"Then," said Jerrold, "we'll pull out at once. You start first, Matt, and we'll follow."
"I'll ride mit my bards," said Carl, "und Harris can come mit you, Misder Jerrold."
The ropes were cast off and Matt manœuvred the Hawk upward and out above the lake. When they had got a good "offing," as Ferral described it, those in the car could look back and see the dark, weird shape of the Eagle flinging itself upward against the lighter background of sky.
What little wind there had been, during the day, had gone down with the sun, and perfect silence, save for the lapping of the waves, reigned on every hand.
The Eagle soon overhauled the Hawk, and side by side the two air ships made toward the Illinois shore.
Could anyone in a boat have seen the air ships, the sight presented would have been strangely exciting. The spectacle would have been prophetic, too, of man's coming command of an element heretofore out of his reach.
As time passed, the moon arose as if out of the water, and a scene of weird beauty unrolled to those aboard the Hawk and the Eagle.
"I vould radder be a sailor oof der air dan oof der sea," remarked Carl, breaking a silence during which all hands had been enjoying their novel surroundings.
"Why so, Carl?" came across from the Eagle, in the voice of Harris.
"Pecause," said Carl, "you got four vays to go insteadt oof two. In a sea ship, you don't vas aple to go oop und town."