Billy followed him, and the boys now perceived that on the deck of the flat-boat which rested on the wheels was something that looked like the engine of a steam-launch, but there was no boiler in sight—three round cylinders of a shining white metal placed one above the other, and overhead a series of complicated belts and cogs. Now four strange-looking objects resolved themselves into four huge twisted fans like propellers.
"Golly! I wish we had more light," muttered Gibb, as he stumbled over something on the floor.
He half fell against the flat-boat, and it rolled a few feet along the track.
"Goodness! doesn't it move easy?" said Billy, giving it a shove.
Despite the apparent size and the various complications, the great thing ran as smoothly as a bicycle. In fact, it needed but a little extra pushing to wheel it out on the track into the air.
The sky had clouded a little, but there was enough light to see by. The boys clambered up on the deck, as it were. As they did so Gibb put out his hand to steady himself, and it touched something that moved. Now a strange thing happened. There was a click, a buzzing sound, and a soft whirring began close overhead. Slowly and surely the car began to move. The whirring grew louder, and then with a jump the whole fabric started off at a tremendous pace. The boys clutched two of the uprights in mad terror. Before they knew it they were tearing through the orchard at fifty miles an hour. In fact, it all happened so quickly that the sensations of these first few seconds left but a vague impression.
There was a lifting trembling quiver that caused both the unwilling passengers to hold on tighter, if possible, than before, and all at once there was a crash that almost took out their arms. They had reached the end of the track, but they did not stop. Oh no! As a stone skips off the surface of a mill-pond they left the earth, with a sickening upward swoop that almost stopped their hearts. On and on, higher and higher, with a roaring whirring sound in their ears, and then apparently they reached a height where for a few moments, as Billy afterwards put it, they "kept an even keel." But it was not for long. There was a dip forward, and down they swooped at even greater speed than they had ascended. Gibb began to scream now, and, fell flat, with his arms about the upright and his legs, spread out, clawing with his toes to keep himself from slipping. Billy lost his balance too, and reaching up his hand, caught one of the stays. Instantly there was a great rush of air, a checking of the downward motion, and, as Gibb put it, they "scooped" up again. Maybe the two boys had become more used to this nightmare sort of motion by this time, for they were lying with their faces looking over the side. Far below them they could see the dark shadow that they knew was ground, and little twinkling lights that they knew were houses. Some brilliant-colored fireworks burst in the air beneath them. For some five or ten minutes they kept on a level, and for the first time found a chance to indulge in conversation.
"Where are we going to, anyway?" shrieked Gibb, in mortal fear.
"I dun'no'," chattered Billy, with his hair on end. "Hold tight; the old thing's goin' down again."
Sure enough, the flying-machine had taken a sort of twist off to the eastward, and was descending every second but at such an angle that it would be some minutes before it struck. The fans were working slower, and the great kitelike tail behind sagged slightly. But the stretches of silk were taut, and trembling like tight-trimmed fore-sails. They were skimming now scarcely two hundred feet above the tops of the trees. Half a mile away they saw the waters of the bay. The flight was becoming less swift, and they were sinking downwards with a sliding motion, softly and surely, but still with enough force to crush themselves to pieces should they strike the earth. Beneath them they saw a house. Gibb was whimpering again, and Billy also had begun to blubber.