That same afternoon Mr. Giddings called upon his business rival, Mr. Wrenn, of theClarion, and presented to him the tentative program for the great race around the world's girdle, as theDaily Independenthad planned it. Mr. Wrenn declared that he was willing to stand by his former agreement to allow theIndependentto select the route, and said it was entirely satisfactory to him, and that he would at once take steps to have fuel supplies on hand at the various airports for his crew when they should arrive. He made no comments as to his own airplane, but agreed that the advertising plan his caller had worked out was a capital one, stating that he would co-operate heartily with him in carrying it to a successful conclusion.
Mr. Giddings was considerably surprised that Mr. Wrenn made no objection to the longest "hops" on the route, which were of greater extent than the average airplane could make, and was ready to modify the arrangement if there had been any objection. But even when he particularly called this matter to the other publisher's attention, Mr. Wrenn only smiled serenely, saying, "Those hops are perfectly satisfactory to us," leaving Mr. Giddings with a deep wonderment as to what sort of aircraft theClarionproposed using.
"I am under the impression that our contemporary has something up his sleeve, but I cannot conceive what it can be," Mr. Giddings confided to his son that evening upon reaching home; and when Bob repeated this to the Ross boys and Tom Meeks next day, they too began to wonder more than ever what type of an airplane theClarionproposed using against them, and who the crew might be.
"Did your father and Mr. Wrenn decide upon a date for the start?" askedPaul.
"Yes," replied Bob; "they made it the 20th of July, this summer, weather permitting. We start from Panama at one o'clock in the afternoon."
"Our curiosity as to the identity of our competitors will be satisfied then, at least," laughed John.
"And their curiosity, too!" put in Tom. "I'll stake my last cent they're just as much in the dark about us and the Sky-Bird II as we are about their outfit."
"We'll hope so, anyhow," remarked Bob; "but ever since we had those blue-prints stolen, and found we had a stranger sneaking around the hangar, I've been uneasy."
At this reference, all the young men felt a strange oppression. They had talked over it more than once, and each time it had left them with a sense of peril to their interests, why they could not tell. As before, they now tried to laugh it off, and began to talk about other subjects.
There was still considerable to do in the way of preparing the Sky-Bird and themselves for the long trip, and for weeks all four boys were kept hustling to make the final installations of accessories and equipment. Bob rigged up a wireless telegraph in connection with his telephone set, and for protection, four good repeating rifles and an automatic shotgun were put in racks in the after-cabin, while each fellow provided himself with an automatic revolver which he would carry in a holster attached to a belt. Medium-weight flying suits, with a heavy, wool-lined coat to slip on in case they flew very high, and trim flying boots and soft gloves, made up the personal toggery.
Whenever the boys found a chance they went to the public library and absorbed all the knowledge they could about the countries over which they would pass and the places at which they were destined to stop. By writing to the authorities in these localities, Mr. Giddings also secured much valuable information for them as to present weather conditions and landing-fields—information which was further supplemented by numerous special airway maps supplied by the Aero Club of America and similar aviation organizations in foreign countries. From these maps Paul worked out a very clear chart of their own course from beginning to end. A copy was given to each of the newspaper publishers concerned, to reproduce on their large electric street boards, and another was framed and placed immediately in front of the pilot's seat in the cabin of the Sky-Bird II.
All this time the columns of theDaily Independentand theClarioncontained frequent vivid references to features of the trip calculated to awaken the interest of the public, and as the time slipped along into July, the attention of people all over the land was centered upon the forthcoming contest, and it became the principal subject for comment. The secrecy maintained by both principals as to the kind of aircraft to be used, and the mystery as to identity of the members of the respective crews, only whetted curiosity and interest the more, as the sharp newspaper men knew it would. Every man, woman, and child in the wide world seemed to be eagerly waiting for the moment to come when he or she would see the promised pictures of the bold aviators and their machines in the big newspapers, and hear that they had made their first jump eastward from Panama.
All being in readiness, at daybreak on the morning of July 16th the Ross boys and Tom Meeks appeared at the Sky-Bird's hangar, and pushed the airplane outside. As they were doing so, Mr. Giddings and Bob joined them. The publisher had planned to accompany his crew to Panama in the machine, to see them officially off, while his reporters made the journey by train, in company with the writing force of the rival paper.
"We'll keep the time of our going secret, leaving before people are generally up," Mr. Giddings had said to the boys; "and by going on the 16th we'll not only be ahead of their smart calculations, but we shall have about half a week to rest up and see the country down there before you begin your strenuous journey. I need a little vacation anyway, so I will accompany you. We will stop off at Miami on the way, and enjoy some big-game fishing in the Florida waters with some of my friends."
So the young men were very much excited and eager to be off this morning of the 16th, you may be sure. The Sky-Bird was tuned up a little to make certain she was in first-class condition, then they all climbed in and the big glistening creature of wood, metal, and silk shot up into the air. It would probably be close to three weeks before they would see that familiar field and hangar again, and in that time if all went well they would circle the huge globe upon which they and their fellow-men lived. It was truly a most inspiring thought—one to have filled less phlegmatic blood than theirs with the wildest pulsations!
The weather was not at all promising, masses of gray nimbus-cloud threatening to shut out the sun as it arose, with a promise of uncertain winds, if not rain; but John and Tom declared the conditions all the better for giving the machine a good test-out.
They climbed slowly upward through the cheerless, mist-laden skies, the engine well throttled back and running as smoothly as any engine could. To make sure that all was in perfect working order, they circled for ten minutes over the town, trying the different controls, then turned the Sky-Bird southward.
At two thousand feet they suddenly emerged from the fog belt into brilliant sunshine, but the world below was lost to sight, screened by a dense pall of mist. Accordingly, Tom Meeks, who was acting as pilot, set a compass course for Cape Hatteras, the first guide-post along the Atlantic coast, some five hundred miles distant. After an hour's steady running, John took the throttle, followed later by Bob, and finally Paul. It was a new sensation to the last-named youths to be piloting the airplane out of view of the earth's surface, relying solely for safety and position upon the compass and altimeter, and knowing that somewhere far below them swept the rolling billows of the ocean; but they enjoyed it immensely.
Finally, just as John declared they ought to be close to their objective, the winds freshened and made a great rift in the fog below them, through which they could plainly see the grand old Carolina coast-line a little way ahead and to their right. Between the main shore and the long spine-like series of reefs constituting the cape itself, sparkled the waters of numerous sounds, while the weather-beaten lighthouse on the extreme elbow of Hatteras stood out like a stick of white chalk against the rocky gray background of its support.
All were delighted with the accuracy with which they had made their first guide-post, as John and Mr. Giddings checked their bearings on the chart. The Sky-Bird had behaved splendidly so far, and if she continued in that way they ought to reach their destination well before nightfall, even at the reduced speed at which they had been flying, which had averaged not much more than a hundred miles an hour.
It now became a question whether they should leisurely follow along the inwardly curving coast-line, taking in Savannah, Charleston, and Jacksonville, as guide-posts, or save a hundred miles or more by flying straight across the waters to Miami. As they wished to test out each member's ability to operate by compass rather than by landmarks, it was decided to take the shorter route. So gradually they left the rugged American shore behind and swept farther and farther out to sea.
The Sky-Bird II was flying as steady as a rock. All the bracing wires were tuned to a nicety, the wind humming through them and along the smooth sides of the great creature's body with a whistling monotone which arose and fell with bewitching rhythm as the force fluctuated. The varnish and fire-proofing compound glistened brightly in the sunshine, attracting the attention of numerous seabirds, mostly gulls and ospreys, which followed them at times for short distances, only to be outdistanced. The engine was running at less than half its possible speed, and purring like a contented kitten after a meal of fresh milk. The clouds and fog had cleared away; the sky was as bright now as a sky ever gets; far beneath, the blue-green waters of the Atlantic, flecked with white-topped waves, spread on all sides. Two torpedo-boats, looking like toys, went northward, and tiny white waving specks showed that the Jacks aboard were waving a salute to them. Off seaward a black trailing blot against the horizon showed where some unseen steamship plowed her way between ports. Mr. Giddings and the boys were filled with admiration.
A small airplane is ideal for short flights, joyriding the heavens, or sight-seeing among the clouds; but there is something more majestic and stable about a big machine like the Sky-Bird II which a pilot soon begins to love with a passion he never feels toward the little 'plane. An exquisite community of spirit grows up between machine and pilot; each, as it were, merges into the vitals of the other. The levers and controls are the nervous system of the airplane, through which the will of the aviator may be expressed—expressed in an infinitely fine degree. Indeed, a flying-machine is something entirely apart from and above all other contrivances of man's ingenuity. It is the nearest thing to animate life which man has created. In the air an airplane ceases to be a mere piece of dumb mechanism; it seems to throb with feeling, and is capable not only of primary guidance and control, but actually of expressing a pilot's temperament.
The lungs of the machine—its engines—are the crux of man's mechanical wisdom and skill. Their marvelous reliability and intricacy are almost as awesome as the human anatomy. When both engines are going well, and synchronized to the same speed, the roar of the exhausts develops into one long-sustained and not inharmoniousboom-m-m-m-m!It is a song of pleasant melody to the pilot, whose ear is ever pricked to catch the first semblance of a "sharp" or "flat" note telling him that one or more of the twelve cylinders of each busy engine is missing fire and needs a little doctoring.
It was about four o'clock that afternoon when our party first sighted the low, out-jutting sea-coast of Florida. As they came slowly toward it, by reason of their angular course of approach, they could gradually make out a group of green palms here and there along the white stretches of sand, and see clusters of light-colored buildings, piers, shipping, and people moving about. Thus they passed Juno and Palm Beach, and then saw the thicker cluster of fine dwellings of Miami itself, the most southerly city on the Florida mainland.
Paul was guiding the Sky-Bird at this time, and turned her across the limpid waters of Biscayne Bay, cutting a huge circle above the town and slowly swooping downward toward the broad white beach, as he picked out a level stretch for landing. Townspeople who had been watching the strange airplane, so much like a great bird, now ran forward to see it land.
A moment later, with a graceful drop and upward curve, it struck the sandy beach and ran forward lightly until the brakes were applied and it was brought to a standstill.
Many questions were asked our friends by the onlookers, but they gave them evasive replies, being careful to let out no hint as to their real identity and connection with the approaching race around the world. Two husky negroes were engaged to watch the airplane until relieved from such responsibility, and Mr. Giddings then led the boys to the home of a Mr. Choate, a close and trusted friend and superintendent of the big Miami Aquarium, one of the most noted repositories for live fish in the country.
Mr. Choate was astonished beyond measure when he learned that his old friend had come in the big airplane which he and his wife had noticed over the town a short time before, and was still further surprised when Mr. Giddings bound him to secrecy and told him that the young men with him constituted the crew of one of the two airplanes which was so soon to circle the earth by way of the equator. He shook hands warmly with them, and with his charming wife made them all very much at home.
Than Mr. Choate, no man in the South knew more about the multitudinous varieties of fish inhabiting Florida waters. He was not only an authority on them, but he was also recognized as a most skillful catcher of fish. For over an hour that evening he told them absorbing stories of the habits of Gulf Stream denizens, and recited stirring tales of battles with some of the biggest of them. And when he finally announced, "To-morrow I shall see that you are given a taste of our wonderful fish-life by joining me in a fishing expedition," they could hardly get to sleep for thinking of the fine prospect.
After breakfast the next morning, their host conducted them down to the waterside and into the beautiful white concrete buildings of the aquarium, and here he proceeded to show them, swimming about in great glass tanks, the most wonderful collection of fish they had ever seen outside of the big New York aquarium itself.
"You probably never realized before," said Mr. Choate, "that in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream, between Miami and Key West, more than 600 varieties of fish are to be found. They vary in size all the way from the tiny sea-horse, the size of a baby's little finger, to the great tarpon and killer-whale, the latter a vicious creature weighing many tons and large enough to swallow a good-sized boy without scraping the buttons off his jacket."
"It must be a lot of sport to catch some of these fairly big fish," remarked John Ross.
"Well, this afternoon I shall take you fellows where you can all have a chance at them," said Mr. Choate with a smile. "It would be interesting to have a motion-picture record of the thoughts which flash through the mind of the average inland fisherman the first time he feels the tiger-like swoop of a five-foot barrancuda, the fierce yank of a hundred-pound amber-jack, or the sullen surge of a big grouper on his line; for even when armed with the heaviest rod, and a line as big around as a silver dollar, he is pretty sure to wish, at least subconsciously, that his tackle might be twice as formidable and his arm twice as strong. Just imagine yourself, for instance, out in the clear blue waters of the Gulf Stream, looking overboard at your baited hook thirty feet below, which you can see as plainly as if it were in no water at all. Then up comes a great jewfish, which is just as likely to weigh five hundred pounds as fifty, and to be as large as a good-sized Shetland pony, and he makes a lunge for your bait, and— Well, you can go right on imagining the rest, too."
In all, they visited a half-hundred tanks of fish before they were through, watching this group and that group of inmates disporting themselves about in the salty water with apparent unconcern of visitors. In markings some of them rivaled the most beautiful designs the mind could picture, and others were so brilliant and wonderful in color that the rainbow was mild in comparison.
From the aquarium our party went up the beach to where the Sky-Bird II was resting under guard, and putting two new negroes to the task, they returned and had lunch with Mr. Choate, following which he conducted them down to the pier and aboard his sea-going motor-yacht,L'Apache. This trim vessel had a crew of five men, and as she started away, headed for the Bahama Islands, a 25-foot motor-driven tender bobbed along in her wake. In this they were to do most of their fishing, their host declared.
Assisted by the northeastward pressure of the Gulf Stream, they made splendid progress, and that evening cast anchor behind Bimini, a tiny isle which rests like a jeweled feather on a summer sea. It was like pulling teeth to go below deck for sleep and leave the wondrous beauty of the tropical night, with the soft, cool touch of the ever-blowing trade wind, the shadowy grace of the giant coconut-palms swaying and whispering on the nearby beach in the moonlight, while the surf, lapping upon the coral reef on the outer side of the isle, lulled them with its crooning obligato.
At sunrise all hands were up and ready for the sport. A hot breakfast was served by the cook, after which they piled aboard the motor-tender, throwing in rods, lines, and harpoons.
Through the island channel out to the open sea they went, all except the steersman hanging over the side of the craft and enjoying the amazing sights in the clear depths below. Bob excitedly pointed out a group of six or eight big tarpon lazily wallowing about fifty feet beneath them. And less than two minutes afterward, Paul, in no less excitement, announced the discovery on his side of a big nurse-shark which was rolling an eye at him from the ocean's floor. John pointed out, from the bow, a great school of fish numbering possibly ten thousand, which Mr. Choate stated were small mangrove-snappers. They were parading up and down a stretch of coral shelf along the bottom, and they made a wild dash and hid in crannies under the coral as a big barracuda unexpectedly shot into their midst and grabbed one unlucky snapper.
In a little while the fishermen were out into the open sea, and all began to scan the pulsating bosom of the Gulf Stream with fresh interest. Strange as it may seem, the fish of tropical waters do not appear to have the slightest apprehension of danger from the noise of a motor-boat, and one cannot only get very close to them, but can follow them about and observe their movements without trouble, particularly if he is familiar with their habits.
In a little while Mr. Giddings called the attention of all to a dark shadow not far below the surface, about two boat-lengths on the quarter. Mr. Choate promptly announced this to be a "herring-hog," a species of porpoise, and ordered the boat turned that way.
The creature proved to be a full-grown herring-hog, weighing around four hundred pounds, and as this species destroys great numbers of foodfish, Mr. Choate made preparations to attack it. Reaching the proper position, a hand harpoon was thrown by him. It found its mark, and away went the great fish at so fast a clip that the line fairly smoked as it shot from the reel barrel. In a few moments it was all out, and then the motor-boat gave a jump forward and rushed after the herring-hog. He was towing it, as if it had been a chip!
The engineer now reversed the propeller. This act slowed up the herring-hog noticeably, but still his prodigious strength carried the craft forward. It was ten minutes or more before he tired sufficiently for them to haul him in.
As they were making the big fish fast to the gunwale, a considerable disturbance was observed on the surface of the water about a quarter of a mile away. Mr. Choate judged this fuss to be caused either by a leopard-shark killing its prey, or by some battle royal between two equally big denizens of the deep.
Mr. Giddings and the boys were all excited at the thought of getting a harpoon into a huge leopard-shark, which will fight any and everything that swims, as well as many things of flesh which do not swim, not excepting man himself.
But as the boat drew closer, Mr. Choate, who seemed to have uncanny eyesight plus long experience with subsea life, added greatly to the nervousness of his guests by suddenly exclaiming: "Stand by, men; it's the biggest devil-fish I have ever seen!"
At once everybody who could find one, seized a harpoon; and in his excitement Tom Meeks even picked up an oar, as if to defend himself against attack!
In a few minutes they were close enough to note that the entire bottom of the ocean in the area where the creature had been seen had gone suddenly dark; and in the translucent depths above nearly all of the party discerned a gigantic shadow moving along. It looked for all the world like an immense pancake with bat-like wings. These wings were fluttering queerly, and from the action of the fish Mr. Choate said he was sure it was devouring prey which it had just killed. He now asked Paul if he would like to try a cast. The boy assented eagerly. Bracing his feet in the bottom of the motor-boat he took good aim and let his harpoon fly.
Paul had hardly hoped to hit the devil-fish. And probably he would not have done so, inexperienced as he was with a harpoon, except for the fact that the creature was of unusual size and presented a broad mark. As it chanced, the steel went true. The devil-fish arose to the surface as though hurled upward by a submarine explosion. One of its great battle-like fins broke above the water, sending gallons of spray over the occupants of the boat, and splintering the harpoon staff against the boat's side as if it had been a match stem; then its ten-foot pectoral wing struck the water with a terrific impact, making a noise which could have been heard several miles away.
For a moment the monster seemed bewildered, and that moment cost it dear, for it enabled Bob to throw another harpoon, which stuck deep into its body near the spine. With a mad dash it started off to sea, taking the harpoon lines with it. As the lines sped out of their barrels Mr. Choate grasped one and Mr. Giddings the other, aided respectively by John and Tom, and all hands strained to hold them, but although they went out slowly, they could not be held, until at length Paul and Bob came to the rescue and managed to get the ends around cleats in the boat.
However, this did not stop the devil-fish. It made out to sea with remarkable speed for so clumsy-looking a monster, towing the heavy boat and its inmates after it with the ease of a horse pulling a toy carriage! As it went, all hands bore on the lines, adding to its burden, but for a long time this seemed to have little or no effect.
Every once in a while the devil-fish would literally hurl itself several feet out of the water, and its huge flat body would come down with a crack like the explosion of a gun shell. Perhaps it was imagination, but each time it broke the surface in one of these cavortings it seemed to the boys that the fish was bigger than the last time.
Now and then the creature would sound for deep water, in an effort to shake its captors off, and several times it went down so far that Mr. Choate stood ready with upraised hatchet to cut the lines at the last moment, in the event the bow should show signs of diving under.
All of a sudden the lines slackened, and all hands frantically hauled in slack, as the devil-fish turned and dashed toward the boat. He came up almost under the craft, one great wing actually lifting one side of the heavy launch well out of the water and giving everybody a pretty stiff scare.
With quick presence of mind, Mr. Choate at this moment let drive another harpoon, which found lodgment in the monster's flat head, and away it dashed again with the greatest vigor. As there was now a line leading to each side of the devil-fish's body, those in the motor-boat found they were able actually to drive their captive as if it were a runaway horse, a gradual bearing on one "rein" or the other tending to direct the uncertain creature in that direction. Thus very adroitly they swerved the huge fish toward the now distant shore of Bimini, hoping to master it in the shallower waters of the isle.
By this time the monster had carried them out fully ten miles. It had not forgotten its old tactics of deep diving either, and there were numerous occasions when, after one of these submersions, it came up and started fiercely toward the boat, and it took the most skillful maneuvering on the part of the steersman, as well as wicked use of oars on the part of those in the craft, to drive the creature off and keep from being upset.
They let their anchor drag, and at times reversed the propeller, hauling on this side and that on the harpoon lines when the devil-fish would not be going to suit them. In this fashion it was slowly but surely tired out; they began to reel in slack line, and finally the immense fish was wallowing within twenty feet of the boat, surrounded by hungry sharks which had been attracted by its blood. It would never do to goad it now by hauling in on the lines, as it might dart under the boat and upset it, and the waiting sharks could then make a meal of its luckless inmates. So Mr. Choate told the boys to use their automatic revolvers and see if they could not dispatch the devil-fish at once. This was done, John, Tom, Paul, and Bob all firing several shots each, which put the monster in such a helpless state that they could handle it with less danger to themselves.
Until that moment not one of them realized that nearly five hours had elapsed since they first attacked this Jumbo of the sea, so busy had they been every moment of the time in trying to conquer the creature. And everybody was quite exhausted, now that the excitement was over.
Although this fish had three harpoons in his body and a dozen shots in its head and heart, it was by no means dead, and the fishermen found considerable difficulty in towing it into the harbor, some miles away.
The natives of Bimini were greatly interested in the capture, and our friends were able to get fifteen of them to help draw the enormous carcass ashore where all could get a good look at it. They were amazed at the unusual size of the devil-fish, and Mr. Choate declared again that he had never seen such a large one of its kind. It measured twenty-two feet across, and must have weighed close to 5,000 pounds.
"Some people call the octopus a devil-fish," said Mr. Choate. "This is all wrong. They are both large and vicious creatures, but entirely different in looks. The devil-fish belongs to the ray family, and, as you see, is a huge bat-like creature which uses its body fins with a waving, undulating motion, and propels itself through the water at remarkable speed."
"It is built on the principle of our airplane—in looks," said Tom with a grin; "and in speed, too."
"So it is," responded Mr. Choate. "It derives its satanic name from these cephalic fins or lobes which extend outward and upward from each side of its flat head, like curling horns. When it dashes into a school of smaller fish, these fins whirl about in every direction, and as they are often four feet long they easily reach more than one hapless fish and he is swept into the yardwide mouth of the monster and devoured with almost lightning speed."
After a rest, the party went out in the motorboat again, this time to catch foodfish. They had fine luck, and after an appetizing meal aboard theL'Apache, in which their small catch played an important part, all set out for Miami, tired and happy.
The first thing the boys did the following morning, after spending the night at the home of Mr. Choate, was to go down to the beach and see if their airplane was all right. They found one of the two negroes asleep, but the other fellow was faithfully on guard, and everything about the Sky-Bird seemed just as they had left it, although the watchers said that a considerable number of curious townspeople had come to look at the machine the day before and they had been very busy keeping venturesome boys off the craft.
Our friends let the negroes go to get their breakfasts and some sleep, and engaged two others to take up the watch. Following this, in company with Mr. Choate, they all retired to the bathhouse, secured bathing suits and had a fine time disporting themselves in the warm surf for the next hour. The youths had never experienced Gulf Stream bathing before, and the water was so enticing that it was hard to drag themselves out of it.
As they were in the act of emerging to dress themselves, a black speck, which all had noticed in the northern sky, had developed by nearer approach so that they thought they could recognize it as an airplane. It was coming down the coast very rapidly. Wondering if its pilot intended to land in the vicinity, they gathered on the beach and curiously waited for it to come nearer.
At times they were puzzled to know whether the approaching object were really an airplane or a great bird, for it surely looked like a bird with its swelling breast-line and slightly tilted broad-shouldered wings. Closer and closer it came. It was flying very high.
When it was almost over them, Mr. Giddings uttered a startled ejaculation; "My stars, boys! It'sourmachine!"
Paul and John Ross and Tom Meeks were equally astonished. They had noticed the strong resemblance at the same moment. Involuntarily, with Mr. Giddings and Mr. Choate, they turned their heads up the beach to see if the Sky-Bird II was where they had left it.
They saw its huge outline and its patrolling black guards. It had not changed position. Even a group of gaping Miami citizens lent reality to the situation, and some of the latter were gazing aloft at the other flying-machine, as our friends had been doing.
The stranger above them evidently had no intention of stopping. Instead of circling the town, as he would have done had he intended to land, he swept straight over and kept on his southward course, heading across Florida Strait.
On the face of every one of our friends, as they saw this image of the Sky-Bird II cross the sky overhead and disappear in the mists beyond, was a look of amazement, incredulity, and finally dark suspicion.
"Can it be—?" Mr. Giddings hesitated, and looked inquiringly at his younger companions.
"It looks that way," said John Ross, with a reluctant nod.
None needed to explain that the same thought had struck him, also. The stolen blue-prints—the skulking man with the swarthy face! He had duplicated the Sky-Bird!
More than that, each recalled theClarion'ssecrecy about the kind of airplane it planned to use; and its willingness to attempt the long "hops" which ordinary machines would have had difficulty in negotiating. It all pointed to but one logical meaning. And Bob Giddings expressed the opinion of all when he observed:
"Dad, I believe there goes our prospective competitor in the race around the world! He's making for Panama now!"
Further comment on the situation would have been useless. All hands, each with disturbing thoughts of his own, went silently into the bathhouse and resumed his regular garb.
Mr. Choate and his wife begged them so hard to remain over another day at least that Mr. Giddings assented. That afternoon they went for a long automobile ride along improved roads, both sides of which were lined with palms in places, luxuriant tropical grasses in others, and towering forests covered with creeping vines. They stopped the car a number of times to visit great orange groves, and the boys had their first taste of the luscious fruit just as it ripened on the trees.
The following morning, directly after breakfast, they were besieged by two or three local newspaper reporters. Seeing no use of further concealing their identity, Mr. Giddings gave out a little information to the gleeful newspaper men, but was careful to wire in to his own newspaper much more detail of their doings since leaving Yonkers, even mailing some photographs which they had taken of the tussle with the big devil-fish.
In the afternoon our party paid a visit to the aquarium again, extending it to the Biological Laboratory nearby; and took supper in the beautiful white casino, which fronts the beach, after they had had a refreshing plunge in the ocean's waters. Then Paul and Bob took up Mr. and Mrs. Choate for a short flight in the airplane.
Early the next morning they bade their Miami friends good-bye, and once more took to the air, this time to complete the last leg of their journey to Panama. It was found that the Sky-Bird's fuel tanks were apparently still full enough to carry them to their destination, so it had not been necessary to store either gasoline or oil in Miami. This was very gratifying, as it showed quite conclusively that, later on in the race, the Sky-Bird would be able to make her longest jumps without the peril of fuel shortage.
At a height of close to two thousand feet they headed across Florida Strait, with Paul at the throttle. It was a real joy to be looking through the glass panels of the airplane's cabin once more, to hear the muffled roar of her engine and propeller, and to realize that probably before dark they would be across the five hundred miles of blue waters of the Caribbean and hovering over the world-famous Canal Zone.
It was a fine morning. What clouds could be seen were well above them—light, billowy, and white, reflecting the sunlight so strongly upon the white-capped waters below, that the sea seemed much closer to the voyagers than it really was.
Shortly after eight o'clock they crossed over the long, low-lying island of Cuba, dipping down close enough to get a fairly good view of the topography. Then rising to three thousand feet, they swerved a little to the eastward and made off across the Caribbean Sea itself.
At a few minutes of eleven they sighted the shore of Jamaica, five miles or so to the eastward of them. Then John took the throttle, both engines were put into the work, and they began to whizz through the air at a clip which would have made them gasp for breath had they been in an open cockpit. As it was, the rush of air as it swept along each side of the fuselage and off its narrowing tail, became a veritable howl in whose noise they found conversation very difficult. Tom Meeks, who was leaning over John's shoulder and watching the instrument-board, triumphantly announced presently that they were traveling at the rate of 280 miles an hour!
For thirty minutes or more John Ross kept the Sky-Bird going at this terrific speed, then he slowed up, and transferred into mono-engine gear, as there was no use in unnecessarily heating the power-plants. As the indicator of the speedometer retreated to 150 miles, he turned the throttle over to Bob Giddings, and said: "Hold her at this rate, Bob; it's plenty fast enough for the present."
It was a little after one o'clock when Paul and Tom announced land to the westward. After looking at the object, which surely had the appearance of land, Mr. Giddings laid down the glasses and consulted the chart.
"That's undoubtedly the outer point of Nicaragua," he said; and upon taking a look themselves with the binoculars, the others all agreed with him.
Keeping the low-lying coastline of the continent on their right, and buffeted considerably by contrary winds which now began to make themselves manifest, Bob threw the automatic-pilot into gear at a suggestion from John, as this insured greater safety, and steered with the rudder only. At once the riding became easier, for the moment a gust of wind hit the machine on one side, the elevators and ailerons shifted and counteracted its uneven effect.
After a while Bob turned slightly to the eastward, and about mid-afternoon they came in sight of Colon, the Atlantic terminal city of the great Canal. Sweeping over its collection of houses, at an elevation of about fifteen hundred feet, they passed the big white Gatun locks, and followed the trail of the Panama Railroad across the great neck of rugged land which joined North and South America—followed, too, the tortuous, wonderful channel which American enterprise had cut through.
Thus over Gatun Lake they flew, over the Chagres River; along the course of Culebra Cut, with its high banks, across the Pedro Miguel and Miraflores locks on the other side of the isthmus; over Ancon; and finally below them lay clustered the white-robed buildings of Panama itself, with the swelling blue reaches of the big Pacific to the southward and westward, and the bold shore-line of South America to the southeastward.
Looking down as they circled the narrow tongue of land on which the city proper nestled, our friends soon made out the big Government landing-field and airdrome, distinguished by its whitewashed cobblestone markers at either end. And, now, as the Sky-Bird II swooped downward, several attendants in white pantaloons could be seen running out of the building.
When the airplane had settled, these men came up. Two were short, black fellows, probably San Blas Indians; but the other two were whites, though well-burned by the tropical suns. The taller of the white men introduced himself as Henry Masters, superintendent of the landing-field, and was extremely courteous when he learned the identity of the new-arrivals.
"We have been looking for you gentlemen," said he, "and I'm glad to know you had such a fine run from Miami. There are a lot of strangers in town—been arriving for the last three or four days—all to witness the start of this big race. Most of them seem to be newspaper men from the States, though there are a number from South America, and even Africa and Europe. Is this the plane that you fellows representing theDaily Independentare going to fly in?"
"This is the one, Mr. Masters," responded John.
"It is a beauty," said the superintendent with enthusiasm, as he glanced over the graceful outlines of the Sky-Bird. "I never saw one built on these lines until the other day, when what seems to be its twin came in."
"Much like-um lot," remarked one of the natives, and his companion, added more concisely: "Same like-um lot."
In spite of the fact that our party had been fearing some such information as this upon reaching Panama, the actual announcement of it made their hearts jump wildly.
"Where is this machine now?" asked Mr. Giddings as calmly as he could.
"In the hangar," was the reply of Masters. "It is the one that is going to fly against you."
"Who is in charge of it?" inquired John Ross.
"Five arrived in it. Four of them are to be in the contest, they say.The other gentleman is Mr. Wrenn, of the New YorkClarion."
A few minutes later, when they pushed the Sky-Bird into one of the big double hangars, their suspicions were conclusively clinched. For there at one side stood the very counterpart of their own airplane, differing only in the name painted upon its sides and under its big hollow wings. These letters spelled "Clarion"!
Our friends exchanged glances. The brow of every one of them contracted into so plain a frown that Mr. Masters, the superintendent of the airdrome, could not help noticing it.
"I hope nothing is wrong, gentlemen," he ventured half-interrogatively.
"So do we," responded Mr. Giddings, "but if there is, it is nothing concerning you, sir, at least. We thank you for your attention to our machine, and wish you to take the best care of it while it is here. Don't let anybody meddle with it, will you?"
"We'll look after it right, you may depend upon that," said the flying official; and the party turned and left the building.
Outside, where they would be secure from the hearing of others, all came to a pause, for there was a lot on their minds.
"Well, boys," said the publisher, "you see our suspicions back there in Miami were certainly well-founded. It seems that in some manner those stolen blue-prints have fallen into the hands of our rivals, and they have been wise enough to profit by the fact."
"Do you think, dad, that Mr. Wrenn could have been back of this theft?" propounded Bob who, although the publisher was a business rival of his father's, had always thought him above such operations.
"I really do not know what to think," was Mr. Giddings's answer. "I have always entertained the greatest respect for this gentleman's honesty, if he does differ with me politically. But I must admit that since this thing has happened—"
"Sh-h!" warned Bob suddenly. "Here comes Mr. Wrenn now!"
It was as he said. Turning his head in the direction of the entrance to the landing-field, Mr. Giddings instantly recognized, in the short figure in linen coming toward them, the person of the publisher of theClarion.
"I shall have this matter out with him right now," was the grim declaration of theDaily Independent'sdirector.
"Well, well! how are you, Giddings? How are you, Robert?" cried Mr. Wrenn, sticking out his pudgy hand when he came up to the little group. Such was his gusto that he did not seem to notice the lukewarmness of the father's and son's greeting. Mr. Giddings introduced John, Paul, and Tom, and then the publisher of theClarioncontinued with good-humored raillery: "I'm mighty glad to see you fellows here, for I began to think you would get scared and flunk us at the last moment. Was over on the hotel veranda when I saw a plane land here, and I guessed it might be you, and hurried right over. Put your machine up yet?"
"We did," said Mr. Giddings rather sourly. "And do you know, Wrenn, when we ran the Sky-Bird in the hangar we saw yours in there and received quite a disagreeable surprise—I may say shock."
Mr. Giddings and the boys watched the broad face of their rival very narrowly as this statement was put. Would he act guilty?
There was an explosion of laughter, the heartiest of laughter, from theClariondirector. "Oh, say, that's one on you, Giddings! I knew you'd be down in the mouth when you saw our machine and realized that you would have to contend against one as good or better than your own—one of the same type!" And he laughed again, until he had to wipe tears from his little blue eyes.
This was incomprehensible conduct from a guilty conscience! What could it mean? Surely Mr. Wrenn, of theClarion, was either the coldest and deepest-dyed rogue in the world or a man entirely innocent!
"How did you know that we had an airplane like yours?" asked John sharply.
The fat man broke into renewed chuckles at this question, and it was a moment or two before he could find words. Then he said:
"There's a little story connected with this, and now that we're right on the eve of the race and there's nothing to be gained by further secrecy, I'll tell it to you. You see, about a year and a half ago, possibly two years, a young man came to me for a job as sporting reporter; said he had been a flyer in France and that the Government wanted him as an Air Mail pilot, but he would rather take up the newspaper game. I put him to work, and he proved very good in gathering news of sports, especially aviation stuff. A week or so after you challenged me to this race—which I would have liked to back out of, but couldn't and save my honor—this chap showed me some blue-prints of a novel kind of airplane which he claimed to have co-devised with a flyer friend who, he said, was helping to make you a machine of the same type for this contest. He—"
"What is this young man's name?" inquired John Ross excitedly.
"Peter Deveaux."
"Peter Deveaux!" exclaimed John and Paul at once. And John added: "Mr.Wrenn, that fellow did not refuse to fly in the Air Mail service; hedidfly, and was dishonorably discharged for drunkenness.Furthermore, he stole those plans from our hangar!"
The publisher of theClarionopened his eyes wide. "Can you prove those assertions?" he inquired. "That last one is a serious charge, sir."
"Nevertheless we can prove it when we get back to New York," declaredJohn warmly.
"Well," said Mr. Wrenn, "I'll finish my story, and then we can talk over this new development more understandingly. As I said, Deveaux claimed to have a half-right in the plans, and having no reason to doubt it, I told him to proceed, when he proposed to make an airplane for us from the designs and to head a crew for theClarionin this race around the world. Now you will understand my position in the matter."
"Wrenn," spoke up Mr. Giddings with quick frankness, "I beg your pardon. The young men here and myself fancied you must have had a guilty part in the production of this fac-simile of our airplane. We now see who is really to blame."
"I do not blame you for your suspicions," was the candid reply of the fat man, "if things are as you state; and I will do you the honor, Giddings, to say that, although we are business rivals, your word is as good as gold with me. This is a lamentable situation. What shall we do about it?"
Mr. Giddings studied deeply before making answer. Then he observed: "Wrenn, this contest, as you know, has been too widely advertised to wreck it just as it is about to begin by the arrest of this man, Peter Deveaux. Say nothing to him about it; in fact, we will none of us mention a word of this to anybody; but when the race is over you can quietly dismiss him from your service, if you wish. As I now look at it, no great harm has been done, if any, by his duplicity; with two planes practically alike, the race will really be a fairer one, and a more exciting one for the public who read our newspapers, and supremacy will probably go to the better crew."
"I don't know about my crew, as Deveaux picked them up; but they did good work when they brought me down here the other day in the plane," said Mr. Wrenn. "Giddings, I think your plan is all right, and we'll let the race go on as if nothing had happened; but you bet your last dollar I'll fire Pete when it's all over, if he has done what you say!"
With that the publisher of theClarionaccompanied our friends back to the hangar, where he had a good look at the Sky-Bird II, and showed his own airplane, which was in all essentials an exact copy of the other. Following this they left the airdrome and went to their hotels.
All had a good night's rest—probably the last one they would have on earth for more than a week,—and after a hearty breakfast they proceeded to get what supplies they would need to last them until they should reach Georgetown, British Guiana, on the north coast of South America. This would be their first stop. Somehow the townspeople quickly guessed their identity, and they were followed from store to store as they shopped by a curious and motley throng of dark-skinned natives, among whom were noticed quite a few white children, presumably belonging to American employees of the Government.
With such eatables as they had bought stored in a basket, and carrying a few other packages, the boys went out to the airdrome. A guard stood at the door to keep out those having no business in the hangar, and as the young flyers passed in they noticed that Mr. Wrenn and a group of four fellows in flying-suits were going over the rival airplane.
"Here, boys, come over here a minute!" called the fat man. As they approached, the aviators with him turned from their work. One, a slender fellow with swarthy skin and a scrubby black mustache, scowled when he looked at John Ross, and as Bob Giddings and Tom Meeks got their eyes on him, they gave an involuntary start, for they recognized in the man the fellow they had seen hanging around the fair-grounds in Yonkers when their machine was in process of construction.
"It's time you fellows got acquainted with each other," said Mr. Wrenn, and he forthwith proceeded to introduce his crew as Pete Deveaux, Chuck Crossman, Oliver Torrey, and Sam Lane.
"How are you, Ross?" greeted Pete Deveaux. He uttered a sour sort of laugh, as his companions offered their hands around the group. "I won't do any shaking," said he, "as my hands are kind of greasy."
"Don't worry, Deveaux," advised John quickly. "We won't feel bad over a little thing like that."
"That your plane over there?" asked the swarthy fellow.
"That's it; quite a strong resemblance to yours here," said John with cutting sarcasm.
"That's so," was Deveaux's comment, casting a quick look toward Mr. Wrenn. Apparently he was as anxious to drop the subject as a chicken would a red-hot kernel of corn, for he immediately observed, with an ill-concealed sneer: "I suppose you guys think you're going to leave us a good ways behind in this race?"
"We're not telling what we think," put in Paul; "but one thing is sure: we're going to keep you hustling some."
"Oh, that's too bad, now, ain't it?" drawled Oliver Torrey, as he leered out of one eye.
"Say, kid, we'll beat youse so bad you'll be squallin' before you're half-way round the globe," put in Sam Lane.
"You bet! Ain't no use o' flying against such veterans as us," supplemented Chuck Crossman, with a wag of his frowsy head.
Mr. Wrenn frowned. While these might be his own men, it was hard to countenance such bragging.
By eleven o'clock the tanks of the Sky-Bird II had been filled with gasoline and oil, and the radiator of each engine supplied with twelve gallons of water. In addition to this, its crew had carefully gone over every brace, control, bolt, and nut to make sure that everything was tight, the engines had been run detached from the propeller for a few minutes to warm them up, and every bearing not reached by the lubricating system was well oiled by hand.
Mr. Giddings had appeared about an hour earlier, bringing with him the two special correspondents of theDaily Independent, as well as several other newspaper men representing various prominent foreign publications. As soon as our boys had finished shaking hands with these, they were introduced to a number of well-known Government officials and aviation representatives, who added their good wishes for the success of the big undertaking. Then came Mr. Wrenn with a party of his own distinguished friends, which called for more hand-shaking.
At twelve-fifteen the rival machines were pushed out of the hangar and took up positions in the field, ready for the signal to "hop." At twelve-fifty both crews, with the exception of their respective crankers-up, entered their machines, and a heavy hush fell over the great crowd which had assembled to see the start of the first race around the world's circumference. It was without denial an auspicious moment, and as they stood there and looked at the two big mechanical birds which were to attempt this prodigious feat, embracing almost 25,000 miles, threading every mile of the distance through the air in the astounding time of ten days, the situation was so fraught with awe, particularly to the native Panamanians, that now at the last moment all were practically voiceless.
The rival publishers gave their parting instructions as their crews climbed into the cabins, and these were to the same effect: "Don't forget, boys, to report to us at every stop, and mail us all the pictures you can. Between stops use your wireless for reports whenever possible. Good-bye, and the best of luck!"
Lieutenant-Colonel Warren J. Hess, a gentleman prominent in American aviation circles, had been selected as judge of the contest. He was not only to give the signal to start off the flyers, but with Mr. Giddings, was to await in Panama their return, and demand from each crew upon arrival a document containing the signature of the port official at each scheduled landing.
Colonel Hess, looking at his watch, now raised his hand, and instinctively those in the front of each of the long lines of spectators flanking the run-way crowded back so that the airplanes would not strike them as they dashed down the field for the take-off. Tom Meeks and Chuck Crossman spun the propellers, sprang back to escape their vicious whirr as the respective engines fired, and quickly clambered into their machines.
It was exactly one o'clock. Both airplanes taxied down the runway side by side. They also arose together, amid a great cheering, some ninety feet apart, shooting grandly up into the air above the heads of the people in the lower end of the field. At a height of a thousand feet, the grayClarionbent eastward. At fifteen hundred feet, the Sky-Bird did likewise. From the open windows of each of the cabins fluttered white handkerchiefs in a final farewell, and many a broad-brimmed hat in the hands of the excited populace below was waved in answer.
Flying low, theClarionstarted away in the lead, while her rival had been mounting to her own preferred higher level. By the time the Sky-Bird had straightened out, her contemporary was well in advance.
"We're losing ground," said Bob Giddings anxiously.
"Don't worry about that," said Paul Ross, who was at the throttle; "we can catch them when we're ready. We'll get a better current of air up here."
Paul's maneuver had been due to the fact that heavy head-winds were blowing, and he was quite sure if he went higher he would get above the worst of these.
As they now shot along on an even keel, it seemed hard to realize that they had at last started out on the important flight for which they had been planning and working so long; and as Paul watched his instruments and the scudding rival machine ahead, he could not help wondering what the issue of it all might be—if the fates would be so kind as to smile enough on the Sky-Bird to bring her in ahead of theClarionand within schedule time. Many weary miles must be covered before they would see Panama again. And when they would land in that air-drome again—if in truth they ever did!—would it be as victors, or as listeners to the jeers of the rough crew of the other plane?
It was not an ideal day for the start from a weather standpoint. In fact, a consultation of the weather reports at the Panama Bureau before they left had shown a prophecy of strong northeasterly winds and possible showers. The sun was almost shut out by patches of cloud, glinting through only occasionally; but neither crew had felt like postponing the start, so eager were they to be off and so confident were they in the capabilities of their respective machines to meet almost any sort of bad weather.
Straight along the Isthmus both machines proceeded, making a bee-line for Georgetown, which it was hoped to reach at daylight. The coastline was low along here and very uneven, with numerous pretty little islands on the Pacific side, the waters surrounding them sparkling like jewels when the sun's rays would struggle through the clouds and strike the tossing waves.
In the northern part of the Republic of Colombia they passed just to the right of the western terminal range of the great Andes Mountains, and within an hour's time were sailing through Quindiu Pass of the central arm of the same mountains. At this time they were over twelve thousand feet above sea-level. Then came the table-lands of western Venezuela, open in places and covered with thick growths of tropical forests in others.
As they approached the foothills of the eastern chain or arm of the mountains, Paul took the throttle, and they steadily arose in order to clear the high pinnacles facing them, and finally, at a height of fifteen thousand feet—the greatest height they had yet attained—they went over them. The airplane encountered several "air pockets" in this process, which might have been disastrous to them except for the stabilizing effect of the automatic-pilot. As it was, the machine pitched rather roughly in surviving them.
In sweeping past the last crag they had come very near to striking, owing to a cloud which enwrapped it. Just in time Paul's sharp eyes had seen the white bank of snow on the crag ahead, and he elevated his craft enough to pass over. It was so cold up here, even in the cabin, that the boys had to don their heavy coats.
Just as they turned the nose of their machine toward a lower level, running at reduced speed, a huge bird with curving beak, which John said was a condor, dashed from the crags after the airplane. It was followed a moment later by five or six others. The great birds seemed to resent the appearance of so strange a giant in the mountain fastnesses where they had always held the supremacy of the air, all the time darting angrily at it, flapping their long, black and white wings, some of which had the immense span of fourteen feet, and croaking hoarsely.
The boys laughed at first, but when the creatures commenced to come closer, frequently hitting the windows with their sharp beaks, and cracking two of them, they began to get really alarmed. Once the propeller struck the tail of one bold and incautious condor, and feathers flew in all directions; but after a quick circle he was back again, madder than ever.
"Say, fellows," cried Paul; "we've got to do something with these birds right away! First thing we know, one of them will get hit a squarer blow with the propeller and smash it. Then we'll crash as sure as I'm sitting here."
This peril was very imminent, as all could see.
John seized the shot-gun from its rack, and Tom one of the rifles. These were loaded. Stationing themselves on either side of the cabin, the young men drew down the windows in front of them, poked out their weapons and watched for a chance to use them.
Tom's gun was the first to blaze away, but it is difficult to hit a bird on the wing with a rifle, and he missed. A moment later, as a condor dashed viciously toward his window, John fired, and the great bird, mortally stricken, tumbled into the mists below.
Tom was more fortunate the next time. A condor, with a fluttering of his immense wings, had settled right on the tail of the machine, where he clung with his sturdy talons, threatening to prevent Paul from manipulating the rudder. When Bob called Tom's attention to this alarming situation, the latter joined him at the rear window of the cabin. Tom took careful aim, pulled the trigger, and the condor fell with a broken wing, uttering hoarse cries until the clouds below swallowed him up.
Two more of the fierce creatures were killed before the remaining birds were frightened off. It was with a sigh of relief that Paul now resumed his descent to lower levels.
When presently they emerged out of the last cloud, and could see the green earth below them once more, they were across the last chain of mountain they would encounter in South America. They gazed with their glasses on all sides, and checked up their position on the chart, although in doing this they had great difficulty on account of a curtain of thin fog which hung over the land, and only a very low altitude of about five hundred feet would allow of it at all.
As soon as they were sure of their bearings they again took a searching observation in quest of the rival airplane, but no sign of it could they see.
"They're probably quite a bit ahead of us by this time," observed John; "but now that we're through the last chain of the Andes we can make better speed. Shoot her up to two thousand feet, Buddy. We'll set our course for Georgetown by compass."
Paul bore upward, and at the level mentioned he straightened the machine with her nose once more pointed eastward, and the compass hand pointing along the left wing of the machine.
It was now growing dark. Not knowing whether this was caused by the closing in of the clouds or the natural declension of the sun, Bob looked at his watch. To his surprise he found it was seven o'clock Panama time, which would make it probably close to nine in their present locality. Night should now be upon them.
As it had been decided to let John and Tom operate the night shift, at least for the first few days, John now took his trick at the throttle, changed to the fresh engine, and Bob and Paul turned into their hammocks for the first sleep aboard the airplane. They were both pretty tired, as each had spent several hours at the helm that afternoon, and it was only a few minutes before the gentle rocking of the plane on the billows of air had sent them into a sound oblivion. Just before retiring, Bob had wirelessed Panama of their safe passage through the mountains and fight with the condors, stating that several snapshots of the birds had been secured and that these would be mailed to theDaily Independentupon reaching Georgetown.
Not long after the change of pilots a fine rain began to fall, covering the windows of the cabin with a film of moisture; but as it was now too dark to see anyhow, John did not care whether he could look outside or not. However, for the good of the machine, as well as the betterment of their speed, he decided to get out of the storm. So, switching on the little dashboard electric lights to illuminate his instruments, he turned the Sky-Bird upward again. Through the very clouds which were expelling the rain, gathered from the warm Atlantic trade-winds, he guided the machine. At nine thousand feet he was above them, in clear dry air, with a blue, star-studded sky above his head and in the mellow glow of a full moon.
"Well, John, this is more like night-flying," remarked Tom Meeks, who sat just behind the pilot, ready to assist him at a moment's notice if the need should appear.
"As long as I know there are no mountains ahead to smash into I'm not worrying a bit," replied John, "and I guess we're all right on that score. I'm going to let the old girl out now, Tom."
"Might as well," was the response.
Thereupon John threw on the gas by degrees until the indicator showed them to be whizzing along at 150 miles. He easily could have gone fifty more on the one engine had he chosen, but was afraid such a speed would carry them beyond their destination and out into the Atlantic before daylight could show them their position. Had they not previously been running somewhat behind scheduled time, he would not have accelerated even now.
Shortly after midnight Tom relieved him at the throttle, and running slightly slower, to make sure they would not pass over Georgetown in the darkness, Tom began to hum softly to himself as he kept a sharp lookout upon his instruments. John settled back in the seat behind, as alert for any sudden peril as his mate had been before.
But no mishap marred the night's run, which was as smooth up there above the clouds as any veteran flyer could have wished. And when at last the bright sun of another day chased the moon and its haze into obscurity, it lighted up the flying craft some time before its orb had peeped high enough over the Atlantic's horizon to shed its rays upon the affairs of earth itself.
Gradually, as the sun arose in the heavens, Tom brought the Sky-Bird lower, until presently he and John could see the ground, bathed in glistening color from its recent wetting, far below them.
At this time Paul and Bob awoke, and washing their hands and faces, came to the windows to look out. The first thing they all did was to sweep the sky-line for some vision of the rival airplane, but without success. Then they put their attention on the country below and around.
Just beneath was a pretty little blue lake, walled in with great forest trees some of which must have been over a hundred feet high. A short way beyond was an immense field covered with what they were sure must be sugar-cane, and in which they could see dark-skinned men at work with queer carts and clumsy oxen. At the right, a mere thread of silver, was a river, hedged with tropical vegetation. This swept around toward their front, enlarging as it came, and at what seemed no farther than five miles away, poured its waters out into a great sea of apparently limitless expanse.
The boys concluded at once that this great body of water must be the Atlantic Ocean, and when they saw a fair-sized town nestling among the trees at the point where the river joined the sea, their chart told them that the stream was the Essequibo River, and the collection of low-roofed buildings was none less than Georgetown!
A few minutes later, they were circling the town to locate their landing-field which was to be marked with a large white letter T. Seeing it on the second turn, they swept down amongst a curious and half-frightened throng, and taxied to a stop.
To their relief and gratification, they found that their rivals had not yet appeared.