Joe detaching the tent from the gondola
Nearing the Senegal River—the Victoria continues to lose altitude—they keep dumping and dumping—Messrs. Pascal, Vincent, and Lambert1—the marabout El-Hadj Umar Tall—Muhammad’s rival—difficult mountains—Kennedy’s weapons—Joe’s stratagem—layover above a forest.
On May 27 at around nine in the morning, the countryside took on a new guise: the long, sprawling slopes changed into hills that heralded the arrival of mountains; the balloon would have to go over the range separating the Niger and Senegal basins, the range that determines whether their waters run off into the Gulf of Guinea or the Cape Verde bay.
The territory leading to the Senegal River is on the books as a dangerous part of Africa. Dr. Fergusson knew this from the accounts of his predecessors; they had suffered a thousand hardships and run a thousand dangers among those primitive Negroes; this deadly climate consumed the majority of Mungo Park’s companions. So Fergusson was more determined than ever to not set foot in this unfriendly land.
But he didn’t get a moment’s peace; the Victoria was noticeably losing altitude; whenever he went over a mountaintop, he had to dump additional amounts of things that were more or less useless. And that’s what they faced for more than 120 miles; they were worn out from all the climbing and descending; the balloon kept going back down as if she were Sisyphus’s rock;2 their lighter-than-air vehicle was already so deflated, she looked like a bag of bones; her shape grew leaner and leaner, and the wind dug huge pockets in her flabby envelope.
Kennedy couldn’t help commenting on this.
“Did the balloon split somewhere?” he said.
“No,” the doctor answered. “But obviously the heat has softened or melted the gutta-percha, and the hydrogen is seeping through the taffeta.”
“How can we stop this seepage?”
“We can’t. We’ll lighten her; that’s the only way; anything we can discard, we’ll discard.”
“What’s next?” the hunter asked as he looked around the gondola, already well cleaned out.
“The tent weighs a substantial amount, let’s get rid of it.” This order was Joe’s responsibility, and he climbed onto the hoop that kept the strands of netting in place; from there he had no problem detaching the tent’s heavy folds and heaving them overboard.
“That’ll cheer up a whole tribe of Negroes,” he said. “It’s enough to deck out a thousand natives—with them, a little cloth goes a long way.”
The balloon had risen a little, but it soon became clear she was sinking toward the ground again.
“Let’s disembark,” Kennedy said, “and see what we can do about that envelope.”
“I repeat, Dick, that we haven’t any way to repair it.”
“Then what should we do?”
“We’ll jettison everything that isn’t absolutely indispensable; I want to avoid stopping in these parts at any cost; these forests we’re now skimming over have their share of dangers.”
“What! Lions? Hyenas?” Joe asked with a sneer.
“Worse than that, my boy—human beings, and the most vicious in Africa.”
“Says who?”
“Travelers who have come here before us; also the French occupying the colony of Senegal—they’ve inevitably entered into relations with the neighboring tribes; under Colonel Faidherbe’s administration, they’ve scouted out more and more of this country; officers such as Messrs. Pascal, Vincent, and Lambert have brought back valuable documentation from their expeditions. They’ve explored the regions formed by the bend of the Senegal River, areas left in ruins by war and looting.”
“So how did that happen?”
“This way. In 1854 El-Hadj Umar Tall, a marabout3 in the Fouta region of Senegal, claimed to be inspired like Muhammad, and he urged all the tribes to wage war on the infidels, in other words, on Europeans. He brought destruction and devastation to the lands between the Senegal River and its tributary the Falémé River. Under his guidance three hordes of fanatics crisscrossed the country, looting and slaughtering, not sparing a village or even a hut; he pushed into the Niger valley as far as the town of Ségo, threatening it a good while. In 1857 he went farther north and laid siege to the fort of Médine, which the French had built on the riverbank; the hero defending this settlement was Paul Holl, who stood his ground for several months, nearly without food or ammunition until Colonel Faidherbe came to his rescue. Then El-Hadj and his forces went back over the Senegal River, reentering the kingdom of Kaarta to continue their thievery and slaughter; now then, the regions below us are where he and his bandit hordes fled and found refuge, and I assure you it wouldn’t be good to fall into his hands.”
“We won’t fall into ’em,” Joe said. “We’ll lighten the Victoria if we have to jettison everything down to our shoes.”
“We aren’t far from the river,” the doctor said. “But I anticipate that our balloon won’t be able to carry us beyond it.”
“If we just reach its banks,” the hunter remarked, “it’ll be a step up.”
“That’s what we’re trying to do,” the doctor said. “Except one thing worries me.”
“What?”
“We’ll have mountains to go over, which will be difficult since I can’t increase our vehicle’s lifting power, not even by generating the greatest heat possible.”
“Then,” Kennedy added, “let’s wait and see.”
“Poor Victoria!” Joe said. “I’ve gotten attached to her like a seaman to his ship; it’ll be hard to part with her! Who cares if she’s not the same as when we set out! But I won’t hear a word against her! She’s done an honorable job for us, and it’ll break my heart to leave her behind.”
“Don’t worry, Joe; if we leave her, it will happen because we have no choice. She’ll stay on the job until she’s at the end of her strength. All I ask from her is another twenty-four hours.”
“She has nothing left,” Joe commented, studying her. “She’s wasting away, she’s going fast. Poor balloon!”
“If I’m not mistaken, Samuel,” Kennedy said, “those mountains you mentioned are on the horizon.”
“They are indeed,” the doctor said after examining them with his spyglass. “They strike me as quite high—we’ll have a hard time clearing them.”
“Can’t we dodge around ’em?”
“I doubt it, Dick; see the immense area they take up: nearly half the horizon!”
“They even look like they’re closing in around us,” Joe said. “They’re gaining on both the right and left.”
“We absolutely must go over them.”
That ultra dangerous obstacle seemed to be coming on with tremendous speed, but in actuality a very brisk wind was sweeping the Victoria toward those sharp peaks. She had to go higher at any cost or risk crashing into them.
“Empty our water tank,” Fergusson said. “Keep enough for just one day.”
“Done!” Joe said.
“Are we rising again?” Kennedy asked.
“A little, fifty feet or so,” the doctor answered, his eyes never leaving the barometer. “But it isn’t enough.”
In essence that lofty mountain range was bearing down on the travelers as if planning to pounce on them; they weren’t even close to rising above it; they needed to go more than 500 feet higher. Accordingly they dumped out the water supply for the burner; they kept only a few pints; but it still didn’t do the trick.
“But we must get over,” the doctor said.
“Since the tanks are empty, let’s ditch ’em,” Kennedy said.
“Go ahead.”
“Out they go!” Joe said. “It’s sad to see us crumbling away a piece at a time.”
“As for you, Joe, don’t go demonstrating your dedication the way you did the other day! Whatever happens, swear to me you won’t leave us.”
“Relax, master, nobody’s going anywhere.”
The Victoria was back around 120 feet up, but the mountain peak still loomed over her. This was a moderately steep ridge that culminated in a genuinely sheer wall. It was still more than 200 feet higher than the travelers.
“In ten minutes,” the doctor told himself, “our gondola will smash into those rocks if we don’t manage to rise over them!”
“Well, Mr. Samuel?” Joe asked.
“Keep only our supply of pemmican, and drop all the meat with any weight.”
The balloon got lighter by another fifty pounds or so; she rose quite noticeably, but it would make little difference if she didn’t climb to a higher level than the mountains. They were in a terrifying predicament; the Victoria was racing at great speed; they knew in their hearts she would be dashed to pieces; the impact would be truly dreadful.
The doctor looked around the gondola.
It was almost empty.
“Just in case, Dick, get ready to jettison your weapons.”
“Jettison my weapons!” the hunter replied in alarm.
“My friend, if I ask you to, that will mean it’s necessary!”
“Samuel! Samuel!”
“Your weapons and your supplies of shot and powder could cost us our lives.”
“We’re getting close!” Joe exclaimed.
Sixty feet! The mountain was still sixty feet higher than the Victoria.
Joe took the bedclothes and heaved them overboard. Without a word to Kennedy, he also ditched several bags of bullets and shot.
The balloon climbed again; she rose higher than that hazardous peak, and her upper half gleamed in the sunlight. But the gondola still hung slightly below some slabs of rock, doomed to crash into them.
“Kennedy! Kennedy!” the doctor shouted. “Throw out your weapons or we’re done for!”
“Hold it, Mr. Dick!” Joe said.
Turning around, Kennedy saw him vanish over the side of the gondola.
“Joe! Joe!” he yelled.
“That poor devil!” the doctor exclaimed.
The mountain’s summit may have been some twenty feet wide at that spot, and its opposite side featured a gentler incline. The gondola rose right to the level of this flattish mesa; it slid across ground made up of sharp pebbles that screeched on the way.
“We’re going over … going over … we’re over the whole thing!” yelled a voice that made Fergusson’s heart give a leap.
The courageous lad had held onto the gondola’s lower rim; he had sprinted across that summit on foot, in this way relieving the balloon of his total weight; he actually had to keep a firm grip on her, because she was tending to pull away from him.
When he reached the opposite slope and the void was in front of him, Joe hauled himself up with a burst of energy, clung to the rigging, and climbed in next to his companions.
“Nothing to it,” he remarked.
“My gallant Joe! My friend!” the doctor said warmly.
“Pshaw, I didn’t do it for you!” the lad replied. “It was for Mr. Dick’s rifle! I owed him one after that business with the Arab lancer! I like to pay off my debts, and now we’re even,” he added, handing the hunter his weapon of choice. “I’d hate to see you without it.”
Speechless, Kennedy shook his hand heartily.
The Victoria had nothing left to do but descend; this was easy; soon she was 200 feet off the ground and in a state of buoyancy. The terrain had a contorted appearance; it featured many irregularities that would be very hard to dodge at night in a balloon that no longer followed orders. Evening was coming on fast, and despite his unwillingness, the doctor had to call a halt until the following day.
“We’ll look for a promising place to lay over,” he said.
“Aha!” Kennedy replied. “You’ve finally made up your mind?”
“Yes, for some while I’ve been pondering a plan that we’ll go ahead and carry out; it’s still only six o’clock in the evening, so we’ll have time. Drop anchor, Joe.”
Joe did so, and the two anchors dangled under the gondola.
“I see some huge forests,” the doctor said. “We’ll ride over their tree-tops and hook up to one of them. I wouldn’t spend a night on the ground for anything in the world.”
“Can’t we disembark?” Kennedy asked.
“What for? Let me remind you that it will be dangerous for us to separate. Besides, I require your help with a difficult task.”
The Victoria skimmed over those immense forests and before long came to a sudden stop; her anchors caught hold; the wind died out as evening drew on, and she stood nearly stock-still over a huge field of greenery, which was formed by the treetops in a forest of sycamores.
