.
"I guess we may as well go back to the level where we were,"declared Tom. "The wind, both above and below that particular stratais stronger, and we will be safer up above. Our only chance is toscud before it, until it has blown itself out. And I hope it will besoon."
"Why?" asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice.
"Because we may be blown so far that we can not get back while ourpower holds out, and then--" Tom did not finish, but Mr. Damon knewwhat he meant--death in the tossing ocean, far from land, when theWHIZZER, unable to float in the air any longer, should drop into thestorm-enraged Atlantic.
They were again on a level, where the gale blew less furiously thaneither above or below, but this was not much relief. It seemed as ifthe airship would go to pieces, so much was it swayed and tossedabout. But Mr. Fenwick, if he had done nothing else, had made astaunch craft, which stood the travelers in good stead.
All the rest of that day they swept on, at about the same speed.There was nothing for them to do, save watch the machinery,occasionally replenishing the oil tanks, or making minoradjustments.
"Well," finally remarked Mr. Damon, when the afternoon was waningaway, "if there's nothing else to do, suppose we eat. Bless myappetite, but I'm hungry! and I believe you said, Mr. Fenwick, thatyou had plenty of food aboard."
"So we have, but the excitement of being blown out to sea on ourfirst real trip, made me forget all about it. I'll get dinner atonce, if you can put up with an amateur's cooking."
"And I'll help," offered Mr. Damon. "Tom can attend to the airship,and we'll serve the meals. It will take our minds off our troubles."
There was a well equipped kitchen aboard the WHIZZER and soon savoryodors were coming from it. In spite of the terror of theirsituation, and it was not to be denied that they were in peril, theyall made a good meal, though it was difficult to drink coffee andother liquids, owing to the sudden lurches which the airship gavefrom time to time as the gale tossed her to and fro.
Night came, and, as the blackness settled down, the gale seemed toincrease in fury. It howled through the slender wire rigging of theWHIZZER, and sent the craft careening from side to side, andsometimes thrust her down into a cavern of the air, only to lift herhigh again, almost like a ship on the heaving ocean below them.
As darkness settled in blacker and blacker, Tom had a glimpse belowhim, of tossing lights on the water.
"We just passed over some vessel," he announced. "I hope they are inno worse plight than we are." Then, there suddenly came to him athought of the parents of Mary Nestor, who were somewhere on theocean, in the yacht RESOLUTE bound for the West Indies.
"I wonder if they're out in this storm, too?" mused Tom. "If theyare, unless the vessel is a staunch one, they may be in danger."
The thought of the parents of the girl he cared so much for being inperil, was not reassuring to Tom, and he began to busy himself aboutthe machinery of the airship, to take his mind from the presentimentthat something might happen to the RESOLUTE.
"We'll have our own troubles before morning," the lad mused, "ifthis wind doesn't die down."
There was no indication that this was going to be the case, for thegale increased rather than diminished. Tom looked at their speedgage. They were making a good ninety miles an hour, for it had beendecided that it was best to keep the engine and propellers going, asthey steadied the ship.
"Ninety miles an hour," murmured Tom. "And we've been going at thatrate for ten hours now. That's nearly a thousand miles. We are quitea distance out to sea."
He looked at a compass, and noted that, instead of being headeddirectly across the Atlantic they were bearing in a southerlydirection.
"At this rate, we won't come far from getting to the West Indiesourselves," reasoned the young inventor. "But I think the gale willdie away before morning."
The storm did not, however. More fiercely it blew through the hoursof darkness. It was a night of terror, for they dared not go tosleep, not knowing at what moment the ship might turn turtle, oreven rend apart, and plunge with them into the depths of the sea.
So they sat up, occasionally attending to the machinery, and notingthe various gages. Mr. Damon made hot coffee, which they drank fromtime to time, and it served to refresh them.
There came a sudden burst of fury from the storm, and the airshiprocked as if she was going over.
"Bless my heart!" cried Mr. Damon, springing up. "That was a closecall!"
Tom said nothing. Mr. Fenwick looked pale and alarmed.
The hours passed. They were swept ever onward, at about the samespeed, sometimes being whirled downward, and again tossed upward atthe will of the wind. The airship was well-nigh helpless, and Tom,as he realized their position, could not repress a fear in his heartas he thought of the parents of the girl he loved being tossed abouton the swirling ocean, in a frail pleasure yacht.
Tom Swift and His Wireless Message; Or, The Castaways of Earthquake Island Page 11
