Being mistrustful of air eddies or whirlpool currents as a result of the hurricane, Ned reduced the Flyer’s speed to the minimum. As he wisely observed, “No use taking unnecessary chances.”
Thus the big vessel fled before the storm for half an hour or more when, with astonishing suddenness, the reverberations of thunder ceased and the sun turned the rainfall into a fog so dense that it seemed that the Flyer was cutting its way through a solid substance. It became so dark inside that the boys had to turn on the electric lights.
“I don’t like this at all,” muttered Ned at last, as he strained his eyes through the mist-clouded observation-port.
“Well, anyway, we aren’t flying low enough to hit any trees or church steeples,” grinned Bob.
“No, but all the same I don’t like to keep going even this slowly through vapor as thick as this is. If I could only see the character of the ground below, I’d try to make a landing.”
The earth, however, continued wholly shrouded and Ned had to hold on his unwilling way.
It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later that Buck, who had been calculating at the speedometer, and referring to various charts, announced that the Ocean Flyer was probably over northern Germany. Shortly afterward the increasing strength of the sun’s rays began to dissipate the fog, which assumed fantastic forms that writhed and squirmed as they floated away into nothingness. It amused the boys to pick out these patches of mist and to note their outline resemblance to one animal or another.
“There’s a cow!” laughed Bob, pointing.
“And over there is a giraffe—see his long neck?”
“Look straight ahead, boys, and see the bologna sausage,” called Ned from his station at the wheel.