“Very well.”
They finally turned in and passed a peaceful night, and on the following day Zamora posted himself at the window and gazed out.
After a brief survey of the landscape below, he cried:
“Steer to the eastward, Mr. Reade.”
Frank changed the angle of the steering plane, and the airship turned to port, and sped along on a beam wind.
Below them laid the coast, and the storm was gone.
Not a sail was in view on the Gulf, but some leagues away the village of Santa Anna was to be seen.
There were some reefs and keys lying off the shore, on which the sea was breaking, and a few sea gulls skimmed through the sky beneath the Jove.
Every few minutes schools of flying fish rose from the water, fluttered their gauzy, gleaming wings, shot across a distance of a few yards, and plunged into the water again.
Here and there a few sparse palms sent their gaunt forms towering skyward from the midst of arid open places, dense jungles and huge swamps.