CHAPTER XXIX
A FLYING RESCUE
John turned the Sky-Bird upward at as stiff a slant as he felt would besafe for them in that high wind. At nine thousand feet they emergedabove the first layer; but eastward the clouds appeared to terrace upgradually, and in the distance there extended another great wall,towering several thousand feet higher.
Some of the rain was now beginning to reach them. It came patteringdown upon the roof; and under the strong impulse of wind and theirspeed, it struck the glass windows in front with a smack like buckshot.The moisture on the panes made it difficult to see out.
"Take a reading with the anemometer, Tom," ordered John, straining hiseyes hard ahead.
This little instrument was something like a miniature windmill. Itsfour wings were supplied with cups which, as Tom held the instrumentout of the window facing the wind, caused the spider to revolve. Thelatter was geared to a small dial, over the face of which passed ahand, much like a clock, indicating the speed of the wind.
"She's blowing fifty miles an hour, and gaining every minute,"announced Tom. "That's the hardest wind we've been in yet."
"If we stay down here it will be blowing sixty within ten minutes," wasthe pilot's grim response.
Just then there was a blinding flash of light a little way ahead ofthem, accompanied by such a terrific crash of thunder that their earsrang.
"Gee!" cried Bob, "that was a close call! I'll bet that bolt camewithin a rod of striking us."
"A miss is as good as a mile," shouted John cheerfully. He and theothers found that they would have to yell in order to be heard, sogreat was the noise from engine and storm.
_Zip!_ went a zigzagging livid streak across their range of vision. Itseemed to be running straight for them, and instinctively theydodged--all but Tom and John. These old veterans continued to gazecoolly straight ahead as though nothing had happened. _Crash-h!_ wenta clap of thunder. It seemed as if the whole heavens were being turnedtopsy-turvy. Even the airplane, usually so steady, heaved and rodelike a rocking-horse.
The two younger members of the party were not to be blamed for feelingpretty well frightened by this time. It was one thing to be cuttingthrough the fleecy white clouds of a calm day, and quite another to gostabbing through murky black ones which were rolling angrily, ejectingboth wind and rain, and spitting out vicious roars and jagged streaksof pale-blue flame. One moment they would be in gloom; the nextinstant a cloud would be rent asunder with a ripping, tearing sound,and the whole turbid, boiling sky-universe would be bathed in theghostly light. What a weird, fantastic, chaotic world they were in!
But it was only for a few minutes that they were in the worst danger.Soon, to their infinite relief, they had reached their "ceiling." Theywere now 15,000 feet up--almost three miles,--and below them lay thevast sea of troubled cloudland, dark and forbidding, rollingtumultuously like an ocean of curdled ink. It was a novel experienceto be running in the clear air over all of this infernality of soundsand sights, while above them the blue, star-studded heavens looked downupon them calmly and peaceably.
For almost an hour the furious storm continued in the lower regions.Then it began slowly to subside. First the lightning stopped, then thethunder. The banks of clouds took on a lighter hue, and began to driftapart; a pinnacle here and a crag there were swept off by the winds,until the masses of nimbus became flattened out into patches ofsun-flecked foam as beautiful as fresh-fallen snow.
The anemometer spun slower and slower as the gale decreased inviolence, and presently the airplane was gliding along with its normalsmoothness. Here and there, between the patches of white cloud, theycaught glimpses of the ultramarine sea, thousands of feet below them.
It was so cold up here, even with the windows closed, that all the boyswere shivering in their warmest wraps. The air, too, was so rarefiedthat it was with considerable difficulty that they could breathe, forthey had been in it for some time. Not one flyer in a hundred can liveat an altitude of twenty thousand feet, as he bleeds at the nose andmouth; and our aviators were up to within five thousand feet of thatheight. It was now time to descend.
John shut off both engines, and they began to volplane down in a greatstillness, sailing like an immense hawk. Lower and lower theywent--fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten thousand feet. Now theywere gliding through clear, thin air; now cutting a hole through aheavy cloud so impregnated with moisture that it sweat over the glassand the boys would have to wipe a sleeve across hastily to improve thevision. Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two!
That was low enough. All this time the propeller had been spinningfrom the rush of air alone. Now John threw in the clutch; therevolving propeller shaft grabbed the crankshaft of the engine, andonce more it began its rhythmic purr. Just a little upthrust of thetail-elevators and ailerons brought them again into the horizontal in ahuge swoop. Nothing could have been prettier. They had escaped theterrible tornado, leaving it still galloping westward far behind them,and were once more in normal position for continuing their flighttoward the goal!
Below them, for miles around, they could once more see the oceanuninterruptedly. Its mountainous waves and deep gorges of a short timeprevious had probably swallowed up many an unlucky ship that morning;but its temper was expended, and all it could do now was to sulk inlong, even billows which every moment became flatter and flatter.
How had their rivals fared? This question was in the minds of everyone of our flyers as the Sky-Bird continued swiftly on her course. Intheir hearts was a vague feeling that perhaps Pete Deveaux and hiscrowd might not have come out of the storm as lucky as they, for notone airplane out of a score could have outlived it. Their own escapehad been almost miraculous. But for the good generalship of John theysurely would have met with mishap.
So now, as they went along, a sharp lookout was not only kept for theirrivals in the sky ahead, but anxious looks were cast over the expanseof white-capped waters. Calculations told them that by this time theother airplane could not be far ahead.
Less than ten minutes later, Tom espied a small object far away ontheir port quarter. It was bobbing about on the waves, rising andfalling. Bob seized a pair of glasses, and took a long look. Heturned around with his face full of excitement.
"Heavens, fellows!" he cried; "that object looks like an airplane!"
All took a look. Then they, too, were excited, There could be no doubtabout it--the object was a wrecked airplane. And as it was extremelyunlikely that there were other machines in the vicinity than their ownand that of their adversaries', they were quite sure that it must bethe remains of the _Clarion_.
John turned the Sky-Bird in the direction of the floating thing, andsoon they saw what seemed to be the form of a human being clinging toone of the wings. John threw in both engines in an effort to get allpossible speed out of the craft.
In a little while they were close enough to see that the wreck wasreally the _Clarion_. But what a sad-looking sight was the formerhandsome craft! Her tail had been wrenched off, and only half of oneof her long wings could be seen. Out upon the other, on hands andknees, clinging desperately to the aileron brace, was the hatless,water-soaked figure of a man. As they came closer still they could seehim waving his hand frantically at them.
With a glass, Paul saw that this person was Oliver Torrey. Anxiouslyhis eyes roved over the wreck in quest of other survivors, but nonecould he discern. Irony of fate! had all of the others been drowned?
John brought the Sky-Bird down to within seventy-five feet of the seaas they approached. Tom seized the speaking trumpet, and as they sweptover the _Clarion_ he bawled out: "Hang on, Torrey! We'll stand by,and save you if we can!"
But they were facing a herculean task, and realized it. They could notlight upon the water. Nor could they stop in midair. How in the worldcould they effect the hapless flyer's rescue?
John circled at reduced speed while all of their minds were busy tryingto work out the problem. In the meanti
me Torrey's frantic pleadingsfor them not to go away and leave him to his fate filled their ears.It was a trying, nerve-racking situation.
Bob Giddings struck upon the first idea.
"Why can't we trail a rope for him to catch?" he asked.
"He's probably too weak to climb a rope," objected Tom.
"I'll tell you what we can do," said Paul, with a happy thought. "Wecan take this coil of rope we have here and make a narrow ladder of it!That will be easy for him to catch, and easy to climb."
All agreed instantly that this was the only hope of rescue. So Johnkept the Sky-Bird slowly wheeling, while his three mates cut and tieduntil they had formed a narrow rope ladder about fifty feet long. Oneend of this they securely fastened in the cabin, while they let theother drop down through the glass trap in the floor.
To their dismay the rush of wind carried the light ladder out sohorizontally behind that they saw they could never get low enough withsafety for Oliver Torrey to reach it! What could they do now? Itseemed they were destined to failure; that Torrey must be left to thecruel and hungry waves.
"I have it!" cried Bob. "We'll fasten Grandpa near the lower end ofthe ladder. His weight will be sufficient to keep it down straight."
This was a splendid scheme, surely. Accordingly, the monkey, wonderingwhat new form of teasing was about to be imposed upon him, was fastenedabout three feet from the bottom end of the ladder, and Grandpa and hisstrange trapeze was then slowly let down until all of the ladder hadbeen paid out. The crew were glad to note that it now hung almostperpendicularly.
Now the success of everything depended upon John. He must be skillfulenough to bring the ladder across Torrey's position in just the rightplace for the flyer to grasp it as it swept past.
They shouted to the man below to stand up if he could, andcomprehending in an instant his part of the program, he struggled tohis feet, spreading them wide apart to brace himself, for the wreckedairplane was rocking somewhat from the action of the waves.
The first time John brought the Sky-Bird by he was too high; Torreycould not reach the ladder. The second time a sudden gust of wind blewthe ropes too far to one side at the critical moment. The third timethe machine itself was a trifle too far to one side. But on the fourthattempt success met their patient efforts; Torrey's hands seized thebottom rung of the ladder, and a few minutes later he had climbed upinto the cabin and sunk weakly upon the floor. Paul then brought inthe ladder, laughing nervously, and released Grandpa, who had notrelished his part of the proceedings in the least, to judge from hisexcited chattering, most of which was bestowed upon the rescued man.