Over the coast it passed and into the interior of Colombia. The scenery was grand, and of the typical sort peculiar to South America.
And still the Spectre kept on until great dreamy-looking peaks rose from the western horizon.
“The Andes!”
All crowded to the rail, and with thrilling veins regarded the range of wonderful mountains, in fact, the most wonderful in the world.
The Andes of Peru upon the eastern slope are peculiarly rough and picturesque.
It was in these mighty fastnesses that the ancient Incas had built their temples and held their own in battle with the lawless Spaniard, until their wealth, their glory and their prestige was forever lost to them.
Mighty Sarata with its altitude of 21,286 feet, gigantic Illimani with its 21,000 feet, the great volcano of Guallatieri with 22,000 feet, Titicaca, Vilcanata, Misti and all the monarchs of that awful aggregation of peaks, than which the world has no superior, were all about the air-ship.
Gliding from one fleecy cloud to another, the jagged heights in their solemn grandeur were visible only at intervals. Captain Beere could hardly contain himself.
“By the horn spoon!” he cried. “When you can find anything to equal this, I’ll like to know where it can be. Is it not powerful, mates?”
“Indeed it is!” replied Frank.