CHAPTER XXIII—THE BOY INVENTORS SOLVE A PROBLEM
The engine had been shut off, and amidst a dead silence, so far as any talk was concerned, the Flying Road Racer drifted down toward the island.
But the gas had escaped so rapidly and the weight in the car was so great, that the island was still a few hundred feet off when they first felt the wind-driven spray dashing against their faces.
“Can we make it?” asked Mr. Jesson in a low, tense voice.
“I think so,” replied Jack; “at any rate, if we can’t, we have the cork jackets on and must swim for it.”
As he spoke, though, the disabled flying craft settled suddenly downward. Above her the collapsed gas envelope was wrinkled and flabby, and barely kept her up.
All at once the crest of a huge wave dashed against the bottom of the aluminum tank. The Flying Road Racer careened so far over that for a moment it looked as if her end had come.
But at the same moment the wind blew stronger and caught the half-empty gas bag. This raised the crippled craft a few feet and drove her forward. The impetus thus given was sufficient to save the adventurers from a dangerous swim.
With a crash that might have been audible at some distance had there been any one to hear it the Flying Road Racer landed in the sand of the island beach at precisely one-thirty on that day of stirring events in the young inventors lives.
Thanks to the shock absorbers, the auto part was not harmed seriously. Five minutes after they had landed the adventurers stood in a group surveying the stranded craft.
“What a wreck!” exclaimed Mr. Jesson, gazing the flabby wrinkles of the gas envelope and at the wound in its side.
The Flying Road Racer did, indeed, look different from the trim craft that had arisen from the deck of the Vagrant not so very long before.
But how much had transpired in those few hours! If time might be reckoned by events the boys could record that they had passed through years of experience since Jack and Captain Andrews struck out on the forest path leading to the plantation houses.
“What a mess!” breathed Abner Jennings, echoing in part Mr. Jesson’s remark.
“It’s my opinion that we ought to thank Providence for getting off with our lives,” said Captain Andrews stoutly. And to this sentiment they all heartily agreed.
“Can you ever repair her. Jack, do you think?” asked his father anxiously.
Jack, who had been surveying the wreck carefully, was not yet ready to give an opinion, however.
“If we could fix that rip in the gas bag it might be possible to patch her up,” he said dubiously. “There is,—or ought to be,—a spare propeller on board, and if the engine is working, it might be feasible to put the craft in order once more.”
“Well, we’d better run her up out of the reach of the waves anyhow,” said Tom.
The air craft had grounded at the margin of the beach, and the spray of the thunderous waves showered her as each broke.
The two sailors and the others came forward to lay hands on the Flying Road Racer, and shove her up the beach. But Jack had a better plan in mind.
“If the motor is working. I’ll run her up under her own power,” he said.
He followed up these words by getting into the driver’s seat, and after Tom had removed the wreck of the propeller, his cousin started up the engine and threw in the clutch connecting it with the driving machinery.
The rear wheels flew round in the sand for a minute, but as the boy applied more power they gripped the surface and the Flying Road Racer—an automobile now—moved rapidly up the beach. Jack ran her in under a grove of trees and then shut off the engine.
“If only we weren’t on an island,” he said, “we could run right through to the city of Mexico!”
“Gee, I wish we could,” said Ned Bangs, “it’s a question of how long the grub will hold out on this island, and we don’t know if any ships come this way.”
“Easy enough to find out,” said Tom rather carelessly.
“Easy enough?” echoed Ned. “Well, Tom Jesson, you’ll have to show me. Here we are, cut off from all communication——”
Tom smiled and shook his head.
“Not while we’ve got the wireless,” he said.
“What do you mean, Tom?” asked Mr. Jesson.
“That when I left the Vagrant I brought her wireless apparatus with me,” said Tom in a quiet tone. “That’s what those bundles were.”
“Good,” exclaimed Mr. Jesson. “We’ll have something to eat and some hot coffee, and then we’ll try to get into communication with the shore, or some vessel, and get them to take us off this desolate place.”
But Jack, who had been looking about the island in their vicinity, dampened their enthusiasm by a sudden question.
“How are you going to fix an aerial?” he asked.
“Easy enough,” said Tom confidently; “some tree will do. Ned Bangs, here, can climb it. Luckily I loaded a lot of copper wire with the other stuff. We can use that for antenna.”
“Why, you monkey!” cried Jack, half laughing, “there isn’t a tree on the island.”
This fact, which none of them had noticed before, was evidently so. The island was covered with a scrub growth, but nowhere did the bushes exceed a height of ten feet.
Professor Chadwick broke in on their dejection.
“Come,” he said, “it’s no use our discussing anything now. Let us have a good meal and then, maybe, we’ll hit upon some plan.”
While Jupe made his preparations for a warm meal, selecting a spot sheltered by brush not far from the remains of the Flying Road Racer, the boys gathered driftwood, of which there seemed to be plenty on the beach, and made a big pile of it. This was lighted, and the warmth of the blaze proved very comforting to the chilled castaways.
As Professor Chadwick had predicted, the meal served to put new heart into them. As they ate they discussed their situation in all its bearings, but without arriving at any conclusion as to their future course.
If they could not get a wireless message to some station on land or ship, their situation looked as if it might speedily become serious. They did not dwell on this aspect of the case, however, but made a determined effort to be as cheerful as possible.
After dinner, if such the meal could be called. Professor Chadwick and Mr. Jesson set out to explore the island. The others, except Jack and Tom, lay down to sleep, being’ thoroughly exhausted by what they had gone through.
The two lads, however, felt too excited to sleep. Instead, they fell to figuring how it would be possible to send out a message telling of their plight, without having a tall pole or tree to which to string their aerials.
The problem was perplexing, and they threshed it over and over for an hour without arriving any nearer a plan for getting their wires into the air. It was Jack who finally hit upon what was literally an inspiration.
Close to them, while they had been talking, lay the pile of life jackets they had taken off when they landed.
“Is there any of that liquid rubber for repairing the tires in the Flying Road Racer?” he inquired of Tom, with seeming meaningless curiosity.
“Why, yes; there’s a gallon can of it. But why?”
“You’ll see directly. Will you get it?”
“Yes, of course,” rejoined Tom, rising from his seat on the sand. “Anything else?”
“That needle and stout thread in the gas bag tool kit and—well, I guess that will be all for now.”
“I wish I knew what you are driving at,” said Tom, as he moved off to get the things Jack had asked for.
“I’m driving at a way to get those aerials up,” rejoined the young inventor briefly.
When Tom returned with the articles Jack had asked for, he found his cousin busily engaged in taking the cork out of one of the life jackets. This was easily done, as it was in granulated form.
Having emptied the jacket, the boy heated some of the liquid rubber over Jupe’s fire till it was about the consistency of cream. This done, he proceeded to coat the canvas of the empty life jacket with the compound. Before he did this, however, he sewed a patch on over the hole he had made to drain the cork, leaving a bit of rubber tube, also found in the supply locker of the Flying Road Racer, sticking out.
Tom, after a few minutes, began to realize dimly what the ingenious lad was doing; but he didn’t get the full understanding of Jack’s idea till the latter, having allowed the rubber coating to dry, walked toward the Flying Road Racer with it.
“I see what you’ve made now. Jack,” he cried. “It’s an airproof canvas bag, and you’re——”
“Going to fill it with gas and see if it will rise,” said Jack.
As he spoke he placed the end of the rubber tube he had left protruding from the canvas life jacket, over a small stop-cock on the gas tank of the Flying Road Racer. When he turned the valve a hissing sound followed and the rubber-coated life jacket began to fill, just as any air-tight envelope would have done.
When it was half full a laughable thing occurred, giving abundant evidence of the bag’s buoyancy. Jack, who was holding it, was suddenly lifted off his feet as the bag began to rise, tearing the end of the rubber tube off the valve as it did so. Just as he was lifted into the air, for he actually couldn’t make up his mind to let go of his invention, Tom seized his feet and dragged him to the sand again. A rope was secured and the bag lashed to a bush after the end of the tube had been tied.
“By cracky!” cried Tom, “that’s the invention of the century. How on earth did you come to think of it?”
“I suppose old Mother Necessity had something to do with it,” said Jack; “but the fact that those life jackets lay right close to us helped a lot. I reasoned it out that they would float on the water, and therefore, if they could be emptied and made air-tight, they would rise when filled with gas equally well.”
“And you’re going to hitch the aerials on to that one and send them up?”
“I’m not sure that one of them will be enough to raise such a weight of copper wire. I guess we’ll make another one.”
“And I’ll help you,” cried Tom enthusiastically.
Half an hour later when Mr. Jesson and his brother-in-law returned from exploring the island, which they had found to be a desolate spot some five miles off shore, they found two busy lads.
The wires had been strung on “spreaders” cut from the brush. Then one of the ends was connected to each of the buoyant “balloons” that were to carry the antenna aloft.
In the lee of the Flying Road Racer the boys had arranged the wireless equipment, and were now occupied in securing the lower end of the antenna and adjusting the connecting wires from aerials to the instruments.
At last all was ready, and the two canvas “balloons” were cut loose. Slowly but steadily they rose, carrying with them the strands of copper wire,—five of them, each one hundred feet in length. The wind had died down quite a lot, and there was not much strain on the wires as they were pulled skyward like the string of a kite.
As the wires tightened and became extended to their full length the boys broke into a cheer. Held by the captive “balloons,” the five parallel wires made as effective an aerial as if they had been rigged to a lofty pole.
“Boys,” exclaimed Professor Chadwick proudly, “that’s what I call a real wireless triumph!”
“Wait and see if it works first, father,” said Jack, with a happy smile. He had not much doubt on this point, having solved the vexatious problem of getting his wires aloft.