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.