The boys could do nothing to control this nauseating, dizzying, rotating motion. Upward and forward the Flying Road Racer was forced, climbing at terrifying speed the aerial circular staircase. One by one her occupants succumbed to the effects of the rapid circling. It caused a helpless, miserable feeling similar to seasickness and quite as prostrating. “Back! back! Go down lower!” shouted Captain Andrews in Tom’s ear. “We can’t,” yelled the lad; “we’re being dragged to the sky. We’ve lost all control.” “Oh, but this is fearful!” exclaimed Mr. Jesson. “Nothing made by human hands can stand this much longer.” Truly it seemed a marvel that the craft had held together as long as it had. So fast were they being swung round and round by this time that the car was suspended at quite a sharp angle, swinging outward from the gas bag by the force of the centrifugal motion. It was terrifying, awe-inspiring, prostrating. Not one of those clinging for dear life to the dizzy car had ever had such an experience, and one or two among them had faced death not a few times. All at once there came a sharp snap from above them. To their overstrung nerves it sounded like a pistol shot. “One of the wires has parted!” cried Ned in a terror-stricken tone. “It is the beginning of the end,” groaned Captain Andrews, sinking his head in his hands. “Can nothing be done?” gasped out Mr. Jesson, who alone of all that pallid-faced crew could find his voice at that instant. “Nothing,” was the reply. “In ten minutes or less every wire holding us to that gas bag will have parted like that one.” “And then?” “And then, my friend, we shall be dropped five thousand feet through space.” CHAPTER XXII—A VOYAGE OF TERROR This dire prophecy was, however, not destined to be fulfilled. To the intense joy of the air travelers, the circular motion ceased almost as suddenly as it had begun, and the rest of the wires remained intact. Evidently, the Flying Road Racer had encountered a cross current of wind at the great altitude she had now attained, which brought her safely out of the aerial whirlpool. It was an almost miraculous escape, and they were all duly thankful when once more their voyage was resumed on an even keel. But the wind still blew hard, and it was impossible for them to stem it without running too grave a risk to attempt such a task. In this way an hour or more passed, and then suddenly Jack, who had been looking out ahead, gave a startled cry. “What’s the matter?” asked his father. “Matter? Good heavens, we are being blown out to sea!” While he spoke the Flying Road Racer was being hurtled along at a dizzy sped above bending tree tops and a storm-stressed expanse of country. Tom had brought the craft much lower, and it was now not more than five hundred feet above the earth. Beneath them the landscape whizzed by like a colored moving picture.