“That’s right. It will soon be night. But I think we can still travel on.”
“About where do you guess we are?”
“About half-way across the Atlantic, I think. But we’ve got to work it out. We lost considerable by being forced down.”
When the observations had been made and the computation completed it was found that Tom was a little off—that about twelve hundred miles had been covered in the twelve hours since the start. But this was very good, considering the time lost, and Tom felt that the first day, or rather, the first half day, was a successful one.
As evening came on, supper was got ready and served several miles high in the air. But eating thus was no longer a novelty to Tom and Ned. They had done it too often on other daring cruises.
They had been blown somewhat off their course by the hurricane, but managed to get back on it when the stars began to appear and then, the night watches having been arranged, the Air Monarch was driven along through the darkness. There was little danger in thus traveling at night unless some accident should befall the craft itself. Though a number of air machines had started in the great race, Tom had no fear of colliding with them.
“I think the Red Arrow is ahead of us, though,” he said to his chum as they made ready to turn in for a sleep.
“It doesn’t seem to worry you.”
“What’s the use of worrying? The race has hardly begun yet. I’m satisfied.”
Through the hours of darkness the craft was driven on, the five taking turns in steering, even Ned being able to keep on the course by means of observing several compasses, though he did not attempt to regulate the motors, which, however, were practically automatic once they were started.