Tom Swift and His Airship
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Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift and His Airship
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"I declare I'm not at all nervous," he remarked, as he sat in an easy
chair in the enclosed car or cabin, and looked down at the earth
through the plate-glass windows in the floor.
"I thought you'd be all right once we got started," commented Mr.
Sharp. "Do you think you can stand going a trifle higher?"
"Try it,." suggested the eccentric man. "Bless my watch chain, but, as
I said, I might as well die this way as any other. Hitting a cloud-
bank is easier than trying to climb a tree on a motorcycle, eh, Tom?"
"Very much so, Mr. Damon," conceded the young inventor, with a laugh.
"Oh, we'll not attempt any cloud heights for a day or two," went on
Mr. Sharp. "I want you, to gradually get used to the rarefied
atmosphere, Mr. Damon. Tom and I are getting to be old hands at it.
But, if you think you can stand it, I'll go up about a thousand feet
higher."
"Make it two thousand, while you're at it," proposed the odd
character. "Might as well take a long fall as a short one."
Accordingly, the elevation rudder was used to send the Red Cloud to a
greater height while she was still skimming along like some great
bird. Of course the desired elevation could have been obtained by
forcing more gas from the machine into the big, red container
overhead, but it was decided to be as sparing of this vapor as
possible, since the voyagers did not want to descend to get more
material, in case they used up what they had. It was just as easy to
rise by properly working the rudders, when the ship was in motion, and
that was the method now employed.
With the great propellers, fore and aft, making about a thousand
revolutions a minute the craft slanted up toward the sky.
The ship was not being run at top speed as Mr. Sharp did not care to
force it, and there was no need for haste. Long distance, rather than
high speed was being aimed at on this first important flight.
Tom was at the steering wheel, and, with his I hand on the lever
controlling the elevation rudder, kept watch of the face of Mr. Damon,
occasionally noting what height the hand on the gauge registered. He
fancied he saw the cheeks of his friend growing pale, and, when a
height of thirty-five hundred feet was indicated, with a yank the
young inventor put the airship on a level keel.
"Are you distressed, Mr. Damon?" he asked.
"Ye-yes, I-I have-some-some difficulty in breathing," was the answer.
Tom gave his friend the same advice the aeronaut had given the lad on
his first trip, and the eccentric man soon felt better.
"Bless my buttons!" he ventured to explain. "But I feel as if I had
lost several pounds of flesh, and I'm glad of it."
Mr. Sharp was busy with the motor, which needed some slight
adjustments, and Tom was in sole charge of navigating the airship. He
had lost the nervous feeling that first possessed him, and was
becoming quite an expert at meeting various currents of wind
encountered in the upper regions.
Below, the voyagers could see the earth spread out like a great map.
They could not tell their exact location now, but by calculating their
speed, which was about thirty miles an hour, Tom figured out that they
were above the town of Centreford, near where he had been attacked
once by the model thieves.
For several hours the airship kept on her way, maintaining a height of
about a mile, for when it was found that Mr. Damon could accommodate
himself to thirty-five hundred feet the elevation rudder was again
shifted to send the craft upward.
By using glasses the travelers could see crowds on the earth watching
their progress in the air, and, though airships, dirigible balloons
and aeroplanes are getting fairly common now, the appearance of one as
novel and as large as the Red Cloud could always be depended upon to
attract attention.
"Well, what do you say to something to eat?" proposed Mr. Sharp,
coming into the main cabin, from the motor compartment. "It's twelve
o'clock, though we can't hear the factory whistles up, here."
"I'm ready, any time you are," called Tom, from the pilot house.
"Shall I cook grub, Mr. Sharp?"
"No, you manage the ship, and I'll play cook. We'll not get a very
elaborate meal this time, as I shall have to pay occasional visits to
the motor, which isn't running just to suit me."
The electrical stove was set going, and some soup and beefsteak from
among the stores, was put on the fire. In spite of the fact that the
day was a warm one in October, it was quite cool in the cabin, until
the stove took off the chill. The temperature of the upper regions was
several degrees below that of the earth. At times the ship passed
through little wisps of vapor-clouds in the making.
"Isn't this wonderful!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he sat in an easy
chair, partaking of some of the food. "To think that I have lived to
see the day when I can take my lunch a mile in the air, with a craft
flying along like a bird. Bless my knife and fork but it certainly is
wonderful."
Mr. Sharp relieved Tom at the wheel, while the young inventor ate, and
then, with the airship heading southwest, the speed was increased a
trifle, the balloonist desiring to see what the motor could accomplish
under a heavy load.
A drop of several hundred feet was made about an hour later, and, as
this made it warmer, Mr. Damon, who was a great lover of fresh air,
decided to go out on the platform in front of the cabin. This
platform, and a similar one at the rear, was railed about, to prevent
accidents. A fine view could be had from them much better than through
the floor windows of the car.
"Be careful of the propeller," advised Tom, as his friend went
outside. "I don't believe you're tall enough to be hit by the blades,
but don't take any chances of standing on your tiptoes."
"Bless my pocket handkerchief, indeed I'll not," came the answer. "But
I think I shall wrap up my throat in the scarf I brought along. I am
subject to neuralgia, and the breeze may bring on an attack of it."
Wrapping along, woolen scarf about his neck, the eccentric man
ventured out on the open platform. About the middle of it, but
sufficiently high to be above a person's head, was the forward
propeller, whirring around at swift speed.
Tom, with his eye on the various gauges and the compass, was steering
the airship. He glanced at Mr. Damon, who appeared to be enjoying the
view from the platform. For an instant the eyes of the lad were taken
from the form of his friend. He looked back suddenly, however, his
attention attracted by a smothered cry. He was horrified by what he
saw.
Mr. Damon was leaning far over the edge of the railing, with nothing
between him and the earth a thousand feet below. He seemed to have
lost his balance and had toppled forward, being doubled up on the iron
pipe railing, his hands hanging limply over. Then, as Tom cried to Mr.
Sharp to shut off the motor, the lad saw that, hanging to the blade of
the propeller, and being whirled around in its revolutions, was a part
of Mr. Damon's red scarf.
"Hurry! Hurry, Mr. Sharp!" yelled Tom, not daring to let go the
steering wheel, for fear the ship would encounter a treacherous
current and tilt. "Hurry to Mr. Damon!"
"What's the matter?" asked the balloonist.
"He's dead-or unconscious-hanging over the railing. He seems to be
slipping! Hurry, or it will be too late!"
Chapter 14 - Andy Gives The Clue
When Mr. Swift followed the chief of police and the constable to the
town hall his mind was filled with many thoughts. All his plans for
revolutionizing submarine travel, were, of course, forgotten, and he
was only concerned with the charge that had been made against his son.
It seemed incredible, yet the officers were not ones to perpetrate a
joke. The chief and constable had driven from town in a carriage, and
they now invited the inventor to ride back with them.
"Do you mean to tell me a warrant has actually been sworn out against
my son, Chief?" asked the father, when they were near the town hall.
"That's just what I mean to say, Mr. Swift, and, I'm sorry, on your
account, that I have to serve it."
"Hub! Don't look like you was goin' to serve it," remarked the
constable. "He's skipped out."
"That's all right, Higby," went on the chief. "I'll catch em both.
Even if they have escaped in an airship with their booty, I'll nab
'em. I'll have a general alarm out all over the country in less than
an hour. They can't stay up in the air forever."
"A warrant for Tom-my son," murmured Mr. Swift, as if he could not
believe it
"Yes, and for that Damon man, too," added the chief. "I want him as
well as Tom, and I'll get 'em."
"Would you mind letting me see the warrants?" asked the inventor, and
the official passed them over. The documents were made out in regular
form, and the complaints had been sworn to by Isaac Pendergast, the
bank president.
"I can't understand it," went on Tom's father. "Seventy-five thousand
dollars. It's incredible! Why!" he suddenly exclaimed, "it can't be
true. Just before he left, Mr. Damon-"
"Yes, what did he do?" asked the chief eagerly, thinking he might
secure some valuable evidence.
"I guess I'll say nothing until I have seen the bank president,"
replied Mr. Swift, and the official was obviously disappointed.
The inventor found Mr. Pendergast, and some other bank officials in
the town hall. The financiers were rather angry when they learned that
the accused persons had not been caught, but the chief said he would
soon have them in custody.
"In the meanwhile will you kindly explain, what this means?" asked Mr.
Swift of the president.
"You may come and look at the looted vault, if you like, Mr. Swift,"
replied Mr. Pendergast. "It was a very thorough job, and will
seriously cripple the bank."
There was no doubt that the vault had been forced open, for the locks
and bars were bent and twisted as if by heavy tools. Mr. Swift made a
careful examination, and was shown the money drawers that had been
smashed.
"This was the work of experts," he declared.
"Exactly what we think," said the president. "Of course we don't
believe your son was a professional bank robber, Mr. Swift. We have a
theory that Mr. Damon did the real work, but that Tom helped him with
the tools he had. There is no doubt about it."
"What right have you to accuse my son?" burst out the aged inventor.
"Why have you any more cause to suspect him than any other lad in
town? Why do you fix on him, and Mr. Damon? I demand to know."
"Mr. Damon's eccentric actions for a few days past, and his well-known
oddity of character make him an object of suspicion," declared the
president in judicial tones. "As for Tom, we have, I regret to say,
even better evidence against him."
"But what is it? What? Who gave you any clues to point to my son?"
"Do you really wish to know?"
"I certainly do," was the sharp reply. Mr. Swift, the police and
several bank officials were now in the president's office. The latter
pressed an electric bell, and, when a messenger answered, he said
"Send young Foger here."
At the mention of this name, Mr. Swift started. He well knew the red-
haired bully was an enemy of his son. Andy entered, walking rather
proudly at the attention he attracted.
"This is Mr. Swift," said the president.
"Aw, I know him," blurted out Andy.
"You will please tell him what you told us," went on Mr. Pendergast.
"Well, I seen Tom Swift hanging around this bank with burglar tools in
his possession last night, just before it was robbed," exclaimed the
squint-eyed lad triumphantly.
"Hanging around the bank last night with burglar tools?" repeated Mr.
Swift, in dazed tones.
"That's right," from Andy.
"How do you know they were burglar tools?"
"Because I saw 'em!" cried Andy. "He had 'em in a valise on his motor-
cycle. He was standing at the corner, waiting for a chance to break
into the bank, and when me and Sam Snedecker saw him, he pretended to
be fixin' his machine. Then the bag of burglar tools fell off, the
satchel came open, and I seen 'em! That's how I know."
"And you're sure they were burglar tools?" asked the chief, for he
depended on Andy to be his most important witness.
"Sure I am. I seen a picture of burglar tools once, and the ones Tom
had was just like 'em. Long-handled wrenches, brace an' bits, an' all.
He tried to hide 'em, but me an' Sam was too quick for him. He wanted
to lick me, too."
"No doubt you deserved it," murmured Mr. Swift. "But how do you know
my son was waiting for a chance to break into the bank?"
"'Cause, wasn't it robbed right after he was hangin' around here with
the burglar tools?" inquired Andy, as if that was unanswerable.
"What were you hanging around here for?" Mr. Swift demanded quickly.
"Me? Oh, well, me an' Sam Snedecker was out takin' a walk. That's
all."
"You didn't want to rob the bank, did you?" went on the inventor,
keenly.
"Of course not," roared the bully, indignantly. "I ain't got no
burglar tools."
Andy told more along the same line, but his testimony of having seen
Tom near the bank, with a bag of odd tools could not be shaken. In
fact it was true, as far as it went, but, of course, the tools were
only those for the airship; the same ones Mr. Sharp had sent the lad
after. Sam Snedecker was called in after Andy, and told substantially
the same story.
Mr. Swift could not understand it, for he knew nothing of Tom being
sent for the tools, and had not heard any talk at home of the bag of
implements ordered by the balloonist. Still, of course, he knew Tom
had nothing to do with the robbery, and he knew his son had been at
home all the night previous. Still this was rather negative evidence.
But the inventor had one question yet to ask.
"You say you also suspect Mr. Damon of complicity in this affair?" he
went on, to the chief of police.
"We sure do," replied Mr. Simonson.
"Then can you explain?" proceeded the inventor, "how it is that Mr.
Damon has on deposit in this bank a large sum. Would he rob the bank
where his own funds were?"
"We are prepared for that," declared the president. "It is true that
Mr. Damon has about ten thousand dollars in our bank, but we believe
he deposited it only as a blind, so as to cover up his tracks. It is a
deep-laid scheme, and escaping in the airship is part of it. I am
sorry, Mr. Swift, that I have to believe your son and his accomplice
guilty, but I am obliged to. Chief, you had better send out a general
alarm. The airship ought to be easy to trace."
"I'll telegraph at once," said the official.
"And you believe my son guilty, solely on the testimony of these two
boys, who, as is well known, are his enemies?" asked Mr. Swift.
"The clue they gave us is certainly most important," said the
president. "Andy came to us and told what he had seen, as soon as it
became known that the bank had been robbed."
"And I'm going to get the reward for giving information of the
robbers, too!" cried the bully.
"I'm going to have my share!" insisted Sam.
"Ah, then there is a reward offered?" inquired Mr. Swift.
"Five thousand dollars," answered Mr. Pendergast. "The directors, all
of whom are present save Mr. Foger, Andy's father, met early this
morning, and decided to offer that sum."
"And I'm going to get it," announced the redhaired lad again.
Mr. Swift was much downcast. There seemed to be nothing more to say,
and, being a man unversed in the ways of the world, he did not know
what to do. He returned hone. When Mrs. Baggert was made acquainted
with the news, she waxed indignant.
"Our Tom a thief!" she cried. "Why don't they accuse me and Mr.
Jackson and you? The idea! You ought to hire a lawyer, Mr. Swift, and
prosecute those men for slander."
"Do you think it would be a good plan?"
"I certainly do. Why they have no evidence at all! What does that
mean, sneaking Andy Foger amount to? Get a lawyer, and have Tom's
interests looked after."
Mr. Swift, glad to have sane one share the responsibility with, felt
somewhat better when a well-known Shopton attorney assurred him that
the evidence against Tom was of such a flimsy character that it would
scarcely hold in a court of justice.
"But they have warrants for him and Mr. Damon," declared the inventor.
"Very true, but it is easy to swear out a warrant against any one.
It's a different matter to prove a person guilty."
"But they can arrest my son."
"Yes--if they catch him. However, we can soon have him released on
bail."
"It's disgraceful," said Mrs. Baggert.
"Not at all, my dear madam, not at all. Good and innocent persons have
been arrested."
"They are going to send out a general alarm for my son," bewailed Mr.
Swift.
"Yes, but I fancy it will be some time before they catch him and Mr.
Damon, if the airship holds together. I can't think of a better way to
keep out of the clutches of the police, and their silly charge,"
chuckled the lawyer. "Now don't worry, Mr. Swift. It will all come out
right.
The inventor tried to believe so, but, though he knew his son was
innocent, it was rather hard to see, within the next few days, big
posters on all the vacant walls and fences, offering a reward of five
thousand dollars for the arrest of Tom Swift and Wakefield Damon, who
were charged with having flown away in an airship with seventyfive
thousand dollars of the bank's money.
"I guess Tom Swift will wish he'd been more decent to me when I
collect that money for his arrest," said Andy to his crony, Sam, the
day the bills were posted.
"Yes, but I get my share, don't I?" asked Sam.
"Sure," answered the bully. "I wish they'd hurry up and arrest him."
Within the next few days the country was covered with posters telling
of the robbery and the reward, and police officials in cities large
and small, and in towns and villages, were notified by telegraph to
arrest and capture, at any cost the occupants of a certain large, red
airship.
Mr. Swift, on the advice of his lawyer, sent several telegrams to Tom,
apprising him of what had happened. The telegraph company was asked to
rush the telegrams to the first city when word came in that the Red
Cloud had landed.
Chapter 15 - Fired Upon
Tom's excited call to the aeronaut, telling of the mishap to Mr.
Damon, was answered immediately. Mr. Sharp jumped forward from the
motor compartment, and, passing on his way the electric switch, he
yanked it out, stopping the machinery, and the great propellers. Then
he leaped out on the platform.
But something else happened. Just before the accident to the eccentric
man, desiring to give a further test to the planes, the gas had been
shut off, making the airship an aeroplane instead of a dirigible
balloon. Consequently, as soon as the forward motion ceased the great
ship began falling.
"We're sinking! We're sinking!" cried Tom, forgetting for a moment
that he was not in his motor-boat.
"Slant your rudder up, and glide downward as slowly as you can!"
directed Mr. Sharp. "I'll start the engine again as soon as I rescue
him," for it was risky to venture out on the platform with the
propeller whirring, as the dangling piece of scarf might whip around
the balloonist and toss him off.
Mr. Sharp was soon at Mr. Damon's side. He saw that the man was
unconscious, whether from fright or some injury could not then be
determined. There was, however, no sign of a wound.
It was no easy task to carry, half dragging it, the heavy body of Mr.
Damon off the platform, but the aeronaut was a muscular individual,
and long hanging from a trapeze, at great heights, stood him in good
stead.
He brought the unconscious man into the cabin, and then, quickly
returning to the platform, he detached the piece of scarf from the
propeller blade. Next he started the motor, and also turned on the gas
tank, so that the airship, in a few minutes, could float in space
without motion.
"You needn't steer now, Tom," said the balloonist. "Just give me a
hand here."
"Is-is he dead?" inquired the lad, his voice faltering.
"No, his heart's beating. I can't understand what happened."
Mr. Sharp was something of a rough and ready surgeon and doctor, and a
small box of medicines had been brought along in case of emergencies.
With the Red Cloud now lazily floating in the air, for, once the
falling motion had been checked by the engine, the motor had been
stopped again, Mr. Sharp set about restoring Mr. Damon to
consciousness.
It was not long before the man opened his eyes. The color that had
left his cheeks came back, and, after a drink of cold water he was
able to sit up.
"Did I fall?" he asked. "Bless my very existence, but did I tumble off
the airship?"
"No indeed," replied Tom, "though you came pretty near it. How do you
feel? Were you hurt?"
"Oh, I'm all right now-just a trifle dizzy. But I thought sure I was a
goner when I fell over the platform railing," and Mr. Damon could not
repress a shudder. Mr. Sharp administered some more medicine and his
patient was soon able to stand, and move about.
"How did it happen?" inquired the balloonist.
"I hardly know," answered Mr. Damon. "I was out on the platform,
looking at the view, and thinking how much better my neuralgia was,
with the scarf on. Suddenly the wind whipped loose one end of the
scarf, and, before I knew it the cloth had caught on the propeller
blade. I was blown, or drawn to one side, tossed against the railing,
which I managed to grab, and then I lost my senses. It's a good thing
I wasn't whirled around the propeller."
"It's a good thing you weren't tossed down to the earth," commented
Tom, shivering as he thought of his friend's narrow escape.
"I became unconscious, partly because the wind was knocked from me as
I hit the platform railing," went on Mr. Damon, "and partly from
fright, I think. But I'm all right now, and I'm not going out on that
platform again with a loose scarf on."
"I wouldn't go out at all again, if I were you, though, of course, I'm
used to dizzy heights," spoke Mr. Sharp.
"Oh, I'm not so easily frightened," declared Mr. Damon. "If I'm going
to be a balloonist, or an aeroplanist I've got to get used to certain
things. I'm all right now," and the plucky man was, for the blow to
his side did not amount to much. It was some time, however, before Tom
got over the fright his friend had caused him.
They spent that night moving slowly south, and in the morning found
they had covered about a hundred miles, not having run the ship to
anything like its maximum speed. Breakfast was served above the
clouds, for a change, Mr. Damon finding that he could stand the great
height with comfort.
It was three days after the start, and the travelers were proceeding
slowly along. They were totally unaware, of course, of the sensation
which their leaving, conjointly with the bank robbery, had caused, not
only in Shopton but in other places.
"We're over a good-sized city," announced Tom, on the noon of the
third day. "Suppose we drop down, and leave some message? Dad will be
anxious to hear from us."
"Good idea," commented Mr. Sharp. "Down it is. Shift the rudder."
Tom proceeded to do so, and, while Mr. Damon relieved him at the wheel
the young inventor prepared a message to his father. It was placed in
a weighted envelope, together with a sum of money, and the person
picking it up was requested to send the letter as a telegram,
retaining some money for his trouble.
As the ship got lower and lower over the city the usual crowds could
be seen congregating in the streets, pointing and gazing upward.
"We're creating quite a stir," observed Tom.
"More than usual, it seems," added Mr. Sharp, peering down. "I
declare, there seems to be a police parade under way."
"That's right," put in Mr. Damon, for, looking down, a squad of
uniformed officers, some on horseback, could be seen hurrying along
the main street, trying to keep pace with the airship, which was
moving slowly.
"They're looking at us through telescopes," called Tom. "Guess they
never saw a balloon down this way."
Nearer and nearer to the city dropped the Red Cloud. Tom was about to
let go the weighted envelope, when, from the midst of the police came
several puffs of white smoke. It was followed by vicious, zipping
sounds about the cabin of the ship, the windows of which were open.
Then came the reports of several rifles.
"They're firing at us!" yelled Tom.
"So they are!" cried Mr. Sharp. "They must be crazy! Can't they see
that we're not a bird."
"Maybe they take us for a war balloon," suggested Mr. Damon.
Another volley was directed at the airship, and several bullets struck
the big aluminum gas holder glancing blows.
"Here! Quit that!" yelled Tom, leaning out of the window. "Are you
crazy? You'll damage us!"
"They can't hear you," called Mr. Sharp.
A third volley was fired, and this time several persons other than
police officers seemed to be shooting at the airship. Revolvers as
well as rifles were being used.
"We're got to get out of this!" shouted Mr. Sharp, as a bullet sang
uncomfortably close to his head. "I can't imagine what's gotten into
the people. Send her up, Tom!"
The lad quickly shifted the elevation rudder, and the Red Cloud sailed
majestically aloft. The young inventor had not dropped his message,
concluding that citizens who would fire on travelers of the air for no
reason, would not be likely to accommodate them in the matter of
sending messages.
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