For a moment or two John and Bob stared at Paul blankly, unable to comprehend the import of his announcement. Tom was at the throttle, and while he had heard the startling words, he was too occupied in guiding the Sky-Bird to do anything except take a quick glance backward.
"A snake?" repeated Bob.
"Not on the machine?" cried John.
"Yes," Paul said, with a seriousness which left no further doubt as to the truth of his statement. "He's a whopper—must be twelve or fourteen feet long and as thick as my leg. He's there on the fuselage just outside of the window, hanging on for dear life. If I hadn't shut that window just as I did, I believe he would have crawled in here in a minute."
John and Bob now hurried to the window and looked out. In the moonlight they could distinctly see a huge reptile, either a python or a boa-constrictor, coiled up in the angle formed by the juncture of the airplane body and the broad base of the left wing. The creature was so long that its tail passed up over the rounded fuselage and out upon the other wing. Bob flashed his electric pocket lamp upon it, and by the yellow and brown mottled spots upon its body and the double plates of whitish scale at its tale, and the wicked-looking triangular head, they were sure it must really be a python, one of the most dreaded of African snakes. These creatures think a monkey a very choice morsel of food, and undoubtedly it had been attracted to the airplane, while it stood in the grass, by the appearance of Grandpa in the open cabin window, but had been frustrated in its designs by the return of the flyers and the sudden rising of the machine.
Now, with the window shut, the boys seemed safe enough for the present. They could see that the big snake was extremely uneasy. As the wind whistled by him, his great tail twisted and untwisted, and he seemed to be trying to get a better hold on the smooth surface, while his beady eyes glared at them only a moment in the glow of the flashlight, and then he transferred his attention to the landscape below them. His forked fangs darted in and out during this time with the angriest lightning-like movement.
Paul relieved Tom at the throttle for a few minutes, so that the latter could have a look at the reptile.
When Tom came back again to his post, he said, with plain uneasiness: "I never saw such a big snake before, Paul. Between the rush of wind and the roar of the engine and propeller, he seems scared out of his wits."
"We've got to get him off of there somehow—and mighty soon, too," put in John, with decision. "Tom, if that monster should begin to slip a little most likely he will coil his tail around some of our control wires,—and then what?"
Their faces blanched at this prospect. They knew what that would mean. It would mean that the great creature would either operate the airplane's rudders when they should not be operated, or would prevent Tom from moving them when they must be moved. In either event, the result would be disaster to machine and crew.
"Good heavens, boys!" said Tom, so nervous his voice shook, "get rid of that snake as quick as you can!" He fancied he could see the rear control levers moving at that instant.
The other three flyers knew the importance of these instructions, but how were they to carry them out? The reptile was too large to be shoved off with a stick or pole, and would probably squirm through the window while they were attempting it. And they were afraid to use a gun, as, in the case of a miss or a little lurch of the airplane at the moment of firing, the bullet might puncture the hollow wing or rear fuselage and let helium escape.
It was Bob who solved the puzzle.
"Why not try a loop or two?" he asked.
Their hearts jumped with hope at this. So everything was made tight in the cabin, with the straps and fastenings which had been provided when the machine was made. Even Grandpa had to submit to being roped up in one of the swinging hammocks. When the boys had buckled themselves down to their seats, John gave Tom the word, and he began to rise slowly. At close to two thousand feet he brought the Sky-Bird quickly and smoothly upward until she stood almost on her tail end.
Then Tom threw the elevators and ailerons hard up, and held them there. They were going at a rate of close to a hundred miles an hour at the moment, and their velocity brought them around in a pretty loop. There was no way for them to tell if the serpent had been dislodged, so, to make as sure as he could of accomplishing his purpose, Tom kept his controls as set, and they made another or double loop.
This time he straightened out his controls as he came up to the horizontal, and they ran swiftly ahead again on a level keel.
His companions quickly unloosened their straps, and ran for the rear window. A feeling of the greatest thanksgiving filled their souls and joy lit up their faces. The python was gone! He had hurtled through the air during one or the other of the loops, and his long sinuous body was probably at that moment lying crushed upon the hard ground, or impaled upon the sharp stub of some forest tree, far below.
It had been a night of intense excitement. Now that they began to beat through the air in the old tuneful way, and there was nothing more to claim their attention until they should arrive at Aden sometime in the morning, Bob and Paul took to their hammocks for sleep, but first Bob got Khartum on the wireless and delivered their position and a brief description of their adventures. As may be imagined, however, the two youths did not shut their eyes immediately. There was much to think about and to talk about before even fatigue could get the better of them.
Tom put the Sky-Bird through on a straight course for Aden as fast as he dared run the night engine, which was very close to its limit, now that it had had a chance to cool off and was well supplied with water. It was important that they should make speed, for in the stop for water and the subsequent maneuvering to rid themselves of their unwelcome passenger, the python, they had lost upwards of an hour's time.
Flying high, and depending entirely upon the compass for striking Aden, they shot through the starlit tropical night like a meteor, showing no lights except the two small ones on the dashboard in the cabin, by means of which Tom could observe the instruments and the controlling levers below. Thus they crossed the famous Nile, sweeping below Khartum and across the plains of Kordofan, and when the first streaks of daylight appeared ahead of them they were just entering the plateaus of northern Abyssinia.
Paul and Bob now relieved Tom and John, and the latter young men took a nap. It was their custom to work in pairs, the observer preparing food for himself and the pilot during the course of flight. Sometimes the observer took the throttle long enough to give his friend a chance to eat, and sometimes the pilot retained his seat, allowing the automatic arrangement to do the guiding for him while he munched his food.
Just before seven o'clock Paul and Bob saw two large bodies of water ahead of them, one stretching to the right and the other to the left. The chart told them that the northern body was the Red Sea and the southern one the Gulf of Aden, which opens into the Indian Ocean. Between these bodies lay a narrow belt of water, flanked on the western or African side by rocky, wooded hills, and on the eastern side by low, sandy shores dotted with palms. This was the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, and the country beyond was Persia.
Aden could not be more than fifteen minutes' run east now, and so Bob awakened his sleeping comrades while Paul guided the airplane across the strait. They flew a little higher, later, following the general contour of the terraced slopes of the mountains along the Arabian coast.
As the Sky-Bird came leisurely over the hills surrounding this British seaport of Aden, they could see that the town nestled in the crater of an extinct volcano, as they had read. All around the low, white buildings spread the rugged hillsides, and in declivities they passed over numbers of the great brick tanks or reservoirs which catch and store the scanty rainfall of the region and thus furnish Aden with its only water supply.
The flyers saw many gowned figures, some on camels, pause to look upward at them, as they began to circle the town in quest of their landing field. Bob was the first to discern it—a fairly level stretch in the southern end of the valley or basin, marked in the way agreed upon, and containing two small buildings, neither of which was large enough to admit the machine.
But they cared nothing for shelter for the Sky-Bird, as they did not purpose staying any longer than necessary for fuel replenishment and news dissemination by telegraph and letter. So they quickly settled down in the midst of a wondering ring of Arabs.
Mr. Griggs, the American consul here, now came forward with a couple of British military officers, and the flyers met with a hearty reception. It seemed good to run upon one of their own countrymen again, after seeing so many strange faces since leaving Panama. Mr. Griggs insisted upon their going to his home with him for breakfast, and to this they consented as soon as they found he had made full arrangements for having some British workmen at the garrison refill the Sky-Bird's tanks.
They found that their rivals had arrived just after daylight, and had departed for Colombo, Ceylon, less than twenty minutes before their own appearance. This was cheering news. They had gained a lot on them in crossing the African continent.
Mr. Griggs, the American consul at Aden, proved an affable, pleasant entertainer. His little wife was also very genial and painstaking for their comforts, declaring at their protests that she was doing no more for them than she had done for the other flyers when they came through, a short time before. The couple had two children, a boy and a girl, and both of these plied the boys with innumerable questions about their journey, expressing the greatest interest and excitement when they worked out of Paul the story of the adventure with the gorilla and python.
After the meal, which was very appetizing and refreshing, they spent a short time preparing their reports to theDaily Independent, and then accompanied their host to the post-office, where the letter and roll of films were mailed. At the telegraph office they received a pleasant surprise in the shape of a message from Mr. Giddings, which stated their reports were coming in to the newspaper all right, and that the greatest interest was being manifested in them by the world in general and by New York people in particular.
"Whatever you do, don't let the other crew beat you," were his concluding words. "I have ordered the helium shipped to Nukahiva by fast steamer."
"That's good news," said John, with satisfaction, referring to the helium, and the others accorded with him.
They dispatched a telegram to Mr. Giddings, and then started out to buy some fruit and other foods. As they went along the narrow, crooking street upon which they had been walking they met so many Arabs with small sprays of dark-green leaves which they put in their mouths and chewed, that their curiosity was aroused, and Bob asked Mr. Griggs what the leaves were.
"Those are the leaves of the khat bush," was the response. "You must have passed numerous plantations of such bushes up on the hillsides as you flew over into the basin here. The Yemen Arabs like to chew the leaves so well that they have all of the passion for them that a toper has for whiskey, and they will spend their last rupee for a small bundle."
"Does this chewing of the leaves intoxicate them?" asked John.
"Oh, no; the leaves are quite harmless. But they do produce a strangely exhilarating effect upon those who chew them. If you ask a Yemen Arab what he chews the leaves for, he will invariably look at you with astonishment and tell you that he forgets all his troubles, sees the most beautiful of fairies and the richest rose-gardens of Allah, and lives in a new world."
"Do they go to the fields after it themselves?" inquired Tom.
"Not at all," said Mr. Griggs; "the khat is brought into town every morning about eleven o'clock by long caravans of camels which proceed from the khat farms along the mountain slopes. Long before these camels appear in the valley, with a bundle of khat swung on each side of the beasts, messengers on fleeter camels have brought the tidings of approach. From the shelters of the shops, so silent except just now, cheerful cries break out; the streets are filled with Arabs who sing joyfully; tikka gharries rattle madly by, whips waving and turbans awry; there are flashes of color from rich men's gowns and the sounds of their clicking oryx-hide sandals as they rapidly strike the stony pavements; there is a continual blunt clatter from the tom-toms in the hands of long-gowned fellows. They are all going to the market where the khat will soon arrive, each one anxious to have first choice and get the best bargain. There they will bicker with the khat traders for an hour sometimes, then in will come the despised hadjis, the venders of firewood, who will buy up for a few pice the scraps which remain."
This was all very interesting to the flyers, but it was high time to hurry back and resume their flight; so, restraining their impulse to ask more questions or investigate the attractions of the town, they bought their supplies, and returned with the American minister to the landing-field.
Ten minutes later the Sky-Bird was mounting easily up into the sky, viewed by hundreds of shouting Arabs. It was good-bye to Persia now.
Looking at his watch, Paul, at the throttle, saw that it was nine-fifty. They were leaving Aden only fifty minutes behind schedule. That was not at all bad; but it was not pleasant to think that their rivals were still ahead of them. And two hours was a pretty stiff lead.
They were not long in passing over the hills to the south, and then headed eastward out over the elongated gulf. Looking back, John saw the sandhills by the sea glistening in the bright sunlight like mounds of gold-dust. Every leaf and stem in the scrub stood out in black and silver filigree; and euphorbias and adeniums, gouty and pompous above the lower growths, seemed like fantasies of gray on a Japanese screen covered with cerulean velvet. It was their last sight of Persia, and one not soon to be forgotten.
Our friends now settled down for a long hop, for they would have to fly all day and all night before reaching Colombo.
After a while they sighted Socotra, the little isle off the coast of Cape Guardafui, from whence comes most of the world's supply of frankincense; then leaving its rocky shores behind them they cut straight across the Persian Sea, braving whatever tropical storm might arise.
All that day they swept over the blue waters of this great body, frequently seeing ships below and sometimes small islands. Toward night they ran into such hard headwinds that Bob went up higher. He climbed steadily until the Sky-Bird had attained an altitude of nine thousand feet. Here, as expected, they found the winds much less forceful, but the sea was blotted out entirely by the clouds through which they had passed in the process of rising and which now lay between.
Indeed, these clouds resembled a billowy ocean of white foam in themselves, or a landscape covered with hills and valleys of snow. The rounded cloud contours could easily be likened to the domes of snow-covered mountains. It was really difficult to conceive that that amorphous expanse was not actually solid. Here and there flocculent towers and summits heaved up, piled like mighty snow dumps, toppling and crushing into one another, as the breezes stirred them.
Then there were tiny wisps of cloud, more delicate and frail than feathers or the down of a dandelion-blow. Chasms hundreds of feet deep, sheer columns, and banks, extended almost beyond eye-reach. Between the flyers and the sun stretched isolated towers of cumulus, cast up as if erupted by the chaos below. The sunlight, filtering through this or that gossamer bulk, was scattered into every conceivable shade and monotone. And around the margins of the heaving billows the sun's rays played unhampered, unrestricted, outlining all with edgings of the purest silver.
The scene was one of such extravagance that the brain was staggered with what the eye tried to register. Below the aviators, the shadow of their machine pursued them on white film like a grotesque gray bird of some supernatural region. The shadow followed tirelessly, gaining as the hour of noon approached, gaining still as afternoon began to gather, swell, and wane; and always it skipped from crest to crest down there just below, jumping gulfs like a bewitched phantom.
It was so cold at this height that the aviators had to put on their heaviest garments, and they were content to open the windows only a slight way for ventilation.
When darkness fell, they were still flying high, though at reduced speed, as John was afraid that a rate too much over schedule might cause them to overrun their destination before daylight could disclose its outlines to them. Every half-hour the pilot's helper checked up their position on the chart. Had this not been done from the very start of the trip, they never could have struck their ports with the accuracy they did, and disaster would have been the result, if not death to the crew.
As it was, they had taken every precaution they could. When they had crossed the Atlantic they had been careful to inflate the four spare inner tubes of their landing wheels, as these would make capital life-preservers in case the flyers were thrown into the sea; and one of the last things they did before leaving Aden was to see that the tubes were still inflated.
The long night passed with considerable anxiety on the part of Tom and John, but when dawn finally broke they felt like uttering a "hurrah," and called Paul and Bob up from their sleep to witness the cheering sight ahead of them.
At a distance of what must have been close to fifty miles, was a white patch in a haziness of green plain surrounded by hills and low mountains. The land itself was encircled by the sea, and when they saw a great peninsula spreading away to the northward, they knew that the island was Ceylon, and the other land the peninsula of Hindustan.
Somewhat off their course, they wheeled a little north. Soon details became apparent in the island. The white patch grew, developing into a considerable town—Colombo.
They swept up and around it, then settled, and climbed stiffly out of the Sky-Bird not twenty yards from another airplane, about which four men in flying-suits had been working. These fellows looked toward the new arrivals scowlingly.
But our flyers, overjoyed to think they had caught theClarion'screw, only smiled back indulgently.
Our friends had landed in the lowlands just to the north of Colombo, whose scattered buildings contained upwards of a hundred thousand inhabitants, most of whom were native Singhalese, descendants of the colonists who came from the valley of the Ganges and settled the island five hundred years before the birth of Christ. To the southward arose the rocky headlands of the coast, and to the westward could be seen the somber peak of Pedrotallagalla, the highest mountain of the island. Numerous ships, some very crude and with queer sails, were in the harbor as the boys landed, and scores of natives in short skirts were loading and unloading these. Undoubtedly the huge square boxes which some of them carried aboard so easily upon their heads contained tea, for which Ceylon is famous.
The person in charge of the landing-field here was a Mr. Young, an American clergyman connected with the local Baptist mission. This tall gentleman came forward, accompanied by the British governor of the island, within a few moments after the flyers struck the ground. In fact, they were still stretching their cramped legs and arms when he greeted them and introduced the governor, Sir Henry Hurst.
"Young men, I am more than delighted to shake hands with you," said the governor. "It looks as if you and the other crew over yonder were upon an epoch-making tour, for you are not ten minutes behind your schedule, as we have it in the London papers and also in our own Colombian newspaper. My only regret is that you do not represent England instead of America." He laughed good-naturedly as he made the last remark.
"It was quite a task for the governor and myself to get up at this early hour to receive you, but the occasion is well worth the effort," observed Mr. Young, smiling. "Here we usually sleep very late, often as late as nine o'clock. Even the Singhalese and Burghers are not yet generally up from their beds, though those who work at the wharves have appeared. If you had arrived a few hours later there would be thousands of the population here to see you."
"We are well satisfied with the hour, then," said John. "The fewer natives we have around the Sky-Bird, the better we like it, both for working and taking off. How long has that other crew been in, sir?"
"Not more than a half-hour. They are taking on their fuel now, being assisted by a couple of Burghers. They advised us that they would probably remain here until noon, being tired from their long flight from Aden. I don't know; why, but the slender man with the dark skin and mustache particularly requested me to see that you knew this intention of theirs."
The flyers thought this was rather strange. Why should theClarion'screw remain so long in Colombo, when their interests in the race demanded as much time put into flying as possible? It was still more incomprehensible what object they would have in wishing the Sky-Bird's flyers to understand this intention, as by so doing our boys could make their plans to gain a heavy lead.
It was too much of a puzzle for them to work out, so Bob and Paul, aided by two Burghers (naturalized Europeans), went to work overhauling the machine and storing fuel, while John and Tom made their way into town with Sir Henry Hurst to transact their business. When they returned they found the two younger members of their crew in a heated discussion with theClarionfellows.
"What's the matter here, anyhow?" demanded John, as he and Tom pushed their way through the little ring of natives who had gathered about the principals.
"It's just this way," said Pete Deveaux, with a grin meant to be very cool and indifferent, although his eyes roved uneasily; "We fellows were working on our machine here, minding our own business, when these two kids of yours came up and demanded to know why we had played you dirty at Freetown and Kuka. They accused us of purposely carrying off your share of fuel at Freetown, and of stirring up the natives at Kuka so you couldn't make a safe landing."
"We simply couldn't stand keeping quiet any longer, John," put in Paul very heatedly. "We thought it a good time to have it out with these fellows for their crookedness."
"That's right; they're a bunch of snakes!" supported Bob, his cheeks red with excitement and anger, and his fists doubled menacingly.
John turned to the slouching figures of the rival crew. "Do you fellows deny these charges?" he asked quietly.
Crossman, Torrey, and Lane looked at their leader, merely shrugging their shoulders. Pete Deveaux took a quick glance in their direction, in turn. Then his face clouded a little darker, and he blurted out to his men: "You confounded babies, why don't you deny it? You know we didn't do anything on purpose to hold these guys back!"
"That's right; we sure didn't," said Sam Lane.
"Of course not," added Chuck Crossman.
"Wouldn't think of it," interjected Oliver Torrey.
Our boys were disgusted by the cringing attitude of Pete Deveaux's cronies. Two of them were larger than the Frenchman, yet they seemed to be afraid of him. John saw that nothing was to be gained at this time by continuing the argument, so he pulled his comrades away with this parting and significant warning to their rivals: "Well, Deveaux, we'll let this drop now; but we certainly hope that you will take pains to see that nothing more of so strongly a suspicious character occurs on this trip!"
Pete Deveaux snarled back some answer which they could not make out.
Our friends returned to the Sky-Bird. In a few minutes Bob, who had climbed on top of the fuselage to test the helium valves, came down and said: "Something new is going on over in our neighbor's yard, fellows. When I was up there I could see right over the natives' heads, and I noticed Chuck Crossman and Pete Deveaux hunting around the field till they found half-a-dozen rocks as big as a football, and they put these in the cabin of theClarion. Wonder what on earth they intend to do with those?"
"It's too hard a nut for me to crack," answered John.
The others expressed equal inability to discern the purpose of their rivals, and the incident was soon forgotten.
But twenty minutes later the familiar roar of a revolving airplane propeller greeted their ears, and they were surprised to observe theClarionrising up over the field. They watched the machine until it had disappeared in the cloud mists to the east. Then they awoke.
All saw the game of their rivals now. By making the Sky-Bird's crew believe they did not intend to leave until noon, the latecomers would be inclined to take their time fitting up for the next hop, and this would give theClarion'sparty a chance to make a sudden exit and gain a good lead before the others could get under way.
There was no getting around it—Pete Deveaux was clever, if he were a rascal. This our friends had to admit to themselves, despite their dislike of the fellow. His methods of getting the best of them seemed to have no limit; and yet thus far they had been able to cling, by the hardest kind of work, right at his heels. This last trick was more honest strategy than Deveaux had exhibited before, and they could therefore admire it in that sense. They hoped that from now on his maneuvers might be as free from maliciousness.
But their rivals had not fooled them as badly as they thought. Our flyers had lost no time upon landing in refitting, and when they saw theClariontake off, they speeded up operations so fast that they were able to depart only fifteen minutes later.
Almost straight eastward they headed, bearing just a little to the southward, so as to strike Singapore on a bee-line. They hoped to reach this stop some time before dark, which would give them approximately twelve hours' flying time. Under ideal weather conditions, they could make the journey in considerably less time, but it was the season for the well-known monsoons of the Indian Ocean, and it was quite unlikely that they would be able to wing their way across the fourteen hundred odd miles of sea without encountering some of these deterrent trade-winds.
It took them just an hour to cross the island of Ceylon, and flying at about fifteen hundred feet, they winged their way out over the whitecaps of the ocean. To their unspeakable pleasure they found the winds not at all bad, and made good speed. Bob was at the throttle, Paul was observing, and John and Tom were sleeping.
They had been flying thus for perhaps two hours, when Paul saw that for which he had been keenly watching for some time. It was a faint black speck, like a tiny bird, against the blue of the heavens ahead of them. He continued to watch this silently, after calling his chum's attention to it, until, under an increase of speed, the Sky-Bird had drawn close enough for them to observe that it was what they suspected—an airplane.
In another hour they were near enough to recognize in it the unmistakable outlines of theClarion. To all appearances their rivals had also observed them, and were crowding on power, for now they gained much slower. Yet they still continued to narrow the breach between them, steadily, rod by rod, and minute by minute. They could see that theClarionwas not well handled, for she wavered in her flight considerably.
"They'd be wise if they'd throw those rocks out which they took aboard," commented Paul. "That might help them to fly steadier."
"They're flying all of a thousand feet higher than we are," said Bob."We're going to pass under them, I think, in the next half-hour."
That was the way matters looked. The |Clarionwas riding high, and was so close by this time that the windows in her cabin could be made out. Against those panels of glass our friends felt sure some of the rival crew were even at that moment pressing anxious faces as they watched the Sky-Bird steadily creeping up on them.
It was such an auspicious moment that Paul went and aroused John and Tom, so that they could see the Sky-Bird overtake and pass her adversary. Those two worthies grumbled a whole lot for a few moments, being half asleep, but when they grasped the situation and saw theClarionjust ahead, they were as much interested as anybody.
Slowly, surely the Sky-Bird overtook the rival machine. When it seemed her nose was almost up to the tail of theClarion, they saw a movement in the bottom of the fuselage of the craft above them, where her trapdoor of glass was situated in the floor of the cabin. Then something gray streaked down through the air. It went whizzing by just in front of the Sky-Bird, and a few moments later plunged into the sea with a great splash.
"Huckleberry pie!" ejaculated Tom Meeks, "one of their rocks has burst through their floor trap. Say, that was a close call for us!"
"Watch out! Here comes another!" cried Paul, as a second gray missile went by them on the other side.
Barely had it struck the waters beneath, when a third rock came so close that they could feel the rush of air as it passed downward. It was as if they were being bombarded by an enemy above, who used great stones instead of explosives. Their faces paled when the truth struck them like a thunderbolt. With calm deliberation, deadly intent, and a skill born of dropping bombs on targets during the war, some of the fellows in the machine above were trying to wreck the Sky-Bird with the rocks they had gathered in the field back in Ceylon!
"Quick, Bob!" cried John to their pilot. "Swerve out from under these devils as fast as you can! If another stone comes down here, it may—"
The words he intended to say never were uttered. At that very moment another gray object streaked its way down through the heavens, whirling uglily. They thought sure it would strike the cabin roof and crash through, and intuitively they cowered back in the corners for protection.
But their speed carried the stone farther to the rear. There was a tearing, rending sound.
Their faces blanched. And then Bob called out: "Hi, fellows, something's gone wrong! The Sky-Bird's bound to put her nose into the sea. The tail elevators don't work!"
Filled with the gravest fears for the safety of the Sky-Bird and themselves, all except Bob rushed to the rear windows of the cabin and looked out to see what had caused the ripping noise, and what could be wrong with the tail.
Paul reached a point of vantage first. One swift look showed him the trouble. The left elevator had a big hole through it, made by the stone, fragments of silk showing all round the ragged gap. But this could not have caused the derangement of the steering controls entirely, and looking for a reason, Paul saw that the impact had caused the wire running to the right elevator to become twisted around a bracket near the end of the fuselage. Under this condition neither elevator could be controlled. With the good one held downward, it was no wonder that the airplane had started a stubborn, slow dive toward the ocean in spite of Bob's frantic efforts to work the lever normally effecting it.
"Shut off your engine!" called Paul to Bob. "That will hold us back.Three minutes of time I think will save us!"
With the words, Paul seized the end of a long coil of rope which lay near, and fastened it about his waist. Both Bob and John saw what he meant to do. He would crawl out upon the fuselage and attempt to untangle the inactive control wire, freeing the now useless right elevating plane!
It was a daring thing to do—a most perilous proceeding. But the older men knew that it was the only thing that could prevent them from plunging into the sea. So John threw open a window for his brother, the nimblest one of them, gave his hand a parting squeeze, and Paul climbed through.
Paul never had realized as he did now how smooth that rounded body of the machine was, nor how strong the wind shot back along it when the machine was in flight. Although he clutched it with both arms and legs, and lay as close to it as he could press, he thought two or three times, as he made his way out toward the tail, that he would be torn loose. He knew that his friends in the cabin, whom it might be he would never speak to again, were watching his progress with fear gripping their hearts, and were probably inwardly praying for his success with every breath.
Finally the boy reached the tail. He dare not look down at the sea to see how much closer they were now, for the sight might unnerve him and prove disastrous to his purpose. So, glazing his vision to all except his environs and intent, he wrapped his legs around the narrowing body of the machine, let go with his arms, and in a crouching posture seized the tangled wires. Two or three tugs and he had them free. He announced this fact with as loud a yell as he could.
Immediately afterward he heard his brother's voice. "Hang right there where you are, Paul! Don't try to come back until we get elevation again and I give you the word."
He realized what this meant and looked down as he once more wrapped his arms around the fuselage, with his shoulders against the rudder bracket. What he saw was the restless sea less than two hundred feet below! Had Bob waited for him to attempt to crawl back into the cabin with the tail elevated, the Sky-Bird would have buried herself in the waters before he was half-way to his objective. They must now rise, if that were possible, to a good height; then Bob would slowly spiral the airplane downward and afford him a declining surface to work back upon.
Luckily Paul's freeing of the right elevating plane, gave the pilot fairly good control over the machine, so Bob had no difficulty in bringing the Sky-Bird into a rising swoop, although none too soon. Mounting at a good angle, but one which would not be likely to displace the youth clinging at the tail, he brought the airplane up to two thousand feet.
"Now, Paul! Slide for it!" cried John, as the machine began a slow descent in a great circle.
Paul then worked his way back like a crab, sliding a little, but not once allowing his tensioned limbs to relax to the danger point. Before the airplane had come within five hundred feet of the sea, he felt his legs grasped in the strong hands of John and Tom, and the next moment they had hauled him bodily through the window.
"Ginger, Buddy, that was a close call for us—and you, too!" exclaimedJohn. "I hope I never see you in such a ticklish place again!"
Paul sank into a seat. He was too exhausted to do anything but smile. When at last he could find his voice he asked, anxiously: "Can Bob control her all right now?"
"Well enough to land us where we wish to go, he says," observed Tom.
"That's right," put in Bob himself, who had overheard the conversation. "The Sky-Bird isn't what she was before that rock went through her, but if nothing worse happens we'll reach Singapore, though it will probably be somewhat later than our sweet friends in the other plane."
"We can land at Sumatra, I think, if we have to make repairs before," ventured John. "We ought to cross the northern end of that island in the course of an hour."
Searching the horizon for their rivals, they saw that, evidently satisfied with the mischief they had done, theClarioncrew had gone on at full speed, for they were now far ahead.
"If I ever run onto Pete Deveaux again I believe I shall be angry enough to choke him till he's unable to speak his own name," declared Paul.
"I'm afraid I'll have to help you at that job, Paul," cried Tom. "He's the most unprincipled scoundrel that ever went unhung."
"You are right, Tom; Deveaux is a brute," said John. "His deviltry came near being the end of us. When we get home, we must see to it that he is punished as he deserves. But we must keep it out of the papers now, as it will look, in case we get beat, as if we wanted an excuse."
John and Tom now resumed their hammocks and broken sleep, for they saw that, although the shattered tail elevator caused the Sky-Bird to ride roughly and at reduced speed. Bob and Paul could probably handle her all right from now on. The cross winds of the monsoon also hindered their progress a good deal, blowing erratically from different directions, but they plugged along at a pace slow enough to keep themselves within the zone of safety.
A little later they came in sight of Sumatra, but as they were going fairly well, thought it best not to attempt a landing for repairs. So they crossed the northern tip of the island, and proceeded on over the Strait of Malacca. Sometime since, Paul had taken Bob's place at the throttle, and the latter had communicated with their destination by wireless, learning that the other airplane had arrived.
It was twilight when they at last reached Singapore, and made a landing in the race-course in the outskirts of the town. By long odds this was the smallest island upon which they had so far stopped, but they found the city one of the busiest. Their rivals had left fully two hours before.
Now came the task of repairing the broken tail elevator. As the frame was undamaged, it was only necessary to straighten out a few bent supports and put new covering on. The British official at the field showed them where to purchase the necessary silk and glue, also a good waterproof varnish for coating the covering. From his own home he secured a pair of scissors with which to do the cutting, and John and Bob worked at the task, while Paul and Tom took on fuel and water and looked after other preparations for resuming their journey as soon as possible.
During this process, Grandpa the monkey was permitted to come out of the cabin and entertain the crowd of onlookers with his antics, which he did to perfection, as he had done at other stops. To the ivory ring about his slender little waist, Paul always fastened a long thin rope, which he had bought in Para, when he let Grandpa out. This leash prevented him from wandering off, something nearly all unfettered monkeys will do if not watched very closely by their masters. Almost any place seems to be home to a monkey, and almost any man seems to suit him for a temporary master.
Grandpa himself delighted in running out upon the wings of the Sky-Bird at the stops. He pulled the control wires and made the ailerons swing up and down, which always raised a laugh among the crowds. Another favorite pastime with him was to post himself in front of the reflector of the big searchlight up on the cabin, and make the most comical grimaces at his image on the polished reflector inside, sometimes uttering queer noises as if he were crying, and at other times chattering with the utmost anger at the phantom monkey, mixing these demonstrations up with wild dashes around behind the lamp to see if the mimicking animal were there. No matter what language the natives of each port might speak, they never failed to understand and appreciate these little sideshow comedies of Grandpa's. And when it would become noised about among them that this particular monkey had traveled all the way from South America through the air with the "bird-men," their awe for him was amusing to behold.
With three hundred gallons of gasoline in her tanks, and her broken tail-elevator well repaired, the Sky-Bird was ready at eleven o'clock that evening to take off. Her crew were all tired out, but they knew they would soon be able to occupy the comfortable seats or hammocks in the cabin for another long stretch of over-sea travel, for it would be morning before they would reach Port Darwin, Australia, their next stop.
It had been raining very hard in Singapore just before they arrived, and the field was quite wet, with many puddles in the low spots. Through one or two of these they had had to run in landing, and it seemed that in hopping off they would be forced to do so again. Fortunately the ground was sandy, so they had come to a stop in a spot not at all muddy, and had thus been able to work upon the machine without the discomforts of wading in slime while doing it.
They now started the engine, Tom climbed in, and they were off, running over the soft ground at increasing speed. Then the airplane struck a pool of water, five or six inches deep, which almost pulled them up. It also held them back so that when the machine emerged it was going very little faster than at the beginning. The next patch of ground was a little longer, but they had not risen when they struck it at a rate of about twenty-five miles an hour.
This pool was also quite deep, and the sudden resistance almost threw the Sky-Bird onto her nose. It did cause her to dip so that her long propeller struck the puddle, and immediately water and sand were sucked up and thrown in almost every direction by the swiftly revolving blades. Much of it reached the natives, who in two long rows of curious humanity, formed a lane for the passage of the craft, and many a poor fellow gave a howl and fell back against those behind, spluttering and rubbing grit and water from his face, while rivulets coursed down his dusky body amid the howls of laughter of his mates.
The flyers had only a fleeting glimpse of this amusing incident before they found the front windows of the cabin so covered with the deluge of spray that they could scarcely see ahead. Two of them quickly opened the portals, for a grave danger menaced them.
Less than sixty yards ahead was the lower fence of the field, and just back of this arose scrub trees and houses, with no opening between which could be utilized. They must clear these formidable obstacles, looming bigger every second, and the distance was alarmingly short, for the last pool had again retarded their momentum to such an extent that they had just barely staggered through it.
Picking up speed once more at every turn of her propeller, the Sky-Bird shot down the last stretch of ground reaching to the fence. How fast this obstruction loomed up! Just in the nick of time the airplane left the ground. They sailed over the tops of trees and houses so close that the wheels of their landing-gear almost scraped. It was one of the finest maneuvers of the whole voyage, and the boys praised John so for his good piloting that he had to ask them to desist.
After a wide sweep above Singapore, they headed for the open water, which in this case happened to be South China Sea.
The weather was very threatening. Dark-looking clouds began to efface the moon and stars, whose light had aided in the take-off at Singapore, and within fifteen minutes occasional flashes of sheet-lightning could be seen far ahead, throwing into relief the immense bulk of the foreboding clouds and shedding a pallid gleam over the sea. Occasionally a light zephyr came out of the east, but it would last only a moment.
"We ought to be just about over the equator now," announced John a little later.
Paul and Bob had stayed up on purpose to witness this event, and by dead reckoning had computed their position so closely that John's announcement had come just as they were about to make a similar statement. Although they could see no "line" stretching along down there in the sea, they fancied they could, with the most pleasant imagery. That great line, the belt of the universe, dividing the Northern and Southern hemispheres, they had already crossed once, in their zigzagging course, at the mouth of the Amazon. Now here in the South China Sea they were crossing it a second time. At no time had they been more than thirteen degrees away from it. One more crossing of it, if all went well, and they would be almost within sight of the end of their journey—Panama!
With this pleasant thought Bob and Paul rolled up in their hammocks, trusting John and Tom to bring them safely through the bad weather that seemed in store, and were soon asleep.
To the two older flyers, used to all conditions of aerial passage as a result of several years' experience, the present conditions were not at all terrifying. Although the spectacle of the dark clouds in front of them was extremely uncanny, they realized that they were only local thunder showers which could probably be avoided by a little careful navigating.
In this they were right. By wheeling a little out of their course, to the left or right, and by flying up over one big cloud which could not be avoided in any other manner, they managed to dodge the most dangerous fields of lightning and the worst torrents of rain.
Presently they left the dark clouds far behind, and once more the stars appeared in the blue firmament above and the pale moon lit up the tropical sea.
With relief John guided the Sky-Bird lower, so that they could keep a sharp lookout for guide-posts of land. They passed several small islets which were uncharted with them, but when, about midnight, they made out a great black blotch not far ahead, they recognized it as the southern end of the island of Borneo, and knew they were all right.
In a little while Borneo was sweeping along below them, its mangroved shores gloomy and desolate-looking, not to say weird, in the pale moonlight. Among those dense forests and thickets the flyers knew many a wild animal was prowling at that very moment, and in the thatched huts in the glens slept many a fierce-visaged savage with weapons close at hand.
Toward morning the flyers observed a volcano in active eruption off to the southeastward, apparently on the island of Timor. It was a beautiful sight, so wonderful that John awoke the sleepers, that they too might enjoy it. Fantastic lights of various colors shot upward from the crater. These shafts lit up billowing clouds of smoke and ashes, which poured out in awe-inspiring volume. Back of it all stood the dark-blue velvet sky, against which the pyrotechnics were embossed in a stunning manner. Man could never have wished to witness a more remarkable manifestation of nature than did the young aviators, as they viewed the spectacle from their own favored position in the air.
Swiftly the Sky-Bird drew them toward the volcano, for it was directly in their course. As they approached, they could see flames licking their way upward from the dark mass of rock constituting the shaft, and could make out streams of lava pouring over the sides of the crater, going down into the unknown blackness below. What a sight it was! How their pulses beat! How their hearts quickened!
But now, very unexpectedly, the sight was shut out. Thin, pungent, volcanic smoke and ash began to surround them. In a few moments it was so thick that they grew alarmed. All had the same fearful thought—
If this should continue a little while, they would lose their bearings, and might run right into the fountain of fire itself!
This was a terrifying possibility, for it would mean a horrible death to every one of them. Fireproof though the airplane was in the general sense of the word, every one of those in her cabin knew that if they should ever pass through those licking flames, the great heat in them would fairly melt the light structure of the machine in the twinkling of an eye. No metal or wood could withstand that terrible blast a moment, much less human flesh.
It is small wonder, therefore, that Tom now sent the Sky-Bird off to the right, and higher, also. They closed the windows, to keep out the foul smells, and anxiously awaited developments. They could not see a yard in front of them, so thick were the smoke and gases. It was a trying time.
Fortunately Tom had taken the best course he could. Five minutes passed—ten minutes—fifteen—and then the air began to clear. Slowly the curtain lifted; and presently looking back, they saw that they had passed the volcano and were leaving it and the island well behind.
Its fires, too, seemed to be burning out. Only a few forks of ghostly light were coming up from the crater. These grew fainter and fainter, and in a little while the eruption seemed to have entirely subsided, for Timor was swallowed up once more in the impenetrable mantle of night.
Shortly after five o'clock the next afternoon, Paul saw ahead and to port what appeared to be haze, but which he and Tom hoped was the coastline of Australia. Ten minutes later the observer joyfully pointed out to the pilot unmistakable evidence of an island upon which stood a tall object—Bathurst Island lighthouse.
John and Tom were routed out, and all saw the rugged outline of the great island—a continent itself, as large as the United States and much the same shape—stretching away to the southward and slowly dwindling into low, sandy, barren shores as it went.
Less than forty minutes later they were circling over Port Darwin, on the northwest corner of the continent, while a good-sized crowd of people down below pointed excitedly upward. The flyers soon made out the landing-field by reason of its white marker, and swooped gracefully down, while those below cheered.
Two zealous customs officials were anxious to examine the new arrivals, also a health officer; but this did not take long, and during the process they were able to converse pleasantly with Mr. Seth Partlow, the British official in charge of the field, also with the mayor of Darwin, who gave them the most cordial welcome.
They were sorry to learn that Pete Deveaux and his flyers had departed less than a half-hour before their own arrival; but they had been expecting such a report owing to the fact that they had been left so far behind at Singapore. They now determined to hurry up refitting operations, and leave at the first opportunity, hot upon the trail.
Messages were dispatched to Mr. Giddings at Panama and to his newspaper in New York; and another roll of films containing numerous interesting views taken that morning just before and after landing, were mailed in to theDaily Independent.
Here, for the first time, they were able to secure a paper containing accounts of their own and their rival's passage. It was a novel experience to read these glowing descriptions of incidents still fresh in their minds—descriptions which had in some cases flown by wire, in others by air-waves, from point to point, more than half-way around the world. It provoked thoughts which made them marvel at the wonderful ingenuity and power of the very equipment which they were using themselves every chance they could get—their wireless telegraph and telephone sets. The remarkable news-gathering efficiency of the world, the coordination of agencies in gathering and disseminating news, was astounding to contemplate.
The mayor of the town insisted upon the boys partaking of dinner at his home near by, and they thankfully agreed to do this when Mr. Partlow declared he would personally see to the filling of the Sky-Bird's tanks, for which task he had plenty of assistants.
They were most cordially received by the mayor's wife. Within fifteen minutes they had the satisfaction of sitting down to one of the most satisfying meals they had ever had. Not only was everything well cooked, but there was a great variety of viands. They were all particularly impressed with the toothsomeness of the meat which the maid served, so much so that Paul could not refrain from remarking: "Mr. Bailey, I never ate sweeter chicken than that."
"No, I don't believe you ever did," laughed the mayor. "The fact is, young man, that is not domestic chicken at all. It is the flesh of the brush-turkey, a wild fowl which the bushmen or blackfellows bring in here to market. It is a great delicacy."
"I have read of these bushmen," said Bob. "Are they quite wild?"
"Indeed they are," the mayor replied. "The blackfellow is, I believe, on the lowest rung of civilization. He is unlike the negro, the Malay, the Mongolian, and the American Indian, in many ways. If you could stay a few days, I would be glad to take you back in the bush and show you a few specimens in their native state. They have a long skull, with a low, flat forehead, Their brows overhang deep-set, keen eyes, and they have a heavy lower jaw, with teeth as strong as a dog's. Their hair is generally wavy or curly, being usually auburn or black in color. As a rule their faces are almost hidden by beards and whiskers, which they never comb and which, like the hair on top of their heads, are always in a beautiful tangle."
"How do they dress, sir?" asked Paul.
This brought another laugh from Mr. Bailey. "That doesn't worry them in the least!" he declared. "Most bushmen are covered from head to foot with hair, and I imagine they think this is a good enough uniform, for they wear nothing except what nature gave them. In bad weather, however, they do add some artificial protection to their tough bodies by making a rough wrap out of the skin of a kangaroo or a piece of flexible bark. Some tribes use rushes and seaweed for this purpose, while others make a blanket from the dried frog scum of the swamps and ponds. For boats, pieces of eucalyptus bark, folded and tied at the ends and daubed with clay, suit them very well. They are too lazy to dig out the trunk of a tree for a canoe, like the natives of most other countries."
"Do these blackfellows live in huts?" asked John.
"That's where their laziness manifests itself again," said the mayor, smiling. "The blackfellow has no permanent dwelling. His shelter is a cave or overhanging rock, as an animal might select one; sometimes it is only a large section of bark which he tears from a tree, and under which he walks or squats in storms or lies at night."
"Back in the States," remarked Tom, "we hear much about the skill of these fellows with the boomerang. I dare say a lot of these stories are overdone."
"Possibly," said their host, "and yet it is a fact that these natives are undoubtedly more adept at casting various forms of wooden implements than any other people in the world. Their very indolence leads them to adopt all sorts of easy-made weapons, and wood is surely one of the most common materials for the purpose one could find. Clubs of all kinds are hurled at prey or human enemies. Among these the boomerang is a favorite. They have several forms. One type is very light, round on one side and flat on the other, and slightly twisted on its axis. It is used almost entirely for play, though sometimes to hurl at flocks of birds in the sky. The war and hunting boomerangs are much heavier; they are bent differently, and do not return to the thrower, but are a deadly weapon in the hands of these bushmen at ranges up to four hundred feet. But stone-pointed spears are their chief weapons."
"With this skill I presume they have no trouble in securing enough to eat," suggested Paul, sipping his cocoa.
"On the contrary, there are times when weather conditions, such as drouth, make it a very difficult matter for some tribes to get sufficient food. Then they will turn to human flesh, and will eat men who have fallen to their weapons, or their own tribesmen who have succumbed to disease or hunger. Even infants are sometimes killed and eaten by their parents."
"Horrible!" cried the flyers. This seemed almost incredible, with civilization in abundance so near.
"I agree with you," said Mr. Bailey, failing to notice his wife holding up a protesting finger toward him. "Of course the blackfellow prefers to have other foods when he can get them. The kangaroo, wallaby, and opossum, form his chief food supply, but no animal or nourishing plant is neglected. He even eats ants, caterpillars, moths, beetles, grubs, snakes, lizards, often uncooked——"
At that point Mr. Bailey felt a sharp twist of his ear, and looking up, found his wife gazing at him with a very severe expression.
"Thomas Bailey! You are a cannibal yourself! Where is your sense of propriety? Have you lost your head in your interest in this subject? Don't you know you areeating?—that you have guests here who are alsoeating?"
"My! my! Goodness gracious!" ejaculated their host, in a great fuss. "Young men, I was not thinking. Will you ever pardon me for this transgression of etiquette?"
The flyers smilingly hastened to assure both their friends that they had not lost their appetites in the least; that they really had enjoyed every morsel of food and information passed out. They remained to chat long enough to convince the lady and gentleman of this fact, and then took their departure. They had actually spent a most entertaining hour, one which they would not have missed for a good deal.
At eight-fifty local time the Sky-Bird took off for her long hop to Apia, principal city of Upolu, an island of the Samoan group. It was the beginning of their long flight across the big Pacific, an ocean so wide, so fraught with perils, that no aircraft had ever before attempted to negotiate it. Some eight thousand miles away over those great waters lay Panama, their goal. Would they reach it ahead of their rivals? Would they reach it within their schedule of ten days?
To these two queries in their minds, our stout-hearted, young friends answered doggedly and determinedly, "Yes!" Fortune might frown upon them, it is true; but if so they would face her smilingly, with confidence, with that pertinacity for which Americans are famous, and try to make her look pleasant, too! They felt that they must win; that they would win. And yet they left Port Darwin handicapped by being fully three hours behind their rivals.
As they wheeled over the town they waved a last farewell to the hundreds below, whose forms they could just make out in the fast-gathering darkness. Then, turning off straight east, they flew over the dark-green canopy of eucalyptus forests of fertile Arnhem Land, and crossed the Gulf of Carpentaria in the full darkness of the night. When they passed over Cape York peninsula, Tom was at the throttle, and the younger boys had been asleep for a number of hours. They had now left the whole continent of Australia behind them, and were facing the broad wastes of the Pacific.
Their perils had begun in earnest. Should anything happen to cause them to be forced down, there was nothing but a vast basin of water miles deep to catch them, and there would not be one chance in a thousand that they would survive. This, surely, was no place and no time for engines to fail or steering apparatus to go wrong. Yet each flyer was ready for such a mishap—attested by the mute evidence of an inflated rubber tube about his waist. Even Bob and Paul slumbered on the airy contrivances.
Fortunately the weather was ideal. It is true that headwinds blew mildly and insistently, causing some bumpiness, but the night was calm and starry, and with the engine running close to full-out, they saw that they were making up lost time very fast.
When morning broke, and Paul took the throttle, fair skies looked down upon their skimming bird, and the sea was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Bob wirelessed Sydney their position about noon. He made no attempt to get Apia, because he knew there was no telegraph or radio station there.
Flying low, early in the afternoon they passed close enough to the Vanikord islands to see hordes of natives watching them from the coral shores. Numerous smaller islets, gems set in the ultramarine blue of the sea, were also passed within the next hour. Gulls, ospreys, and other swift-winged seabirds sailed about these pretty outcroppings of the mighty deep, and sometimes the creatures came after the Sky-Bird with shrill cries of challenge, only to be quickly left behind.
Once more the shades of night fell, and once more John took the destinies of the airplane in hand. For a time Bob and Paul worked on reports, then played with Grandpa, who in such tedious spells of flying as this was a never-ending source of entertainment to all. Nine o'clock found them in their hammocks, hoping that when they opened their eyes again it would be to see the welcome shores of their destination.
Nor in this hope were they to be disappointed. It seemed they had no sooner fallen asleep than they were aroused by a hand shaking them and the voice of John saying: "Come on, you sleepy-heads! Rout out here and have a look at what's ahead!"
Having their clothes still on—so that they might be ready for an emergency at any time of the night—the two chums were up to the windows about as soon as John himself. The latter had raised two of these a short time before, and the boys shoved their heads through to take a look.
It was broad day. Light, fleecy clouds covered the heavens to the southeast, but in the blue between a huge rift the sun shone down benignly. And in its bright rays they could count nine islands and islets, sprinkled here and there like emeralds in a sparkling sheet of mother-of-pearl. It needed only a glance at the chart to tell them that these were the Samoan group, and a little searching also told them that the nearest large one was Upolu.
In less than another hour they were circling above the beautiful island of their choice, directly over the little town of Apia, which nestled in the center of a luxuriant forest of palms and other tropical trees. A number of boats and sailing vessels were in the harbor, and on board these as well as on the ground hundreds of people were looking up aloft and waving a welcome.
Now our flyers saw what they really were most concerned about—a T made of white stones in an open spot by the beach. And in that field they also saw something else they were very glad to witness. This was the airplane of their rivals.
They had caught up with them at last!