CHAPTER XII

A DOWNWARD GLIDE

They sat in the cabin of the airship, staring helplessly at each other.  Occasionally Tom rose to attend to one of the machines, or Mr. 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 when Tom glanced at the speed gage he noted, with a feeling of surprise, akin to horror, that they were making close to one hundred and fifty miles an hour.  Only an aeroplane could have done it, and then only when urged on by a terrific wind which added to the speed produced by the propellers.

The whole craft swayed and trembled, partly from the vibration of the 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 or below the path of the storm?”

Tom’s first impulse was to say that it would be useless, but he recollected that the craft belonged to Fenwick, and surely that gentleman had a right to make a suggestion.  The young inventor nodded.

“We’ll try to go up,” he said.  “If that doesn’t work, I’ll see if I can force her down.  It will be hard work, though.  The wind is too stiff.”

Tom shifted the levers and rudders.  His eyes were on the barograph—­ that delicate instrument, the trembling hand of which registered their height.  Tom had tilted the deflection rudder to send them up, but as he watched the needle he saw it stationary.  They were not ascending, though the great airship was straining to mount to an upper current where there might be calm.

It was useless, however, and Tom, seeing the futility of it, shifted the rudder to send them downward.  This was more easily accomplished, but it was a change for the worse, since, the nearer to the ocean they 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 stand this!”

The airship swaged more than ever, and the occupants were tossed about in the cabin, from side to side.  Indeed, it did seem that human beings never could come alive cut 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 what it was, then, as he observed the sickly gleams of the incandescent electric 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 we shall get rid of the storm.”

“I’m afraid not,” answered Tom, as he noted the anemometer and felt the shudderings of the whizzer as she careened on through the gale.  “It hasn’t blown out yet!”