But John only laughed harder, and this time Tom joined him.

"John's right," said Tom; "to-day is the 27th."

"It _can't_ be," protested Bob. "You own up that yesterday was the 27th, don't you?"

"I certainly do," chuckled John; "but you forget one thing, young man: that same evening, all in a moment's time, we crossed the One Hundred and Eightieth Meridian--the date-line of the world--and while it was Thursday, the 27th on the west side of this line, it became Wednesday, the 26th the instant we crossed over to the east side."

"Oh, sure!" exclaimed Bob and Paul, feeling very silly. And the latter added: "That's where we gain a day in our lives--and to think that Bob and I were asleep at that auspicious moment!"

"I know an old maid who swears she is fifteen years younger than she really looks," commented Tom. "I think she must have done a lot of globe trotting, and always east!"

"There's no danger of the fair s.e.x ever circling the globe in a westerly direction," laughed John, "for that would make them one day older every time."

The day could not have been better. Hardly a cloud was to be seen on the horizon, and the regular trade-winds blowing westward were soft and steady, and they were making excellent time.

Grandpa frisked about, perching on this object and that, and occasionally running back into some secret nook where he had hidden his supply of nuts. With one of these in his paw he would jump up on something, crack it in his powerful small jaws, and look very wise and serious as he picked out the meats with his slim fingers.

Finally the monkey had his fill, and hopped up into Tom's lap. He began to play with Tom's hair, smoothing it down pretty soon with the flyer's comb, which he discovered in a pocket. So handy was Grandpa with this utensil that the others went into peals of laughter. Tiring of this, the monkey's eye caught sight of several freckles upon the back of Tom's hand. He tried in vain to pick the freckles off; then he became excited, for he could not understand why they would not lift up.

He chattered scoldingly at everybody; then tried again. Failing, he sprang down and went to a far corner, in a fine sulk. Evidently he thought Tom was playing a trick on him, and had glued the freckles down someway just to tease him; for Tom, it must be admitted, was greatly given to bothering Grandpa in some such manner.

Shortly before ten o'clock the following morning all hands were up to take a look at their next stopping-off place--Nukahiva, the main island of the Marquesas group, the place where they hoped to find a supply of helium-gas awaiting them.

A fine island this--as fine a volcanic upheaval as one will find anywhere. Sheer walls of cloud-capped rock 6,000 feet high, some literally overhanging the crystal-clear water, and all embossed and engraved with strangely patterned basalt. There are pillars, battlements, and turrets; so that, with half-closed eyes, it seems you are approaching a temple, a medieval castle, or a mosque of the East.

And the valleys--deep, choked with the most rampant growths of luxuriant vegetation, in the heart of which silvery streams gurgle their way tortuously along--fade away into mysterious purple mists.

Small wonder that this gorgeously beautiful island should have been the home for a century of one of the finest races of primitive people the world has ever known! Sad indeed is it that to-day the Marquesans are rapidly dying off from consumption and fever introduced into their fair domain by civilization itself.

Nestling in a good-sized valley near the harbor our flyers saw scores of native houses, as they drew nearer. These were constructed of yellow bamboo, tastefully twisted together in a kind of wickerwork, and thatched with the long tapering leaves of the palmetto. Here, too, was the big white T of their hopes.

In a short time they had safely landed, one hour behind schedule.

Their rivals had left an hour and ten minutes before. But joy of joys!

here were four tanks of helium, and with a filling of this they would show those fellows how to fly!

As fast as they could work, our friends overhauled their machine and put it in shape for the long trip to San Christobal. They would have given almost anything to have joined the many natives they saw swimming in the cool waters of the harbor, but felt that they could not afford to waste a single minute.

At twelve-thirty, with the sun at its zenith, they once more took to the air. This was Thursday. By Friday evening they should be at the Gallapagos Islands--their last stop before Panama. What a cheering thought it was!

Heading just a trifle north of east, they ran almost full-out. It was easy to note the difference in the behavior of the Sky-Bird since her helium tanks had been fully charged. She sped along as she had in the very beginning of their journey--like a long bullet fired from some gigantic cannon. How the engine did sing! The wind rushed by them like a hurricane, and they had to shout in order to be heard when they had anything to say to each other.

Satisfied that all was going right, Tom and John soon turned in, for they were very sleepy. When the operating crew awoke them it was dark.

Bob then got into wireless communication with Panama, and delivered a message for Mr. Giddings. Following this, he and Paul also took to the hammocks.

When the two youths awoke it was morning, and the Sky-Bird was not behaving as well as when they had retired. Looking outside they saw the reason for this. The entire heavens ahead were hidden under dun-colored clouds which in places seemed to be gathering themselves together into formidable leaden arrangement. The gentle trade-winds had developed into a stiff wind. Down below, the sea was covered with whitecaps, while in the distance the water was swinging into immense swells with foaming crests.

John and Tom both looked worried. The two younger boys felt more uneasy when they noticed this.

"I guess we're in for a pretty hard storm," said John, as he gave the throttle up to Paul. "Tom and I will stay up a while and see how things turn out. The Sky-Bird's down to about a hundred an hour now.

Better keep her there, Buddy. That's fast enough in a blow like this."

A few minutes later a fork of lightning split the sky ahead. This was followed by another off to the right, then by one off to the left.

Then they heard the rumble of thunder, and a heavy gray haze slowly began to engulf the sea, rapidly approaching.

"That's rain," cried Paul. "Say, John, if you're not too done out maybe you had better take the stick again; I'm afraid I won't be equal to what's coming."

His brother complied. John did not wish to frighten his comrades, but the truth is he knew this would be the worst storm he had ever faced in his four years of flying.

"We'll try to get above those clouds," he said quietly. He did not like to tell them just what he thought--that if they did not get above the clouds without delay they would either be struck by lightning or torn to pieces by the terrible whirlpool of winds which he knew those churning black ma.s.ses ahead contained.

CHAPTER XXIX

A FLYING RESCUE

John turned the Sky-Bird upward at as stiff a slant as he felt would be safe for them in that high wind. At nine thousand feet they emerged above the first layer; but eastward the clouds appeared to terrace up gradually, and in the distance there extended another great wall, towering several thousand feet higher.

Some of the rain was now beginning to reach them. It came pattering down upon the roof; and under the strong impulse of wind and their speed, it struck the gla.s.s windows in front with a smack like buckshot.

The moisture on the panes made it difficult to see out.

"Take a reading with the anemometer, Tom," ordered John, straining his eyes hard ahead.

This little instrument was something like a miniature windmill. Its four wings were supplied with cups which, as Tom held the instrument out of the window facing the wind, caused the spider to revolve. The latter was geared to a small dial, over the face of which pa.s.sed a hand, much like a clock, indicating the speed of the wind.

"She's blowing fifty miles an hour, and gaining every minute,"

announced Tom. "That's the hardest wind we've been in yet."

"If we stay down here it will be blowing sixty within ten minutes," was the pilot's grim response.

Just then there was a blinding flash of light a little way ahead of them, accompanied by such a terrific crash of thunder that their ears rang.

"Gee!" cried Bob, "that was a close call! I'll bet that bolt came within a rod of striking us."

"A miss is as good as a mile," shouted John cheerfully. He and the others found that they would have to yell in order to be heard, so great was the noise from engine and storm.

_Zip!_ went a zigzagging livid streak across their range of vision. It seemed to be running straight for them, and instinctively they dodged--all but Tom and John. These old veterans continued to gaze coolly straight ahead as though nothing had happened. _Crash-h!_ went a clap of thunder. It seemed as if the whole heavens were being turned topsy-turvy. Even the airplane, usually so steady, heaved and rode like a rocking-horse.

The two younger members of the party were not to be blamed for feeling pretty well frightened by this time. It was one thing to be cutting through the fleecy white clouds of a calm day, and quite another to go stabbing through murky black ones which were rolling angrily, ejecting both wind and rain, and spitting out vicious roars and jagged streaks of pale-blue flame. One moment they would be in gloom; the next instant a cloud would be rent asunder with a ripping, tearing sound, and the whole turbid, boiling sky-universe would be bathed in the ghostly light. What a weird, fantastic, chaotic world they were in!

But it was only for a few minutes that they were in the worst danger.

Soon, to their infinite relief, they had reached their "ceiling." They were now 15,000 feet up--almost three miles,--and below them lay the vast sea of troubled cloudland, dark and forbidding, rolling tumultuously like an ocean of curdled ink. It was a novel experience to be running in the clear air over all of this infernality of sounds and sights, while above them the blue, star-studded heavens looked down upon them calmly and peaceably.

For almost an hour the furious storm continued in the lower regions.

Then it began slowly to subside. First the lightning stopped, then the thunder. The banks of clouds took on a lighter hue, and began to drift apart; a pinnacle here and a crag there were swept off by the winds, until the ma.s.ses of nimbus became flattened out into patches of sun-flecked foam as beautiful as fresh-fallen snow.

The anemometer spun slower and slower as the gale decreased in violence, and presently the airplane was gliding along with its normal smoothness. Here and there, between the patches of white cloud, they caught glimpses of the ultramarine sea, thousands of feet below them.

It was so cold up here, even with the windows closed, that all the boys were shivering in their warmest wraps. The air, too, was so rarefied that it was with considerable difficulty that they could breathe, for they had been in it for some time. Not one flyer in a hundred can live at an alt.i.tude of twenty thousand feet, as he bleeds at the nose and mouth; and our aviators were up to within five thousand feet of that height. It was now time to descend.

John shut off both engines, and they began to volplane down in a great stillness, sailing like an immense hawk. Lower and lower they went--fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten thousand feet. Now they were gliding through clear, thin air; now cutting a hole through a heavy cloud so impregnated with moisture that it sweat over the gla.s.s and the boys would have to wipe a sleeve across hastily to improve the vision. Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two!