“Why—­why!” he exclaimed.  “We—­we’re over the ocean.”

“Yes,” answered Tom, quietly, as he gazed down on the tumbling billows below them.  They had quickly passed over Cape May, across the sandy beach, and were now well out over the Atlantic.

“Why—­why are we out here?” asked Mr. Fenwick.  “Isn’t it dangerous—­ in an airship that hasn’t been thoroughly tried yet?”

“Dangerous?  Yes, somewhat,” replied Tom, slowly.  “But we can’t help ourselves, Mr. Fenwick.  We can’t turn around and go back in this gale, and we can’t descend.”

“Then what’s to be done?”

“Nothing, except to keep on until the gale blows itself out.”

“And how long will that be?”

“I don’t know—­a week, maybe.”

“Bless my coffee pot, I’m glad we’ve got plenty on board to eat!” exclaimed Mr. Damon.

CHAPTER XI

A NIGHT OF TERROR

After the first shock of Tom’s announcement, the two men, who were traveling with him in the airship, showed no signs of fear.  Yet it was alarming to know that one was speeding over the mighty ocean, before a terrific gale, with nothing more substantial under one that a 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, he had heard much about him, and put faith in his skill to carry them out 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 surely rip this craft to pieces if we attempted to buffet this storm.”

“Is it so bad, then?” asked Mr. Damon, forgetting to bless anything in the tense excitement of the moment.

“It might be worse,” was the reply of the young inventor.  “The wind is blowing about eighty miles an hour at times, and to try to turn now 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 that might be injured.  Going as we are, in the same direction as that in which 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 in a different current of air,” suggested Mr. Fenwick, who had made some 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 lateral pressure on her large surface.  But Tom knew his business, and urged the craft steadily.  The powerful electric engines, which were the invention of Mr. Fenwick, stood them in good stead, and the barograph soon showed that they were steadily mounting.

“Is the wind pressure any less?” inquired Mr. Damon, anxiously.