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, Uncle
Prudent, Phil Evans, and Frycollin were anything but pleased with
their position. Knowing not who had seized them, nor in what they had
been thrown like parcels in a goods wagon, nor where they were, nor
what was reserved for them--it was enough to exasperate even the
most patient of the ovine race, and we know that the members of the
Weldon Institute were not precisely sheep as far as patience went.
With his violence of character we can easily imagine how Uncle
Prudent felt. One thing was evident, that Phil Evans and he would
find it difficult to attend the club next evening.
As to Frycollin, with his eyes shut and his mouth closed, it was
impossible for him to think of anything. He was more dead than alive.
For an hour the position of the prisoners remained unchanged. No one
came to visit, them, or to give them that liberty of movement and
speech of which they lay in such need. They were reduced to stifled
sighs, to grunts emitted over and under their gags, to everything
that betrayed anger kept dumb and fury imprisoned, or rather bound
down. Then after many fruitless efforts they remained for some time
as though lifeless. Then as the sense of sight was denied them they
tried by their sense of hearing to obtain some indication of the
nature of this disquieting state of things. But in vain did they seek
for any other sound than an interminable and inexplicable f-r-r-r
which 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 little
the knot slipped, his fingers slipped over each other, and his hands
regained their usual freedom.
A vigorous rubbing restored the circulation. A moment after he had
slipped off the bandage which bound his eyes, taken the gag out of
his mouth, and cut the cords round his ankles with his knife. An
American who has not a bowie-knife in his pocket is no longer an
American.
But if Phil Evans had regained the power of moving and speaking, that
was all. His eyes were useless to him--at present at any rate. The
prison was quite dark, though about six feet above him a feeble gleam
of light came in through a kind of loophole.
As may be imagined, Phil Evans did not hesitate to at once set free
his rival. A few cuts with the bowie settled the knots which bound
him foot and hand.
Immediately Uncle Prudent rose to his knees and snatched away his
bandage and gag.
"Thanks," said he, in stifled voice.
"Phil Evans?"
"Uncle Prudent?"
"Here we are no longer the president and secretary of the Weldon
Institute. We are adversaries no more."
"You are right," answered Evans. "We are now only two men agreed to
avenge 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 there
was no fear of dispute.
"And your servant?" said Phil Evans, pointing to Frycollin, who was
puffing like a grampus. "We must set him free."
"Not yet," said Uncle Prudent. "He would overwhelm us with his
jeremiads, 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 an
ordinary thief would have relieved them of their watches, jewelry,
and purses, and thrown their bodies into the Schuyllkill with a good
gash in their throats instead of throwing them to the bottom of--Of
what? That was a serious question, which would have to be answered
before attempting an escape with any chance of success.
"Phil Evans," began Uncle Prudent, "if, when we came away from our
meeting, instead of indulging in amenities to which we need not
recur, we had kept our eyes more open, this would not have happened.
Had we remained in the streets of Philadelphia there would have been
none 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 left
Walnut Street these fellows must have watched us and followed us, and
when we imprudently ventured into Fairmount Park they went in for
their 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 clearing
and the moment we were thrown in here only two minutes elapsed. It is
thus 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, perhaps
some of those long prairie wagons, or some show-caravan --"
"Evidently! For if we were in a boat moored on the Schuyllkill we
should have noticed the movement due to the current --"
"That is so; and as we are still in the clearing, I think that now is
the time to get away, and we can return later to settle with this
Robur --"
"And make him pay for this attempt on the liberty of two citizens of
the United States."
"And he shall pay pretty dearly!"
"But who is this man? Where does he come from? Is he English, or
German, or French --"
"He is a scoundrel, that is enough!" said Uncle Prudent. "Now to
work." And then the two men, with their hands stretched out and their
fingers wide apart, began to feel round the walls to find a joint or
crack.
Nothing. Nothing; not even at the door. It was closely shut and it
was impossible to shoot back the lock. All that could be done was to
make a hole, and escape through the hole. It remained to be seen if
the knives could cut into the walls.
"But whence comes this never-ending rustling?" asked Evans, who was
much 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 the
wall near the door. Perhaps he might make a hole which would enable
him to open it from the outside should it be only bolted or should
the 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, and
transform 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." Uncle
Prudent, in a sudden outburst of fury, began to rave and stamp on the
sonorous planks, while his hands sought to strangle an imaginary
Robur.
"Be calm, Prudent, he calm! You have a try."
Uncle Prudent had a try, but the bowie-knife could do nothing against
a wall which its best blades could not even scratch. The wall seemed
to be made of crystal.
So it became evident that all flight was impracticable except through
the door, and for a time they must resign themselves to their fate--
not a very pleasant thing for the Yankee temperament, and very much
to the disgust of these eminently practical men. But this conclusion
was not arrived at without many objurgations and loud-sounding
phrases hurled at this Robur--who, from what had been seen of him at
the Weldon Institute, was not the sort of man to trouble himself much
about them.
Suddenly Frycollin began to give unequivocal signs of being unwell.
He began to writhe in a most lamentable fashion, either with cramp in
his stomach or in his limbs; and Uncle Prudent, thinking it his duty
to put an end to these gymnastics, cut the cords that bound him.
He had cause to be sorry for it. Immediately there was poured forth
an interminable litany, in which the terrors of fear were mingled
with the tortures of hunger. Frycollin was no worse in his brain than
in his stomach, and it would have been difficult to decide to which
organ the chief cause of the trouble should be assigned.
"Frycollin!" said Uncle Prudent.
"Master Uncle! Master Uncle!" answered the Negro between two of his
lugubrious 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 availed
ourselves 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 had
better 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 more
precious than his own, he contented himself thenceforth with groaning
in quiet.
The time went on and all attempts to force the door or get through
the wall proved fruitless. What the wall was made of was impossible
to say. It was not metal; it was not wood; it was not stone, And all
the cell seemed to be made of the same stuff. When they stamped on
the floor it gave a peculiar sound that Uncle Prudent found it
difficult to describe; the floor seemed to sound hollow, as if it was
not resting directly on the ground of the clearing. And the
inexplicable f-r-r-r-r seemed to sweep along below it. All of which
was 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 fresh
fragrance of the grass and the resinous odor of the park trees. While
now, when I take in a good sniff of the air, it seems as though all
that had gone."
"So it has."
"Why?"
"We cannot say why unless we admit that the prison has moved; and I
say again that if the prison had moved, either as a vehicle on the
road or a boat on the stream, we should have felt it."
Here Frycollin gave vent to a long groan, which might have been taken
for his last had he not followed it up with several more.
"I expect Robur will soon have us brought before him," said Phil
Evans.
"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. It
ought thus to be about four o'clock in the morning for it is at that
hour in the month of June in this latitude that the horizon of
Philadelphia is tinged by the first rays of the dawn.
But when Uncle Prudent sounded his repeater--which was a masterpiece
from his colleague's factory--the tiny gong only gave a quarter to
three, and the watch had not stopped.
"That is strange!" said Phil Evans. "At a quarter to three it ought
still 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 was
breaking. Gradually the window became white in the deep darkness of
the cell. However, if the dawn appeared sooner than the fortieth
parallel permitted, it did not advance with the rapidity peculiar to
lower latitudes. This was another observation--of Uncle Prudent's -
a new 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, and
his eyes were level with the window. The window was not of lenticular
glass like those on shipboard, but was a simple flat pane. It was
small, and Phil Evans found his range of view was much limited.
"Break the glass," said Prudent, "and perhaps you will be able to see
better."
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 the
Siemens system--as after several blows it remained intact.
The light had now increased, and Phil Evans could see for some
distance 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, whose
disappointment 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 the
threshold. It was Robur.
"Honorable balloonists" he said, in a serious voice, "you are now
free 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 did
they see?
Four thousand feet below them the face of a country they sought in
vain to recognize.
