Читать книгу Robur the Conqueror - Jules Verne - Страница 16

CHAPTER

7

In which Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans still refuse to be convinced

The president of the Weldon Institute was stupefied, his companion flabbergasted. But neither one of them had any intention of letting their astonishment show, natural though it was.

The valet Frycollin, for his part, was manifestly terrified at finding himself transported through space on such a machine, and made no attempt to hide it.

During this time, the suspension propellers were spinning rapidly over their heads. Considerable though this speed of rotation was, it could be as much as tripled when the Albatross wanted to reach higher zones.

As for the two propulsion propellers, working at a relatively moderate speed, they gave the apparatus a pace of only twenty kilometers per hour.

Leaning over the deck, the passengers on the Albatross could catch sight of a long sinuous ribbon of liquid that snaked about, like a mere stream, across an undulating landscape, amid the sparkling of a few lagoons hit obliquely by the rays of the sun. This stream was a river, one of the most important in the territory. Upon its left bank rose a mountainous chain that stretched as far as the eye could see.

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

“I am under no obligation to do so,” replied Robur.

“And will you tell us where we’re going?” added Phil Evans.

“Through space.”

“And that will last? …”

“As long as it needs to.”

“Then we’re going around the world?” asked Phil Evans ironically.

“Further than that,” replied Robur.

“And if the voyage doesn’t suit us? …” returned Uncle Prudent.

“Then you must suit yourselves to it!”

This is a first taste of the kind of relations that were soon to be established between the master of the Albatross and his guests, not to say his prisoners. But, very clearly, he wanted first of all to give them time to repent, to admire the marvelous apparatus carrying them through the sky, and, no doubt, also to compliment its inventor. Therefore he affected to stroll from one end of the deck to the other. This left them free to examine the arrangement of the machines and the fitting-out of the aircraft, or to accord all their attention to the countryside unfurling in relief below them.

“Uncle Prudent,” said Phil Evans, “if I’m not much mistaken, we must be floating over the middle of the Canadian territories. That river running in the northwest, that’s the Saint Lawrence. That town we’re leaving behind, that’s Quebec.”

It was indeed Champlain’s old city,¹ its white-iron roofs shining in the sun like reflectors. The Albatross had therefore risen to latitude 46° north—which explained the premature arrival of day and the abnormal prolongation of dawn.

“Yes,” Phil Evans went on, “that’s it all right, the amphitheatrical town, the hill that supports its citadel, that Gibraltar of North America! There are the English and French cathedrals! There’s the customhouse with its dome surmounted with the British flag!”

Phil Evans had not finished when already the capital of Canada began to dwindle into the distance. The aircraft entered a zone of little clouds, which shrouded gradually the sight of the sun.

Robur, seeing then that the president and secretary of the Weldon Institute were directing their attention to the exterior arrangements of the Albatross, approached and said:

“Well, gentlemen, do you believe now in the possibility of aerial locomotion by machines heavier than air?”

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

“You’re silent?” continued the engineer. “No doubt hunger forbids you from speaking! … But though I’ve taken it on myself to transport you through the air, don’t think I intend to feed you with that poorly nourishing fluid. Your first lunch is waiting for you.”

As Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans felt sharp pangs of hunger, this was no time to stand on ceremony. A meal does not commit a man to anything, and when Robur set them on earth again, they fully expected to regain complete freedom of action from him.

So the two of them were led to the deckhouse at the stern, into a little dining room. There they found a properly set table, at which they were to eat by themselves throughout the voyage. For dishes, various preserves, including a sort of bread, made of equal quantities of flour and powdered meat, spiced up with a little lard, which, boiled in water, made an excellent soup; also slices of fried ham, and tea to drink.

As for Frycollin, he had not been forgotten. At the bow, he had found a hearty soup made from that bread. And he really must have been very hungry indeed to have eaten it, for his jaws shook with fear and might have refused him all service.

“If it breaks! … If it breaks! …” the unfortunate Negro kept repeating.

Hence, perpetual panic. Just imagine it! A fall of fifteen hundred meters, which would have reduced him to paste!

An hour later, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans reappeared on the deck. Robur was no longer there. At the stern, the helmsman, in his cage of glass, kept his eyes fixed on the compass, and imperturbably, unhesitatingly, followed the route given by the engineer.