With a crash that could have been heard some distance the whizzer settled to the sand.  It ran along a slight distance, and then, as the bicycle wheels collapsed under the pressure, the airship seemed to go together in a shapeless mass.

At the first impact with the earth, Tom had leaped away from the steering wheel and levers, for he did not want to be crushed against them.  Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, in pursuance of a plan adopted when they found that they were falling, had piled a lot of seat cushions around them.  They had also provided some as buffers for Tom, and our hero, at the instant of the crash, had thrown himself behind and upon them.

It seemed as if the whole ship went to pieces.  The top of the main cabin crashed down, as the side supports gave way, but, fortunately, there were strong main braces, and the roof did not fall completely upon our friends.

The whole bottom of the craft was forced upward and had it not been for the protecting cushions, there might have been serious injuries for all concerned.  As it was they were badly bruised and shaken up.

After the first crash, and succeeding it an instant later, there came a second smash, followed by a slight explosion, and a shower of sparks could be seen in the engine room.

“That’s the electrical apparatus smashing through the floor!” called Tom.  “Come, let’s get out of here before the gasolene sets anything on fire.  Are you all right, Mr. Damon, and you, Mr. Fenwick?”

“Yes, I guess so,” answered the inventor.  “Oh, what a terrible crash!  My airship is ruined!”

“You may be glad we are alive,” said Mr. Damon.  “Bless my top knot, I feel—­”

He did not finish the sentence.  At that moment a piece of wood, broken from the ceiling, where it had hung by a strip of canvas came crashing down, and hit Mr. Damon on the head.

The eccentric man toppled over on his pile of cushions, from which he was arising when he was struck.

“Oh, is he killed?” gasped Mr. Fenwick.

“I hope not!” cried Tom.  “We must get him out of here, at all events.  There may be a fire.”

They both sprang to Mr. Damon’s aid, and succeeded in lifting him out.  There was no difficulty in emerging from the airship as there were big, broken gaps, on all sides of what was left of the cabin.  Once in the outer air Mr. Damon revived, and opened his eyes.

“Much hurt?” asked Tom, feeling of his friend’s head.

“No—­no, I—­I guess not,” was the slow answer.  “I was stunned for a moment.  I’m all right now.  Nothing broken, I guess,” and his hand went to his head.

“No, nothing broken,” added Tom, cheerfully, “but you’ve got a lump there as big as an ostrich egg.  Can you walk?”

“Oh, I’m all right.  Bless my stars, what a wreck!”

Mr. Damon looked at the remains of the airship.  It certainly was a wreck!  The bent and twisted planes were wrapped about the afterpart, the gas bag was but a shred, the frame was splintered and twisted, and the under part, where the starting wheels were placed, resembled a lot of broken bicycles.  The cabin looked like a shack that had sustained an explosion of dynamite.