ROBUR THE CONQUEROR

By Jules Verne




Contents

 CHAPTER I Mysterious sounds
 CHAPTER II Agreement Impossible
 CHAPTER III A Visitor is Announced
 CHAPTER IV In Which a New Character Appears
 CHAPTER V Another Disappearance
 CHAPTER VI The President and Secretary Suspend Hostilities
 CHAPTER VII On board the Albatross
 CHAPTER VIII The Balloonists Refuse to be Convinced
 CHAPTER IX Across the Prairie
 CHAPTER X Westward—but Whither?
 CHAPTER XI The Wide Pacific
 CHAPTER XII Through the Himalayas
 CHAPTER XIII Over the Caspian
 CHAPTER XIV The Aeronef at Full Speed
 CHAPTER XV A Skirmish in Dahomey
 CHAPTER XVI Over the Atlantic
 CHAPTER XVII The Shipwrecked Crew
 CHAPTER XVIII Over the Volcano
 CHAPTER XIX Anchored at Last
 CHAPTER XX The Wreck of the Albatross
 CHAPTER XXI The Institute Again
 CHAPTER XXII The Go-Ahead is Launched
 CHAPTER XXIII The Grand Collapse




Chapter I
MYSTERIOUS SOUNDS


BANG! Bang!

The pistol shots were almost simultaneous. A cow peacefully grazing
fifty yards away received one of the bullets in her back. She had
nothing to do with the quarrel all the same.

Neither of the adversaries was hit.

Who were these two gentlemen? We do not know, although this would be an
excellent opportunity to hand down their names to posterity. All we can
say is that the elder was an Englishman and the younger an American,
and both of them were old enough to know better.

So far as recording in what locality the inoffensive ruminant had just
tasted her last tuft of herbage, nothing can be easier. It was on the
left bank of Niagara, not far from the suspension bridge which joins
the American to the Canadian bank three miles from the falls.

The Englishman stepped up to the American.

“I contend, nevertheless, that it was ‘Rule Britannia!’”

“And I say it was ‘Yankee Doodle!’” replied the young American.

The dispute was about to begin again when one of the seconds—doubtless
in the interests of the milk trade—interposed.

“Suppose we say it was ‘Rule Doodle’ and ‘Yankee Britannia’ and adjourn
to breakfast?”

This compromise between the national airs of Great Britain and the
United States was adopted to the general satisfaction. The Americans
and Englishmen walked up the left bank of the Niagara on their way to
Goat Island, the neutral ground between the falls. Let us leave them in
the presence of the boiled eggs and traditional ham, and floods enough
of tea to make the cataract jealous, and trouble ourselves no more
about them. It is extremely unlikely that we shall again meet with them
in this story.

Which was right; the Englishman or the American? It is not easy to say.
Anyhow the duel shows how great was the excitement, not only in the new
but also in the old world, with regard to an inexplicable phenomenon
which for a month or more had driven everybody to distraction.

Never had the sky been so much looked at since the appearance of man on
the terrestrial globe. The night before an aerial trumpet had blared
its brazen notes through space immediately over that part of Canada
between Lake Ontario and Lake Erie. Some people had heard those notes
as “Yankee Doodle.” others had heard them as “Rule Britannia.” and
hence the quarrel between the Anglo-Saxons, which ended with the
breakfast on Goat Island. Perhaps it was neither one nor the other of
these patriotic tunes, but what was undoubted by all was that these
extraordinary sounds had seemed to descend from the sky to the earth.

What could it be? Was it some exuberant aeronaut rejoicing on that
sonorous instrument of which the Renommée makes such obstreperous use?

No! There was no balloon and there were no aeronauts. Some strange
phenomenon had occurred in the higher zones of the atmosphere, a
phenomenon of which neither the nature nor the cause could be
explained. Today it appeared over America; forty-eight hours afterwards
it was over Europe; a week later it was in Asia over the Celestial
Empire.

Hence in every country of the world—empire, kingdom, or republic—there
was anxiety which it was important to allay. If you hear in your house
strange and inexplicable noises, do you not at once endeavor to
discover the cause? And if your search is in vain, do you not leave
your house and take up your quarters in another? But in this case the
house was the terrestrial globe! There are no means of leaving that
house for the moon or Mars, or Venus, or Jupiter, or any other planet
of the solar system. And so of necessity we have to find out what it is
that takes place, not in the infinite void, but within the
atmospherical zones. In fact, if there is no air there is no noise, and
as there was a noise—that famous trumpet, to wit—the phenomenon must
occur in the air, the density of which invariably diminishes, and which
does not extend for more than six miles round our spheroid.

Naturally the newspapers took up the question in their thousands, and
treated it in every form, throwing on it both light and darkness,
recording many things about it true or false, alarming and
tranquillizing their readers—as the sale required—and almost driving
ordinary people mad. At one blow party politics dropped unheeded—and
the affairs of the world went on none the worse for it.

But what could this thing be? There was not an observatory that was not
applied to. If an observatory could not give a satisfactory answer what
was the use of observatories? If astronomers, who doubled and tripled
the stars a hundred thousand million miles away, could not explain a
phenomenon occurring only a few miles off, what was the use of
astronomers?

The observatory at Paris was very guarded in what it said. In the
mathematical section they had not thought the statement worth noticing;
in the meridional section they knew nothing about it; in the physical
observatory they had not come across it; in the geodetic section they
had had no observation; in the meteorological section there had been no
record; in the calculating room they had had nothing to deal with. At
any rate this confession was a frank one, and the same frankness
characterized the replies from the observatory of Montsouris and the
magnetic station in the park of St. Maur. The same respect for the
truth distinguished the Bureau des Longitudes.

The provinces were slightly more affirmative. Perhaps in the night of
the fifth and the morning of the sixth of May there had appeared a
flash of light of electrical origin which lasted about twenty seconds.
At the Pic du Midi this light appeared between nine and ten in the
evening. At the Meteorological Observatory on the Puy de Dome the light
had been observed between one and two o’clock in the morning; at Mont
Ventoux in Provence it had been seen between two and three o’clock; at
Nice it had been noticed between three and four o’clock; while at the
Semnoz Alps between Annecy, Le Bourget, and Le Léman, it had been
detected just as the zenith was paling with the dawn.

Now it evidently would not do to disregard these observations
altogether. There could be no doubt that a light had been observed at
different places, in succession, at intervals, during some hours.
Hence, whether it had been produced from many centers in the
terrestrial atmosphere, or from one center, it was plain that the light
must have traveled at a speed of over one hundred and twenty miles an
hour.

In the United Kingdom there was much perplexity. The observatories were
not in agreement. Greenwich would not consent to the proposition of
Oxford. They were agreed on one point, however, and that was: “It was
nothing at all!”

But, said one, “It was an optical illusion!” While the other contended
that, “It was an acoustical illusion!” And so they disputed. Something,
however, was, it will be seen, common to both “It was an illusion.”

Between the observatory of Berlin and the observatory of Vienna the
discussion threatened to end in international complications; but
Russia, in the person of the director of the observatory at Pulkowa,
showed that both were right. It all depended on the point of view from
which they attacked the phenomenon, which, though impossible in theory,
was possible in practice.

In Switzerland, at the observatory of Sautis in the canton of
Appenzell, at the Righi, at the Gäbriss, in the passes of the St.
Gothard, at the St. Bernard, at the Julier, at the Simplon, at Zurich,
at Somblick in the Tyrolean Alps, there was a very strong
disinclination to say anything about what nobody could prove—and that
was nothing but reasonable.

But in Italy, at the meteorological stations on Vesuvius, on Etna in
the old Casa Inglesi, at Monte Cavo, the observers made no hesitation
in admitting the materiality of the phenomenon, particularly as they
had seen it by day in the form of a small cloud of vapor, and by night
in that of a shooting star. But of what it was they knew nothing.

Scientists began at last to tire of the mystery, while they continued
to disagree about it, and even to frighten the lowly and the ignorant,
who, thanks to one of the wisest laws of nature, have formed, form, and
will form the immense majority of the world’s inhabitants. Astronomers
and meteorologists would soon have dropped the subject altogether had
not, on the night of the 26th and 27th, the observatory of Kautokeino
at Finmark, in Norway, and during the night of the 28th and 29th that
of Isfjord at Spitzbergen—Norwegian one and Swedish the other—found
themselves agreed in recording that in the center of an aurora borealis
there had appeared a sort of huge bird, an aerial monster, whose
structure they were unable to determine, but who, there was no doubt,
was showering off from his body certain corpuscles which exploded like
bombs.

In Europe not a doubt was thrown on this observation of the stations in
Finmark and Spitzbergen. But what appeared the most phenomenal about it
was that the Swedes and Norwegians could find themselves in agreement
on any subject whatever.

There was a laugh at the asserted discovery in all the observatories of
South America, in Brazil, Peru, and La Plata, and in those of Australia
at Sydney, Adelaide, and Melbourne; and Australian laughter is very
catching.

To sum up, only one chief of a meteorological station ventured on a
decided answer to this question, notwithstanding the sarcasms that his
solution provoked. This was a Chinaman, the director of the observatory
at Zi-Ka-Wey which rises in the center of a vast plateau less than
thirty miles from the sea, having an immense horizon and wonderfully
pure atmosphere. “It is possible.” said he, “that the object was an
aviform apparatus—a flying machine!”

What nonsense!

But if the controversy was keen in the old world, we can imagine what
it was like in that portion of the new of which the United States
occupy so vast an area.

A Yankee, we know, does not waste time on the road. He takes the street
that leads him straight to his end. And the observatories of the
American Federation did not hesitate to do their best. If they did not
hurl their objectives at each other’s heads, it was because they would
have had to put them back just when they most wanted to use them. In
this much-disputed question the observatories of Washington in the
District of Columbia, and Cambridge in Massachusetts, found themselves
opposed by those of Dartmouth College in New Hampshire, and Ann Arbor
in Michigan. The subject of their dispute was not the nature of the
body observed, but the precise moment of its observation. All of them
claimed to have seen it the same night, the same hour, the same minute,
the same second, although the trajectory of the mysterious voyager took
it but a moderate height above the horizon. Now from Massachusetts to
Michigan, from New Hampshire to Columbia, the distance is too great for
this double observation, made at the same moment, to be considered
possible.

Dudley at Albany, in the state of New York, and West Point, the
military academy, showed that their colleagues were wrong by an
elaborate calculation of the right ascension and declination of the
aforesaid body.

But later on it was discovered that the observers had been deceived in
the body, and that what they had seen was an aerolite. This aerolite
could not be the object in question, for how could an aerolite blow a
trumpet?

It was in vain that they tried to get rid of this trumpet as an optical
illusion. The ears were no more deceived than the eyes. Something had
assuredly been seen, and something had assuredly been heard. In the
night of the 12th and 13th of May—a very dark night—the observers at
Yale College, in the Sheffield Science School, had been able to take
down a few bars of a musical phrase in D major, common time, which gave
note for note, rhythm for rhythm, the chorus of the Chant du Départ.

“Good.” said the Yankee wags. “There is a French band well up in the
air.”

“But to joke is not to answer.” Thus said the observatory at Boston,
founded by the Atlantic Iron Works Society, whose opinions in matters
of astronomy and meteorology began to have much weight in the world of
science.

Then there intervened the observatory at Cincinnati, founded in 1870,
on Mount Lookout, thanks to the generosity of Mr. Kilgour, and known
for its micrometrical measurements of double stars. Its director
declared with the utmost good faith that there had certainly been
something, that a traveling body had shown itself at very short periods
at different points in the atmosphere, but what were the nature of this
body, its dimensions, its speed, and its trajectory, it was impossible
to say.

It was then a journal whose publicity is immense—the “New York
Herald”—received the anonymous contribution hereunder.

“There will be in the recollection of most people the rivalry which
existed a few years ago between the two heirs of the Begum of
Ragginahra, the French doctor Sarrasin, the city of Frankville, and the
German engineer Schultze, in the city of Steeltown, both in the south
of Oregon in the United States.

“It will not have been forgotten that, with the object of destroying
Frankville, Herr Schultze launched a formidable engine, intended to
beat down the town and annihilate it at a single blow.

“Still less will it be forgotten that this engine, whose initial
velocity as it left the mouth of the monster cannon had been
erroneously calculated, had flown off at a speed exceeding by sixteen
times that of ordinary projectiles—or about four hundred and fifty
miles an hour—that it did not fall to the ground, and that it passed
into an aerolitic stage, so as to circle for ever round our globe.

“Why should not this be the body in question?”

Very ingenious, Mr. Correspondent on the “New York Herald!” but how
about the trumpet? There was no trumpet in Herr Schulze’s projectile!

So all the explanations explained nothing, and all the observers had
observed in vain. There remained only the suggestion offered by the
director of Zi-Ka-Wey. But the opinion of a Chinaman!

The discussion continued, and there was no sign of agreement. Then came
a short period of rest. Some days elapsed without any object, aerolite
or otherwise, being described, and without any trumpet notes being
heard in the atmosphere. The body then had fallen on some part of the
globe where it had been difficult to trace it; in the sea, perhaps. Had
it sunk in the depths of the Atlantic, the Pacific, or the Indian
Ocean? What was to be said in this matter?

But then, between the 2nd and 9th of June, there came a new series of
facts which could not possibly be explained by the unaided existence of
a cosmic phenomenon.

In a week the Hamburgers at the top of St. Michael’s Tower, the Turks
on the highest minaret of St. Sophia, the Rouennais at the end of the
metal spire of their cathedral, the Strasburgers at the summit of their
minister, the Americans on the head of the Liberty statue at the
entrance of the Hudson and on the Bunker Hill monument at Boston, the
Chinese at the spike of the temple of the Four Hundred Genii at Canton,
the Hindus on the sixteenth terrace of the pyramid of the temple at
Tanjore, the San Pietrini at the cross of St. Peter’s at Rome, the
English at the cross of St. Paul’s in London, the Egyptians at the apex
of the Great Pyramid of Ghizeh, the Parisians at the lighting conductor
of the iron tower of the Exposition of 1889, a thousand feet high, all
of them beheld a flag floating from some one of these inaccessible
points.

And the flag was black, dotted with stars, and it bore a golden sun in
its center.




Chapter II
AGREEMENT IMPOSSIBLE


“And the first who says the contrary—”

“Indeed! But we will say the contrary so long as there is a place to
say it in!”

“And in spite of your threats—”

“Mind what you are saying, Bat Fynn!”

“Mind what you are saying, Uncle Prudent!”

“I maintain that the screw ought to be behind!”

“And so do we! And so do we!” replied half a hundred voices confounded
in one.

“No! It ought to be in front!” shouted Phil Evans.

“In front!” roared fifty other voices, with a vigor in no whit less
remarkable.

“We shall never agree!”

“Never! Never!”

“Then what is the use of a dispute?”

“It is not a dispute! It is a discussion!”

One would not have thought so to listen to the taunts, objurgations,
and vociferations which filled the lecture room for a good quarter of
an hour.

The room was one of the largest in the Weldon Institute, the well-known
club in Walnut Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U. S. A. The evening
before there had been an election of a lamplighter, occasioning many
public manifestations, noisy meetings, and even interchanges of blows,
resulting in an effervescence which had not yet subsided, and which
would account for some of the excitement just exhibited by the members
of the Weldon Institute. For this was merely a meeting of balloonists,
discussing the burning question of the direction of balloons.

In this great saloon there were struggling, pushing, gesticulating,
shouting, arguing, disputing, a hundred balloonists, all with their
hats on, under the authority of a president, assisted by a secretary
and treasurer. They were not engineers by profession, but simply
amateurs of all that appertained to aerostatics, and they were amateurs
in a fury, and especially foes of those who would oppose to aerostats
“apparatuses heavier than the air.” flying machines, aerial ships, or
what not. That these people might one day discover the method of
guiding balloons is possible. There could be no doubt that their
president had considerable difficulty in guiding them.

This president, well known in Philadelphia, was the famous Uncle
Prudent, Prudent being his family name. There is nothing surprising in
America in the qualificative uncle, for you can there be uncle without
having either nephew or niece. There they speak of uncle as in other
places they speak of father, though the father may have had no
children.

Uncle Prudent was a personage of consideration, and in spite of his
name was well known for his audacity. He was very rich, and that is no
drawback even in the United States; and how could it be otherwise when
he owned the greater part of the shares in Niagara Falls? A society of
engineers had just been founded at Buffalo for working the cataract. It
seemed to be an excellent speculation. The seven thousand five hundred
cubic meters that pass over Niagara in a second would produce seven
millions of horsepower. This enormous power, distributed amongst all
the workshops within a radius of three hundred miles, would return an
annual income of three hundred million dollars, of which the greater
part would find its way into the pocket of Uncle Prudent. He was a
bachelor, he lived quietly, and for his only servant had his valet
Frycollin, who was hardly worthy of being the servant to so audacious a
master.

Uncle Prudent was rich, and therefore he had friends, as was natural;
but he also had enemies, although he was president of the club—among
others all those who envied his position. Amongst his bitterest foes we
may mention the secretary of the Weldon Institute.

This was Phil Evans, who was also very rich, being the manager of the
Wheelton Watch Company, an important manufactory, which makes every day
five hundred movements equal in every respect to the best Swiss
workmanship. Phil Evans would have passed for one of the happiest men
in the world, and even in the United States, if it had not been for
Uncle Prudent. Like him he was in his forty-sixth year; like him of
invariable health; like him of undoubted boldness. They were two men
made to understand each other thoroughly, but they did not, for both
were of extreme violence of character. Uncle Prudent was furiously hot;
Phil Evans was abnormally cool.

And why had not Phil Evans been elected president of the club? The
votes were exactly divided between Uncle Prudent and him. Twenty times
there had been a scrutiny, and twenty times the majority had not
declared for either one or the other. The position was embarrassing,
and it might have lasted for the lifetime of the candidates.

One of the members of the club then proposed a way out of the
difficulty. This was Jem Chip, the treasurer of the Weldon Institute.
Chip was a confirmed vegetarian, a proscriber of all animal
nourishment, of all fermented liquors, half a Mussulman, half a
Brahman. On this occasion Jem Chip was supported by another member of
the club, William T. Forbes, the manager of a large factory where they
made glucose by treating rags with sulphuric acid. A man of good
standing was this William T. Forbes, the father of two charming
girls—Miss Dorothy, called Doll, and Miss Martha, called Mat, who gave
the tone to the best society in Philadelphia.

It followed, then, on the proposition of Jem Chip, supported by William
T. Forbes and others, that it was decided to elect the president “on
the center point.”

This mode of election can be applied in all cases when it is desired to
elect the most worthy; and a number of Americans of high intelligence
are already thinking of employing it in the nomination of the President
of the Republic of the United States.

On two boards of perfect whiteness a black line is traced. The length
of each of these lines is mathematically the same, for they have been
determined with as much accuracy as the base of the first triangle in a
trigonometrical survey. That done, the two boards were erected on the
same day in the center of the conference room, and the two candidates,
each armed with a fine needle, marched towards the board that had
fallen to his lot. The man who planted his needle nearest the center of
the line would be proclaimed President of the Weldon Institute.

The operation must be done at once—no guide marks or trial shots
allowed; nothing but sureness of eye. The man must have a compass in
his eye, as the saying goes; that was all.

Uncle Prudent stuck in his needle at the same moment as Phil Evans did
his. Then there began the measurement to discover which of the two
competitors had most nearly approached the center.

Wonderful! Such had been the precision of the shots that the measures
gave no appreciable difference. If they were not exactly in the
mathematical center of the line, the distance between the needles was
so small as to be invisible to the naked eye.

The meeting was much embarrassed.

Fortunately one of the members, Truck Milnor, insisted that the
measurements should be remade by means of a rule graduated by the
micrometrical machine of M. Perreaux, which can divide a millimeter
into fifteen-hundredths of a millimeter with a diamond splinter, was
brought to bear on the lines; and on reading the divisions through a
microscope the following were the results: Uncle Prudent had approached
the center within less than six fifteenth-hundredths of a millimeter.
Phil Evans was within nine fifteen-hundredths.

And that is why Phil Evans was only secretary of the Weldon Institute,
whereas Uncle Prudent was president. A difference of three
fifteen-hundredths of a millimeter! And on account of it Phil Evans
vowed against Uncle Prudent one of those hatreds which are none the
less fierce for being latent.




Chapter III
A VISITOR IS ANNOUNCED


The many experiments made during this last quarter of the nineteenth
century have given considerable impetus to the question of guidable
balloons. The cars furnished with propellers attached in 1852 to the
aerostats of the elongated form introduced by Henry Giffard, the
machines of Dupuy de Lome in 1872, of the Tissandier brothers in 1883,
and of Captain Krebs and Renard in 1884, yielded many important
results. But if these machines, moving in a medium heavier than
themselves, maneuvering under the propulsion of a screw, working at an
angle to the direction of the wind, and even against the wind, to
return to their point of departure, had been really “guidable.” they
had only succeeded under very favorable conditions. In large, covered
halls their success was perfect. In a calm atmosphere they did very
well. In a light wind of five or six yards a second they still moved.
But nothing practical had been obtained. Against a miller’s wind—nine
yards a second—the machines had remained almost stationary. Against a
fresh breeze—eleven yards a second—they would have advanced backwards.
In a storm—twenty-seven to thirty-three yards a second—they would have
been blown about like a feather. In a hurricane—sixty yards a
second—they would have run the risk of being dashed to pieces. And in
one of those cyclones which exceed a hundred yards a second not a
fragment of them would have been left. It remained, then, even after
the striking experiments of Captains Krebs and Renard, that though
guidable aerostats had gained a little speed, they could not be kept
going in a moderate breeze. Hence the impossibility of making practical
use of this mode of aerial locomotion.

With regards to the means employed to give the aerostat its motion a
great deal of progress had been made. For the steam engines of Henry
Giffard, and the muscular force of Dupuy de Lome, electric motors had
gradually been substituted. The batteries of bichromate of potassium of
the Tissandier brothers had given a speed of four yards a second. The
dynamo-electric machines of Captain Krebs and Renard had developed a
force of twelve horsepower and yielded a speed of six and a half yards
per second.

With regard to this motor, engineers and electricians had been
approaching more and more to that desideratum which is known as a steam
horse in a watch case. Gradually the results of the pile of which
Captains Krebs and Renard had kept the secret had been surpassed, and
aeronauts had become able to avail themselves of motors whose lightness
increased at the same time as their power.

In this there was much to encourage those who believed in the
utilization of guidable balloons. But yet how many good people there
are who refuse to admit the possibility of such a thing! If the
aerostat finds support in the air it belongs to the medium in which it
moves; under such conditions, how can its mass, which offers so much
resistance to the currents of the atmosphere, make its way against the
wind?

In this struggle of the inventors after a light and powerful motor, the
Americans had most nearly attained what they sought. A dynamo-electric
apparatus, in which a new pile was employed the composition of which
was still a mystery, had been bought from its inventor, a Boston
chemist up to then unknown. Calculations made with the greatest care,
diagrams drawn with the utmost exactitude, showed that by means of this
apparatus driving a screw of given dimensions a displacement could be
obtained of from twenty to twenty-two yards a second.

Now this was magnificent!

“And it is not dear.” said Uncle Prudent, as he handed to the inventor
in return for his formal receipt the last installment of the hundred
thousand paper dollars he had paid for his invention.

Immediately the Weldon Institute set to work. When there comes along a
project of practical utility the money leaps nimbly enough from
American pockets. The funds flowed in even without its being necessary
to form a syndicate. Three hundred thousand dollars came into the
club’s account at the first appeal. The work began under the
superintendence of the most celebrated aeronaut of the United States,
Harry W. Tinder, immortalized by three of his ascents out of a
thousand, one in which he rose to a height of twelve thousand yards,
higher than Gay Lussac, Coxwell, Sivet, Crocé-Spinelli, Tissandier,
Glaisher; another in which he had crossed America from New York to San
Francisco, exceeding by many hundred leagues the journeys of Nadar,
Godard, and others, to say nothing of that of John Wise, who
accomplished eleven hundred and fifty miles from St. Louis to Jefferson
county; the third, which ended in a frightful fall from fifteen hundred
feet at the cost of a slight sprain in the right thumb, while the less
fortunate Pilâtre de Rozier fell only seven hundred feet, and yet
killed himself on the spot!

At the time this story begins the Weldon Institute had got their work
well in hand. In the Turner yard at Philadelphia there reposed an
enormous aerostat, whose strength had been tried by highly compressed
air. It well merited the name of the monster balloon.

How large was Nadar’s Géant? Six thousand cubic meters. How large was
John Wise’s balloon? Twenty thousand cubic meters. How large was the
Giffard balloon at the 1878 Exhibition? Twenty-five thousand cubic
meters. Compare these three aerostats with the aerial machine of the
Weldon Institute, whose volume amounted to forty thousand cubic meters,
and you will understand why Uncle Prudent and his colleagues were so
justifiably proud of it.

This balloon not being destined for the exploration of the higher
strata of the atmosphere, was not called the Excelsior, a name which is
rather too much held in honor among the citizens of America. No! It was
called, simply, the “Go-Ahead.” and all it had to do was to justify its
name by going ahead obediently to the wishes of its commander.

The dynamo-electric machine, according to the patent purchased by the
Weldon Institute, was nearly ready. In less than six weeks the
“Go-Ahead” would start for its first cruise through space.

But, as we have seen, all the mechanical difficulties had not been
overcome. Many evenings had been devoted to discussing, not the form of
its screw nor its dimensions, but whether it ought to be put behind, as
the Tissandier brothers had done, or before as Captains Krebs and
Renard had done. It is unnecessary to add that the partisans of the two
systems had almost come to blows. The group of “Beforists” were equaled
in number by the group of “Behindists.” Uncle Prudent, who ought to
have given the casting vote—Uncle Prudent, brought up doubtless in the
school of Professor Buridan—could not bring himself to decide.

Hence the impossibility of getting the screw into place. The dispute
might last for some time, unless the government interfered. But in the
United States the government meddles with private affairs as little as
it possibly can. And it is right.

Things were in this state at this meeting on the 13th of June, which
threatened to end in a riot—insults exchanged, fisticuffs succeeding
the insults, cane thrashings succeeding the fisticuffs, revolver shots
succeeding the cane thrashings—when at thirty-seven minutes past eight
there occurred a diversion.

The porter of the Weldon Institute coolly and calmly, like a policeman
amid the storm of the meeting, approached the presidential desk. On it
he placed a card. He awaited the orders that Uncle Prudent found it
convenient to give.

Uncle Prudent turned on the steam whistle, which did duty for the
presidential bell, for even the Kremlin clock would have struck in
vain! But the tumult slackened not.

Then the president removed his hat. Thanks to this extreme measure a
semi-silence was obtained.

“A communication!” said Uncle Prudent, after taking a huge pinch from
the snuff-box which never left him.

“Speak up!” answered eighty-nine voices, accidentally in agreement on
this one point.

“A stranger, my dear colleagues, asks to be admitted to the meeting.”

“Never!” replied every voice.

“He desires to prove to us, it would appear.” continued Uncle Prudent,
“that to believe in guiding balloons is to believe in the absurdest of
Utopias!”

“Let him in! Let him in!”

“What is the name of this singular personage?” asked secretary Phil
Evans.

“Robur.” replied Uncle Prudent.

“Robur! Robur! Robur!” yelled the assembly. And the welcome accorded so
quickly to the curious name was chiefly due to the Weldon Institute
hoping to vent its exasperation on the head of him who bore it!




Chapter IV
IN WHICH A NEW CHARACTER APPEARS


“Citizens of the United States! My name is Robur. I am worthy of the
name! I am forty years old, although I look but thirty, and I have a
constitution of iron, a healthy vigor that nothing can shake, a
muscular strength that few can equal, and a digestion that would be
thought first class even in an ostrich!”

They were listening! Yes! The riot was quelled at once by the totally
unexpected fashion of the speech. Was this fellow a madman or a hoaxer?
Whoever he was, he kept his audience in hand. There was not a whisper
in the meeting in which but a few minutes ago the storm was in full
fury.

And Robur looked the man he said he was. Of middle height and geometric
breadth, his figure was a regular trapezium with the greatest of its
parallel sides formed by the line of his shoulders. On this line
attached by a robust neck there rose an enormous spheroidal head. The
head of what animal did it resemble from the point of view of passional
analogy? The head of a bull; but a bull with an intelligent face. Eyes
which at the least opposition would glow like coals of fire; and above
them a permanent contraction of the superciliary muscle, an invariable
sign of extreme energy. Short hair, slightly woolly, with metallic
reflections; large chest rising and falling like a smith’s bellows;
arms, hands, legs, feet, all worthy of the trunk. No mustaches, no
whiskers, but a large American goatee, revealing the attachments of the
jaw whose masseter muscles were evidently of formidable strength. It
has been calculated—what has not been calculated?—that the pressure of
the jaw of an ordinary crocodile can reach four hundred atmospheres,
while that of a hound can only amount to one hundred. From this the
following curious formula has been deduced: If a kilogram of dog
produces eight kilograms of masseteric force, a kilogram of crocodile
could produce twelve. Now, a kilogram of, the aforesaid Robur would not
produce less than ten, so that he came between the dog and the
crocodile.

From what country did this remarkable specimen come? It was difficult
to say. One thing was noticeable, and that was that he expressed
himself fluently in English without a trace of the drawling twang that
distinguishes the Yankees of New England.

He continued: “And now, honorable citizens, for my mental faculties.
You see before you an engineer whose nerves are in no way inferior to
his muscles. I have no fear of anything or anybody. I have a strength
of will that has never had to yield. When I have decided on a thing,
all America, all the world, may strive in vain to keep me from it. When
I have an idea, I allow no one to share it, and I do not permit any
contradiction. I insist on these details, honorable citizens, because
it is necessary you should quite understand me. Perhaps you think I am
talking too much about myself? It does not matter if you do! And now
consider a little before you interrupt me, as I have come to tell you
something that you may not be particularly pleased to hear.”

A sound as of the surf on the beach began to rise along the first row
of seats—a sign that the sea would not be long in getting stormy again.

“Speak, stranger!” said Uncle Prudent, who had some difficulty in
restraining himself.

And Robur spoke as follows, without troubling himself any more about
his audience.

“Yes! I know it well! After a century of experiments that have led to
nothing, and trials giving no results, there still exist ill-balanced
minds who believe in guiding balloons. They imagine that a motor of
some sort, electric or otherwise, might be applied to their pretentious
skin bags which are at the mercy of every current in the atmosphere.
They persuade themselves that they can be masters of an aerostat as
they can be masters of a ship on the surface of the sea. Because a few
inventors in calm or nearly calm weather have succeeded in working an
angle with the wind, or even beating to windward in a gentle breeze,
they think that the steering of aerial apparatus lighter than the air
is a practical matter. Well, now, look here; You hundred, who believe
in the realization of your dreams, are throwing your thousands of
dollars not into water but into space! You are fighting the
impossible!”

Strange as it was that at this affirmation the members of the Weldon
Institute did not move. Had they become as deaf as they were patient?
Or were they reserving themselves to see how far this audacious
contradictor would dare to go?

Robur continued: “What? A balloon! When to obtain the raising of a
couple of pounds you require a cubic yard of gas. A balloon pretending
to resist the wind by aid of its mechanism, when the pressure of a
light breeze on a vessel’s sails is not less than that of four hundred
horsepower; when in the accident at the Tay Bridge you saw the storm
produce a pressure of eight and a half hundredweight on a square yard.
A balloon, when on such a system nature has never constructed anything
flying, whether furnished with wings like birds, or membranes like
certain fish, or certain mammalia—”

“Mammalia?” exclaimed one of the members.

“Yes! Mammalia! The bat, which flies, if I am not mistaken! Is the
gentleman unaware that this flyer is a mammal? Did he ever see an
omelette made of bat’s eggs?”

The interrupter reserved himself for future interruption, and Robur
resumed: “But does that mean that man is to give up the conquest of the
air, and the transformation of the domestic and political manners of
the old world, by the use of this admirable means of locomotion? By no
means. As he has become master of the seas with the ship, by the oar,
the sail, the wheel and the screw, so shall he become master of
atmospherical space by apparatus heavier than the air—for it must be
heavier to be stronger than the air!”

And then the assembly exploded. What a broadside of yells escaped from
all these mouths, aimed at Robur like the muzzles of so many guns! Was
not this hurling a declaration of war into the very camp of the
balloonists? Was not this a stirring up of strife between ‘the lighter’
and ‘the heavier’ than air?

Robur did not even frown. With folded arms he waited bravely till
silence was obtained.

By a gesture Uncle Prudent ordered the firing to cease.

“Yes.” continued Robur, “the future is for the flying machine. The air
affords a solid fulcrum. If you will give a column of air an
ascensional movement of forty-five meters a second, a man can support
himself on the top of it if the soles of his boots have a superficies
of only the eighth of a square meter. And if the speed be increased to
ninety meters, he can walk on it with naked feet. Or if, by means of a
screw, you drive a mass of air at this speed, you get the same result.”

What Robur said had been said before by all the partisans of aviation,
whose work slowly but surely is leading on to the solution of the
problem. To Ponton d’Amécourt, La Landelle, Nadar, De Luzy, De Louvrié,
Liais, Beleguir, Moreau, the brothers Richard, Babinet, Jobert, Du
Temple, Salives, Penaud, De Villeneuve, Gauchot and Tatin, Michael
Loup, Edison, Planavergne, and so many others, belongs the honor of
having brought forward ideas of such simplicity. Abandoned and resumed
times without number, they are sure, some day to triumph. To the
enemies of aviation, who urge that the bird only sustains himself by
warming the air he strikes, their answer is ready. Have they not proved
that an eagle weighing five kilograms would have to fill fifty cubic
meters with his warm fluid merely to sustain himself in space?

This is what Robur demonstrated with undeniable logic amid the uproar
that arose on all sides. And in conclusion these are the words he
hurled in the faces of the balloonists: “With your aerostats you can do
nothing—you will arrive at nothing—you dare do nothing! The boldest of
your aeronauts, John Wise, although he has made an aerial voyage of
twelve hundred miles above the American continent, has had to give up
his project of crossing the Atlantic! And you have not advanced one
step—not one step—towards your end.”

“Sir.” said the president, who in vain endeavored to keep himself cool,
“you forget what was said by our immortal Franklin at the first
appearance of the fire balloon, ‘It is but a child, but it will grow!’
It was but a child, and it has grown.”

“No, Mr. President, it has not grown! It has got fatter—and this is not
the same thing!”

This was a direct attack on the Weldon Institute, which had decreed,
helped, and paid for the making of a monster balloon. And so
propositions of the following kind began to fly about the room: “Turn
him out!” “Throw him off the platform!” “Prove that he is heavier than
the air!”

But these were only words, not means to an end.

Robur remained impassible, and continued: “There is no progress for
your aerostats, my citizen balloonists; progress is for flying
machines. The bird flies, and he is not a balloon, he is a piece of
mechanism!”

“Yes, he flies!” exclaimed the fiery Bat T. Fynn; “but he flies against
all the laws of mechanics.”

“Indeed!” said Robur, shrugging his shoulders, and resuming, “Since we
have begun the study of the flight of large and small birds one simple
idea has prevailed—to imitate nature, which never makes mistakes.
Between the albatross, which gives hardly ten beats of the wing per
minute, between the pelican, which gives seventy—”

“Seventy-one.” said the voice of a scoffer.

“And the bee, which gives one hundred and ninety-two per second—”

“One hundred and ninety-three!” said the facetious individual.

“And, the common house fly, which gives three hundred and thirty—”

“And a half!”

“And the mosquito, which gives millions—”

“No, milliards!”

But Robur, the interrupted, interrupted not his demonstration. “Between
these different rates—” he continued.

“There is a difference.” said a voice.

“There is a possibility of finding a practical solution. When De Lucy
showed that the stag beetle, an insect weighing only two grammes, could
lift a weight of four hundred grammes, or two hundred times its own
weight, the problem of aviation was solved. Besides, it has been shown
that the wing surface decreases in proportion to the increase of the
size and weight of the animal. Hence we can look forward to such
contrivances—”

“Which would never fly!” said secretary Phil Evans.

“Which have flown, and which will fly.” said Robur, without being in
the least disconcerted, “and which we can call streophores,
helicopters, orthopters—or, in imitation of the word ‘nef,’ which comes
from ‘navis,’ call them from ‘avis,’ ‘efs,’—by means of which man will
become the master of space. The helix—”

“Ah, the helix!” replied Phil Evans. “But the bird has no helix; that
we know!”

“So.” said Robur; “but Penaud has shown that in reality the bird makes
a helix, and its flight is helicopteral. And the motor of the future is
the screw—”

“From such a maladee Saint Helix keep us free!” sung out one of the
members, who had accidentally hit upon the air from Herold’s “Zampa.”

And they all took up the chorus: “From such a maladee Saint Helix keep
us free!” with such intonations and variations as would have made the
French composer groan in his grave.

As the last notes died away in a frightful discord Uncle Prudent took
advantage of the momentary calm to say, “Stranger, up to now, we let
you speak without interruption.” It seemed that for the president of
the Weldon Institute shouts, yells, and catcalls were not
interruptions, but only an exchange of arguments.

“But I may remind you, all the same, that the theory of aviation is
condemned beforehand, and rejected by the majority of American and
foreign engineers. It is a system which was the cause of the death of
the Flying Saracen at Constantinople, of the monk Volador at Lisbon, of
De Leturn in 1852, of De Groof in 1864, besides the victims I forget
since the mythological Icarus—”

“A system.” replied Robur, “no more to be condemned than that whose
martyrology contains the names of Pilâtre de Rozier at Calais, of
Blanchard at Paris, of Donaldson and Grimwood in Lake Michigan, of
Sivel and of Crocé-Spinelli, and others whom it takes good care, to
forget.”

This was a counter-thrust with a vengeance.

“Besides.” continued Robur, “With your balloons as good as you can make
them you will never obtain any speed worth mentioning. It would take
you ten years to go round the world—and a flying machine could do it in
a week!”

Here arose a new tempest of protests and denials which lasted for three
long minutes. And then Phil Evans look up the word.

“Mr. Aviator.” he said “you who talk so much of the benefits of
aviation, have you ever aviated?”

“I have.”

“And made the conquest of the air?”

“Not unlikely.”

“Hooray for Robur the Conqueror!” shouted an ironical voice.

“Well, yes! Robur the Conqueror! I accept the name and I will bear it,
for I have a right to it!”

“We beg to doubt it!” said Jem Chip.

“Gentlemen.” said Robur, and his brows knit, “when I have just
seriously stated a serious thing I do not permit anyone to reply to me
by a flat denial, and I shall be glad to know the name of the
interrupter.”

“My name is Chip, and I am a vegetarian.”

“Citizen Chip.” said Robur, “I knew that vegetarians had longer
alimentary canals than other men—a good foot longer at the least. That
is quite long enough; and so do not compel me to make you any longer by
beginning at your ears and—”

“Throw him out.”

“Into the street with him!”

“Lynch him!”

“Helix him!”

The rage of the balloonists burst forth at last. They rushed at the
platform. Robur disappeared amid a sheaf of hands that were thrown
about as if caught in a storm. In vain the steam whistle screamed its
fanfares on to the assembly. Philadelphia might well think that a fire
was devouring one of its quarters and that all the waters of the
Schuyllkill could not put it out.

Suddenly there was a recoil in the tumult. Robur had put his hands into
his pockets and now held them out at the front ranks of the infuriated
mob.

In each hand was one of those American institutions known as revolvers
which the mere pressure of the fingers is enough to fire—pocket
mitrailleuses in fact.

And taking advantage not only of the recoil of his assailants but also
of the silence which accompanied it.

“Decidedly.” said he, “it was not Amerigo that discovered the New
World, it was Cabot! You are not Americans, citizen balloonists! You
are only Cabo—”

Four or five shots cracked out, fired into space. They hurt nobody.
Amid the smoke, the engineer vanished; and when it had thinned away
there was no trace of him. Robur the Conqueror had flown, as if some
apparatus of aviation had borne him into the air.




Chapter V
ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE


This was not the first occasion on which, at the end of their stormy
discussions, the members of the Weldon Institute had filled Walnut
Street and its neighborhood with their tumult. Several times had the
inhabitants complained of the noisy way in which the proceedings ended,
and more than once had the policemen had to interfere to clear the
thoroughfare for the passersby, who for the most part were supremely
indifferent on the question of aerial navigation. But never before had
the tumult attained such proportions, never had the complaints been
better founded, never had the intervention of the police been more
necessary.

But there was some excuse for the members of the Weldon Institute. They
had been attacked in their own house. To these enthusiasts for “lighter
than air” a no less enthusiast for “heavier than air” had said things
absolutely abhorrent. And at the moment they were about to treat him as
he deserved, he had disappeared.

So they cried aloud for vengeance. To leave such insults unpunished was
impossible to all with American blood in their veins. Had not the sons
of Amerigo been called the sons of Cabot? Was not that an insult as
unpardonable as it happened to be just—historically?

The members of the club in several groups rushed down Walnut Street,
then into the adjoining streets, and then all over the neighborhood.
They woke up the householders; they compelled them to search their
houses, prepared to indemnify them later on for the outrage on their
privacy. Vain were all their trouble and searching. Robur was nowhere
to be found; there was no trace of him. He might have gone off in the
“Go-Ahead.” the balloon of the Institute, for all they could tell.
After an hour’s hunt the members had to give in and separate, not
before they had agreed to extend their search over the whole territory
of the twin Americas that form the new continent.

By eleven o’clock quiet had been restored in the neighborhood of Walnut
Street. Philadelphia was able to sink again into that sound sleep which
is the privilege of non-manufacturing towns. The different members of
the club parted to seek their respective houses. To mention the most
distinguished amongst them, William T. Forbes sought his large sugar
establishment, where Miss Doll and Miss Mat had prepared for him his
evening tea, sweetened with his own glucose. Truck Milnor took the road
to his factory in the distant suburb, where the engines worked day and
night. Treasurer Jim Chip, publicly accused of possessing an alimentary
canal twelve inches longer than that of other men, returned to the
vegetable soup that was waiting for him.

Two of the most important balloonists—two only—did not seem to think of
returning so soon to their domicile. They availed themselves of the
opportunity to discuss the question with more than usual acrimony.
These were the irreconcilables, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans, the
president and secretary of the Weldon Institute.

At the door of the club the valet Frycollin waited for Uncle Prudent,
his master, and at last he went after him, though he cared but little
for the subject which had set the two colleagues at loggerheads.

It is only an euphemism that the verb “discuss” can be used to express
the way in which the duet between the president and secretary was being
performed. As a matter of fact they were in full wrangle with an energy
born of their old rivalry.

“No, Sir, no.” said Phil Evans. “If I had had the honor of being
president of the Weldon Institute, there never, no, never, would have
been such a scandal.”

“And what would you have done, if you had had the honor?” demanded
Uncle Prudent.

“I would have stopped the insulter before he had opened his mouth.”

“It seems to me it would have been impossible to stop him until he had
opened his mouth.” replied Uncle Prudent.

“Not in America, Sir; not in America.”

And exchanging such observations, increasing in bitterness as they
went, they walked on through the streets farther and farther from their
homes, until they reached a part of the city whence they had to go a
long way round to get back.

Frycollin followed, by no means at ease to see his master plunging into
such deserted spots. He did not like deserted spots, particularly after
midnight. In fact the darkness was profound, and the moon was only a
thin crescent just beginning its monthly life. Frycollin kept a lookout
to the left and right of him to see if he was followed. And he fancied
he could see five or six hulking follows dogging his footsteps.
Instinctively he drew nearer to his master, but not for the world would
he have dared to break in on the conversation of which the fragments
reached him.

In short it so chanced that the president and secretary of the Weldon
Institute found themselves on the road to Fairmount Park. In the full
heat of their dispute they crossed the Schuyllkill river by the famous
iron bridge. They met only a few belated wayfarers, and pressed on
across a wide open tract where the immense prairie was broken every now
and then by the patches of thick woodland—which make the park different
to any other in the world.

There Frycollin’s terror became acute, particularly as he saw the five
or six shadows gliding after him across the Schuyllkill bridge. The
pupils of his eyes broadened out to the circumference of his iris, and
his limbs seemed to diminish as if endowed with the contractility
peculiar to the mollusca and certain of the articulate; for Frycollin,
the valet, was an egregious coward.

He was a pure South Carolina Negro, with the head of a fool and the
carcass of an imbecile. Being only one and twenty, he had never been a
slave, not even by birth, but that made no difference to him. Grinning
and greedy and idle, and a magnificent poltroon, he had been the
servant of Uncle Prudent for about three years. Over and over again had
his master threatened to kick him out, but had kept him on for fear of
doing worse. With a master ever ready to venture on the most audacious
enterprises, Frycollin’s cowardice had brought him many arduous trials.
But he had some compensation. Very little had been said about his
gluttony, and still less about his laziness.

Ah, Valet Frycollin, if you could only have read the future! Why, oh
why, Frycollin, did you not remain at Boston with the Sneffels, and not
have given them up when they talked of going to Switzerland? Was not
that a much more suitable place for you than this of Uncle Prudent’s,
where danger was daily welcomed?

But here he was, and his master had become used to his faults. He had
one advantage, and that was a consideration. Although he was a Negro by
birth he did not speak like a Negro, and nothing is so irritating as
that hateful jargon in which all the pronouns are possessive and all
the verbs infinitive. Let it be understood, then, that Frycollin was a
thorough coward.

And now it was midnight, and the pale crescent of the moon began to
sink in the west behind the trees in the park. The rays streaming
fitfully through the branches made the shadows darker than ever.
Frycollin looked around him anxiously. “Brrr!” he said, “There are
those fellows there all the time. Positively they are getting nearer!
Master Uncle!” he shouted.

It was thus he called the president of the Weldon Institute, and thus
did the president desire to be called.

At the moment the dispute of the rivals had reached its maximum, and as
they hurled their epithets at each other they walked faster and faster,
and drew farther and farther away from the Schuyllkill bridge. They had
reached the center of a wide clump of trees, whose summits were just
tipped by the parting rays of the moon. Beyond the trees was a very
large clearing—an oval field, a complete amphitheater. Not a hillock
was there to hinder the gallop of the horses, not a bush to stop the
view of the spectators.

And if Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans had not been so deep in their
dispute, and had used their eyes as they were accustomed to, they would
have found the clearing was not in its usual state. Was it a flour mill
that had anchored on it during the night? It looked like it, with its
wings and sails—motionless and mysterious in the gathering gloom.

But neither the president nor the secretary of the Weldon Institute
noticed the strange modification in the landscape of Fairmount Park;
and neither did Frycollin. It seemed to him that the thieves were
approaching, and preparing for their attack; and he was seized with
convulsive fear, paralyzed in his limbs, with every hair he could boast
of on the bristle. His terror was extreme. His knees bent under him,
but he had just strength enough to exclaim for the last time, “Master
Uncle! Master Uncle!”

“What is the matter with you?” asked Uncle Prudent.

Perhaps the disputants would not have been sorry to have relieved their
fury at the expense of the unfortunate valet. But they had no time; and
neither even had he time to answer.

A whistle was heard. A flash of electric light shot across the
clearing.

A signal, doubtless? The moment had come for the deed of violence. In
less time that it takes to tell, six men came leaping across from under
the trees, two onto Uncle Prudent, two onto Phil Evans, two onto
Frycollin—there was no need for the last two, for the Negro was
incapable of defending himself. The president and secretary of the
Weldon Institute, although taken by surprise, would have resisted.

They had neither time nor strength to do so. In a second they were
rendered speechless by a gag, blind by a bandage, thrown down, pinioned
and carried bodily off across the clearing. What could they think
except that they had fallen into the hands of people who intended to
rob them? The people did nothing of the sort, however. They did not
even touch Uncle Prudent’s pockets, although, according to his custom,
they were full of paper dollars.

Within a minute of the attack, without a word being passed, Uncle
Prudent, Phil Evans, and Frycollin felt themselves laid gently down,
not on the grass, but on a sort of plank that creaked beneath them.
They were laid down side by side.

A door was shut; and the grating of a bolt in a staple told them that
they were prisoners.

Then there came a continuous buzzing, a quivering, a frrrr, with the
rrr unending.

And that was the only sound that broke the quiet of the night.

Great was the excitement next morning in Philadelphia Very early was it
known what had passed at the meeting of the Institute. Everyone knew of
the appearance of the mysterious engineer named Robur—Robur the
Conqueror—and the tumult among the balloonists, and his inexplicable
disappearance. But it was quite another thing when all the town heard
that the president and secretary of the club had also disappeared
during the night.

Long and keen was the search in the city and neighborhood! Useless! The
newspapers of Philadelphia, the newspapers of Pennsylvania, the
newspapers of the United States reported the facts and explained them
in a hundred ways, not one of which was the right one. Heavy rewards
were offered, and placards were pasted up, but all to no purpose. The
earth seemed to have opened and bodily swallowed the president and
secretary of the Weldon Institute.




Chapter VI
THE PRESIDENT AND SECRETARY SUSPEND HOSTILITIES


A bandage over the eyes, a gag in the mouth, a cord round the wrists, a
cord round the ankles, unable to see, to speak, or to move, Uncle
Prudent, Phil Evans, and Frycollin were anything but pleased with their
position. Knowing not who had seized them, nor in what they had been
thrown like parcels in a goods wagon, nor where they were, nor what was
reserved for them—it was enough to exasperate even the most patient of
the ovine race, and we know that the members of the Weldon Institute
were not precisely sheep as far as patience went. With his violence of
character we can easily imagine how Uncle Prudent felt. One thing was
evident, that Phil Evans and he would find it difficult to attend the
club next evening.

As to Frycollin, with his eyes shut and his mouth closed, it was
impossible for him to think of anything. He was more dead than alive.

For an hour the position of the prisoners remained unchanged. No one
came to visit them, or to give them that liberty of movement and speech
of which they lay in such need. They were reduced to stifled sighs, to
grunts emitted over and under their gags, to everything that betrayed
anger kept dumb and fury imprisoned, or rather bound down. Then after
many fruitless efforts they remained for some time as though lifeless.
Then as the sense of sight was denied them they tried by their sense of
hearing to obtain some indication of the nature of this disquieting
state of things. But in vain did they seek for any other sound than an
interminable and inexplicable f-r-r-r which seemed to envelop them in a
quivering atmosphere.

At last something happened. Phil Evans, regaining his coolness, managed
to slacken the cord which bound his wrists. Little by little the knot
slipped, his fingers slipped over each other, and his hands regained
their usual freedom.

A vigorous rubbing restored the circulation. A moment after he had
slipped off the bandage which bound his eyes, taken the gag out of his
mouth, and cut the cords round his ankles with his knife. An American
who has not a bowie-knife in his pocket is no longer an American.

But if Phil Evans had regained the power of moving and speaking, that
was all. His eyes were useless to him—at present at any rate. The
prison was quite dark, though about six feet above him a feeble gleam
of light came in through a kind of loophole.

As may be imagined, Phil Evans did not hesitate to at once set free his
rival. A few cuts with the bowie settled the knots which bound him foot
and hand.

Immediately Uncle Prudent rose to his knees and snatched away his
bandage and gag.

“Thanks.” said he, in stifled voice.

“Phil Evans?”

“Uncle Prudent?”

“Here we are no longer the president and secretary of the Weldon
Institute. We are adversaries no more.”

“You are right.” answered Evans. “We are now only two men agreed to
avenge ourselves on a third whose attempt deserves severe reprisals.
And this third is—”

“Robur!”

“It is Robur!”

On this point both were absolutely in accord. On this subject there was
no fear of dispute.

“And your servant?” said Phil Evans, pointing to Frycollin, who was
puffing like a grampus. “We must set him free.”

“Not yet.” said Uncle Prudent. “He would overwhelm us with his
jeremiads, and we have something else to do than abuse each other.”

“What is that, Uncle Prudent?”

“To save ourselves if possible.”

“You are right, even if it is impossible.”

“And even if it is impossible.”

There could be no doubt that this kidnapping was due to Robur, for an
ordinary thief would have relieved them of their watches, jewelry, and
purses, and thrown their bodies into the Schuyllkill with a good gash
in their throats instead of throwing them to the bottom of—Of what?
That was a serious question, which would have to be answered before
attempting an escape with any chance of success.

“Phil Evans.” began Uncle Prudent, “if, when we came away from our
meeting, instead of indulging in amenities to which we need not recur,
we had kept our eyes more open, this would not have happened. Had we
remained in the streets of Philadelphia there would have been none of
this. Evidently Robur foresaw what would happen at the club, and had
placed some of his bandits on guard at the door. When we left Walnut
Street these fellows must have watched us and followed us, and when we
imprudently ventured into Fairmount Park they went in for their little
game.”

“Agreed.” said Evans. “We were wrong not to go straight home.”

“It is always wrong not to be right.” said Prudent.

Here a long-drawn sigh escaped from the darkest corner of the prison.
“What is that?” asked Evans.

“Nothing! Frycollin is dreaming.”

“Between the moment we were seized a few steps out into the clearing
and the moment we were thrown in here only two minutes elapsed. It is
thus evident that those people did not take us out of Fairmount Park.”

“And if they had done so we should have felt we were being moved.”

“Undoubtedly; and consequently we must be in some vehicle, perhaps some
of those long prairie wagons, or some show-caravan—”

“Evidently! For if we were in a boat moored on the Schuyllkill we
should have noticed the movement due to the current—”

“That is so; and as we are still in the clearing, I think that now is
the time to get away, and we can return later to settle with this
Robur—”

“And make him pay for this attempt on the liberty of two citizens of
the United States.”

“And he shall pay pretty dearly!”

“But who is this man? Where does he come from? Is he English, or
German, or French—”

“He is a scoundrel, that is enough!” said Uncle Prudent. “Now to work.”
And then the two men, with their hands stretched out and their fingers
wide apart, began to feel round the walls to find a joint or crack.

Nothing. Nothing; not even at the door. It was closely shut and it was
impossible to shoot back the lock. All that could be done was to make a
hole, and escape through the hole. It remained to be seen if the knives
could cut into the walls.

“But whence comes this never-ending rustling?” asked Evans, who was
much impressed at the continuous f-r-r-r.

“The wind, doubtless.” said Uncle Prudent.

“The wind! But I thought the night was quite calm.”

“So it was. But if it isn’t the wind, what can it be?”

Phil Evans got out the best blade of his knife and set to work on the
wall near the door. Perhaps he might make a hole which would enable him
to open it from the outside should it be only bolted or should the key
have been left in the lock. He worked away for some minutes. The only
result was to nip up his knife, to snip off its point, and transform
what was left of the blade into a saw.

“Doesn’t it cut?” asked Uncle Prudent.

“No.”

“Is the wall made of sheet iron?”

“No; it gives no metallic sound when you hit it.”

“Is it of ironwood?”

“No; it isn’t iron and it isn’t wood.”

“What is it then?”

“Impossible to say. But, anyhow, steel doesn’t touch it.” Uncle
Prudent, in a sudden outburst of fury, began to rave and stamp on the
sonorous planks, while his hands sought to strangle an imaginary Robur.

“Be calm, Prudent, be calm! You have a try.”

Uncle Prudent had a try, but the bowie-knife could do nothing against a
wall which its best blades could not even scratch. The wall seemed to
be made of crystal.

So it became evident that all flight was impracticable except through
the door, and for a time they must resign themselves to their fate—not
a very pleasant thing for the Yankee temperament, and very much to the
disgust of these eminently practical men. But this conclusion was not
arrived at without many objurgations and loud-sounding phrases hurled
at this Robur—who, from what had been seen of him at the Weldon
Institute, was not the sort of man to trouble himself much about them.

Suddenly Frycollin began to give unequivocal signs of being unwell. He
began to writhe in a most lamentable fashion, either with cramp in his
stomach or in his limbs; and Uncle Prudent, thinking it his duty to put
an end to these gymnastics, cut the cords that bound him.

He had cause to be sorry for it. Immediately there was poured forth an
interminable litany, in which the terrors of fear were mingled with the
tortures of hunger. Frycollin was no worse in his brain than in his
stomach, and it would have been difficult to decide to which organ the
chief cause of the trouble should be assigned.

“Frycollin!” said Uncle Prudent.

“Master Uncle! Master Uncle!” answered the Negro between two of his
lugubrious howls.

“It is possible that we are doomed to die of hunger in this prison, but
we have made up our minds not to succumb until we have availed
ourselves of every means of alimentation to prolong our lives.”

“To eat me?” exclaimed Frycollin.

“As is always done with a Negro under such circumstances! So you had
better not make yourself too obvious—”

“Or you’ll have your bones picked!” said Evans.

And as Frycollin saw he might be used to prolong two existences more
precious than his own, he contented himself thenceforth with groaning
in quiet.

The time went on and all attempts to force the door or get through the
wall proved fruitless. What the wall was made of was impossible to say.
It was not metal; it was not wood; it was not stone, And all the cell
seemed to be made of the same stuff. When they stamped on the floor it
gave a peculiar sound that Uncle Prudent found it difficult to
describe; the floor seemed to sound hollow, as if it was not resting
directly on the ground of the clearing. And the inexplicable f-r-r-r-r
seemed to sweep along below it. All of which was rather alarming.

“Uncle Prudent.” said Phil Evans.

“Well?”

“Do you think our prison has been moved at all?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Because when we were first caught I distinctly remember the fresh
fragrance of the grass and the resinous odor of the park trees. While
now, when I take in a good sniff of the air, it seems as though all
that had gone.”

“So it has.”

“Why?”

“We cannot say why unless we admit that the prison has moved; and I say
again that if the prison had moved, either as a vehicle on the road or
a boat on the stream, we should have felt it.”

Here Frycollin gave vent to a long groan, which might have been taken
for his last had he not followed it up with several more.

“I expect Robur will soon have us brought before him.” said Phil Evans.

“I hope so.” said Uncle Prudent. “And I shall tell him—”

“What?”

“That he began by being rude and ended in being unbearable.”

Here Phil Evans noticed that day was beginning to break. A gleam, still
faint, filtered through the narrow window opposite the door. It ought
thus to be about four o’clock in the morning for it is at that hour in
the month of June in this latitude that the horizon of Philadelphia is
tinged by the first rays of the dawn.

But when Uncle Prudent sounded his repeater—which was a masterpiece
from his colleague’s factory—the tiny gong only gave a quarter to
three, and the watch had not stopped.

“That is strange!” said Phil Evans. “At a quarter to three it ought
still to be night.”

“Perhaps my watch has got slow.” answered Uncle Prudent.

“A watch of the Wheelton Watch Company!” exclaimed Phil Evans.

Whatever might be the reason, there was no doubt that the day was
breaking. Gradually the window became white in the deep darkness of the
cell. However, if the dawn appeared sooner than the fortieth parallel
permitted, it did not advance with the rapidity peculiar to lower
latitudes. This was another observation—of Uncle Prudent’s—a new
inexplicable phenomenon.

“Couldn’t we get up to the window and see where we are?”

“We might.” said Uncle Prudent. “Frycollin, get up!”

The Negro arose.

“Put your back against the wall.” continued Prudent, “and you, Evans,
get on his shoulders while I buttress him up.”

“Right!” said Evans.

An instant afterwards his knees were on Frycollin’s shoulders, and his
eyes were level with the window. The window was not of lenticular glass
like those on shipboard, but was a simple flat pane. It was small, and
Phil Evans found his range of view was much limited.

“Break the glass.” said Prudent, “and perhaps you will be able to see
better.”

Phil Evans gave it a sharp knock with the handle of his bowie-knife. It
gave back a silvery sound, but it did not break.

Another and more violent blow. The same result.

“It is unbreakable glass!” said Evans.

It appeared as though the pane was made of glass toughened on the
Siemens system—as after several blows it remained intact.

The light had now increased, and Phil Evans could see for some distance
within the radius allowed by the frame.

“What do you see?” asked Uncle Prudent.

“Nothing.”

“What? Not any trees?”

“No.”

“Not even the top branches?”

“No.”

“Then we are not in the clearing?”

“Neither in the clearing nor in the park.”

“Don’t you see any roofs of houses or monuments?” said Prudent, whose
disappointment and anger were increasing rapidly.

“No.”

“What! Not a flagstaff, nor a church tower, nor a chimney?”

“Nothing but space.”

As he uttered the words the door opened. A man appeared on the
threshold. It was Robur.

“Honorable balloonists” he said, in a serious voice, “you are now free
to go and come as you like.”

“Free!” exclaimed Uncle Prudent.

“Yes—within the limits of the “Albatross!”

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans rushed out of their prison. And what did
they see?

Four thousand feet below them the face of a country they sought in vain
to recognize.




Chapter VII
ON BOARD THE ALBATROSS


“When will man cease to crawl in the depths to live in the azure and
quiet of the sky?”

To this question of Camille Flammarion’s the answer is easy. It will be
when the progress of mechanics has enabled us to solve the problem of
aviation. And in a few years—as we can foresee—a more practical
utilization of electricity will do much towards that solution.

In 1783, before the Montgolfier brothers had built their fire-balloon,
and Charles, the physician, had devised his first aerostat, a few
adventurous spirits had dreamt of the conquest of space by mechanical
means. The first inventors did not think of apparatus lighter than air,
for that the science of their time did not allow them to imagine. It
was to contrivances heavier than air, to flying machines in imitation
of the birds, that they trusted to realize aerial locomotion.

This was exactly what had been done by that madman Icarus, the son of
Daedalus, whose wings, fixed together with wax, had melted as they
approached the sun.

But without going back to mythological times, without dwelling on
Archytas of Tarentum, we find, in the works of Dante of Perugia, of
Leonardo da Vinci and Guidotti, the idea of machines made to move
through the air. Two centuries and a half afterwards inventors began to
multiply. In 1742 the Marquis de Bacqueville designed a system of
wings, tried it over the Seine, and fell and broke his arm. In 1768
Paucton conceived the idea of an apparatus with two screws, suspensive
and propulsive. In 1781 Meerwein, the architect of the Prince of Baden,
built an orthopteric machine, and protested against the tendency of the
aerostats which had just been invented. In 1784 Launoy and Bienvenu had
maneuvered a helicopter worked by springs. In 1808 there were the
attempts at flight by the Austrian Jacques Degen. In 1810 came the
pamphlet by Denian of Nantes, in which the principles of “heavier than
air” are laid down. From 1811 to 1840 came the inventions and
researches of Derblinger, Vigual, Sarti, Dubochet, and Cagniard de
Latour. In 1842 we have the Englishman Henson, with his system of
inclined planes and screws worked by steam. In 1845 came Cossus and his
ascensional screws. In 1847 came Camille Vert and his helicopter made
of birds’ wings. In 1852 came Letur with his system of guidable
parachutes, whose trial cost him his life; and in the same year came
Michel Loup with his plan of gliding through the air on four revolving
wings. In 1853 came Béléguic and his aeroplane with the traction
screws, Vaussin-Chardannes with his guidable kite, and George Cauley
with his flying machines driven by gas. From 1854 to 1863 appeared
Joseph Pline with several patents for aerial systems. Bréant,
Carlingford, Le Bris, Du Temple, Bright, whose ascensional screws were
left-handed; Smythies, Panafieu, Crosnier, &c. At length, in 1863,
thanks to the efforts of Nadar, a society of “heavier than air” was
founded in Paris. There the inventors could experiment with the
machines, of which many were patented. Ponton d’Amécourt and his steam
helicopter, La Landelle and his system of combining screws with
inclined planes and parachutes, Louvrié and his aeroscape, Esterno and
his mechanical bird, Groof and his apparatus with wings worked by
levers. The impetus was given, inventors invented, calculators
calculated all that could render aerial locomotion practicable.
Bourcart, Le Bris, Kaufmann, Smyth, Stringfellow, Prigent, Danjard,
Pomés and De la Pauze, Moy, Pénaud, Jobert, Haureau de Villeneuve,
Achenbach, Garapon, Duchesne, Danduran, Pariesel, Dieuaide, Melkiseff,
Forlanini, Bearey, Tatin, Dandrieux, Edison, some with wings or screws,
others with inclined planes, imagined, created, constructed, perfected,
their flying machines, ready to do their work, once there came to be
applied to thereby some inventor a motor of adequate power and
excessive lightness.

This list may be a little long, but that will be forgiven, for it is
necessary to give the various steps in the ladder of aerial locomotion,
on the top of which appeared Robur the Conqueror. Without these
attempts, these experiments of his predecessors, how could the inquirer
have conceived so perfect an apparatus? And though he had but contempt
for those who obstinately worked away in the direction of balloons, he
held in high esteem all those partisans of “heavier than air.” English,
American, Italian, Austrian, French—and particularly French—whose work
had been perfected by him, and led him to design and then to build this
flying engine known as the “Albatross.” which he was guiding through
the currents of the atmosphere.

“The pigeon flies!” had exclaimed one of the most persistent adepts at
aviation.

“They will crowd the air as they crowd the earth!” said one of his most
excited partisans.

“From the locomotive to the aeromotive!” shouted the noisiest of all,
who had turned on the trumpet of publicity to awaken the Old and New
Worlds.

Nothing, in fact, is better established, by experiment and calculation,
than that the air is highly resistant. A circumference of only a yard
in diameter in the shape of a parachute can not only impede descent in
air, but can render it isochronous. That is a fact.

It is equally well known that when the speed is great the work of the
weight varies in almost inverse ratio to the square of the speed, and
therefore becomes almost insignificant.

It is also known that as the weight of a flying animal increases, the
less is the proportional increase in the surface beaten by the wings in
order to sustain it, although the motion of the wings becomes slower.

A flying machine must therefore be constructed to take advantage of
these natural laws, to imitate the bird, “that admirable type of aerial
locomotion.” according to Dr. Marcy, of the Institute of France.

In short the contrivances likely to solve the problem are of three
kinds:—

1. Helicopters or spiralifers, which are simply screws with vertical
axes.

2. Ornithopters, machines which endeavour to reproduce the natural
flight of birds.

3. Aeroplanes, which are merely inclined planes like kites, but towed
or driven by screws.

Each of these systems has had and still has it partisans obstinately
resolved to give way in not the slightest particular. However, Robur,
for many reasons, had rejected the two first.

The ornithopter, or mechanical bird, offers certain advantages, no
doubt. That the work and experiments of M. Renard in 1884 have
sufficiently proved. But, as has been said, it is not necessary to copy
Nature servilely. Locomotives are not copied from the hare, nor are
ships copied from the fish. To the first we have put wheels which are
not legs; to the second we have put screws which are not fins. And they
do not do so badly. Besides, what is this mechanical movement in the
flight of birds, whose action is so complex? Has not Doctor Marcy
suspected that the feathers open during the return of the wings so as
to let the air through them? And is not that rather a difficult
operation for an artificial machine?

On the other hand, aeroplanes have given many good results. Screws
opposing a slanting plane to the bed of air will produce an ascensional
movement, and the models experimented on have shown that the disposable
weight, that is to say the weight it is possible to deal with as
distinct from that of the apparatus, increases with the square of the
speed. Herein the aeroplane has the advantage over the aerostat even
when the aerostat is furnished with the means of locomotion.

Nevertheless Robur had thought that the simpler his contrivance the
better. And the screws—the Saint Helices that had been thrown in his
teeth at the Weldon Institute—had sufficed for all the needs of his
flying machine. One series could hold it suspended in the air, the
other could drive it along under conditions that were marvelously
adapted for speed and safety.

If the ornithopter—striking like the wings of a bird—raised itself by
beating the air, the helicopter raised itself by striking the air
obliquely, with the fins of the screw as it mounted on an inclined
plane. These fins, or arms, are in reality wings, but wings disposed as
a helix instead of as a paddle wheel. The helix advances in the
direction of its axis. Is the axis vertical? Then it moves vertically.
Is the axis horizontal? Then it moves horizontally.

The whole of Robur’s flying apparatus depended on these two movements,
as will be seen from the following detailed description, which can be
divided under three heads—the platform, the engines of suspension and
propulsion, and the machinery.

Platform.—This was a framework a hundred feet long and twelve wide, a
ship’s deck in fact, with a projecting prow. Beneath was a hull solidly
built, enclosing the engines, stores, and provisions of all sorts,
including the watertanks. Round the deck a few light uprights supported
a wire trellis that did duty for bulwarks. On the deck were three
houses, whose compartments were used as cabins for the crew, or as
machine rooms. In the center house was the machine which drove the
suspensory helices, in that forward was the machine that drove the bow
screw, in that aft was the machine that drove the stern screw. In the
bow were the cook’s galley and the crew’s quarters; in the stern were
several cabins, including that of the engineer, the saloon, and above
them all a glass house in which stood the helmsman, who steered the
vessel by means of a powerful rudder. All these cabins were lighted by
port-holes filled with toughened glass, which has ten times the
resistance of ordinary glass. Beneath the hull was a system of flexible
springs to ease off the concussion when it became advisable to land.

Engines of suspension and propulsion.—Above the deck rose thirty-seven
vertical axes, fifteen along each side, and seven, more elevated, in
the centre. The “Albatross” might be called a clipper with thirty-seven
masts. But these masts instead of sails bore each two horizontal
screws, not very large in spread or diameter, but driven at prodigious
speed. Each of these axes had its own movement independent of the rest,
and each alternate one spun round in a different direction from the
others, so as to avoid any tendency to gyration. Hence the screws as
they rose on the vertical column of air retained their equilibrium by
their horizontal resistance. Consequently the apparatus was furnished
with seventy-four suspensory screws, whose three branches were
connected by a metallic circle which economized their motive force. In
front and behind, mounted on horizontal axes, were two propelling
screws, each with four arms. These screws were of much larger diameter
than the suspensory ones, but could be worked at quite their speed. In
fact, the vessel combined the systems of Cossus, La Landelle, and
Ponton d’Amécourt, as perfected by Robur. But it was in the choice and
application of his motive force that he could claim to be an inventor.

Machinery.—Robur had not availed himself of the vapor of water or other
liquids, nor compressed air and other mechanical motion. He employed
electricity, that agent which one day will be the soul of the
industrial world. But he required no electro-motor to produce it. All
he trusted to was piles and accumulators. What were the elements of
these piles, and what were the acids he used, Robur only knew. And the
construction of the accumulators was kept equally secret. Of what were
their positive and negative plates? None can say. The engineer took
good care—and not unreasonably—to keep his secret unpatented. One thing
was unmistakable, and that was that the piles were of extraordinary
strength; and the accumulators left those of Faure-Sellon-Volckmar very
far behind in yielding currents whose ampères ran into figures up to
then unknown. Thus there was obtained a power to drive the screws and
communicate a suspending and propelling force in excess of all his
requirements under any circumstances.

But—it is as well to repeat it—this belonged entirely to Robur. He kept
it a close secret. And, if the president and secretary of the Weldon
Institute did not happen to discover it, it would probably be lost to
humanity.

It need not be shown that the apparatus possessed sufficient stability.
Its center of gravity proved that at once. There was no danger of its
making alarming angles with the horizontal, still less of its
capsizing.

And now for the metal used by Robur in the construction of his
aeronef—a name which can be exactly applied to the “Albatross.” What
was this material, so hard that the bowie-knife of Phil Evans could not
scratch it, and Uncle Prudent could not explain its nature? Simply
paper!

For some years this fabrication had been making considerable progress.
Unsized paper, with the sheets impregnated with dextrin and starch and
squeezed in hydraulic presses, will form a material as hard as steel.
There are made of it pulleys, rails, and wagon-wheels, much more solid
than metal wheels, and far lighter. And it was this lightness and
solidity which Robur availed himself of in building his aerial
locomotive. Everything—framework, hull, houses, cabins—were made of
straw-paper turned hard as metal by compression, and—what was not to be
despised in an apparatus flying at great heights—incombustible. The
different parts of the engines and the screws were made of gelatinized
fiber, which combined in sufficient degree flexibility with resistance.
This material could be used in every form. It was insoluble in most
gases and liquids, acids or essences, to say nothing of its insulating
properties, and it proved most valuable in the electric machinery of
the “Albatross.”

Robur, his mate Tom Turner, an engineer and two assistants, two
steersman and a cook—eight men all told—formed the crew of the aeronef,
and proved ample for all the maneuvers required in aerial navigation.
There were arms of the chase and of war; fishing appliances; electric
lights; instruments of observation, compasses, and sextants for
checking the course, thermometers for studying the temperature,
different barometers, some for estimating the heights attained, others
for indicating the variations of atmospheric pressure; a storm-glass
for forecasting tempests; a small library; a portable printing press; a
field-piece mounted on a pivot; breech loading and throwing a
three-inch shell; a supply of powder, bullets, dynamite cartridges; a
cooking-stove, warmed by currents from the accumulators; a stock of
preserves, meats and vegetables sufficient to last for months. Such
were the outfit and stores of the aeronef—in addition to the famous
trumpet.

There was besides a light india-rubber boat, insubmersible, which could
carry eight men on the surface of a river, a lake, or a calm sea.

But were there any parachutes in case of accident? No. Robur did not
believe in accidents of that kind. The axes of the screws were
independent. The stoppage of a few would not affect the motion of the
others; and if only half were working, the “Albatross” could still keep
afloat in her natural element.

“And with her.” said Robur to his guests—guests in spite of
themselves—“I am master of the seventh part of the world, larger than
Africa, Oceania, Asia, America, and Europe, this aerial Icarian sea,
which millions of Icarians will one day people.”




Chapter VIII
THE BALLOONISTS REFUSE TO BE CONVINCED


The President of the Weldon Institute was stupefied; his companion was
astonished. But neither of them would allow any of their very natural
amazement to be visible.

The valet Frycollin did not conceal his terror at finding himself borne
through space on such a machine, and he took no pains whatever to hide
it.

The suspensory screws were rapidly spinning overhead. Fast as they were
going, they would have to triple their speed if the “Albatross” was to
ascend to higher zones. The two propellers were running very easily and
driving the ship at about eleven knots an hour.

As they leaned over the rail the passengers of the “Albatross” could
perceive a long sinuous liquid ribbon which meandered like a mere brook
through a varied country amid the gleaming of many lagoons obliquely
struck by the rays of the sun. The brook was a river, one of the most
important in that district. Along its left bank was a chain of
mountains extending out of sight.

“And will you tell us where we are?” asked Uncle Prudent, in a voice
tremulous with anger.

“I have nothing to teach you.” answered Robur.

“And will you tell us where we are going?” asked Phil Evans.

“Through space.”

“And how long will that last?”

“Until it ends.”

“Are we going round the world?” asked Phil Evans ironically.

“Further than that.” said Robur.

“And if this voyage does not suit us?” asked Uncle Prudent.

“It will have to suit you.”

That is a foretaste of the nature of the relations that were to obtain
between the master of the “Albatross” and his guests, not to say his
prisoners. Manifestly he wished to give them time to cool down, to
admire the marvelous apparatus which was bearing them through the air,
and doubtless to compliment the inventor. And so he went off to the
other end of the deck, leaving them to examine the arrangement of the
machinery and the management of the ship or to give their whole
attention to the landscape which was unrolling beneath them.

“Uncle Prudent.” said Evans, “unless I am mistaken we are flying over
Central Canada. That river in the northwest is the St. Lawrence. That
town we are leaving behind is Quebec.”

It was indeed the old city of Champlain, whose zinc roofs were shining
like reflectors in the sun. The “Albatross” must thus have reached the
forty-sixth degree of north latitude, and thus was explained the
premature advance of the day with the abnormal prolongation of the
dawn.

“Yes.” said Phil Evans, “There is the town in its amphitheater, the
hill with its citadel, the Gibraltar of North America. There are the
cathedrals. There is the Custom House with its dome surmounted by the
British flag!”

Phil Evans had not finished before the Canadian city began to slip into
the distance.

The clipper entered a zone of light clouds, which gradually shut off a
view of the ground.

Robur, seeing that the president and secretary of the Weldon Institute
had directed their attention to the external arrangements of the
“Albatross.” walked up to them and said: “Well, gentlemen, do you
believe in the possibility of aerial locomotion by machines heavier
than air?”

It would have been difficult not to succumb to the evidence. But Uncle
Prudent and Phil Evans did not reply.

“You are silent.” continued the engineer. “Doubtless hunger makes you
dumb! But if I undertook to carry you through the air, I did not think
of feeding you on such a poorly nutritive fluid. Your first breakfast
is waiting for you.”

As Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans were feeling the pangs of hunger
somewhat keenly they did not care to stand upon ceremony. A meal would
commit them to nothing; and when Robur put them back on the ground they
could resume full liberty of action.

And so they followed into a small dining-room in the aftermost house.
There they found a well-laid table at which they could take their meals
during the voyage. There were different preserves; and, among other
things, was a sort of bread made of equal parts of flour and meat
reduced to powder and worked together with a little lard, which boiled
in water made excellent soup; and there were rashers of fried ham, and
for drink there was tea.

Neither had Frycollin been forgotten. He was taken forward and there
found some strong soup made of this bread. In truth he had to be very
hungry to eat at all, for his jaws shook with fear, and almost refused
to work. “If it was to break! If it was to break!” said the unfortunate
Negro. Hence continual faintings. Only think! A fall of over four
thousand feet, which would smash him to a jelly!

An hour afterwards Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans appeared on the deck.
Robur was no longer there. At the stem the man at the wheel in his
glass cage, his eyes fixed on the compass, followed imperturbably
without hesitation the route given by the engineer.

As for the rest of the crew, breakfast probably kept them from their
posts. An assistant engineer, examining the machinery, went from one
house to the other.

If the speed of the ship was great the two colleagues could only
estimate it imperfectly, for the “Albatross” had passed through the
cloud zone which the sun showed some four thousand feet below.

“I can hardly believe it.” said Phil Evans.

“Don’t believe it!” said Uncle Prudent. And going to the bow they
looked out towards the western horizon.

“Another town.” said Phil Evans.

“Do you recognize it?”

“Yes! It seems to me to be Montreal.”

“Montreal? But we only left Quebec two hours ago!”

“That proves that we must be going at a speed of seventy-five miles an
hour.”

Such was the speed of the aeronef; and if the passengers were not
inconvenienced by it, it was because they were going with the wind. In
a calm such speed would have been difficult and the rate would have
sunk to that of an express. In a head-wind the speed would have been
unbearable.

Phil Evans was not mistaken. Below the “Albatross” appeared Montreal,
easily recognizable by the Victoria Bridge, a tubular bridge thrown
over the St. Lawrence like the railway viaduct over the Venice lagoon.
Soon they could distinguish the town’s wide streets, its huge shops,
its palatial banks, its cathedral, recently built on the model of St.
Peter’s at Rome, and then Mount Royal, which commands the city and
forms a magnificent park.

Luckily Phil Evans had visited the chief towns of Canada, and could
recognize them without asking Robur. After Montreal they passed Ottawa,
whose falls, seen from above, looked like a vast cauldron in
ebullition, throwing off masses of steam with grand effect.

“There is the Parliament House.”

And he pointed out a sort of Nuremburg toy planted on a hill top. This
toy with its polychrome architecture resembled the House of Parliament
in London much as the Montreal cathedral resembles St. Peter’s at Rome.
But that was of no consequence; there could be no doubt it was Ottawa.

Soon the city faded off towards the horizon, and formed but a luminous
spot on the ground.

It was almost two hours before Robur appeared. His mate, Tom Turner,
accompanied him. He said only three words. These were transmitted to
the two assistant engineers in the fore and aft engine-houses. At a
sign the helmsman changed the-direction of the “Albatross” a couple of
points to the southwest; at the same time Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
felt that a greater speed had been given to the propellers.

In fact, the speed had been doubled, and now surpassed anything that
had ever been attained by terrestrial Engines. Torpedo-boats do their
twenty-two knots an hour; railway trains do their sixty miles an hour;
the ice-boats on the frozen Hudson do their sixty-five miles an hour; a
machine built by the Patterson company, with a cogged wheel, has done
its eighty miles; and another locomotive between Trenton and Jersey
City has done its eighty-four.

But the “Albatross.” at full speed, could do her hundred and twenty
miles an hour, or 176 feet per second. This speed is that of the storm
which tears up trees by the roots. It is the mean speed of the carrier
pigeon, and is only surpassed by the flight of the swallow (220 feet
per second) and that of the swift (274 feet per second).

In a word, as Robur had said, the “Albatross.” by using the whole force
of her screws, could make the tour of the globe in two hundred hours,
or less than eight days.

Is it necessary to say so? The phenomenon whose appearance had so much
puzzled the people of both worlds was the aeronef of the engineer. The
trumpet which blared its startling fanfares through the air was that of
the mate, Tom Turner. The flag planted on the chief monuments of
Europe, Asia, America, was the flag of Robur the Conqueror and his
“Albatross.”

And if up to then the engineer had taken many precautions against being
recognized, if by preference he traveled at night, clearing the way
with his electric lights, and during the day vanishing into the zones
above the clouds, he seemed now to have no wish to keep his secret
hidden. And if he had come to Philadelphia and presented himself at the
meeting of the Weldon Institute, was it not that they might share in
his prodigious discovery, and convince “ipso facto” the most
incredulous? We know how he had been received, and we see what
reprisals he had taken on the president and secretary of the club.

Again did Robur approach his prisoners, who affected to be in no way
surprised at what they saw, of what had succeeded in spite of them.
Evidently beneath the cranium of these two Anglo-Saxon heads there was
a thick crust of obstinacy, which would not be easy to remove.

On his part, Robur did not seem to notice anything particular, and
coolly continued the conversation which he had begun two hours before.

“Gentlemen.” said he, “you ask yourselves doubtless if this apparatus,
so marvelously adapted for aerial locomotion, is susceptible of
receiving greater speed. It is not worth while to conquer space if we
cannot devour it. I wanted the air to be a solid support to me, and it
is. I saw that to struggle against the wind I must be stronger than the
wind, and I am. I had no need of sails to drive me, nor oars nor wheels
to push me, nor rails to give me a faster road. Air is what I wanted,
that was all. Air surrounds me as it surrounds the submarine boat, and
in it my propellers act like the screws of a steamer. That is how I
solved the problem of aviation. That is what a balloon will never do,
nor will any machine that is lighter than air.”

Silence, absolute, on the part of the colleagues, which did not for a
moment disconcert the engineer. He contented himself with a half-smile,
and continued in his interrogative style, “Perhaps you ask if to this
power of the “Albatross” to move horizontally there is added an equal
power of vertical movement—in a word, if, when, we visit the higher
zones of the atmosphere, we can compete with an aerostat? Well, I
should not advise you to enter the “Go-Ahead” against her!”

The two colleagues shrugged their shoulders. That was probably what the
engineer was waiting for.

Robur made a sign. The propelling screws immediately stopped, and after
running for a mile the “Albatross” pulled up motionless.

At a second gesture from Robur the suspensory helices revolved at a
speed that can only be compared to that of a siren in acoustical
experiments. Their f-r-r-r-r rose nearly an octave in the scale of
sound, diminishing gradually in intensity as the air became more
rarified, and the machine rose vertically, like a lark singing his song
in space.

“Master! Master!” shouted Frycollin. “See that it doesn’t break!”

A smile of disdain was Robur’s only reply. In a few minutes the
“Albatross” had attained the height of 8,700 feet, and extended the
range of vision by seventy miles, the barometer having fallen 480
millimeters.

Then the “Albatross” descended. The diminution of the pressure in high
altitudes leads to the diminution of oxygen in the air, and
consequently in the blood. This has been the cause of several serious
accidents which have happened to aeronauts, and Robur saw no reason to
run any risk.

The “Albatross” thus returned to the height she seemed to prefer, and
her propellers beginning again, drove her off to the southwest.

“Now, sirs, if that is what you wanted you can reply.” Then, leaning
over the rail, he remained absorbed in contemplation.

When he raised his head the president and secretary of the Weldon
Institute stood by his side.

“Engineer Robur.” said Uncle Prudent, in vain endeavoring to control
himself, “we have nothing to ask about what you seem to believe, but we
wish to ask you a question which we think you would do well to answer.”

“Speak.”

“By what right did you attack us in Philadelphia in Fairmount Park? By
what right did you shut us up in that prison? By what right have you
brought us against our will on board this flying machine?”

“And by what right, Messieurs Balloonists, did you insult and threaten
me in your club in such a way that I am astonished I came out of it
alive?”

“To ask is not to answer.” said Phil Evans, “and I repeat, by what
right?”

“Do you wish to know?”

“If you please.”

“Well, by the right of the strongest!”

“That is cynical.”

“But it is true.”

“And for how long, citizen engineer.” asked Uncle Prudent, who was
nearly exploding, “for how long do you intend to exercise that right?”

“How can you?” said Robur, ironically, “how can you ask me such a
question when you have only to cast down your eyes to enjoy a spectacle
unparalleled in the world?”

The “Albatross” was then sweeping across the immense expanse of Lake
Ontario. She had just crossed the country so poetically described by
Cooper. Then she followed the southern shore and headed for the
celebrated river which pours into it the waters of Lake Erie, breaking
them to powder in its cataracts.

In an instant a majestic sound, a roar as of the tempest, mounted
towards them and, as if a humid fog had been projected into the air,
the atmosphere sensibly freshened. Below were the liquid masses. They
seemed like an enormous flowing sheet of crystal amid a thousand
rainbows due to refraction as it decomposed the solar rays. The sight
was sublime.

Before the falls a foot-bridge, stretching like a thread, united one
bank to the other. Three miles below was a suspension-bridge, across
which a train was crawling from the Canadian to the American bank.

“The falls of Niagara!” exclaimed Phil Evans. And as the exclamation
escaped him, Uncle Prudent was doing all could do to admire nothing of
these wonders.

A minute afterwards the “Albatross” had crossed the river which
separates the United States from Canada, and was flying over the vast
territories of the West.




Chapter IX
ACROSS THE PRAIRIE


In one, of the cabins of the after-house Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
had found two excellent berths, with clean linen, change of clothes,
and traveling-cloaks and rugs. No Atlantic liner could have offered
them more comfort. If they did not sleep soundly it was that they did
not wish to do so, or rather that their very real anxiety prevented
them. In what adventure had they embarked? To what series of
experiments had they been invited? How would the business end? And
above all, what was Robur going to do with them?

Frycollin, the valet, was quartered forward in a cabin adjoining that
of the cook. The neighborhood did not displease him; he liked to rub
shoulders with the great in this world. But if he finally went to sleep
it was to dream of fall after fall, of projections through space, which
made his sleep a horrible nightmare.

However, nothing could be quieter than this journey through the
atmosphere, whose currents had grown weaker with the evening. Beyond
the rustling of the blades of the screws there was not a sound, except
now and then the whistle from some terrestrial locomotive, or the
calling of some animal. Strange instinct! These terrestrial beings felt
the aeronef glide over them, and uttered cries of terror as it passed.
On the morrow, the 14th of June, at five o’clock, Uncle Prudent and
Phil Evans were walking on the deck of the “Albatross.”

Nothing had changed since the evening; there was a lookout forward, and
the helmsman was in his glass cage. Why was there a look-out? Was there
any chance of collision with another such machine? Certainly not. Robur
had not yet found imitators. The chance of encountering an aerostat
gliding through the air was too remote to be regarded. In any case it
would be all the worse for the aerostat—the earthen pot and the iron
pot. The “Albatross” had nothing to fear from the collision.

But what could happen? The aeronef might find herself like a ship on a
lee shore if a mountain that could not be outflanked or passed barred
the way. These are the reefs of the air, and they have to be avoided as
a ship avoids the reefs of the sea. The engineer, it is true, had given
the course, and in doing so had taken into account the altitude
necessary to clear the summits of the high lands in the district. But
as the aeronef was rapidly nearing a mountainous country, it was only
prudent to keep a good lookout, in case some slight deviation from the
course became necessary.

Looking at the country beneath them, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
noticed a large lake, whose lower southern end the “Albatross” had just
reached. They concluded, therefore, that during the night the whole
length of Lake Erie had been traversed, and that, as they were going
due west, they would soon be over Lake Michigan. “There can be no doubt
of it.” said Phil Evans, “and that group of roofs on the horizon is
Chicago.”

He was right. It was indeed the city from which the seventeen railways
diverge, the Queen of the West, the vast reservoir into which flow the
products of Indiana, Ohio, Wisconsin, Missouri, and all the States
which form the western half of the Union.

Uncle Prudent, through an excellent telescope he had found in his
cabin, easily recognized the principal buildings. His colleague pointed
out to him the churches and public edifices, the numerous “elevators”
or mechanical, granaries, and the huge Sherman Hotel, whose windows
seemed like a hundred glittering points on each of its faces.

“If that is Chicago.” said Uncle Prudent, “it is obvious that we are
going farther west than is convenient for us if we are to return to our
starting-place.”

And, in fact, the “Albatross” was traveling in a straight line from the
Pennsylvania capital.

But if Uncle Prudent wished to ask Robur to take him eastwards he could
not then do so. That morning the engineer did not leave his cabin.
Either he was occupied in some work, or else he was asleep, and the two
colleagues sat down to breakfast without seeing him.

The speed was the same as that during last evening. The wind being
easterly the rate was not interfered with at all, and as the
thermometer only falls a degree centigrade for every seventy meters of
elevation the temperature was not insupportable. And so, in chatting
and thinking and waiting for the engineer, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
walked about beneath the forest of screws, whose gyratory movement gave
their arms the appearance of semi-diaphanous disks.

The State of Illinois was left by its northern frontier in less than
two hours and a half; and they crossed the Father of Waters, the
Mississippi, whose double-decked steam-boats seemed no bigger than
canoes. Then the “Albatross” flew over Iowa after having sighted Iowa
City about eleven o’clock in the morning.

A few chains of hills, “bluffs” as they are called, curved across the
face of the country trending from the south to the northwest, whose
moderate height necessitated no rise in the course of the aeronef. Soon
the bluffs gave place to the large plains of western Iowa and
Nebraska—immense prairies extending all the way to the foot of the
Rocky Mountains. Here and there were many rios, affluents or minor
affluents of the Missouri. On their banks were towns and villages,
growing more scattered as the “Albatross” sped farther west.

Nothing particular happened during this day. Uncle Prudent and Phil
Evans were left entirely to themselves. They hardly noticed Frycollin
sprawling at full length in the bow, keeping his eyes shut so that he
could see nothing. And they were not attacked by vertigo, as might have
been expected. There was no guiding mark, and there was nothing to
cause the vertigo, as there would have been on the top of a lofty
building. The abyss has no attractive power when it is gazed at from
the car of a balloon or deck of an aeronef. It is not an abyss that
opens beneath the aeronaut, but an horizon that rises round him on all
sides like a cup.

In a couple of hours the “Albatross” was over Omaha, on the Nebraskan
frontier—Omaha City, the real head of the Pacific Railway, that long
line of rails, four thousand five hundred miles in length, stretching
from New York to San Francisco. For a moment they could see the yellow
waters of the Missouri, then the town, with its houses of wood and
brick in the center of a rich basin, like a buckle in the iron belt
which clasps North America round the waist. Doubtless, also, as the
passengers in the aeronef could observe all these details, the
inhabitants of Omaha noticed the strange machine. Their astonishment at
seeing it gliding overhead could be no greater than that of the
president and secretary of the Weldon Institute at finding themselves
on board.

Anyhow, the journals of the Union would be certain to notice the fact.
It would be the explanation of the astonishing phenomenon which the
whole world had been wondering over for some time.

In an hour the “Albatross” had left Omaha and crossed the Platte River,
whose valley is followed by the Pacific Railway in its route across the
prairie. Things looked serious for Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans.

“It is serious, then, this absurd project of taking us to the
Antipodes.”

“And whether we like it or not!” exclaimed the other.

“Robur had better take care! I am not the man to stand that sort of
thing.”

“Nor am I!” replied Phil Evans. “But be calm, Uncle Prudent, be calm.”

“Be calm!”

“And keep your temper until it is wanted.”

By five o’clock they had crossed the Black Mountains covered with pines
and cedars, and the “Albatross” was over the appropriately named Bad
Lands of Nebraska—a chaos of ochre-colored hills, of mountainous
fragments fallen on the soil and broken in their fall. At a distance
these blocks take the most fantastic shapes. Here and there amid this
enormous game of knucklebones there could be traced the imaginary ruins
of medieval cities with forts and dungeons, pepper-box turrets, and
machicolated towers. And in truth these Bad Lands are an immense
ossuary where lie bleaching in the sun myriads of fragments of
pachyderms, chelonians, and even, some would have us believe, fossil
men, overwhelmed by unknown cataclysms ages and ages ago.

When evening came the whole basin of the Platte River had been crossed,
and the plain extended to the extreme limits of the horizon, which rose
high owing to the altitude of the “Albatross.”

During the night there were no more shrill whistles of locomotives or
deeper notes of the river steamers to trouble the quiet of the starry
firmament. Long bellowing occasionally reached the aeronef from the
herds of buffalo that roamed over the prairie in search of water and
pasturage. And when they ceased, the trampling of the grass under their
feet produced a dull roaring similar to the rushing of a flood, and
very different from the continuous f-r-r-r-r of the screws.

Then from time to time came the howl of a wolf, a fox, a wild cat, or a
coyote, the “Canis latrans.” whose name is justified by his sonorous
bark.

Occasionally came penetrating odors of mint, and sage, and absinthe,
mingled with the more powerful fragrance of the conifers which rose
floating through the night air.

At last came a menacing yell, which was not due to the coyote. It was
the shout of a Redskin, which no Tenderfoot would confound with the cry
of a wild beast.




Chapter X
WESTWARD—BUT WHITHER?


The next day, the 15th of June, about five o’clock in the morning, Phil
Evans left his cabin. Perhaps he would today have a chance of speaking
to Robur? Desirous of knowing why he had not appeared the day before,
Evans addressed himself to the mate, Tom Turner.

Tom Turner was an Englishman of about forty-five, broad in the
shoulders and short in the legs, a man of iron, with one of those
enormous characteristic heads that Hogarth rejoiced in.

“Shall we see Mr. Robur to-day?” asked Phil Evans.

“I don’t know.” said Turner.

“I need not ask if he has gone out.”

“Perhaps he has.”

“And when will he come back?”

“When he has finished his cruise.”

And Tom went into his cabin.

With this reply they had to be contented. Matters did not look
promising, particularly as on reference to the compass it appeared that
the “Albatross” was still steering southwest.

Great was the contrast between the barren tract of the Bad Lands passed
over during the night and the landscape then unrolling beneath them.

The aeronef was now more than six hundred miles from Omaha, and over a
country which Phil Evans could not recognize because he had never been
there before. A few forts to keep the Indians in order crowned the
bluffs with their geometric lines, formed oftener of palisades than
walls. There were few villages, and few inhabitants, the country
differing widely from the auriferous lands of Colorado many leagues to
the south.

In the distance a long line of mountain crests, in great confusion as
yet, began to appear. They were the Rocky Mountains.

For the first time that morning Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans were
sensible of a certain lowness of temperature which was not due to a
change in the weather, for the sun shone in superb splendor.

“It is because of the “Albatross” being higher in the air.” said Phil
Evans.

In fact the barometer outside the central deck-house had fallen 540
millimeters, thus indicating an elevation of about 10,000 feet above
the sea. The aeronef was at this altitude owing to the elevation of the
ground. An hour before she had been at a height of 13,000 feet, and
behind her were mountains covered with perpetual snow.

There was nothing Uncle Prudent and his companion could remember which
would lead them to discover where they were. During the night the
“Albatross” had made several stretches north and south at tremendous
speed, and that was what had put them out of their reckoning.

After talking over several hypotheses more or less plausible they came
to the conclusion that this country encircled with mountains must be
the district declared by an Act of Congress in March, 1872, to be the
National Park of the United States. A strange region it was. It well
merited the name of a park—a park with mountains for hills, with lakes
for ponds, with rivers for streamlets, and with geysers of marvelous
power instead of fountains.

In a few minutes the “Albatross” glided across the Yellowstone River,
leaving Mount Stevenson on the right, and coasting the large lake which
bears the name of the stream. Great was the variety on the banks of
this basin, ribbed as they were with obsidian and tiny crystals,
reflecting the sunlight on their myriad facets. Wonderful was the
arrangement of the islands on its surface; magnificent were the blue
reflections of the gigantic mirror. And around the lake, one of the
highest in the globe, were multitudes of pelicans, swans, gulls and
geese, bernicles and divers. In places the steep banks were clothed
with green trees, pines and larches, and at the foot of the escarpments
there shot upwards innumerable white fumaroles, the vapor escaping from
the soil as from an enormous reservoir in which the water is kept in
permanent ebullition by subterranean fire.

The cook might have seized the opportunity of securing an ample supply
of trout, the only fish the Yellowstone Lake contains in myriads. But
the “Albatross” kept on at such a height that there was no chance of
indulging in a catch which assuredly would have been miraculous.

In three quarters of an hour the lake was overpassed, and a little
farther on the last was seen of the geyser region, which rivals the
finest in Iceland. Leaning over the rail, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
watched the liquid columns which leaped up as though to furnish the
aeronef with a new element. There were the Fan, with the jets shot
forth in rays, the Fortress, which seemed to be defended by
waterspouts, the Faithful Friend, with her plume crowned with the
rainbows, the Giant, spurting forth a vertical torrent twenty feet
round and more than two hundred feet high.

Robur must evidently have been familiar with this incomparable
spectacle, unique in the world, for he did not appear on deck. Was it,
then, for the sole pleasure of his guests that he had brought the
aeronef above the national domain? If so, he came not to receive their
thanks. He did not even trouble himself during the daring passage of
the Rocky Mountains, which the “Albatross” approached at about seven
o’clock.

By increasing the speed of her wings, as a bird rising in its flight,
the “Albatross” would clear the highest ridges of the chain, and sink
again over Oregon or Utah, But the maneuver was unnecessary. The passes
allowed the barrier to be crossed without ascending for the higher
ridges. There are many of these canyons, or steep valleys, more or less
narrow, through which they could glide, such as Bridger Gap, through
which runs the Pacific Railway into the Mormon territory, and others to
the north and south of it.

It was through one of these that the “Albatross” headed, after
slackening speed so as not to dash against the walls of the canyon. The
steersman, with a sureness of hand rendered more effective by the
sensitiveness of the rudder, maneuvered his craft as if she were a
crack racer in a Royal Victoria match. It was really extraordinary. In
spite of all the jealousy of the two enemies of “lighter than air.”
they could not help being surprised at the perfection of this engine of
aerial locomotion.

In less than two hours and a half they were through the Rockies, and
the “Albatross” resumed her former speed of sixty-two miles an hour.
She was steering southwest so as to cut across Utah diagonally as she
neared the ground. She had even dropped several hundred yards when the
sound of a whistle attracted the attention of Uncle Prudent and Phil
Evans. It was a train on the Pacific Railway on the road to Salt Lake
City.

And then, in obedience to an order secretly given, the “Albatross”
dropped still lower so as to chase the train, which was going at full
speed. She was immediately sighted. A few heads showed themselves at
the doors of the cars. Then numerous passengers crowded the gangways.
Some did not hesitate to climb on the roof to get a better view of the
flying machine. Cheers came floating up through the air; but no Robur
appeared in answer to them.

The “Albatross” continued her descent, slowing her suspensory screws
and moderating her speed so as not to leave the train behind. She flew
about it like an enormous beetle or a gigantic bird of prey. She headed
off, to the right and left, and swept on in front, and hung behind, and
proudly displayed her flag with the golden sun, to which the conductor
of the train replied by waving the Stars and Stripes.

In vain the prisoners, in their desire to take advantage of the
opportunity, endeavored to make themselves known to those below. In
vain the president of the Weldon Institute roared forth at the top of
his voice, “I am Uncle Prudent of Philadelphia!” And the secretary
followed suit with, “I am Phil Evans, his colleague!” Their shouts were
lost in the thousand cheers with which the passengers greeted the
aeronef.

Three or four of the crew of the “Albatross” had appeared on the deck,
and one of them, like sailors when passing a ship less speedy than
their own, held out a rope, an ironical way of offering to tow them.

And then the “Albatross” resumed her original speed, and in half an
hour the express was out of sight. About one o’clock there appeared a
vast disk, which reflected the solar rays as if it were an immense
mirror.

“That ought to be the Mormon capital, Salt Lake City.” said Uncle
Prudent. And so it was, and the disk was the roof of the Tabernacle,
where ten thousand saints can worship at their ease. This vast dome,
like a convex mirror, threw off the rays of the sun in all directions.

It vanished like a shadow, and the “Albatross” sped on her way to the
southwest with a speed that was not felt, because it surpassed that of
the chasing wind. Soon she was in Nevada over the silver regions, which
the Sierra separates from the golden lands of California.

“We shall certainly reach San Francisco before night.” said Phil Evans.

“And then?” asked Uncle Prudent.

It was six o’clock precisely when the Sierra Nevada was crossed by the
same pass as that taken by the railway. Only a hundred and eighty miles
then separated them from San Francisco, the Californian capital.

At the speed the “Albatross” was going she would be over the dome by
eight o’clock.

At this moment Robur appeared on deck. The colleagues walked up to him.

“Engineer Robur.” said Uncle Prudent, “we are now on the very confines
of America! We think the time has come for this joke to end.”

“I never joke.” said Robur.

He raised his hand. The “Albatross” swiftly dropped towards the ground,
and at the same time such speed was given her as to drive the prisoners
into their cabin. As soon as the door was shut, Uncle Prudent
exclaimed,

“I could strangle him!”

“We must try to escape.” said Phil Evans.

“Yes; cost what it may!”

A long murmur greeted their ears. It was the beating of the surf on the
seashore. It was the Pacific Ocean!




Chapter XI
THE WIDE PACIFIC


Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans had quite made up their minds to escape.
If they had not had to deal with the eight particularly vigorous men
who composed the crew of the aeronef they might have tried to succeed
by main force. But as they were only two—for Frycollin could only be
considered as a quantity of no importance—force was not to be thought
of. Hence recourse must be had to strategy as soon as the “Albatross”
again took the ground. Such was what Phil Evans endeavored to impress
on his irascible colleague, though he was in constant fear of Prudent
aggravating matters by some premature outbreak.

In any case the present was not the time to attempt anything of the
sort. The aeronef was sweeping along over the North Pacific. On the
following morning, that of June 16th, the coast was out of sight. And
as the coast curves off from Vancouver Island up to the
Aleutians—belonging to that portion of America ceded by Russia to the
United States in 1867—it was highly probable that the “Albatross” would
cross it at the end of the curve, if her course remained unchanged.

How long the night appeared to be to the two friends! How eager they
were to get out of their cabins! When they came on deck in the morning
the dawn had for some hours been silvering the eastern horizon. They
were nearing the June solstice, the longest day of the year in the
northern hemisphere, when there is hardly any night along the sixtieth
parallel.

Either from custom or intention Robur was in no hurry to leave his
deck-house, When he came out this morning be contented himself with
bowing to his two guests as he passed them in the stern of the aeronef.

And now Frycollin ventured out of his cabin. His eyes red with
sleeplessness, and dazed in their look, he tottered along, like a man
whose foot feels it is not on solid ground. His first glance was at the
suspensory screws, which were working with gratifying regularity
without any signs of haste. That done, the Negro stumbled along to the
rail, and grasped it with both hands, so as to make sure of his
balance. Evidently he wished to view the country over which the
“Albatross” was flying at the height of seven hundred feet or more.

At first he kept himself well back behind the rail. Then he shook it to
make sure it was firm; then he drew himself up; then he bent forward;
then he stretched out his head. It need not be said that while he was
executing these different maneuvers he kept his eyes shut. At last he
opened them.

What a shout! And how quickly he fled! And how deeply his head sank
back into his shoulders! At the bottom of the abyss he had seen the
immense ocean. His hair would have risen on end—if it had not been
wool.

“The sea! The sea!” he cried. And Frycollin would have fallen on the
deck had not the cook opened his arms to receive him.

This cook was a Frenchman, and probably a Gascon, his name being
Francois Tapage. If he was not a Gascon he must in his infancy have
inhaled the breezes of the Garonne. How did this Francois Tapage find
himself in the service of the engineer? By what chain of accidents had
he become one of the crew of the “Albatross?” We can hardly say; but in
any case be spoke English like a Yankee. “Eh, stand up!” he said,
lifting the Negro by a vigorous clutch at the waist.

“Master Tapage!” said the poor fellow, giving a despairing look at the
screws.

“At your service, Frycollin.”

“Did this thing ever smash?”

“No, but it will end by smashing.”

“Why? Why?”

“Because everything must end.

“And the sea is beneath us!”

“If we are to fall, it is better to fall in the sea.”

“We shall be drowned.”

“We shall be drowned, but we shall not be smashed to a jelly.”

The next moment Frycollin was on all fours, creeping to the back of his
cabin.

During this day the aeronef was only driven at moderate speed. She
seemed to skim the placid surface of the sea, which lay beneath. Uncle
Prudent and his companion remained in their cabin, so that they did not
meet with Robur, who walked about smoking alone or talking to the mate.
Only half the screws were working, yet that was enough to keep the
apparatus afloat in the lower zones of the atmosphere.

The crew, as a change from the ordinary routine, would have endeavored
to catch a few fish had there been any sign of them; but all that could
be seen on the surface of the sea were a few of those yellow-bellied
whales which measure about eighty feet in length. These are the most
formidable cetaceans in the northern seas, and whalers are very careful
in attacking them, for their strength is prodigious. However, in
harpooning one of these whales, either with the ordinary harpoon, the
Fletcher fuse, or the javelin-bomb, of which there was an assortment on
board, there would have been danger to the men of the “Albatross.”

But what was the good of such useless massacre? Doubtless to show off
the powers of the aeronef to the members of the Weldon Institute. And
so Robur gave orders for the capture of one of these monstrous
cetaceans.

At the shout of “A whale! A whale!” Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans came
out of their cabin. Perhaps there was a whaler in sight! In that case
all they had to do to escape from their flying prison was to jump into
the sea, and chance being picked up by the vessel.

The crew were all on deck. “Shall we try, sir?” asked Tom Turner.

“Yes.” said Robur.

In the engine-room the engineer and his assistant were at their posts
ready to obey the orders signaled to them. The “Albatross” dropped
towards the sea, and remained, about fifty feet above it.

There was no ship in sight—of that the two colleagues soon assured
themselves—nor was there any land to be seen to which they could swim,
providing Robur made no attempt to recapture them.

Several jets of water from the spout holes soon announced the presence
of the whales as they came to the surface to breathe. Tom Turner and
one of the men were in the bow. Within his reach was one of those
javelin-bombs, of Californian make, which are shot from an arquebus and
which are shaped as a metallic cylinder terminated by a cylindrical
shell armed with a shaft having a barbed point. Robur was a little
farther aft, and with his right hand signaled to the engineers, while
with his left, he directed the steersman. He thus controlled the
aeronef in every way, horizontally and vertically, and it is almost
impossible to conceive with what speed and precision the “Albatross”
answered to his orders. She seemed a living being, of which he was the
soul.

“A whale! A whale!” shouted Tom Turner, as the back of a cetacean
emerged from the surface about four cable-lengths in front of the
“Albatross.”

The “Albatross” swept towards it, and when she was within sixty feet of
it she stopped dead.

Tom Turner seized the arquebus, which was resting against a cleat on
the rail. He fired, and the projectile, attached to a long line,
entered the whale’s body. The shell, filled with an explosive compound,
burst, and shot out a small harpoon with two branches, which fastened
into the animal’s flesh.

“Look out!” shouted Turner.

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans, much against their will, became greatly
interested in the spectacle.

The whale, seriously wounded, gave the sea such a slap with his tail,
that the water dashed up over the bow of the aeronef. Then he plunged
to a great depth, while the line, which had been previously wetted in a
tub of water to prevent its taking fire, ran out like lightning. When
the whale rose to the surface he started off at full speed in a
northerly direction.

It may be imagined with what speed the “Albatross” was towed in
pursuit. Besides, the propellers had been stopped. The whale was let go
as he would, and the ship followed him. Turner stood ready to cut the
line in case a fresh plunge should render this towing dangerous.

For half an hour, and perhaps for a distance of six miles, the
“Albatross” was thus dragged along, but it was obvious that the whale
was tiring. Then, at a gesture from Robur the assistant engineers
started the propellers astern, so as to oppose a certain resistance to
the whale, who was gradually getting closer.

Soon the aeronef was gliding about twenty-five feet above him. His tail
was beating the waters with incredible violence, and as he turned over
on his back an enormous wave was produced.

Suddenly the whale turned up again, so as to take a header, as it were,
and then dived with such rapidity that Turner had barely time to cut
the line.

The aeronef was dragged to the very surface of the water. A whirlpool
was formed where the animal had disappeared. A wave dashed up on to the
deck as if the aeronef were a ship driving against wind and tide.

Luckily, with a blow of the hatchet the mate severed the line, and the
“Albatross.” freed from her tug, sprang aloft six hundred feet under
the impulse of her ascensional screws. Robur had maneuvered his ship
without losing his coolness for a moment.

A few minutes afterwards the whale returned to the surface—dead. From
every side the birds flew down on to the carcass, and their cries were
enough to deafen a congress. The “Albatross.” without stopping to share
in the spoil, resumed her course to the west.

In the morning of the 17th of June, at about six o’clock, land was
sighted on the horizon. This was the peninsula of Alaska, and the long
range of breakers of the Aleutian Islands.

The “Albatross” glided over the barrier where the fur seals swarm for
the benefit of the Russo-American Company. An excellent business is the
capture of these amphibians, which are from six to seven feet long,
russet in color, and weigh from three hundred to four hundred pounds.
There they were in interminable files, ranged in line of battle, and
countable by thousands.

Although they did not move at the passage of the “Albatross.” it was
otherwise with the ducks, divers, and loons, whose husky cries filled
the air as they disappeared beneath the waves and fled terrified from
the aerial monster.

The twelve hundred miles of the Behring Sea between the first of the
Aleutians and the extreme end of Kamtschatka were traversed during the
twenty-four hours of this day and the following night. Uncle Prudent
and Phil Evans found that here was no present chance of putting their
project of escape into execution. Flight was not to be thought of among
the deserts of Eastern Asia, nor on the coast of the sea of Okhotsk.
Evidently the “Albatross” was bound for Japan or China, and there,
although it was not perhaps quite safe to trust themselves to the
mercies of the Chinese or Japanese, the two friends had made up their
minds to run if the aeronef stopped.

But would she stop? She was not like a bird which grows fatigued by too
long a flight, or like a balloon which has to descend for want of gas.
She still had food for many weeks and her organs were of marvelous
strength, defying all weakness and weariness.

During the 18th of June she swept over the peninsula of Kamtschatka,
and during the day there was a glimpse of Petropaulovski and the
volcano of Kloutschew. Then she rose again to cross the Sea of Okhotsk,
running down by the Kurile Isles, which seemed to be a breakwater
pierced by hundreds of channels. On the 19th, in the morning, the
“Albatross” was over the strait of La Perouse between Saghalien and
Northern Japan, and had reached the mouth of the great Siberian river,
the Amoor.

Then there came a fog so dense that the aeronef had to rise above it.
At the altitude she was there was no obstacle to be feared, no elevated
monuments to hinder her passage, no mountains against which there was
risk of being shattered in her flight. The country was only slightly
varied. But the fog was very disagreeable, and made everything on board
very damp.

All that was necessary was to get above this bed of mist, which was
nearly thirteen hundred feet thick, and the ascensional screws being
increased in speed, the “Albatross” was soon clear of the fog and in
the sunny regions of the sky. Under these circumstances, Uncle Prudent
and Phil Evans would have found some difficulty in carrying out their
plan of escape, even admitting that they could leave the aeronef.

During the day, as Robur passed them he stopped for a moment, and
without seeming to attach any importance to what he said, addressed
them carelessly as follows: “Gentlemen, a sailing-ship or a steamship
caught in a fog from which it cannot escape is always much delayed. It
must not move unless it keeps its whistle or its horn going. It must
reduce its speed, and any instant a collision may be expected. The
“Albatross” has none of these things to fear. What does fog matter to
her? She can leave it when she chooses. The whole of space is hers.”
And Robur continued his stroll without waiting for an answer, and the
puffs of his pipe were lost in the sky.

“Uncle Prudent.” said Phil Evans, “it seems that this astonishing
“Albatross” never has anything to fear.”

“That we shall see!” answered the president of the Weldon Institute.

The fog lasted three days, the 19th, 20th, and 21st of June, with
regrettable persistence. An ascent had to be made to clear the Japanese
mountain of Fujiyama. When the curtain of mist was drawn aside there
lay below them an immense city, with palaces, villas, gardens, and
parks. Even without seeing it Robur had recognized it by the barking of
the innumerable dogs, the cries of the birds of prey, and above all, by
the cadaverous odor which the bodies of its executed criminals gave off
into space.

The two colleagues were out on the deck while the engineer was taking
his observations in case he thought it best to continue his course
through the fog.

“Gentlemen.” said he, “I have no reason for concealing from you that
this town is Tokyo, the capital of Japan.”

Uncle Prudent did not reply. In the presence of the engineer he was
almost choked, as if his lungs were short of air.

“This view of Tokyo.” continued Robur, “is very curious.”

“Curious as it may be—” replied Phil Evans.

“It is not as good as Peking?” interrupted the engineer.

“That is what I think, and very shortly you shall have an opportunity
of judging.”

Impossible to be more agreeable!

The “Albatross” then gliding southeast, had her course changed four
points, so as to head to the eastward.




Chapter XII
THROUGH THE HIMALAYAS


During the night the fog cleared off. There were symptoms of an
approaching typhoon—a rapid fall of the barometer, a disappearance of
vapor, large clouds of ellipsoid form clinging to a copper sky, and, on
the opposite horizon, long streaks of carmine on a slate-colored field,
with a large sector quite clear in the north. Then the sea was smooth
and calm and at sunset assumed a deep scarlet hue.

Fortunately the typhoon broke more to the south, and had no other
result than to sweep away the mist which had been accumulating during
the last three days.

In an hour they had traversed the hundred and twenty-five miles of the
Korean strait, and while the typhoon was raging on the coast of China,
the “Albatross” was over the Yellow Sea. During the 22nd and 23rd she
was over the Gulf of Pechelee, and on the 24th she was ascending the
valley of the Peiho on her way to the capital of the Celestial Empire.

Leaning over the rail, the two colleagues, as the engineer had told
them, could see distinctly the immense city, the wall which divides it
into two parts—the Manchu town, and the Chinese town—the twelve suburbs
which surround it, the large boulevards which radiate from its center,
the temples with their green and yellow roofs bathed in the rising sun,
the grounds surrounding the houses of the mandarins; then in the middle
of the Manchu town the eighteen hundred acres of the Yellow town, with
its pagodas, its imperial gardens, its artificial lakes, its mountain
of coal which towers above the capital; and in the center of the Yellow
town, like a square of Chinese puzzle enclosed in another, the Red
town, that is the imperial palace, with all the peaks of its outrageous
architecture.

Below the “Albatross” the air was filled with a singular harmony. It
seemed to be a concert of Aeolian harps. In the air were a hundred
kites of different forms, made of sheets of palm-leaf, and having at
their upper end a sort of bow of light wood with a thin slip of bamboo
beneath. In the breath of the wind these slips, with all their notes
varied like those of a harmonicon, gave forth a most melancholy
murmuring. It seemed as though they were breathing musical oxygen.

It suited Robur’s whim to run close up to this aerial orchestra, and
the “Albatross” slowed as she glided through the sonorous waves which
the kites gave off through the atmosphere.

But immediately an extraordinary effect was produced amongst the
innumerable population. Beatings of the tomtoms and sounds of other
formidable instruments of the Chinese orchestra, gun reports by the
thousand, mortars fired in hundreds, all were brought into play to
scare away the aeronef. Although the Chinese astronomers may have
recognized the aerial machine as the moving body that had given rise to
such disputes, it was to the Celestial million, from the humblest
tankader to the best-buttoned mandarin, an apocalyptical monster
appearing in the sky of Buddha.

The crew of the “Albatross” troubled themselves very little about these
demonstrations. But the strings which held the kites, and were tied to
fixed pegs in the imperial gardens, were cut or quickly hauled in; and
the kites were either drawn in rapidly, sounding louder as they sank,
or else fell like a bird shot through both wings, whose song ends with
its last sigh.

A noisy fanfare escaped from Tom Turner’s trumpet, and drowned the
final notes of the aerial concert. It did not interrupt the terrestrial
fusillade. At last a shell exploded a few feet below the “Albatross.”
and then she mounted into the inaccessible regions of the sky.

Nothing happened during the few following days of which the prisoners
could take advantage. The aeronef kept on her course to the southwest,
thereby showing that it was intended to take her to India. Twelve hours
after leaving Peking, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans caught a glimpse of
the Great Wall in the neighborhood of Chen-Si. Then, avoiding the Lung
Mountains, they passed over the valley of the Hoangho and crossed the
Chinese border on the Tibet side.

Tibet consists of high table-lands without vegetation, with here and
there snowy peaks and barren ravines, torrents fed by glaciers,
depressions with glittering beds of salt, lakes surrounded by luxurious
forests, with icy winds sweeping over all.

The barometer indicated an altitude of thirteen thousand feet above the
level of the sea. At that height the temperature, although it was in
the warmest months of the northern hemisphere, was only a little above
freezing. This cold, combined with the speed of the “Albatross.” made
the voyage somewhat trying, and although the friends had warm traveling
wraps, they preferred to keep to their cabin.

It need hardly be said that to keep the aeronef in this rarefied
atmosphere the suspensory screws had to be driven at extreme speed. But
they worked with perfect regularity, and the sound of their wings
almost acted as a lullaby.

During this day, appearing from below about the size of a carrier
pigeon, she passed over Garlock, a town of western Tibet, the capital
of the province of Cari Khorsum.

On the 27th of June, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans sighted an enormous
barrier, broken here and there by several peaks, lost in the snows that
bounded the horizon.

Leaning against the fore-cabin, so as to keep their places
notwithstanding the speed of the ship, they watched these colossal
masses, which seemed to be running away from the aeronef.

“The Himalayas, evidently.” said Phil Evans; “and probably Robur is
going round their base, so as to pass into India.”

“So much the worse.” answered Uncle Prudent. “On that immense territory
we shall perhaps be able to—”

“Unless he goes round by Burma to the east, or Nepal to the west.”

“Anyhow, I defy him to go through them.”

“Indeed!” said a voice.

The next day, the 28th of June, the “Albatross” was in front of the
huge mass above the province of Zang. On the other side of the chain
was the province of Nepal. These ranges block the road into India from
the north. The two northern ones, between which the aeronef was gliding
like a ship between enormous reefs are the first steps of the Central
Asian barrier. The first was the Kuen Lung, the other the Karakorum,
bordering the longitudinal valley parallel to the Himalayas, from which
the Indus flows to the west and the Brahmapootra to the east.

What a superb orographical system! More than two hundred summits have
been measured, seventeen of which exceed twenty-five thousand feet. In
front of the “Albatross.” at a height of twenty-nine thousand feet,
towered Mount Everest. To the right was Dhawalagiri, reaching
twenty-six thousand eight hundred feet, and relegated to second place
since the measurement of Mount Everest.

Evidently Robur did not intend to go over the top of these peaks; but
probably he knew the passes of the Himalayas, among others that of Ibi
Ganim, which the brothers Schlagintweit traversed in 1856 at a height
of twenty-two thousand feet. And towards it he went.

Several hours of palpitation, becoming quite painful, followed; and
although the rarefaction of the air was not such as to necessitate
recourse being had to the special apparatus for renewing oxygen in the
cabins, the cold was excessive.

Robur stood in the bow, his sturdy figure wrapped in a great-coat. He
gave the orders, while Tom Turner was at the helm. The engineer kept an
attentive watch on his batteries, the acid in which fortunately ran no
risk of congelation. The screws, running at the full strength of the
current, gave forth a note of intense shrillness in spite of the
trifling density of the air. The barometer showed twenty-three thousand
feet in altitude.

Magnificent was the grouping of the chaos of mountains! Everywhere were
brilliant white summits. There were no lakes, but glaciers descending
ten thousand feet towards the base. There was no herbage, only a few
phanerogams on the limit of vegetable life. Down on the lower flanks of
the range were splendid forests of pines and cedars. Here were none of
the gigantic ferns and interminable parasites stretching from tree to
tree as in the thickets of the jungle. There were no animals—no wild
horses, or yaks, or Tibetan bulls. Occasionally a scared gazelle showed
itself far down the slopes. There were no birds, save a couple of those
crows which can rise to the utmost limits of the respirable air.

The pass at last was traversed. The “Albatross” began to descend.
Coming from the hills out of the forest region there was now beneath
them an immense plain stretching far and wide.

Then Robur stepped up to his guests, and in a pleasant voice remarked,
“India, gentlemen!”




Chapter XIII
OVER THE CASPIAN


The engineer had no intention of taking his ship over the wondrous
lands of Hindustan. To cross the Himalayas was to show how admirable
was the machine he commanded; to convince those who would not be
convinced was all he wished to do.

But if in their hearts Uncle Prudent and his colleague could not help
admiring so perfect an engine of aerial locomotion, they allowed none
of their admiration to be visible. All they thought of was how to
escape. They did not even admire the superb spectacle that lay beneath
them as the “Albatross” flew along the river banks of the Punjab.

At the base of the Himalayas there runs a marshy belt of country, the
home of malarious vapors, the Terai, in which fever is endemic. But
this offered no obstacle to the “Albatross.” or, in any way, affected
the health of her crew. She kept on without undue haste towards the
angle where India joins on to China and Turkestan, and on the 29th of
June, in the early hours of the morning, there opened to view the
incomparable valley of Cashmere.

Yes! Incomparable is this gorge between the major and the minor
Himalayas—furrowed by the buttresses in which the mighty range dies out
in the basin of the Hydaspes, and watered by the capricious windings of
the river which saw the struggle between the armies of Porus and
Alexander, when India and Greece contended for Central Asia. The
Hydaspes is still there, although the two towns founded by the
Macedonian in remembrance of his victory have long since disappeared.

During the morning the aeronef was over Serinuggur, which is better
known under the name of Cashmere. Uncle Prudent and his companion
beheld the superb city clustered along both banks of the river; its
wooden bridges stretching across like threads, its villas and their
balconies standing out in bold outline, its hills shaded by tall
poplars, its roofs grassed over and looking like molehills; its
numerous canals, with boats like nut-shells, and boatmen like ants; its
palaces, temples, kiosks, mosques, and bungalows on the outskirts; and
its old citadel of Hari-Pawata on the slope of the hill like the most
important of the forts of Paris on the slope of Mont Valerien.

“That would be Venice.” said Phil Evans, “if we were in Europe.”

“And if we were in Europe.” answered Uncle Prudent, “we should know how
to find the way to America.”

The “Albatross” did not linger over the lake through which the river
flows, but continued her flight down the valley of the Hydaspes.

For half an hour only did she descend to within thirty feet of the
river and remained stationary. Then, by means of an india-rubber pipe,
Tom Turner and his men replenished their water supply, which was drawn
up by a pump worked by the accumulators. Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
stood watching the operation. The same idea occurred to each of them.
They were only a few feet from the surface of the stream. They were
both good swimmers. A plunge would give them their liberty; and once
they had reached the river, how could Robur get them back again? For
his propellers to work, he must keep at least six feet above the
ground.

In a moment all the chances pro and con were run over in their heads.
In a moment they were considered, and the prisoners rushed to throw
themselves overboard, when several pairs of hands seized them by the
shoulders.

They had been watched; and flight was utterly impossible.

This time they did not yield without resisting. They tried to throw off
those who held them. But these men of the “Albatross” were no children.

“Gentlemen.” said the engineer, “when people, have the pleasure of
traveling with Robur the Conqueror, as you have so well named him, on
board his admirable “Albatross.” they do not leave him in that way. I
may add you never leave him.”

Phil Evans drew away his colleague, who was about to commit some act of
violence. They retired to their cabin, resolved to escape, even if it
cost them their lives.

Immediately the “Albatross” resumed her course to the west. During the
day at moderate speed she passed over the territory of Cabulistan,
catching a momentary glimpse of its capital, and crossed the frontier
of the kingdom of Herat, nearly seven hundred miles from Cashmere.

In these much-disputed countries, the open road for the Russians to the
English possessions in India, there were seen many columns and convoys,
and, in a word, everything that constitutes in men and material an army
on the march. There were heard also the roar of the cannon and the
crackling of musketry. But the engineer never meddled with the affairs
of others where his honor or humanity was not concerned. He passed
above them. If Herat as we are told, is the key of Central Asia, it
mattered little to him if it was kept in an English or Muscovite
pocket. Terrestrial interests were nothing to him who had made the air
his domain.

Besides, the country soon disappeared in one of those sandstorms which
are so frequent in these regions. The wind called the “tebbad” bears
along the seeds of fever in the impalpable dust it raises in its
passage. And many are the caravans that perish in its eddies.

To escape this dust, which might have interfered with the working of
the screws, the “Albatross” shot up some six thousand feet into a purer
atmosphere.

And thus vanished the Persian frontier and the extensive plains. The
speed was not excessive, although there were no rocks ahead, for the
mountains marked on the map are of very moderate altitude. But as the
ship approached the capital, she had to steer clear of Demavend, whose
snowy peak rises some twenty-two thousand feet, and the chain of
Elbruz, at whose foot is built Teheran.

As soon as the day broke on the 2nd of July the peak of Demavend
appeared above the sandstorm, and the “Albatross” was steered so as to
pass over the town, which the wind had wrapped in a mantle of dust.

However, about six o’clock her crew could see the large ditches that
surround it, and the Shah’s palace, with its walls covered with
porcelain tiles, and its ornamental lakes, which seemed like huge
turquoises of beautiful blue.

It was but a hasty glimpse. The “Albatross” now headed for the north,
and a few hours afterwards she was over a little hill at the northern
angle of the Persian frontier, on the shores of a vast extent of water
which stretched away out of sight to the north and east.

The town was Ashurada, the most southerly of the Russian stations. The
vast extent of water was a sea. It was the Caspian.

The eddies of sand had been passed. There was a view of a group of
European houses rising along a promontory, with a church tower in the
midst of them.

The “Albatross” swooped down towards the surface of the sea. Towards
evening she was running along the coast—which formerly belonged to
Turkestan, but now belongs to Russia—and in the morning of the 3rd of
July she was about three hundred feet above the Caspian.

There was no land in sight, either on the Asiatic or European side. On
the surface of the sea a few white sails were bellying in the breeze.
These were native vessels recognizable by their peculiar rig—kesebeys,
with two masts; kayuks, the old pirate-boats, with one mast; teimils,
and smaller craft for trading and fishing. Here and there a few puffs
of smoke rose up to the “Albatross” from the funnels of the Ashurada
steamers, which the Russians keep as the police of these Turcoman
waters.

That morning Tom Turner was talking to the cook, Tapage, and to a
question of his replied, “Yes; we shall be about forty-eight hours over
the Caspian.”

“Good!” said the cook; “Then we can have some fishing.”

“Just so.”

They were to remain for forty-eight hours over the Caspian, which is
some six hundred and twenty-five miles long and two hundred wide,
because the speed of the “Albatross” had been much reduced, and while
the fishing was going on she would be stopped altogether.

The reply was heard by Phil Evans, who was then in the bow, where
Frycollin was overwhelming him with piteous pleadings to be put “on the
ground.”

Without replying to this preposterous request, Evans returned aft to
Uncle Prudent; and there, taking care not to be overheard, he reported
the conversation that had taken place.

“Phil Evans.” said Uncle Prudent, “I think there can be no mistake as
to this scoundrel’s intention with regard to us.”

“None.” said Phil Evans. “He will only give us our liberty when it
suits him, and perhaps not at all.”

“In that case we must do all we can to get away from the ‘Albatross’.”

“A splendid craft, she is, I must admit.”

“Perhaps so.” said Uncle Prudent; “but she belongs to a scoundrel who
detains us on board in defiance of all right. For us and ours she is a
constant danger. If we do not destroy her—”

“Let us begin by saving ourselves” answered Phil Evans; “we can see
about the destruction afterwards.”

“Just so.” said Uncle Prudent. “And we must avail ourselves of every
chance that comes, along. Evidently the “Albatross” is going to cross
the Caspian into Europe, either by the north into Russia or by the west
into the southern countries. Well, no matter where we stop, before we
get to the Atlantic, we shall be safe. And we ought to be ready at any
moment.”

“But.” asked Evans, “how are we to get out?”

“Listen to me.” said Uncle Prudent. “It may happen during the night
that the “Albatross” may drop to within a few hundred feet of the
ground. Now there are on board several ropes of that length, and, with
a little pluck we might slip down them—”

“Yes.” said Evans. “If the case is desperate I don’t mind—”

“Nor I. During the night there’s no one about except the man at the
wheel. And if we can drop one of the ropes forward without being seen
or heard—”

“Good! I am glad to see you are so cool; that means business. But just
now we are over the Caspian. There are several ships in sight. The
“Albatross” is going down to fish. Cannot we do something now?”

“Sh! They are watching us much more than you think.” said Uncle
Prudent. “You saw that when we tried to jump into the Hydaspes.”

“And who knows that they don’t watch us at night?” asked Evans.

“Well, we must end this; we must finish with this “Albatross” and her
master.”

It will be seen how in the excitement of their anger the
colleagues—Uncle Prudent in particular—were prepared to attempt the
most hazardous things. The sense of their powerlessness, the ironical
disdain with which Robur treated them, the brutal remarks he indulged
in—all contributed towards intensifying the aggravation which daily
grew more manifest.

This very day something occurred which gave rise to another most
regrettable altercation between Robur and his guests. This was provoked
by Frycollin, who, finding himself above the boundless sea, was seized
with another fit of terror. Like a child, like the Negro he was, he
gave himself over to groaning and protesting and crying, and writhing
in a thousand contortions and grimaces.

“I want to get out! I want to get out! I am not a bird! Boohoo! I don’t
want to fly, I want to get out!”

Uncle Prudent, as may be imagined, did not attempt to quiet him. In
fact, he encouraged him, and particularly as the incessant howling
seemed to have a strangely irritating effect on Robur.

When Tom Turner and his companions were getting ready for fishing, the
engineer ordered them to shut up Frycollin in his cabin. But the Negro
never ceased his jumping about, and began to kick at the wall and yell
with redoubled power.

It was noon. The “Albatross” was only about fifteen or twenty feet
above the water. A few ships, terrified at the apparition, sought
safety in flight.

As may be guessed, a sharp look-out was kept on the prisoners, whose
temptation to escape could not but be intensified. Even supposing they
jumped overboard they would have been picked up by the india-rubber
boat. As there was nothing to do during the fishing, in which Phil
Evans intended to take part, Uncle Prudent, raging furiously as usual,
retired to his cabin.

The Caspian Sea is a volcanic depression. Into it flow the waters of
the Volga, the Ural, the Kour, the Kouma, the Jemba, and others.
Without the evaporation which relieves it of its overflow, this basin,
with an area of 17,000 square miles, and a depth of from sixty to four
hundred feet, would flood the low marshy ground to its north and east.
Although it is not in communication with the Black Sea or the Sea of
Aral, being at a much lower level than they are, it contains an immense
number of fish—such fish, be it understood, as can live in its bitter
waters, the bitterness being due to the naphtha which pours in from the
springs on the south.

The crew of the “Albatross” made no secret of their delight at the
change in their food the fishing would bring them.

“Look out!” shouted Turner, as he harpooned a good-size fish, not
unlike a shark.

It was a splendid sturgeon seven feet long, called by the Russians
beluga, the eggs of which mixed up with salt, vinegar, and white wine
form caviar. Sturgeons from the river are, it may be, rather better
than those from the sea; but these were welcomed warmly enough on board
the “Albatross.”

But the best catches were made with the drag-nets, which brought up at
each haul carp, bream, salmon, saltwater pike, and a number of
medium-sized sterlets, which wealthy gourmets have sent alive to
Astrakhan, Moscow, and Petersburg, and which now passed direct from
their natural element into the cook’s kettle without any charge for
transport.

An hour’s work sufficed to fill up the larders of the aeronef, and she
resumed her course to the north.

During the fishing Frycollin had continued shouting and kicking at his
cabin wall, and making a tremendous noise.

“That wretched nigger will not be quiet, then?” said Robur, almost out
of patience.

“It seems to me, sir, he has a right to complain.” said Phil Evans.

“Yes, and I have a right to look after my ears.” replied Robur.

“Engineer Robur!” said Uncle Prudent, who had just appeared on deck.

“President of the Weldon Institute!”

They had stepped up to one another, and were looking into the whites of
each other’s eyes. Then Robur shrugged his shoulders. “Put him at the
end of a line.” he said.

Turner saw his meaning at once. Frycollin was dragged out of his cabin.
Loud were his cries when the mate and one of the men seized him and
tied him into a tub, which they hitched on to a rope—one of those very
ropes, in fact, that Uncle Prudent had intended to use as we know.

The Negro at first thought he was going to be hanged. Not he was only
going to be towed!

The rope was paid out for a hundred feet and Frycollin found himself
hanging in space.

He could then shout at his ease. But fright contracted his larynx, and
he was mute.

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans endeavored to prevent this performance.
They were thrust aside.

“It is scandalous! It is cowardly!” said Uncle Prudent, quite beside
himself with rage.

“Indeed!” said Robur.

“It is an abuse of power against which I protest.”

“Protest away!”

“I will be avenged, Mr. Robur.”

“Avenge when you like, Mr. Prudent.”

“I will have my revenge on you and yours.”

The crew began to close up with anything but peaceful intentions. Robur
motioned them away.

“Yes, on you and yours!” said Uncle Prudent, whom his colleague in vain
tried to keep quiet.

“Whenever you please!” said the engineer.

“And in every possible way!”

“That is enough now.” said Robur, in a threatening tone. “There are
other ropes on board. And if you don’t be quiet I’ll treat you as I
have done your servant!”

Uncle Prudent was silent, not because he was afraid, but because his
wrath had nearly choked him; and Phil Evans led him off to his cabin.

During the last hour the air had been strangely troubled. The symptoms
could not be mistaken. A storm was threatening. The electric saturation
of the atmosphere had become so great that about half-past two o’clock
Robur witnessed a phenomenon that was new to him.

In the north, whence the storm was traveling, were spirals of
half-luminous vapor due to the difference in the electric charges of
the various beds of cloud. The reflections of these bands came running
along the waves in myriads of lights, growing in intensity as the sky
darkened.

The “Albatross” and the storm were sure to meet, for they were exactly
in front of each other.

And Frycollin? Well! Frycollin was being towed—and towed is exactly the
word, for the rope made such an angle, with the aeronef, now going at
over sixty knots an hour, that the tub was a long way behind her.

The crew were busy in preparing for the storm, for the “Albatross”
would either have to rise above it or drive through its lowest layers.
She was about three thousand feet above the sea when a clap of thunder
was heard. Suddenly the squall struck her. In a few seconds the fiery
clouds swept on around her.

Phil Evans went to intercede for Frycollin, and asked for him to be
taken on board again. But Robur had already given orders to that
effect, and the rope was being hauled in, when suddenly there took
place an inexplicable slackening in the speed of the screws.

The engineer rushed to the central deck-house. “Power! More power!” he
shouted. “We must rise quickly and get over the storm!”

“Impossible, sir!”

“What is the matter?”

“The currents are troubled! They are intermittent!” And, in fact, the
“Albatross” was falling fast.

As with the telegraph wires on land during a storm, so was it with the
accumulators of the aeronef. But what is only an inconvenience in the
case of messages was here a terrible danger.

“Let her down, then.” said Robur, “and get out of the electric zone!
Keep cool, my lads!”

He stepped on to his quarter-deck and his crew went to their stations.

Although the “Albatross” had sunk several hundred feet she was still in
the thick of the cloud, and the flashes played across her as if they
were fireworks. It seemed as though she was struck. The screws ran more
and more slowly, and what began as a gentle descent threatened to
become a collapse.

In less than a minute it was evident they would get down to the surface
of the sea. Once they were immersed no power could drag them from the
abyss.

Suddenly the electric cloud appeared above them. The “Albatross” was
only sixty feet from the crest of the waves. In two or three seconds
the deck would be under water.

But Robur, seizing the propitious moment, rushed to the central house
and seized the levers. He turned on the currents from the piles no
longer neutralized by the electric tension of the surrounding
atmosphere. In a moment the screws had regained their normal speed and
checked the descent; and the “Albatross” remained at her slight
elevation while her propellers drove her swiftly out of reach of the
storm.

Frycollin, of course, had a bath—though only for a few seconds. When he
was dragged on deck he was as wet as if he had been to the bottom of
the sea. As may be imagined, he cried no more.

In the morning of the 4th of July the “Albatross” had passed over the
northern shore of the Caspian.




Chapter XIV
THE AERONEF AT FULL SPEED


If ever Prudent and Evans despaired on escaping from the “Albatross” it
was during the two days that followed. It may be that Robur considered
it more difficult to keep a watch on his prisoners while he was
crossing Europe, and he knew that they had made up their minds to get
away.

But any attempt to have done so would have been simply committing
suicide. To jump from an express going sixty miles an hour is to risk
your life, but to jump from a machine going one hundred and twenty
miles an hour would be to seek your death.

And it was at this speed, the greatest that could be given to her, that
the “Albatross” tore along. Her speed exceeded that of the swallow,
which is one hundred and twelve miles an hour.

At first the wind was in the northeast, and the “Albatross” had it
fair, her general course being a westerly one. But the wind began to
drop, and it soon became impossible for the colleagues to remain on the
deck without having their breath taken away by the rapidity of the
flight. And on one occasion they would have been blown overboard if
they had not been dashed up against the deck-house by the pressure of
the wind.

Luckily the steersman saw them through the windows of his cage, and by
the electric bell gave the alarm to the men in the fore-cabin. Four of
them came aft, creeping along the deck.

Those who have been at sea, beating to windward in half a gale of wind,
will understand what the pressure was like. But here it was the
“Albatross” that by her incomparable speed made her own wind.

To allow Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans to get back to their cabin the
speed had to be reduced. Inside the deck-house the “Albatross” bore
with her a perfectly breathable atmosphere. To stand such driving the
strength of the apparatus must have been prodigious. The propellers
spun round so swiftly that they seemed immovable, and it was with
irresistible power that they screwed themselves through the air.

The last town that had been noticed was Astrakhan, situated at the
north end of the Caspian Sea. The Star of the Desert—it must have been
a poet who so called it—has now sunk from the first rank to the fifth
or sixth. A momentary glance was afforded at its old walls, with their
useless battlements, the ancient towers in the center of the city, the
mosques and modern churches, the cathedral with its five domes, gilded
and dotted with stars as if it were a piece of the sky, as they rose
from the bank of the Volga, which here, as it joins the sea, is over a
mile in width.

Thenceforward the flight of the “Albatross” became quite a race through
the heights of the sky, as if she had been harnessed to one of those
fabulous hippogriffs which cleared a league at every sweep of the wing.

At ten o’clock in the morning, of the 4th of July the aeronef, heading
northwest, followed for a little the valley of the Volga. The steppes
of the Don and the Ural stretched away on each side of the river. Even
if it had been possible to get a glimpse of these vast territories
there would have been no time to count the towns and villages. In the
evening the aeronef passed over Moscow without saluting the flag on the
Kremlin. In ten hours she had covered the twelve hundred miles which
separate Astrakhan from the ancient capital of all the Russias.

From Moscow to St. Petersburg the railway line measures about seven
hundred and fifty miles. This was but a half-day’s journey, and the
“Albatross.” as punctual as the mail, reached St. Petersburg and the
banks of the Neva at two o’clock in the morning.

Then came the Gulf of Finland, the Archipelago of Abo, the Baltic,
Sweden in the latitude of Stockholm, and Norway in the latitude of
Christiania. Ten hours only for these twelve hundred miles! Verily it
might be thought that no human power would henceforth be able to check
the speed of the “Albatross.” and as if the resultant of her force of
projection and the attraction of the earth would maintain her in an
unvarying trajectory round the globe.

But she did stop nevertheless, and that was over the famous fall of the
Rjukanfos in Norway. Gousta, whose summit dominates this wonderful
region of Tellermarken, stood in the west like a gigantic barrier
apparently impassable. And when the “Albatross” resumed her journey at
full speed her head had been turned to the south.

And during this extraordinary flight what was Frycollin doing? He
remained silent in a corner of his cabin, sleeping as well as he could,
except at meal times.

Tapage then favored him with his company and amused himself at his
expense. “Eh! eh! my boy!” said he. “So you are not crying any more?
Perhaps it hurt you too much? That two hours hanging cured you of it?
At our present rate, what a splendid air-bath you might have for your
rheumatics!”

“It seems to me we shall soon go to pieces!”

“Perhaps so; but we shall go so fast we shan’t have time to fall! That
is some comfort!”

“Do you think so?”

“I do.”

To tell the truth, and not to exaggerate like Tapage, it was only
reasonable that owing to the excessive speed the work of the suspensory
screws should be somewhat lessened. The “Albatross” glided on its bed
of air like a Congreve rocket.

“And shall we last long like that?” asked Frycollin.

“Long? Oh, no, only as long as we live!”

“Oh!” said the Negro, beginning his lamentations.

“Take care, Fry, take care! For, as they say in my country, the master
may send you to the seesaw!” And Frycollin gulped down his sobs as he
gulped down the meat which, in double doses, he was hastily swallowing.

Meanwhile Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans, who were not men to waste time
in wrangling when nothing could come of it, agreed upon doing
something. It was evident that escape was not to be thought of. But if
it was impossible for them to again set foot on the terrestrial globe,
could they not make known to its inhabitants what had become of them
since their disappearance, and tell them by whom they had been carried
off, and provoke—how was not very clear—some audacious attempt on the
part of their friends to rescue them from Robur?

Communicate? But how? Should they follow the example of sailors in
distress and enclose in a bottle a document giving the place of
shipwreck and throw it into the sea? But here the sea was the
atmosphere. The bottle would not swim. And if it did not fall on
somebody and crack his skull it might never be found.

The colleagues were about to sacrifice one of the bottles on board when
an idea occurred to Uncle Prudent. He took snuff, as we know, and we
may pardon this fault in an American, who might do worse. And as a
snuff-taker he possessed a snuff-box, which was now empty. This box was
made of aluminum. If it was thrown overboard any honest citizen that
found it would pick it up, and, being an honest citizen, he would take
it to the police-office, and there they would open it and discover from
the document what had become of the two victims of Robur the Conqueror!

And this is what was done. The note was short, but it told all, and it
gave the address of the Weldon Institute, with a request that it might
be forwarded. Then Uncle Prudent folded up the note, shut it in the
box, bound the box round with a piece of worsted so as to keep it from
opening it as it fell. And then all that had to be done was to wait for
a favorable opportunity.

During this marvelous flight over Europe it was not an easy thing to
leave the cabin and creep along the deck at the risk of being suddenly
and secretly blown away, and it would not do for the snuff-box to fall
into the sea or a gulf or a lake or a watercourse, for it would then
perhaps be lost. At the same time it was not impossible that the
colleagues might in this way get into communication with the habitable
globe.

It was then growing daylight, and it seemed as though it would be
better to wait for the night and take advantage of a slackening speed
or a halt to go out on deck and drop the precious snuff-box into some
town.

When all these points had been thought over and settled, the prisoners,
found they could not put their plan into execution—on that day, at all
events—for the “Albatross.” after leaving Gousta, had kept her
southerly course, which took her over the North Sea, much to the
consternation of the thousands of coasting craft engaged in the
English, Dutch, French, and Belgian trade. Unless the snuff-box fell on
the deck of one of these vessels there was every chance of its going to
the bottom of the sea, and Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans were obliged to
wait for a better opportunity. And, as we shall immediately see, an
excellent chance was soon to be offered them.

At ten o’clock that evening the “Albatross” reached the French coast
near Dunkirk. The night was rather dark. For a moment they could see
the lighthouse at Grisnez cross its electric beam with the lights from
Dover on the other side of the strait. Then the “Albatross” flew over
the French territory at a mean height of three thousand feet.

There was no diminution in her speed. She shot like a rocket over the
towns and villages so numerous in northern France. She was flying
straight on to Paris, and after Dunkirk came Doullens, Amiens, Creil,
Saint Denis. She never left the line; and about midnight she was over
the “city of light.” which merits its name even when its inhabitants
are asleep or ought to be.

By what strange whim was it that she was stopped over the city of
Paris? We do not know; but down she came till she was within a few
hundred feet of the ground. Robur then came out of his cabin, and the
crew came on to the deck to breathe the ambient air.

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans took care not to miss such an excellent
opportunity. They left their deck-house and walked off away from the
others so as to be ready at the propitious moment. It was important
their action should not be seen.

The “Albatross.” like a huge coleopter, glided gently over the mighty
city. She took the line of the boulevards, then brilliantly lighted by
the Edison lamps. Up to her there floated the rumble of the vehicles as
they drove along the streets, and the roll of the trains on the
numerous railways that converge into Paris. Then she glided over the
highest monuments as if she was going to knock the ball off the
Pantheon or the cross off the Invalides. She hovered over the two
minarets of the Trocadero and the metal tower of the Champ de Mars,
where the enormous reflector was inundating the whole capital with its
electric rays.

This aerial promenade, this nocturnal loitering, lasted for about an
hour. It was a halt for breath before the voyage was resumed.

And probably Robur wished to give the Parisians the sight of a meteor
quite unforeseen by their astronomers. The lamps of the “Albatross”
were turned on. Two brilliant sheaves of light shot down and moved
along over the squares, the gardens, the palaces, the sixty thousand
houses, and swept the space from one horizon to the other.

Assuredly the “Albatross” was seen this time—and not only well seen but
heard, for Tom Turner brought out his trumpet and blew a rousing
tarantaratara.

At this moment Uncle Prudent leant over the rail, opened his hand, and
let his snuff-box fall.

Immediately the “Albatross” shot upwards, and past her, higher still,
there mounted the noisy cheering of the crowd then thick on the
boulevards—a hurrah of stupefaction to greet the imaginary meteor.

The lamps of the aeronef were turned off, and the darkness and the
silence closed in around as the voyage was resumed at the rate of one
hundred and twenty miles an hour.

This was all that was to be seen of the French capital. At four o’clock
in the morning the “Albatross” had crossed the whole country obliquely;
and so as to lose no time in traversing the Alps or the Pyrenees, she
flew over the face of Provence to the cape of Antibes. At nine o’clock
next morning the San Pietrini assembled on the terrace of St. Peter at
Rome were astounded to see her pass over the eternal city. Two hours
afterwards she crossed the Bay of Naples and hovered for an instant
over the fuliginous wreaths of Vesuvius. Then, after cutting obliquely
across the Mediterranean, in the early hours of the afternoon she was
signaled by the look-outs at La Goulette on the Tunisian coast.

After America, Asia! After Asia, Europe! More than eighteen thousand
miles had this wonderful machine accomplished in less than twenty-three
days!

And now she was off over the known and unknown regions of Africa!

It may be interesting to know what had happened to the famous snuff-box
after its fall?

It had fallen in the Rue de Rivoli, opposite No. 200, when the street
was deserted. In the morning it was picked up by an honest sweeper, who
took it to the prefecture of police. There it was at first supposed to
be an infernal machine. And it was untied, examined, and opened with
care.

Suddenly a sort of explosion took place. It was a terrific sneeze on
the part of the inspector.

The document was then extracted from the snuff-box, and to the general
surprise, read as follows:

“Messrs. Prudent and Evans, president and secretary of the Weldon
Institute, Philadelphia, have been carried off in the aeronef Albatross
belonging to Robur the engineer.”

“Please inform our friends and acquaintances.”

“P. and P. E.”

Thus was the strange phenomenon at last explained to the people of the
two worlds. Thus was peace given to the scientists of the numerous
observatories on the surface of the terrestrial globe.




Chapter XV
A SKIRMISH IN DAHOMEY


At this point in the circumnavigatory voyage of the “Albatross” it is
only natural that some such questions as the following should be asked.
Who was this Robur, of whom up to the present we know nothing but the
name? Did he pass his life in the air? Did his aeronef never rest? Had
he not some retreat in some inaccessible spot in which, if he had need
of repose or revictualing, he could betake himself? It would be very
strange if it were not so. The most powerful flyers have always an
eyrie or nest somewhere.

And what was the engineer going to do with his prisoners? Was he going
to keep them in his power and condemn them to perpetual aviation? Or
was he going to take them on a trip over Africa, South America,
Australasia, the Indian Ocean, the Atlantic and the Pacific, to
convince them against their will, and then dismiss them with, “And now
gentlemen, I hope you will believe a little more in heavier than air?”

To these questions, it is now impossible to reply. They are the secrets
of the future. Perhaps the answers will be revealed. Anyhow the
bird-like Robur was not seeking his nest on the northern frontier of
Africa. By the end of the day he had traversed Tunis from Cape Bon to
Cape Carthage, sometimes hovering, and sometimes darting along at top
speed. Soon he reached the interior, and flew down the beautiful valley
of Medjeida above its yellow stream hidden under its luxuriant bushes
of cactus and oleander; and scared away the hundreds of parrots that
perch on the telegraph wires and seem to wait for the messages to pass
to bear them away beneath their wings.

Two hours after sunset the helm was put up and the “Albatross” bore off
to the southeast; and on the morrow, after clearing the Tell Mountains,
she saw the rising of the morning star over the sands of the Sahara.

On the 30th of July there was seen from the aeronef the little village
of Geryville, founded like Laghouat on the frontier of the desert to
facilitate the future conquest of Kabylia. Next, not without
difficulty, the peaks of Stillero were passed against a somewhat
boisterous wind. Then the desert was crossed, sometimes leisurely over
the Ksars or green oases, sometimes at terrific speed that far
outstripped the flight of the vultures. Often the crew had to fire into
the flocks of these birds which, a dozen or so at a time, fearlessly
hurled them selves on to the aeronef to the extreme terror of
Frycollin.

But if the vultures could only reply with cries and blows of beaks and
talons, the natives, in no way less savage, were not sparing of their
musket-shots, particularly when crossing the Mountain of Sel, whose
green and violet slope bore its cape of white. Then the “Albatross” was
at last over the grand Sahara; and at once she rose into the higher
zones so as to escape from a simoom which was sweeping a wave of ruddy
sand along the surface of the ground like a bore on the surface of the
sea.

Then the desolate tablelands of Chetka scattered their ballast in
blackish waves up to the fresh and verdant valley of Ain-Massin. It is
difficult to conceive the variety of the territories which could be
seen at one view. To the green hills covered with trees and shrubs
there succeeded long gray undulations draped like the folds of an Arab
burnous and broken in picturesque masses. In the distance could be seen
the wadys with their torrential waters, their forests of palm-trees,
and blocks of small houses grouped on a hill around a mosque, among
them Metlili, where there vegetates a religious chief, the grand
marabout Sidi Chick.

Before night several hundred miles had been accomplished above a
flattish country ridged occasionally with large sandhills. If the
“Albatross” had halted, she would have come to the earth in the depths
of the Wargla oasis hidden beneath an immense forest of palm-trees. The
town was clearly enough displayed with its three distinct quarters, the
ancient palace of the Sultan, a kind of fortified Kasbah, houses of
brick which had been left to the sun to bake, and artesian wells dug in
the valley—where the aeronef could have renewed her water supply. But,
thanks to her extraordinary speed, the waters of the Hydaspes taken in
the vale of Cashmere still filled her tanks in the center of the
African desert.

Was the “Albatross” seen by the Arabs, the Mozabites, and the Negroes
who share amongst them the town of Wargla? Certainly, for she was
saluted with many hundred gunshot, and the bullets fell back before
they reached her.

Then came the night, that silent night in the desert of which Felicien
David has so poetically told us the secrets.

During the following hours the course lay southwesterly, cutting across
the routes of El Golea, one of which was explored in 1859 by the
intrepid Duveyrier.

The darkness was profound. Nothing could be seen of the Trans-Saharan
Railway constructing on the plans of Duponchel—a long ribbon of iron
destined to bind together Algiers and Timbuktu by way of Laghouat and
Gardaia, and destined eventually to run down into the Gulf of Guinea.

Then the “Albatross” entered the equatorial region below the tropic of
Cancer. Six hundred miles from the northern frontier of the Sahara she
crossed the route on which Major Laing met his, death in 1846, and
crossed the road of the caravans from Morocco to the Sudan, and that
part of the desert swept by the Tuaregs, where could be heard what is
called “the song of the sand.” a soft and plaintive murmur that seems
to escape from the ground.

Only one thing happened. A cloud of locusts came flying along, and
there fell such a cargo of them on board as to threaten to sink the
ship. But all hands set to work to clear the deck, and the locusts were
thrown over except a few hundred kept by Tapage for his larder. And he
served them up in so succulent a fashion that Frycollin forgot for the
moment his perpetual trances and said, “these are as good as prawns.”

The aeronef was then eleven hundred miles from the Wargla oasis and
almost on the northern frontier of the Sudan. About two o’clock in the
afternoon a city appeared in the bend of a large river. The river was
the Niger. The city was Timbuktu.

If, up to then, this African Mecca had only been visited by the
travelers of the ancient world Batouta, Khazan, Imbert, Mungo Park,
Adams, Laing, Caillé, Barth, Lenz, on that day by a most singular
chance the two Americans could boast of having seen, heard, and smelt
it, on their return to America—if they ever got back there.

Of having seen it, because their view included the whole triangle of
three or four miles in circumference; of having heard it, because the
day was one of some rejoicing and the noise was terrible; of having
smelt it, because the olfactory nerve could not but be very
disagreeably affected by the odors of the Youbou-Kamo square, where the
meatmarket stands close to the palace of the ancient Somai kings.

The engineer had no notion of allowing the president and secretary of
the Weldon Institute to be ignorant that they had the honor of
contemplating the Queen of the Sudan, now in the power of the Tuaregs
of Taganet.

“Gentlemen, Timbuktu!” he said, in the same tone as twelve days before
he had said, “Gentlemen, India!” Then he continued, “Timbuktu is an
important city of from twelve to thirteen thousand inhabitants,
formerly illustrious in science and art. Perhaps you would like to stay
there for a day or two?”

Such a proposal could only have been made ironically. “But.” continued
he, “it would be dangerous among the Negroes, Berbers, and Foullanes
who occupy, it—particularly as our arrival in an aeronef might
prejudice them against you.”

“Sir.” said Phil Evans, in the same tone, “for the pleasure of leaving
you we would willingly risk an unpleasant reception from the natives.
Prison for prison, we would rather be in Timbuktu than on the
“Albatross.””

“That is a matter of taste.” answered the engineer. “Anyhow, I shall
not try the adventure, for I am responsible for the safety of the
guests who do me the honor to travel with me.”

“And so.” said Uncle Prudent, explosively, “you are not content with
being our jailer, but you insult us.”

“Oh! a little irony, that is all!”

“Are there any weapons on board?”

“Oh, quite an arsenal.”

“Two revolvers will do, if I hold one and you the other.”

“A duel!” exclaimed Robur, “a duel, which would perhaps cause the death
of one of us.”

“Which certainly would cause it.”

“Well! No, Mr. President of the Weldon Institute, I very much prefer
keeping you alive.”

“To be sure of living yourself. That is wise.”

“Wise or not, it suits me. You are at liberty to think as you like, and
to complain to those who have the power to help you—if you can.”

“And that we have done, Mr. Robur.”

“Indeed!”

“Was it so difficult when we were crossing the inhabited part of Europe
to drop a letter overboard?”

“Did you do that?” said Robur, in a paroxysm of rage.

“And if we have done it?”

“If you have done it—you deserve—”

“What, sir?”

“To follow your letter overboard.”

“Throw us over, then. We did do it.”

Robur stepped towards them. At a gesture from him Tom Turner and some
of the crew ran up. The engineer was seriously tempted to put his
threat into execution, and, fearful perhaps of yielding to it, he
precipitately rushed into his cabin.

“Good!” exclaimed Phil Evans.

“And what he will dare not do.” said Uncle Prudent, “I Will do! Yes, I
Will do!”

At the moment the population of Timbuktu were crowding onto the squares
and roads and the terraces built like amphitheaters. In the rich
quarters of Sankere and Sarahama, as in the miserable huts at Raguidi,
the priests from the minarets were thundering their loudest
maledictions against the aerial monster. These were more harmless than
the rifle-bullets; though assuredly, if the aeronef had come to earth
she would have certainly been torn to pieces.

For some miles noisy flocks of storks, francolins, and ibises escorted
the “Albatross” and tried to race her, but in her rapid flight she soon
distanced them.

The evening came. The air was troubled by the roarings of the numerous
herds of elephants and buffaloes which wander over this land, whose
fertility is simply marvelous. For forty-eight hours the whole of the
region between the prime meridian and the second degree, in the bend of
the Niger, was viewed from the “Albatross.”

If a geographer had only such an apparatus at his command, with what
facility could he map the country, note the elevations, fix the courses
of the rivers and their affluents, and determine the positions of the
towns and villages! There would then be no huge blanks on the map of
Africa, no dotted lines, no vague designations which are the despair of
cartographers.

In the morning of the 11th the “Albatross” crossed the mountains of
northern Guinea, between the Sudan and the gulf which bears their name.
On the horizon was the confused outline of the Kong mountains in the
kingdom of Dahomey.

Since the departure from Timbuktu Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans noticed
that the course had been due south. If that direction was persisted in
they would cross the equator in six more degrees. The “Albatross” would
then abandon the continents and fly not over the Bering Sea, or the
Caspian Sea, or the North Sea, or the Mediterranean, but over the
Atlantic Ocean.

This look-out was not particularly pleasing to the two friends, whose
chances of escape had sunk to below zero. But the “Albatross” had
slackened speed as though hesitating to leave Africa behind. Was Robur
thinking of going back? No; but his attention had been particularly
attracted to the country which he was then crossing.

We know—and he knew—that the kingdom of Dahomey is one of the most
powerful on the West Coast of Africa. Strong enough to hold its own
with its neighbor Ashantee, its area is somewhat small, being contained
within three hundred and sixty leagues from north to south, and one
hundred and eighty from east to west. But its population numbers some
seven or eight hundred thousand, including the neighboring independent
territories of Whydah and Ardrah.

If Dahomey is not a large country, it is often talked about. It is
celebrated for the frightful cruelties which signalize its annual
festivals, and by its human sacrifices—fearful hecatombs intended to
honor the sovereign it has lost and the sovereign who has succeeded
him. It is even a matter of politeness when the King of Dahomey
receives a visit from some high personage or some foreign ambassador to
give him a surprise present of a dozen heads, cut off in his honor by
the minister of justice, the “minghan.” who is wonderfully skillful in
that branch of his duties.

When the “Albatross” came flying over Dahomey, the old King Bahadou had
just died, and the whole population was proceeding to the
enthronization of his successor. Hence there was great agitation all
over the country, and it did not escape Robur that everybody was on the
move.

Long lines of Dahomians were hurrying along the roads from the country
into the capital, Abomey. Well kept roads radiating among vast plains
clothed with giant trees, immense fields of manioc, magnificent forests
of palms, cocoa-trees, mimosas, orange-trees, mango-trees—such was the
country whose perfumes mounted to the “Albatross.” while many parrots
and cardinals swarmed among the trees.

The engineer, leaning over the rail, seemed deep in thought, and
exchanged but a few words with Tom Turner. It did not look as though
the “Albatross” had attracted the attention of those moving masses,
which were often invisible under the impenetrable roof of trees. This
was doubtless due to her keeping at a good altitude amid a bank of
light cloud.

About eleven o’clock in the morning the capital was sighted, surrounded
by its walls, defended by a fosse measuring twelve miles round, with
wide, regular streets on the flat plain, and a large square on the
northern side occupied by the king’s palace. This huge collection of
buildings is commanded by a terrace not far from the place of
sacrifice. During the festival days it is from this high terrace that
they throw the prisoners tied up in wicker baskets, and it can be
imagined with what fury these unhappy wretches are cut in pieces.

In one of the courtyards which divide the king’s palace there were
drawn up four thousand warriors, one of the contigents of the royal
army—and not the least courageous one. If it is doubtful if there are
any Amazons an the river of that name, there is no doubt of there being
Amazons at Dahomey. Some have a blue shirt with a blue or red scarf,
with white-and-blue striped trousers and a white cap; others, the
elephant-huntresses, have a heavy carbine, a short-bladed dagger, and
two antelope horns fixed to their heads by a band of iron. The
artillery-women have a blue-and-red tunic, and, as weapons,
blunderbusses and old cast cannons; and another brigade, consisting of
vestal virgins, pure as Diana, have blue tunics and white trousers. If
we add to these Amazons, five or six thousand men in cotton drawers and
shirts, with a knotted tuft to increase their stature, we shall have
passed in review the Dahomian army.

Abomey on this day was deserted. The sovereign, the royal family, the
masculine and feminine army, and the population had all gone out of the
capital to a vast plain a few miles away surrounded by magnificent
forests.

On this plain the recognition of the new king was to take place. Here
it was that thousands of prisoners taken during recent razzias were to
be immolated in his honor.

It was about two o’clock when the “Albatross” arrived over the plain
and began to descend among the clouds which still hid her from the
Dahomians.

There were sixteen thousand people at least come from all parts of the
kingdom, from Whydah, and Kerapay, and Ardrah, and Tombory, and the
most distant villages.

The new king—a sturdy fellow named Bou-Nadi—some five-and-twenty years
old, was seated on a hillock shaded by a group of wide-branched trees.
Before him stood his male army, his Amazons, and his people.

At the foot of the mound fifty musicians were playing on their
barbarous instruments, elephants’ tusks giving forth a husky note,
deerskin drums, calabashes, guitars, bells struck with an iron clapper,
and bamboo flutes, whose shrill whistle was heard over all. Every other
second came discharges of guns and blunderbusses, discharges of cannons
with the carriages jumping so as to imperil the lives of the
artillery-women, and a general uproar so intense that even the thunder
would be unheard amidst it.

In one corner of the plain, under a guard of soldiers, were grouped the
prisoners destined to accompany the defunct king into the other world.
At the obsequies of Ghozo, the father of Bahadou, his son had
dispatched three thousand, and Bou-Nadi could not do less than his
predecessor. For an hour there was a series of discourses, harangues,
palavers and dances, executed not only by professionals, but by the
Amazons, who displayed much martial grace.

But the time for the hecatomb was approaching. Robur, who knew the
customs of Dahomey, did not lose sight of the men, women, and children
reserved for butchery.

The minghan was standing at the foot of the hillock. He was brandishing
his executioner’s sword, with its curved blade surmounted by a metal
bird, whose weight rendered the cut more certain.

This time he was not alone. He could not have performed the task. Near
him were grouped a hundred executioners, all accustomed to cut off
heads at one blow.

The “Albatross” came slowly down in an oblique direction. Soon she
emerged from the bed of clouds which hid her till she was within three
hundred feet of the ground, and for the first time she was visible from
below.

Contrary to what had hitherto happened, the savages saw in her a
celestial being come to render homage to King Baha-dou. The enthusiasm
was indescribable, the shouts were interminable, the prayers were
terrific—prayers addressed to this supernatural hippogriff, which “had
doubtless come to” take the king’s body to the higher regions of the
Dahomian heaven. And now the first head fell under the minghan’s sword,
and the prisoners were led up in hundreds before the horrible
executioners.

Suddenly a gun was fired from the “Albatross.” The minister of justice
fell dead on his face!

“Well aimed, Tom!” said Robur,

His comrades, armed as he was, stood ready to fire when the order was
given.

But a change came over the crowd below. They had understood. The winged
monster was not a friendly spirit, it was a hostile spirit. And after
the fall of the minghan loud shouts for revenge arose on all sides.
Almost immediately a fusillade resounded over the plain.

These menaces did not prevent the “Albatross” from descending boldly to
within a hundred and fifty feet of the ground. Uncle Prudent and Phil
Evans, whatever were their feelings towards Robur, could not help
joining him in such a work of humanity.

“Let us free the prisoners!” they shouted.

“That is what I am going to do!” said the engineer.

And the magazine rifles of the “Albatross” in the hands of the
colleagues, as in the hands of the crew, began to rain down the
bullets, of which not one was lost in the masses below. And the little
gun shot forth its shrapnel, which really did marvels.

The prisoners, although they did not understand how the help had come
to them, broke their bonds, while the soldiers were firing at the
aeronef. The stern screw was shot through by a bullet, and a few holes
were made in the hull. Frycollin, crouching in his cabin, received a
graze from a bullet that came through the deck-house.

“Ah! They will have them!” said Tom Turner. And, rushing to the
magazine, he returned with a dozen dynamite cartridges, which he
distributed to the men. At a sign from Robur, these cartridges were
fired at the hillock, and as they reached the ground exploded like so
many small shells.

The king and his court and army and people were stricken with fear at
the turn things had taken. They fled under the trees, while the
prisoners ran off without anybody thinking of pursuing them.

In this way was the festival interfered with. And in this way did Uncle
Prudent and, Phil Evans recognize the power of the aeronef and the
services it could render to humanity.

Soon the “Albatross” rose again to a moderate height, and passing over
Whydah lost to view this savage coast which the southwest wind hems
round with an inaccessible surf. And she flew out over the Atlantic.




Chapter XVI
OVER THE ATLANTIC


Yes, the Atlantic! The fears of the two colleagues were realized; but
it did not seem as though Robur had the least anxiety about venturing
over this vast ocean. Both he and his men seemed quite unconcerned
about it and had gone back to their stations.

Whither was the “Albatross” bound? Was she going more than round the
world as Robur had said? Even if she were, the voyage must end
somewhere. That Robur spent his life in the air on board the aeronef
and never came to the ground was impossible. How could he make up his
stock of provisions and the materials required for working his
machines? He must have some retreat, some harbor of refuge—in some
unknown and inaccessible spot where the “Albatross” could revictual.
That he had broken off all connections with the inhabitants of the land
might be true, but with every point on the surface of the earth,
certainly not.

That being the case, where was this point? How had the engineer come to
choose it? Was he expected by a little colony of which he was the
chief? Could he there find a new crew?

What means had he that he should be able to build so costly a vessel as
the “Albatross” and keep her building secret? It is true his living was
not expensive. But, finally, who was this Robur? Where did he come
from? What had been his history? Here were riddles impossible to solve;
and Robur was not the man to assist willingly in their solution.

It is not to be wondered at that these insoluble problems drove the
colleagues almost to frenzy. To find themselves whipped off into the
unknown without knowing what the end might be doubting even if the
adventure would end, sentenced to perpetual aviation, was this not
enough to drive the President and secretary of the Weldon Institute to
extremities?

Meanwhile the “Albatross” drove along above the Atlantic, and in the
morning when the sun rose there was nothing to be seen but the circular
line where earth met sky. Not a spot of land was insight in this huge
field of vision. Africa had vanished beneath the northern horizon.

When Frycollin ventured out of his cabin and saw all this water beneath
him, fear took possession of him.

Of the hundred and forty-five million square miles of which the area of
the world’s waters consists, the Atlantic claims about a quarter; and
it seemed as though the engineer was in no hurry to cross it. There was
now no going at full speed, none of the hundred and twenty miles an
hour at which the “Albatross” had flown over Europe. Here, where the
southwest winds prevail, the wind was ahead of them, and though it was
not very strong, it would not do to defy it and the “Albatross” was
sent along at a moderate speed, which, however, easily outstripped that
of the fastest mail-boat.

On the 13th of July she crossed the line, and the fact was duly
announced to the crew. It was then that Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
ascertained that they were bound for the southern hemisphere. The
crossing of the line took place without any of the Neptunian ceremonies
that still linger on certain ships. Tapage was the only one to mark the
event, and he did so by pouring a pint of water down Frycollin’s neck.

On the 18th of July, when beyond the tropic of Capricorn, another
phenomenon was noticed, which would have been somewhat alarming to a
ship on the sea. A strange succession of luminous waves widened out
over the surface of the ocean with a speed estimated at quite sixty
miles an hour. The waves ran along at about eight feet from one
another, tracing two furrows of light. As night fell a bright
reflection rose even to the “Albatross.” so that she might have been
taken for a flaming aerolite. Never before had Robur sailed on a sea of
fire—fire without heat—which there was no need to flee from as it
mounted upwards into the sky.

The cause of this light must have been electricity; it could not be
attributed to a bank of fish spawn, nor to a crowd of those animalculae
that give phosphorescence to the sea, and this showed that the
electrical tension of the atmosphere was considerable.

In the morning an ordinary ship would probably have been lost. But the
“Albatross” played with the winds and waves like the powerful bird
whose name she bore. If she did not walk on their surface like the
petrels, she could like the eagles find calm and sunshine in the higher
zones.

They had now passed the forty-seventh parallel. The day was but little
over seven hours long, and would become even less as they approached
the Pole.

About one o’clock in the afternoon the “Albatross” was floating along
in a lower current than usual, about a hundred feet from the level of
the sea. The air was calm, but in certain parts of the sky were thick
black clouds, massed in mountains, on their upper surface, and ruled
off below by a sharp horizontal line. From these clouds a few lengthy
protuberances escaped, and their points as they fell seemed to draw up
hills of foaming water to meet them.

Suddenly the water shot up in the form of a gigantic hourglass, and the
“Albatross” was enveloped in the eddy of an enormous waterspout, while
twenty others, black as ink, raged around her. Fortunately the gyratory
movement of the water was opposite to that of the suspensory screws,
otherwise the aeronef would have been hurled into the sea. But she
began to spin round on herself with frightful rapidity. The danger was
immense, and perhaps impossible to escape, for the engineer could not
get through the spout which sucked him back in defiance of his
propellers. The men, thrown to the ends of the deck by centrifugal
force, were grasping the rail to save themselves from being shot off.

“Keep cool!” shouted Robur.

They wanted all their coolness, and their patience, too. Uncle Prudent
and Phil Evans, who had just come out of their cabin, were hurled back
at the risk of flying overboard. As she spun the “Albatross” was
carried along by the spout, which pirouetted along the waves with a
speed enough to make the helices jealous. And if she escaped from the
spout she might be caught by another, and jerked to pieces with the
shock.

“Get the gun ready!” said Robur.

The order was given to Tom Turner, who was crouching behind the swivel
amidships where the effect of the centrifugal force was least felt. He
understood. In a moment he had opened the breech and slipped a
cartridge from the ammunition-box at hand. The gun went off, and the
waterspouts collapsed, and with them vanished the platform of cloud
they seemed to bear above them.

“Nothing broken on board?” asked Robur.

“No.” answered Tom Turner. “But we don’t want to have another game of
humming-top like that!”

For ten minutes or so the “Albatross” had been in extreme peril. Had it
not been for her extraordinary strength of build she would have been
lost.

During this passage of the Atlantic many were the hours whose monotony
was unbroken by any phenomenon whatever. The days grew shorter and
shorter, and the cold became keen. Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans saw
little of Robur. Seated in his cabin, the engineer was busy laying out
his course and marking it on his maps, taking his observations whenever
he could, recording the readings of his barometers, thermometers, and
chronometers, and making full entries in his log-book.

The colleagues wrapped themselves well up and eagerly watched for the
sight of land to the southward. At Uncle Prudent’s request Frycollin
tried to pump the cook as to whither the engineer was bound, but what
reliance could be placed on the information given by this Gascon?
Sometimes Robur was an ex-minister of the Argentine Republic, sometimes
a lord of the Admiralty, sometimes an ex-President of the United
States, sometimes a Spanish general temporarily retired, sometimes a
Viceroy of the Indies who had sought a more elevated position in the
air. Sometimes he possessed millions, thanks to successful razzias in
the aeronef, and he had been proclaimed for piracy. Sometimes he had
been ruined by making the aeronef, and had been forced to fly aloft to
escape from his creditors. As to knowing if he were going to stop
anywhere, no! But if he thought of going to the moon, and found there a
convenient anchorage, he would anchor there! “Eh! Fry! My boy! That
would just suit you to see what was going on up there.”

“I shall not go! I refuse!” said the Negro, who took all these things
seriously.

“And why, Fry, why? You might get married to some pretty bouncing
Lunarian!”

Frycollin reported this conversation to his master, who saw it was
evident that nothing was to be learnt about Robur. And so he thought
still more of how he could have his revenge on him.

“Phil.” said he one day, “is it quite certain that escape is
impossible?”

“Impossible.”

“Be it so! But a man is always his own property; and if necessary, by
sacrificing his life—”

“If we are to make that sacrifice.” said Phil Evans, “the sooner the
better. It is almost time to end this. Where is the “Albatross” going?
Here we are flying obliquely over the Atlantic, and if we keep on we
shall get to the coast of Patagonia or Tierra del Fuego. And what are
we to do then? Get into the Pacific, or go to the continent at the
South Pole? Everything is possible with this Robur. We shall be lost in
the end. It is thus a case of legitimate self-defence, and if we must
perish—”

“Which we shall not do.” answered Uncle Prudent, “without being
avenged, without annihilating this machine and all she carries.”

The colleagues had reached a stage of impotent fury, and were prepared
to sacrifice themselves if they could only destroy the inventor and his
secret. A few months only would then be the life of this prodigious
aeronef, of whose superiority in aerial locomotion they had such
convincing proofs! The idea took such hold of them that they thought of
nothing else but how to put it into execution. And how? By seizing on
some of the explosives on board and simply blowing her up. But could
they get at the magazines?

Fortunately for them, Frycollin had no suspicion of their scheme. At
the thought of the “Albatross” exploding in midair, he would not have
shrunk from betraying his master.

It was on the 23rd of July that the land reappeared in the southwest
near Cape Virgins at the entrance of the Straits of Magellan. Under the
fifty-second parallel at this time of year the night was eighteen hours
long and the temperature was six below freezing.

At first the “Albatross.” instead of keeping on to the south, followed
the windings of the coast as if to enter the Pacific. After passing
Lomas Bay, leaving Mount Gregory to the north and the Brecknocks to the
west, they sighted Puerto Arena, a small Chilean village, at the moment
the churchbells were in full swing; and a few hours later they were
over the old settlement at Port Famine.

If the Patagonians, whose fires could be seen occasionally, were really
above the average in stature, the passengers in the aeronef were unable
to say, for to them they seemed to be dwarfs. But what a magnificent
landscape opened around during these short hours of the southern day!
Rugged mountains, peaks eternally capped with snow, with thick forests
rising on their flanks, inland seas, bays deep set amid the peninsulas,
and islands of the Archipelago. Clarence Island, Dawson Island, and the
Land of Desolation, straits and channels, capes and promontories, all
in inextricable confusion, and bound by the ice in one solid mass from
Cape Forward, the most southerly point of the American continent, to
Cape Horn the most southerly point of the New World.

When she reached Fort Famine the “Albatross” resumed her course to the
south. Passing between Mount Tam on the Brunswick Peninsula and Mount
Graves, she steered for Mount Sarmiento, an enormous peak wrapped in
snow, which commands the Straits of Magellan, rising six thousand four
hundred feet from the sea. And now they were over the land of the
Fuegians, Tierra del Fuego, the land of fire. Six months later, in the
height of summer, with days from fifteen to sixteen hours long, how
beautiful and fertile would most of this country be, particularly in
its northern portion! Then, all around would be seen valleys and
pasturages that could form the feeding-grounds of thousands of animals;
then would appear virgin forests, gigantic trees-birches, beeches,
ash-trees, cypresses, tree-ferns—and broad plains overrun by herds of
guanacos, vicunas, and ostriches. Now there were armies of penguins and
myriads of birds; and, when the “Albatross” turned on her electric
lamps the guillemots, ducks, and geese came crowding on board enough to
fill Tapage’s larder a hundred times and more.

Here was work for the cook, who knew how to bring out the flavor of the
game and keep down its peculiar oiliness. And here was work for
Frycollin in plucking dozen after dozen of such interesting feathered
friends.

That day, as the sun was setting about three o’clock in the afternoon,
there appeared in sight a large lake framed in a border of superb
forest. The lake was completely frozen over, and a few natives with
long snowshoes on their feet were swiftly gliding over it.

At the sight of the “Albatross.” the Fuegians, overwhelmed with
terror—scattered in all directions, and when they could not get away
they hid themselves, taking, like the animals, to the holes in the
ground.

The “Albatross” still held her southerly course, crossing the Beagle
Channel, and Navarin Island and Wollaston Island, on the shores of the
Pacific. Then, having accomplished 4,700 miles since she left Dahomey,
she passed the last islands of the Magellanic archipelago, whose most
southerly outpost, lashed by the everlasting surf, is the terrible Cape
Horn.




Chapter XVII
THE SHIPWRECKED CREW


Next day was the 24th of July; and the 24th of July in the southern
hemisphere corresponds to the 24th of January in the northern. The
fifty-sixth degree of latitude had been left behind. The similar
parallel in northern Europe runs through Edinburgh.

The thermometer kept steadily below freezing, so that the machinery was
called upon to furnish a little artificial heat in the cabins. Although
the days begin to lengthen after the 21st day of June in the southern
hemisphere, yet the advance of the “Albatross” towards the Pole more
than neutralized this increase, and consequently the daylight became
very short. There was thus very little to be seen. At night time the
cold became very keen; but as there was no scarcity of clothing on
board, the colleagues, well wrapped up, remained a good deal on deck
thinking over their plans of escape, and watching for an opportunity.
Little was seen of Robur; since the high words that had been exchanged
in the Timbuktu country, the engineer had left off speaking to his
prisoners. Frycollin seldom came out of the cook-house, where Tapage
treated him most hospitably, on condition that he acted as his
assistant. This position was not without its advantages, and the Negro,
with his master’s permission, very willingly accepted it. Shut up in
the galley, he saw nothing of what was passing outside, and might even
consider himself beyond the reach of danger. He was, in fact, very like
the ostrich, not only in his stomach, but in his folly.

But whither went the “Albatross?” Was she in mid-winter bound for the
southern seas or continents round the Pole? In this icy atmosphere,
even granting that the elements of the batteries were unaffected by
such frost, would not all the crew succumb to a horrible death from the
cold? That Robur should attempt to cross the Pole in the warm season
was bad enough, but to attempt such a thing in the depth of the winter
night would be the act of a madman.

Thus reasoned the President and Secretary of the Weldon Institute, now
they had been brought to the end of the continent of the New World,
which is still America, although it does not belong to the United
States.

What was this intractable Robur going to do? Had not the time arrived
for them to end the voyage by blowing up the ship?

It was noticed that during the 24th of July the engineer had frequent
consultations with his mate. He and Tom Turner kept constant watch on
the barometer—not so much to keep themselves informed of the height at
which they were traveling as to be on the look-out for a change in the
weather. Evidently some indications had been observed of which it was
necessary to make careful note.

Uncle Prudent also remarked that Robur had been taking stock of the
provisions and stores, and everything seemed to show that he was
contemplating turning back.

“Turning back!” said Phil Evans. “But where to?”

“Where he can reprovision the ship.” said Uncle Prudent.

“That ought to be in some lonely island in the Pacific with a colony of
scoundrels worthy of their chief.”

“That is what I think. I fancy he is going west, and with the speed he
can get up it would not take, him long to get home.”

“But we should not be able to put our plan into execution. If we get
there—”

“We shall not get there!”

The colleagues had partly guessed the engineer’s intentions. During the
day it became no longer doubtful that when the “Albatross” reached the
confines of the Antarctic Sea her course was to be changed. When the
ice has formed about Cape Horn the lower regions of the Pacific are
covered with icefields and icebergs. The floes then form an
impenetrable barrier to the strongest ships and the boldest navigators.
Of course, by increasing the speed of her wings the “Albatross” could
clear the mountains of ice accumulated on the ocean as she could the
mountains of earth on the polar continent—if it is a continent that
forms the cap of the southern pole. But would she attempt it in the
middle of the polar night, in an atmosphere of sixty below freezing?

After she had advanced about a hundred miles to the south the
“Albatross” headed westerly, as if for some unknown island of the
Pacific. Beneath her stretched the liquid plain between Asia and
America. The waters now had assumed that singular color which has
earned for them the name of the Milky Sea. In the half shadow, which
the enfeebled rays of the sun were unable to dissipate, the surface of
the Pacific was a milky white. It seemed like a vast snowfield, whose
undulations were imperceptible at such a height. If the sea had been
solidified by the cold, and converted into an immense icefield, its
aspect could not have been much different. They knew that the
phenomenon was produced by myriads of luminous particles of
phosphorescent corpuscles; but it was surprising to come across such an
opalescent mass beyond the limits of the Indian Ocean.

Suddenly the barometer fell after keeping somewhat high during the
earlier hours of the day. Evidently the indications were such as a
shipmaster might feel anxious at, though the master of an aeronef might
despise them. There was every sign that a terrible storm had recently
raged in the Pacific.

It was one o’clock in the afternoon when Tom Turner came up to the
engineer and said, “Do you see that black spot on the horizon,
sir—there away to due north of us? That is not a rock?”

“No, Tom; there is no land out there.”

“Then it must be a ship or a boat.”

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans, who were in the bow, looked in the
direction pointed out by the mate.

Robur asked for the glass and attentively observed the object.

“It is a boat.” said he, “and there are some men in it.”

“Shipwrecked?” asked Tom.

“Yes! They have had to abandon their ship, and, knowing nothing of the
nearest land, are perhaps dying of hunger and thirst! Well, it shall
not be said that the “Albatross” did not come to their help!”

The orders were given, and the aeronef began to sink towards the sea.
At three hundred yards from it the descent was stopped, and the
propellers drove ahead full speed towards the north.

It was a boat. Her sail flapped against the mast as she rose and fell
on the waves. There was no wind, and she was making no progress.
Doubtless there was no one on board with strength enough left to work
the oars. In the boat were five men asleep or helpless, if they were
not dead.

The “Albatross” had arrived above them, and slowly descended. On the
boat’s stern was the name of the ship to which she belonged—the
“Jeannette” of Nantes.

“Hallo, there!” shouted Turner, loud enough for the men to hear, for
the boat was only eighty feet below him.

There was no answer. “Fire a gun!” said Robur.

The gun was fired and the report rang out over the sea.

One of the men looked up feebly. His eyes were haggard and his face was
that of a skeleton. As he caught sight of the “Albatross” he made a
gesture as of fear.

“Don’t be afraid.” said Robur in French, “we have come to help you. Who
are you?”

“We belong to the barque “Jeannette.” and I am the mate. We left her a
fortnight ago as she was sinking. We have no water and no food.”

The four other men had now sat up. Wan and exhausted, in a terrible
state of emaciation, they lifted their hands towards the “Albatross.”

“Look-out!” shouted Robur.

A line was let down, and a pail of fresh water was lowered into the
boat. The men snatched at it and drank it with an eagerness awful to
see.

“Bread, bread!” they exclaimed.

Immediately a basket with some food and five pints of coffee descended
towards them. The mate with difficulty restrained them in their
ravenousness.

“Where are we?” asked the mate at last.

“Fifty miles from the Chili coast and the Chonos Archipelago.” answered
Robur.

“Thanks. But we are becalmed, and—?”

“We are going to tow you.”

“Who are you?”

“People who are glad to be of assistance to you.” said Robur.

The mate understood that the incognito was to be respected. But had the
flying machine sufficient power to tow them through the water?

Yes; and the boat, attached to a hundred feet of rope, began to move
off towards the east. At ten o’clock at night the land was sighted—or
rather they could see the lights which indicated its position. This
rescue from the sky had come just in time for the survivors of the
“Jeannette.” and they had good reason to believe it miraculous.

When they had been taken to the mouth of the channel leading among the
Chonos Islands, Robur shouted to them to cast off the tow-line. This,
with many a blessing to those who had saved them, they did, and the
“Albatross” headed out to the offing.

Certainly there was some good in this aeronef, which could thus help
those who were lost at sea! What balloon, perfect as it might be, would
be able to perform such a service? And between themselves Uncle Prudent
and Phil Evans could not but admire it, although they were quite
disposed to deny the evidence of their senses.




Chapter XVIII
OVER THE VOLCANO


The sea was as rough as ever, and the symptoms became alarming. The
barometer fell several millimeters. The wind came in violent gusts, and
then for a moment or so failed altogether. Under such circumstances a
sailing vessel would have had to reef in her topsails and her foresail.
Everything showed that the wind was rising in the northwest. The
storm-glass became much troubled and its movements were most
disquieting.

At one o’clock in the morning the wind came on again with extreme
violence. Although the aeronef was going right in its teeth she was
still making progress at a rate of from twelve to fifteen miles an
hour. But that was the utmost she could do.

Evidently preparations must be made for a cyclone, a very rare
occurrence in these latitudes. Whether it be called a hurricane, as in
the Atlantic, a typhoon, as in Chinese waters a simoom, as in the
Sahara, or a tornado, as on the western coast, such a storm is always a
gyratory one, and most dangerous for any ship caught in the current
which increases from the circumference to the center, and has only one
spot of calm, the middle of the vortex.

Robur knew this. He also knew it was best to escape from the cyclone
and get beyond its zone of attraction by ascending to the higher
strata. Up to then he had always succeeded in doing this, but now he
had not an hour, perhaps not a minute, to lose.

In fact the violence of the wind sensibly increased. The crests of the
waves were swept off as they rose and blown into white dust on the
surface of the sea. It was manifest that the cyclone was advancing with
fearful velocity straight towards the regions of the pole.

“Higher!” said Robur.

“Higher it is.” said Tom Tumor.

An extreme ascensional power was communicated to the aeronef, and she
shot up slantingly as if she was traveling on a plane sloping downwards
from the southwest. Suddenly the barometer fell more than a dozen
millimeters and the “Albatross” paused in her ascent.

What was the cause of the stoppage? Evidently she was pulled back by
the air; some formidable current had diminished the resistance to the
screws. When a steamer travels upstream more work is got out of her
screw than when the water is running between the blades. The recoil is
then considerable, and may perhaps be as great as the current. It was
thus with the “Albatross” at this moment.

But Robur was not the man to give in. His seventy-four screws, working
perfectly together, were driven at their maximum speed. But the aeronef
could not escape; the attraction of the cyclone was irresistible.
During the few moments of calm she began to ascend, but the heavy pull
soon drew her back, and she sunk like a ship as she founders.

Evidently if the violence of the cyclone went on increasing the
“Albatross” would be but as a straw caught in one of those whirlwinds
that root up the trees, carry off roofs, and blow down walls.

Robur and Tom could only speak by signs. Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
clung to the rail and wondered if the cyclone was not playing their
game in destroying the aeronef and with her the inventor—and with the
inventor the secret of his invention.

But if the “Albatross” could not get out of the cyclone vertically
could she not do something else? Could she not gain the center, where
it was comparatively calm, and where they would have more control over
her? Quite so, but to do this she would have to break through the
circular currents which were sweeping her round with them. Had she
sufficient mechanical power to escape through them?

Suddenly the upper part of the cloud fell in. The vapor condensed in
torrents of rain. It was two o’clock in the morning. The barometer,
oscillating over a range of twelve millimeters, had now fallen to
27.91, and from this something should be taken on account of the height
of the aeronef above the level of the sea.

Strange to say, the cyclone was out of the zone to which such storms
are generally restricted, such zone being bounded by the thirtieth
parallel of north latitude and the twenty-sixth parallel of south
latitude. This may perhaps explain why the eddying storm suddenly
turned into a straight one. But what a hurricane! The tempest in
Connecticut on the 22nd of March, 1882, could only have been compared
to it, and the speed of that was more than three hundred miles an hour.

The “Albatross” had thus to fly before the wind or rather she had to be
left to be driven by the current, from which she could neither mount
nor escape. But in following this unchanging trajectory she was bearing
due south, towards those polar regions which Robur had endeavored to
avoid. And now he was no longer master of her course; she would go
where the hurricane took her.

Tom Turner was at the helm, and it required all his skill to keep her
straight. In the first hours of the morning—if we can so call the vague
tint which began to rise over the horizon—the “Albatross” was fifteen
degrees below Cape Horn; twelve hundred miles more and she would cross
the antarctic circle. Where she was, in this month of July, the night
lasted nineteen hours and a half. The sun’s disk—without warmth,
without light—only appeared above the horizon to disappear almost
immediately. At the pole the night lengthened into one of a hundred and
seventy-nine days. Everything showed that the “Albatross” was about to
plunge into an abyss.

During the day an observation, had it been possible, would have given
66° 40′ south latitude. The aeronef was within fourteen hundred miles
of the pole.

Irresistibly was she drawn towards this inaccessible corner of the
globe, her speed eating up, so to speak, her weight, although she
weighed less than before, owing to the flattening of the earth at the
pole. It seemed as though she could have dispensed altogether with her
suspensory screws. And soon the fury of the storm reached such a height
that Robur thought it best to reduce the speed of her helices as much
as possible, so as to avoid disaster. And only enough speed was given
to keep the aeronef under control of the rudder.

Amid these dangers the engineer retained his imperturbable coolness,
and the crew obeyed him as if their leader’s mind had entered into
them. Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans had not for a moment left the deck;
they could remain without being disturbed. The air made but slight
resistance. The aeronef was like an aerostat, which drifts with the
fluid masses in which it is plunged.

Is the domain of the southern pole a continent or an archipelago? Or is
it a palaeocrystic sea, whose ice melts not even during the long
summer? We know not. But what we do know is that the southern pole is
colder than the northern one—a phenomenon due to the position of the
earth in its orbit during winter in the antarctic regions.

During this day there was nothing to show that the storm was abating.
It was by the seventy-fifth meridian to the west that the “Albatross”
crossed into the circumpolar region. By what meridian would she come
out—if she ever came out?

As she descended more to the south the length of the day diminished.
Before long she would be plunged in that continuous night which is
illuminated only by the rays of the moon or the pale streamers of the
aurora. But the moon was then new, and the companions of Robur might
see nothing of the regions whose secret has hitherto defied human
curiosity, There was not much inconvenience on board from the cold, for
the temperature was not nearly so low as was expected.

It seemed as though the hurricane was a sort of Gulf Stream, carrying a
certain amount of heat along with it.

Great was the regret that the whole region was in such profound
obscurity. Even if the moon had been in full glory but few observations
could have been made. At this season of the year an immense curtain of
snow, an icy carapace, covers up the polar surface. There was none of
that ice “blink” to be seen, that whitish tint of which the reflection
is absent from dark horizons. Under such circumstances, how could they
distinguish the shape of the ground, the extent of the seas, the
position of the islands? How could they recognize the hydrographic
network of the country or the orographic configuration, and distinguish
the hills and mountains from the icebergs and floes?

A little after midnight an aurora illuminated the darkness. With its
silver fringes and spangles radiating over space, it seemed like a huge
fan open over half the sky. Its farthest electric effluences were lost
in the Southern Cross, whose four bright stars were gleaming overhead.
The phenomenon was one of incomparable magnificence, and the light
showed the face of the country as a confused mass of white.

It need not be said that they had approached so near to the pole that
the compass was constantly affected, and gave no precise indication of
the course pursued. Its inclination was such that at one time Robur
felt certain they were passing over the magnetic pole discovered by Sir
James Ross. And an hour later, in calculating the angle the needle made
with the vertical, he exclaimed: “the South Pole is beneath us!”

A white cap appeared, but nothing could be seen of what it bid under
its ice.

A few minutes afterwards the aurora died away, and the point where all
the world’s meridians cross is still to be discovered.

If Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans wished to bury in the most mysterious
solitudes the aeronef and all she bore, the moment was propitious. If
they did not do so it was doubtless because the explosive they required
was still denied to them.

The hurricane still raged and swept along with such rapidity that had a
mountain been met with the aeronef would have been dashed to pieces
like a ship on a lee shore. Not only had the power gone to steer her
horizontally, but the control of her elevation had also vanished.

And it was not unlikely that mountains did exist in these antarctic
lands. Any instant a shock might happen which would destroy the
“Albatross.” Such a catastrophe became more probable as the wind
shifted more to the east after they passed the prime meridian. Two
luminous points then showed themselves ahead of the “Albatross.” There
were the two volcanos of the Ross Mountains—Erebus and Terror. Was the
“Albatross” to be shriveled up in their flames like a gigantic
butterfly?

An hour of intense excitement followed. One of the volcanoes, Erebus,
seemed to be rushing at the aeronef, which could not move from the bed
of the hurricane. The cloud of flame grew as they neared it. A network
of fire barred their road. A brilliant light shone round over all. The
figures on board stood out in the bright light as if come from another
world. Motionless, without a sound or a gesture, they waited for the
terrible moment when the furnace would wrap them in its fires.

But the storm that bore the “Albatross” saved them from such a fearful
fate. The flames of Erebus were blown down by the hurricane as it
passed, and the “Albatross” flew over unhurt. She swept through a hail
of ejected material, which was fortunately kept at bay by the
centrifugal action of the suspensory screws. And she harmlessly passed
over the crater while it was in full eruption.

An hour afterwards the horizon hid from their view the two colossal
torches which light the confines of the world during the long polar
night.

At two o’clock in the morning Balleny Island was sighted on the coast
of Discovery Land, though it could not be recognized owing to its being
bound to the mainland by a cement of ice.

And the “Albatross” emerged from the polar circle on the hundred and
seventy-fifth meridian. The hurricane had carried her over the icebergs
and icefloes, against which she was in danger of being dashed a hundred
times or more. She was not in the hands of the helmsman, but in the
hand of God—and God is a good pilot.

The aeronef sped along to the north, and at the sixtieth parallel the
storm showed signs of dying away. Its violence sensibly diminished. The
“Albatross” began to come under control again. And, what was a great
comfort, had again entered the lighted regions of the globe; and the
day reappeared about eight o’clock in the morning.

Robur had been carried by the storm into the Pacific over the polar
region, accomplishing four thousand three hundred and fifty miles in
nineteen hours, or about three miles a minute, a speed almost double
that which the “Albatross” was equal to with her propellers under
ordinary circumstances. But he did not know where he then was owing to
the disturbance of the needle in the neighborhood of the magnetic pole,
and he would have to wait till the sun shone out under convenient
conditions for observation. Unfortunately, heavy clouds covered the sky
all that day and the sun did not appear.

This was a disappointment more keenly felt as both propelling screws
had sustained damage during the tempest. Robur, much disconcerted at
this accident, could only advance at a moderate speed during this day,
and when he passed over the antipodes of Paris was only going about
eighteen miles an hour. It was necessary not to aggravate the damage to
the screws, for if the propellers were rendered useless the situation
of the aeronef above the vast seas of the Pacific would be a very
awkward one. And the engineer began to consider if he could not effect
his repairs on the spot, so as to make sure of continuing his voyage.

In the morning of the 27th of July, about seven o’clock, land was
sighted to the north. It was soon seen to be an island. But which
island was it of the thousands that dot the Pacific? However, Robur
decided to stop at it without landing. He thought, that he could repair
damages during the day and start in the evening.

The wind had died away completely and this was a favorable circumstance
for the maneuver he desired to execute. At least, if she did not remain
stationary the “Albatross” would be carried he knew not where.

A cable one hundred and fifty feet long with an anchor at the end was
dropped overboard. When the aeronef reached the shore of the island the
anchor dragged up the first few rocks and then got firmly fixed between
two large blocks. The cable then stretched to full length under the
influence of the suspensory screws, and the “Albatross” remained
motionless, riding like a ship in a roadstead.

It was the first time she had been fastened to the earth since she left
Philadelphia.




Chapter XIX
ANCHORED AT LAST


When the “Albatross” was high in the air the island could be seen to be
of moderate size. But on what parallel was it situated? What meridian
ran through it? Was it an island in the Pacific, in Australasia, or in
the Indian Ocean? When the sun appeared, and Robur had taken his
observations, they would know; but although they could not trust to the
indications of the compass there was reason to think they were in the
Pacific.

At this height—one hundred and fifty feet—the island which measured
about fifteen miles round, was like a three-pointed star in the sea.

Off the southwest point was an islet and a range of rocks. On the shore
there were no tide-marks, and this tended to confirm Robur in his
opinion as to his position for the ebb and flow are almost
imperceptible in the Pacific.

At the northwest point there was a conical mountain about two hundred
feet high.

No natives were to be seen, but they might be on the opposite coast. In
any case, if they had perceived the aeronef, terror had made them
either hide themselves or run away. The “Albatross” had anchored on the
southwest point of the island. Not far off, down a little creek, a
small river flowed in among the rocks. Beyond were several winding
valleys; trees of different kinds; and birds—partridges and bustards—in
great numbers. If the island was not inhabited it was habitable. Robur
might surely have landed on it; if he had not done so it was probably
because the ground was uneven and did not offer a convenient spot to
beach the aeronef.

While he was waiting for the sun the engineer began the repairs he
reckoned on completing before the day was over. The suspensory screws
were undamaged and had worked admirably amid all the violence of the
storm, which, as we have said, had considerably lightened their work.
At this moment half of them were in action, enough to keep the
“Albatross” fixed to the shore by the taut cable. But the two
propellers had suffered, and more than Robur had thought. Their blades
would have to be adjusted and the gearing seen to by which they
received their rotatory movement.

It was the screw at the bow which was first attacked under Robur’s
superintendence. It was the best to commence with, in case the
“Albatross” had to leave before the work was finished. With only this
propeller he could easily keep a proper course.

Meanwhile Uncle Prudent and his colleague, after walking about the
deck, had sat down aft. Frycollin was strangely reassured. What a
difference! To be suspended only one hundred and fifty feet from the
ground!

The work was only interrupted for a moment while the elevation of the
sun above the horizon allowed Robur to take an horary angle, so that at
the time of its culmination he could calculate his position.

The result of the observation, taken with the greatest exactitude, was
as follows:

Longitude, 176° 10′ west.
Latitude, 44° 25′ south.


This point on the map answered to the position of the Chatham Islands,
and particularly of Pitt Island, one of the group.

“That is nearer than I supposed.” said Robur to Tom Turner.

“How far off are we?”

“Forty-six degrees south of X Island, or two thousand eight hundred
miles.”

“All the more reason to get our propellers into order.” said the mate.
“We may have the wind against us this passage, and with the little
stores we have left we ought to get to X as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Tom, and I hope to get under way tonight, even if I go with one
screw, and put the other to-rights on the voyage.”

“Mr. Robur.” said Tom “What is to be done with those two gentlemen and
their servant?”

“Do you think they would complain if they became colonists of X
Island?”

But where was this X? It was an island lost in the immensity of the
Pacific Ocean between the Equator and the Tropic of Cancer—an island
most appropriately named by Robur in this algebraic fashion. It was in
the north of the South Pacific, a long way out of the route of
inter-oceanic communication. There it was that Robur had founded his
little colony, and there the “Albatross” rested when tired with her
flight. There she was provisioned for all her voyages. In X Island,
Robur, a man of immense wealth, had established a shipyard in which he
built his aeronef. There he could repair it, and even rebuild it. In
his warehouses were materials and provisions of all sorts stored for
the fifty inhabitants who lived on the island.

When Robur had doubled Cape Horn a few days before his intention had
been to regain X Island by crossing the Pacific obliquely. But the
cyclone had seized the “Albatross.” and the hurricane had carried her
away to the south. In fact, he had been brought back to much the same
latitude as before, and if his propellers had not been damaged the
delay would have been of no importance.

His object was therefore to get back to X Island, but as the mate had
said, the voyage would be a long one, and the winds would probably be
against them. The mechanical power of the “Albatross” was, however,
quite equal to taking her to her destination, and under ordinary
circumstances she would be there in three or four days.

Hence Robur’s resolve to anchor on the Chatham Islands. There was every
opportunity for repairing at least the fore-screw. He had no fear that
if the wind were to rise he would be driven to the south instead of to
the north. When night came the repairs would be finished, and he would
have to maneuver so as to weigh anchor. If it were too firmly fixed in
the rocks he could cut the cable and resume his flight towards the
equator.

The crew of the “Albatross.” knowing there was no time to lose, set to
work vigorously.

While they were busy in the bow of the aeronef, Uncle Prudent and Phil
Evans held a little conversation together which had exceptionally
important consequences.

“Phil Evans.” said Uncle Prudent, “you have resolved, as I have, to
sacrifice your life?”

“Yes, like you.”

“It is evident that we can expect nothing from Robur.”

“Nothing.”

“Well, Phil Evans, I have made up my mind. If the “Albatross” leaves
this place tonight, the night will not pass without our having
accomplished our task. We will smash the wings of this bird of Robur’s!
This night I will blow it into the air!”

“The sooner the better.” said Phil Evans.

It will be seen that the two colleagues were agreed on all points even
in accepting with indifference the frightful death in store for them.
“Have you all you want?” asked Evans.

“Yes. Last night, while Robur and his people had enough to do to look
after the safety of the ship, I slipped into the magazine and got hold
of a dynamite cartridge.”

“Let us set to work, Uncle Prudent.”

“No. Wait till tonight. When the night comes we will go into our cabin,
and you shall see something that will surprise you.”

At six o’clock the colleagues dined together as usual. Two hours
afterwards they retired to their cabin like men who wished to make up
for a sleepless night.

Neither Robur nor any of his companions had a suspicion of the
catastrophe that threatened the “Albatross.”

This was Uncle Prudent’s plan. As he had said, he had stolen into the
magazine, and there had possessed himself of some powder and cartridge
like those used by Robur in Dahomey. Returning to his cabin, he had
carefully concealed the cartridge with which he had resolved to blow up
the “Albatross” in mid-air.

Phil Evans, screened by his companion, was now examining the infernal
machine, which was a metallic canister containing about two pounds of
dynamite, enough to shatter the aeronef to atoms. If the explosion did
not destroy her at once, it would do so in her fall. Nothing was easier
than to place this cartridge in a corner of the cabin, so that it would
blow in the deck and tear away the framework of the hull.

But to obtain the explosion it was necessary to adjust the fulminating
cap with which the cartridge was fitted. This was the most delicate
part of the operation, for the explosion would have to be carefully
timed, so as not to occur too soon or too late.

Uncle Prudent had carefully thought over the matter. His conclusions
were as follows. As soon as the fore propeller was repaired the aeronef
would resume her course to the north, and that done Robur and his crew
would probably come aft to put the other screw into order. The presence
of these people about the cabin might interfere with his plans, and so
he had resolved to make a slow match do duty as a time-fuse.

“When I got the cartridge.” said he to Phil Evans, “I took some
gunpowder as well. With the powder I will make a fuse that will take
some time to burn, and which will lead into the fulminate. My idea is
to light it about midnight, so that the explosion will take place about
three or four o’clock in the morning.”

“Well planned!” said Phil Evans.

The colleagues, as we see, had arrived at such a stage as to look with
the greatest nonchalance on the awful destruction in which they were
about to perish. Their hatred against Robur and his people had so
increased that they would sacrifice their own lives to destroy the
“Albatross” and all she bore. The act was that of madmen, it was
horrible; but at such a pitch had they arrived after five weeks of
anger that could not vent itself, of rage that could not be gratified.

“And Frycollin?” asked Phil Evans, “have we the right to dispose of his
life?”

“We shall sacrifice ours as well!” said Uncle Prudent. But it is
doubtful if Frycollin would have thought the reason sufficient.

Immediately Uncle Prudent set to work, while Evans kept watch in the
neighborhood of the cabin. The crew were all at work forward. There was
no fear of being surprised. Uncle Prudent began by rubbing a small
quantity of the powder very fine; and then, having slightly moistened
it, he wrapped it up in a piece of rag in the shape of a match. When it
was lighted he calculated it would burn about an inch in five minutes,
or a yard in three hours. The match was tried and found to answer, and
was then wound round with string and attached to the cap of the
cartridge. Uncle Prudent had all finished about ten o’clock in the
evening without having excited the least suspicion.

During the day the work on the fore screw had been actively carried on,
but it had had to be taken on board to adjust the twisted blades. Of
the piles and accumulators and the machinery that drove the ship
nothing was damaged.

When night fell Robur and his men knocked off work. The fore propeller
not been got into place, and to finish it would take another three
hours. After some conversation with Tom Turner it was decided to give
the crew a rest, and postpone what required to be done to the next
morning.

The final adjustment was a matter of extreme nicety, and the electric
lamps did not give so suitable a light for such work as the daylight.

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans were not aware of this. They had
understood that the screw would be in place during the night, and that
the “Albatross” would be on her way to the north.

The night was dark and moonless. Heavy clouds made the darkness deeper.
A light breeze began to rise. A few puffs came from the southwest, but
they had no effect on the “Albatross.” She remained motionless at her
anchor, and the cable stretched vertically downward to the ground.

Uncle Prudent and his colleague, imagining they were under way again,
sat shut up in their cabin, exchanging but a few words, and listening
to the f-r-r-r-r of the suspensory screws, which drowned every other
sound on board. They were waiting till the time of action arrived.

A little before midnight Uncle Prudent said, “It is time!” Under the
berths in the cabin was a sliding box, forming a small locker, and in
this locker Uncle Prudent put the dynamite and the slow-match. In this
way the match would burn without betraying itself by its smoke or
spluttering. Uncle Prudent lighted the end and pushed back the box
under the berth with “Now let us go aft, and wait.”

They then went out, and were astonished not to find the steersman at
his post.

Phil Evans leant out over the rail.

“The “Albatross” is where she was.” said he in a low voice. “The work
is not finished. They have not started!”

Uncle Prudent made a gesture of disappointment. “We shall have to put
out the match.” said he.

“No.” said Phil Evans, “we must escape!”

“Escape?”

“Yes! down the cable! Fifty yards is nothing!”

“Nothing, of course, Phil Evans, and we should be fools not to take the
chance now it has come.”

But first they went back to the cabin and took away all they could
carry, with a view to a more or less prolonged stay on the Chatham
Islands. Then they shut the door and noiselessly crept forward,
intending to wake Frycollin and take him with them.

The darkness was intense. The clouds were racing up from the southwest,
and the aeronef was tugging at her anchor and thus throwing the cable
more and more out of the vertical. There would be no difficulty in
slipping down it.

The colleagues made their way along the deck, stopping in the shadow of
the deckhouses to listen if there was any sound. The silence was
unbroken. No light shone from the portholes. The aeronef was not only
silent; she was asleep.

Uncle Prudent was close to Frycollin’s cabin when Phil Evans stopped
him. “The look-out!” he said.

A man was crouching near the deck-house. He was only half asleep. All
flight would be impossible if he were to give the alarm. Close by were
a few ropes, and pieces of rag and waste used in the work at the screw.

An instant afterwards the man was gagged and blindfolded and lashed to
the rail unable to utter a sound or move an inch. This was done almost
without a whisper.

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans listened. All was silent within the
cabins. Every one on board was asleep. They reached Frycollin’s cabin.
Tapage was snoring away in a style worthy of his name, and that
promised well.

To his great surprise, Uncle Prudent had not even to push Frycollin’s
door. It was open. He stepped into the doorway and looked around.
“Nobody here!” he said.

“Nobody! Where can he be?” asked Phil Evans.

They went into the bow, thinking Frycollin might perhaps be asleep in
the corner. Still they found nobody.

“Has the fellow got the start of us?” asked Uncle Prudent.

“Whether he has or not.” said Phil Evans, “we can’t wait any longer.
Down you go.”

Without hesitation the fugitives one after the other clambered over the
side and, seizing the cable with hands and feet slipped down it safe
and sound to the ground.

Think of their joy at again treading the earth they had lost for so
long—at walking on solid ground and being no longer the playthings of
the atmosphere!

They were staring up the creek to the interior of the island when
suddenly a form rose in front of them. It was Frycollin. The Negro had
had the same idea as his master and the audacity to start without
telling him. But there was no time for recriminations, and Uncle
Prudent was in search of a refuge in some distant part of the island
when Phil Evans stopped him.

“Uncle Prudent.” said he. “Here we are safe from Robur. He is doomed
like his companions to a terrible death. He deserves it, we know. But
if he would swear on his honor not to take us prisoners again—”

“The honor of such a man—”

Uncle Prudent did not finish his sentence.

There was a noise on the “Albatross.” Evidently, the alarm had been
given. The escape was discovered.

“Help! Help!” shouted somebody. It was the look-out man, who had got
rid of his gag. Hurried footsteps were heard on deck. Almost
immediately the electric lamps shot beams over a large circle.

“There they are! There they are!” shouted Tom Turner. The fugitives
were seen.

At the same instant an order was given by Robur, and the suspensory
screws being slowed, the cable was hauled in on board, and the
“Albatross” sank towards the ground.

At this moment the voice of Phil Evans was heard shouting, “Engineer
Robur, will you give us your word of honor to leave us free on this
island?”

“Never!” said Robur. And the reply was followed by the report of a gun,
and the bullet grazed Phil’s shoulder.

“Ah! The brutes!” said Uncle Prudent. Knife in hand, he rushed towards
the rocks where the anchor had fixed itself. The aeronef was not more
than fifty feet from the ground.

In a few seconds the cable was cut, and the breeze, which had increased
considerably, striking the “Albatross” on the quarter, carried her out
over the sea.




Chapter XX
THE WRECK OF THE ALBATROSS


It was then twenty minutes after midnight. Five or six shots had been
fired from the aeronef. Uncle Prudent and Frycollin, supporting Phil
Evans, had taken shelter among the rocks. They had not been hit. For
the moment there was nothing to fear.

As the “Albatross” drifted off from Pitt Island she rose obliquely to
nearly three thousand feet. It was necessary to increase the
ascensional power to prevent her falling into the sea.

When the look-out man had got clear of his gag and shouted, Robur and
Tom Turner had rushed up to him and torn off his bandage. The mate had
then run back to the stern cabin. It was empty! Tapage had searched
Frycollin’s cabin, and that also was empty.

When he saw that the prisoners had escaped, Robur was seized with a
paroxysm of anger. The escape meant the revelation of his secret to the
world. He had not been much concerned at the document thrown overboard
while they were crossing Europe, for there were so many chances that it
would be lost in its fall; but now!

As he grew calm, “They have escaped.” said he. “Be it so! But they
cannot get away from Pitt Island, and in a day or so I will go back! I
will recapture them! And then—”

In fact, the safety of the three fugitives was by no means assured. The
“Albatross” would be repaired, and return well in hand. Before the day
was out they might again be in the power of the engineer.

Before the day was out! But in two hours the “Albatross” would be
annihilated! The dynamite cartridge was like a torpedo fastened to her
hull, and would accomplish her destruction in mid-air. The breeze
freshened, and the aeronef was carried to the northeast. Although her
speed was but moderate, she would be out of sight of the Chatham
Islands before sunrise. To return against the wind she must have her
propellers going, particularly the one in the bow.

“Tom.” said the engineer, “turn the lights full on.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And all hands to work.”

“Yes, Sir.”

There was no longer any idea of putting off the work till tomorrow.
There was now no thought of fatigue. Not one of the men of the
“Albatross” failed to share in the feelings of his chief. Not one but
was ready to do anything to recapture the fugitives!

As soon as the screw was in place they would return to the island and
drop another anchor, and give chase to the fugitives. Then only would
they begin repairing the stern-screw; and then the aeronef could resume
her voyage across the Pacific to X Island.

It was important, above all things, that the “Albatross” should not be
carried too far to the northeast, but unfortunately the breeze grew
stronger, and she could not head against it, or even remain stationary.
Deprived of her propellers she was an unguidable balloon. The fugitives
on the shore knew that she would have disappeared before the explosion
blew her to pieces.

Robur felt much disappointment at seeing his plans so interfered with.
Would it not take him much longer than he thought to get back to his
old anchorage?

While the work at the screw was actively pushed on, he resolved to
descend to the surface of the sea, in the hope that the wind would
there be lighter. Perhaps the “Albatross” would be able to remain in
the neighborhood until she was again fit to work to windward.

The maneuver was instantly executed. If a passing ship had sighted the
aerial machine as she sunk through the air, with her electric lights in
full blaze, with what terror would she have been seized!

When the “Albatross” was a few hundred feet from the waves she stopped.
Unfortunately Robur found that the breeze was stronger here than above,
and the aeronef drifted off more rapidly. He risked being blown a long,
way off to the northeast, and that would delay his return to Pitt
Island. In short, after several experiments, he found it better to keep
his ship well up in the air, and the “Albatross” went aloft to about
ten thousand feet. There, if she did not remain stationary, the
drifting was very slight. The engineer could thus hope that by sunrise
at such an altitude he would still be in sight of the island.

Robur did not trouble himself about the reception the fugitives might
have received from the natives—if there were any natives. That they
might help them mattered little to him. With the powers of offense
possessed by the “Albatross” they would be promptly terrified and
dispersed. The capture of the prisoners was certain, and once he had
them again, “They will not escape from X Island!”

About one o’clock in the morning the fore-screw was finished, and all
that had to be done was to get it back to its place. This would take
about an hour. That done, the “Albatross” would be headed southwest and
the stern-screw could be taken in hand.

And how about the match that was burning in the deserted cabin? The
match of which more than a third was now consumed? And the spark that
was creeping along to the dynamite?

Assuredly if the men of the aeronef had not been so busy one of them
would have heard the feeble sputtering that was going on in the
deck-house. Perhaps he would have smelt the burning powder! He would
doubtless have become uneasy! And told Tom Turner! And then they would
have looked about, and found the box and the infernal machine; and then
there would have been time to save this wonderful “Albatross” and all
she bore!

But the men were at work in the bow, twenty yards away from the cabin.
Nothing brought them to that part of the deck; nothing called off their
attention from their work. Robur was there working with his hands,
excellent mechanic as he was. He hurried on the work, but nothing was
neglected, everything was carefully done. Was it not necessary that he
should again become absolute master of his invention? If he did not
recapture the fugitives they would get away home. They would begin
inquiring into matters. They might even discover X Island, and there
would be an end to this life, which the men of the “Albatross” had
created for themselves, a life that seemed superhuman and sublime.

Tom Turner came up to the engineer. It was a quarter past one. “It
seems to me, sir, that the breeze is falling, and going round to the
west.”

“What does the barometer say?” asked Robur, after looking up at the
sky.

“It is almost stationary, and the clouds seem gathering below us.”

“So they are, and it may be raining down at the sea; but if we keep
above the rain it makes no difference to us. It will not interfere with
the work.”

“If it is raining it is not a heavy rain.” said Tom. “The clouds do not
look like it, and probably the wind has dropped altogether.”

“Perhaps so, but I think we had better not go down yet. Let us get into
going order as soon as we can, and then we can do as we like.”

At a few minutes after two the first part of the work was finished. The
fore-screw was in its place, and the power was turned on. The speed was
gradually increased, and the “Albatross.” heading to the southwest,
returned at moderate speed towards the Chatham Islands.

“Tom.” said Robur, “it is about two hours and a half since we got
adrift. The wind has not changed all the time. I think we ought to be
over the island in an hour.”

“Yes, sir. We are going about forty feet a second. We ought to be there
about half-past three.”

“All the better. It would suit us best to get back while it is dark,
and even beach the “Albatross” if we can. Those fellows will fancy we
are a long way off to the northward, and never think of keeping a
look-out. If we have to stop a day or two on the island—”

“We’ll stop, and if we have to fight an army of natives?”

“We’ll fight.” said Robur. “We’ll fight then for our “Albatross.””

The engineer went forward to the men, who were waiting for orders. “My
lads.” he said to them, “we cannot knock off yet. We must work till day
comes.”

They were all ready to do so. The stern-screw had now to be treated as
the other had been. The damage was the same, a twisting from the
violence of the hurricane during the passage across the southern pole.

But to get the screw on board it seemed best to stop the progress of
the aeronef for a few minutes, and even to drive her backwards. The
engines were reversed. The aeronef began to fall astern, when Tom
Turner was surprised by a peculiar odor.

This was from the gas given off by the match, which had accumulated in
the box, and was now escaping from the cabin. “Hallo!” said the mate,
with a sniff.

“What is the matter?” asked Robur.

“Don’t you smell something? Isn’t it burning powder?”

“So it is, Tom.”

“And it comes from that cabin.”

“Yes, the very cabin—”

“Have those scoundrels set it on fire?”

“Suppose it is something else!” exclaimed Robur. “Force the door, Tom;
drive in the door!”

But the mate had not made one step towards it when a fearful explosion
shook the “Albatross.” The cabins flew into splinters. The lamps went
out. The electric current suddenly failed. The darkness was complete.
Most of the suspensory screws were twisted or broken, but a few in the
bow still revolved.

At the same instant the hull of the aeronef opened just behind the
first deck-house, where the engines for the fore-screw were placed; and
the after-part of the deck collapsed in space.

Immediately the last suspensory screw stopped spinning, and the
“Albatross” dropped into the abyss.

It was a fall of ten thousand feet for the eight men who were clinging
to the wreck; and the fall was even faster than it might have been, for
the fore propeller was vertical in the air and still working!

It was then that Robur, with extraordinary coolness, climbed up to the
broken deck-house, and seizing the lever reversed the rotation, so that
the propeller became a suspender. The fall continued, but it was
checked, and the wreck did not fall with the accelerating swiftness of
bodies influenced solely by gravitation; and if it was death to the
survivors of the “Albatross” from their being hurled into the sea, it
was not death by asphyxia amid air which the rapidity of descent
rendered unbreathable.

Eighty seconds after the explosion, all that remained of the
“Albatross” plunged into the waves!




Chapter XXI
THE INSTITUTE AGAIN


Some weeks before, on the 13th of June, on the morning after the
sitting during which the Weldon Institute had been given over to such
stormy discussions, the excitement of all classes of the Philadelphia
population, black or white, had been much easier to imagine than to
describe.

From a very early hour conversation was entirely occupied with the
unexpected and scandalous incident of the night before. A stranger
calling himself an engineer, and answering to the name of Robur, a
person of unknown origin, of anonymous nationality, had unexpectedly
presented himself in the club-room, insulted the balloonists, made fun
of the aeronauts, boasted of the marvels of machines heavier than air,
and raised a frightful tumult by the remarks with which he greeted the
menaces of his adversaries. After leaving the desk, amid a volley of
revolver shots, he had disappeared, and in spite of every endeavor, no
trace could be found of him.

Assuredly here was enough to exercise every tongue and excite every
imagination. But by how much was this excitement increased when in the
evening of the 13th of June it was found that neither the president nor
secretary of the Weldon Institute had returned to their homes! Was it
by chance only that they were absent? No, or at least there was nothing
to lead people to think so. It had even been agreed that in the morning
they would be back at the club, one as president, the other as
secretary, to take their places during a discussion on the events of
the preceding evening.

And not only was there the complete disappearance of these two
considerable personages in the state of Pennsylvania, but there was no
news of the valet Frycollin. He was as undiscoverable as his master.
Never had a Negro since Toussaint L’Ouverture, Soulouque, or Dessaline
had so much talked about him.

The next day there was no news. Neither the colleagues nor Frycollin
had been found. The anxiety became serious. Agitation commenced. A
numerous crowd besieged the post and telegraph offices in case any news
should be received. There was no news.

And they had been seen coming out of the Weldon Institute loudly
talking together, and with Frycollin in attendance, go down Walnut
Street towards Fairmount Park! Jem Chip, the vegetarian, had even
shaken hands with the president and left him with “Tomorrow!”

And William T. Forbes, the manufacturer of sugar from rags, had
received a cordial shake from Phil Evans who had said to him twice, “Au
revoir! Au revoir!”

Miss Doll and Miss Mat Forbes, so attached to Uncle Prudent by the
bonds of purest friendship, could not get over the disappearance, and
in order to obtain news of the absent, talked even more than they were
accustomed to.

Three, four, five, six days passed. Then a week, then two weeks, and
there was nothing to give a clue to the missing three. The most minute
search had been made in every quarter. Nothing! In the park, even under
the trees and brushwood. Nothing! Always nothing! Although here it was
noticed that the grass looked to be pressed down in a way that seemed
suspicious and certainly was inexplicable; and at the edge of the
clearing there were traces of a recent struggle. Perhaps a band of
scoundrels had attacked the colleagues here in the deserted park in the
middle of the night!

It was possible. The police proceeded with their inquiries in all due
form and with all lawful slowness. They dragged the Schuyllkill river,
and cut into the thick bushes that fringe its banks; and if this was
useless it was not quite a waste, for the Schuyllkill is in great want
of a good weeding, and it got it on this occasion. Practical people are
the authorities of Philadelphia!

Then the newspapers were tried. Advertisements and notices and articles
were sent to all the journals in the Union without distinction of
color. The “Daily Negro.” the special organ of the black race,
published a portrait of Frycollin after his latest photograph. Rewards
were offered to whoever would give news of the three absentees, and
even to those who would find some clue to put the police on the track.
“Five thousand dollars! Five thousand dollars to any citizen who
would—”

Nothing was done. The five thousand dollars remained with the treasurer
of the Weldon Institute.

Undiscoverable! Undiscoverable! Undiscoverable! Uncle Prudent and Phil
Evans, of Philadelphia!

It need hardly be said that the club was put to serious inconvenience
by this disappearance of its president and secretary. And at first the
assembly voted urgency to a measure which suspended the work on the
“Go-Ahead.” How, in the absence of the principal promoters of the
affair, of those who had devoted to the enterprise a certain part of
their fortune in time and money—how could they finish the work when
these were not present? It were better, then, to wait.

And just then came the first news of the strange phenomenon which had
exercised people’s minds some weeks before. The mysterious object had
been again seen at different times in the higher regions of the
atmosphere. But nobody dreamt of establishing a connection between this
singular reappearance and the no less singular disappearance of the
members of the Weldon Institute. In fact, it would have required a very
strong dose of imagination to connect one of these facts with the
other.

Whatever it might be, asteroid or aerolite or aerial monster, it had
reappeared in such a way that its dimensions and shape could be much
better appreciated, first in Canada, over the country between Ottawa
and Quebec, on the very morning after the disappearance of the
colleagues, and later over the plains of the Far West, where it had
tried its speed against an express train on the Union Pacific.

At the end of this day the doubts of the learned world were at an end.
The body was not a product of nature, it was a flying machine, the
practical application of the theory of “heavier than air.” And if the
inventor of the aeronef had wished to keep himself unknown he could
evidently have done better than to try it over the Far West. As to the
mechanical force he required, or the engines by which it was
communicated, nothing was known, but there could be no doubt the
aeronef was gifted with an extraordinary faculty of locomotion. In
fact, a few days afterwards it was reported from the Celestial Empire,
then from the southern part of India, then from the Russian steppes.

Who was then this bold mechanician that possessed such powers of
locomotion, for whom States had no frontiers and oceans no limits, who
disposed of the terrestrial atmosphere as if it were his domain? Could
it be this Robur whose theories had been so brutally thrown in the face
of the Weldon Institute the day he led the attack against the utopia of
guidable balloons? Perhaps such a notion occurred to some of the
wide-awake people, but none dreamt that the said Robur had anything to
do with the disappearance of the president and secretary of the
Institute.

Things remained in this state of mystery when a telegram arrived from
France through the New York cable at 11-37 A.M. on July 13. And what
was this telegram? It was the text of the document found at Paris in a
snuff-box revealing what had happened to the two personages for whom
the Union was in mourning.

So, then, the perpetrator of this kidnapping “was” Robur the engineer,
come expressly to Philadelphia to destroy in its egg the theory of the
balloonists. He it was who commanded the “Albatross!” He it was who
carried off by way of reprisal Uncle Prudent, Phil Evans and Frycollin;
and they might be considered lost for ever. At least until some means
were found of constructing an engine capable of contending with this
powerful machine their terrestrial friends would never bring them back
to earth.

What excitement! What stupor! The telegram from Paris had been
addressed to the members of the Weldon Institute. The members of the
club were immediately informed of it. Ten minutes later all
Philadelphia received the news through its telephones, and in less than
an hour all America heard of it through the innumerable electric wires
of the new continent.

No one would believe it! “It is an unseasonable joke.” said some. “It
is all smoke.” said others. How could such a thing be done in
Philadelphia, and so secretly, too? How could the “Albatross” have been
beached in Fairmount Park without its appearance having been signaled
all over Pennsylvania?

Very good. These were the arguments. The incredulous had the right of
doubting. But the right did not last long. Seven days after the receipt
of the telegram the French mail-boat “Normandie” came into the Hudson,
bringing the famous snuff-box. The railway took it in all haste from
New York to Philadelphia.

It was indeed the snuff-box of the President of the Weldon Institute.
Jem Chip would have done on at day to take some more substantial
nourishment, for he fell into a swoon when he recognized it. How many a
time had he taken from it the pinch of friendship! And Miss Doll and
Miss Mat also recognized it, and so did William T. Forbes, Truck
Milnor, Bat T. Fynn, and many other members. And not only was it the
president’s snuff-box, it was the president’s writing!

Then did the people lament and stretch out their hands in despair to
the skies. Uncle Prudent and his colleague carried away in a flying
machine, and no one able to deliver them!

The Niagara Falls Company, in which Uncle Prudent was the largest
shareholder, thought of suspending its business and turning off its
cataracts. The Wheelton Watch Company thought of winding up its
machinery, now it had lost its manager.

Nothing more was heard of the aeronef. July passed, and there was no
news. August ran its course, and the uncertainty on the subject of
Robur’s prisoners was as great as ever. Had he, like Icarus, fallen a
victim to his own temerity?

The first twenty-seven days of September went by without result, but on
the 28th a rumor spread through Philadelphia that Uncle Prudent and
Phil Evans had during the afternoon quietly walked into the president’s
house. And, what was more extraordinary, the rumor was true, although
very few believed it.

They had, however, to give in to the evidence. There could be no doubt
these were the two men, and not their shadows. And Frycollin also had
come back! The members of the club, then their friends, then the crowd,
swarmed into the president’s house, and shook hands with the president
and secretary, and cheered them again and again. Jem Chip was there,
having left his luncheon’s joint of boiled lettuces, and William T.
Forbes and his daughters, and all the members of the club. It is a
mystery how Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans emerged alive from the
thousands who welcomed them.

On that evening was the weekly meeting of the Institute. It was
expected that the colleagues would take their places at the desk. As
they had said nothing of their adventures, it was thought they would
then speak, and relate the impressions of their voyage. But for some
reason or other both were silent. And so also was Frycollin, whom his
congeners in their delirium had failed to dismember.

But though the colleagues did not tell what had happened to them, that
is no reason why we should not. We know what occurred on the night of
the 27th and 28th of July; the daring escape to the earth, the scramble
among the rocks, the bullet fired at Phil Evans, the cut cable, and the
“Albatross” deprived of her propellers, drifting off to the northeast
at a great altitude. Her electric lamps rendered her visible for some
time. And then she disappeared.

The fugitives had little to fear. Now could Robur get back to the
island for three or four hours if his screws were out of gear? By that
time the “Albatross” would have been destroyed by the explosion, and be
no more than a wreck floating on the sea; those whom she bore would be
mangled corpses, which the ocean would not even give up again. The act
of vengeance would be accomplished.

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans looked upon it as an act of legitimate
self-defence, and felt no remorse whatever. Evans was but slightly
wounded by the rifle bullet, and the three made their way up from the
shore in the hope of meeting some of the natives. The hope was
realized. About fifty natives were living by fishing off the western
coast. They had seen the aeronef descend on the island, and they
welcomed the fugitives as if they were supernatural beings. They
worshipped them, we ought rather to say. They accommodated them in the
most comfortable of their huts.

As they had expected, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans saw nothing more of
the aeronef. They concluded that the catastrophe had taken place in
some high region of the atmosphere, and that they would hear no more of
Robur and his prodigious machine.

Meanwhile they had to wait for an opportunity of returning to America.
The Chatham Islands are not much visited by navigators, and all August
passed without sign of a ship. The fugitives began to ask themselves if
they had not exchanged one prison for another.

At last a ship came to water at the Chatham Islands. It will not have
been forgotten that when Uncle Prudent was seized he had on him several
thousand paper dollars, much more than would take him back to America.
After thanking their adorers, who were not sparing of their most
respectful demonstrations, Uncle Prudent, Phil Evans, and Frycollin
embarked for Auckland. They said nothing of their adventures, and in
two weeks landed in New Zealand.

At Auckland, a mail-boat took them on board as passengers, and after a
splendid passage the survivors of the “Albatross” stepped ashore at San
Francisco. They said nothing as to who they were or whence they had
come, but as they had paid full price for their berths no American
captain would trouble them further. At San Francisco they took the
first train out on the Pacific Railway, and on the 27th of September,
they arrived at Philadelphia, That is the compendious history of what
had occurred since the escape of the fugitives. And that is why this
very evening the president and secretary of the Weldon Institute took
their seats amid a most extraordinary attendance.

Never before had either of them been so calm. To look at them it did
not seem as though anything abnormal had happened since the memorable
sitting of the 12th of June. Three months and a half had gone, and
seemed to be counted as nothing. After the first round of cheers, which
both received without showing the slightest emotion, Uncle Prudent took
off his hat and spoke.

“Worthy citizens.” said he, “the meeting is now open.”

Tremendous applause. And properly so, for if it was not extraordinary
that the meeting was open, it was extraordinary that it should be
opened by Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans.

The president allowed the enthusiasm to subside in shouts and
clappings; then he continued: “At our last meeting, gentlemen, the
discussion was somewhat animated—(hear, hear)—between the partisans of
the screw before and those of the screw behind for our balloon the
“Go-Ahead.” (Marks of surprise.) We have found a way to bring the
beforists and the behindists in agreement. That way is as follows: we
are going to use two screws, one at each end of the car.” Silence, and
complete stupefaction.

That was all.

Yes, all! Of the kidnapping of the president and secretary of the
Weldon Institute not a word! Not a word of the “Albatross” nor of
Robur! Not a word of the voyage! Not a word of the way in which the
prisoners had escaped! Not a word of what had become of the aeronef, if
it still flew through space, or if they were to be prepared for new
reprisals on the member’s of the club!

Of course the balloonists were longing to ask Uncle Prudent and the
secretary about all these things, but they looked so close and so
serious that they thought it best to respect their attitude. When they
thought fit to speak they would do so, and it would be an honor to
hear. After all, there might be in all this some secret which would not
yet be divulged.

And then Uncle Prudent, resuming his speech amid a silence up to then
unknown in the meetings of the Weldon Institute, said, “Gentlemen, it
now only remains for us to finish the aerostat ‘Go-Ahead.’ It is left
to her to effect the conquest of the air! The meeting is at an end!”




Chapter XXII
THE GO-AHEAD IS LAUNCHED


On the following 19th of April, seven months after the unexpected
return of Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans, Philadelphia was in a state of
unwonted excitement. There were neither elections nor meetings this
time. The aerostat “Go-Ahead.” built by the Weldon Institute, was to
take possession of her natural element.

The celebrated Harry W. Tinder, whose name we mentioned at the
beginning of this story, had been engaged as aeronaut. He had no
assistant, and the only passengers were to be the president and
secretary of the Weldon Institute.

Did they not merit such an honor? Did it not come to them appropriately
to rise in person to protest against any apparatus that was heavier
than air?

During the seven months, however, they had said nothing of their
adventures; and even Frycollin had not uttered a whisper of Robur and
his wonderful clipper. Probably Uncle Prudent and his friend desired
that no question should arise as to the merits of the aeronef, or any
other flying machine.

Although the “Go-Ahead” might not claim the first place among aerial
locomotives, they would have nothing to say about the inventions of
other aviators. They believed, and would always believe, that the true
atmospheric vehicle was the aerostat, and that to it alone belonged the
future.

Besides, he on whom they had been so terribly—and in their idea so
justly—avenged, existed no longer. None of those who accompanied him
had survived. The secret of the “Albatross” was buried in the depths of
the Pacific!

That Robur had a retreat, an island in the middle of that vast ocean,
where he could put into port, was only a hypothesis; and the colleagues
reserved to themselves the right of making inquiries on the subject
later on. The grand experiment which the Weldon Institute had been
preparing for so long was at last to take place. The “Go-Ahead” was the
most perfect type of what had up to then been invented in aerostatic
art—she was what an “Inflexible” or a “Formidable” is in ships of war.

She possessed all the qualities of a good aerostat. Her dimensions
allowed of her rising to the greatest height a balloon could attain;
her impermeability enabled her to remain for an indefinite time in the
atmosphere; her solidity would defy any dilation of gas or violence of
wind or rain; her capacity gave her sufficient ascensional force to
lift with all their accessories an electric engine that would
communicate to her propellers a power superior to anything yet
obtained. The “Go-Ahead” was of elongated form, so as to facilitate her
horizontal displacement. Her car was a platform somewhat like that of
the balloon used by Krebs and Renard; and it carried all the necessary
outfit, instruments, cables, grapnels, guide-ropes, etc., and the piles
and accumulators for the mechanical power. The car had a screw in
front, and a screw and rudder behind. But probably the work done by the
machines would be very much less than that done by the machines of the
“Albatross.”

The “Go-Ahead” had been taken to the clearing in Fairmount Park, to the
very spot where the aeronef had landed for a few hours.

Her ascensional power was due to the very lightest of gaseous bodies.
Ordinary lighting gas possesses an elevating force of about 700 grams
for every cubic meter. But hydrogen possesses an ascensional force
estimated at 1,100 grams per cubic meter. Pure hydrogen prepared
according to the method of the celebrated Henry Gifford filled the
enormous balloon. And as the capacity of the “Go-Ahead” was 40,000
cubic meters, the ascensional power of the gas she contained was 40,000
multiplied by 1,100 or 44,000 kilograms.

On this 29th of April everything was ready. Since eleven o’clock the
enormous aerostat had been floating a few feet from the ground ready to
rise in mid-air. It was splendid weather and seemed to have been made
specially for the experiment, although if the breeze had been stronger
the results might have been more conclusive. There had never been any
doubt that a balloon could be guided in a calm atmosphere; but to guide
it when the atmosphere is in motion is quite another thing; and it is
under such circumstances that the experiment should be tried.

But there was no wind today, nor any sign of any. Strange to say, North
America on that day omitted to send on to Europe one of those
first-class storms which it seems to have in such inexhaustible
numbers. A better day could not have been chosen for an aeronautic
experiment.

The crowd was immense in Fairmount Park; trains had poured into the
Pennsylvania capital sightseers from the neighboring states; industrial
and commercial life came to a standstill that the people might troop to
the show-master, workmen, women, old men, children, members of
Congress, soldiers, magistrates, reporters, white natives and black
natives, all were there. We need not stop to describe the excitement,
the unaccountable movements, the sudden pushings, which made the mass
heave and swell. Nor need we recount the number of cheers which rose
from all sides like fireworks when Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
appeared on the platform and hoisted the American colors. Need we say
that the majority of the crowd had come from afar not so much to see
the “Go-Ahead” as to gaze on these extraordinary men?

Why two and not three? Why not Frycollin? Because Frycollin thought his
campaign in the “Albatross” sufficient for his fame. He had declined
the honor of accompanying his master, and he took no part in the
frenzied declamations that greeted the president and secretary of the
Weldon Institute.

Of the members of the illustrious assembly not one was absent from the
reserved places within the ropes. There were Truck Milnor, Bat T. Fynn,
and William T. Forbes with his two daughters on his arm. All had come
to affirm by their presence that nothing could separate them from the
partisans of “lighter than air.”

About twenty minutes past eleven a gun announced the end of the final
preparations. The “Go-Ahead” only waited the signal to start. At
twenty-five minutes past eleven the second gun was fired.

The “Go-Ahead” was about one hundred and fifty feet above the clearing,
and was held by a rope. In this way the platform commanded the excited
crowd. Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans stood upright and placed their left
hands on their hearts, to signify how deeply they were touched by their
reception. Then they extended their right hands towards the zenith, to
signify that the greatest of known balloons was about to take
possession of the supra-terrestrial domain.

A hundred thousand hands were placed in answer on a hundred thousand
hearts, and a hundred thousand other hands were lifted to the sky.

The third gun was fired at half-past eleven. “Let go!” shouted Uncle
Prudent; and the “Go-Ahead” rose “majestically”—an adverb consecrated
by custom to all aerostatic ascents.

It really was a superb spectacle. It seemed as if a vessel were just
launched from the stocks. And was she not a vessel launched into the
aerial sea? The “Go-Ahead” went up in a perfectly vertical line—a proof
of the calmness of the atmosphere—and stopped at an altitude of eight
hundred feet.

Then she began her horizontal maneuvering. With her screws going she
moved to the east at a speed of twelve yards a second. That is the
speed of the whale—not an inappropriate comparison, for the balloon was
somewhat of the shape of the giant of the northern seas.

A salvo of cheers mounted towards the skillful aeronauts. Then under
the influence of her rudder, the “Go-Ahead” went through all the
evolutions that her steersman could give her. She turned in a small
circle; she moved forwards and backwards in a way to convince the most
refractory disbeliever in the guiding of balloons. And if there had
been any disbeliever there he would have been simply annihilated.

But why was there no wind to assist at this magnificent experiment? It
was regrettable. Doubtless the spectators would have seen the
“Go-Ahead” unhesitatingly execute all the movements of a sailing-vessel
in beating to windward, or of a steamer driving in the wind’s eye.

At this moment the aerostat rose a few hundred yards. The maneuver was
understood below. Uncle Prudent and his companions were going in search
of a breeze in the higher zones, so as to complete the experiment. The
system of cellular balloons—analogous to the swimming bladder in
fishes—into which could be introduced a certain amount of air by
pumping, had provided for this vertical motion. Without throwing out
ballast or losing gas the aeronaut was able to rise or sink at his
will. Of course there was a valve in the upper hemisphere which would
permit of a rapid descent if found necessary. All these contrivances
are well known, but they were here fitted in perfection.

The “Go-Ahead” then rose vertically. Her enormous dimensions gradually
grew smaller to the eye, and the necks of the crowd were almost cricked
as they gazed into the air. Gradually the whale became a porpoise, and
the porpoise became a gudgeon. The ascensional movement did not cease
until the “Go-Ahead” had reached a height of fourteen thousand feet.
But the air was so free from mist that she remained clearly visible.

However, she remained over the clearing as if she were a fixture. An
immense bell had imprisoned the atmosphere and deprived it of movement;
not a breath of wind was there, high or low. The aerostat maneuvered
without encountering any resistance, seeming very small owing to the
distance, much as if she were being looked at through the wrong end of
a telescope.

Suddenly there was a shout among the crowd, a shout followed by a
hundred thousand more. All hands were stretched towards a point on the
horizon. That point was the northwest. There in the deep azure appeared
a moving body, which was approaching and growing larger. Was it a bird
beating with its wings the higher zones of space? Was it an aerolite
shooting obliquely through the atmosphere? In any case, its speed was
terrific, and it would soon be above the crowd. A suspicion
communicated itself electrically to the brains of all on the clearing.

But it seemed as though the “Go-Ahead” had sighted this strange object.
Assuredly it seemed as though she feared some danger, for her speed was
increased, and she was going east as fast as she could.

Yes, the crowd saw what it meant! A name uttered by one of the members
of the Weldon Institute was repeated by a hundred thousand mouths:

“The “Albatross!” The “Albatross!””




Chapter XXIII
THE GRAND COLLAPSE


It was indeed the “Albatross!” It was indeed Robur who had reappeared
in the heights of the sky! It was he who like a huge bird of prey was
going to strike the “Go-Ahead.”

And yet, nine months before, the aeronef, shattered by the explosion,
her screws broken, her deck smashed in two, had been apparently
annihilated.

Without the prodigious coolness of the engineer, who reversed the
gyratory motion of the fore propeller and converted it into a
suspensory screw, the men of the “Albatross” would all have been
asphyxiated by the fall. But if they had escaped asphyxia, how had they
escaped being drowned in the Pacific?

The remains of the deck, the blades of the propellers, the compartments
of the cabins, all formed a sort of raft. When a wounded bird falls on
the waves its wings keep it afloat. For several hours Robur and his men
remained unhelped, at first on the wreck, and afterwards in the
india-rubber boat that had fallen uninjured. A few hours after sunrise
they were sighted by a passing ship, and a boat was lowered to their
rescue.

Robur and his companions were saved, and so was much of what remained
of the aeronef. The engineer said that his ship had perished in a
collision, and no further questions were asked him.

The ship was an English three-master, the “Two Friends.” bound for
Melbourne, where she arrived a few days afterwards.

Robur was in Australia, but a long way from X Island, to which he
desired to return as soon as possible.

In the ruins of the aftermost cabin he had found a considerable sum of
money, quite enough to provide for himself and companions without
applying to anyone for help. A short time after he arrived in Melbourne
he became the owner of a small brigantine of about a hundred tons, and
in her he sailed for X Island.

There he had but one idea—to be avenged. But to secure his vengeance he
would have to make another “Albatross.” This after all was an easy task
for him who made the first. He used up what he could of the old
material; the propellers and engines he had brought back in the
brigantine. The mechanism was fitted with new piles and new
accumulators, and, in short, in less than eight months, the work was
finished, and a new “Albatross.” identical with the one destroyed by
the explosion, was ready to take flight. And he had the same crew.

The “Albatross” left X Island in the first week of April. During this
aerial passage Robur did not want to be seen from the earth, and he
came along almost always above the clouds. When he arrived over North
America he descended in a desolate spot in the Far West. There the
engineer, keeping a profound incognito, learnt with considerable
pleasure that the Weldon Institute was about to begin its experiments,
and that the “Go-Ahead.” with Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans, was going
to start from Philadelphia on the 29th of April.

Here was a chance for Robur and his crew to gratify their longing for
revenge. Here was a chance for inflicting on their foes a terrible
vengeance, which in the “Go-Ahead” they could not escape. A public
vengeance, which would at the same time prove the superiority of the
aeronef to all aerostats and contrivances of that nature!

And that is why, on this very day, like a vulture from the clouds, the
aeronef appeared over Fairmount Park.

Yes! It was the “Albatross.” easily recognizable by all those who had
never before seen her.

The “Go-Ahead” was in full flight; but it soon appeared that she could
not escape horizontally, and so she sought her safety in a vertical
direction, not dropping to the ground, for the aeronef would have cut
her off, but rising to a zone where she could not perhaps be reached.
This was very daring, and at the same time very logical.

But the “Albatross” began to rise after her. Although she was smaller
than the “Go-Ahead.” it was a case of the swordfish and the whale.

This could easily be seen from below and with what anxiety! In a few
moments the aerostat had attained a height of sixteen thousand feet.

The “Albatross” followed her as she rose. She flew round her flanks,
and maneuvered round her in a circle with a constantly diminishing
radius. She could have annihilated her at a stroke, and Uncle Prudent
and his companions would have been dashed to atoms in a frightful fall.

The people, mute with horror, gazed breathlessly; they were seized with
that sort of fear which presses on the chest and grips the legs when we
see anyone fall from a height. An aerial combat was beginning in which
there were none of the chances of safety as in a sea-fight. It was the
first of its kind, but it would not be the last, for progress is one of
the laws of this world. And if the “Go-Ahead” was flying the American
colors, did not the “Albatross” display the stars and golden sun of
Robur the Conqueror?

The “Go-Ahead” tried to distance her enemy by rising still higher. She
threw away the ballast she had in reserve; she made a new leap of three
thousand feet; she was now but a dot in space. The “Albatross.” which
followed her round and round at top speed, was now invisible.

Suddenly a shout of terror rose from the crowd. The “Go-Ahead”
increased rapidly in size, and the aeronef appeared dropping with her.
This time it was a fall. The gas had dilated in the higher zones of the
atmosphere and had burst the balloon, which, half inflated still, was
falling rapidly.

But the aeronef, slowing her suspensory screws, came down just as fast.
She ran alongside the “Go-Ahead” when she was not more than four
thousand feet from the ground.

Would Robur destroy her?

No; he was going to save her crew!

And so cleverly did he handle his vessel that the aeronaut jumped on
board.

Would Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans refuse to be saved by him? They were
quite capable of doing so. But the crew threw themselves on them and
dragged them by force from the “Go-Ahead” to the “Albatross.”

Then the aeronef glided off and remained stationary, while the balloon,
quite empty of gas, fell on the trees of the clearing and hung there
like a gigantic rag.

An appalling silence reigned on the ground. It seemed as though life
were suspended in each of the crowd; and many eyes had been closed so
as not to behold the final catastrophe. Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans
had again become the prisoners of the redoubtable Robur. Now he had
recaptured them, would he carry them off into space, where it was
impossible to follow him?

It seemed so.

However, instead of mounting into the sky the “Albatross” stopped six
feet from the ground. Then, amid profound silence, the engineer’s voice
was heard.

“Citizens of the United States.” he said, “The president and secretary
of the Weldon Institute are again in my power. In keeping them I am
only within my right. But from the passion kindled in them by the
success of the “Albatross” I see that their minds are not prepared for
that important revolution which the conquest of the air will one day
bring, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans, you are free!”

The president, the secretary, and the aeronaut had only to jump down.

Then Robur continued.

“Citizens of the United States, my experiment is finished; but my
advice to those present is to be premature in nothing, not even in
progress. It is evolution and not revolution that we should seek. In a
word, we must not be before our time. I have come too soon today to
withstand such contradictory and divided interests as yours. Nations
are not yet fit for union.

“I go, then; and I take my secret with me. But it will not be lost to
humanity. It will belong to you the day you are educated enough to
profit by it and wise enough not to abuse it. Citizens of the United
States—Good-by!”

And the “Albatross.” beating the air with her seventy-four screws, and
driven by her propellers, shot off towards the east amid a tempest of
cheers.

The two colleagues, profoundly humiliated, and through them the whole
Weldon Institute, did the only thing they could. They went home.

And the crowd by a sudden change of front greeted them with
particularly keen sarcasms, and, at their expense, are sarcastic still.

And now, who is this Robur? Shall we ever know?

We know today. Robur is the science of the future. Perhaps the science
of tomorrow. Certainly the science that will come!

Does the “Albatross” still cruise in the atmosphere in the realm that
none can take from her? There is no reason to doubt it.

Will Robur, the Conqueror, appear one day as he said? Yes! He will come
to declare the secret of his invention, which will greatly change the
social and political conditions of the world.

As for the future of aerial locomotion, it belongs to the aeronef and
not the aerostat.

It is to the “Albatross” that the conquest of the air will assuredly
fall.

—End of Voyage Extraordinaire—Robur the Conqueror—