“Listen to me.” said Uncle Prudent. “It may happen during the night that the “Albatross” may drop to within a few hundred feet of the ground. Now there are on board several ropes of that length, and, with a little pluck we might slip down them—” “Yes.” said Evans. “If the case is desperate I don’t mind—” “Nor I. During the night there’s no one about except the man at the wheel. And if we can drop one of the ropes forward without being seen or heard—” “Good! I am glad to see you are so cool; that means business. But just now we are over the Caspian. There are several ships in sight. The “Albatross” is going down to fish. Cannot we do something now?” “Sh! They are watching us much more than you think.” said Uncle Prudent. “You saw that when we tried to jump into the Hydaspes.” “And who knows that they don’t watch us at night?” asked Evans. “Well, we must end this; we must finish with this “Albatross” and her master.” It will be seen how in the excitement of their anger the colleagues—Uncle Prudent in particular—were prepared to attempt the most hazardous things. The sense of their powerlessness, the ironical disdain with which Robur treated them, the brutal remarks he indulged in—all contributed towards intensifying the aggravation which daily grew more manifest. This very day something occurred which gave rise to another most regrettable altercation between Robur and his guests. This was provoked by Frycollin, who, finding himself above the boundless sea, was seized with another fit of terror. Like a child, like the Negro he was, he gave himself over to groaning and protesting and crying, and writhing in a thousand contortions and grimaces. “I want to get out! I want to get out! I am not a bird! Boohoo! I don’t want to fly, I want to get out!” Uncle Prudent, as may be imagined, did not attempt to quiet him. In fact, he encouraged him, and particularly as the incessant howling seemed to have a strangely irritating effect on Robur. When Tom Turner and his companions were getting ready for fishing, the engineer ordered them to shut up Frycollin in his cabin. But the Negro never ceased his jumping about, and began to kick at the wall and yell with redoubled power. It was noon. The “Albatross” was only about fifteen or twenty feet above the water. A few ships, terrified at the apparition, sought safety in flight. As may be guessed, a sharp look-out was kept on the prisoners, whose temptation to escape could not but be intensified. Even supposing they jumped overboard they would have been picked up by the india-rubber boat. As there was nothing to do during the fishing, in which Phil Evans intended to take part, Uncle Prudent, raging furiously as usual, retired to his cabin.