There was a sudden, appalling dash downward. A stone from a roof could not have fallen much faster. Amidst a shout of alarm from the yacht’s decks, which was echoed by those on the Wondership, she struck the sea with a force that sent spray and foam half way as high as the vessel’s mast heads.
In the dreadful moment that succeeded, it seemed as if the craft must go crashing down to the very floor of the ocean. But a fraction of a second later those on board both Wondership and yacht knew that this was not to be the case.
Having struck the water, the hollow hydroplanes and the water-tight body of the craft fulfilled their purposes right nobly. Buoyed on the crest of a big swell, the Wondership floated, and the next instant, amidst a cheer of more than ordinary fervor, Jack started her for the yacht’s side.
“Hurrah! She floats!” yelled Tom.
“By the galumping galleons of Gaul, she does that!” agreed Dick Donovan, against whose pale face the freckles stood out like spots on the sun.
“But will she move?” cried Mr. Chadwick, as the propeller began to churn the water.
“We’ll soon see,” answered Jack over his shoulder.
As the blades bit into the water the Wondership was drawn forward, slowly at first and then, gathering speed as she crossed the space intervening between herself and the yacht’s side, the Wondership was seen to adapt herself to the water as well as she had to the earth or the air. A moment later, skillfully manipulating his rudder, Jack brought the strange craft alongside the yacht’s lowered companionway with as much skill as any veteran mariner making a familiar landing.
To reach the gangway from the spot at which the Wondership had struck the water, they had to pass her stern. On the graceful, narrow counter of the craft was much gilt scroll-work and ornamentation. Amidst all this “flummery,” as sailors call it, they made out a name and hailing port.
“Valkyrie-of-Bremen,” was what they read.