“At New Orleans,” replied Frank.
“An’ how far is that, sor?”
“About a thousand miles. We will make it in two days easy enough.”
“It is on our course, sor?”
“Yes.”
The air-ship sailed on over a mighty panorama of mountain and valley, hill and plain, lake and forest and river. Great cities alternated with little towns. It was a mighty spectacle from the air-ship’s deck.
CHAPTER III.
IN THE ANDES.
“Be me sowl, it’s a big country Ameriky is!” declared Barney, as he glanced over the rail. “Shure, it’ll take a heap av foightin’ to iver conquer her!”
“The days of national conquest are over, I guess,” said Frank. “At least I hope so. That is a custom relegated to the dark ages.”
“Hard luck fer ould Oireland,” declared the Celt; “shure av it was to-day she was free, England wud niver conquer her thin.”