For two days after the static cleared, there was no word from the silent northland. Bert, Serge, and Andy remained in the radio room continuously, calling vainly for the Neptune but each time their call went unheeded.

“Something mighty serious has happened to the Neptune,” declared Bert, “or Harry would have answered just as soon as the static cleared.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Andy. “They were getting into dangerous water when we last heard from them. Personally, I’ve doubted all along that the Neptune would ever get to the North Pole. The ice pack there is too solid. They’d have to do too much underwater cruising.”

“Do you think they’ve been trapped under the ice?” asked Bert anxiously.

“No,” replied Andy, “for they have the ice drill to cut a path to safety. But a submarine has so many things that can go wrong.”

Late the second day Andy’s father returned from Washington and they informed him of the gravity of the situation.

“How long would it take to get the Goliath ready for a polar trip?” he asked Andy.

“Not much more than six hours,” Andy replied.

“Better warn the crew to stand by. If we don’t hear from the Neptune in another 48 hours we’ll start north in an attempt to locate them.”

Two hours later the Canadian station at Montreal broke in with an urgent message.

“Amateur operator at Hopedale, Labrador, has just messaged that submarine Neptune is disabled and caught in ice. Crew safe. Approximate position: latitude 82° 21′ longitude, east 9° 31′. Ask relief expedition.”

Bert copied the message with a hand that shook so much the words were little more than a scrawl.

“Tell Montreal to stand by,” said Andy, “while I rush this over to Dad and Captain Harkins.” Andy found his father and the commander of the Goliath at the hotel where he burst in on their conference, the message in his hand.

“I was afraid of something like this,” said Andy’s father. “The navy people in Washington were inclined to be pretty pessimistic when I talked with them, yesterday. Well, what do you say Captain?”

The commander of the Goliath asked Andy for the latest weather report. It was favorable.

“We’ll start north at midnight,” he said.

“Will you be able to make the trip, Dad?” asked Andy.

“Sorry, son, but I’m due back in Washington tomorrow for a conference that may mean the construction of more ships like the Goliath. The army people have been tremendously pleased with the performance and are anxious for more, semi-commercial, semi-military dirigibles.”

Andy hurried back to the radio room where he communicated the news to Bert and Serge. The message that the Goliath would start north at midnight flashed to Montreal but static delayed its transmission to Hopedale, to which it was finally relayed and from there sent on to the waiting crew of the Neptune.

Reporters assigned to Bellevue to cover various trial flights of the Goliath sent out the news of the Neptune’s fate and the word that the Goliath was starting north at midnight. Through the early hours of the night the hangar was ablaze with light as final preparations were made.

Every motor was thoroughly checked, extra helium put in the gas cells and every precaution taken to insure the success of the long flight.

Andy and Captain Harkins studied charts of the northland, plotting their proposed course.

It was finally agreed that they would fly north and east to Montreal and then almost due north nearly 3,000 miles along the 76th meridian until they reached Etah, Greenland, on the northwestern tip of that ice-covered land. At Etah they would swing east, skirting the north coast of Greenland, then out over the desolate waste of ice on the last leg of their trip to find the crew of the Neptune.

By eleven-thirty every member of the crew selected for the rescue trip was aboard, including two mail clerks. There would be no transfer of the mail to the Neptune but the postoffice department had rushed a special cancellation from Washington and letters already aboard would be carried into the Arctic. At the scene of the rescue of the Neptune’s crew the postal clerks would cancel the letters with the special stamp.

When the Goliath started out of its hangar at midnight on the second of July, there were 62 men aboard, including the two postoffice clerks. The crew had been reduced to a minimum for they would pick up the 31 men from the Neptune.

A typical July heat wave had gripped the nation for three days and they were glad to soar into the cooler heights. A thin moon peeped down at them as the great silver airship climbed into the sky and started north on its mission of rescue.

Lights of Bellevue vanished in the night. They went up to eight thousand feet and headed for Montreal. Bert, in the radio room, advised the Canadian station of their start and asked that the news be sent on to the Neptune, via the station at Hopedale.

Andy made a thorough trip over the Goliath while Serge remained in the control room as first assistant to Captain Harkins. In the last month Serge had proved invaluable. He was thoroughly capable of handling the Goliath and had the ability to size up an emergency in an instant and make the right decision.

A little more than an hour after leaving Bellevue, the lights of Pittsburgh appeared to their right. Tongues of flame from the steel furnaces along the Monongahela shot into the night as though in greeting to the king of the skyways.

The sky was brightening with the rose of a summer dawn when they passed over Buffalo and headed down Lake Ontario.

Captain Harkins, who had been at the controls, complained of a severe abdominal pain and retired into the main lounge, leaving Andy in charge. As they neared Montreal, the commander’s suffering became more intense.

“I’m going to radio ahead and have a doctor meet us at Montreal,” said Bert. “Captain Harkins is a mighty sick man and unless I miss my guess, the trouble is acute appendicitis.”

Andy agreed and told Serge to make preparations to land the Goliath when they reached the airport outside Montreal. Fortunately there was a mooring mast that had been used by British dirigibles in their trans-Atlantic flights.

It was eight o’clock when the Goliath nosed over Montreal and prepared to descend after its 750 mile flight from its home field. A company from a Canadian regiment stationed in the city had bean turned out and was ready to assist in bringing down the big airship. News that the Goliath would stop had spread over the city and roads leading to the airport were jammed with cars.

With Andy at the main elevator and rudder controls and Serge beside him with a megaphone to direct the actions of the ground crew, they brought the Goliath to an easy landing. As soon as the big ship was fastened securely to the mooring mast Andy hastened back into the main salon where a doctor, who had boarded it the moment they landed, was examining Captain Harkins.

“Acute appendicitis,” was the verdict and the doctor added: “To continue on this flight will undoubtedly cost Captain Harkins his life.”

“We’ve got to go on,” protested the commander of the Goliath. “The lives of 31 men in the Neptune, trapped in the Arctic, depend on us.”

“You’ve got to think of yourself once in a while,” replied the surgeon tartly.

“We can take the Goliath on, Captain Harkins,” said Andy. “Serge has demonstrated that he is an expert pilot and navigator. Between the two of us we can handle the ship.”

Captain Harkins smiled through pain-tightened lips.

“I’m sure you can,” he said, “but you’d better get an official O. K. from your father. He planned to fly back to Washington but you may be able to get him at Bellevue before he starts.”

Bert got through to Bellevue at once and in five minutes Andy was talking with his father by radiophone.

“We’ve got to go on,” said the assistant pilot of the Goliath, “and Captain Harkins is desperately ill. Serge and I can take the Goliath through if you’ll give your permission.”

“Then don’t waste any time,” replied the executive vice president of the National Airways. “Tell Captain Harkins I’ll fly up to see him as soon as possible. Good luck, son, and the best of weather.”

Breakfast was served to the crew while the Goliath was moored at the Montreal airport and at nine o’clock Andy gave orders to resume the flight.

Captain Harkins refused to leave the airport until the Goliath was under way and he watched the big ship move away from the mooring mast and soar into the sky from his cot beside an ambulance. Andy dipped the nose of the Goliath in salute to its commander and then headed the dirigible due north, following just east of the 76th meridian.

The day was clear and warm with a slight breeze from the south to speed them on their way and they roared into the northland at a steady hundred miles an hour. The fertile lands around Montreal were replaced by the heavier forests of middle Quebec and as the sun sped on its western path they looked down on a desolate land of brush, swamp and giant mosquitoes which infested the region in summer. There was little habitation in the country below them for it was a quagmire in summer and a frozen waste in winter.

There were innumerable lakes and rivers sighted during the day but by sundown these had thinned out into a few streams which sent their waters westward into Hudson Bay.

Bert kept in almost constant communication with Montreal for the rescue flight of the Goliath was the news of the hour for every paper in the United States and Canada.

Serge had taken a long afternoon shift at the controls while Andy slept and at sundown they changed, Serge going back into the main cabin for a warm supper and a few hours sleep. At midnight he would relieve Andy.

The wind had died down to a whisper. The sky was brilliant with stars and the Goliath made steady progress northward. There was a chill in the air by midnight and Serge had on his sheepskin when he came forward to relieve Andy.

“They’re having trouble with No. 5 engine again,” said Andy, “and I’m going back and see what’s up. I’ll have them cut it off until they find out just what’s the matter.”

Serge nodded, squinted at the chart and compass, and swung the nose of the Goliath one point east.

Back in No. 5 engine room Andy found the motor crew battling a stubborn piece of machinery. The motor would turn over all right but they couldn’t get the necessary speed. Andy slipped into a pair of coveralls and worked with the crew. The trouble was in the timing and it took them two hours to do the job.

When Andy returned to the main gondola, the sky was light in the east for they were getting into a latitude where the summer nights were short and the days extremely long. Andy stepped into the control room and Serge pointed ahead of them to a blue expanse of water.

“Hudson Strait,” he cried and Andy, hardly believing the words, looked at the chart. An hour later they were cutting across a corner of Fox Land. Then the Goliath was over Baffin Land with the waters of Baffin Bay ahead and to their right.

At five a.m. Andy, who had slept for two hours, relieved Serge. A sharp wind had come out of the north and the Goliath’s speed was down to seventy miles an hour.

The broad expanse of Baffin Bay was dotted with ice. They nosed out over Home Bay with the open area of the South water beneath them. Ahead was the great area of everlasting ice known as the Middle ice. For three hours the Goliath fought its way over the ice sheet. Then came the 25 mile stretch of open water known as Middle water and then another sheet of desolate ice. It was noon when the Goliath finally left the Middle ice and looked down on the berg-dotted stretch of North water. To their right was that majestic land of eternal ice—Greenland, while to their left was the desolate reaches of Ellesmere island.

Serge took over the controls but Andy, instead of going back to rest, remained at the window, looking down at the ever-changing panorama.

Bert had managed to pick up the wireless station at Etah and had asked for a weather report.

“Clear but a thirty mile wind from the north,” Etah had replied, when the operator had recovered from his astonishment at learning of the proximity of the Goliath.

With their speed greatly curtailed by the strong wind and a desire to economize as much as possible on fuel, it was late in the day when the Goliath stuck its nose into Smith Sound and looked down at Etah, the farthest north year-round settlement of Greenland.

The Goliath dropped low over Etah in salute to its residents. Then the motors of the Goliath echoed their power through the stillness of the Arctic, Andy brought the nose up, and they proceeded up Smith’s Sound and into Kane Basin.

Ahead of them loomed a gray blanket of fog and Andy sent the Goliath climbing for altitude. Four, five, six, even seven thousand feet they fought their way against the bitter wind but the drifting mist of gray enveloped them. They came down to eight hundred feet but there was no escape. The fog clung to the earth and it was impossible to see more than two hundred feet ahead of the control room. Double lookouts were posted and extra men ordered into the observation cockpits atop the Goliath with telephone sets strapped to them so they could communicate any possible danger or send news of a break in the fog bank.

The Goliath crept ahead under reduced speed, barely feeling its way along. Andy knew that below them was the great ice cap which covered Greenland and in the region over which they were now flying an occasional mountain peak reared its head through the eternal blanket of ice and snow. The danger of colliding with such a peak was known to every member of the crew and not a man so much as closed his eyes while the Goliath battled the fog.

The real danger from the fog, which only Andy and Serge realized, was ice. In less than half an hour the outer covering of the Goliath was sheathed in ice. The sides of the gondola were covered with the treacherous stuff and even the windows froze over. It was necessary to lower them and the cold fog swept into the control room. Sheepskins were buttoned close as the Goliath moved slowly ahead.

Serge kept his eyes on the altimeter. The needle was wavering at eight hundred feet. Then it dropped to seven-fifty and finally to seven hundred. The weight of the ice was forcing them down.

Serge nudged Andy and pointed significantly to the needle. It was down to six seventy-five. Andy nodded grimly and ordered more speed, at the same time trying to nose the Goliath higher with the increased lifting power of the additional speed.

They gained a bare hundred feet, held it for five minutes, and then saw the needle of the altimeter start down.

“Take the controls,” Andy told Serge. “I’m going to ask for volunteers to go on top with me and try and chop the ice loose.”

“You can’t do that,” protested Serge. “The risk is too great. Someone will slip off and be killed.”

“It’s either going up top and trying to clear off the ice or wait here until we’re forced down and crash into something, which would mean the loss of the Goliath and the end of the rescue flight to the Neptune. I’ve got to go.”

There was no hesitancy among the crew in volunteering for the dangerous task. They equipped themselves with short axes and steel bars, special steel cleated shoes and ropes fastened around their waists. Andy divided his crew of volunteers, four of them going aft and three of them accompanying him aloft at the bow of the Goliath.

When they emerged in the observation cockpit where another member of the crew was huddled trying to peer into the fog, they found themselves in a world alone. Ahead, behind, and on each side stretched the solid wall of cold, gray mist. The top of the Goliath shone dully under the sheet of ice, the depth of which was increasing every minute.

“Lash yourselves to the steel cable along the catwalk,” Andy cautioned them, “and be careful in using the axes. Don’t chop through the metalized covering if you can help it.”

The men nodded grimly and crept cautiously out on the catwalk, each one careful to fasten the rope around his body. Setting the spikes on their shoes firmly into the ice, they began hacking away at the menacing shield which covered the Goliath.

It was a slow, tedious task and the air was bitter cold. They cleaned off the forward part of the catwalk and then started cautiously out on top of the Goliath. Great sheets of ice slipped away under the prying of their bars but it seemed that new sheets formed almost as fast as they pried the old ones loose.

Andy’s hands became numb and his face felt like an icy mask.

The lookout in the observation cockpit shouted at them.

“Control room says we’re holding steady now at five hundred feet. Asks if you want more help.”

“Tell them to send up a relief crew,” replied Andy. Ten minutes later three fresh men were working with him and they attacked the ice with renewed vigor. Andy felt fortunate that there had been no accident so far but the thought was hardly in his mind when one of the new men, overly-enthusiastic, slipped and disappeared in the fog. His safety rope was fastened to the cable along the catwalk, but he had been in too much haste to tie it securely and Andy saw the rope slipping. Somewhere over the side of the Goliath this man was hanging, undoubtedly feeling the quiver of the rope as the knot slipped.

Forgetting his own danger, Andy hurled himself along the catwalk. He seized the other man’s safety rope just before the knot gave way. Andy’s arms jerked out straight and he cried aloud at the sudden pain. He wrapped his legs around the cable on the catwalk and sprawled out on top of the Goliath, head-foremost toward the edge over which the other man had disappeared.

Andy’s cries brought the attention of the watch in the observation cockpit and the other two men working on top with him. As fast as the treacherous condition of the catwalk would permit, they hastened toward him but to Andy their progress was painfully slow.

The rope was slipping through his hands. His fingers tightened until it seemed they would crack but they were so numb from cold he couldn’t put his full strength on the rope. It was slipping faster and faster. Somewhere on the other end the man who had been working beside him only a minute before was swinging like a pendulum along the side of the ice-encrusted dirigible.

Andy cried out again. He saw the three coming to his aid hurl themselves toward him. He closed his eyes. The rope was slipping faster. Something hit him so hard that he gasped for breath and the rope raced through his fingers. He clutched at it and his fingers closed against his own palms.

When Andy opened his eyes one of the crew was bending over him while the other two were pulling their companion up over t............