The Château Vasilovich.
“How long do you think we have been flying over this sea of cloud, Professor?” demanded Mildmay, as the party turned to leave the pilot-house.
“I am ashamed to say that I cannot reply to that question,” answered the professor. “The fact is,” he continued, “that I have been so busily thinking about our adventure of to-night, and endeavouring to arrange for every possible contingency, that I failed to notice when we first encountered the cloud. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I heard you tell Sir Reginald, when you came down into the dining-saloon a little while ago, that, according to your reckoning, we ought to be somewhere off the mouth of the Humber. Now, don’t you think it would be a good plan for us to dip below this cloud-bank for a minute or two, just to verify our position?”
“Certainly; we will do so, if you wish,” answered the professor, with the utmost readiness. And therewith he manipulated a lever and a valve, and turned to the ladies, who were now in the act of descending the pilot-house staircase.
“If you care to wait a minute or two, ladies,” said he, “you will have an opportunity to go out on deck and take a look round, while the Captain, here, is making his observations. I have stopped the engines, so that there will be no danger of your being blown overboard; and we are now sinking rapidly, so that presently we shall be low enough to enable you to breathe without difficulty.”
Even as von Schalckenberg spoke it became evident that the Flying Fish was descending, for she now plunged suddenly into the very heart of the sea of cloud, where she was in a moment enveloped in a dense mist through which nothing could be seen, not even the two ends of the promenade deck. For nearly a minute the airship remained wrapped in the fleecy whiteness of the cloud stratum, then she emerged as suddenly as she had plunged into it. At the same moment the professor manipulated another valve, intently watching the barometer-tube meanwhile; and presently it became apparent that the descending movement had ceased, and that the Flying Fish was hanging suspended in mid-air, about a thousand feet below the vast cloud-veil that now obscured the heavens.
“Now,” he remarked, as he joined the party, who were standing at the foot of the pilot-house staircase, “we may venture outside; we are only three thousand feet above the sea-level, and the ship is almost motionless. Permit me.”
So saying, the professor threw open the door giving egress to the deck, and the whole party passed outside into the raw, nipping morning air.
With one consent the whole party made straight for the rail, and looked downward, past the bulging sides of the ship, until their gaze rested upon the grey sea below, the sight of which proved that the professor’s calculations could not be very far wrong. The first glance at the far-spreading sheet of water at which they were gazing sufficed to show that, thus far, the calm of the preceding night still continued unbroken, for the surface was as smooth and lustrous as that of plate-glass, save where, here and there, a steamer or two—dwindled to the dimensions of toys—ploughed up a ripple on either bow that swept away astern, diverging as it went, until it gradually faded and was lost a mile away. In addition to the steamers, there were perhaps a dozen sailing craft—colliers and fishing-smacks, mostly—in sight, the wrinkling canvas of which, as they rolled gently upon the invisible swell, with their bows pointing all round the compass, afforded further confirmation, if such were needed, of the absolute stillness of the atmosphere.