by Jules Verne
Chapter V
ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE
This was not the first occasion on which, at the end of their stormydiscussions, the members of the Weldon Institute had filled WalnutStreet and its neighborhood with their tumult. Several times had theinhabitants complained of the noisy way in which the proceedingsended, and more than once had the policemen had to interfere to clearthe thoroughfare for the passersby, who for the most part weresupremely indifferent on the question of aerial navigation. But neverbefore had the tumult attained such proportions, never had thecomplaints been better founded, never had the intervention of thepolice been more necessary.
But there was some excuse for the members of the Weldon Institute.They had been attacked in their own house. To these enthusiasts for"lighter than air" a no less enthusiast for "heavier than air" hadsaid things absolutely abhorrent. And at the moment they were aboutto treat him as he deserved, he had disappeared.
So they cried aloud for vengeance. To leave such insults unpunishedwas impossible to all with American blood in their veins. Had not thesons of Amerigo been called the sons of Cabot? Was not that an insultas unpardonable as it happened to be just--historically?
The members of the club in several groups rushed down Walnut Street,then into the adjoining streets, and then all over the neighborhood.They woke up the householders; they compelled them to search theirhouses, prepared to indemnify them later on for the outrage on theirprivacy. Vain were all their trouble and searching. Robur was nowhereto be found; there was no trace of him. He might have gone off in the"Go-Ahead," the balloon of the Institute, for all they could tell.After an hour's hunt the members had to give in and separate, notbefore they had agreed to extend their search over the wholeterritory of the twin Americas that form the new continent.
By eleven o'clock quiet had been restored in the neighborhood ofWalnut Street. Philadelphia was able to sink again into that soundsleep which is the privilege of non-manufacturing towns. Thedifferent members of the club parted to seek their respective houses.To mention the most distinguished amongst them, William T. Forbessought his large sugar establishment, where Miss Doll and Miss Mathad prepared for him his evening tea, sweetened with his own glucose.Truck Milnor took the road to his factory in the distant suburb,where the engines worked day and night. Treasurer Jim Chip, publiclyaccused of possessing an alimentary canal twelve inches longer thanthat of other men, returned to the vegetable soup that was waitingfor him.
Two of the most important balloonists--two only--did not seem tothink of returning so soon to their domicile. They availed themselvesof the opportunity to discuss the question with more than usualacrimony. These were the irreconcilables, Uncle Prudent and PhilEvans, the president and secretary of the Weldon Institute.
At the door of the club the valet Frycollin waited for Uncle Prudent,his master, and at last he went after him, though he cared but littlefor the subject which had set the two colleagues at loggerheads.
It is only an euphemism that the verb "discuss" can be used toexpress the way in which the duet between the president and secretarywas being performed. As a matter of fact they were in full wranglewith an energy born of their old rivalry.
"No, Sir, no," said Phil Evans. "If I had had the honor of beingpresident of the Weldon Institute, there never, no, never, would havebeen such a scandal."
"And what would you have done, if you had had the honor?" demandedUncle Prudent.
"I would have stopped the insulter before he had opened his mouth."
"It seems to me it would have been impossible to stop him until hehad opened his mouth," replied Uncle Prudent.
"Not in America, Sir; not in America."
And exchanging such observations, increasing in bitterness as theywent, they walked on through the streets farther and farther fromtheir homes, until they reached a part of the city whence they had togo a long way round to get back.
Frycollin followed, by no means at ease to see his master plunginginto such deserted spots. He did not like deserted spots,particularly after midnight. In fact the darkness was profound, andthe moon was only a thin crescent just beginning its monthly life.Frycollin kept a lookout to the left and right of him to see if hewas followed. And he fancied he could see five or six hulking followsdogging his footsteps. Instinctively he drew nearer to his master,but not for the world would he have dared to break in on theconversation of which the fragments reached him.
In short it so chanced that the president and secretary of the WeldonInstitute found themselves on the road to Fairmount Park. In the fullheat of their dispute they crossed the Schuyllkill river by thefamous iron bridge. They met only a few belated wayfarers, andpressed on across a wide open tract where the immense prairie wasbroken every now and then by the patches of thick woodland--whichmake the park different to any other in the world.
There Frycollin's terror became acute, particularly as he saw thefive or six shadows gliding after him across the Schuyllkill bridge.The pupils of his eyes broadened out to the circumference of hisiris, and his limbs seemed to diminish as if endowed with thecontractility peculiar to the mollusca and certain of the articulate;for Frycollin, the valet, was an egregious coward.
He was a pure South Carolina Negro, with the head of a fool and thecarcass of an imbecile. Being only one and twenty, he had never beena slave, not even by birth, but that made no difference to him.Grinning and greedy and idle, and a magnificent poltroon, he had beenthe servant of Uncle Prudent for about three years. Over and overagain had his master threatened to kick him out, but had kept him onfor fear of doing worse. With a master ever ready to venture on themost audacious enterprises, Frycollin's cowardice had brought himmany arduous trials. But he had some compensation. Very little hadbeen said about his gluttony, and still less about his laziness.
Ah, Valet Frycollin, if you could only have read the future! Why, ohwhy, Frycollin, did you not remain at Boston with the Sneffels, andnot have given them up when they talked of going to Switzerland? Wasnot that a much more suitable place for you than this of UnclePrudent's, where danger was daily welcomed?
But here he was, and his master had become used to his faults. He hadone advantage, and that was a consideration. Although he was a Negroby birth he did not speak like a Negro, and nothing is so irritatingas that hateful jargon in which all the pronouns are possessive andall the verbs infinitive. Let it be understood, then, that Frycollinwas a thorough coward.
And now it was midnight, and the pale crescent of the moon began tosink in the west behind the trees in the park. The rays streamingfitfully through the branches made the shadows darker than ever.Frycollin looked around him anxiously. "Brrr!" he said, "There arethose fellows there all the time. Positively they are getting nearer!Master Uncle!" he shouted.
It was thus he called the president of the Weldon Institute, and thusdid the president desire to be called.
At the moment the dispute of the rivals had reached its maximum, andas they hurled their epithets at each other they walked faster andfaster, and drew farther and farther away from the Schuyllkillbridge. They had reached the center of a wide clump of trees, whosesummits were just tipped by the parting rays of the moon. Beyond thetrees was a very large clearing--an oval field, a completeamphitheater. Not a hillock was there to hinder the gallop of thehorses, not a bush to stop the view of the spectators.
And if Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans had not been so deep in theirdispute, and had used their eyes as they were accustomed to, theywould have found the clearing was not in its usual state. Was it aflour mill that had anchored on it during the night? It looked likeit, with its wings and sails--motionless and mysterious in thegathering gloom.
But neither the president nor the secretary of the Weldon Institutenoticed the strange modification in the landscape of Fairmount Park;and neither did Frycollin. It seemed to him that the thieves wereapproaching, and preparing for their attack; and he was seized withconvulsive fear, paralyzed in his limbs, with every hair he couldboast of on the bristle. His terror was ex
treme. His knees bent underhim, but he had just strength enough to exclaim for the last time,"Master Uncle! Master Uncle!"
"What is the matter with you?" asked Uncle Prudent.
Perhaps the disputants would not have been sorry to have relievedtheir fury at the expense of the unfortunate valet. But they had notime; and neither even had he time to answer.
A whistle was heard. A flash of electric light shot across theclearing.
A signal, doubtless? The moment had come for the deed of violence. Inless time that it takes to tell, six men came leaping across fromunder the trees, two onto Uncle Prudent, two onto Phil Evans, twoonto Frycollin--there was no need for the last two, for the Negrowas incapable of defending himself. The president and secretary ofthe Weldon Institute, although taken by surprise, would have resisted.
They had neither time nor strength to do so. In a second they wererendered speechless by a gag, blind by a bandage, thrown down,pinioned and carried bodily off across the clearing. What could theythink except that they had fallen into the hands of people whointended to rob them? The people did nothing of the sort, however.They did not even touch Uncle Prudent's pockets, although, accordingto his custom, they were full of paper dollars.
Within a minute of the attack, without a word being passed, UnclePrudent, Phil Evans, and Frycollin felt themselves laid gently down,not on the grass, but on a sort of plank that creaked beneath them.They were laid down side by side.
A door was shut; and the grating of a bolt in a staple told them thatthey were prisoners.
Then there came a continuous buzzing, a quivering, a frrrr, with therrr unending.
And that was the only sound that broke the quiet of the night.
Great was the excitement next morning in Philadelphia Very early wasit known what had passed at the meeting of the Institute. Everyoneknew of the appearance of the mysterious engineer named Robur--Roburthe Conqueror--and the tumult among the balloonists, and hisinexplicable disappearance. But it was quite another thing when allthe town heard that the president and secretary of the club had alsodisappeared during the night.
Long and keen was the search in the city and neighborhood! Useless!The newspapers of Philadelphia, the newspapers of Pennsylvania, thenewspapers of the United States reported the facts and explained themin a hundred ways, not one of which was the right one. Heavy rewardswere offered, and placards were pasted up, but all to no purpose. Theearth seemed to have opened and bodily swallowed the president andsecretary of the Weldon Institute.