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, UnclePrudent, Phil Evans, and Frycollin were anything but pleased withtheir position. Knowing not who had seized them, nor in what they hadbeen thrown like parcels in a goods wagon, nor where they were, norwhat was reserved for them--it was enough to exasperate even themost patient of the ovine race, and we know that the members of theWeldon Institute were not precisely sheep as far as patience went.With his violence of character we can easily imagine how UnclePrudent felt. One thing was evident, that Phil Evans and he wouldfind it difficult to attend the club next evening.
As to Frycollin, with his eyes shut and his mouth closed, it wasimpossible for him to think of anything. He was more dead than alive.
For an hour the position of the prisoners remained unchanged. No onecame to visit them, or to give them that liberty of movement andspeech of which they lay in such need. They were reduced to stifledsighs, to grunts emitted over and under their gags, to everythingthat betrayed anger kept dumb and fury imprisoned, or rather bounddown. Then after many fruitless efforts they remained for some timeas though lifeless. Then as the sense of sight was denied them theytried by their sense of hearing to obtain some indication of thenature of this disquieting state of things. But in vain did they seekfor any other sound than an interminable and inexplicable f-r-r-rwhich 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 littlethe knot slipped, his fingers slipped over each other, and his handsregained their usual freedom.
A vigorous rubbing restored the circulation. A moment after he hadslipped off the bandage which bound his eyes, taken the gag out ofhis mouth, and cut the cords round his ankles with his knife. AnAmerican who has not a bowie-knife in his pocket is no longer anAmerican.
But if Phil Evans had regained the power of moving and speaking, thatwas all. His eyes were useless to him--at present at any rate. Theprison was quite dark, though about six feet above him a feeble gleamof light came in through a kind of loophole.
As may be imagined, Phil Evans did not hesitate to at once set freehis rival. A few cuts with the bowie settled the knots which boundhim foot and hand.
Immediately Uncle Prudent rose to his knees and snatched away hisbandage and gag.
"Thanks," said he, in stifled voice.
"Phil Evans?"
"Uncle Prudent?"
"Here we are no longer the president and secretary of the WeldonInstitute. We are adversaries no more."
"You are right," answered Evans. "We are now only two men agreed toavenge 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 therewas no fear of dispute.
"And your servant?" said Phil Evans, pointing to Frycollin, who waspuffing like a grampus. "We must set him free."
"Not yet," said Uncle Prudent. "He would overwhelm us with hisjeremiads, 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 anordinary thief would have relieved them of their watches, jewelry,and purses, and thrown their bodies into the Schuyllkill with a goodgash in their throats instead of throwing them to the bottom of--Ofwhat? That was a serious question, which would have to be answeredbefore attempting an escape with any chance of success.
"Phil Evans," began Uncle Prudent, "if, when we came away from ourmeeting, instead of indulging in amenities to which we need notrecur, we had kept our eyes more open, this would not have happened.Had we remained in the streets of Philadelphia there would have beennone 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 leftWalnut Street these fellows must have watched us and followed us, andwhen we imprudently ventured into Fairmount Park they went in fortheir 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 clearingand the moment we were thrown in here only two minutes elapsed. It isthus 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, perhapssome of those long prairie wagons, or some show-caravan--"
"Evidently! For if we were in a boat moored on the Schuyllkill weshould have noticed the movement due to the current--"
"That is so; and as we are still in the clearing, I think that now isthe time to get away, and we can return later to settle with thisRobur--"
"And make him pay for this attempt on the liberty of two citizens ofthe United States."
"And he shall pay pretty dearly!"
"But who is this man? Where does he come from? Is he English, orGerman, or French--"
"He is a scoundrel, that is enough!" said Uncle Prudent. "Now towork." And then the two men, with their hands stretched out and theirfingers wide apart, began to feel round the walls to find a joint orcrack.
Nothing. Nothing; not even at the door. It was closely shut and itwas impossible to shoot back the lock. All that could be done was tomake a hole, and escape through the hole. It remained to be seen ifthe knives could cut into the walls.
"But whence comes this never-ending rustling?" asked Evans, who wasmuch 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 thewall near the door. Perhaps he might make a hole which would enablehim to open it from the outside should it be only bolted or shouldthe 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, andtransform 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." UnclePrudent, in a sudden outburst of fury, began to rave and stamp on thesonorous planks, while his hands sought to strangle an imaginaryRobur.
"Be calm, Prudent, be calm! You have a try."
Uncle Prudent had a try, but the bowie-knife could do nothing againsta wall which its best blades could not even scratch. The wall seemedto be made of crystal.
So it became evident that all flight was impracticable except throughthe door, and for a time they must resign themselves to their fate--nota very pleasant thing for the Yankee temperament, and very muchto the disgust of these eminently practical men. But this conclusionwas not arrived at without many objurgations and loud-soundingphrases hurled at this Robur--who, from what had been seen of him atthe Weldon Institute, was not the sort of man to trouble himself muchabout them.
Suddenly Frycollin began to give unequivocal signs of being unwell.He began to writhe in a most lamentable fashion, either with cramp inhis stomach or in his limbs; and Uncle Prudent, thinking it his dutyto put an end to these gym
nastics, cut the cords that bound him.
He had cause to be sorry for it. Immediately there was poured forthan interminable litany, in which the terrors of fear were mingledwith the tortures of hunger. Frycollin was no worse in his brain thanin his stomach, and it would have been difficult to decide to whichorgan the chief cause of the trouble should be assigned.
"Frycollin!" said Uncle Prudent.
"Master Uncle! Master Uncle!" answered the Negro between two of hislugubrious 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 availedourselves 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 hadbetter 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 moreprecious than his own, he contented himself thenceforth with groaningin quiet.
The time went on and all attempts to force the door or get throughthe wall proved fruitless. What the wall was made of was impossibleto say. It was not metal; it was not wood; it was not stone, And allthe cell seemed to be made of the same stuff. When they stamped onthe floor it gave a peculiar sound that Uncle Prudent found itdifficult to describe; the floor seemed to sound hollow, as if it wasnot resting directly on the ground of the clearing. And theinexplicable f-r-r-r-r seemed to sweep along below it. All of whichwas 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 freshfragrance of the grass and the resinous odor of the park trees. Whilenow, when I take in a good sniff of the air, it seems as though allthat had gone."
"So it has."
"Why?"
"We cannot say why unless we admit that the prison has moved; and Isay again that if the prison had moved, either as a vehicle on theroad or a boat on the stream, we should have felt it."
Here Frycollin gave vent to a long groan, which might have been takenfor his last had he not followed it up with several more.
"I expect Robur will soon have us brought before him," said PhilEvans.
"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. Itought thus to be about four o'clock in the morning for it is at thathour in the month of June in this latitude that the horizon ofPhiladelphia is tinged by the first rays of the dawn.
But when Uncle Prudent sounded his repeater--which was a masterpiecefrom his colleague's factory--the tiny gong only gave a quarter tothree, and the watch had not stopped.
"That is strange!" said Phil Evans. "At a quarter to three it oughtstill 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 wasbreaking. Gradually the window became white in the deep darkness ofthe cell. However, if the dawn appeared sooner than the fortiethparallel permitted, it did not advance with the rapidity peculiar tolower latitudes. This was another observation--of Uncle Prudent's--anew 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, andhis eyes were level with the window. The window was not of lenticularglass like those on shipboard, but was a simple flat pane. It wassmall, and Phil Evans found his range of view was much limited.
"Break the glass," said Prudent, "and perhaps you will be able to seebetter."
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 theSiemens system--as after several blows it remained intact.
The light had now increased, and Phil Evans could see for somedistance 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, whosedisappointment 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 thethreshold. It was Robur.
"Honorable balloonists" he said, in a serious voice, "you are nowfree 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 didthey see?
Four thousand feet below them the face of a country they sought invain to recognize.