Uncle Prudent made a gesture of disappointment. “We shall have to put out the match,” said he.
“No,” said Phil Evans, “we must escape!”
“Escape?”
“Yes! down the cable! Fifty yards is nothing!”
“Nothing, of course, Phil Evans, and we should be fools not to take the chance now it has come.”
But first they went back to the cabin and took away all they could carry, with a view to a more or less prolonged stay on the Chatham Islands. Then they shut the door and noiselessly crept forward, intending to wake Frycollin and take him with them.
The darkness was intense. The clouds were racing up from the southwest, and the aeronef was tugging at her anchor and thus throwing the cable more and more out of the vertical. There would be no difficulty in slipping down it.
The colleagues made their way along the deck, stopping in the shadow of the deckhouses to listen if there was any sound. The silence was unbroken. No light shone from the portholes. The aeronef was not only silent; she was asleep.
Uncle Prudent was close to Frycollin’s cabin when Phil Evans stopped him. “The lookout!” he said.
A man was crouching near the deckhouse. He was only half asleep. All flight would be impossible if he were to give the alarm. Close by were a few ropes, and pieces of rag and waste used in the work at the screw.
An instant afterwards the man was gagged and blindfolded and lashed to the rail unable to utter a sound or move an inch. This was done almost without a whisper.
Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans listened. All was silent within the cabins. Everyone on board was asleep. They reached Frycollin’s cabin. Tapage was snoring away in a style worthy of his name, and that promised well.
To his great surprise, Uncle Prudent had not even to push Frycollin’s door. It was open. He stepped into the doorway and looked round. “Nobody here!” he said.
“Nobody! Where can he be?” asked Phil Evans.
They went into the bow, thinking Frycollin might perhaps be asleep in the corner. Still they found nobody.
“Has the fellow got the start of us?” asked Uncle Prudent.
“Whether he has or not,” said Phil Evans, “we can’t wait any longer. Down you go.”
Without hesitation the fugitives one after the other clambered over the side and, seizing the cable with hands and feet slipped down it safe and sound to the ground.
Think of their joy at again treading the earth they had lost for so long—at walking on solid ground and being no longer the playthings of the atmosphere!
They were starting up the creek to the interior of the island when suddenly a form rose in front of them. It was Frycollin. The Negro had had the same idea as his master and the audacity to start without telling him. But there was no time for recriminations, and Uncle Prudent was in search of a refuge in some distant part of the island when Phil Evans stopped him.
“Uncle Prudent,” said he. “Here we are safe from Robur. He is doomed like his companions to a terrible death. He deserves it, we know. But if he would swear on his honor not to take us prisoners again—”
“The honor of such a man—”
Uncle Prudent did not finish his sentence.
There was a noise on the Albatross. Evidently, the alarm had been given. The escape was discovered.
“Help! Help!” shouted somebody. It was the lookout man, who had got rid of his gag. Hurried footsteps were heard on deck. Almost immediately the electric lamps shot beams over a large circle.
“There they are! There they are!” shouted Tom Turner. The fugitives were seen.
At the same instant an order was given by Robur, and the suspensory screws being slowed, the cable was hauled in on board, and the Albatross sank towards the ground.
At this moment the voice of Phil Evans was heard shouting, “Engineer Robur, will you give us your word of honor to leave us free on this island?”
“Never!” said Robur. And the reply was followed by the report of a gun, and the bullet grazed Phil’s shoulder.
“Ah! The brutes!” said Uncle Prudent. Knife in hand, he rushed towards the rocks where the anchor had fixed itself. The aeronef was not more than fifty feet from the ground.
In a few seconds the cable was cut, and the breeze, which had increased considerably, striking the Albatross on the quarter, carried her out over the sea.
XX
The Wreck of the Albatross
It was then twenty minutes after midnight. Five or six shots had been fired from the aeronef. Uncle Prudent and Frycollin, supporting Phil Evans, had taken shelter among the rocks. They had not been hit. For the moment there was nothing to fear.
As the Albatross drifted off from Pitt Island she rose obliquely to nearly three thousand feet. It was necessary to increase the ascensional power to prevent her falling into the sea.
When the lookout man had got clear of his gag and shouted, Robur and Tom Turner had rushed up to him and torn off his bandage. The mate had then run back to the stern cabin. It was empty! Tapage had searched Frycollin’s cabin, and that also was empty.
When he saw that the prisoners had escaped, Robur was seized with a paroxysm of anger. The escape meant the revelation of his secret to the world. He had not been much concerned at the document thrown overboard while they were crossing Europe, for there were so many chances that it would be lost in its fall; but now!
As he grew calm, “They have escaped,” said he. “Be it so! But they cannot get away from Pitt Island, and in a day or so I will go back! I will recapture them! And then—”
In fact, the safety of the three fugitives was by no means assured. The Albatross would be repaired, and return well in hand. Before the day was out they
