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Account of a Tour in Normandy, Vol. I. (of 2)
by
Dawson Turner

LETTER I.

ARRIVAL AT DIEPPE--SITUATION AND APPEARANCE OF THE TOWN--COSTUME OF THE
PEOPLE--INHABITANTS OF THE SUBURB OF POLLET.


(_Dieppe, June_, 1818)

MY DEAR SIR,

You, who were never at sea, can scarcely imagine the pleasure we felt,
when, after a passage of unusual length, cooped up with twenty-four
other persons in a packet designed only for twelve, and after having
experienced every variety that could he afforded by a dead calm, a
contrary wind, a brisk gale in our favor, and, finally, by being obliged
to lie three hours in a heavy swell off this port, we at last received
on board our French pilot, and saw hoisted on the pier the white flag,
the signal of ten feet water in the harbor. The general appearance of
the coast, near Dieppe, is similar to that which we left at Brighton;
but the height of the cliffs, if I am not mistaken, is greater. They
vary along the shores of Upper Normandy from one hundred and fifty to
seven hundred feet, or even more; the highest lying nearly mid-way
between this town and Havre, in the vicinity of Fecamp; and they present
an unbroken barrier, of a dazzling white[1], except when they dip into
some creek or cove, or open to afford a passage to some river or
streamlet. Into one of these, a boat from the opposite shores of Sussex
shot past us this afternoon, with the rapidity of lightning. She was a
smuggler, and, in spite of the army of Douaniers employed in France,
ventured to make the land in the broad face of day, carrying most
probably a cargo, composed principally of manufactured goods in cotton
and steel. The crew of our vessel, no bad authority in such cases,
assured us, that lace is also sent in considerable quantities as a
contraband article into France; though, as is well known, much of it
likewise comes in the same quality into England, and there are perhaps
few of our travellers, who return entirely without it. On the same
authority, I am enabled to state, what much surprised me, that the
smuggled goods exported from Sussex into Normandy exceed by nearly an
hundred fold those received in return.

The first approach to Dieppe is extremely striking. To embark in the
evening at Brighton, sleep soundly in the packet, and find yourself, as
is commonly the case, early the next morning under the piers of this
town, is a transition, which, to a person unused to foreign countries,
can scarcely fail to appear otherwise than as a dream; so marked and so
entire is the difference between the air of elegance and mutual
resemblance in the buildings, of smartness approaching to splendor in
the equipages, of fashion in the costume, of the activity of commerce in
the movements, and of newness and neatness in every part of the one,
contrasted in the other with a strong character of poverty and neglect,
with houses as various in their structure as in their materials, with
dresses equally dissimilar in point of color, substance, and style, with
carriages which seem never to have known the spirit of improvement, and
with a general listlessness of manner, the result of indolence, apathy,
and want of occupation. With all this, however, the novelty which
attends the entrance of the harbor at Dieppe, is not only striking, but
interesting. It is not thus at Calais, where half the individuals you
meet in the streets are of your own country; where English fashions and
manufactures are commonly adopted; and where you hear your native
tongue, not only in the hotels, but even the very beggars follow you
with, "I say, give me un sou, s'il vous please." But this is not the
only advantage which the road by Dieppe from London to Paris possesses,
over that by Calais. There is a saving of distance, amounting to twenty
miles on the English, and sixty on the French side of the water; the
expence is still farther decreased by the yet lower rate of charges at
the inns; and, while the ride to the French metropolis by the one route
is through a most uninteresting country, with no other objects of
curiosity than Amiens, Beauvais, and Abbeville; by the other it passes
through a province unrivalled for its fertility and for the beauty of
its landscape, and which is allowed by the French themselves to be the
garden of the kingdom. Rouen, Vernon, Mantes, and St. Germain, names all
more or less connected with English history, successively present
themselves to the traveller; and, during the greater part of his
journey, his path lies by the side of a noble stream, diversified beyond
almost every other by the windings of its channel, and the islands which
stud its surface. The only evil to counterbalance the claims of Dieppe
is, that the packets do not sail daily, although they profess and
actually advertise to that effect; but wait till what they consider a
sufficient freight of passengers is assembled, so that, either at Dieppe
or Brighton, a person runs the risk of being detained, as has more than
once happened to myself, a circumstance that never occurs at Dover.
There is still a third point of passage upon our southern coast, and one
that has of late been considerably frequented, from Southampton to
Havre; but this I never tried, and do not know what it has to recommend
it, except to those who are proceeding to Caen or to the western parts
of France. The voyage is longer and more uncertain, the distance by land
between London and Paris is also greater, nor does it offer equal
facilities as to inns and public carriages.

Dieppe is situated on a low tongue of land, but from the sea appears to
great advantage; characterized as it is by its old castle, an assemblage
of various forms and ages, placed insulated upon an eminence to the west,
and by the domes and towers of its churches. The mouth of the harbor is
narrow, and inclosed by two long stone piers, on one of which stands an
elegant crucifix, raised by the fathers of the mission; to the other has
lately been affixed a stone, with an inscription, stating that the
Duchess d'Angouleme landed there on her return to her native country;
but here is no measure of her foot, no votive pillar, as are to be seen
at Calais, to commemorate a similar honor done to the inhabitants by the
monarch. A small house on the western pier, is, however, more deserving
of notice than either the inscription or the crucifix: it was built by
Louis XVIth, for the residence of a sailor, who, by saving the lives of
shipwrecked mariners, had deserved well of his sovereign and his
country. Its front bears, "A J'n. A'r. Bouzard, pour ses services
maritimes;" but there was originally a second inscription in honor of
the king, which has been carefully erased. The fury of the revolution
could pardon nothing that bore the least relation to royalty; or surely
a monument like this, the reward of courage and calculated to inspire
only the best of feelings[2], might have been allowed to have remained
uninjured. The French are wiser than we are in erecting these public
memorials for public virtues: they better understand the art of
producing an effect, and they know that such gratifications bestowed
upon the living are seldom thrown away. We rarely give them but to the
dead. Capt. Manby, to whom above one hundred and thirty shipwrecked
mariners are even now indebted for their existence, and whose invention
will probably be the means of preservation to thousands, is allowed to
live in comparative obscurity; while in France, a mere pilot, for
having saved the lives of only eight individuals, had a residence built
for him at the public expence, received an immediate gratification of
one thousand francs, enjoyed a pension during his life, and, with his
name and his exploits, now occupies a conspicuous place in the history
of the duchy.

Within the piers, the harbor widens into a stone basin, capable of
holding two hundred vessels, and full of water at the flow of the tide;
but at the ebb exhibiting little more than a sheet of mud, with a small
stream meandering through it. Round the harbor is built the town, which
contains above twenty thousand inhabitants, and is singularly
picturesque, as well from its situation, backed as it is by the steep
cliff to the east, which, instead of terminating here abruptly, takes an
inland direction, as from the diversity in the forms and materials of
the houses of the quay, some of which are of stone, others of grey
flint, more of plaster with their timbers uncovered and painted of
different colors, but most of brick, not uncommonly ornamented, with
roofs as steep as those of the Thuilleries, and full of projecting
lucarnes. This remark, however, applies only to the quay: in its
streets, Dieppe is conspicuous among French towns for the uniformity of
its buildings. After the bombardment in 1694, when the English, foiled
near Brest, wreaked their vengeance upon Dieppe, and reduced the whole
to ashes, the town was rebuilt on a regular plan, agreeably to a royal
ordinance. Hence this is commonly regarded as one of the handsomest
places in France, and you will find it mentioned as such by most
authors; but the unfortunate architect who was employed in rebuilding
it, got no other reward than general complaints and the nickname of M.
Gateville. The inconveniences arising from the arrangements of the
houses which he erected must have been serious; for we find that sixty
years afterwards an order of council was procured, allowing the
inhabitants to make some alterations that they considered most essential
to their comfort. Upon the quay there is occasionally somewhat of the
activity of commerce; but elsewhere it is as I have observed before, as
well with the people as the buildings. As far as the houses are
concerned, a little care and paint would remove their squalid aspect: to
an English eye it is singularly offensive; but it cannot possibly be so
to the French, among whom it seems almost universal.

To a painter Dieppe must be a source of great delight: the situation,
the buildings, the people offer an endless variety; but nothing is more
remarkable than the costume of the females of the middle and lower
classes, most of whom wear high pyramidal caps, with long lappets
entirely concealing their hair, red, blue, or black corsets, large
wooden shoes, black stockings, and full scarlet petticoats of the
coarsest woollen, pockets of some different die attached to the outside,
and not uncommonly the appendage of a key or corkscrew: occasionally too
the color of their costume is still farther diversified by a chequered
handkerchief and white apron. The young are generally pretty; the old,
tanned and ugly; and the transition from youth to age seems
instantaneous: labor and poverty have destroyed every intermediate
gradation; but, whether young or old, they have all the same
good-humored look, and appear generally industrious, though almost
incessantly talking. Even on Sundays or feast-days, bonnets are seldom
to be seen, but round their necks are suspended large silver or gilt
ornaments, usually crosses, while long gold ear-rings drop from either
side of their head, and their shoes frequently glitter with paste
buckles of an enormous size. Such is the present costume of the females
at Dieppe, and throughout the whole Pays de Caux; and in this
description, the lover of antiquarian research will easily trace a
resemblance to the attire of the women of England, in the XVth and XVIth
centuries. As to the cap, which the Cauchoise wears when she appears _en
grand costume_, its very prototype is to be found in _Strutt's Ancient
Dresses_. Decorated with silver before, and with lace streaming behind,
it towers on the head of the stiff-necked complacent wearer, whose locks
appear beneath, arrayed with statuary precision. Nor is its antiquity
solely confined to its form and fashion; for, descending from the great
grandmother to the great grand-daughter, it remains as an heir-loom in
the family from generation unto generation. In my former visit to
Normandy, three years ago, we first saw this head-dress at the theatre
at Rouen, and my companion was so struck with it that he made the
sketch, of which I send you a copy. The costume of the females of
somewhat higher rank is very becoming: they wear muslin caps, opening in
front to shew their graceful ringlets, colored gowns, scarlet
handkerchiefs, and black aprons.

[Illustration: Head-Dress of Women of the Pays de Caux]

But nothing connected with the costume or manners of the people at
Dieppe is equally interesting as what refers to the inhabitants of the
suburb called Pollet; and I will therefore conclude my letter, by
extracting from the historian of the place[3] his account of these men,
which, though written many years ago, is true in the main even in our
days, and it is to be hoped will, in its most important respects,
continue so for a length of time to come. "Three-fourths of the natives
of this part of the town are fishermen, and not less effectually
distinguished from the citizens of Dieppe by their name of Poltese,
taken from their place of residence, than by the difference in their
dress and language, the simplicity of their manners, and the narrow
extent of their acquirements. To the present hour they continue to
preserve the same costume as in the XVIth century; wearing trowsers
covered with wide short petticoats, which open in the middle to afford
room for the legs to move, and woollen waistcoats laced in the front
with ribands, and tucked below into the waistband of their trowsers.
Over these waistcoats is a close coat, without buttons or fastenings of
any kind, which falls so low as to hide their petticoats and extend a
foot or more beyond them. These articles of apparel are usually of cloth
or serge of a uniform color, and either red or blue; for they interdict
every other variation, except that all the seams of their dress are
faced with white silk galloon, full an inch in width. To complete the
whole, instead of hats, they have on their heads caps of velvet or
colored cloth, forming a _tout-ensemble_ of attire, which is evidently
ancient, but far from unpicturesque or displeasing. Thus clad, the
Poltese, though in the midst of the kingdom, have the appearance of a
distinct and foreign colony; whilst, occupied incessantly in fishing,
they have remained equally strangers to the civilization and
politeness, which the progress of letters during the last two centuries
has diffused over France. Nay, scarcely are they acquainted with four
hundred words of the French language; and these they pronounce with an
idiom exclusively their own, adding to each an oath, by way of epithet;
a habit so inveterate with them, that even at confession, at the moment
of seeking absolution for the practice, it is no uncommon thing with
them to _swear_ they will be guilty of it no more. To balance, however,
this defect, their morals are uncorrupted, their fidelity is exemplary,
and they are laborious and charitable, and zealous for the honor of
their country, in whose cause they often bleed, as well as for their
priests, in defence of whom they once threatened to throw the Archbishop
of Rouen into the river, and were well nigh executing their threats."

Footnotes:

[1] The chalk in the cliff, in the immediate vicinity of Dieppe, is
divided at intervals of about two feet each by narrow strata of flint,
generally horizontal, and composed in some cases of separate nodules,
which are not uncommonly split, in others of a continuous compressed
mass, about two or three inches thick and of very uncertain extent, but
the strata are not regular.

[2] _Goube Histoire de Normandie_, III. p. 188.--In _Cadet Gassicourt
Lettres sur Normandie_, I. p. 68, the story of Bouzard is given still
more at length.

[3] _Histoire de Dieppe_, II. p. 56.


[Illustration: Entrance to the Castle at Dieppe]

LETTER II.

DIEPPE--CASTLE--CHURCHES--HISTORY OF THE PLACE--FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION.


(_Dieppe, June_, 1818.)

The bombardment of this town, alluded to in my last, was so effectual in
its operation, that, excepting the castle and the two churches, the
place can boast of little to arrest the attention of the antiquary, or
of the curious traveller. These three objects were indeed almost all
that escaped the conflagration; and for this they were indebted to their
insulated situations, the first on an eminence unconnected with the
houses of the place, the other two in their respective cemeteries.

The hill on which the castle stands is steep; and the building, as well
from its position, as from its high walls, flanked with towers and
bastions, has an imposing appearance. In its general outline it bears a
resemblance to the castle of Stirling, but it has not the same claims to
attention in an architectural point of view. It is a confused mass of
various aeras, and its parts are chiefly modern: nor is there any single
feature that deserves to be particularized for beauty or singularity;
yet, as a whole, a picturesque and pleasing effect results from the very
confusion and irregularity of its towers, roofs, and turrets; and this
is also enhanced by a row of lofty arches, thrown across a ravine near
the entrance, supporting the bridge, and appearing at a distance like
the remains of a Roman aqueduct. What seems to be the most ancient part
is a high quadrangular tower with lofty pointed pannels in the four
walls; and though inferior in antiquity, an observer accustomed only to
the English castellated style, is struck by the variety of numerous
circular towers with conical roofs, resembling those which flanked the
gates of the town. Some of these gates still remain perfect; and one of
them, leading to the sea, now serves as a military prison. It was the
Sieur des Marets[4], the first governor of the place, who began this
castle shortly after the year 1443, when Louis the XIth, then dauphin,
freed Dieppe from the dominion of the English, attacking in person, and
carrying by assault, the formidable fortress, constructed by Talbot, in
the suburb of Pollet. Of this, not a vestige now remains: the whole was
levelled with the ground in 1689; though, at a period of one hundred and
twenty years after it was originally taken and dismantled, it had again
been made a place of strength by the Huguenots, and had been still
further fortified under Henry IVth, in whose reign the present castle
was completed; for it was not till this time that permission was given
to the inhabitants to add to it a keep. In its perfect state, whilst
defended by this keep, and still further protected by copious out-works
and bomb-proof casemates, its strength was great; but the period of its
power was of short duration; for the then perturbed state of France
naturally gave rise to anxiety on the part of the government, lest
fortresses should serve as rallying points to the faction of the league;
and the castle of Dieppe was consequently left with little more than
the semblance of its former greatness.

Of the churches here, that of St. Jaques is considerably the finest
building, and is indeed an excellent specimen of what has been called
the _decorated English style of architecture_, the style of this church
nearly coinciding in its principal lines with that which prevailed in
our own country during the reigns of the second and third Edward. It was
begun about the year 1260, but was little advanced at the commencement
of the following century; nor were its nineteen chapels, the works of
the piety of individuals, completed before 1350. The roof of the choir
remained imperfect till ninety years afterwards, whilst that of the
transept is as recent as 1628[5]. The most ancient work is discernible
in the transepts, but the lines are obscured by later additions. A
cloister gallery fronted by delicate mullions runs round the nave and
choir, and the extent and arrangement of the exterior would induce a
stranger, unacquainted with the history of the building, to suppose that
he was entering a conventual or cathedral church. The parts long most
generally admired by the French, though they have always been miserable
judges of gothic architecture, were the vaulted roof, and the pendants
of the Lady-Chapel. The latter were originally ornamented with female
figures, representing the Sibyls, made of colored terra cotta, and of
such excellent workmanship, that Cardinal Barberini, when he visited
this chapel in 1647, declared he had seen nothing of the kind, not even
in Italy, superior to them for the beauty and delicacy of their
execution; but they are now gone, and, according to Noel[6], were
destroyed at the time of the bombardment. The state, however, of the
roof does not seem to warrant this observation; and, contrary also to
what he says, the pendants between the Lady-Chapel and the choir are
still perfect, and serve, together with numerous small canopies in the
chapel itself, to give a clear idea of what the whole must have been
originally. One of the most elegant of the decorations of the church is
a spirally-twisted column, elaborately carved, with a peculiarly
fanciful and beautiful capital, placed against a pillar that separates
the two south-eastern chapels of the choir. The richest object is a
stone-screen to a chantry on the north side, which is divide into
several canopies, whose upper part is still full of a profusion of
sculpture, though the lower is sadly mutilated. I could not ascertain
its history or use; but I do not suppose it is of earlier date than the
age of Francis Ist, as the Roman or Italian style is blended with the
Gothic arch. The Chapel of the Sepulchre, is not uncommonly pointed out
as an object of admiration. There is certainly some, handsome sculpture
round the portal; but it is not this for which your admiration is
required: you are told that the chapel was made in 1612, at the expence
of a traveller, then just returned from Palestine, and that it offers a
faithful representation of the Holy Sepulchre itself at Jerusalem; by
which if we are to understand that the wretched, grisly, painted, wooden
figures of the three Maries, and other holy women and holy men,
assembled round a disgusting representation of the dead Saviour, have
their prototype in Judea, I can only add I am sorry for it: for my own
part, putting aside all question of the propriety or effect of
symbolical worship, and meaning nothing offensive to the Romish faith, I
must be allowed to say that most assuredly I can conceive nothing less
qualified to excite feelings of devotion, or more certain to awaken
contempt and loathing, than the images of this description, the
tinselled virgins, and the wretched daubs, nick-named paintings, which
abound in the churches of Picardy and Normandy, the only catholic
provinces which I have yet visited; so that, if the taste of the
inhabitants is to be estimated by the decoration of the religious
buildings, this faculty must be rated very low indeed. The exterior of
the church is as richly ornamented as the inside; and not a buttress,
arch, or canopy is without the remains of crumbled carving, worn by
time, or disfigured by the ruder hand of calvinistic or revolutionary
violence. Tradition refers the erection of this edifice to the English.
From the certainty with which a date may be assigned to almost every
part, it is very interesting to the lover of architecture. The
Lady-Chapel is also perhaps one of the last specimens of Gothic art, but
still very pure, except in some of the smaller ornaments, such, as the
niches in the tabernacles, which end in escalop shells.

[Illustration: Font in the Church of St. Remi, at Dieppe]

The other church is dedicated to St. Remi, and is a building of the
XVIIth century; though, judging from some of its pillars, it would be
pronounced considerably more ancient. Those of the transept and of the
central tower are lofty and clustered, and of extraordinary thickness;
the rest are circular and plain, and not very unlike the columns of our
earliest Norman or Saxon churches, though of greater proportionate
altitude. The capitals of those in the choir are singularly capricious,
with figures, scrolls, &c.; but it is the capriciousness of the gothic
verging into Grecian, not of the Norman. On the pendants of the nave are
painted various ornaments, each accompanied by a mitre. The eastern has
only a mitre and cross, with the date 1669; the western the same, with
1666; denoting the aera of the edifice, which was scarcely finished, when
a bomb, in 1694, destroyed the roof of the choir, and this remains to
the present hour incomplete. The most remarkable object in the church is
a _benitier_ of coarse red granite, on whose basin is an inscription, to
me illegible. The annexed sketches will give you some idea of it:

[Illustration: Sketch of inscription]

In the letters one looks naturally for a date: the figures that
alternate with them are probably mitres, and, like those on the roof,
indicate the supreme jurisdiction of the Archbishop of Rouen in the
place.

Dieppe itself is, by its own historians[7], said to boast an origin as
early as the days of Charlemagne[8], who is reported to have built a
fortress on the scite of the present town, and to have called it
Bertheville, in honor of the Berthas, his mother and his daughter.
Bertheville was one of the first places taken by the Normans, by whom
the appellation was changed to Dyppe or Dieppe, a word which in their
language is said to signify a good anchorage. Other writers[9], however,
treat the whole of the early chronicle of Dieppe as a fiction, and
maintain, that even at the beginning of the XIth century the town had no
existence, and the place was only known as the port of Arques, within
whose territory it was comprehended; nor was it till the end of the same
century that the inhabitants of Arques were, partly from the convenience
of the fisheries, and partly from the advantages of the salt trade,
induced to form this settlement. Whatever date may be assigned to the
foundation of Dieppe, it is frequently contended that William the
Conqueror embarked here for the invasion of England, and it seems
undoubted that he sailed hence for his new kingdom in the next year,
agreeably to the following passage from Ordericus Vitalis, (p. 509) by
which you will observe, that the river had at that time the same name as
the town, "Deinde sexta nocte Decembris ad ostium amnis Deppae ultra
oppidtim Archas accessit, primaque vigilia gelidae noctis Austro vela
dedit, et mane portum oppositi littoris, (quem Vvicenesium vocitant)
prospero cursu arripuit." In 1188, our Henry II built a castle upon the
same hill on which the present fortress stands. This strong hold,
however, afforded little protection; for we find that, in 1195, Philip
Augustus of France, entering Normandy with an hostile army, laid siege
to Dieppe, and set fire not only to the town, but also to the shipping
in the harbor. Two years subsequently to this event, Dieppe ceased to
form a part of the demesne of the Sovereign of the Duchy. Richard the
Ist had given great offence to Walter, Archbishop of Rouen, by
persisting in the erection of Chateau Gaillard, in the vicinity of
Andelys, which belonged to the archbishop in right of his see; and
though our lion-hearted monarch was not appalled either by the papal
interdict or by the showers of blood that fell upon his workmen, yet at
length he thought it advisable to purchase at once the forgiveness of
the prelate and the secular seignory of Andelys, by surrendering to him,
as an equivalent, the towns and lordships of Dieppe and Louviers, the
land and forest of Alihermont, the land and lordship of Bouteilles, and
the mills of Rouen. This exchange was regarded as so great a subject of
triumph to the archbishop, that he caused the memory of it to be
perpetuated by inscriptions upon crosses in various parts of Rouen, some
of which remained as late as 1610, when Taillepied wrote his _Recueil
des Antiquitez et Singularitez de la Ville de Rouen_. The following
lines are given as one of these inscriptions in the _Gallia
Christiana_[10]:

"Vicisti, Galtere, tui sunt signa triumphi
Deppa, Locoveris, Alacris-mons, Butila, molta,
Deppa maris portus, Alacris-mons locus amoenus,
Villa Locoveris, rus Butila, molta per urbem.
Hactenus haec Regis Richardi jura fuere;
Haec rex sancivit, haec papa, tibique tuere[11]."

Nor was this the only memorial of the fact; for the advantages of the
exchange were so generally recognized, that the name of Walter became
proverbial; and to this day it is said in Normandy of a man who
over-reaches another, "c'est un fin Gautier." It might be inferred from
the terms of the bargain in which Dieppe merely appears as one of the
items of the account, that it was then a place of little consequence;
yet, one of the old chroniclers speaks of it at the time it was taken by
the French under Philip Augustus, as

"portus fama celeberrimus atque
Villa potens opibus."

These historians, however, of former days are not always the most
accurate; but from this period the annals of the place are preserved,
and at certain epochs it is far from unimportant in French history: as,
when Talbot raised in 1442 the fortress called the Bastille, a defence
so strong and in so well-chosen a situation, that even Vauban honored
its memory by lamenting its destruction; when the inhabitants fought
with the Flemings in the channel, in 1555; when Henry IVth, with an army
of less than four thousand men, fled hither in 1589, as to his last
place of refuge, winning the hearts of the people by his frank
address:--"Mes amis, point de ceremonie, je ne demande que vos coeurs,
bon pain, bon vin, et bon visage d'hotes;" and when, as I have already
mentioned, the town sustained from our fleet a bombardment of three
days' duration, and was reduced by it to ashes.

For the excellence of its sailors, Dieppe has at all times been
renowned: no less an authority than the President de Thou has pronounced
them to be men, "penes quos praecipua rei nauticae gloria semper fuit;"
and they have proved their claims to this encomium, not only by having
supplied to the navy of France the celebrated Abraham Du Quesne, the
successful rival of the great Ruyter, but still more so by having taken
the lead in expeditions to Florida[12]; by having established a colony
for the promotion of the fur trade in Canada, if indeed they were not
the original discoverers of that country; and by having been the first
Christians who ever made a settlement on the coast of Senegal. This
last-mentioned event took place, according to French writers, at as
early a period as the XIVth century; and, though the establishment was
not of long duration, its effects have been permanent; for it is owing
to the consignments of ivory then made to Dieppe, that many of the
inhabitants were induced to become workers in that substance; a trade
which they preserve to the present time, and carry the art to such
perfection that they have few rivals. This and the making of lace are
the principal employments of such of the natives as are not engaged in
the fishery. In the earlier ages of the Duchy, the inhabitants of the
Pays de Caux found a more effectual and important employment in the
salt-works which were then very numerous on the coast, but which have
long since been suffered to fall into decay. Ancient charters, recorded
in the _Neustria Pia_, trace these works on the coast of Dieppe, and at
Bouteilles on the right of the valley of Arques, to as remote a period
as 1027; and they at the same time prove the existence of a canal
between Dieppe and Bouteilles, by which in 1390 vessels loaded with salt
were wont to pass. But here, as in England, such works have been
abandoned, from the greater facility of communication between distant
places, and of obtaining salt by other means.

At present the only manufacture on the beach is that of kelp, for which
a large quantity of the coarser sea-weeds is burned; but the fisheries,
which are not carried on with equal energy in any other port of France,
are the chief support of the place. The sailors of Dieppe were not
confined to their own seas; for they used to pursue the cod fishery on
the coast of Newfoundland with considerable success. The herring fishery
however was a greater staple; and previously to the revolution, when
alone a just estimate could be formed of such matters, the quantity of
herrings caught by the boats belonging to Dieppe averaged more than
eight thousand lasts a year, and realized above L100,000. This fishery
is said to have been established here as early as the XIth century[13].
From sixty to eighty boats, each of about thirty tons and carrying
fifteen men, were annually sent to the eastern coast of England about
the end of August; and then, again, in the middle of October nearly
double the quantity of vessels, but of a smaller size, were engaged in
the same pursuit on their own shores, where the fish by this time
repair. The mackerel fishery was an object of scarcely less importance
than that of herrings, producing in general about one hundred and
seventy thousand barrels annually. Great quantities of these fish are
eaten salted and dried, in which state they afford a general article of
food among the lower classes in Normandy. Surely this would be deserving
of the attention and imitation of our merchants at home. During the war
with England this branch of trade necessarily suffered; but Napoleon did
every thing in his power to assist the town, by giving it peculiar
advantages as to ships sailing under licences. He succeeded in his
views; and, thus patronized, Dieppe flourished exceedingly, and the
gains brought in by the privateers connected with the port, added not a
little to its prosperity. Hence to this hour the inhabitants regret the
peace, although the town cannot fail to be benefitted by the fresh
impulse given to the fisheries, and the quantity of money circulated by
the travellers who are continually passing. Napoleon intended also to
bestow an additional boon upon the place. A canal had been projected
many years ago, in the time of the Marechal de Vauban, and was to have
extended to Pontoise, through the fertile districts of Gournay and
Neufchatel, and to have communicated by different branches with the
Seine and Oise. This plan, which had been forgotten during so many
reigns, Napoleon determined to carry into effect, and the excavations
were actually begun under his orders. But the events which succeeded his
Russian campaign put a stop to this, as to all similar labors: the plan
is now, however, again in agitation, and, if performed, Dieppe will soon
become one of the most important ports in France.

A

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER

Like a bird descending from some dizzy height, the Vulture landed close to the pool of black water. It was a small lake and the darkness must have been caused by its depth, for later when they took some out in a glass it was as clear as a crystal. Then, too, there might have been black rocks on the bottom.

"Can it be possible that we are here at last?" cried Tom, above the noise of the gale, for the wind was blowing at a terrific rate. But our friends knew better now how to adjust themselves to it, and the lake was down in a valley, the sides of which cut off the power of the gale. As for the glider it was only necessary to equalize the balance and it would remain stationary in any wind.

"This is the place! This is the place!" cried Ivan Petrofsky. "Don't you remember, Peter?"

"Indeed I do! I have good cause to! This is where we found the platinum!"

"Bless my soul!" cried Mr. Damon. "Where is it, in the lake?"

"The mine itself is just beyond that barrier of broken and twisted trees," replied the elder Russian brother. "It is an irregular opening in the ground, as though once, centuries ago, an ancient people tried to get out the precious metal. We will go to it at once."

"But it is getting late," objected Ned.

"No matter," said Tom. "If we find any platinum we'll stay here all night, and longer if necessary to get a good supply. This is better than the city of gold, for we're in the open."

"I should say we were," observed Mr. Damon, as he bent to the blast, which was strong, sheltered even as they were.

"Will it be safe to remain all night?" asked Mr. Borious, with a glance about the desolate country.

"We have plenty of food," replied Tom, "and a good place to stay, in the car of the glider. I don't believe we'll be attacked."

"No, not here," said the elder Petrofsky. "But we still have to go back across Siberia to escape."

"We'll do it!" cried Tom. "Now for the platinum treasure!"

They went forward, and it was no easy work. For the wind still New with tremendous force though nothing like what it did higher up. And the ground was uneven. They had to cling to each other and it was very evident that no airship, not even the powerful Falcon, could have reached the place. Only an air glider would answer.

It took them half an hour to get to the opening of the ancient mine, and by that time it was nearly dark. But Tom had thought to bring electric torches, such as he had used in the underground city of gold, and they dispelled the gloom of the small cavern.

"Will you go in?" asked Ivan Petrofsky, when they had come to the place. He looked at Tom.

"Go in? Of course I'll go in!" cried our hero, stepping forward. The others followed. For some time they went on, and saw no traces of the precious metal. Then Ned uttered a cry, as he saw some dull, grayish particles imbedded in the earth walls of the shaft.

"Look!" he cried.

Tom was at his chum's side in a moment

"That's platinum!" cried the young inventor. "And of the very highest grade! But the lumps are very small."

"There are larger ones beyond," said the younger Russian brother.

Forward they pressed, and a moment later coming around a turn in the cavern where some earth had fallen away, evidently recently, Tom could not repress a cry of joy. For there, in plain sight, were many large lumps of the valuable metal, in as pure a state as it is ever found. For it is always mixed with other metals or chemicals.

"Look at that!" cried Tom. "Look at that! Lumps as large as an egg!" and he dug some out with a small pick he had brought along, and stuffed them into his pocket.

"Bless my check book!" cried Mr. Damon, "and that stuff is as valuable as gold!"

"More so!" cried Tom enthusiastically.

"Oh, here's a whopping big one!" cried Ned. "I'll bet it weighs ten pounds."

"More than that!" cried Tom, as he ran over and began digging it out, and they found later that it did. Platinum is usually found in small granules, but there are records of chunks being found weighing twenty pounds while others, the size of pigeons' eggs, are not uncommon.

"Say, this is great!" yelled Ned, discovering another large piece, and digging it out.

"I am glad we could lead you to it," said the elder Russian brother. "It is a small return for what you did for us!"

"Nonsense!" cried Tom. "These must be a king's ransom here. Everybody dig it out! Get all you can."

They were all busy, but the light of the two torches Tom had brought was not sufficient for good and efficient work, so after getting several thousand dollars worth of the precious metal, they decided to postpone operations until morning, and come with more lights.

They were at the work soon after breakfast, the night in the air glider having passed without incident. The treasure of platinum proved even richer than the Russians had thought, and it was no wonder the Imperial government had tried so hard to locate it, or get on the trail of those who sought it.

"And it's all good stuff!" cried Tom eagerly. "Not like that low-grade gold of the underground city. I can make my own terms when I sell this."

For three days our friends dug and dug in that platinum mine, so many years lost to man, and when they got ready to leave they had indeed a king's ransom with them. But it was to be equally divided. Tom insisted on this, as his Russian friends had been instrumental in finding it. Toward the end of the excavation large pieces were scarce, and it was evident that the mine was what is called a "lode."

"Well, shall we go back now?" asked Tom one day, after the finish of their mining operations. The work was comparatively simple, as the platinum lumps had merely to be dug out of the sides of the cave. But the loneliness and dreariness of the place was telling on them all.

"Can't we carry any more?" asked Ned.

"We could, but it might not be safe. I don't want to take on too much weight, as my glider isn't as stable as the airship. But we have plenty of the metal.

"Indeed we have," agreed Ivan Petrofsky. "Much of mine and my brother's will go toward helping relieve the sufferings of the Siberian exiles," he added.

"And mine, too," said Alexis Borious.

They started back early the next morning in a more terrific gale than in any the glider had yet flown. But she proved herself a stanch craft, and soon they were at the place where they had left the airship. It was undisturbed.

Four days were spent in taking apart the glider and packing it on board the Falcon. Then, with the platinum safely stored away Tom, with a last look at the desolate land that had been so kind to them, sent his craft on her homeward way.

It was when they were near the city of Pirtchina, on the Obi river, that what might have proved a disastrous accident occurred. They were flying along high, and at great speed, for Tom wanted to make all the distance he could, to get out of Siberia the more quickly. They had had a fair passage so far, and were congratulating themselves that they would soon be in civilization again.

Suddenly, Mr. Damon, who had been on the after deck, taking observations through a telescope, came running forward, crying out:

"Tom! Tom! What is that water dripping from the back part of the airship?"

"Water?" exclaimed Tom. "No water is dripping from there."

"Come and look," advised Mr. Damon.

The young inventor raced back with him. He saw a thin, white stream trickling down from the lower part of the craft. Tom sniffed the air suspiciously.

"Gasolene! It's gasolene!" he cried. "We must have a leak in the supply tanks!"

He dashed toward the reserve storeroom, and at that moment, with a suddenness that was startling, the motor stopped and the Falcon lurched toward the earth.

"All right!" yelled Ned, as soon as he heard Tom's cry. "I've got her under control. We'll volplane down."

"Is it dangerous? Are we in danger?" asked Peter Petrofsky of his brother, in Russian.

"I guess there's no danger, where Tom Swift's concerned," was the answer. "I have not volplaned much, but it will be all right I think."

And it was, for with Ned Newton to guide the craft, while Tom did his best to stop the leak, the craft came gently to earth on the outskirts of a fairly large Siberian city. Almost instantly the Falcon was surrounded by a curious throng.

"You had better keep inside," said Ivan Petrofsky to his brother and Mr. Borious. "Descriptions of you are probably out broadcast by now, but I am still sufficiently disguised, I think."

"But what is to be done?" demanded the younger Russian brother. "If the gasolene is gone, how can we leave here?"

"Trust Tom Swift for that," was the reply. "Keep out of sight now, there is a large crowd outside."

Tom came from the tank room. There was a despondent look on his face.

"It's all gone—every drop," he said. "That's what made the motor stop."

"What's gone?" asked Mr. Damon.

"The gasolene. We sprung a leak in the main tank, somehow, and it all flowed out while we were flying along."

"Haven't you any more?"

"Not a bit. I was drawing on the reserve tank, hoping to get to civilization before I needed more. But its too late now. We will have to—"

"Bless my snow shoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Don't say we'll have to stay here—in Siberia! Don't say that. My wife—"

"No, we won't have to stay here if we can get a supply of kerosene," interrupted Tom. "The motor will burn that. The only trouble is that we may be detained. The authorities probably know us by this time, and are on the watch."

"Then get it before they know we are here," advised Ned.

"I'll try," said Tom, and he at once conferred with the elder Petrofsky. The latter said he was sure kerosene could be had in town, and, rather than risk going in themselves, they hired a wagoner who agreed, for liberal pay, to go and return with a quantity. Until then there was nothing to do but wait.

Meanwhile the crowd of curiosity seekers grew. They thronged around the airship, some of them meddling with various devices, until Tom had to order them away with gestures.

One particularly inquisitive man insisted on pulling or twisting everything, until he happened to touch a couple of live wires, giving himself quite a shock, and then he ran away howling. But still the crowd increased, and at last Mr. Petrofsky said:

"I don't like this, Tom?"

"Why not?" They were all inside the craft, looking out and waiting for the return of the man with the kerosene. The leak in the tank had proved to be a small one, and had quickly been soldered. It had been open a long time, which accounted for the large amount of gasolene escaping. "What don't you like, Mr. Petrofsky?"

"So many men surrounding us. I believe some of them are officers dressed in civilians' clothes, and a Russian officer never does that unless he has some object."

"And you think the object is—?"

"To capture us."

"If it was that, wouldn't they have done it long ago—when we first came down?"

"No, they are evidently waiting for something perhaps for some high official, without whose orders they dare do nothing. Russia is overrun with officialdom."

And a little later Ivan Petrofsky's suspicion proved true. There arrived a man in uniform, who spoke fairly good English, and who politely asked Tom if he would not delay the start of the airship, again, until the governor could arrive from his country place to see it.

"We know you are going to leave us," said the Russian with a smile, "for you have sent for kerosene. But please wait."

"If your governor comes soon we'll wait," replied Tom. "But we are in a hurry. I wish that kerosene fellow would get a move on," he murmured.

"Oh, he will doubtless be here soon," said the officer. "Might I be permitted to come aboard and wait for my chief?"

"Sorry, but it's not allowed," replied our hero, straining his eyes down the road for a sight of the wagoner. At last he came, and Tom breathed easier.

But the crowd was bigger, and some of the men, though poorly dressed, seemed to be persons in authority. Tom had no doubt but what there was a plot afoot to detain him, and arrest the exiles, and that there were disguised soldiers in the throng. But they could not act without the governor's orders, and he was probably on his way with all haste.

"Lively now, get that kerosene in the tanks!" cried Tom to the man, motioning in lieu of using Russian. The youth was not going to meet the governor if he could help it.

Now it was a curious thing, but the more that wagoner and his helpers seemed to try to hurry, and pour the oil from the cans into the tank-opening of the airship, the slower they worked. They got in each others' way, dropped some cans, spilled others, and in general made such poor work at it that Tom saw there was something in the wind.

"Ned!" he exclaimed, "they're doing all they can to detain us. We've got to put that oil in ourselves. Just as we did the gasolene in France. It's the same sort of a delay game."

"Right, Tom! I'm with you."

"And I'll warn the crowd back, by telling them we are likely to blow up any minute!" added Ivan Petrofsky, which warning he shouted in Russian a moment later.

Backward leaped the throng, as though a bomb bad been thrown into their midst, even the supposed officers joining in the retreat. The oil wagon was now easy of access, and Tom and Ned, with Mr. Damon to aid them, hastened toward it. Then the work of filling the tanks went on in something like good old, United States fashion.

The last gallon of kerosene had been put aboard, and Tom and Ned with Mr. Damon, had climbed on deck, when the gaily uniformed officer, who had requested the delay, came riding up furiously.

"Hold! Hold! If you please!" he cried. "The governor has come. He wants to see you."

"Too late!" answered Tom. "Give him our best regards and ask him to some to the United States if he wants to see us. Sorry we haven't cards handy. Ned, take the pilot house, and shoot her up sharp when you get the signal. I'm going to run the motor. I don't know just how she'll behave on the kerosene."

"You must remain!" angrily cried the officer.

"The United States doesn't take 'must' from anybody, from the Czar down!" cried Tom as he disappeared into the motor room. The window was open, and the youth turned on the power the official cried again to him:

"Halt! Here comes the governor! I declared you arrested by his orders, and in the name of the Czar!"

"Nothing doing!" yelled Tom, and then, looking from the window, he saw approaching a troop of Cossacks, in the midst of whom rode a man in a brilliant uniform—evidently the governor.

"Stop! Stop!" cried the official.

"Here we go, Ned!" yelled Tom, and turning on more power the Falcon arose swiftly, before the very eyes of the angry governor, and his staff of Cossack soldiers.

Up and up she went, faster and faster, the motors working well on the kerosene. Higher and higher. The governor and his soldiers were directly below her now.

"Stop! Stop! You must stop. The Imperial governor orders it!" yelled the officer, evidently his Excellency's aide-de-camp.

"We can't hear you!" shouted Tom, waving his hand from the motor room window, and then, turning on still more power he flew over the city, taking his friends and the valuable supply of platinum with him. So surprised were the soldiers that they did not fire a shot, but had they done so it is doubtful if much damage could have been done.

"And now for home!" cried Tom, and homeward hound the Falcon was after a perilous trip through two storms. But she weathered them well.

In due season they reached Paris again, and now, having no reason for concealment, they flew boldly down, to change what remained of the kerosene for gasolene, as the motor worked better on that. The secret police learned that the exiles were aboard, but they could do nothing, as the offenses were political ones, and so Tom kept his friends safe.

Then they started on the long voyage across the Atlantic, and though they had one bad experience in a storm over that mighty ocean, they got safely home to Shopton in due season.

There is little more to tell. The platinum proved to be even more valuable than Tom had expected. He could have sold it all for a large sum, but he preferred to keep most of what he had for his inventive work, and he used considerable of it in his machinery. Ned disposed of his, selling Tom some at a lower price than market quotations, and the Russians got a good price for theirs, turning the money into the fund to help their fellow exiles. Mr. Damon also made a good donation to the cause, as did Tom and Ned.

Mr. Petrofsky and his brother, with the other exile, joined friends in New York, and promised to come and see Tom when they could.

"Well, I suppose you'll take a long vacation now," said Mary Nestor, to Tom, when he called on her one evening to present her a unique ring, with the stones set in some of the platinum he had dug in the Siberian mine.

"Vacation? I have no time for vacations!" said the young inventor. "I'm soon going to work on my silent airship, and on some other things I have in mind. I want more adventures."

"Oh, you greedy boy!" exclaimed Mary with a laugh.

And what adventures Tom had next will be found in the next book of this series, which will be entitled, "Tom Swift in Captivity; Or, a Daring Escape by Airship."

Tom had several offers to give exhibitions in his air glider, from aviation committees at various meets, but he declined.

"I haven't time," he declared. "I'm too busy."

"You ought to rest," his chum Ned advised him.

"'Bless my alarm clock!' as Mr. Damon would say," exclaimed Tom. "The best rest is new work," and then he began sketching his ideas for a silent motor craft, during which we will take leave of him for a while.

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER

"Have we—have we time to get a drink?" gasped Ned, when the aeroplane, now on a level keel, had been shooting forward about three minutes. Already it was beyond the reach of the rifles.

"Yes, but take only a little," cautioned Tom. "Oh! it doesn't seem possible that we are free!"

He switched on a few interior lights, and by their glow the faint and starving platinum-seekers found water and food. Their craft had, apparently, not been touched in their absence, and the machinery ran well.

Cautiously they ate and drank, feeling their strength come back to them, and then they removed the traces of their terrible imprisonment, and set about in ease and comfort, talking of what they had suffered.

Onward sped the aeroplane, onward through the night, and then Tom, having set the automatic steering gear, all fell into heavy slumbers that lasted until far into the next day.

When the young inventor awoke he looked below and could see nothing—nothing but a sea of mist.

"What's this?" he cried. "Are we above the clouds, or in a fog over some inland sea?"

He was quite worried, until Ivan Petrofsky informed him that they were in the midst of a dense fog, which was common over that part of Siberia.

"But where are we?" asked Ned.

"About over the province of Irtutsk," was the answer. "We are heading north," he went on, as he looked at the compass, "and I think about right to land somewhere near where my brother is confined in the sulphur mine."

"That's so; we've got to drop," said Tom. "I must get the gas pipe repaired. I wish we could see over what soft of a place we were so as to know whether it would be safe to land. I wish the mist would clear away."

It did, about noon, and they noted that they were over a desolate stretch of country, in which it would be safe to make a landing.

Bringing the aeroplane down on as smooth a spot as he could pick out, Tom and Ned were soon at work clearing out the clogged pipe of the gas generator. They had to take it out in the open air, as the fumes were unpleasant, and it was while working over it that they saw a shadow thrown on the ground in front of them. Startled they looked up, to see a burly Russian staring at them.

The sudden appearance of a man in that lonely spot, his calm regard of the lads, his stealthy approach, which had made it possible for him to be almost upon them before they were aware of his presence, all this made them suspicious of danger. Tom gave a quick glance about, however, and saw no others—no Cossack soldiers, and as he looked a second time at the man he noted that he was poorly dressed, that his shoes were ragged, his whole appearance denoting that he had traveled far, and was weary and ill.

"What do you make of this, Ned?" asked Tom, in a low voice.

"I don't know what to make of it. He can't be an officer, in that rig, and he has no one with him. I guess we haven't anything to be afraid of. I'm going to ask him what he wants."

Which Tom did in his plainest English. At once the man broke into a stream of confused Russian, and he kept it up until Tom held up his hand for silence.

"I'm sorry, but I can't understand you," said the young inventor. "I'll call some one who can, though," and, raising his voice, he summoned Ivan Petrofsky who, with Mr. Damon, was inside the airship doing some small repairs.

"There's a Russian out here, Mr. Petrofsky," said Tom, "and what he wants I can't make out."

The exile was quickly on the scene and, after a first glance at the man, hurried up to him, grasped him by the hand and at once the two were talking such a torrent of hard-sounding words that Tom and Ned looked at each other helplessly, while Mr. Damon, who had come out, exclaimed:

"Bless my dictionary! they must know each other."

For several minutes the two Russians kept up their rapid-fire talk and then Mr. Petrofsky, evidently realizing that his friends must wonder at it, turned to them and said:

"This is a very strange thing. This man is an escaped convict, as I once was. I recognized him by certain signs as soon as I saw him, though I had never met him before. There are certain marks by which a Siberian exile can never be forgotten," he added significantly. "He made his escape from the mines some time ago, and has suffered great hardships since. The revolutionists help him when they can, but he has to keep in concealment and travels from town to town as best he may. He has heard of our airship, I suppose from inquiries the revolutionists have been making in our behalf, and when he unexpectedly came upon us just now he was not frightened, as an ordinary peasant would have been. But he did not know I was aboard."

"And does he know you?" asked Tom. "Does he know you are trying to rescue your brother?"

"No, but I will tell him."

There was another exchange of the Russian language, and it seemed to have a surprising result. For, no sooner had Ivan Petrofsky mentioned his brother, than the other, whose name was Alexis Borious seemed greatly excited. Mr. Petrofsky was equally so at the reply his new acquaintance made, and fairly shouted to Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon.

"Friends, I have unexpected good news! It is well that we met this man or we would have gone many miles out of our way. My brother has been moved to another mine since the revolutionists located him for me. He is in a lonely district many miles from here. This man was in the same mine with him, until my brother was transferred, and then Mr. Borious escaped. We will have to change our plans."

"And where are we to head for now?" asked Tom.

"Near to the town of Haskaski, where my poor brother is working in a sulphur mine!"

"Then let's get a move on!" cried Tom with enthusiasm. "Do you think this man will come with us, Mr. Petrofsky, to help in the rescue, and show us the place?"

"He says he will," translated the exile, "though he is much afraid of our strange craft. Still he knows that to trust himself to it is better than being captured, and sent back to the mines to starve to death!"

"Good!" cried Tom. "And if he wants to, and all goes well, we'll take him out of Russia with us. Now get busy, Ned, and we'll have this machine in shape again soon."

While Ivan Petrofsky took his new friend inside, and explained to him about the workings of the Falcon, Tom and Ned labored over the gas machine with such good effect that by night it was capable of being used. Then they went aloft, and making a change in their route, as suggested by Mr. Borious, they headed for the desolate sulphur region.

For several days they sailed on, and gradually a plan of rescue was worked out. According to the information of the newcomer, the best way to save Mr. Petrofsky's brother was to make the attempt when the prisoners were marched back from the mines to the barracks where they were confined.

"It will be dark then," said Mr. Borious, "and if you can hover in your airship near at hand, and if Mr. Petrofsky can call out to his brother to run to him, we can take him up with us and get away before the guards know what we are doing."

"But aren't the prisoners chained?" asked Tom.

"No, they depend on guards to prevent escapes."

"Then we'll try that way," decided the young inventor.

On and on they sailed, the Falcon working admirably. Verst after verst was covered, and finally, one morning, Mr. Borious, who knew the country well, from having once been a prisoner there, said:

"We are now near the place. If we go any closer we may be observed. We had better remain hidden in some grove of trees so that at nightfall we can go forth to the rescue."

"But how can we find it after dark?" asked Ned.

"You can easily tell by the lights in the barracks," was the answer. "I can stand in the pilot house to direct you, for nearly all these exile prisons are alike. The prisoners will march in a long line from the mine. Then for the rescue."

It was tedious waiting that day, but it had to be done, and to Tom, who was anxious to effect the rescue, and proceed to the place of the winds to try his air glider, it seemed as if dusk would never come as they remained in concealment.

But night finally approached and then the great airship went silently aloft, ready to hover over the prison ground. Fortunately there was little wind; and she could be used as a balloon, thus avoiding the noise of the motor.

"The next thing I do, when I get home," remarked Tom, as they drifted along. "Will be to make a silent airship. I think they would be very useful."

With Mr. Borious in the pilot house, to point out the way, Tom steered through the fast-gathering darkness. The Russian had soon become used to the airship, and was not at all afraid.

"Can you go just where you want to, as a balloon?" asked the new guide.

"No, but almost," replied Tom. "At the last moment I've got to take a chance and start the motor to send us just where we want to go. That's why I think a silent airship would be a great thing. You could get up on the enemy before he knew it."

"There are the prison barracks," said the guide a little later, his talk being translated by Mr. Petrofsky. Below and a little ahead of them could been seen a cluster of lights.

"Yes, that looks like a line of prisoners," remarked Ned, who was peering through a pair of night glasses.

"Where?" asked Tom eagerly, and they were pointed out to him. He took an observation, and exclaimed:

"There they are, sure enough. Now if your brother is only among them, Mr. Petrofsky, we'll soon have him on board."

"Heaven grant that he may be there!" said the exile in a low voice.

A moment later, the Falcon, meanwhile having been allowed to drift as close as possible to the dimly-seen line of prisoners, Tom set in motion the great motor, the propeller blades heating the air fiercely.

At the sound there was a shout on the ground below, but before the excitement had time to spread, or before any of the guards could form a notion of what was about to take place, Tom had sent his craft to earth on a sharp slant, closer to the line of prisoners than he had dared to hope.

Mr. Petrofsky sprang out on deck, and in a loud voice called in Russian:

"Peter! Peter! If you are there, come here! Come quickly! It is I, your brother Ivan who speaks. I have come to save you—save you in the wonderful airship of Tom Swift! Come quickly and we will take you away! Peter Petrofsky!"

For a moment there was silence, and then the sound of some one running rapidly was borne to the ears of the waiting ones. It was followed, a moment later, by angry shouts from the guards.

"Quick! Quick, Peter!" cried the brother, "over this way!"

For an instant only the exile showed a single electric flash light, that his brother might see in which direction to run. The echo of the approaching footsteps came nearer, the shouts of the guards redoubled, and then came the sound of many men running in pursuit.

"Hurry, Peter, hurry!" cried Mr. Petrofsky, and, as he spoke in Russian the guards, of course, understood.

Suddenly a rifle shot rang out, but the weapon seemed to have been fired in the air. A moment later a dark figure clambered aboard the airship.

"Peter, is it you?" cried Ivan Petrofsky, hoarsely.

"Yes, brother! But get away quickly or the whole guard will be swarming about here!"

"Praise the dear Lord you are saved!"

"Is it all right?" cried Tom, who wanted to make sure they were saving the right man.

"Yes! Yes, Tom! Go quickly!" called Ivan Petrofsky, as he folded his brother in his arms. A moment later, with a roar, the Falcon shot away from the earth, while below sounded angry cries, confused shouts and many orders, for the guards and their officers had never known of such a daring rescue as this.

There was a volley of shots from the prison guards, and the flashes of the rifles cut bright slivers of flame in the darkness, but, so rapidly did the airship go up, veering off on a wide slant, under the skillful guidance of Tom that the shots did no harm.

"Bless my bullet pouch!" cried Mr. Damon. "They must be quite excited."

"Shouldn't wonder," calmly observed Ned, as he went to help his chum in managing the airship. "But it won't do them any good. We've got our man."

"And right from under their noses, too," added Ivan Petrofsky exultingly. "This rescue of an exile will go down in the history of Russia."

The two exile brothers were gazing fondly at each other, for now that the Falcon was so high, Tom ventured to turn on the lights.

A moment later the three Russians were excitedly conversing, while Tom and Ned managed the craft, and Mr. Damon, after listening a moment to the rapid flow of the strange language, which quite fascinated him, hurried to the galley to prepare a meal for the rescued one, who had been taken away before he had had a chance to get his supper.

His wonder at his startling and unexpected rescue man well be imagined, but the joy at being reunited to his brother overshadowed everything for the time being. But when he had a chance to look about, and see what a strange craft he was in, his amazement knew no bounds, and he was like a child. He asked countless questions, and Ivan Petrofsky and Mr. Borious took turns in answering them. And from now on, I shall give the conversation of the two new Russians just as if they spoke English, though of course it had to be translated by Ivan Petrofsky, Peter's brother.

If Peter was amazed at being rescued in an airship, his wonder grew when he was served with a well-cooked meal, while high in the air, and while flying along at the rate of fifty miles an hour. He could not talk enough about it.

By degrees the story of how Tom and his friends had started for Russia was told, and there was added the detail of how Mr. Borious came to be picked up.

"But brother Ivan, you did not come all that distance to rescue me; did you?" asked Peter.

"Yes, partly, and partly to find the platinum mine."

"What? The lost mine that you and I stumbled upon in that terrible storm?"

"That is the one, Peter."

"Then, Tom Swift may as well return. I doubt if we can even locate the district where it was, and if we did find it, the winds blow so that even this magnificent ship could not weather the gales."

"I guess he doesn't understand about my air glider," said Tom with a smile, when this was translated to him. "I wish I had a chance to put it together, and show him how it works."

"Oh, it will work all right," replied Ned, who was very proud of his friend's inventive ability.

"Now, what is the next thing to be done?" asked Tom, a little later that evening, when, supper having been served, they were sitting in the main cabin, talking over the events of the past few days. "I'd like to get on the track of that platinum treasure."

"And we will do all in our power to aid you," said Ivan Petrofsky. "My brother and I owe much to you—in fact Peter owes you his life; do you not?" and he turned to him.

"I do," was the firm answer.

"Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Tom, who did not like to be praised. "I didn't do much."

"Much! You do not call taking me away from that place—that sulphur mine—that horrible prison barrack with the cruel guards—you do not call that much? My friend," spoke the Russian solemnly, "no one on earth has done so much for me as you have, and if it is the power of man to show you where that lost mine is, my brother and I will do so!"

"Agreed," spoke Ivan quietly.

"Then what plans shall we make?" asked Tom, after a little more talk. "Are we to go about indiscriminately, or is there any possible way of getting on the trail?"

"My brother and I will try and decide on a definite route," spoke Ivan Petrofsky. "It is some time since I have seen him, and longer since we accidently found the mine together, but we will consult each other, and, if possible make some sort of a map."

This was done the next day, the present maps aboard the Falcon being consulted, and the brothers comparing notes. They began to lay out a stretch of country in which it was most likely the lost mine lay. It took several days to do this, for sometimes one brother would forget some point, and again the other would. But at last they agreed on certain facts.

"This is the nearest we can come to it," said Ivan Petrofsky to Tom. "The lost platinum mine lies somewhere between the city of Iakutsk and the first range of the Iablonnoi mountains. Those are the northern and southern boundaries. As for the western one, it is most likely the Lena river, and the eastern one the Amaga river. So you see you have quite a large stretch of country to search, Tom Swift."

"Yes, I should say I had," agreed the young inventor. "But I have had harder tasks. Now that I know where to head for I'll get there as soon as possible."

"And what will you do when you arrive?" asked Ned.

"Fly about in the Falcon, in ever-widening circles, starting as near the centre of that area as possible," replied Tom. "And as soon as I run into a steady hurricane I'll know that I'm at the place of the big winds, and I'll get out my glider, for I'll be pretty sure to be near the place."

"Bless my gas meter!" cried Mr. Damon. "That's the talk!"

Tom put his plan into operation at once, by heading the nose of his craft for the desolate region mapped out by the Russian brothers.

The days that followed were filled with weary searching. It was like the time when they had sought for the plain of the great ruined Temple in Mexico, that they might locate the underground city of gold. Only in this case they had no such landmark as a great Aztec ruin to guide them.

What they were seeking for was something unseen, but which could be felt—a mysterious wind—a wind that might be encountered any time, and which might send the Falcon to the earth a wreck.

The Russian brothers, staggering about in the storm, had seen the mine under different conditions from what it would be viewed now. Then it was winter in Siberia. Now it was summer, though it was not very warm.

On and on sailed the Falcon. The weather could not have been better, but for once Tom wanted bad weather. He wanted a blow—the harder the better—and all eyes anxiously watched the anemometer, or wind gage. But ever it revolved lazily about in the gentle breeze.

"Oh, for a hurricane!" cried Tom.

He got his wish sooner than he anticipated. It was about two days after this, when they were going about in a great circle, about two hundred miles from the imaginary centre of the district in which the mine lay, that, as Mr. Damon was getting dinner a dish he was carrying to the table was suddenly whisked out of his hand.

"I say, what's the matter?" he cried. "Bless my—"

But he had no time to say more. The airship fairly stood on end, and then, turning completely about, was rapidly driven in the opposite direction, though her propellers were working rapidly.

"What's up?" yelled Ned.

"We are capsizing!" shouted Ivan Petrofsky, and indeed it seemed so, for the airship was being forced over.

"I guess we've struck what we want!" cried Tom. "We're in a hurricane all right! This is the place of the big wind! Now for my air glider, if I can get the airship to earth without being wrecked! Ned, lend a hand! We've got our work cut out for us now!"

For several moments it seemed as if disaster would overtake the little band of platinum-hunters. In spite of all that Tom and Ned could do, the Falcon was whipped about like a feather in the wind. Sometimes she was pointing her nose to the clouds, and again earthward. Again she would be whirling about in the grip of the hurricane, like some fantastic dancer, and again she would roll dangerously. Had she turned turtle it probably would have been the last of her and of all on board.

"Yank that deflecting lever as far down as it will go!" yelled Tom to his chum.

"I am. She won't go any farther."

"All right, hold her so. Mr. Damon, let all the gas out of the bag. I want to be as heavy as possible, and get to earth as soon as we can."

"Bless my comb and brush!" cried the odd man. "I don't know what's going to become of us."

"You will know, pretty soon, if the gas isn't let out!" retorted Tom grimly, and then Mr. Damon hastened to the generator compartment, and opened the emergency outlet.

Finally, by crowding on all the possible power, so that the propellers and deflecting rudders forced the craft down, Tom was able to get out of the grip of the hurricane, and landed just beyond the zone of it on the ground.

"Whew! That was a narrow squeak!" cried Ned, as he got out. "How'd you do it, Tom?"

"I hardly know myself. But it's evident that we're on the right spot now."

"But the wind has stopped blowing," said Mr. Damon. "It was only a gust."

"It was the worst kind of a gust I ever want to see," declared the young inventor. "My air glider ought to work to perfection in that. If you think the wind has died out, Mr. Damon, just walk in that direction," and Tom pointed off to the left.

"Bless my umbrella, I will," was the reply and the odd man started off. He had not gone far, before he was seen to put his hand to his cap. Still he kept on.

"He's getting into the blow-zone," said Tom in a low voice.

The next moment Mr. Damon was seen to stagger and fall, while his cap was whisked from his head, and sent high into the air, almost instantly disappearing from sight.

"Some wind that," murmured Ned, in rather awe-struck tones.

"That's so," agreed his chum. "But we'd better help Mr. Damon," for that gentleman was slowly crawling back, not caring to trust himself on his feet, for the wind had actually carried him down by its force.

"Bless my anemometer!" he gasped, when Tom and Ned had given him a hand up. "What happened?"

"It was the great wind," explained Tom. "It blows only in a certain zone, like a draft down a chimney. It is like a cyclone, only that goes in a circle. This is a straight wind, but the path of it seems to be as sharply marked as a trail through the forest. I guess we're here all right. Does this location look familiar to you?" he asked of the Russian brothers.

"I can't say that it does," answered Ivan. "But then it was winter when we were here."

"And, another thing," put in Peter. "That wind zone is quite wide. The mine may be in the middle, or near the other edge."

"That's so," agreed Tom. "We'll soon see what we can do. Come on, Ned, let's get the air glider out and put her together. She'll have a test as is a test, now."

I shall not describe the tedious work of re-assembling Tom Swift's latest invention in the air craft line—his glider. Sufficient to say that it was taken out from where it had been stored in separate pieces on board the Falcon, and put together on the plain that marked the beginning of the wind zone.

It was a curious fact that twenty feet away from the path of the wind scarcely a breeze could be felt, while to advance a little way into it meant that one would at once be almost carried off his feet.

Tom tested the speed of it one day with a special anemometer, and found that only a few hundred feet inside the zone the wind blew nearly one hundred miles an hour.

"What is it like inside, I wonder?" asked Ned.

"It must be terrific," was his chum's opinion.

"Dare you risk it, Tom?"

"Of course. The harder it blows the better the glider works. In fact I can't make much speed in a hundred-mile wind for with us all on board the craft will be heavy, and you must remember that I depend on the wind alone to give me motion."

"What do you think causes the wind to blow so peculiarly here Tom?" went on Ned.

"Oh, it must be caused by high mountain ranges on either side, or the effects of heat and cold, the air being evaporated over a certain area because of great heat, say a volcano, or something like that; though I don't know that they have volcanoes here. That creates a vacuum, and other air rushes in to fill the vacant space. That's all wind is, anyhow, air rushing in to fill a vacuum, or low pressure zone, for you remember that nature abhors a vacuum."

It took nearly a week to assemble the Vulture, as Tom had named his latest craft, from the fact that it could hover in the air motionless, like that great bird. At last it was completed and then, weights being taken aboard to steady it, all was ready for the test. Tom would have liked to have taken all his passengers in the glider, for it would work better then, but the three Russians were timid, though they promised to get aboard after the trial.

The test came off early one morning, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon being the only ones aboard. Bags of sand represented the others. The glider was wheeled to the edge of the wind zone and they took their places in the car. It was hard work for the gale, that had never ceased blowing for an instant since they found its zone, was very strong. But the glider remained motionless in it, for the wing planes, the rudders, and equalizing weights had been adjusted to make the strain of the wind neutral.

"All ready?" asked Tom, when his chum and his friend were in the enclosed car of the glider.

"As ready as I ever shall be," answered Ned.

"Bless my suspenders! Let her go, Tom, and have it over with!" cried the odd man.

The young inventor pulled a lever, and almost instantly the glider darted forward. A moment later it soared aloft, and the three Russians cheered. But their voices were lost in the roar of the hurricane, as Tom sent his craft higher and higher.

It worked perfectly, and he could direct it almost anywhere. The wind acted as the motive power, the bending and warping wings, and the rudders and weights controlling its force.

"I'm going higher, and see if I can remain stationary!" yelled Tom in Ned's ear. His chum only nodded. Mr. Damon was seated on a bench, clinging to the sides of it as if he feared he would fall off.

Higher and higher went the Vulture, ever higher, until, all at once, Tom pulled on another lever and she was still. There she hung in the air, the wind rushing through her planes, but the glider herself as still and quiet as though she rested on the ground in a calm. She hardly moved a foot in either direction, and yet the wind, as evidenced by the anemometer was howling along at a hundred and twenty miles an hour!

"Success!" cried Tom. "Success! Now we can lie stationary in any spot, and spy out the land through our telescope. Now we will find the lost platinum mine!"

"Well, I'm not deaf," responded Ned with a smile, for Tom had fairly yelled as he had at the start, and there was no need of this now, for though the wind blew harder than ever it was not opposed to any of the weights or planes, and there was only a gentle humming sound as it rushed through the open spaces of the queer craft.

Tom gave his glider other and more severe tests, and she answered every one. Then he came to earth.

"Now we'll begin the search," he said, and preparations were made to that end. The Russians, now that they had seen how well the craft worked, were not afraid to trust themselves in her.

As I have explained, there was an enclosed car, capable of holding six. In this were stores, supplies and food sufficient for several days. Tom's plan was to leave the airship anchored on the edge of the wind zone, as a sort of base of supplies or headquarters. From there he intended to go off from time to time in the wind-swept area to look for the lost mine.

There were weary days that followed. Hour after hour was spent in the air in the glider, the whole party being aboard. Observation after observation was taken, sometimes a certain strata of wind enabling them to get close enough to the earth to use their eyes, while again they had to use the telescopes. They covered a wide section but as day after day passed, and they were no nearer their goal, even Tom optimistic as he usually was, began to have a tired and discouraged look.

"Don't you see anything like the place where you found the mine?" he asked of the exile brothers.

They could only shake their heads. Indeed their task was not easy, for to recognize the place again was difficult.

More than a week passed. They had been back and forth to their base of supplies at the airship, often staying away over night, once remaining aloft all through the dark hours in the glider, in a fierce gale which prevented a landing. They ate and slept on board, and seldom descended unless at or near the place where they had left the Falcon. Once they completely crossed the zone of wind, and came to a calm place on the other side. It was as wild and desolate as the other edge.

Nearly two weeks had passed, and Tom was almost ready to give up and go back home. He had at least accomplished part of his desire, to rescue the exile, and he had even done better than originally intended, for there was Mr. Borious who bad also been saved, and it was the intention of the young inventor to take him to the United States.

"But the platinum treasure has me beat, I guess," said Tom grimly. "We can't seem to get a trace of it."

Night was coming on, and he had half determined to head back for the airship. Ivan Petrofsky was peering anxiously down at the desolate land, over which they were gliding. He and his brother took turns at this.

They were not far above the earth, but landmarks, such as had to be depended on to locate the mine, could not readily be observed without the glass. Mr. Damon, with a pair of ordinary field glasses, was doing all he could to pick out likely spots, though it was doubtful if he would know the place if he saw it.

However, as chance willed it, he was instrumental in bringing the quest to a close, and most unexpectedly. Peter Petrofsky was relieving his brother at the telescope, when the odd man, who had not taken his eyes from the field glasses, suddenly uttered an exclamation.

"Bless my tooth-brush!" he cried. "That's a most desolate place down there. A lot of trees blown down around a lake that looks as black as ink."

"What's that!" cried Ivan Petrofsky. "A lake as black as ink? Where?"

"We just passed it!" replied Mr. Damon.

"Then put back there, as soon as you can, Tom!" called the Russian. "I want to look at that place."

With a long, graceful sweep the young inventor sent the glider back over the course. Ivan Petrofsky glued his eyes to the telescope. He picked out the spot Mr. Damon had referred to, and a moment later cried:

"That's it! That's near the lost platinum mine! We've found it again, Tom—everybody! Don't you remember, Peter," he said turning to his brother, "when we were lost in the snow we crawled in among a tangle of trees to get out of the blast. There was a sheet of white snow near them, and you broke through into water. I pulled you out. That must have been a lake, though it was lightly frozen over then. I believe this is the lost mine. Go down, Tom! Go down!"

"I certainly will!" cried the youth, and pulling on the descending lever he shunted the glider to earth.

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER

The news they had waited for had come at last. It might be a false clew, but it was something to work on, and Tom was tired of inaction. Then, too, even after they had started, the prisoner might be moved and they would have to trace him again.

"But that is the latest information we could get," said Mr. Androwsky. "It came through some of our Anarchist friends, and I believe is reliable. Can you soon make a thousand miles in your airship?"

"Yes," answered Tom, "if I push her to the limit."

"Then do so," advised the Nihilist, "for there is need of haste. In making inquiries our friends might incur suspicions and Peter Petrofsky may be exiled to some other place."

"Oh, we'll get there," cried Tom. "Ned, see to the gas machine. Mr. Damon, you can help me in the pilot house."

"Here is a map of the best route," said the Nihilist, as he handed one to Mr. Petrofsky. "It will take you there the shortest way. But how can you steer when high in the air?"

"By compass," explained Tom. "We'll get there, never fear, and we're grateful for your clew."

"I never can thank you enough!" exclaimed the exile, as he shook hands with Mr. Androwsky.

The Nihilist left, after announcing that, in the event of the success of Tom and his friends, and the rescue of the exile from the sulphur mine, it would probably become known to them, as such news came through the Revolutionary channels, slowly but surely.

"Here we go!" cried the young inventor gaily, as he turned the starting lever in the pilot house, and silently, in the darkness of the night, the Falcon shot upward. There was not a light on board, for, though small signal lamps had been kept burning when the craft was in the forest, to guide the Nihilists to her, now that she was up in the air, and in motion, it was feared that her presence would become known to the authorities of the town, so even these had been extinguished.

"After we get well away we can turn on the electrics," remarked Tom, "and if they see us at a distance they may take us for a meteor. But, so close as this, they'd get wise in a minute."

Mr. Damon, who had done all that Tom needed in the starting of the craft, went to the forward port rail, and idly looked down on the black forest they were leaving. He could just make out the clearing where they had rested for over a week, and he was startled to see lights bobbing in it.

"I say, Mr. Petrofsky!" he called. "Did we leave any of our lanterns behind us?"

"I don't believe so," answered the exile. "I'll ask Tom."

"Lanterns? No," answered the young inventor. "Before we started I took down the only one we had out. I'll take a look."

Setting the automatic steering apparatus, he joined Mr. Damon and the Russian. The lights were now dimly visible, moving about in the forest clearing.

"It's just as if they were looking for something," said Tom. "Can it be that any of your Nihilist friends, Mr. Petrofsky are—"

"Friends—no friends—enemies!" cried the Russian. "I understand now! We got away just in time. Those are police agents who are looking for us! They must have received word about our being there. Androwsky and the others never carry lights when they go about. They know the country too well, and then, too, it leads to detection. No, those are police spies. A few minutes later, and we would have been discovered."

"As it is we're right over their heads, and they don't know it," chuckled Tom. The airship was moving silently along before a good breeze, the propellers not having been started, and Tom let her drift for several miles, as he did not want to give the police spies a clew by the noise of the motor.

The twinkling lights in the forest clearing disappeared from sight, and the seekers went on in the darkness.

"Well, we've got the hardest part of our work yet ahead of us," remarked Tom several hours later when, the lights having been set aglow, they were gathered in the main cabin. There was no danger of being seen now, for they were quite high.

"We've done pretty well, so far," commented Ned. "I think we will have easier work rescuing Mr. Petrofsky's brother than in locating the mine.

"I don't know about that," answered the Russian. "It is almost impossible to rescue a person from Siberia. Of course it is not going to be easy to locate the lost mine, but as for that we can keep on searching, that is if the air glider works, but there are so many forces to fight against in rescuing a prisoner."

They had a long journey ahead of them, and not an easy route to follow, but as the days passed, and they came nearer and nearer to their goal, they became more and more eager.

They were passing over a desolate country, for they avoided the vicinity of large towns and cities.

"I wonder when we'll strike Siberia?" mused Tom one afternoon, as they sat on the outer deck, enjoying the air.

"At this rate of progress, very soon," answered the exile, after glancing at the map. "We should be at the foot of the Ural mountains in a few hours, and across them in the night. Then we will be in Siberia."

And he was right, for just as supper was being served, Ned, who had been making observations with a telescope, exclaimed:

"These must be the Urals!"

Mr. Petrofsky seized the glass.

"They are," he announced. "We will cross between Orsk and Iroitsk. A safe place. In the morning we will be in Siberia—the land of the exiles."

And they were, morning seeing them flying over a most desolate stretch of landscape. Onward they flew, covering verst after verst of loneliness.

"I'm going to put on a little more speed," announced Tom, after a visit to the storeroom, where were kept the reserve tanks of gasolene. "I've got more fluid than I thought I had, and as we're on the ground now I want to hurry things. I'm going to make better time," and he yanked over the lever of the accelerator, sending the Falcon ahead at a rapid rate.

All day this was kept up, and they were just making an observation to determine their position, along toward supper time, when there came the sound of another explosion from the motor room.

"Bless my safety valve!" cried Mr. Damon. "Something has gone wrong again."

Tom ran to the motor, and, at the same time the Falcon which was being used as an aeroplane and not as a dirigible, began to sink.

"We're going down!" cried Ned.

"Well, you know what to do!" shouted his chum. "The gas bag! Turn on the generator!"

Ned ran to it, but, in spite of his quick action, the craft continued to slide downward.

"She won't work!" he cried.

"Then the intake pipe must be stopped!" answered the young inventor. "Never mind, I'll volplane to earth and we can make repairs. That magneto has gone out of business again."

"Don't land here!" cried Ivan Petrofsky.

"Why not?"

"Because we are approaching a large town—Owbinsk I think it is-the police there will be there to get us. Keep on to the forest again!"

"I can't!" cried Tom. "We've got to go down, police or no police."

Running to the pilot house, he guided the craft so that it would safely volplane to earth. They could all see that now they were approaching a fairly large town, and would probably land on its outskirts. Through the glass Ned could make out people staring up at the strange sight.

"They'll be ready to receive us," he announced grimly.

"I hope they have no dynamite bombs for us," murmured Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch chain! I must get rid of that Nihilist literature I have about me, or they'll take me for one," and he tore up the tracts, and scattered them in the air.

Meanwhile the Falcon continued to descend.

"Maybe I can make quick repairs, and get away before they realize who we are," said Tom, as he got ready for the landing.

They came down in a big field, and, almost before the bicycle wheels had ceased revolving, under the application of the brakes, several men came running toward them.

"Here they come!" cried Mr. Damon.

"They are only farmers," said the exile. He had donned his dark glasses again, and looked like anything but a Russian.

"Lively, Ned!" cried Tom. "Let's see if we can't make repairs and get off again."

The two lads frantically began work, and they soon had the magneto in running order. They could have gone up as an aeroplane, leaving the repairs to the gas bag to be made later but, just as they were ready to start, there came galloping out a troop of Cossack soldiers. Their commander called something to them.

"What is he saying?" cried Tom to Mr. Petrofsky.

"He is telling them to surround us so that we can not get a running start, such as we need to go up. Evidently he understands aeroplanes."

"Well, I'm going to have a try," declared the young inventor.

He jumped to the pilot house, yelling to Ned to start the motor, but it was too late. They were hemmed in by a cordon of cavalry, and it would have been madness to have rushed the Falcon into them, for she would have been wrecked, even if Tom could have succeeded in sending her through the lines.

"I guess it's all up with us," groaned Ned.

And it seemed to; for, a moment later, an officer and several aides galloped forward, calling out something in Russian.

"What is it?" asked Tom.

"He says we are under arrest," translated the exile.

"What for?" demanded the young inventor.

Ivan Petrofsky shrugged his shoulders.

"It is of little use to ask—now," he answered. "It may be we have violated some local law, and can pay a fine and go, or we may be taken for just what we are, or foreign spies, which we are not. It is best to keep quiet, and go with them."

"Go where?" cried Tom.

"To prison, I suppose," answered the exile. "Keep quiet, and leave it to me. I will do all I can. I don't believe they will recognize me.

"Bless my search warrant!" cried Mr. Damon. "In a Russian prison! That is terrible!"

A few minutes later, expostulations having been useless, our friends were led away between guards who carried ugly looking rifles, and who looked more ugly and menacing themselves. Then the doors of the Russian prison of Owbinsk closed on Tom and his friends, while their airship was left at the mercy of their enemies.

The blow had descended so suddenly that it was paralyzing. Tom and his friends did not know what to do, but they saw the wisdom of the course of leaving everything to Ivan Petrofsky. He was a Russian, and he knew the Russian police ways—to his sorrow.

"I'm not afraid," said Tom, when they had been locked in a large prison room, evidently set apart for the use of political, rather than criminal, offenders. "We're United States citizens, and once our counsel hears of this—as he will—there'll be some merry doings in Oskwaski, or whatever they call this place. But I am worried about what they may do to the Falcon."

"Have no fears on that score," said the Russian exile. "They know the value of a good airship, and they won't destroy her."

"What will they do then?" asked Tom.

"Keep her for their own use, perhaps."

"Never!" cried Tom. "I'll destroy her first!"

"If you get the chance!" interposed the exile.

"But we're American citizens!" cried Tom, "and—"

"You forget that I am not," interrupted Mr. Petrofsky. "I can't claim the protection of your flag, and that is why I wish to remain unknown. We must act quietly. The more trouble we make, the more important they will know us to be. If we hope to accomplish anything we must act cautiously."

"But my airship!" cried Tom.

"They won't do anything to that right away," declared the Russian in a whisper for he knew sometimes the police listened to the talk of prisoners. "I think, from what I overheard when they arrested us, that we either trespassed on the grounds of some one in authority, who had us taken in out of spite, or they fear we may be English or French spies, seeking to find out Russian secrets."

They were served with food in their prison, but to all inquiries made by Ivan Petrofsky, evasive answers were returned. He spoke in poor, broken Russian, so that he would not be taken for a native of that country. Had he been, he would have at once been in great danger of being accused as an escaped exile.

Finally a man who, the exile whispered to his Companions, was the local governor, came to their prison. He eagerly asked questions as to their mission, and Mr. Petrofsky answered them diplomatically.

"I don't think he'll make much out of what I told him," said the exile when the governor had gone. "I let him think we were scientists, or pleasure seekers, airshipping for our amusement. He tried to tangle me up politically, but I knew enough to keep out of such traps."

"What's going to become of us?" asked Ned.

"We will be detained a few days—until they find out more about us. Their spies are busy, I have no doubt, and they are telegraphing all over Europe about us."

"What about my airship?" asked Tom.

"I spoke of that," answered the exile. "I said you were a well-known inventor of the United States, and that if any harm came to the craft the Russian Government would not only be held responsible, but that the governor himself would be liable, and I said that it cost much money. That touched him, for, in spite of their power, these Russians are miserably paid. He didn't want to have to make good, and if it developed that he had made a mistake in arresting us, his superiors would disclaim all responsibility, and let him shoulder the blame. Oh, all is not lost yet, though I don't like the looks of things."

Indeed it began to seem rather black for our friends, for, that night they were taken from the fairly comfortable, large, prison room, and confined in small stone cells down in a basement. They were separated, but as the cells adjoined on a corridor they could talk to each other. With some coarse food, and a little water, Tom and his friends were left alone.

"Say I don't like this!" cried our hero, after a pause.

"Me either," chimed in Ned.

"Bless my burglar alarm!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "It's an awful disgrace! If my wife ever heard of me being in jail—"

"She may never hear of it!" interposed Tom.

"Bless my heart!" cried the odd man. "Don't say such things."

They discussed their plight at length, but nothing could be done, and they settled themselves to uneasy slumber. For two days they were thus imprisoned, and all of Mr. Petrofsky's demands that they be given a fair trial, and allowed to know the nature of the charge against them, went for naught. No one came to see them but a villainous looking guard, who brought them their poor meals. The governor ignored them, and Mr. Petrofsky did not know what to think.

"Well, I'm getting sick of this!" exclaimed Tom—"I wish I knew where my airship was."

"I fancy it's in the same place," replied the exile. "From the way the governor acted I think he'd be afraid to have it moved. It might be damaged. If I could only get word to some of my Revolutionary friends it might do some good, but I guess I can't. We'll just have to wait."

Another day passed, and nothing happened. But that night, when the guard came to bring their suppers, something did occur.

"Hello! we've got a new one!" exclaimed Tom, as he noted the man. "Not so bad looking, either."

The man peered into his cell, and said something in Russian.

"Nothing doing," remarked the young inventor with a short laugh. "Nixy on that jabbering."

But, no sooner had the man's words penetrated to the cell of Ivan Petrofsky, that the exile called out something. The guard started, hastened to that cell door, and for a few seconds there was an excited dialogue in Russian.

"Boys! Mr. Damon! We're saved!" suddenly cried out Mr. Petrofsky.

"Bless my door knob! You don't say so!" gasped the odd man. "How? Has the Czar sent orders to release us."

"No, but somehow my Revolutionary friends have heard about my arrest, and they have arranged for our release—secretly of course. This guard is affiliated with the Nihilist group that got on the trail of my brother. He bribed the other guard to let him take his place for to-night, and now—"

"Yes! What is it?" cried Tom.

"He's going to open the cell doors and let us out!"

"But how can we get past the other guards, upstairs?" asked Ned.

"We're not going that way," explained Mr. Petrofsky. "There is a secret exit from this corridor, through a tunnel that connects with a large salt mine. Once we are in there we can make our way out. We'll soon be free."

"Ask him if he's heard anything of my airship?" asked Tom. Mr. Petrofsky put the question rapidly in Russian and then translated the answer.

"It's in the same place."

"Hurray!" cried Tom.

Working rapidly, the Nihilist guard soon had the cell doors open, for he had the keys, and our friends stepped out into the corridor.

"This way," called Ivan Petrofsky, as he followed their liberator, who spoke in whispers. "He says he will lead us to the salt mine, tell us how to get out and then he must make his own escape."

"Then he isn't coming with us?" asked Ned.

"No, it would not be safe. But he will tell us how to get out. It seems that years ago some prisoners escaped this way, and the authorities closed up the tunnel. But a cave-in of the salt mine opened a way into it again."

They followed their queer guide, who led them down the corridor. He paused at the end, and then, diving in behind a pile of rubbish, he pulled away some boards. A black opening, barely large enough for a man to walk in upright, was disclosed.

"In there?" cried Tom.

"In there," answered Mr. Petrofsky. He and the guard murmured their good-byes, and then, with a lighted candle the faithful Nihilist had provided, and with several others in reserve, our friends stepped into the blackness. They could hear the board being pulled back into place behind them.

"Forward!" cried the exile, and forward they went.

It was not a pleasant journey, being through an uneven tunnel in the darkness. Half a mile later they emerged into a large salt mine, that seemed to be directly beneath the town. Work in this part had been abandoned long ago, all the salt there was left being in the shape of large pillars, that supported the roof. It sparkled dully in the candle light.

"Now let me see if I remember the turnings," murmured Mr. Petrofsky. "He said to keep on for half an hour, and we would come out in a little woods not far from where our airship was anchored."

Twisting and turning, here and there in the semi-darkness, stumbling, and sometimes falling over the uneven floor, the little party went on.

"Did you say half an hour?" asked Tom, after a while.

"Yes," replied the Russian.

"We've been longer than that," announced the young inventor, after a look at his watch. "It's over an hour."

"Bless my timetable!" cried Mr. Damon.

"Are you sure?" asked Mr. Petrofsky.

"Yes," answered Tom in a low voice.

The Russian looked about him, flashing the candle on several turnings and tunnels. Suddenly Ned uttered a cry.

"Why, we passed this place a little while before!" he said. "I remember this pillar that looks like two men wrestling!"

It was true. They all remembered it when they saw it again.

"Back in the same place!" mused the Russian. "Then we have doubled on our tracks. I'm afraid we're lost!"

"Lost in a Russian salt mine!" gasped Tom, and his words sounded ominous in that gloomy place.

For a space of several seconds no one moved or spoke. In the flickering light of the candle they looked at one another, and then at the fantastic pillars of salt all about them. Then Mr. Damon started forward.

"Bless my trolley car!" he exclaimed. "It isn't possible! There must be some mistake. If we'll keep on we'll come out all right. You know your way about, don't you, Mr. Petrofsky?"

"I thought I did, from what the guard told us, but it seems I must have taken a wrong turning."

"Then it's easily remedied," suggested Tom "All we'll have to do will be to go to the place where we started, and begin over again."

"Of course," agreed Ned, and they all seemed more cheerful.

"And if we start out once more, and get lost again, then what?" asked Mr. Damon.

"Well, if worst comes to worst, we can go, back in the tunnel, go to our cells and ask the guard to come with us and show us the way went on Tom.

"Never!" cried the exile. "It would be the most dangerous thing in the world to go back to the prison. Our escape has probably been discovered by this time, and to return would only be to put our heads in the noose. We must keep on at any cost!"

"But if we can't get out," suggested Tom, "and if we haven't anything to eat or drink, we—"

He did not finish, but they all knew what he meant.

"Oh, we'll get out!" declared Ned, who was something of an optimist. "You've been in salt mines before, haven't you, Mr. Petrofsky?"

"Yes, I was condemned to one once, but it was not in this part of the country, and it was not an abandoned one. I imagine this was only an isolated mine, and that there are no others near it, so when they abandoned it, after all the salt was taken out, most people forgot about it. I remember once a party of prisoners were lost in a large salt mine, and were missed for several days."

"What happened to them?" asked Tom.

"I don't like to talk about it," replied the Russian with a shudder.

"Bless my soul! Was it as bad as that?" asked Mr. Damon.

"It was," replied the exile. "But now let's see if we can find our way back, and start afresh. I'll be more careful next time, and watch the turns more closely."

But he did not get the chance. They could not find the tunnel whence they had started. Turn after turn they took, down passage after passage sometimes in such small ones that they almost had to crawl.

But it was of no use. They could not find their way back to the starting place, and they could not find the opening of the mine. They had used two of the slow burning candles and they had only half a dozen or so left. When these were gone—

But they did not like to think of that, and stumbled on and on. They did not talk much, for they were too worried. Finally Ned gasped:

"I'd give a good deal for a drink of water."

"So would I," added his chum. "But what's the use of wishing? If there was a spring down here it would be salt water. But I know what I would do—if I could."

"What?" asked Mr. Damon.

"Go back to the prison. At least we wouldn't starve there, and we'd have something to drink. If they kept us we know we could get free—sometime."

"Perhaps never!" exclaimed Ivan Petrofsky. "It is better to keep on here, and, as for me, I would rather die here than go back to a Russian prison. We must—we shall get out!"

But it was idle talk. Gradually they lost track of time as they staggered on, and they hardly knew whether a day had passed or whether it was but a few hours since they had been lost.

Of their sufferings in that salt mine I shall not go into details. There are enough unpleasant things in this world without telling about that. They must have wandered around for at least a day and a half, and in all that while they had not a drop of water, and not a thing to eat. Wait, though, at last in their desperation they did gnaw the tallow candles, and that served to keep them alive, and, in a measure, alleviate their awful sufferings from thirst.

Back and forth they wandered, up and down in the galleries of the old salt mine. They were merely hoping against hope.

"It's worse than the underground city of gold," said Ned in hollow tones, as he staggered on. "Worse—much worse." His head was feeling light. No one answered him.

It was, as they learned later, just about two days after the time when they entered the mine that they managed to get out. Forty-eight hours, most of them of intense suffering. They were burning their last candle, and when that was out they knew they would have the horrors of darkness to fight against, as well as those of hunger and thirst.

But fate was kind to them. How they managed to hit on the right gallery they did not know, but, as they made a turn around an immense pillar of salt Tom, who was walking weakly in advance, suddenly stopped.

"Look! Look!" he whispered. "Another candle! Someone—someone is searching for us! We are saved!"

"It may be the police!" said Ned.

"That is not a candle," spoke the Russian in hollow tones as he looked to where Tom pointed, to a little glimmer of light. "It is a star. Friends, we are saved, and by Providence! That is a star, shining through the opening of the mine. We are saved!"

Eagerly they pressed forward, and they had not gone far before they knew that the exile was right. They felt the cool night wind on their hot cheeks.

"Thank heaven!" gasped Tom, as he pushed on.

A moment later, climbing over the rusted rails on which the mine cars had run with their loads of salt, they staggered into the open. They were free—under the silent stars!

"And now, if we can only find the airship," said Tom faintly, "we can—"

"Look there!" whispered Ned, pointing to a patch of deeper blackness that the surrounding night. "What's that."

"The Falcon!" gasped Tom. He started toward her, for she was but a short distance from a little clump of trees into which they had emerged from the opening of the salt mine. There, on the same little plane where they had landed in her was the airship. She had not been moved.

"Wait!" cautioned Ivan Petrofsky. "She may be guarded."

Hardly had he spoken than there walked into the faint starlight on the side of the ship nearest them, a Cossack soldier with his rifle over his shoulder.

"We can't get her!" gasped Ned.

"We've got to get her!" declared Tom. "We'll die if we don't!"

"But the guards! They'll arrest us!" said the exile.

An instant later a second soldier joined the first, and they could be seen conversing. They then resumed their pacing around the anchored craft. Evidently they were waiting for the escaped prisoners to come up when they would give the alarm and apprehend them.

"What can we do?" asked Mr. Damon.

"I have a plan," said Tom weakly. "It's the only chance, for we're not strong enough to tackle them. Every time they go around on the far side of the airship we must creep forward. When they come on this side we'll lie down. I doubt if they can see us. Once we are on hoard we can cut the ropes, and start off. Everything is all ready for a start if they haven't monkeyed with her, and I don't think they have. We've got room enough to run along as an aeroplane and mount upward. It's our only hope."

The others agreed, and they put the plan into operation. When the Cossack guards were out of sight the escaped prisoners crawled forward, and when the soldiers came into view our friends waited in silence.

It took several minutes of alternate creeping and waiting to do this, but it was accomplished at last and unseen they managed to slip aboard Then it was the work of but a moment to cut the restraining ropes.

Silently Tom crept to the motor room. He had to work in absolute darkness, for the gleam of a light would have drawn the fire of the guards. But the youth knew every inch of his invention. The only worriment was whether or not the motor would start up after the breakdown, not having been run since it was so hastily repaired. Still he could only try.

He looked out, and saw the guards pacing back and forth. They did not know that the much-sought prisoners were within a few feet of them.

Ned was in the pilot house. He could see a clear field in front of him.

Suddenly Tom pulled the starting lever. There was a little clicking, followed by silence. Was the motor going to revolve? It answered the next moment with a whizz and a roar.

"Here we go!" cried the young inventor, as the big machine shot forward on her flight. "Now let them stop us!"

Forward she went until Ned, knowing by the speed that she had momentum enough, tilted the elevation rudder, and up she shot, while behind, on the ground, wildly running to and fro, and firing their rifles, were the two amazed guards.