<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br/> <span class="cheaderfont">IN DEADLY PERIL</span></h2>
<p>Here was a condition the boys had never foreseen;
they were undoubtedly “rattled.” At
their present high speed the wings were folded
in their utmost. Let the speed be reduced, the
planes would automatically expand; they were
headed into the wind—an extra inch of surface
to catch the terrific pressure might cause the
<em>Flyer</em> to turn turtle.</p>
<p>The only possibility that remained for those
on board to save Bob was the desperate chance
that they might be able to haul the ladder in,
hand over hand, until the boy was near enough
to crawl into the hull himself. None of the boys
had much hope of being able to accomplish the
feat, and indeed the first minute of tugging on
the rope ladder convinced them that it was an
utter impossibility to haul it in against the
terrific wind current created by the machine.</p>
<p>“No hope!” sighed Buck, wiping the
perspiration from his face.</p>
<p>“Wait! I have it! Rig up that windlass in<span class="pagenum">[125]</span>
the storeroom. I’ll bet we can haul him in on
that,” exclaimed Alan.</p>
<p>The windlass was brought and the loose end
of the ladder finally lashed to it. The barrel
crank of the windlass they attached to one of the
machines in the engine room, and then the previous
ladder attachments were cut loose. Buck
started the donkey-engine, and all were delighted
to see that with each chug of the engine another
lap of the ladder was dragged aboard and
wound about the windlass.</p>
<p>Buck speeded the little engine up faster and
the clinging figure below rapidly rose from sixty
to fifty, to forty, to twenty, to ten, to two feet
of the porthole, when strong, eager arms were
outstretched to drag him aboard. Poor Bob
was so numb with cold and so exhausted from
the frightful strain he had undergone, that he
collapsed almost as soon as he found himself in
safety.</p>
<p>“Safety” is, however, no word to describe
the situation of the <em>Flyer’s</em> crew. The big airship
was shooting on, on, on at an abrupt angle
up into uncharted space, the limits of which
are beyond the deductions or comprehension of
science. The highest cloud strata had been surmounted
long since; a strange darkness seemed<span class="pagenum">[126]</span>
to close over them, making it necessary to turn
on the electric lights.</p>
<p>The <em>Ocean Flyer</em> was passing into a region
of the most intense cold. First frost appeared
on the plate glass of the portholes; then this
rapidly thickened to a thick coating of ice which
prevented all view of the outside. Even the wind
funnel device on the <em>Flyer’s</em> prow, which had in
past flights proved practical in keeping the
interior heated, was now inadequate. The ship
became so cold that the boys’ breath steamed;
their hands turned blue and their noses reddened.
Soon it even became necessary for them
to put on their heaviest underclothing and fur
overcoats. They had to huddle close together
for warmth.</p>
<p>The altitude gauge began acting queerly; it
had long since passed the ten-mile mark.</p>
<p>The young aeronauts had the choice of only
two expedients in this desperate emergency.
They could keep on going as they were, trusting
to luck; or they might shut off the gas supply
and take a chance of having the <em>Flyer</em> turn on
its back. Their chances of coming right-side-up
were better now; there was no air-movement in
this high altitude. But suddenly Buck made a
discovery that made a choice unnecessary.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[127]</span></p>
<p>“Look, fellows!” he cried, pointing at the
gauge which showed the angle of flight. “Sure
as you live, her nose is dropping every second.”</p>
<p>Ned nodded his head gravely. “I’ve been
hoping for that. The air’s getting too thin to
give the rudder enough resistance. Our speed’s
lessening every minute. We’ll soon be on an
even keel—and then we at least stand a chance.”</p>
<p>“Won’t we just drop like a rock?” gasped
Alan in dismay.</p>
<p>“Why no. Not if we keep our engines going.
We simply won’t gain any ground. I’ll give
you an exhibition of fancy flying about that
time. We’ll try ‘dodging.’”</p>
<p>“Play tag with the clouds?” grinned Buck.</p>
<p>“We’ll play tug-o’-war with our rudder. We’d
naturally drop headfirst without the propellers.
We’ll use our power just often enough and
strong enough to keep level. In other words,
we’ll jump down.”</p>
<p>“And where will we land?” asked Buck.
“We’re headed west, aren’t we?”</p>
<p>“We won’t be in Belgium when we see terra
firma, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we got
pretty well across Germany—”</p>
<p>“We can’t land there.”</p>
<p>“Well, we can’t land here, that’s sure. We’ve<span class="pagenum">[128]</span>
got to take a chance. Me to the engines—we
start dropping in five minutes.”</p>
<p>The floor of the cabin was nearly level; then
it began to rock violently. From the alternate
hum and silence of the engines, the others knew
that Ned had begun the descent. Aside from
that, the airship was as steady as ever.</p>
<p>In the meantime Buck busied himself in the
cook’s galley, and when he finally emerged carrying
steaming hot pots of coffee and savory-smelling
victuals, you may well believe that the
half frozen boys greeted him with enthusiasm.
They shouted up to Ned through the speaking-tube:</p>
<p>“Lash the plane gears fast where they are
and come on down. Buck’s got ready a fine lot
of stuff for us to eat.”</p>
<p>“You boys go ahead and enjoy it without me
for a little while,” Ned answered from his place
in the pilot house. “I’m going to have just
one more try at that broken lever.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[129]</span></p>
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