Crew and officers of the flying boat stood watch and watch, as on shipboard. Tom could not be at the controls all of the time, and he slept at least two full four-hour watches during the flight. But he was in charge when, late the following day, a hazy spot on the sea ahead announced the presence of land.
The perfectly adjusted instruments with which the pilot room in the prow of the flying boat was supplied had enabled them to keep on almost a direct course for Iceland. There could be no mistake in this. As she drew nearer and Tom pitched her nose on a downward slant, they saw the white horses of the surf breaking against the rockbound shore of the great island.
They spied a cluster of houses and several church spires on the southwestern coast, and steered for that point.
“Reykjavik,” declared Tom Swift.
“I thought that must be on the north side of the island if that wrecked schooner started across Greenland Sea,” remarked Ned.
“They passed along the western and northern coast of the island before pushing out for Liverpool Coast,” announced his friend. “At any rate, that schooner captain must be a pilot for these seas, and knows his business. The thing that troubles me is, will he go with us in the Winged Arrow? He may be afraid.”
“We’ll kidnap him, then, and make him go,” declared Ned warmly. “We haven’t come all this way to be balked like that, I should hope!”
CHAPTER XVII
“SOMETHING ROTTEN IN DENMARK”
The Winged Arrow spiraled above the Icelandic port until she was so close to the ground that all landmarks could be easily distinguished. There were open fields behind the town, and Tom marked one of these cleared spaces for his landing.
They saw a good part of the inhabitants of Reykjavik trooping out of the town toward the place where it was evident the huge flying boat would make her landing. Tom and his crew were so much engaged in the work of bringing down the plane that at first the nature of the throng hurrying out from the town did not impress itself upon their attention.