It vanished like a shadow, and the “Albatross” sped on her way to the southwest with a speed that was not felt, because it surpassed that of the chasing wind. Soon she was in Nevada over the silver regions, which the Sierra separates from the golden lands of California. “We shall certainly reach San Francisco before night.” said Phil Evans. “And then?” asked Uncle Prudent. It was six o’clock precisely when the Sierra Nevada was crossed by the same pass as that taken by the railway. Only a hundred and eighty miles then separated them from San Francisco, the Californian capital. At the speed the “Albatross” was going she would be over the dome by eight o’clock. At this moment Robur appeared on deck. The colleagues walked up to him. “Engineer Robur.” said Uncle Prudent, “we are now on the very confines of America! We think the time has come for this joke to end.” “I never joke.” said Robur. He raised his hand. The “Albatross” swiftly dropped towards the ground, and at the same time such speed was given her as to drive the prisoners into their cabin. As soon as the door was shut, Uncle Prudent exclaimed, “I could strangle him!” “We must try to escape.” said Phil Evans. “Yes; cost what it may!” A long murmur greeted their ears. It was the beating of the surf on the seashore. It was the Pacific Ocean! Chapter XI THE WIDE PACIFIC Uncle Prudent 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 aggravating matters by some premature outbreak. In any case the present was not the time to attempt anything of the sort. The aeronef was sweeping 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 ceded 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.