The eagerly watching boys by the portholes could see the effect of this message upon the distant vessel. Great volumes of black smoke began to vomit from her three funnels as full steam ahead was put on. Her course was changed slightly and she forged as rapidly as might be in their direction. Tiny black figures could be seen crowding the decks and rigging of the distant liner.
The boys were a-quiver with excitement and hope until a sudden, unaccustomed quiet around them forced itself upon their notice.
“What is it?” queried Bob.
Ned answered him quietly:
“Boys, the engines have stopped running—we are about to fall!”
Each was ashamed to show the mortal fear that agitated him. White-faced they gripped hands in silent farewell.
“Hurry now,” Ned cried, in command to the very last, “run and get into pneumatic life-jackets and each one lash his hands to the handle of a parachute. When once the Flyer begins to drop, we’ll have to jump quick, or the force of the contrary air will turn our chutes inside out. Be quick, boys!”
For perhaps three minutes the Ocean Flyer hung motionless, as if suspended there in the air. Then she wavered slightly and suddenly the stupendous plunge straight downwards began.
With each passing second, as earth gravity took a more relentless hold upon the falling vessel, the momentum increased until it attained a velocity past computing. Like a stone it whizzed down through the whistling air to an unmarked resting place in the foam-crested waves far below.
All of the four boys jumped wide out from the outer taffrail the instant the fall began. Their parachutes spread and bellied to meet the upward rush of air, which struck the stout umbrella-like frames with a reactionary force that nearly tore the boys’ arms from their sockets. The Ocean Flyer shot swiftly down past them before their own more gradual descent became perceptible.