White Fire
CHAPTER XI LIFE'S HAZARD OF A SINGLE GLIDE
The coming out of the storm was like riding out of night into the brightlight of a new day. Pant, as he sat at the wheel, steering as in a dream,was entranced by the beauty and wonder of it. They had been near death ascore of times in a single hour; now they were racing away to life. Life!What a wonderful privilege just to live! How foolish boys must be whorisk life for some useless plaything--to accept a "dare" or experiencesome new thrill. So he mused, and then all at once he realized that theyhad risked their lives for a cause of which they knew little.
"Well," he said, as he settled himself more firmly in his position behindthe wheel, "we've come this far, so we've got to see it through. I wonderhow far that storm has carried us off our course, and in what directionwe are going now?"
Rubbing the moisture off the glass of his compass, he read theirdirection. Then he started. They were going north by east, and theircourse was set for south by southwest.
Pant stared at the compass.
"Whew!" he whistled. "At that rate, we'll be back where we started fromin due course of time."
Then a new thought worried him. He, too, had remembered the dust in thefuel tank. It must be running low. He could not tell their exactposition, but believed they were far nearer to a small group of islandswhich they had sighted shortly before the storm struck them than theywere to their destination.
Immediately there was set up in his mind a tense conflict. "It's betterto keep going in your present direction and to seek safety with a freshsupply of fuel from those islands you just passed," said his nativecaution. "You have no right to turn back, for if you do you are sure tolose the race," said his instinctive loyalty to the cause of another.
Loyalty won the day, and with mouth grimly set he gradually turned theplane about. Skirting the fringe of the storm, he sent the plane speedingon her way.
Gradually the smoke of battle--the mists that lay low on thehorizon--disappeared, and they emerged into the glorious sunlight. Theocean lay a glittering mass of jewels beneath them, jewels that sparkledon a robe of emerald green. The sky, a vast blue dome, lay spread abovethem, while a few white clouds skirted the horizon. Behind them, like theuplifted head of a terrible sea-dragon, the storm still reared its massesof tumult to the heavens.
"That," said Pant through his mouthpiece, "was the worst I ever saw."
Johnny Thompson threw back his head and laughed. A merry laugh it was. Itwas easy to laugh when they were free.
For an hour the plane held steadily on its course--south by southwest. Itwas a wonderful journey. Weary as he was and prone to fall asleep at hispost, Pant enjoyed it. Here and there they passed flocks of sea-gullsthat rose screaming from the sea. Once they raced for a few miles with ahonking wedge of wild geese. The presence of this flock made Pant thinkthey must be near some land. What land it might be he could not evenguess, but the thought cheered him.
For an hour, an hour and a quarter, an hour and a half, they sped on.Both boys had forgotten the question of fuel. Johnny was puzzling overthe name of the contents of the chests on the wreck; Pant was wonderingabout the fate of the ship they had sighted in the storm, when there camea hoarse rumble from the right-hand engine, and the thunder of theirdrivers was lessened by half.
With trembling hand Pant threw the lever out. The other motor was stillgoing, but he realized that it would be but a matter of moments untilthat one also was dead.
Instinctively, as if preparing to run away from the ocean, which, havingbeen lashed by the storm, must still be rolling in great, sweeping wavesthat would wreck their frail craft the instant she touched its surface,he tilted the plane's nose to a sharp angle and set her climbing.
They had been traveling some three thousand feet above the sea. Now theyclimbed rapidly. Four thousand, and five thousand, six, seven, eight,nine thousand. They were now entering a filmy cloud that sent long wavingarms down to clutch them. Now and again they "bumped," dropping straightdown a hundred feet, then rising again. It was a glorious experience,even if it might be their last.
With ears alert, as are the ears of a man expecting the sentence ofdeath, Pant awaited the last hoarse cough of the engine.
Finally it came; a grinding whirr, a tremor running through the plane, asa shudder runs through the form of a dying animal, then all was silence.
It was such a silence as none of the three had ever experienced. Forhours they had listened to the scream of the storm, to the roar ofbreakers, to the thunder of their engines. For another hour and a halfthey had listened to the engines alone. Now there was utter silence; asilence so intense that, had a feather been falling from a sea-gull'swing, it seemed that its passage through the air might be heard.
The plane had broad, spreading wings. It would float with easy grace tothe very surface of the sea. But then?
There was plenty of time to think now. No one cared to speak. Their mindswere concerned about many things. Life as they had lived it lay spreadout before them like the pages of a picture-book. All the past movedbefore them. They came to the end, at last, and thus to the question ofthe ship in the storm and the wreck on the desert island. Had the shipescaped from the storm? Was the wreck still intact, or had it beendestroyed by the waves? Would the wreckers find the treasure? What then?
Slowly the plane drifted down. Eight thousand feet, seven thousand, six,five, four, three.
Suddenly Pant moved in his seat. Seizing his tube in his excitement,forgetting that they might easily speak to one another since the sound ofthe engines was gone, he shouted:
"Listen!"
Johnny threw open the door of the cabin and sat listening.
"I only hear the waves," he said.
"Two kinds of sounds, though," smiled Pant; "a steady wash and athundering."
"Yes, I hear them."
"The thundering means land."
"Eh?" Johnny gazed down toward the wide circle of the sea. "But where?"
It was true. From this point in the air, though they could see for manymiles, only the unbroken expanse of dark green waters met their view.
"There!" exclaimed Pant in triumph. He was pointing to a long line ofwhite. "That's surf. Some coral island there. Surf's breaking over it. Ifwe can make the lee of it we're safe."
He brought the nose of the plane about until it pointed toward the whiteline. Silence followed--a silence that could almost be felt. Only themurmur of vast waters and the distant thunder of the breakers, like thefalls of a great river, disturbed that silence. Their lives depended onthe length of a single glide.
Johnny Thompson opened two small round windows, portholes to the cabin.The Professor, sensing the tenseness of the situation, without fullyunderstanding it, did likewise. Then the three of them watched therolling ocean as it rose up to meet them.
Now they appeared to be a mile from that white line of foam. They weretwenty-eight hundred feet in air. At fifteen hundred feet they appearedto be scarcely half a mile away. Beneath them rolled the treacherouswaves; before them the breakers roared. Just over that crest of foamthere lay a narrow bay, still as a millpond. Could they make it? Pantlifted a trembling hand to his forehead to brush away cold perspiration.Johnny stirred uneasily. Only the Professor was silent. Motionless as asphinx, he watched the ocean spin along beneath him.
Gradually as they sank lower and lower objects became distinct to them.The north end of the island appeared to rise some twenty feet above thesea. The south end was lower. The whole of it was lined with a fringe ofpalms.
"Better turn her a bit south," Johnny suggested. "It's lower there andless chance of a smash."
Without a word Pant followed his directions.
Lower and lower they drifted. Closer and closer came the island. For atime it seemed that they must inevitably drop into the sea. Then itappeared that they would miss the ocean but drive into the palms.
A hundred feet in air they swept on. Catching his breath, Pant unbuckledhis harness. Johnny
and the Professor followed his example. The nextsecond, with a strange, land-like breath of air sweeping up to them, theypassed over the very fringe-tops of the palms. One moment later they werestanding up in their craft, which gently rose and fell with the water.Without a word they solemnly shook hands.
There are moments in the life of every person when he feels himself soclosely welded to the life of some other one that only death can separatethem. Johnny felt that such a time had arrived in his life. He and Pantwere already inseparable. Now, by this simple, silent handshake, theytook the Professor into their narrow circle. They had suffered in periltogether.
They were now on a narrow island of the Pacific in a seaplane withoutfuel, and with provisions for but a day. Come what might, they wouldstick together until the end.
Their first precaution was to bring their plane as close in shore as theshallow water would permit, then to anchor it securely. After that theyunfolded a small, collapsible boat and prepared to make their way ashore.
"Inhabited or not?" smiled Pant.
"If inhabited, cannibal or otherwise?" Johnny smiled back.
"I hope we are not to tarry here long," said the Professor.
"We'll tarry until we discover some fuel, and I don't think green palmtrees will be of much use," said Johnny seriously. "Have you anything tosuggest?"
The Professor seemed inclined to take these remarks as being in the formof a joke, but seeing that Johnny was serious, he said, as his browwrinkled:
"It is really very important that we be on our way. We cannot be morethan a hundred miles from our destination."
"Perhaps not even that," said Pant, "but they may be very hard miles totravel."
"If we only were there," sighed Johnny. "There is sure to be coal on thewreck."
"But, since we're not, let's explore our island," suggested Pant.
"And sleep," said Johnny. "I'm about to fall asleep as I walk."
"Better bring the rifles," suggested Pant. "Doesn't seem likely thatthere is a single living soul on this island--it's no more than a coralrock sticking up out of the sea; can't be two miles long--but you nevercan tell."
Johnny brought two rifles from the plane. After rubbing the moisture fromtheir barrels, he slipped a handful of cartridges in each, and set themup in the bow of the boat.
Pant had already gathered up an armful of sacks and cans, enough food fora day ashore. Throwing these into the bottom of the boat, he exclaimed:"All aboard for no man's land."
Then all climbed in. Johnny took the oars. Ten minutes of rowing broughtthem ashore.
It was a strange sensation that came to them as they stepped on solidground once more. They had been swinging and tossing about for so longthat solid earth seemed unreal--only part of a dream.
"Don't see a sign of life," said Johnny as he glanced up and down thebeach, then into the depths of the palms.
"Here's a bit of bamboo that looks as if it had been cut with a knife,"said Pant.
"Might have drifted in," suggested Johnny. Other than this they found nosign of life.
After a brief consultation they decided that, simply as a matter ofprecaution, they should make the rounds of the shore before settling downto sleep.
Night would be coming on in an hour, so, after partaking of a hastyrepast, the two boys, armed with the rifles, struck up the beach to theright. The Professor was left to keep an eye on the plane.
Nothing eventful happened until the boys had made three-fourths of theirjourney. As they had expected, they had found no sign of human life onthe island. Night was falling; the sea was growing calm after the storm;they were looking forward to a few hours of refreshing sleep when, of asudden, as they rounded a clump of palms, Johnny sprang backward, and,clutching his companion's arm, dragged him into the deeper shadows.
"Wha--what is it?" stammered Pant.
"A camp fire on the beach, and men, six or eight of them, I think,sitting about it. Natives, I should judge."
For a time the boys stood there in silence. It was a tense moment. Eachin his own way was trying to solve the problem that had suddenly thrustitself upon them. Should they show themselves to the natives, or shouldthey try to discover some way to escape from the islands?
"I don't think," said Pant, as if talking to himself, "that we can getoff the island without their aid."
"A ship might appear," suggested Johnny.
"Not likely," said Pant. "We're too far off the beaten path of seatravel."
"All right. C'm'on," said Johnny, as he led the way out into the openwhere the camp fire gleamed.