But Frank was too busy with the engine to answer just then.
“Power! Give me lots of power!” yelled Dr. Perkins.
But although Frank instantly opened up the motor to its full capacity of two thousand revolutions a minute, the downward rush still continued.
“The sea! We’ll be plunged into the sea!” cried Harry, in alarm, gripping a side support.
Indeed there appeared to be good cause for his apprehension, for the Sea Eagle was falling like a stone flung into space. All this, of course, took place in far less time than it takes to describe or to read it. In fact, hardly had Harry shouted his fears before the Sea Eagle’s “hull”—as we must call the hydroplane part of the craft—struck the water, and a huge cloud of spray flew high on either side.
But instead of diving, the Sea Eagle shot forward over the waves, gliding over their tops for some time before Frank shut off the motor. Even then such was the “shooting” velocity gained, that the Sea Eagle still continued to scoot along until the young engineer, in response to Dr. Perkins’ instructions, reversed her propellers, and thus brought the craft to a speedy standstill.
“What on earth happened?” demanded Frank anxiously, as the Sea Eagle lay still, bobbing up and down on the gentle swell.
“We struck an air pocket. An empty hole in space where there was no ether to support us,” explained Dr. Perkins.
“Gracious; I thought we were goners,” cried Harry, still a little shaky over the fearful sensation of the fall.
“Had the Sea Eagle been of different construction we should have dived as straight to the bottom as a loon,” said the inventor, “but the spoonlike construction of the bow allowed me to handle her so that, instead of the impulse of the fall being downward, it was diverted into a forward movement along the surface.”