chapter 34

The hurricane—forced departure—loss of an anchor—gloomy thoughts—making a decision—twister—the sunken caravan—contrary and favorable winds—heading back south—Kennedy on the job.

At three o’clock in the morning, the wind raged and blew with such force, the Victoria couldn’t remain near the ground without danger to herself; the reeds were scraping against her envelope, threatening to rip it.

“We need to go, Dick,” the doctor said. “We can’t stay on under these conditions.”

“But Samuel, what about Joe?”

“I’m not deserting him! Absolutely not! Even if this hurricane carries me a hundred miles north, I’ll come back! But right now everybody’s safety is in jeopardy.”

“Go without him?” the Scot exclaimed in real anguish.

“Don’t you realize I’m as heartsick as you are?” Fergusson went on. “Can’t you see I’m acting out of urgent necessity?”

“Whatever you say,” the hunter replied. “Let’s get going.”

But they had great difficulty setting out. The anchor was hopelessly stuck and withstood all their efforts, while the balloon pulled the opposite way and wedged it even more tightly. Kennedy wasn’t able to wrench it loose; what’s more, in their current circumstances his task had become downright dangerous, because there was a chance the Victoria would lift off before he had gotten on board again.

The doctor wasn’t willing to run this risk, ordered the Scot back in the gondola, and resigned himself to cutting the anchor rope. The Victoria leaped 300 feet into the air and followed a course due north.

Fergusson had no choice but to ride out the storm; arms folded, he was wrapped up in his gloomy thoughts.

After a few seconds of intense silence, he turned to Kennedy, who was just as tight-lipped.

“Maybe we’ve been tempting fate,” he said. “Human beings aren’t meant to undertake such a journey!”

And a melancholy sigh broke from his chest.

“Just a few days ago,” the hunter replied, “we congratulated each other on escaping so many dangers! All three of us shook hands!”

“Poor Joe! So decent and good-natured! So gallant and open-hearted! His riches blinded him temporarily, yet he willingly jettisoned his wealth! And now he’s far away from us! And the wind’s carrying us off with unstoppable speed!”

“Look here, Samuel, assuming he’s taken refuge among the lakeside tribes, couldn’t he do what travelers did who visited ’em before us, men like Denham or Barth? Those fellows saw their countries again.”

“Oh, my poor Dick! Joe doesn’t know a word of the local language! He’s alone and without means! The explorers you mention proceeded only after sending the chieftains many gifts, and they traveled in the midst of escorts armed and ready for such expeditions. Even so, they couldn’t avoid the worst kinds of suffering and adversity! What do you think will happen to our poor companion? It’s horrifying to consider, and this is one of the greatest griefs I’ve been given to experience!”

“But we’ll come back, Samuel.”

“We’ll come back, Dick, even if we have to leave the Victoria behind, return to Lake Chad on foot, and get in contact with the Sultan of Bornu! The Arabs can’t have bad memories of the first Europeans.”

“I’m right behind you, Samuel,” the hunter replied firmly, “you can count on me! If need be, we’ll forget about finishing this journey! Joe proved his dedication to us, we’ll make sacrifices for him!”

That decision heartened these two courageous men. They clearly were of one mind. Fergusson tried every trick in the book to get into a countercurrent that could take him back toward Lake Chad; but it was impossible at that point, and in such barren terrain and such a violent hurricane, it was no longer feasible even to land.

Consequently the Victoria crossed over the country of the Tibbous; she cleared Belad-el-Djérid, a wilderness of brambles that forms the Sudan border, then entered a wilderness of sand crisscrossed by the long trails of caravans; the last rows of vegetation soon merged with the sky on the southern horizon, not far from the main oasis in this part of Africa, whose fifty wells sit in the shade of magnificent trees; but it was impossible to stop. Featuring tents of striped cloth and a few camels stretching their viper-shaped heads over the sand, an Arab campsite brought some life to the solitude; but the Victoria went by like a shooting star, covering a distance of sixty miles in three hours, although Fergusson had no control over her course.

“We can’t call a halt!” he said. “We can’t disembark! Not a tree! Not an outcrop! Are we heading clear across the Sahara? Heaven is definitely against us!”

He was going on like this with the rage of despair, when he saw the desert sands to the north rise up in the midst of heavy dust, then swirl around under the impetus of the countercurrents.

In the middle of the whirlwind, there was an entire caravan, battered, broken up, toppling over, vanishing underneath an avalanche of sand; scattered camels let out pathetically muffled groans; shouts and shrieks came from that stifling fog. At times the bright hues of a multicolored garment stood out in the chaos, and the roar of the storm held sway over this scene of destruction.

The sand soon collected into compact piles, and where a smooth plain had recently stretched, a trembling hill rose up, the immense grave of that sunken caravan.

The doctor and Kennedy witnessed that dreadful sight, their faces white; they couldn’t maneuver their balloon anymore, and she swirled in the midst of the countercurrents, no longer heeding their various efforts to make the gas expand. Clutched by these eddies in the air, she spun around with dizzying speed; the gondola rocked back and forth, shaking and shivering; the instruments that hung under the tent were banging against each other and in danger of breaking, the pipes of the coil were bent over to the snapping point, the water tanks clattered as they shifted around; our travelers were only two feet apart but couldn’t hear each other, and they clung tightly to the rigging, trying to bear up under the hurricane’s fury.

His hair flying about, Kennedy watched without a word; in the face of danger, the doctor had recovered his courage, and his features gave no sign of his intense feelings, not even when the Victoria gave a last whirl and suddenly halted in an unexpected calm; then a northerly wind took charge, driving her backward over the same course she had followed that morning, and with just as much speed.

“Where are we going?” Kennedy exclaimed.

“My dear Dick, leave that to Providence, a better source than we are for knowing what’s needed; I was wrong to doubt, because here we are, returning to places we never thought we’d see again.”

The ground had looked so flat and uniform when they came over it earlier, but now it seemed as agitated as waves after a storm; a sequence of low knolls, barely in place, punctuated the wilderness; the wind blew fiercely, and the Victoria flew through space.

The balloon’s heading was slightly different from the one our travelers had followed that morning; therefore, nearing nine o’clock, they weren’t back alongside Lake Chad but instead saw the desert still stretching in front of them.

Kennedy pointed this out.

“It makes little difference,” the doctor replied. “The main thing is to return south; we’ll meet up with the towns of Bornu, Wouddie, or Kouka, and I wouldn’t hesitate to halt thereabouts.”

“If you’re pleased, I am too,” the hunter responded. “But heaven help us if we’re reduced to crossing the desert like those poor Arabs! What we saw was horrifying!”

“And often repeated, Dick. Crossing a desert has different dangers than crossing a body of water; a desert offers every peril an ocean does, even sinking from sight—plus you face unbearable exhaustion and hardship.”

“I think the wind’s showing a tendency to die down,” Kennedy said. “The dust over the sand is thinning out, the surface isn’t heaving as much, and the horizon’s clearing up.”

“Better and better—we need to keep watch with our spyglass and make sure nothing gets by us!”

“Leave it to me, Samuel; when the first tree shows up, you’ll hear about it.”

And Kennedy parked himself in the front of the gondola, spyglass in hand.