Tom Swift and his Wireless Message by Victor AppletonOr, The Castaways of Earthquake Island (page 2)

time and labor to build up, and then fashion to the right shape, had been hacked, and cut with an axe. The propeller was useless!

“More of Andy’s work,” murmured Tom. “This is about the worst yet!”

There came over him a feeling of great despondency, which was succeeded by a justifiable rage. He wanted to take after the bully, and give him a merciless beating. Then a calmer mood came over Tom.

“After all, what’s the use?” he reasoned. “Whipping Andy wouldn’t mend the BUTTERFLY. She’s in bad shape, but I can repair her, when I get time. Luckily, he didn’t meddle with the engine. That’s all right.” A hasty examination had shown this. “I guess I won’t do anything now,” went on Tom. “I’ll have my hands full getting Mr. Fenwick’s airship to run. After that I can come back here and fix up my own. It’s a good thing I don’t have to depend on her for making the trip to Philadelphia. Poor BUTTERFLY! you sure are in a bad way,” and Tom felt almost as if he was talking to some living creature, so wrapped up was he in his trim little monoplane.

After another disheartening look at his air craft, the young inventor started to leave the shop. He looked at a door, the fastening of which Andy had broken to gain admittance.

“I should have had the burglar alarm working, and this would never have happened,” reasoned Tom. All the buildings were arranged so that if any one entered them after a certain hour, an alarm would ring in the house. But of late, the alarm had not been set, as Tom and his father were not working on any special inventions that needed guarding. It was due to this oversight that Andy was able to get in undetected.

“But it won’t happen again,” declared Tom, and he at once began connecting the burglar-apparatus. He went into the house, and told his father and the engineer what had occurred. They were both indignant, and the engineer declared that he would sleep with one eye open all night, ready to respond to the first alarm.

“Oh, there’s no danger of Andy coming back right away,” said Tom. “He’s too frightened. I wouldn’t be surprised if he disappeared for a time. He’ll be thinking that I’m after him.”

This proved true, as Andy had left town next morning, and to all inquiries his mother said he had gone to visit relatives. She was not aware of her son’s meanness, and Tom did not tell her.

Mr. Damon arrived from his home in Waterfield that day, and, with many “blessings,” wanted to know if Tom was ready for the trial of the electrical airship.

“Yes, we’ll leave for Philadelphia to-morrow,” was the answer.

“Are we going in the BUTTERFLY? Bless my watch chain, but I like that little machine!”

“It will be some time before you again have a flight in her,” said Tom, sorrowfully, as he told of Andy’s act of vandalism.

“Why, bless my individuality!” cried Mr. Damon, indignantly. “I never heard of such a thing! Never!”

It did little good to talk of it, however, and Tom wanted to forget about it. He wished he had time to repair the monoplane before he left home, but there was much to do to get ready for the trial of the WHIZZER.

“When will you be back, Tom?” asked Mr. Swift, as his son and Mr. Damon departed for the Quaker City the following morning.

“Hard to say, dad. If I can make a long flight in the WHIZZER I’ll do so. I may even drop down here and pay you a visit. But if I find there are many more changes to make in her construction, which is more than likely, I can’t say when I’ll return. I’ll keep you posted, however, by writing.”

“Can’t you arrange to send me some wireless messages?” asked the older inventor, with a smile.

“I could, if I had thought to rig up the apparatus on Mr. Fenwick’s airship,” was the reply. “I’ll hardly have time to do it now, though.”

“Send wireless messages from an aeroplane?” gasped Mr. Damon. “Bless my gizzard! I never heard of such a thing!”

“Oh, it can be done,” Tom assured him. And this was a fact. Tom had installed a wireless apparatus on his RED CLOUD recently, and it is well known that several of the modern biplanes can send wireless messages. The crossing and bracing wires of the frame are used for sending wires, and in place of ground conductors there are trailers which hang below the aeroplane. The current is derived directly from the engine, and the remaining things needed are a small step-up transformer, a key and a few other small parts. Tom had gone a step farther than this, and had also arranged to receive wireless messages, though few modern aeroplanes are thus equipped as yet.

But, of course, there was no time now to install a wireless apparatus on Mr. Fenwick’s craft. Tom thought he would be lucky if he got the WHIZZER to make even a short flight.

“Well, let me hear from you when you can,” requested Mr. Swift, and Tom promised. It was some time after that, and many strange things happened before Tom Swift again communicated with his father, at any length.

The young inventor had bidden farewell to Miss Nestor the night previous. She stated that she had a message that day from her parents aboard the RESOLUTE, which spoke a passing steamer. Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, and the other guests of Mr. Hosbrook were well, and anticipated a fine time on reaching the West Indies.

Tom now said good-by to his father, the housekeeper and Mr. Jackson, not forgetting, of course, Eradicate Sampson.

“Don’t let Andy Foger come sneaking around here, Rad,” cautioned the young inventor.

“‘Deed an’ I won’t!” exclaimed the colored man. “Ef he do, I’ll hab Boomerang kick him t’ pieces, an’ den I’ll whitewash him so his own folks won’t know him! Oh, don’t you worry, Massa Tom. Dat Andy won’t do no funny business when I’m around!”

Tom laughed, and started for the station with Mr. Damon. They arrived in Philadelphia that afternoon, the trip being very slow, as compared with the one made by the monoplane. They found Mr. Fenwick anxiously awaiting them, and Tom at once started work on the airship.

He kept at it until late that night, and resumed early the next morning. Many more changes and adjustments were made, and that afternoon, the young inventor said:

“I think we’ll give it a try-out, Mr. Fenwick.”

“Do you mean make a flight?”

“Yes, if she’ll take it; but only a short one. I want to get her up in the air, and see how she behaves.”

“Well, if you find out, after you’re up, that she does well, you may want to take a long flight,” suggested Mr. Fenwick. “If you do, why I have everything aboard necessary for a long voyage. The WHIZZER is well stocked with provisions.”

An hour later, the big electric machine was wheeled out into the yard, for, in spite of her size, four men could easily move the craft about, so well was she balanced. Aside from a few personal friends of the inventor, himself, his machinists, Tom and Mr. Damon, no one was present at the try-out.

Tom, Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick climbed into the car which was suspended below the gas bag, and between the wing-like planes on either side. The young inventor had decided to make the WHIZZER rise by scudding her across the ground on the bicycle wheels, with which she was equipped, and then by using the tilting planes to endeavor to lift her off the earth. He wanted to see if she would go up that way, without the use of the gas bag.

All was in readiness. The motor was started and the machinery began to hum and throb. The propellers gained speed with every revolution. The airship had been made fast by a rope, to which was attached a strong spring balance, as it was desired to see how much pull the engine would give.

“Eight hundred pounds,” announced one of the machinists.

“A thousand would be better, but we’ll try it,” Murmured Tom. “Cast off!”

The rope was loosened, and, increasing the speed of the engine, Tom signalled to the men to give a little momentum to the craft. She began running over the smooth ground. There was a cheer from the few spectators. Certainly the WHIZZER made good time on the earth.

Tom was anxiously watching the gages and other instruments. He wanted a little more speed, but could not seem to get it. He ran the motor to the utmost, and then, seeing the necessity of making an attempt to get up into the air, before the end of the speeding ground was reached, he pulled the elevating plane lever.

The front of the WHIZZER rose, and then settled down. Tom quickly shut off the power, and jammed on the brake, an arrangement of spikes that dug into the earth, for the high board fence loomed up before him.

“What’s the matter?” cried Mr. Fenwick, anxiously.

“Couldn’t get up speed enough,” answered the young inventor. “We must have more momentum to make her rise.”

“Can it be gotten?”

“I think so. I’ll gear the motor higher.”

It took an hour to do this. Once more the scale test was applied. It registered a pull of fifteen hundred pounds now.

“We’ll go up,” said Tom, grimly.

Once more the motors spit out fire, and the propellers whirled so that they looked like mere circles of light. Once more the WHIZZER shot over the ground, but this time, as she neared the fence, she rose up like a bird, cleared it like a trick horse, and soared off into the air!

The WHIZZER was flying!

CHAPTER X

OVER THE OCEAN

“Hurrah!” cried Mr. Fenwick in delight. “My machine is really flying at last!”

“Yes,” answered Tom, as he adjusted various levers and gears, “she is going. It’s not as high as I’d like, but it is doing very well, considering the weight of the craft, and the fact that we have not used the gas bag. I’m going to let that fill now, and we’ll go up. Don’t you want to steer, Mr. Fenwick?”

“No, you manage it, Tom, until it’s in good running shape. I don’t want to ‘hoodoo’ it. I worked as hard as I could, and never got more than two feet off the ground. Now I’m really sailing. It’s great!”

He was very enthusiastic, and Tom himself was not a little pleased at his own success, for certainly the airship had looked to be a very dubious proposition at first.

“Bless my gaiters! But we are doing pretty well,” remarked Mr. Damon, looking down on the field where Mr. Fenwick’s friends and the machinists were gathered, cheering and waving their hands.

“We’ll do better,” declared Tom.

He had already set the gas machine in operation, and was now looking over the electric apparatus, to see that it was working well. It needed some adjustments, which he made.

All this while the WHIZZER was moving about in a big circle, for the rudder had been automatically set to so swing the craft. It was about two hundred feet high, but soon after the gas began to enter the bag it rose until it was nearly five thousand feet high. This satisfied Tom that the airship could do better than he expected, and he decided to return nearer earth.

In going down, he put the craft through a number of evolutions designed to test her ability to answer the rudders promptly. The lad saw opportunity for making a number of changes, and suggested them to Mr. Fenwick.

“Are you going any farther?” asked the owner of the WHIZZER, as he saw that his craft was slowly settling.

“No, I think we’ve done enough for the first day,” said Tom, “But I’d like you to handle her now, Mr. Fenwick. You can make the landing, while I watch the motor and other machines.”

“Yes. I guess I can make a landing all right,” assented the inventor. “I’m better at coming down than going up.”

He did make a good descent, and received the congratulation of his friends as he stepped from the airship. Tom was also given much praise for his success in making the craft go at all, for Mr. Fenwick and his acquaintances had about given up hope that she ever would rise.

“Well, what do you think of her?” Mr. Fenwick wanted to know of the young inventor, who replied that, as soon as some further changes had been made, they would attempt a long flight.

This promise was kept two days later. They were busy days for Tom, Mr. Fenwick and the latter’s assistants. Tom sent a short note to his father telling of the proposed long flight, and intimated that he might make a call in Shopton if all went well. He also sent a wire to Miss Nestor, hinting that she might have some apple turnovers ready for him.

But Tom never called for that particular pastry, though it was gotten ready for him when the girl received his message.

All was in readiness for the long flight, and a preliminary test had demonstrated that the WHIZZER had been wonderfully improved by the changes Tom made. The young inventor looked over the supply of food Mr. Fenwick had placed aboard, glanced at the other stores, and asked:

“How long do you expect to be gone, Mr. Fenwick?”

“Why, don’t you think we can stay out a week?”

“That’s quite a while,” responded Tom. “We may be glad to return in two days, or less. But I think we’re all ready to start. Are any of your friends going?”

“I’ve tried to pursuade some of them to accompany me, but they are a bit timid,” said the inventor. “I guess we three will make up the party this time, though if our trip is a successful one I’ll be overwhelmed with requests for rides, I suppose.”

As before, a little crowd gathered to see the start. The day was warm, but there was a slight haziness which Tom did not like. He hoped, though, that it would pass over before they had gone far.

“Do you wish to head for any particular spot, Mr. Fenwick?” asked Tom, as they were entering the cabin.

“Yes, I would like to go down and circle Cape May, New Jersey, if we could. I have a friend who has a summer cottage there, and he was always laughing at my airship. I’d just like to drop down in front of his place now, and pay him a call.”

“We’ll try it,” assented Tom, with a smile.

An auspicious start was made, the WHIZZER taking the air after a short flight across the ground, and then, with the lifting gas aiding in pulling the craft upward, the airship started to sail high over the city of Philadelphia.

So swiftly did it rise that the cheers of the little crowd of Mr. Fenwick’s friends were scarcely heard. Up and up it went, and then a little later, to the astonishment of the crowds in the streets, Tom put the airship twice in a circle around the statue of William Penn, on the top of the City Hall.

“Now you steer,” the lad invited Mr. Fenwick. “Take her straight across the Delaware River, and over Camden, New Jersey, and then head south, for Cape May. We ought to make it in an hour, for we are getting up good speed.”

Leaving the owner in charge of his craft, to that gentleman’s no small delight, Tom and Mr. Damon began an inspection of the electrical and other machinery. There was much that needed attention, but Tom soon had the automatic apparatus in working order, and then less attention need be given to it.

Several times the young investor looked out of the windows with which the cabin was fitted. Mr. Damon noticed this.

“Bless my shoe laces, Tom,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t like the looks of the weather,” was the answer. “I think we’re in for a storm.”

“Then let’s put back.”

“No, it would be too bad to disappoint Mr. Fenwick, now that we have made such a good start. He wants to make a long flight, and I can’t blame him,” spoke Tom, in a low voice.

“But if there’s danger–”

“Oh, well, we can soon be at Cape May, and start back. The wind is freshening rather suddenly, though,” and Tom looked at the anemometer, which showed a speed of twenty miles an hour. However, it was in their favor, aiding them to make faster time.

The speed of the WHIZZER was now about forty miles an hour, not fast for an air craft, but sufficiently speedy in trying out a new machine. Tom looked at the barograph, and noted that they had attained an altitude of seven thousand five hundred feet.

“That’s better than millionaire Daxtel’s distance of seven thousand one hundred and five feet,” remarked the lad, with a smile, “and it breaks Jackson’s climb of seven thousand three hundred and three feet, which is pretty good for your machine, Mr. Fenwick.”

“Do you really think so?” asked the pleased inventor.

“Yes. And we’ll do better than that in time. but it’s best to go slow at first, until we see how she is standing the strain. This is high and fast enough for the present.”

They kept on, and as Tom saw that the machinery was working well, he let it out a little, The WHIZZER at once leaped forward, and, a little later they came within sight of Cape May, the Jersey coast resort.

“Now to drop down and visit my friend,” said Mr. Fenwick, with a smile. “Won’t he be surprised!”

“I don’t think we’d better do it,” said Tom.

“Why not?”

“Well, the wind is getting stronger every minute and it will be against us on the way back. If we descend, and try to make another ascension we may fail. We’re up in the air now, and it may be easy to turn around and go back. Then, again, it may not, but it certainly will be easier to shift around up here than down on the ground. So I’d rather not descend–that is, not entirely to the ground.”

“Well, just as you say, though I wanted my friend to know I could build a successful airship.”

“Oh, we can get around that. I’ll take her down as low as is safe, and fly over his house, if you’ll point it out, and you can drop him a message in one of the pasteboard tubes we carry for that purpose.”

“That’s a good idea,” assented Mr. Fenwick. “I’ll do it.”

Tom sent the WHIZZER down until the hotels and cottages could be made out quite plainly. After looking with a pair of opera glasses, Mr. Fenwick picked out the residence of his friend, and Tom prepared to circle about the roof.

By this time the presence of the airship had become known to hundreds, and crowds were eagerly watching it.

“There he is! There’s my friend who didn’t believe I would ever succeed!” exclaimed Mr. Fenwick, pointing to a man who stood in the street in front of a large, white house. “I’ll drop him a message!”

One was in readiness in a weighted pasteboard cylinder, and soon it was falling downward. The airship was moving slowly, as it was beating against the wind.

Leaning out of the cabin window, Mr. Fenwick shouted to his friend:

“Hey, Will! I thought you said my airship would never go! I’ll come and give you a ride, some day!”

Whether the gentleman understood what Mr. Fenwick shouted at him is doubtful, but he saw the inventor waving his hand, and he saw the falling cylinder, and a look of astonishment spread over his face, as he ran to pick up the message.

“We’re going up now, and will try to head for home,” said Tom, a moment later, as he shifted the rudder.

“Bless my storage battery!” cried Mr. Damon. “But we have had a fine trip.”

“A much better one than we’ll have going back,” observed Tom, in a low voice.

“Why; what’s the matter?” asked the eccentric man.

“The wind has increased to a gale, and will be dead against us,” answered Tom.

Mr. Fenwick was busy writing another message to drop, and he paid little attention to the young inventor. Tom sent the craft well up into the air, and then tried to turn it about, and head back for Philadelphia. No sooner had he done so than the airship was met by the full force of the wind, which was now almost a hurricane. It had steadily increased, but, as long as they were moving with it, they did not notice it so much. Once they attempted to stem its fury they found themselves almost helpless.

Tom quickly realized this, and, giving up his intention of beating up against the wind, he turned the craft around, and let it fly before the gale, the propellers aiding to get up a speed of seventy miles an hour.

Mr. Fenwick, who had dropped the last of his messages, came from his small private cabin, to where Mr. Damon and Tom were in a low-voiced conversation near the engines. The owner of the WHIZZER, happened to look down through a plate-glass window in the floor of car. What he saw caused him to give a gasp of astonishment.

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

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

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

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

“Then what’s to be done?”

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

“And how long will that be?”

“I don’t know–a week, maybe.”

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

CHAPTER XI

A NIGHT OF TERROR

After the first shock of Tom’s announcement, the two men, who were traveling with him in the airship, showed no signs of fear. Yet it was alarming to know that one was speeding over the mighty ocean, before a terrific gale, with nothing more substantial under one that a comparatively frail airship.

Still Mr. Damon knew Tom of old, and had confidence in his ability, and, while Mr. Fenwick was not so well acquainted with our hero, he had heard much about him, and put faith in his skill to carry them out of their present difficulty.

“Are you sure you can’t turn around and go back?” asked Mr. Fenwick. His knowledge of air-currents was rather limited.

“It is out of the question,” replied Tom, simply. “We would surely rip this craft to pieces if we attempted to buffet this storm.”

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

“It might be worse,” was the reply of the young inventor. “The wind is blowing about eighty miles an hour at times, and to try to turn now would mean that we would tear the planes loose from the ship. True, we could still keep up by means of the gas bag, but even that might be injured. Going as we are, in the same direction as that in which the wind is blowing, we do not feel the full effect of it.”

“But, perhaps, if we went lower down, or higher up, we could get in a different current of air,” suggested Mr. Fenwick, who had made some study of aeronautics.

“I’ll try,” assented Tom, simply. He shifted the elevating rudder, and the WHIZZER began to go up, slowly, for there was great lateral pressure on her large surface. But Tom knew his business, and urged the craft steadily. The powerful electric engines, which were the invention of Mr. Fenwick, stood them in good stead, and the barograph soon showed that they were steadily mounting.

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

“On the contrary, it seems to be increasing,” replied Tom, with a glance at the anemometer. “It’s nearly ninety miles an hour now.”

“Then, aided by the propellers, we must be making over a hundred miles an hour.” said the inventor.

“We are,–a hundred and thirty,” assented Tom.

“We’ll be blown across the ocean at this rate,” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “Bless my soul! I didn’t count on that.”

“Perhaps we had better go down,” suggested Mr. Fenwick. “I don’t believe we can get above the gale.”

“I’m afraid not,” came from Tom. “It may be a bit better down below.”

Accordingly, the rudder was changed, and the WHIZZER pointed her nose downward. None of the lifting gas was let out, as it was desired to save that for emergencies.

Down, down, down, went the great airship, until the adventurers within, by gazing through the plate glass window in the floor of the cabin, could see the heaving, white-capped billows, tossing and tumbling below them.

“Look out, or we’ll be into them!” shouted Mr. Damon.

“I guess we may as well go back to the level where we were,” declared Tom. “The wind, both above and below that particular strata is stronger, and we will be safer up above. Our only chance is to scud before it, until it has blown itself out. And I hope it will be soon.”

“Why?” asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice.

“Because we may be blown so far that we can not get back while our power holds out, and then–” Tom did not finish, but Mr. Damon knew what he meant–death in the tossing ocean, far from land, when the WHIZZER, unable to float in the air any longer, should drop into the storm-enraged Atlantic.

They were again on a level, where the gale blew less furiously than either above or below, but this was not much relief. It seemed as if the airship would go to pieces, so much was it swayed and tossed about. But Mr. Fenwick, if he had done nothing else, had made a staunch craft, which stood the travelers in good stead.

All the rest of that day they swept on, at about the same speed. There was nothing for them to do, save watch the machinery, occasionally replenishing the oil tanks, or making minor adjustments.

“Well,” finally remarked Mr. Damon, when the afternoon was waning away, “if there’s nothing else to do, suppose we eat. Bless my appetite, but I’m hungry! and I believe you said, Mr. Fenwick, that you had plenty of food aboard.”

“So we have, but the excitement of being blown out to sea on our first real trip, made me forget all about it. I’ll get dinner at once, if you can put up with an amateur’s cooking.”

“And I’ll help,” offered Mr. Damon. “Tom can attend to the airship, and we’ll serve the meals. It will take our minds off our troubles.”

There was a well equipped kitchen aboard the WHIZZER and soon savory odors were coming from it. In spite of the terror of their situation, and it was not to be denied that they were in peril, they all made a good meal, though it was difficult to drink coffee and other liquids, owing to the sudden lurches which the airship gave from time to time as the gale tossed her to and fro.

Night came, and, as the blackness settled down, the gale seemed to increase in fury. It howled through the slender wire rigging of the WHIZZER, and sent the craft careening from side to side, and sometimes thrust her down into a cavern of the air, only to lift her high again, almost like a ship on the heaving ocean below them.

As darkness settled in blacker and blacker, Tom had a glimpse below him, of tossing lights on the water.

“We just passed over some vessel,” he announced. “I hope they are in no worse plight than we are.” Then, there suddenly came to him a thought of the parents of Mary Nestor, who were somewhere on the ocean, in the yacht RESOLUTE bound for the West Indies.

“I wonder if they’re out in this storm, too?” mused Tom. “If they are, unless the vessel is a staunch one, they may be in danger.”

The thought of the parents of the girl he cared so much for being in peril, was not reassuring to Tom, and he began to busy himself about the machinery of the airship, to take his mind from the presentiment that something might happen to the RESOLUTE.

“We’ll have our own troubles before morning,” the lad mused, “if this wind doesn’t die down.”

There was no indication that this was going to be the case, for the gale increased rather than diminished. Tom looked at their speed gage. They were making a good ninety miles an hour, for it had been decided that it was best to keep the engine and propellers going, as they steadied the ship.

“Ninety miles an hour,” murmured Tom. “And we’ve been going at that rate for ten hours now. That’s nearly a thousand miles. We are quite a distance out to sea.”

He looked at a compass, and noted that, instead of being headed directly across the Atlantic they were bearing in a southerly direction.

“At this rate, we won’t come far from getting to the West Indies ourselves,” reasoned the young inventor. “But I think the gale will die away before morning.”

The storm did not, however. More fiercely it blew through the hours of darkness. It was a night of terror, for they dared not go to sleep, not knowing at what moment the ship might turn turtle, or even rend apart, and plunge with them into the depths of the sea.

So they sat up, occasionally attending to the machinery, and noting the various gages. Mr. Damon made hot coffee, which they drank from time to time, and it served to refresh them.

There came a sudden burst of fury from the storm, and the airship rocked as if she was going over.

“Bless my heart!” cried Mr. Damon, springing up. “That was a close call!”

Tom said nothing. Mr. Fenwick looked pale and alarmed.

The hours passed. They were swept ever onward, at about the same speed, sometimes being whirled downward, and again tossed upward at the will of the wind. The airship was well-nigh helpless, and Tom, as he realized their position, could not repress a fear in his heart as he thought of the parents of the girl he loved being tossed about on the swirling ocean, in a frail pleasure yacht.

CHAPTER XII

A DOWNWARD GLIDE

They sat in the cabin of the airship, staring helplessly at each other. Occasionally Tom rose to attend to one of the machines, or Mr. Fenwick did the same. Occasionally, Mr. Damon uttered a remark. Then there was silence, broken only by the howl of the gale.

It seemed impossible for the WHIZZER to travel any faster, yet when Tom glanced at the speed gage he noted, with a feeling of surprise, akin to horror, that they were making close to one hundred and fifty miles an hour. Only an aeroplane could have done it, and then only when urged on by a terrific wind which added to the speed produced by the propellers.

The whole craft swayed and trembled, partly from the vibration of the electrical machinery, and partly from the awful wind. Mr. Fenwick came close to Tom, and exclaimed:

“Do you think it would be any use to try once more to go above or below the path of the storm?”

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

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

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

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

“Back! Go back up higher!” cried Mr. Damon,

“We can’t!” yelled Tom. “We’ve got to stay here now!”

“Oh, but this is awful!” exclaimed Mr. Fenwick. “We can never stand this!”

The airship swaged more than ever, and the occupants were tossed about in the cabin, from side to side. Indeed, it did seem that human beings never could come alive cut of that fearful ordeal.

As Tom looked from one of the windows of the cabin, he noted a pale, grayish sort of light outside. At first he could not understand what it was, then, as he observed the sickly gleams of the incandescent electric lamps, he knew that the hour of dawn was at hand.

“See!” he exclaimed to his companions, pointing to the window. “Morning is coming.”

“Morning!” gasped Mr. Damon. “Is the night over? Now, perhaps we shall get rid of the storm.”

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

The pale light increased. The electrics seemed to dim and fade. Tom looked to the engines. Some of the apparatus was in need of oil, and he supplied it. When he came back to the main cabin, where stood Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, it was much lighter outside.

“Less than a day since we left Philadelphia,” murmured the owner of the WHIZZER, as he glanced at a distance indicator, “yet we have come nearly sixteen hundred miles. We certainly did travel top speed. I wonder where we are?”

“Still over the ocean,” replied Mr. Damon, as he looked down at the heaving billows rolling amid crests of foam far below them. “Though what part of it would be hard to say. We’ll have to reckon out our position when it gets calmer.”

Tom came from the engine room. His face wore a troubled look, and he said, addressing the older inventor:

“Mr. Fenwick, I wish you’d come and look at the gas generating apparatus. It doesn’t seem to be working properly.”

“Anything wrong?” asked Mr. Damon, suspiciously.

“I hope not,” replied Tom, with all the confidence he could muster. “It may need adjusting. I am not so familiar with it as I am with the one on the RED CLOUD. The gas seems to be escaping from the bag, and we may have to descend, for some distance.”

“But the aeroplanes will keep us up,” said Mr. Daman.

“Yes–they will,” and Tom hesitated. “That is, unless something happens to them. They are rather frail to stand alone the brunt of the gale, and I wish–”

Tom did not complete the sentence. Instead, he paused suddenly and seemed to be intently listening.

From without there came a rending, tearing, crashing sound. The airship quivered from end to end, and seemed to make a sudden dive downward. Then it appeared to recover, and once more glided forward.

Tom, followed by Mr. Fenwick, made a rush for the compartment where the machine was installed. They had no sooner reached it than there sounded an explosion, and the airship recoiled as if it had hit a stone wall.

“Bless my shaving brush! What’s that?” cried Mr. Damon. “Has anything happened?”

“I’m rather afraid there has,” answered Tom, solemnly. “It sounded as though the gas bag went up. And I’m worried over the strength of the planes. We must make an investigation!”

“We’re falling!” almost screamed Mr. Fenwick, as he glanced at the barograph, the delicate needle of which was swinging to and fro, registering different altitudes.

“Bless my feather bed! So we are!” shouted Mr. Damon. “Let’s jump, and avoid being caught under the airship!”

He darted for a large window, opening from the main cabin, and was endeavoring to raise it when Tom caught his hand.

“What are you trying to do,” asked the lad, hoarsely.

“Save my life! I want to get out of this as soon as I can. I’m going to jump!”

“Don’t think of it! You’d be instantly killed. We’re too high for a jump, even into the ocean.”

“The ocean! Oh, is that still below us? Is there any chance of being saved? What can be done?” Mr. Damon hesitated.

“We must first find out how badly we are damaged,” said Tom, quietly. “We must keep our heads, and be calm, no matter what happens. I need your help, Mr. Damon.”

This served to recall the rather excited man to his senses. He came back to the centre of the cabin, which was no easy task, for the floor of it was tilted at first one angle, and then another. He stood at Tom’s side.

“What can I do to help you?” he asked. Mr. Fenwick was darting here and there, examining the different machines. None of them seemed to be damaged.

“If you will look and see what has happened to our main wing planes, I will see how much gas we have left in the bag,” suggested Tom. “Then we can decide what is best to be done. We are still quite high, and it will take some time to complete our fall, as, even if everything is gone, the material of the bag will act as a sort of parachute.”

Mr. Damon darted to a window in the rear of the cabin, where he could obtain a glimpse of the main wing planes. He gave a cry of terror and astonishment.

“Two of the planes are gone!” he reported. “They are torn and are hanging loose.”

“I feared as much,” retorted Tom, quietly, “The gale was too much for them.”

“What of the lifting gas?” asked Mr. Fenwick, quickly.

“It has nearly all flowed out of the retaining bag.”

“Then we must make more at once. I will start the generating machine.”

He darted toward it.

“It will be useless,” spoke Tom, quietly.

“Why?”

“Because there is no bag left to hold it. The silk and rubber envelope has been torn to pieces by the gale. The wind is even stronger than it was last night.”

“Then what’s to be done?” demanded Mr. Damon, with a return of his alarmed and nervous manner. “Bless my fingernails! What’s to be done?”

For an instant Tom did not answer. It was constantly getting lighter, though there was no sun, for it was obscured by scudding clouds. The young inventor looked critically at the various gages and indicators.

“Is–is there any chance for us?” asked Mr. Fenwick, quietly.

“I think so,” answered Tom, with a hopeful smile. “We have about two thousand feet to descend, for we have fallen nearly that distance since the accident.”

“Two thousand feet to fall!” gasped Mr. Damon. “We can never do it and live!”

“I think so,” spoke Tom.

“Bless my gizzard! How?” fairly exploded Mr. Damon.

“By vol-planing down!”

“But, even if we do, we will fall into the ocean!” cried Mr. Fenwick. “We will be drowned!”

“No,” and Tom spoke more quietly than before. “We are over a large island.” he went on, “and I propose to let the disabled airship vol- plane down to it. That is our only chance.”

“Over an island!” cried Mr. Damon. He looked down through the floor observation window. Tom had spoken truly. At that moment they were over a large island, which had suddenly loomed up in the wild and desolate waste of the ocean. They had reached its vicinity just in time.

Tom stepped to the steering and rudder levers, and took charge. He was going to attempt a most difficult feat–that of guiding a disabled airship back to earth in the midst of a hurricane, and landing her on an unknown island. Could he do it?

There was but one answer. He must try. It was the only chance of saving their lives, and a slim one at best

Down shot the damaged WHIZZER like some giant bird with broken wings, but Tom Swift was in charge, and it seemed as if the craft knew it, as she began that earthward glide.

CHAPTER XIII

ON EARTHQUAKE ISLAND

Mingled feelings possessed the three adventurers within the airship. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick had crowded to the window, as Tom spoke, to get a glimpse of the unknown island toward which they were shooting. They could see it more plainly now, from the forward casement, as well as from the one in the bottom of the craft. A long, narrow, rugged piece of land it was, in the midst of the heaving ocean, for the storm still raged and lashed the waves to foam.

“Can you make it?” asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice.

“I think so,” answered Tom, more cheerfully.

“Shall I shut down the motor?” inquired the older inventor.

“Yes, you might as well. We don’t need the propellers now, and I may be better able to make the glide without them.”

The buzzing and purring electrical apparatus was shut down. Silence reigned in the airship, but the wind still howled outside. As Tom had hoped, the ship became a little more steady with the stopping of the big curved blades, though had the craft been undamaged they would have served to keep her on an even keel.

With skillful hand he so tilted the elevating planes that, after a swift downward glide, the head of the WHIZZER would be thrown up, so to speak, and she would sail along in a plane parallel to the island. This had the effect of checking her momentum, just as the aviator checks the downward rush of his monoplane or biplane when he is making a landing.

Tom repeated this maneuver several times, until a glance at his barograph showed that they had but a scant sixty feet to go. There was time but for one more upward throwing of the WHIZZER’s nose, and Tom held to that position as long as possible. They could now make out the topography of the island plainly, for it was much lighter. Tom saw a stretch of sandy beach, and steered for that.

Downward shot the airship, inert and lifeless. It was not like gliding his little BUTTERFLY to earth after a flight, but Tom hoped he could make it. They were now within ten feet of the earth, skimming forward. Tom tried another upward tilt, but the forward planes would not respond. They could get no grip on the air.

With a crash that could have been heard some distance the WHIZZER settled to the sand. It ran along a slight distance, and then, as the bicycle wheels collapsed under the pressure, the airship seemed to go together in a shapeless mass.

At the first impact with the earth, Tom had leaped away from the steering wheel and levers, for he did not want to be crushed against them. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, in pursuance of a plan adopted when they found that they were falling, had piled a lot of seat cushions around them. They had also provided some as buffers for Tom, and our hero, at the instant of the crash, had thrown himself behind and upon them.

It seemed as if the whole ship went to pieces. The top of the main cabin crashed down, as the side supports gave way, but, fortunately, there were strong main braces, and the roof did not fall completely upon our friends.

The whole bottom of the craft was forced upward and had it not been for the protecting cushions, there might have been serious injuries for all concerned. As it was they were badly bruised and shaken up.

After the first crash, and succeeding it an instant later, there came a second smash, followed by a slight explosion, and a shower of sparks could be seen in the engine room.

“That’s the electrical apparatus smashing through the floor!” called Tom. “Come, let’s get out of here before the gasolene sets anything on fire. Are you all right, Mr. Damon, and you, Mr. Fenwick?”

“Yes, I guess so,” answered the inventor. “Oh, what a terrible crash! My airship is ruined!”

“You may be glad we are alive,” said Mr. Damon. “Bless my top knot, I feel–”

He did not finish the sentence. At that moment a piece of wood, broken from the ceiling, where it had hung by a strip of canvas came crashing down, and hit Mr. Damon on the head.

The eccentric man toppled over on his pile of cushions, from which he was arising when he was struck.

“Oh, is he killed?” gasped Mr. Fenwick.

“I hope not!” cried Tom. “We must get him out of here, at all events. There may be a fire.”

They both sprang to Mr. Damon’s aid, and succeeded in lifting him out. There was no difficulty in emerging from the airship as there were big, broken gaps, on all sides of what was left of the cabin. Once in the outer air Mr. Damon revived, and opened his eyes.

“Much hurt?” asked Tom, feeling of his friend’s head.

“No–no, I–I guess not,” was the slow answer. “I was stunned for a moment. I’m all right now. Nothing broken, I guess,” and his hand went to his head.

“No, nothing broken,” added Tom, cheerfully, “but you’ve got a lump there as big as an ostrich egg. Can you walk?”

“Oh, I’m all right. Bless my stars, what a wreck!”

Mr. Damon looked at the remains of the airship. It certainly was a wreck! The bent and twisted planes were wrapped about the afterpart, the gas bag was but a shred, the frame was splintered and twisted, and the under part, where the starting wheels were placed, resembled a lot of broken bicycles. The cabin looked like a shack that had sustained an explosion of dynamite.

“It’s a wonder we came out alive,” said Mr. Fenwick, in a low voice.

“Indeed it is,” agreed Tom, as he came back with a tin can full of sea water, with which to bathe Mr. Damon’s head. The lad had picked up the can from where it had rolled from the wreck, and they had landed right on the beach.

“It doesn’t seem to blow so hard,” observed Mr. Damon, as he was tenderly sopping his head with a handkerchief wet in the salt water.

“No, the wind is dying out, but it happened too late to do us any good,” remarked Tom, sorrowfully. “Though if it hadn’t blown us this far, we might have come to grief over the ocean, and be floundering in that, instead of on dry land.”

“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Fenwick, who was carefully feeling of some bruises on his legs. “I wonder where we are, anyhow?”

“I haven’t the least idea,” responded Tom. “It’s an island, but which one, or where it is I don’t know. We were blown nearly two thousand miles, I judge.”

He walked over and surveyed the wreck. Now that the excitement was over he was beginning to be aware of numerous bruises and contusions, His legs felt rather queer, and on rolling up his trousers he found there was a deep cut in the right shin, just below his knee. It was bleeding, but he bandaged it with a spare handkerchief, and walked on.

Peering about, he saw that nearly the whole of the machinery in the engine room, including most of the electrical apparatus, had fallen bodily through the floor, and now rested on the sand.

“That looks to be in pretty good shape.” mused Tom, “but it’s a question whether it will ever be any good to us. We can’t rebuild the airship here, that’s certain.”

He walked about the wreck, and then returned to his friends. Mr. Damon was more like himself, and Mr. Fenwick had discovered that he had only minor bruises.

“Bless my coffee cup!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “I declare, I feel hungry. I wonder if there’s anything left to eat in the wreck?”

“Plenty,” spoke Tom, cheerfully. “I’ll get it out. I can eat a sandwich or too myself, and perhaps I can set up the gasolene stove, and cook something.”

As the young inventor was returning to the wreck, he was halted halfway by a curious trembling feeling. At first he thought it was a weakness of his legs, caused by his cut, but a moment later he realized with a curious, sickening sensation that it was the ground- -the island itself–that was shaking and trembling.

The lad turned back. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick were staring after him with fear showing on their faces.

“What was that?” cried the inventor.

“Bless my gizzard! Did you feel that, Tom?” cried Mr. Damon. “The whole place is shaking!”

Indeed, there was a stronger tremor now, and it was accompanied by a low, rumbling sound, like distant thunder. The adventurers were swaying to and fro.

Suddenly they were tossed to the ground by a swaying motion, and not far off a great crack opened in the earth. The roaring, rumbling sound increased in volume.

“An earthquake! It’s an earthquake!” cried Tom. “We’re in the midst of an earthquake!”

CHAPTER XIV

A NIGHT IN CAMP

The rumbling and roaring continued for perhaps two minutes, during which time the castaways found it impossible to stand, for the island was shaking under their feet with a sickening motion. Off to one side there was a great fissure in the earth, and, frightened as he was, Tom looked to see if it was extending in their direction.

If it was, or if a crack opened near them, they might be precipitated into some bottomless abyss, or into the depths of the sea. But the fissure did not increase in length or breadth, and, presently the rumbling, roaring sound subsided. The island grew quiet and the airship travelers rose to their feet.

“Bless my very existence! What happened?” cried Mr. Damon.

“It was an earthquake; wasn’t it, Tom?” asked Mr. Fenwick.

“It sure was,” agreed the young inventor. “Rather a hard one, too. I hope we don’t have any more.”

“Do you think there is any likelihood of it?” demanded Mr. Damon. “Bless my pocketbook! If I thought so I’d leave at once.”

“Where would you go?” inquired Tom, looking out across the tumbling ocean, which had hardly had a chance to subside from the gale, ere it was again set in a turmoil by the earth-tremor.

“That’s so–there isn’t a place to escape to,” went on the eccentric man, with something like a groan. “We are in a bad place–do you think there’ll be more quakes, Tom?”

“It’s hard to say. I don’t know where we are, and this island may be something like Japan, subject to quakes, or it may be that this one is merely a spasmodic tremor. Perhaps the great storm which brought us here was part of the disturbance of nature which ended up with the earthquake. We may have no more.”

“And there may be one at any time,” added Mr. Fenwick.

“Yes,” assented Tom.

“Then let’s get ready for it,” proposed Mr. Damon. “Let’s take all the precautions possible.”

“There aren’t any to take,” declared Tom. “All we can do is to wait until the shocks come–if any more do come, which I hope won’t happen, and then we must do the best we can.”

“Oh, dear me! Bless my fingernails!” cried Mr. Damon, wringing his hands. “This is worse than falling in an airship! There you do have SOME chance. Here you haven’t any.”

“Oh, it may not be so bad,” Tom cried to reassure him. “This may have been the first shock in a hundred years, and there may never be another.”

But, as he looked around on the island, he noted evidences that it was of volcanic origin, and his heart misgave him, for he knew that such islands, created suddenly by a submarine upheaval, might just as suddenly be destroyed by an earthquake, or by sinking into the ocean. It was not a pleasant thought–it was like living over a mine, that might explode at any moment. But there was no help for it.

Tom tried to assume a cheerfulness he did not feel. He realized that, in spite of his youth, both Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick rather depended on him, for Tom was a lad of no ordinary attainments, and had a fund of scientific knowledge. He resolved to do his best to avoid making his two companions worry.

“Let’s get it off our minds,” suggested the lad, after a while. “We were going to get something to eat. Suppose we carry out that program. My appetite wasn’t spoiled by the shock.”

“I declare mine wasn’t either,” said Mr. Damon, “but I can’t forget it easily. It’s the first earthquake I was ever in.”

He watched Tom as the latter advanced once more toward the wreck of the airship, and noticed that the lad limped, for his right leg had been cut when the WHIZZER had fallen to earth.

“What’s the matter, Tom; were you hurt in the quake?” asked the eccentric man.

“No–no,” Tom hastened to assure him. “I just got a bump in the fall–that’s all. It isn’t anything. If you and Mr. Fenwick want to get out some food from the wrecked store room I’ll see if I can haul out the gasolene stove from the airship. Perhaps we can use it to make some coffee.”

By delving in about the wreck, Tom was able to get out the gasolene stove. It was broken, but two of the five burners were in commission, and could be used. Water, and gasolene for use in the airship, was carried in steel tanks. Some of these had been split open by the crash, but there was one cask of water left, and three of gasolene, insuring plenty of the liquid fuel. As for the water, Tom hoped to be able to find a spring on the island.

In the meanwhile, Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick had been investigating the contents of the storeroom. There was a large supply of food, much larger than would have been needed, even on a two weeks’ trip in the air, and the inventor of the WHIZZER hardly knew why he had put so much aboard.

“But if we have to stay here long, it may come in handy,” observed Tom, with a grim smile.

“Why; do you think we WILL be here long?” asked Mr. Damon.

The young inventor shrugged his shoulders.

“There is no telling,” he said. “If a passing steamer happens to see us, we may be taken off to-day or to-morrow. If not we may be here a week, or–” Tom did not finish. He stood in a listening attitude.

There was a rumbling sound, and the earth seemed again to tremble. Then there came a great splash in the water at the foot of a tall, rugged cliff about a quarter of a mile away. A great piece of the precipice had fallen into the ocean.

“I thought that was another earthquake coming,” said Mr. Damon, with an air of relief.

“So did I,” admitted Mr. Fenwick.

“It was probably loosened by the shock, and so fell into the sea,” spoke Tom.

Their momentary fright over, the castaways proceeded to get their breakfast. Tom soon had water boiling on the gasolene stove, for he had rescued a tea-kettle and a coffee pot from the wreck of the kitchen of the airship. Shortly afterward, the aroma of coffee filled the air, and a little later there was mingled with it the appetizing odor of sizzling bacon and eggs, for Mr. Fenwick, who was very fond of the latter, had brought along a supply, carefully packed in sawdust carriers, so that the shock had broken only a few of them.

“Well, I call this a fine breakfast,” exclaimed Mr. Damon, munching his bacon and eggs, and dipping into his coffee the hard pilot biscuit, which they had instead of bread. “We’re mighty lucky to be eating at all, I suppose.”

“Indeed we are,” chimed in Mr. Fenwick.

“I’m awfully sorry the airship is wrecked, though,” spoke Tom. “I suppose it’s my fault. I should have turned back before we got over the ocean, and while the storm was not at its height. I saw that the wind was freshening, but I never supposed it would grow to a gale so suddenly. The poor old WHIZZER–there’s not much left of her!”

“Now don’t distress yourself in the least,” insisted Mr. Fenwick. “I’m proud to have built a ship that could navigate at all. I see where I made lots of mistakes, and as soon as I get back to Philadelphia, I’m going to build a better one, if you’ll help me, Tom Swift.”

“I certainly will,” promised the young inventor.

“And I’ll take a voyage with you!” cried Mr. Damon. “Bless my teaspoon, Tom, but will you kindly pass the bacon and eggs again!”

There was a jolly laugh at the eccentric man, in which he himself joined, and the little party felt better. They were seated on bits of broken boxes taken from the wreck, forming a little circle about the gasolene stove, which Tom had set up on the beach. The wind had almost entirely died away, though the sea was still heaving in great billows, and masses of surf.

They had no exact idea of the time, for all their watches had stopped when the shock of the wreck came, but presently the sun peeped out from the clouds, and, from knowing the time when they had begun to fall, they judged it was about ten o’clock, and accordingly set their timepieces.

“Well,” observed Tom, as he collected the dishes, which they had also secured from the wreck, “we must begin to think about a place to spend the night. I think we can rig up a shelter from some of the canvas of the wing-planes, and from what is left of the cabin. It doesn’t need to be very heavy, for from the warmth of the atmosphere, I should say we were pretty well south.”

It was quite warm, now that the storm was over, and, as they looked at the vegetation of the island, they saw that it was almost wholly tropical.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if we were on one of the smaller of the West Indian islands,” said Tom. “We certainly came far enough, flying a hundred miles or more an hour, to have reached them. But this one doesn’t appear to be inhabited.”

“We haven’t been all over it yet,” said Mr. Damon. “We may find cannibals on the other side.”

“Cannibals don’t live in this part of the world,” Tom assured him. “No, I think this island is practically unknown. The storm brought us here, and it might have landed us in a worse place.”

As he spoke he thought of the yacht RESOLUTE, and he wondered how her passengers, including the parents of Mary Nestor, had fared during the terrible blow.

“I hope they weren’t wrecked, as we were,” mused Tom.

But there was little time for idle thoughts. If they were going to build a shelter, they knew that they must speedily get at it. Accordingly, with a feeling of thankfulness that their lives had been spared, they set to work taking apart such of the wreck as could the more easily be got at.

Boards, sticks, and planks were scattered about, and, with the pieces of canvas from the wing-planes, and some spare material which was carried on board, they soon had a fairly good shack, which would be protection enough in that warm climate.

Next they got out the food and supplies, their spare clothing and other belongings, few of which had been harmed in the fall from the clouds. These things were piled under another rude shelter which they constructed.

By this time it was three o’clock, and they ate again. Then they prepared to spend the night in their hastily made camp. They collected driftwood, with which to make a fire, and, after supper, which was prepared on the gasolene stove, they sat about the cheerful blaze, discussing their adventures.

“To-morrow we will explore the island,” said Tom, as he rolled himself up in his blankets and turned over to sleep. The others followed his example, for it was decided that no watch need be kept. Thus passed several hours in comparative quiet.

It must have been about midnight that Tom was suddenly awakened by a feeling as if someone was shaking him. He sat up quickly and called out:

“What’s the matter?”

“Eh? What’s that? Bless my soul! What’s going on?” shouted Mr. Damon.

“Did you shake me?” inquired Tom.

“I? No. What–?”

Then they realized that another earth-tremor was making the whole island tremble.

Tom leaped from his blankets, followed by Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, and rushed outside the shack. They felt the earth shaking, but it was over in a few seconds. The shock was a slight one, nothing like as severe as the one in the morning. But it set their nerves on edge.

“Another earthquake!” groaned Mr. Damon. “How often are we to have them?”

“I don’t know,” answered Tom, soberly.

They passed the remainder of the night sleeping in blankets on the warm sands, near the fire, for they feared lest a shock might bring the shack down about their heads. However, the night passed with no more terrors.

CHAPTER XV

THE OTHER CASTAWAYS

“Well, we’re all alive, at any rate,” announced Tom, when the bright sun, shining into his eyes, had awakened him. He sat up, tossed aside his blankets, and stood up. The day was a fine one, and the violence of the sea had greatly subsided during the night, their shack had suffered not at all from the slight shock in the darkness.

“Now for a dip in old Briney,” the lad added, as he walked down to the surf, “I think it will make me feel better.”

“I’m with you,” added Mr. Fenwick, and Mr. Damon also joined the bathers. They came up from the waves, tingling with health, and their bruises and bumps, including Tom’s cut leg, felt much better.

“You did get quite a gash; didn’t you,” observed Mr. Fenwick, as he noticed Tom’s leg. “Better put something on it. I have antiseptic dressings and bandages in the airship, if we can find them.”

“I’ll look for them, after breakfast,” Tom promised, and following a fairly substantial meal, considering the exigencies under which it was prepared, he got out the medicine chest, of which part remained in the wreck of the WHIZZER, and dressed his wound. He felt much better after that.

“Well, what’s our program for to-day?” Mr. Damon wanted to know, as they sat about, after they had washed up what few dishes they used.

“Let’s make a better house to stay in,” proposed Mr. Fenwick. “We may have to remain here for some time, and I’d like a more substantial residence.”

“I think the one we now have will do,” suggested Tom. “I was going to propose making it even less substantial.”

“Why so?”

“Because, in the event of an earthquake, while we are sleeping in it, we will not be injured. Made of light pieces of wood and canvas it can’t harm us very much if it falls on us.”

“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Damon. “In earthquake countries all the houses are low, and built of light materials.”

“Ha! So I recollect now,” spoke Mr. Fenwick. “I used to read that in my geography, but I never thought it would apply to me. But do you think we will be subject to the quakes?”

“I’m afraid so,” was Tom’s reply. “We’ve had two, now, within a short time, and there is no way of telling when the next will come. We will hope there won’t be any more, but–”

He did not finish his sentence, but the others knew what he meant. Thereupon they fell to work, and soon had made a shelter that, while very light and frail, would afford them all the protection needed in that mild climate, and, at the same time, there would be no danger should an earthquake collapse it, and bring it down about their heads while they were sleeping in it.

For they decided that they needed some shelter from the night dews, as it was exceedingly uncomfortable to rest on the sands even wrapped in blankets, and with a driftwood fire burning nearby.

It was noon when they had their shack rebuilt to their liking, and they stopped for dinner. There was quite a variety of stores in the airship, enough for a much larger party than that of our three friends, and they varied their meals as much as possible. Of course all the stuff they had was canned, though there are some salted and smoked meats. But canned food can be had in a variety of forms now- a-days, so the castaways did not lack much.

“What do you say to an exploring expedition this afternoon?” asked Tom, as they sat about after dinner. “We ought to find out what kind of an island we’re on.”

“I agree with you,” came from Mr. Fenwick. “Perhaps on the other side we will stand a much better chance of speaking some passing vessel. I have been watching the horizon for some time, now, but I haven’t seen the sign of a ship.”

“All right, then we’ll explore, and see what sort of an island we have taken possession of,” went on Tom.

“And see if it isn’t already in possession of natives–or cannibals,” suggested Mr. Damon. “Bless my frying pan! but I should hate to be captured by cannibals at my time of life.”

“Don’t worry; there are none here,” Tom assured him again.

They set out on their journey around the island. They agreed that it would be best to follow the beach around, as it was easier walking that way, since the interior of the place consisted of rugged rocks in a sort of miniature mountain chain.

“We will make a circuit of the place,” proposed Tom, “and then, if we can discover nothing, we’ll go inland. The centre of the island is quite high, and we ought to be able to see in any direction for a great distance from the topmost peak. We may be able to signal a vessel.”

“I hope so!” cried Mr. Damon. “I want to send word home that I am all right. My wife will worry when she learns that the airship, in which I set out, has disappeared.”

“I fancy we all would like to send word home,” added Mr. Fenwick. “My wife never wanted me to build this airship, and, now that I have sailed in it, and have been wrecked, I know she’ll say ‘I told you so,’ as soon as I get back to Philadelphia.”

Tom said nothing, but he thought to himself that it might be some time before Mrs. Fenwick would have a chance to utter those significant words to her husband.

Following the beach line, they walked for several miles. The island was larger than they had supposed, and it soon became evident that it would take at least a day to get all around it.

“In which case we will need some lunch with us.” said Tom. “I think the best thing we can do now is to return to camp, and get ready for a longer expedition to-morrow.”

Mr. Fenwick was of the same mind, but Mr. Damon called out:

“Let’s go just beyond that cliff, and see what sort of a view is to be had from there. Then we’ll turn back.”

To oblige him they followed. They had not gone more than a hundred yards toward the cliff, than there came the preliminary rumbling and roaring that they had come to associate with an earthquake. At the same time, the ground began to shiver and shake.

“Here comes another one!” cried Tom, reeling about. He saw Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick topple to the beach. The roaring increased, and the rumbling was like thunder, close at hand. The island seemed to rock to its very centre.

Suddenly the whole cliff toward which they had been walking, appeared to shake itself loose. In another instant it was flung outward and into the sea, a great mass of rock and stone.

The island ceased trembling, and the roaring stopped. Tom rose to his feet, followed by his companions. He looked toward the place where the cliff had been. Its removal by the earthquake gave them a view of a part of the beach that had hitherto been hidden from them.

And what Tom saw caused him to cry out in astonishment. For he beheld, gathered around a little fire on the sand, a party of men and women. Some were standing, clinging to one another in terror. Some were prostrate on the ground. Others were running to and fro in bewilderment.

“More castaways!” cried Tom. “More castaways,” and, he added under his breath, “more unfortunates on earthquake island!”

CHAPTER XVI

AN ALARMING THEORY

For a few seconds, following Tom’s announcement to his two companions, neither Mr. Damon nor Mr. Fenwick spoke. They had arisen from the beach, where the shock of the earthquake had thrown them, and were now staring toward the other band of castaways, who, in turn were gazing toward our three friends. There was a violent agitation in the sea, caused by the fall of the great cliff, and immense waves rushed up on shore, but all the islanders were beyond the reach of the rollers.

“Is it–do I really–am I dreaming or not?” at length gasped Mr. Damon.

“Is this a mirage, or do we really see people, Tom?” inquired Mr. Fenwick.

“They are real enough people,” replied the lad, himself somewhat dazed by the unexpected appearance of the other castaways.

“But how–why–how did they get here?” went on the inventor of the WHIZZER.

“As long as they’re not cannibals, we’re all right,” murmured Mr. Damon. “They seem to be persons like ourselves, Tom.”

“They are,” agreed the lad, “and they appear to be in the same sort of trouble as ourselves. Let’s go forward, and meet them.”

The tremor of the earthquake had now subsided, and the little band that was gathered about a big fire of driftwood was calmer. Those who had fallen, or who had thrown themselves on the sand, arose, and began feeling of their arms and legs to see if they had sustained any injuries. Others advanced toward our friends.

“Nine of them,” murmured Tom, as he counted the little band of castaways, “and they don’t seem to have been able to save much from the wreck of their craft, whatever it was.” The beach all about them was bare, save for a boat drawn up out of reach of high water.

“Do you suppose they are a party from some disabled airship, Tom,” asked Mr. Fenwick.

“Not from an airship,” answered the lad. “Probably from some vessel that was wrecked in the gale. But we will soon find out who they are.”

Tom led the way for his two friends. The fall of the cliff had made a rugged path around the base of it, over rocks, to where the other people stood. Tom scrambled in and out among the boulders, in spite of the pain it caused his wounded leg. He was anxious to know who the other castaways were, and how they had come there.

Several of the larger party were now advancing to meet the lad and his friends. Tom could see two women and seven men.

A moment later, when the lad had a good view of one of the ladies and a gentleman, he could not repress a cry of astonishment. Then he rubbed his eyes to make sure it was not some blur or defect of vision. No, his first impression had been correct.

“Mr. Nestor!” cried Tom, recognizing the father of his girl friend. “And Mrs. Nestor!” he added a moment later.

“Why–of all things–look–Amos–it’s–it can’t be possible–and yet–why, it’s Tom Swift!” cried the lady.

“Tom–Tom Swift–here?” ejaculated the man at her side.

“Yes–Tom Swift–the young inventor–of Shopton–don’t you know–the lad who saved Mary’s life in the runaway–Tom Swift!”

“Tom Swift!” murmured Mr. Nestor. “Is it possible!”

“I’m Tom Swift, all right,” answered the owner of that name, “but how in the world did you get on this island, Mr. Nestor?”

“I might ask you the same thing, Tom. The yacht RESOLUTE, on which we were making a voyage to the West Indies, as guests of Mr. George Hosbrook, was wrecked in the awful gale. We took to the boats and managed to reach this island. The yacht sunk, and we only had a little food. We are almost starved! But how came you here?”

“Mr. Fenwick’s airship was wrecked, and we dropped down here. What a coincidence! To think that I should meet you here! But if you’re hungry, it’s the best thing in the world that we met you, for, though our airship was wrecked, we have a large supply of food. Come over to our camp, and we’ll give you all you want!”

Tom had rushed forward, and was shaking hands with Mary’s parents, so unexpectedly met with, when Mr. Nestor called out:

“Come over here, Mr. Hosbrook. I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

A moment later, the millionaire owner of the ill-fated RESOLUTE was shaking hands with Tom.

“I can’t understand it,” Mr. Hosbrook said. “To think of meeting other people on this desolate island–this island of earthquakes.”

“Oh, please don’t speak of earthquakes!” cried Mrs. Nestor. “We are in mortal terror! There have been several since we landed in the most terrible storm day before yesterday. Isn’t it awful! It is a regular earthquake island!”

“That’s what I call it,” spoke Tom, grimly.

The others of the larger party of refugees now came up. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, and Mr. Hosbrook, there was Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Anderson, friends of the millionaire; Mr. Ralph Parker, who was spoken of as a scientist, Mr. Barcoe Jenks, who seemed an odd sort of individual, always looking about suspiciously, Captain Mentor, who had been in command of the yacht, and Jake Fordam, the mate of the vessel.

“And are these all who were saved?” asked Tom, as he introduced his two friends, and told briefly of their air voyage.

“No,” answered Mr. Hosbrook, “two other boatloads, one containing most of the crew, and the other containing some of my guests, got away before our boat left. I trust they have been rescued, but we have heard nothing about them. However, our own lives may not long be safe, if these earthquakes continue.”

“But did I understand you to say, Mr. Swift, that you had food?” he went on. “If you have, I will gladly pay you any price for some, especially for these two ladies, who must be faint. I have lost all my ready cash, but if we ever reach civilization, I will–”

“Don’t speak of such a thing as pay,” interrupted Mr. Fenwick. “All that we have we’ll gladly share with you. Come over to our camp. We have enough for all, and we can cook on our gasolene stove. Don’t speak of pay, I beg of you.”

“Ah–er, if Mr. Hosbrook has no money, perhaps I can offer an equivalent,” broke in the man who had been introduced as Barcoe Jenks. “I have–er–some securities–” He stopped and looked about indefinitely, as though he did not know exactly what to say, and he was fumbling at a belt about his waist; a belt that might contain treasure.

“Don’t speak of reimbursing us,” went on Mr. Fenwick, with rather a suspicious glance at Mr. Jenks. “You are welcome to whatever we have.”

“Bless my topknot; certainly, yes!” joined in Mr. Damon, eagerly.

“Well, I–er–I only spoke of it,” said Mr. Jenks, hesitatingly, and then he turned away. Mr. Hosbrook looked sharply at him, but said nothing.

“Suppose we go to our camp,” proposed Tom. “We may be able to get you up a good meal, before another earthquake comes.”

“I wonder what makes so many of them?” asked Mrs. Nestor, with a nervous shiver.

“Yes, indeed, they are terrifying! One never knows when to expect them,” added Mrs. Anderson.

“I have a theory about them,” said Mr. Parker, the scientist, who, up to this time had spoken but little.

“A theory?” inquired Tom.

“Yes. This island is one of the smaller of the West Indies group. It is little known, and has seldom been visited, I believe. But I am sure that what causes the earthquakes is that the whole island has been undermined by the sea, and it is the wash of great submarine waves and currents which cause the tremors.”

“Undermined by the sea?” repeated Tom.

“Yes. It is being slowly washed away.”

“Bless my soul! Washed away!” gasped Mr. Damon.

“And, in the course of a comparatively short time, it will sink,” went on the scientist, as cheerfully as though he was a professor propounding some problem to his class.

“Sink!” ejaculated Mrs. Nestor. “The whole island undermined! Oh, what an alarming theory!”

“I wish I could hold to a different one, madam,” was Mr. Parker’s answer, “but I cannot. I think the island will sink after a few more shocks.”

“Then what good will my–” began Barcoe Jenks, but he stopped in confusion, and again his hand went to his belt with a queer gesture.

CHAPTER XVII

A MIGHTY SHOCK

Tom Swift turned to gaze at Mr. Barcoe Jenks. That individual certainly had a strange manner. Perhaps it might be caused by the terror of the earthquakes, but the man seemed to be trying to hold back some secret. He was constrained and ill at ease. He saw the young inventor looking at him, and his hands, which had gone to his belt, with a spasmodic motion, dropped to his side.

“You don’t really mean to say, Parker, that you think the whole island is undermined, do you?” asked the owner of the RESOLUTE.

“That’s my theory. It may be a wrong one, but it is borne out by the facts already presented to us. I greatly fear for our lives!”

“But what can we do?” cried Mrs. Nestor.

“Nothing,” answered the scientist, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Absolutely nothing, save to wait for it to happen.”

“Don’t say that!” begged Mrs. Andersen.

“Can’t you gentlemen do something–build a boat and take us away. Why, the boat we came here in–”

“Struck a rock, and stove a hole in the bottom as big as a barrel, madam,” interrupted Captain Mentor. “It would never do to put to sea in that.”

“But can’t something else be done?” demanded Mrs. Nestor. “Oh, it is awful to think of perishing on this terrible earthquake island. Oh, Amos! Think of it, and Mary home alone! Have you seen her lately, Mr. Swift?”

Tom told of his visit to the Nestors’ home. Our hero was almost in despair, not so much for himself, as for the unfortunate women of the party–and one of them was Mary’s mother! Yet what could he do? What chance was there of escaping from the earthquake?

“Bless my gizzard!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “Don’t let’s stand here worrying! If you folks are hungry come up to our camp. We have plenty. Afterward we can discuss means of saving ourselves.”

“I want to be saved!” exclaimed Mr. Jenks. “I must be saved! I have a great secret–a secret–”

Once more he paused in confusion, and once more his hands nervously sought his belt.

“I would give a big reward to be saved,” he murmured.

“And so, I fancy, we all would,” added Captain Mentor. “But we are not likely to. This island is out of the track of the regular line of vessels.”

“Where are we, anyhow?” inquired Mr. Fenwick. “What island is this?”

“It isn’t down on the charts, I believe,” was the captain’s reply, “but we won’t be far out, if we call it Earthquake Island. That name seems to fit it exactly.”

They had walked on, while talking, and now had gone past the broken cliff. Tom and his two friends of the airship led the way to the camp they had made. On the way, Mr. Hosbrook related how his yacht had struggled in vain against the tempest, how she had sprung a leak, how the fires had gone out, and how, helpless in the trough of the sea, the gallant vessel began to founder. Then they had taken to the boats, and had, most unexpectedly come upon the island.

“And since we landed we have had very little to eat,” said Mrs. Nestor. “We haven’t had a place to sleep, and it has been terrible. Then, too, the earthquakes! And my husband and I worried so about Mary. Oh, Mr. Swift! Do you think there is any chance of us ever seeing her again?”

“I don’t know,” answered Tom, softly. “I’ll do all I can to get us off this island. Perhaps we can build a raft, and set out. If we stay here there is no telling what will happen, if that scientist’s theory is correct. But there is our camp, just ahead. You will be more comfortable, at least for a little while.”

In a short time they were at the place where Tom and the others had built the shack. The ruins of the airship were examined with interest, and the two women took advantage of the seclusion of the little hut, to get some much needed rest until a meal should be ready.

One was soon in course of preparation by Tom and Mr. Damon, aided by Mate Fordam, of the RESOLUTE. Fortunate it was that Mr. Fenwick had brought along such a supply of food, for there were now many mouths to feed.

That the supper (which the meal really was, for it was getting late) was much enjoyed, goes without saying. The yacht castaways had subsisted on what little food had been hurriedly put into the life boat, as they left the vessel.

At Tom’s request, while it was yet light, Captain Mentor and some of the men hunted for a spring of fresh water, and found one, for, with the increase in the party, the young inventor saw the necessity for more water. The spring gave promise of supplying a sufficient quantity.

There was plenty of material at hand for making other shacks, and they were soon in course of construction. They were made light, as was the one Tom and his friends first built, so that, in case of another shock, no one would be hurt seriously. The two ladies were given the larger shack, and the men divided themselves between two others that were hastily erected on the beach. The remainder of the food and stores was taken from the wreck of the airship, and when darkness began to fall, the camp was snug and comfortable, a big fire of driftwood burning brightly.

“Oh, if only we can sleep without being awakened by an earthquake!” exclaimed Mrs. Nestor, as she prepared to go into the shack with Mrs. Anderson. “But I am almost afraid to close my eyes!”

“If it would do any good to stay up and watch, to tell you when one was coming, I’d do so,” spoke Tom, with a laugh, “but they come without warning.”

However, the night did pass peacefully, and there was not the least tremor of the island. In the morning the castaways took courage and, after breakfast, began discussing their situation more calmly.

“It seems to me that the only solution is to build some sort of a raft, or other craft and leave the island,” said Mr. Fenwick.

“Bless my hair brush!” cried Mr. Damon. “Why can’t we hoist a signal of distress, and wait for some steamer to see it and call for us? It seems to me that would be more simple than going to sea on a raft. I don’t like the idea.”

“A signal would be all right, if this island was in the path of the steamers,” said Captain Mentor. “But it isn’t. Our flag might fly for a year, and never be seen.”

His words seemed to strike coldness to every heart. Tom, who was looking at the wreck of the airship, suddenly uttered an exclamation. He sprang to his reet

“What is it?” demanded Mr. Fenwick. “Does your sore leg hurt you?”

“No, but I have just thought of a plan!” fairly shouted the young inventor. “I have it! Wait and see if I can work it!”

“Work what?” cried Mr. Damon.

Tom did not get a chance to answer, for, at that moment, there sounded, at the far end of the island, whence the yacht castaways had come, a terrific crash. It was accompanied, rather than followed, by a shaking, trembling and swaying of the ground.

“Another earthquake!” screamed Mrs. Nestor, rushing toward her husband. The castaways gazed at each other affrighted.

Suddenly, before their eyes, they saw the extreme end of that part of the island on which they were camping, slip off, and beneath the foaming waves of the sea, while the echoes of the mighty crash came to their ears!

CHAPTER XVIII

MR. JENKS HAS DIAMONDS

Stunned, and well-nigh paralyzed by the suddenness of the awful crash, and the recurrence of the earthquake, the castaways gazed spell-bound at one another.

Succeeding the disappearance of the end of the island there arose a great wave in the ocean, caused by the immersion of such a quantity of rock and dirt.

“Look out!” yelled Tom, “there may be a flood here!”

They realized his meaning, and hastened up the beach, out of reach of the water if it should come. And it did. At first the ocean retreated, as though the tide was going out, then, with a rush and roar, the waves came leaping back, and, had the castaways remained where they had been standing they would have been swept cut to sea.

As it was the flood reached part of the wreck of the airship, that lay on the beach, and washed away some of the broken planks. But, after the first rush of water, the sea grew less troubled, and there was no more danger from that source.

True, the whole island was rumbling and trembling in the throes of an earthquake, but, by this time, the refugees had become somewhat used to this, and only the two ladies exhibited any outward signs of great alarm, though Mr. Barcoe Jenks, Tom observed, was nervously fingering the belt which he wore about his waist.

“I guess the worst is over,” spoke Mr. Fenwick, as they stood looking toward where part of the island had vanished. “The shock expended itself on tearing that mass of rock and earth away.”

“Let us hope so,” added Mr. Hosbrook, solemnly. “Oh, if we could only get away from this terrible place! We must hoist a signal of distress, even if we are out of the track of regular vessels. Some ship, blown out of her course may see it. Captain Mentor, I wish you and Mr. Fordam would attend to that.”

“I will, sir,” answered the commander of the ill-fated RESOLUTE. “The signal shall be hoisted at once. Come on, Mr. Fordam,” he added, turning to the first mate.

“If you don’t mind,” interrupted Tom, “I wish you would first help me to get what remains of the airship up out of reach of any more possible high waves. That one nearly covered it, and if there are other big rollers, the wreck may be washed out to sea.”

“I can’t see that any great harm would result from that,” put in Mr. Jenks. “There isn’t anything about the wreck that we could use to make a boat or raft from.” Indeed, there was little left of the airship, save the mass of machinery.

“Well, it may come in handy before we leave here,” said Tom, and there was a quiet determined air about him, that caused Mr. Damon to look at him curiously. The odd gentleman started to utter one of his numerous blessings, and to ask Tom a question, but he thought better of it. By this time the earthquake had ceased, and the castaways were calmer.

Tom started toward the airship wreck, and began pulling off some broken boards to get at the electrical machinery.

“I guess you had better give Mr. Swift a hand, Captain Mentor,” spoke the millionaire yacht owner. “I don’t know what good the wreck can be, but we owe considerable to Mr. Swift and his friends, and the least we can do is to aid them in anything they ask. So, Captain, if you don’t mind, you and the mate bear a hand. In fact, we’ll all help, and move the wreck so far up that there will be no danger, even from tidal waves.”

Tom looked pleased at this order, and soon he and all the men in the little party were busy taking out the electrical apparatus, and moving it farther inland.

“What are you going to do with it, Tom?” asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice, as he assisted the young inventor to carry a small dynamo, that was used for operating the incandescent lights.

“I hardly know myself. I have a half-formed plan in my mind. I may be able to carry it out, and I may not. I don’t want to say anything until I look over the machinery, and see if all the parts which I need are here. Please say nothing about it.”