Jules Verne

ROBUR THE CONQUEROR
or The Clipper of the Clouds
complete book, e-book

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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 (...)

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