VERNANIA: The Celebrated Works of Jules Verne in One Edition. Жюль Верн
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empty bottles, and a case that had contained preserved-meat—and thereby managed to keep the balloon in a belt of the atmosphere more favorable to his plans. At four o’clock in the morning the first rays of the sun lighted up Sego, the capital of Bambarra, which could be recognized at once by the four towns that compose it, by its Saracenic mosques, and by the incessant going and coming of the flat-bottomed boats that convey its inhabitants from one quarter to the other. But the travellers were not more seen than they saw. They sped rapidly and directly to the northwest, and the doctor’s anxiety gradually subsided.
“Two more days in this direction, and at this rate of speed, and we’ll reach the Senegal River.”
“And we’ll be in a friendly country?” asked the hunter.
“Not altogether; but, if the worst came to the worst, and the balloon were to fail us, we might make our way to the French settlements. But, let it hold out only for a few hundred miles, and we shall arrive without fatigue, alarm, or danger, at the western coast.”
“And the thing will be over!” added Joe. “Heigh-ho! so much the worse. If it wasn’t for the pleasure of telling about it, I would never want to set foot on the ground again! Do you think anybody will believe our story, doctor?”
“Who can tell, Joe? One thing, however, will be undeniable: a thousand witnesses saw us start on one side of the African Continent, and a thousand more will see us arrive on the other.”
“And, in that case, it seems to me that it would be hard to say that we had not crossed it,” added Kennedy.
“Ah, doctor!” said Joe again, with a deep sigh, “I’ll think more than once of my lumps of solid gold-ore! There was something that would have given WEIGHT to our narrative! At a grain of gold per head, I could have got together a nice crowd to listen to me, and even to admire me!”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIRST.
The Approaches to Senegal.—The Balloon sinks lower and lower.—They keep throwing out, throwing out.—The Marabout Al-Hadji.—Messrs. Pascal, Vincent, and Lambert.—A Rival of Mohammed.—The Difficult Mountains.—Kennedy’s Weapons.—One of Joe’s Manoeuvres.—A Halt over a Forest.
On the 27th of May, at nine o’clock in the morning, the country presented an entirely different aspect. The slopes, extending far away, changed to hills that gave evidence of mountains soon to follow. They would have to cross the chain which separates the basin of the Niger from the basin of the Senegal, and determines the course of the watershed, whether to the Gulf of Guinea on the one hand, or to the bay of Cape Verde on the other.
As far as Senegal, this part of Africa is marked down as dangerous. Dr. Ferguson knew it through the recitals of his predecessors. They had suffered a thousand privations and been exposed to a thousand dangers in the midst of these barbarous negro tribes. It was this fatal climate that had devoured most of the companions of Mungo Park. Ferguson, therefore, was more than ever decided not to set foot in this inhospitable region.
But he had not enjoyed one moment of repose. The Victoria was descending very perceptibly, so much so that he had to throw overboard a number more of useless articles, especially when there was a mountain-top to pass. Things went on thus for more than one hundred and twenty miles; they were worn out with ascending and falling again; the balloon, like another rock of Sisyphus, kept continually sinking back toward the ground. The rotundity of the covering, which was now but little inflated, was collapsing already. It assumed an elongated shape, and the wind hollowed large cavities in the silken surface.
Kennedy could not help observing this.
“Is there a crack or a tear in the balloon?” he asked.
“No, but the gutta percha has evidently softened or melted in the heat, and the hydrogen is escaping through the silk.”
“How can we prevent that?”
“It is impossible. Let us lighten her. That is the only help. So let us throw out every thing we can spare.”
“But what shall it be?” said the hunter, looking at the car, which was already quite bare.
“Well, let us get rid of the awning, for its weight is quite considerable.”
Joe, who was interested in this order, climbed up on the circle which kept together the cordage of the network, and from that place easily managed to detach the heavy curtains of the awning and throw them overboard.
“There’s something that will gladden the hearts of a whole tribe of blacks,” said he; “there’s enough to dress a thousand of them, for they’re not very extravagant with cloth.”
The balloon had risen a little, but it soon became evident that it was again approaching the ground.
“Let us alight,” suggested Kennedy, “and see what can be done with the covering of the balloon.”
“I tell you, again, Dick, that we have no means of repairing it.”
“Then what shall we do?”
“We’ll have to sacrifice every thing not absolutely indispensable; I am anxious, at all hazards, to avoid a detention in these regions. The forests over the tops of which we are skimming are any thing but safe.”
“What! are there lions in them, or hyenas?” asked Joe, with an expression of sovereign contempt.
“Worse than that, my boy! There are men, and some of the most cruel, too, in all Africa.”
“How is that known?”
“By the statements of travellers who have been here before us. Then the French settlers, who occupy the colony of Senegal, necessarily have relations with the surrounding tribes. Under the administration of Colonel Faidherbe, reconnoissances have been pushed far up into the country. Officers such as Messrs. Pascal, Vincent, and Lambert, have brought back precious documents from their expeditions. They have explored these countries formed by the elbow of the Senegal in places where war and pillage have left nothing but ruins.”
“What, then, took place?”
“I will tell you. In 1854 a Marabout of the Senegalese Fouta, Al-Hadji by name, declaring himself to be inspired like Mohammed, stirred up all the tribes to war against the infidels—that is to say, against the Europeans. He carried destruction and desolation over the regions between the Senegal River and its tributary, the Fateme. Three hordes of fanatics led on by him scoured the country, sparing neither a village nor a hut in their pillaging, massacring career. He advanced in person on the town of Sego, which was a long time threatened. In 1857 he worked up farther to the northward, and invested the fortification of Medina, built by the French on the bank of the river. This stronghold was defended by Paul Holl, who, for several months, without provisions or ammunition, held out until Colonel Faidherbe came to his relief. Al-Hadji and his bands then repassed the Senegal, and reappeared in the Kaarta, continuing their rapine and murder.—Well, here below us is the very country in which he has found refuge with his hordes of banditti; and I assure you that it would not be a good thing to fall into his hands.”
“We shall not,” said Joe, “even if we have to throw overboard our clothes to save the Victoria.”
“We are not far from the river,” said the doctor, “but I foresee that our balloon will not be able to carry us beyond it.”
“Let us reach its banks, at all events,” said the Scot, “and that will be so much gained.”
“That is what we are trying to do,” rejoined Ferguson, “only that one thing makes me feel anxious.”
“What is that?”
“We shall have mountains to pass, and that will be difficult to do, since I cannot augment the ascensional force of the balloon, even with