CHAPTER XII
A DOWNWARD GLIDE
They sat in the cabin of the airship, staring helplessly at eachother. Occasionally Tom rose to attend to one of the machines, orMr. Fenwick did the same. Occasionally, Mr. Damon uttered a remark.Then there was silence, broken only by the howl of the gale.
It seemed impossible for the WHIZZER to travel any faster, yet whenTom glanced at the speed gage he noted, with a feeling of surprise,akin to horror, that they were making close to one hundred and fiftymiles an hour. Only an aeroplane could have done it, and then onlywhen urged on by a terrific wind which added to the speed producedby the propellers.
The whole craft swayed and trembled, partly from the vibration ofthe electrical machinery, and partly from the awful wind. Mr.Fenwick came close to Tom, and exclaimed:
"Do you think it would be any use to try once more to go above orbelow the path of the storm?"
Tom's first impulse was to say that it would be useless, but herecollected that the craft belonged to Fenwick, and surely thatgentleman had a right to make a suggestion. The young inventornodded.
"We'll try to go up," he said. "If that doesn't work, I'll see if Ican force her down. It will be hard work, though. The wind is toostiff."
Tom shifted the levers and rudders. His eyes were on the barograph--thatdelicate instrument, the trembling hand of which registeredtheir height. Tom had tilted the deflection rudder to send them up,but as he watched the needle he saw it stationary. They were notascending, though the great airship was straining to mount to anupper current where there might be calm.
It was useless, however, and Tom, seeing the futility of it, shiftedthe rudder to send them downward. This was more easily accomplished,but it was a change for the worse, since, the nearer to the oceanthey went, the fiercer blew the wind.
"Back! Go back up higher!" cried Mr. Damon,
"We can't!" yelled Tom. "We've got to stay here now!"
"Oh, but this is awful!" exclaimed Mr. Fenwick. "We can never standthis!"
The airship swaged more than ever, and the occupants were tossedabout in the cabin, from side to side. Indeed, it did seem thathuman beings never could come alive out of that fearful ordeal.
As Tom looked from one of the windows of the cabin, he noted a pale,grayish sort of light outside. At first he could not understand whatit was, then, as he observed the sickly gleams of the incandescentelectric lamps, he knew that the hour of dawn was at hand.
"See!" he exclaimed to his companions, pointing to the window."Morning is coming."
"Morning!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Is the night over? Now, perhaps weshall get rid of the storm."
"I'm afraid not," answered Tom, as he noted the anemometer and feltthe shudderings of the WHIZZER as she careened on through the gale."It hasn't blown out yet!"
The pale light increased. The electrics seemed to dim and fade. Tomlooked to the engines. Some of the apparatus was in need of oil, andhe supplied it. When he came back to the main cabin, where stood Mr.Damon and Mr. Fenwick, it was much lighter outside.
"Less than a day since we left Philadelphia," murmured the owner ofthe WHIZZER, as he glanced at a distance indicator, "yet we havecome nearly sixteen hundred miles. We certainly did travel topspeed. I wonder where we are?"
"Still over the ocean," replied Mr. Damon, as he looked down at theheaving billows rolling amid crests of foam far below them. "Thoughwhat part of it would be hard to say. We'll have to reckon out ourposition when it gets calmer."
Tom came from the engine room. His face wore a troubled look, and hesaid, addressing the older inventor:
"Mr. Fenwick, I wish you'd come and look at the gas generatingapparatus. It doesn't seem to be working properly."
"Anything wrong?" asked Mr. Damon, suspiciously.
"I hope not," replied Tom, with all the confidence he could muster."It may need adjusting. I am not so familiar with it as I am withthe one on the RED CLOUD. The gas seems to be escaping from the bag,and we may have to descend, for some distance."
"But the aeroplanes will keep us up," said Mr. Daman.
"Yes--they will," and Tom hesitated. "That is, unless somethinghappens to them. They are rather frail to stand alone the brunt ofthe gale, and I wish--"
Tom did not complete the sentence. Instead, he paused suddenly andseemed to be intently listening.
From without there came a rending, tearing, crashing sound. Theairship quivered from end to end, and seemed to make a sudden divedownward. Then it appeared to recover, and once more glided forward.
Tom, followed by Mr. Fenwick, made a rush for the compartment wherethe machine was installed. They had no sooner reached it than theresounded an explosion, and the airship recoiled as if it had hit astone wall.
"Bless my shaving brush! What's that?" cried Mr. Damon. "Hasanything happened?"
"I'm rather afraid there has," answered Tom, solemnly. "It soundedas though the gas bag went up. And I'm worried over the strength ofthe planes. We must make an investigation!"
"We're falling!" almost screamed Mr. Fenwick, as he glanced at thebarograph, the delicate needle of which was swinging to and fro,registering different altitudes.
"Bless my feather bed! So we are!" shouted Mr. Damon. "Let's jump,and avoid being caught under the airship!"
He darted for a large window, opening from the main cabin, and wasendeavoring to raise it when Tom caught his hand.
"What are you trying to do," asked the lad, hoarsely.
"Save my life! I want to get out of this as soon as I can. I'm goingto jump!"
"Don't think of it! You'd be instantly killed. We're too high for ajump, even into the ocean."
"The ocean! Oh, is that still below us? Is there any chance of beingsaved? What can be done?" Mr. Damon hesitated.
"We must first find out how badly we are damaged," said Tom,quietly. "We must keep our heads, and be calm, no matter whathappens. I need your help, Mr. Damon."
This served to recall the rather excited man to his senses. He cameback to the centre of the cabin, which was no easy task, for thefloor of it was tilted at first one angle, and then another. Hestood at Tom's side.
"What can I do to help you?" he asked. Mr. Fenwick was darting hereand there, examining the different machines. None of them seemed tobe damaged.
"If you will look and see what has happened to our main wing planes,I will see how much gas we have left in the bag," suggested Tom."Then we can decide what is best to be done. We are still quitehigh, and it will take some time to complete our fall, as, even ifeverything is gone, the material of the bag will act as a sort ofparachute."
Mr. Damon darted to a window in the rear of the cabin, where hecould obtain a glimpse of the main wing planes. He gave a cry ofterror and astonishment.
"Two of the planes are gone!" he reported. "They are torn and arehanging loose."
"I feared as much," retorted Tom, quietly, "The gale was too muchfor them."
"What of the lifting gas?" asked Mr. Fenwick, quickly.
"It has nearly all flowed out of the retaining bag."
"Then we must make more at once. I will start the generatingmachine."
He darted toward it.
"It will be useless," spoke Tom, quietly.
"Why?"
"Because there is no bag left to hold it. The silk and rubberenvelope has been torn to pieces by the gale. The wind is evenstronger than it was last night."
"Then what's to be done?" demanded Mr. Damon, with a return of hisalarmed and nervous manner. "Bless my fingernails! What's to bedone?"
For an instant Tom did not answer. It was constantly gettinglighter, though there was no sun, for it was obscured by scuddingclouds. The young inventor looked critically at the various gagesand indicators.
"Is--is there any chance for us?" asked Mr. Fenwick, quietly.
"I think so," answered Tom, with a hopeful smile. "We have about twothousand feet to descend, for we have fallen nearly that distancesince the accident."
"Two thousand feet to fall!" gasp
ed Mr. Damon. "We can never do itand live!"
"I think so," spoke Tom.
"Bless my gizzard! How?" fairly exploded Mr. Damon.
"By vol-planing down!"
"But, even if we do, we will fall into the ocean!" cried Mr.Fenwick. "We will be drowned!"
"No," and Tom spoke more quietly than before. "We are over a largeisland." he went on, "and I propose to let the disabled airshipvol-plane down to it. That is our only chance."
"Over an island!" cried Mr. Damon. He looked down through the floorobservation window. Tom had spoken truly. At that moment they wereover a large island, which had suddenly loomed up in the wild anddesolate waste of the ocean. They had reached its vicinity just intime.
Tom stepped to the steering and rudder levers, and took charge. Hewas going to attempt a most difficult feat--that of guiding adisabled airship back to earth in the midst of a hurricane, andlanding her on an unknown island. Could he do it?
There was but one answer. He must try. It was the only chance ofsaving their lives, and a slim one at best.
Down shot the damaged WHIZZER like some giant bird with brokenwings, but Tom Swift was in charge, and it seemed as if the craftknew it, as she began that earthward glide.
Tom Swift and His Wireless Message; Or, The Castaways of Earthquake Island Page 12
