“Wait a little, now, Dick, and you’ll begin to feel the effect of pure air and sunshine.”
“There’s a cure for you!” said Joe; “why, it’s wonderful!”
“No, it’s merely natural.”
“Oh! natural; yes, no doubt of that!”
“I bring Dick into good air, as the doctors do, every day, in Europe, or, as I would send a patient at Martinique to the Pitons, a lofty mountain on that island, to get clear of the yellow fever.”
“Ah! by Jove, this balloon is a paradise!” exclaimed Kennedy, feeling much better already.
“It leads to it, anyhow!” replied Joe, quite gravely.
It was a curious spectacle—that mass of clouds piled up, at the moment, away below them! The vapors rolled over each other, and mingled together in confused masses of superb brilliance, as they reflected the rays of the sun. The Victoria had attained an altitude of four thousand feet, and the thermometer indicated a certain diminution of temperature. The land below could no longer be seen. Fifty miles away to the westward, Mount Rubeho raised its sparkling crest, marking the limit of the Ugogo country in east longitude thirty-six degrees twenty minutes. The wind was blowing at the rate of twenty miles an hour, but the aëronauts felt nothing of this increased speed. They observed no jar, and had scarcely any sense of motion at all.
Three hours later, the doctor’s prediction was fully verified. Kennedy no longer felt a single shiver of the fever, but partook of some breakfast with an excellent appetite.
“That beats sulphate of quinine!” said the energetic Scot, with hearty emphasis and much satisfaction.