The Project Gutenberg eBook, Frank Reade, Jr., and His Electric Ice Ship, by Luis Senarens

Transcriber's Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Ahead, Frank now saw a boyish figure in the midst of a pack of ravenous wolves. He was armed with a revolver with which he was firing into them, while he shrieked to frighten them away. Up to him rushed the ice ship.

FRANK READE

WEEKLY MAGAZINE.

CONTAINING STORIES OF ADVENTURES ON LAND, SEA AND IN THE AIR.

Issued Weekly—By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class Matter at New York, N. Y., Post Office. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1902, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington D. C., by Frank Tousey, 24 Union Square, New York.

Frank Reade, Jr., and His Electric Ice Ship;
OR,
DRIVEN ADRIFT IN THE FROZEN SKY.

By “NONAME.”

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.
STEALING A BOY.

It was late on a cold November night in the city of Boston, the sky was obscured by dark, stormy clouds, a bleak wind was whistling through the almost deserted streets, and the lights in the lamps flickered dimly.

A plainly attired man with white hair and a black mustache was walking away from the railroad depot with a handsome boy of seventeen, clad in the natty blue uniform of a military academy.

“Alfred Milburn,” the boy was saying pleadingly, “do not keep me in suspense any longer. Tell me why you wrote me to come to Boston to-night from my school. What serious news have you to tell me?”

“You must prepare yourself for a great affliction, Walter Grey,” the man replied. “I hate to break bad news, but——”

“Great heavens!” exclaimed young Grey, suddenly—“my mother——”

“She suddenly became insane, and I have had to place her in a private asylum,” said Alfred Milburn, in low, gentle tones.

A stifled cry of woe escaped the boy, and he burst into tears, for his mother was the only relative he had in the world.

He paused and glanced piteously at the lawyer, who had been acting as administrator of the fortune his father had left, and saw that Milburn was very pale and greatly agitated.

As soon as Walter could master his grief, he asked, tremulously:

“When did this horrible misfortune occur, sir?”

“Just a week ago, my boy. I am very sorry for you. Brace up! She may recover her reason. I will take you to see her to-night.”

There was a spark of hope in what the lawyer said, and Walter eagerly grasped at it, and answered:

“I can never get over this shock; but I shall try to be courageous, Mr. Milburn. Take me to her. Let me see my dear mother. Perhaps I can do something for her.”

“Very well,” replied the lawyer. “Come this way.”

He turned into a street bordering the water front, and casting a rapid glance around, failed to see any one except three men, attired in the garb of sailors, crouching in an adjoining doorway.

The lawyer drew his handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face with it, and while apparently returning it to his pocket, dropped it. Instantly the three sailors darted from the doorway.

One of them, in a captain’s uniform, darted up behind the boy, flung an arm around his neck, pulled his head back, and clapped a sponge saturated with chloroform to Walter Grey’s nostrils.

A cry of alarm pealed from the startled boy’s lips, but it was quickly checked by a pressure of his assailant’s arm, and the moment he began to inhale the fumes of the drug he became stupefied.

Milburn recoiled a few steps.

His dark eyes were flashing with excitement.

He cautiously glanced around, and then saw a young man coming.

“Captain Ben Bolt!” he hissed.

“Well?” gruffly asked the man who held young Grey.

“There’s some one coming.”

“Blast it! But the boy’s senseless!”

“The fellow is running toward us.”

“He’s seen ther struggle, then.”

“Yes. What shall we do?”

“Carry ther lad aboard the Red Eric.”

“And you?”

“We’ll lay that lubber out!”

The lawyer picked the drugged boy up and hastened over the muddy street with him toward a big whaling ship lying at one of the docks.

In the meantime the three sailors surrounded the newcomer.

He proved to be a dashing-looking young man, with a dark mustache, a symmetrical and athletic figure, and an intellectual face.

He had been behind the lawyer and the boy when they left the depot, and seeing the assault and Milburn’s indifference, he correctly concluded that the boy had been led into a trap.

“You scoundrels!” he panted: “what are you doing to that boy?”

“Keep away thar!” roared the captain, threateningly. “Mind yer own business and clear out of this.”

“Never, until that boy is released!”

“Go fer ther meddler, my lads!”

As the three seamen closed in on him, the stranger doubled up his fist and struck out straight from the shoulder.

Biff! Bang! Thump! went his fists like pile drivers, and every time they struck a man went down.

“When people of your stamp fool around Frank Reade, Jr., you generally get left!” muttered the gallant stranger.

The sailors swore as they got up, and the captain drew a pistol.

“Cuss yer!” he growled, as he leveled the weapon at Frank’s head. “I’ll blow yer brains out fer them welts!”

Bang! went the pistol, and a cry escaped Frank.

He clapped his hand to the side of his head where the ball had grazed his scalp, and reeling back, fell senseless to the ground.

“Run, boys!” hoarsely cried the desperate captain. “I had ter do it or he’d got ther best of us! That shot’ll fetch ther p’lice!”

They rushed over to the whaling ship unseen, leaving their victim lying bleeding and senseless on the sidewalk.

Boarding the vessel and going into the cabin they found the lawyer there in the gloom with the drugged boy.

“Well?” eagerly asked Milburn. “Did you down the stranger?”

“Shot him!” answered Ben Bolt, with an oath. “I see yer got ther lad aboard all right.”

“Yes; you had better put him out of sight.”

“Stow him below in a locker, boys,” said the captain to his two men.

They carried the limp form of Walter Grey out of the cabin.

When they were gone, Milburn handed the captain a big roll of bills.

“Here are the $2,500 I promised you to shanghai the boy,” said the lawyer. “You must maroon him in the arctic regions, so he can never return. If you should bring me evidence of his death I will double the amount I just gave you. Will you do it, captain?”

He bent nearer to Bolt, and hissed this in such sinister tones that the captain started, and muttered hoarsely:

“Do yer mean fer me ter put him out of ther way?”

“Yes,” was the emphatic reply.

“Why dyer want this done?”

“I’ll make a clean breast of the matter. I hold some money in trust belonging to the boy and his mother. If both die I can do as I like with their fortune. Although the woman is sane, I have paid dearly to have her confined in an asylum. She is disposed of. Now it only remains to get rid of the boy. This I leave to you.”

“I’ll do it!” muttered the captain.

“Remember, the money I paid you is some of the boy’s fortune. The remainder you are to get will come from the same source. If you fail, you will get no more of the bank notes, and may not only have to disgorge what you now have, but also answer in court as my accomplice.”

“Trust me, Alfred Milburn.”

“I’ll go now.”

“An’ as I’ve cleared my manifest in ther Custom House, an’ thar’s a tug waitin’ ter haul us out, I’ll put to sea right away, so’s no one will have a show ter git aboard an’ find ther lad.”

“You are bound for the Polar regions now?”

“Ay, ay—ther Kara Sea, off Nova Zembla, in s’arch o’ whales.”

After some further conversation the rascally lawyer parted with the villainous captain and went ashore.

The Red Eric put to sea immediately afterward, carrying the unfortunate Walter Grey away to the frozen polar regions.

In the meantime a crowd had been attracted by the pistol shot, and surrounding Frank Reade, Jr., they carried him into a drug store, where his wound was dressed.

He did not recover his senses until after the ship departed, and then found a policeman standing beside him, to whom he explained what had happened.

“My name is Frank Reade, Jr.,” said the wounded young man. “I am an inventor of submarine boats, flying machines and overland engines, and reside in Readestown. I have just invented a flying ice boat, and came to Boston to get some things for her construction. While I was passing the railroad depot on my way to the hotel where I am stopping, I saw a man and boy go by in the same direction I was taking. Then I observed how he was led into the trap.”

“What ship did they take him on?” asked the policeman.

“The Red Eric.”

“Come and show me.”

They left the drug store, and reaching the dock, learned from some longshoremen that the whaler had just departed for the Arctic.

It was a bitter disappointment, as they could not now hope to rescue the boy from his captors.

Seeing that he could do nothing further in the matter, Frank took his departure and proceeded back to the hotel.

As he entered the office he observed a woman standing before the clerk weeping bitterly, and heard her say in sob-choked tones:

“Do not refuse me lodging here, sir! You surely would not have me roam the streets all night for want of shelter.”

“Madam,” replied the clerk, “as you have no money to pay for your lodging here, I have no right to take you in.”

“Oh, this is dreadful,” said the lady in tones of great distress.

She was a very refined-looking person, with gray hair, a good face, and wore a very handsome dress, but she had on no hat.

The clerk shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

Frank was moved with pity for the lady.

He saw that she was no professional beggar.

Approaching her and doffing his hat, he said politely:

“Excuse me for interfering, madam, but I could not fail hearing what you said. If you will allow me, I would be very glad to pay your expenses at this hotel for a week.”

A cry of joy escaped the woman as she glanced at Frank.

“Thank Heaven!” she muttered. “I am safe—safe!”

CHAPTER II.
THE VILLAIN CAUGHT.

The hotel clerk looked very much surprised at Frank’s charitable deed, but took his money, made no comment, and assigned the lady to a room.

As she reached the parlor door, she beckoned to the inventor and he followed her into the room and asked her pleasantly:

“Do you wish to speak to me, madam?”

“I wish to thank you for your kindness,” she faltered.

“It is not necessary,” replied Frank.

“At least let me tell you how I happened to be in this plight.”

“I admit that I am somewhat curious about it.”

“Well, briefly, I am a rich widow with one child—a boy of seventeen, who is now at a military boarding school up the State. My fortune was placed under the administration of an unscrupulous lawyer named Alfred Milburn. He calculated that if I and my son were out of the way, he could keep possession of our money. My name is Caroline Grey. I lived in a handsome dwelling on a good street, and my lawyer boarded with me.

“One week ago the wretch drugged me. When I recovered my senses I found myself confined in a private lunatic asylum. Milburn called and coolly told me he did it to rob me. He also stated that he intended to send for my son and have him carried away to sea, from whence he would never return. Frantic with apprehension, I managed to escape from the asylum to-night. That is why I have no bonnet on. Coming here, I tried to secure shelter until tomorrow, when I intend to state my case to the police. I will have Milburn arrested and baffle his design.”

“Is he a tall man with white hair and a jet black mustache?”

“Yes—do you know him—have you seen him?”

“I saw him to-night. And your son—is he a well-formed boy with a military uniform of dark blue, trimmed with light blue braid?”

“Yes—yes!” excitedly cried the lady. “Walter has very fair skin and jet black eyes. There is a small scar on his left cheek.”

“I was not near enough to distinguish his features well.”

“Near enough? You couple his description with that of Milburn—is it possible you have seen them together?”

“Yes—to-night. The boy was abducted.”

A low cry of horror escaped Mrs. Grey, her face turned deathly pale, and a wild look sprang to her eyes as she gasped:

“What has happened? Tell me quick!”

Frank detailed his adventure.

Mrs. Grey was overwhelmed with grief and despair.

“Bound for the Arctic Ocean!” she groaned. “Oh, he will never come back alive! My poor, poor boy! This is dreadful—dreadful! Oh, what shall I do? I am wild—frantic—filled with agony!”

“Hush!” said Frank, gently. “I alone can give you hope.”

“I do not understand you.”

“Then I will explain. I am Frank Reade, Jr.”

“What! The wonderful inventor of whom I have so often read!”

“I am an inventor, and my latest contrivance is a flying ice boat, with which I have planned to visit the mysterious land of Nova Zembla. As my course will be the same as that of the ship Red Eric it is more than likely that I shall fall in with that whaling ship. If I don’t I’ll hunt for it. If I find her I shall save your son. I swear it, for I have the means of doing so.”

His words were so emphatic that renewed hope was aroused in the heart of the half-distracted mother, and she dried her tears and asked:

“When do you intend to undertake this journey, sir?”

“Within a few days,” Frank replied. “My flying ice ship is nearly finished. I came to Boston to get the few things I need to complete her. To-morrow I am going home; but ere I leave this city I shall make it my business to help you to have Alfred Milburn arrested, so you can recover possession of the fortune of which he designs to rob you.”

“God bless you, Frank Reade,” the lady exclaimed, feelingly.

After some further talk they parted for the night.

The inventor was accompanied by a little old negro named Pomp, and a rollicking, red-headed, pug-nosed Irishman named Barney O’Shea, who always went with him on his travels, and lived in Readestown.

Both were inveterate practical jokers; the coon was a good cook and played the banjo, and the Celt was an expert violinist, and ever ready for a fight or fun of any kind, while both were greatly devoted to the inventor.

They were domiciled in the hotel with Frank.

On the following morning the coon woke up early, dressed himself, and going out into the hall heard Barney snoring in his room.

“Golly! wha’ lazy feller dat I’ishman am,” muttered the darky, with a grin, as he paused outside of Barney’s room. “Specs he sleep de whole lib long day ef I done let him. Wondah if I kin git in dar?”

He tried the door, found it unlocked, and entered the bedroom.

The Celt lay on his back, with his month wide open, and Pomp stole over to the wash-basin, turned on the freezing cold water full force, put his finger over the faucet, and squirted it at the sleeper.

Swish—plunk! went the jet against the Irishman’s eye.

Then a steady stream flew all over his face.

He gave a sudden start, the snoring ceased, and he sat up very much confused from being awakened so violently.

The cold water continued to squirt on him, and he gave a wild yell.

“Murdher! I’m dhrowndin’!” he howled.

Then he bounced out of bed.

Fizz—swish—flipp! continued the stream.

Barney only wore a red flannel undershirt, and as the cold liquid flew about his limbs he jumped up in the air, his teeth chattering, his hair on end, and roar after roar pealing from his lips.

“Begorra! I’m a dead man!” he roared, as he rushed, danced, hopped and galloped around the room, followed by the cold stream and the laughter of the mischievous coon. “Howly beans! ther roofs leakin’! Ther poipes bushted! Ther house is afoire! Help! Help!”

“Yah! yah! yah!” howled the delighted darky. “Haw, haw, haw! Lord amassy, looker de jumpin’-jack!”

And s-s-s-s-sphf! Piff-piff-piff! went the water again.

By this time Barney got over his confusion and saw the coon.

He also observed the cause of his misery.

“Faith, it’s ther naygur!” he groaned, as he tried to dodge the stream.

“Whoop her up! Dat’s de step, honey! Oh, Lawd—looker dem legs fly!”

“Shtop it!” shouted the Celt, as he raced around to avoid the freezing water. “Bedad, I’m frozen! Pomp, ye spalpeen, wanst I get ther grip av me fingers in ther wool av yer head, I’ll scalp yez wid wan pull.”

“Hop, dar, yo’ chimpanzee; hop, I say! I’se gwine to gib yo’ a wash if yo’ neber hab one befo’, chile.”

Barney flew into a closet.

Here the door protected him.

There were several pairs of shoes, a boot jack, and sundry other objects lying upon the floor, which he eagerly grasped.

The next moment he bombarded the coon with them from behind the door, and as the fusillade whizzed through the air, Pomp made an effort to dodge them.

He was not quick enough, and the next moment a shoe caught him a thump on the nose, a valise banged him on the ear, and a whisk broom pounded him in the eye.

With a howl of pain, as a second volley struck him, he charged on the Irishman, who had come from behind the door.

The coon’s head was down to butt the Irishman in the stomach, but just at the right moment Barney nimbly sprang aside, and with a terrible crash Pomp’s head struck a panel of the door.

It went through, splintering the wood, and before he could withdraw his skull, Barney seized one of the bed-slats and belabored him so that every thump sounded like a pistol shot, and the howls of the captured coon awakened every one in the house.

In the midst of the furore Frank rushed in, and although he could hardly refrain from laughing at the drenched Irishman and the stuck darky, he assumed an angry look and cried, sternly:

“Stop that row, will you? Every one in the hotel is alarmed.”

“Masther Frank,” muttered Barney, dropping the slat.

“Pull me out!” shouted Pomp. “I’se stuck!”

“Faix, I’ll lave yer till yer cocoanut dhrops off!”

“Oh, Lawd amighty, I’se got——”

He gave his head a jerk and extricated himself.

The moment he got free and saw Frank he wilted, and making a dive for the door, vanished in the hall.

Frank and the other guests burst into a roar of laughter and followed him.

When the coon and the Irishman met at the breakfast table, they had so far forgotten their anger that the subject was not referred to.

Frank afterward took them aside, told them all about Mrs. Grey and her son, and after introducing them to the lady they went to police headquarters and laid the matter before the authorities.

A detective took a warrant for the arrest of Alfred Milburn, and accompanying Mrs. Grey to her residence with Frank and his friends, they went in and arrested the lawyer.

His dismay was intense when he saw Mrs. Grey free and Frank in her company, for he recognized the young inventor at once.

The rascal was locked up.

We may as well add here that he had to disgorge the money he held in trust for the widow and her son, and without much delay was sentenced to a long term in prison for his rascality.

The widow received her rights.

Having procured the parts of the flying machine they were after, Frank and his two friends assured the lady again that they would strain every effort to rescue her son, and then boarded a train for home.

Readestown, to where they went, was a beautiful little western city near a river that flowed to the Atlantic.

Here dwelt Frank in a magnificent mansion, near which stood the great machine shops in which his wonderful inventions were constructed.

The young inventor upon his arrival found an old friend there named Dr. Vaneyke, who had often gone with him on his trips.

The white-bearded old scientist had heard that Frank had built a new flying machine, and being desirous of accompanying him in it on his proposed journey, had come from the Smithsonian Institute, with which he was connected, to join the inventor.

Frank was delighted at the prospect of having his old friend go, and readily assented to the plan.

On the following day, as the air ship was nearly finished, the inventor brought the professor out to the shop to see it.

Here a singular and unexpected incident occurred.

CHAPTER III.
BAFFLED.

The room in which Frank’s invention stood was a vast apartment, with sliding doors in the roof which could be operated to permit the exit of his flying machines from the interior.

In the middle of this room stood the flying ice ship.

The vessel was made of an extremely light, bullet-proof material called aluminum, and looked like a two-masted schooner, with a rounded, wedge-shaped bow and stern.

At the truck of each mast was a large gyroscope, while upon the upper part of each of the yards many more of these wheels were arranged in a horizontal position to lift the engine in the air.

Upon the yards and stays were furled sails, to be used while traveling before the wind.

At the bow was a long bowsprit, a searchlight at its foot, and upon its deck, in the forward section, a pilot-house.

There were three big steel ice runners on each side, and between them two spiked wheels for propelling the boat over the ice without sails.

At the stern was an ice rudder, above it a water rudder, a water screw, and on the end of a shaft an immense air-wheel for propulsion.

Bull’s-eyes broke the sides of the hull to admit light into the interior.

As they stood looking at the boat, which was operated by electricity, the door-bell rang, and Frank saw the professor start nervously, turn very pale, and glare at the entrance.

“What’s the matter? You look nervous!” said Frank.

“I am nervous,” admitted Vaneyke. “So would any one be who is innocent of murder, and is accused of killing a man.”

“Why, I don’t understand you.”

“Then I’ll explain,” said the doctor. “But until I do, I don’t want you to open that door, for I have a feeling that the police are there, trying to get in to arrest me!”

Frank was amazed.

He knew that Dr. Vaneyke was a good man.

Murder was the last crime he was capable of committing.

He therefore said quietly:

“Tell me what your trouble is, professor.”

“Night before last, while walking here from the railroad depot, I heard a pistol shot in a lonely part of the road, followed by the cry of murder,” the doctor answered. “Running forward, I saw a man fall to the ground, and another man plunged into the bushes. Beside the fallen man laid a revolver which I picked up. It was the weapon with which the man was shot; I next examined the body. The man was dead. The ball had penetrated his heart. Scarcely had I made this discovery when some constables came running up the road and some men down the road.

“Among the latter was the murderer. I recognized him at a glance. He pointed at me and said: “Arrest him; he killed the man; I saw him do it. See, he yet holds the pistol in his hand with which the crime was committed!” Although I protested my innocence, no one believed me. The men surrounded me; they were going to forcibly arrest me. Seeing how strong the circumstantial evidence was against me, I fled and escaped in safety to your house unseen. Since then, I am sure the authorities have been searching for me.”

“It looks black against you, Dr. Vaneyke.”

“Shall I surrender myself and stand trial?”

“You may not establish your innocence if you do.”

“Then what shall I do?”

“Keep shady; if arrested you can’t go with me.”

“Very true.”

“I want to leave as soon as possible in pursuit of the Red Eric to rescue Walter Grey. I can’t do it if you are arrested with such a serious charge hanging over your head. No! You must not submit to arrest.”

Bang, bang! came the sound of a volley of raps at the door.

“They’re bound to get in,” nervously said Dr. Vaneyke.

“After all, it may not be any one after you.”

“No one knew I came here.”

“For safety get aboard the ice ship and hide yourself, while I open the door and ascertain who is outside.”

The professor complied.

He had hardly done so when the bell rang loudly.

Frank flung open the door.

Upon the threshold stood a detective.

“Well?” demanded Frank, eyeing him keenly.

“I am after Dr. Vaneyke, sir,” replied the officer.

“What for?”

“Murder.”

“Humbug!”

“Here’s the warrant.”

“You are on the wrong track.”

“Oh, no! It’s proven! He’s here, isn’t he?”

“Stopping at my house—yes.”

“Your wife just said he came out here.”

“Well, you can’t have him, sir.”

“Do you mean to say you will prevent me?”

“Exactly so. He is an innocent man.”

“Let him prove it in court, then.”

“At present he has no time to do that.”

“But I must take him, Mr. Reade.”

“Have you a search warrant?”

“No,” reluctantly said the detective.

“Then you can’t come in here.”

“I’ll watch for him outside, then.”

“Very well,” answered Frank, shutting the door.

He went aboard of the Ranger, as he had christened the flying ice ship, and opening a door in the wheel-house, found himself in a large room.

It contained some furniture, a compass, steering wheel, levers for controlling the mechanism, and a number of registers.

A companionway led him down into a small but beautiful cabin, where he found the professor pacing nervously to and fro.

Frank told him what had transpired.

“It’s just as I feared,” murmured Dr. Vaneyke, despairingly. “The detective will guard this place until he can get a warrant to come in after me. Then he will take me anyway.”

“Not if I can prevent it,” replied Frank.

“You cannot do anything.”

“Oh, yes, I can. A little more work will put the Ranger in perfect order. She is already equipped for her intended journey, and contains enough food and water to last several months. By to-night we will all leave here in her.”

Dr. Vaneyke looked more hopeful.

Frank then left him, and going to the house, explained the situation to his family, Barney and Pomp.

A plan was then formed to get the detective out of the way.

The coon went out, and purchasing a white beard and wig from a costumer, he returned to the house, and one of Frank’s mechanics was dressed up in the professor’s clothes, and donned the false hair.

A saddle horse was led from the stable, the man looking very much like Vaneyke mounted the beast and away he rode.

The detective saw him, and pursued him at once, thinking he was chasing the old scientist.

Our friends then set to work upon the air ship, and completed the work to be done upon her.

Dr. Vaneyke’s trunk was carried aboard.

Nothing was seen of the detective all day.

By the hour of eleven that night the ice ship was almost ready.

The four friends were aboard, working by electric light with all the speed they could muster, and had taken leave of every one.

Scarcely had everything been put in readiness when there came a tremendous pounding at the door again.

Frank rushed out on deck.

Addressing a gang of his men, he cried:

“Open the sliding doors in the roof, boys.”

“Some one is knocking, sir,” ventured one of the men.

“Don’t open the door on your lives!”

“All right, sir.”

And away went the men to obey his orders.

The clamor outside now became furious.

“Frank Reade, Jr.!” yelled the detective’s voice. “Open this door in the name of the law or I’ll break it down!”

“He has discovered our ruse and come back!” laughed Frank.

“Do you hear me?” roared the officer, showering a volley of kicks and blows against the door. “You are breaking the law by harboring a criminal, sir, and it will go hard with you if you still refuse to let me take him out of there.”

“Go away,” replied Frank. “You can’t enter.”

“Don’t be rash. I have several officers with me.”

“I don’t care if you have an army.”

“Then I’ll burst in the door!”

“Burst away.”

Crash—bang—boom! came a shower of heavy blows.

Frank glanced at his workmen, and saw them trying to force open the sliding doors in the roof above the Ranger.

They obstinately stuck fast, though.

Fast and furious fell the blows against the door outside.

Frank began to get restless, and passing into the wheel-room, he peered out the window with an anxious look upon his face.

It was evident that the officers had brought a battering ram to bear upon the door, for every blow they dealt it made it shake, and caused every window pane to rattle.

“Lively, there, boys! Lively!” shouted Frank, impatiently.