So everything was made snug, and movable articles on the small exposed deck of the airship were lashed fast. Then, as night settled down, our friends gathered about in the cheerful cabin, in the light of the electric lamps, and talked of what lay before them.
As Mr. Damon could steer as well as Tom or Ned, he shared in the night watch. But Mr. Petrofsky was not expert enough to accept this responsibility.
It was when Mr. Damon finished his watch at midnight, and called Tom, that he remarked.
"Bless my umbrella, Tom. But I don't like the looks of the weather."
"Why, what's it doing?"
"It isn't doing anything, but it's clouding up and the barometer is going down."
"I was afraid we were in for it," answered the young inventor. "Well, we'll have to take what comes."
The airship plunged on her way, while her young pilot looked at the various gages, noting that to hold her way against the wind that had risen he would have to increase the speed of the motor.
"I don't like it," murmured Tom, "I don't like it," and he shook his head dubiously.
With a suddenness that was almost terrifying, the storm broke over the ocean about three o'clock that morning. There was a terrific clap of thunder, a flash of lighting, and a deluge of rain that fairly made the staunch Falcon stagger, high in the air as she was.