CHAPTER XI.IN DIREST PERIL.
CHAPTER XI.
IN DIREST PERIL.
“Oh, if we could only work round and land on the point,” exclaimed Peggy. “There’s a fine, smooth field there; in fact, it’s all bare ground, without rocks or trees.”
“Yes, and Jeff Stokes is wireless operator there, too,” rejoined her brother. “Hullo,” he exclaimed an instant later, “the wind is shifting a bit. I almost got her head round that time.”
“Then there is a chance, Roy!”
“Yes, sis, but don’t count too much on it.”
Like a skillful jockey handling a restive horse, Roy worked the Golden Butterfly about on the shifting air currents. If once he could turn her nose toward the land he was sure that he would be able to make the ground by driving the aeroplane down on a slanting angle.
Once or twice, while he strove with hand andbrain against the elements, he caught his breath with a gasping intake—so near had they come to overturning. But, thanks to the wind eddies of the point, it was possible, after a deal of breathless maneuvering, to get the aeroplane headed for the land.
The instant he found himself in this position Roy threw on all his power and then, “bucking” the wind, like a ship beating up to windward, he rushed down through the night upon the point. As he did so the rays of the slowly revolving light flashed brightly upon the laboring aeroplane. In the radiance it looked like some struggling night bird beating its way against the storm and darkness.
As Peggy had said, the point was clear of rocks or brush, and a landing was made without much difficulty once the aeroplane had been turned. Just as a ship can face the waves with comparative security, so an aeroplane, being driven into the teeth of a gale, is secure so long as she does not “broach to”; in other words, getsidewise to the blast. It was touch and go with the Golden Butterfly for several minutes, though, during that struggle with the elements, and two more thankful young hearts rarely beat than Peggy’s and Roy’s as they stepped from the machine and made it fast by pointed braces provided for the purpose.
Hardly had she touched the ground before a door in the lower part of the lighthouse opened and the form of Jeff Stokes emerged. He told them that the struggle with the wind had been seen by the light-keeper and himself, and he was warm in his congratulations of the daring young aviators. The light-keeper, a grizzled man named Zeb. Beasley, followed close on Jeff’s heels.
“Come right into the house and hev some supper,” he said warmly. “It’s only rough fare, but you’re welcome. My misses will be glad to have you.”
Truth to tell, both Peggy and her brother were almost famished and worn out after the tensionof the struggle with the wind. This being so, they were glad enough to accept the light-keeper’s kind invitation.
Peggy’s first action, however, was to hasten to the ’phone in the lighthouse and call up their aunt. Miss Prescott, who had been badly worried over their prolonged absence, was much relieved to learn that they were safe and sound.
Mrs. Beasley, a motherly woman of middle age, took charge of Peggy while Jeff Stokes entertained Roy. Jeff said that he liked the life at the light, lonesome as it grew sometimes. When he felt blue he used to relieve the monotony by talking, by means of invisible waves, with other operators. He wiled many a weary hour away in this manner, he said.
Suddenly, in the midst of their talk, he excused himself and hastened to the small room in which his instruments were. The place, filled with shiny, mysterious apparatus and networked above with wires, was as neat as a pin.
“Some one’s calling,” Jeff explained.
His quick ear had caught the faint “tick-tick” hardly audible to the untrained ears, which told him that a message was vibrating through the night. Slipping over his head a metallic apparatus, not unlike the telephone receivers worn by “Central,” Jeff began listening intently. Drawing a pad toward him, he was soon writing down the message as it was ticked off. Presently it was completed, by which time Peggy was one of his audience.
“‘Steamer Valiant, Captain Briggs, of London, wishes to be reported as passing Rocky Point, bound for Boston,’” read off Jeff. “Hum—nothing very exciting there.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked Peggy, as Jeff, the message in his hand, turned to another table, one on which were arranged some ordinary telegraph instruments.
“Send it by ordinary wire telegraphy into the head office in New York,” he said.
“Why not send it by wireless?” asked Peggy.
“Too much chance of delay and getting crosscurrents,” explained Jeff. “We found that for quick transmission of ordinary business, that the wire is best, unless the atmospheric conditions are just right.”
Suddenly, one of the telegraph instruments began to crackle and click loudly.
“Phew!” said Jeff, listening intently; “here’s something that will interest you folks.”
“What is it?” asked Peggy, eagerly.
“It’s—wait a minute till I catch the last––” Jeff listened a few seconds more and then faced about. “Why, that message was a despatch from the Sandy Bay correspondent of the New York Planet to his paper,” he said. “It was an article telling that Fanning Harding has completed a successful aeroplane which made a wonderful flight to-night in a stiff wind. He says that Harding has formed a company and means to manufacture similar craft. Then there was a lot of taffy about what a fine young fellow Harding is, and how bright, and so on. Wonder if it’s true?”
“I can vouch for that,” said Peggy. “I’ve seen his factory. It’s out by Gid Gibbons’s shop.”
“So that’s where Gid is getting all his money,” exclaimed Jeff. “I saw him spending it like water in Sandy Bay the other day. Hester’s got a lot of new dresses and hats, too.”
Peggy’s heart beat a little faster. This sounded like a corroboration of her suspicions. Where could such a man as Gid Gibbons be getting such large amounts of money as he seemed to have recently? But before she could ask any more questions Mrs. Beasley announced supper. Speculation was rife in Peggy’s mind as they sat down to the broiled sea bass, freshly caught, home-grown potatoes and string beans and other good things which the light-keeper had designated as “rough fare.” Peggy was fain to admit afterward, and so was Roy, that never had she enjoyed anything so much as that meal in the old lighthouse with the wind roaring about it and the rough, kindly faces of their entertainers smiling on them.
Good-natured Mrs. Beasley soon after arranged sleeping accommodations for her young guests, and that night the young aviators slumbered peacefully, while above them the great revolving light swept steadily in slow circles, warning vessels passing up and down the Sound of the dangerous proximity of Rocky Point.
The next day dawned bright and fair. The sea lay like a sheet of blue glass, with scarcely a ripple to mar its polished surface. The last trace of the wind had died down.
“We’ll have no more breeze till sundown,” announced Mr. Beasley at breakfast. Like most men of his profession, he was an earnest and accurate student of the weather. After breakfast Jeff Stokes, who had been on duty all night, was relieved by his assistant, a young man who boarded in the village and rode over to his duty on a motor-cycle.
“Well,” said Roy, after they had thanked their good-hearted entertainers warmly, “I guess it’s time for us to be getting home.”
But Peggy had noted a wistful look in Jeff Stokes’s eyes as he stood by the side of the aeroplane, which an examination had already shown to be none the worse for its buffeting of the night before.
“Would you like to try a little flight, Jeff?” she asked.
“Would I?” echoed the youth; “will a duck swim?”
“Yes, I believe so,” laughed Roy, “and so can a certain young wireless operator fly.”
“Gee, Roy, you mean it?”
“Of course, if you’re not scared.”
There was a mischievous twinkle in Roy’s eye as he bent over the engine.
“How would you like a ride, Mr. Beasley?” asked Peggy presently, while Roy adjusted the engine.
The weather-beaten old fellow fairly threw up his hands.
“Land of Goshen, miss!” he exclaimed, “I’ve lived on the earth and sea, man and boy, forfifty years, and I ain’t agoin’ ter tempt Providence by embarking in a sky clipper at this late day.”
“You bet you ain’t,” put in Mrs. Beasley with deep conviction. “Why, if you ever done such a thing we’d be like to be read out of church—not but what it’s all right for young folks if they know how to manage the contraptions.”
“Now, then, Jeff, if you are ready will you get in?” said Roy presently.
The slender young wireless operator hopped into the chassis with alacrity. But his face was a bit pallid from excitement at the idea of the new method of locomotion he was about to test.
Last good-byes were said, and the motor began to whirr like a gigantic locust. There was a grinding and buzzing as the gears meshed and the aeroplane began to scud off.
“Fer all ther world like some big, pesky grasshopper,” declared Mrs. Beasley, as it scudded off across the smooth turf.
But if the good lady was astonished, then itwas nothing to her amazement when a moment later the Butterfly soared up into the air, lifting as gently on the windless atmosphere as a bit of drifting gossamer.
Up and up it swept in graceful hawk-like circles.
“Dear Suz!” shrieked Mrs. Beasley presently, “if they ain’t agoin’ out ter sea!”
“Just what they air,” shouted her husband, shading his eyes with a wrinkled hand. “I never thought ter have lived ter have seen such a thing!”
Roy had been unable to resist the temptation to take a little spin out above the glassy, scarcely heaving water. The gulls, soaring above it, viewed with amazement the invasion of their realm by this buzzing, angry looking monster. They flew about it shrieking.
“Goodness, I hope they don’t attack us,” exclaimed Peggy.
“Not likely,” was Roy’s response. “They thinkwe are some kind of big bird, I guess, and want to have a game with us.”
As they swept on, all agreed that never had they felt such a feeling of exhilaration as came to them as they swooped and swung above the glistening blue water, for all the world like some huge bird. Once or twice motor boats went by beneath them, and the occupants looked up at first in wonderment and then in enthusiasm at the sight the Golden Butterfly and her three young occupants presented.
But all at once the steady song of the engine began to grow different. It “skipped” and sputtered and coughed. Blue smoke rolled from the exhausts. The aeroplane began to waver and sag.
Jeff Stokes turned rather pale.
“What is the matter?” he gasped, steadying his voice as much as he could as the aeroplane began to drop steadily down toward the water beneath them.
“The gasolene’s given out,” rejoined Roy in a voice which was full of anxiety.
“Oh, Roy, what shall we do?”
Peggy gasped as the aeroplane, its propeller beating the air more and more feebly, began to descend with greater rapidity.
“We’ll have to volplane to some land if we can, and if we can’t we must take our chances for it in the water,” was Roy’s grim reply.