Jules Verne (9 page)

"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.

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!

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.