CHAPTER XXIII
THE FORLORN HOPE
Hiram and Brackett joined the young aviator in a rush for the passagewayleading to the pilot room. It was from that direction that the cry hadechoed.
A sharp, double danger signal rang out from the engine room. There weresounds of distant shouts. The yell was repeated. Some keen intuitiondrove Dave to the stateroom which had served as invalid ward for the manrescued from the raft.
“Hiram,” cried the young aviator, “Davidson is gone!”
“Why, it can’t be! Say—whew! suppose he’s gone wild, and is rambling allover the ship among that machinery!”
Snap—crack! Following upon the echoes of that second terrific cry, adisturbing thing had happened—every electric light in the _Albatross_went out!
To add to the confusion and terror of the moment, in the direction ofthe engine room there rang out a thumping, crashing sound, as if somedisjointed part of the machinery was beating things to pieces like asteel flail.
“Stand still,” ordered Dave, sharply, “don’t try to grope about in thedark. It’s no use.”
The young aviator felt his way out into a corridor leading to the supplyroom. It was a fortunate thing that he had familiarized himself witheverything about the place. Dave located a certain cabinet, and openingone of its drawers, took out what he was after—an armful of electrichand lights carrying their own batteries.
“Here, Hiram, Brackett,” he called, flashing one of the tubes. “Takesome of these. Follow me. I don’t know that the people in the enginerooms have any way of getting a light. Let us hurry to them.”
“Hold on!” shouted a new voice, and Grimshaw bolted upon the scene.“What’s the trouble?”
“We don’t know, but something pretty serious, I imagine,” replied Dave,quickly. “Take these.”
He furnished Grimshaw with two of the electric tubes. Then Dave led theway to the pilot room. He found Mr. King lighting matches to get somekind of illumination, and as ignorant themselves as to the condition ofaffairs. The aviator at once led a rush in the direction of the engineroom. They arrived at the ante-chamber leading to it to come upon astirring scene.
A small hand lamp only illuminated the apartment. It contained four men,the professor, two of his assistants, and these latter were holding tothe floor and battling with and binding hand and foot a wild, strugglingmaniac—Roger Davidson.
“He got loose!” cried the aviator, at once reading the situation.
“And in his frenzy has done terrible damage to the _Albatross_,”exclaimed Professor Leblance, pale, disturbed and anxious-faced. “It isvery serious, I fear. Get him away to the cabin as speedily as you can,and watch him every minute. You, Mr. King, resume your post at the pilottable. Dashaway, hurry all the spare light tubes here.”
There was a shivery, uncertain wobble to the giant airship now. Theprodigious construction resembled some monster machine that had receiveda vital wound. Dave hastened on his mission. As he returned to theengine room he passed Hiram, Brackett and one of the assistants,carrying Davidson back to the stateroom.
Mr. King was at his post at the pilot table, and looked worried andhelpless. The electric apparatus of the airship having been destroyed,he could only sit and use the speaking tubes.
Dave found the engine room in hideous disorder. The engine was not inoperation, and parts of it were all out of order. The professor and hismen were getting a reserve engine in shape. For over an hour, silently,and deeply engrossed in all that was going on, the young aviator placedthe light tubes as directed, and brought this and that tool andmachine-fitting to the workmen as Professor Leblance ordered.
Dave saw the new engine started up. The professor held a long, whisperedconversation with one of his men. Then he beckoned to Dave and led theway to the pilot room.
The Frenchman sank into a chair there, his face gray and careworn. Theywere three anxious ones. Leblance passed his hand over his eyes wearily,as if he had gone through a terrible ordeal.
“Well?” said the aviator simply.
“That maniac threw an iron bar into the machinery. He has ruinedeverything,” announced Leblance.
“But the new engine?”
“Can only operate the rudder control. The entire mechanism ispractically destroyed, my friends. I must not conceal from you that thesituation is desperate, dangerous, almost hopeless!”
“But we are still running, Professor?” submitted the aviator.
“With one forlorn hope in view.”
“Of reaching the end of our voyage?”
“That we can never hope for,” declared the Frenchman, in a gloomy tone.
“Then—what?” bluntly demanded the aviator.
Leblance arose to his feet, running one hand over his eyes with a swiftmovement as if to restore impaired vision or brush away tears. Heproceeded to a map attached to the wall just above the pilot table. Hisfingers traced the course already traversed by the _Albatross_.
“We are here,” he said, halting the faltering index. “Ahead, observe, isan island. It is two hundred miles southwest of the coast of France. Wemay possibly reach it by exhausting every utility we possess. If we donot, within the next forty-eight hours——”
The professor shrugged his shoulders slowly, sadly this time. Anexpression of ineffable solemnity crossed his noble face.
He pointed down as if indicating unknown depths waiting to swallow themup. Then he again ran his finger across the map, pausing at that littledark speck that marked the island.
“A change of wind,” he said, “a single break in the apparatus, atrifling leak, and we are at the mercy of the mishap of our lives! Thatisland—it is our last forlorn hope!”