Meanwhile, Brian Strong was busy. Realizing that perhaps the flying-boat might be able to land on fairly even ground, he set about to prepare the electric head-lamp which could be trained in a vertical arc of fifteen degrees—enough to illuminate a sufficient length of ground before the machine came in contact with terra firma.
The searchlight was of the accumulator type. According to instructions issued to the Rioguayan airmen the batteries were to be kept fully charged; but when Brian tested the circuits he found that the accumulators had completely run down.
There remained the secondary head-lamp—a three-hundred candle-power acetylene-generated light.
Hoping against hope that this apparatus was in working order, Brian unfastened the lid of the generator. The acetylene chamber was full of perfectly dry carbide, but the water compartment was empty.
"How long can you give me?" asked Uncle Brian.
"Five minutes—ten, with luck," was the reply.
Hurrying to the water-tank, Brian turned the tap. There was no flow.
"Has every tank in this confounded contraption run dry?" demanded Brian. Then the solution of the mystery dawned upon him. The water in the tank was frozen into a solid block.
Had the motors been water-cooled a way out of the difficulty would have been simple; but being air-cooled no help was forthcoming from them.
Seizing a spanner, Uncle Brian vigorously attacked the six nuts securing the circular plate on the top of the water-tank. The cover removed, he hacked at the ice until he was able to gather a double handful of chips of frozen water. These he placed in a can and held them over the still warm cylinders of one of the motors until the vessel contained about a pint of fluid.