Tom Turner was an Englishman of about forty-five, broad in the shoulders and short in the legs, a man of iron, with one of those enormous characteristic heads that Hogarth rejoiced in.
"Shall we see Mr. Robur to-day?" asked Phil Evans.
"I don't know," said Turner.
"I need not ask if he has gone out."
"Perhaps he has."
"And when will he come back?"
"When he has finished his cruise."
And Tom went into his cabin.
With this reply they had to be contented1. Matters did not look promising2, particularly as on reference to the compass it appeared that the "Albatross" was still steering3 southwest.
Great was the contrast between the barren tract4 of the Bad Lands passed over during the night and the landscape then unrolling beneath them.
The aeronef was now more than six hundred miles from Omaha, and over a country which Phil Evans could not recognize because he had never been there before. A few forts to keep the Indians in order crowned the bluffs5 with their geometric lines, formed oftener of palisades than walls. There were few villages, and few inhabitants, the country differing widely from the auriferous lands of Colorado many leagues to the south.
In the distance a long line of mountain crests6, in great confusion as yet, began to appear. They were the Rocky Mountains.
For the first time that morning Uncle Prudent7 and Phil Evans were sensible of a certain lowness of temperature which was not due to a change in the weather, for the sun shone in superb splendor8.
"It is because of the "Albatross" being higher in the air," said Phil Evans.
In fact the barometer9 outside the central deck-house had fallen 540 millimeters, thus indicating an elevation10 of about 10,000 feet above the sea. The aeronef was at this altitude owing to the elevation of the ground. An hour before she had been at a height of 13,000 feet, and behind her were mountains covered with perpetual snow.
There was nothing Uncle Prudent and his companion could remember which would lead them to discover where they were. During the night the "Albatross" had made several stretches north and south at tremendous speed, and that was what had put them out of their reckoning.
After talking over several hypotheses more or less plausible11 they came to the conclusion that this country encircled with mountains must be the district declared by an Act of Congress in March, 1872, to be the National Park of the United States. A strange region it was. It well merited the name of a park—a park with mountains for hills, with lakes for ponds, with rivers for streamlets, and with geysers of marvelous power instead of fountains.
In a few minutes the "Albatross" glided12 across the Yellowstone River, leaving Mount Stevenson on the right, and coasting the large lake which bears the name of the stream. Great was the variety on the banks of this basin, ribbed as they were with obsidian14 and tiny crystals, reflecting the sunlight on their myriad15 facets16. Wonderful was the arrangement of the islands on its surface; magnificent were the blue reflections of the gigantic mirror. And around the lake, one of the highest in the globe, were multitudes of pelicans17, swans, gulls18 and geese, bernicles and divers19. In places the steep banks were clothed with green trees, pines and larches20, and at the foot of the escarpments there shot upwards21 innumerable white fumaroles, the vapor22 escaping from the soil as from an enormous reservoir in which the water is kept in permanent ebullition by subterranean23 fire.
The cook might have seized the opportunity of securing an ample supply of trout24, the only fish the Yellowstone Lake contains in myriads25. But the "Albatross" kept on at such a height that there was no chance of indulging in a catch which assuredly would have been miraculous26.
In three quarters of an hour the lake was overpassed, and a little farther on the last was seen of the geyser region, which rivals the finest in Iceland. Leaning over the rail, Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans watched the liquid columns which leaped up as though to furnish the aeronef with a new element. There were the Fan, with the jets shot forth27 in rays, the Fortress28, which seemed to be defended by waterspouts, the Faithful Friend, with her plume29 crowned with the rainbows, the Giant,
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading