“Pring it ashore,” and Karofsen laughed.
“Tell him we have to have gasoline before we can move it at all. Get the gasoline. That is the first thing to do.”
Captain Karofsen, much amused, proceeded to convince the people ashore that the seaplane was immovable without a supply of gasoline. Tom had money with which to pay for what he needed, and after about half an hour’s wrangling the hose was connected to the Winged Arrow’s tank and a good supply of gasoline pumped aboard.
The small boat was then withdrawn from the beach and Tom and the two giants got into the hull of the plane. The airtight boat was coupled to the end of the wing again and they prepared for flight.
If the police of the fishing port expected to see the huge machine jump over the oil tanks and land on the beach, they were mistaken. When she took to the air, Tom swerved her in a half circle and she shot out over the sea again and soared into the darkening sky at railroad speed!
A sprinkle of brilliant stars had now appeared. The dome of the sky was like a deep blue velvet robe, all trimmed with sparkling sequins. On the horizon flashes of purple, scarlet, and green denoted the distant Aurora Borealis. It was a perfect Arctic night.
Tom sailed his flying boat not far above the water and ice. Vast sheets of the latter gleamed below the flying boat and they could trace long canals between the fields. Here and there rose the peak of a great berg.
“When you consider that only about one-seventh of the bulk of a berg is above the surface of the water, some of those fellows must be extraordinary in size,” Tom said to Ned and Kingston.
“Some icebergs, I’ll say!” murmured the wireless operator. “And there are thousands of them. How are you ever going to pick up the one those folks were wrecked on?”
But Tom had already thought seriously of that point. The chart and Captain Karofsen agreed that the set of the current was southward between Greenland and Iceland, through the wide Denmark Strait.