Uncle Prudent¹ and Phil Evans had quite made up their minds to escape. If they had not had to deal with the eight particularly vigorous men who composed the crew of the aeronef they might have tried to succeed by main force. But as they were only two—for Frycollin could only be considered as a quantity of no importance—force was not to be thought of. Hence recourse must be had to strategy as soon as the "Albatross" again took the ground. Such was what Phil Evans endeavored to impress on his irascible colleague, though he was in constant fear of Prudent aggravating² matters by some premature³ outbreak.  
In any case the present was not the time to attempt anything of the sort. The aeronef was sweeping⁴ along over the North Pacific. On the following morning, that of June 16th, the coast was out of sight. And as the coast curves off from Vancouver Island up to the Aleutians—belonging to that portion of America ceded⁵ by Russia to the United States in 1867—it was highly probable that the "Albatross" would cross it at the end of the curve, if her course remained unchanged.
 
How long the night appeared to be to the two friends! How eager they were to get out of their cabins! When they came on deck in the morning the dawn had for some hours been silvering the eastern horizon. They were nearing the June solstice, the longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere, when there is hardly any night along the sixtieth parallel.
 
Either from custom or intention Robur was in no hurry to leave his deck-house, When he came out this morning be contented⁶ himself with bowing to his two guests as he passed them in the stern of the aeronef.
 
And now Frycollin ventured out of his cabin. His eyes red with sleeplessness⁷, and dazed in their look, he tottered⁸ along, like a man whose foot feels it is not on solid ground. His first glance was at the suspensory screws, which were working with gratifying regularity⁹ without any signs of haste. That done, the Negro stumbled along to the rail, and grasped it with both hands, so as to make sure of his balance. Evidently he wished to view the country over which the "Albatross" was flying at the height of seven hundred feet or more.
 
At first he kept himself well back behind the rail. Then he shook it to make sure it was firm; then he drew himself up; then he bent¹⁰ forward; then he stretched out his head. It need not be said that while he was executing these different maneuvers¹¹ he kept his eyes shut. At last he opened them.
 
What a shout! And how quickly he fled! And how deeply his head sank back into his shoulders! At the bottom of the abyss he had seen the immense ocean. His hair would have risen on end—if it had not been wool.
 
"The sea! The sea!" he cried. And Frycollin would have fallen on the deck had not the cook opened his arms to receive him.
 
This cook was a Frenchman, and probably a Gascon, his name being Francois Tapage. If he was not a Gascon he must in his infancy¹² have inhaled¹³ the breezes of the Garonne. How did this Francois Tapage find himself in the service of the engineer? By what chain of accidents had he become one of the crew of the "Albatross?" We can hardly say; but in any case be spoke¹⁴ English like a Yankee. "Eh, stand up!" he said, lifting the Negro by a vigorous clutch at the waist.
 
"Master Tapage!" said the poor fellow, giving a despairing look at the screws.
 
"At your service, Frycollin."
 
"Did this thing ever smash?"
 
"No, but it will end by smashing."
 
"Why? Why?"
 
"Because everything must end.
 
"And the sea is beneath us!"
 
"If we are to fall, it is better to fall in the sea."
 
"We shall be drowned."
 
"We shall be drowned, but we shall not be smashed to a jelly."
 
The next moment Frycollin was on all fours, creeping to the back of his cabin.
 
During this day the aeronef was only driven at moderate speed. She seemed to skim the placid¹⁵ surface of the sea, which lay beneath. Uncle Prudent and his companion remained in their cabin, so that they did not meet with Robur, who walked about smoking alone or talking to the mate. Only half the screws were working, yet that was enough to keep the apparatus¹⁶ afloat in the lower zones of the atmosphere.
 
The crew, as a change from the ordinary routine, would have endeavored to catch a few fish had there been any sign of them; but all that could be seen on the surface of the sea were a few of those yellow-bellied whales which measure about eighty feet in length. These are the most formidable cetaceans in the northern seas, and whalers are very careful in attacking them, for their strength is prodigious¹⁷. However, in harpooning¹⁸ one of these whales, either with the ordinary harpoon¹⁹, the Fletcher fuse, or the javelin-bomb, of which there was an assortment²⁰ on board, there would have been danger to the men of the "Albatross."
 
But what was the good of such useless massacre²¹? Doubtless to show off the powers of the aeronef to the members of the Weldon Institute. And so Robur gave orders for the capture of one of these monstrous²² cetaceans.
 
At the shout of "A whale! A whale!" Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans came out of their cabin. Perhaps there was a whaler in sight! In that case all they had to do to escape from their flying prison was to jump into the sea, and chance being picked up by the vessel²³.
 
The crew were all on deck. "Shall we try, sir?" asked Tom Turner.
 
"Yes," said Robur.
 
In the engine-room the engineer and his assistant were at their posts ready to obey the orders signaled to them. The "Albatross" dropped towards the sea, and remained, about fifty feet above it.
 
There was no ship in sight—of that the two colleagues soon assured themselves—nor was there any land to be seen to which they could swim, providing Robur made no attempt to recapture them.
 
Several jets of water from the spout²⁴ holes soon announced the presence of the whales as they came to the surface to breathe. Tom Turner and one of the men were in the bow. Within his reach was one of those javelin-bombs, of Californian make, which are shot from an arquebus and which are shaped as a metallic²⁵ cylinder²⁶ terminated by a cylindrical²⁷ shell armed with a shaft²⁸ having a barbed point. Robur was a little farther aft, and with his right hand signaled to the engineers, while with his left, he directed the steersman. He thus controlled the aeronef in every way, horizontally and vertically²⁹, and it is almost impossible to conceive with what speed and precision the "Albatross" answered to his orders. She seemed a living being, of which he was the soul.
 
"A whale! A whale!" shouted Tom Turner, as the back of a cetacean emerged from the surface about four cable-lengths in front of the "Albatross."
 
The "Albatross" swept towards it, and when she was within sixty feet of it she stopped dead.
 
Tom Turner seized the arquebus, which was resting against a cleat on the rail. He fired, and the projectile³⁰, attached to a long line, entered the whale's body. The shell, filled with an explosive compound, burst, and shot out a small harpoon with two branches, which fastened into the animal's flesh.
 
"Look out!" shouted Turner.
&............