Five Weeks in a Balloon
Nile, was it likely to be of any use?—Would one have really labored for
the welfare of humanity?—When, after all, the African tribes should
have been civilized, would they be any happier?—Were folks certain that
civilization had not its chosen abode there rather than in
Europe?—Perhaps!—And then, couldn’t one wait a little longer?—The trip
across Africa would certainly be accomplished some day, and in a less
hazardous manner.—In another month, or in six months before the year
was over, some explorer would undoubtedly come in—etc., etc.
These hints produced an effect exactly opposite to what was desired or
intended, and the doctor trembled with impatience.
“Are you willing, then, wretched Dick—are you willing, false
friend—that this glory should belong to another? Must I then be untrue
to my past history; recoil before obstacles that are not serious;
requite with cowardly hesitation what both the English Government and
the Royal Society of London have done for me?”
“But,” resumed Kennedy, who made great use of that conjunction.
“But,” said the doctor, “are you not aware that my journey is to
compete with the success of the expeditions now on foot? Don’t you know
that fresh explorers are advancing toward the centre of Africa?”
“Still—”
“Listen to me, Dick, and cast your eyes over that map.”
Dick glanced over it, with resignation.
“Now, ascend the course of the Nile.”
“I have ascended it,” replied the Scotchman, with docility.
“Stop at Gondokoro.”
“I am there.”
And Kennedy thought to himself how easy such a trip was—on the map!
“Now, take one of the points of these dividers and let it rest upon
that place beyond which the most daring explorers have scarcely gone.”
“I have done so.”
“And now look along the coast for the island of Zanzibar, in latitude
six degrees south.”
“I have it.”
“Now, follow the same parallel and arrive at Kazeh.”
“I have done so.”
“Run up again along the thirty-third degree of longitude to the opening
of Lake Oukéréoué, at the point where Lieutenant Speke had to halt.”
“I am there; a little more, and I should have tumbled into the lake.”
“Very good! Now, do you know what we have the right to suppose,
according to the information given by the tribes that live along its
shores?”
“I haven’t the least idea.”
“Why, that this lake, the lower extremity of which is in two degrees
and thirty minutes, must extend also two degrees and a half above the
equator.”
“Really!”
“Well from this northern extremity there flows a stream which must
necessarily join the Nile, if it be not the Nile itself.”
“That is, indeed, curious.”
“Then, let the other point of your dividers rest upon that extremity of
Lake Oukéréoué.”
“It is done, friend Ferguson.”
“Now, how many degrees can you count between the two points?”
“Scarcely two.”
“And do you know what that means, Dick?”
“Not the least in the world.”
“Why, that makes scarcely one hundred and twenty miles—in other words,
a nothing.”
“Almost nothing, Samuel.”
“Well, do you know what is taking place at this moment?”
“No, upon my honor, I do not.”
“Very well, then, I’ll tell you. The Geographical Society regard as
very important the exploration of this lake of which Speke caught a
glimpse. Under their auspices, Lieutenant (now Captain) Speke has
associated with him Captain Grant, of the army in India; they have put
themselves at the head of a numerous and well-equipped expedition;
their mission is to ascend the lake and return to Gondokoro; they have
received a subsidy of more than five thousand pounds, and the Governor
of the Cape of Good Hope has placed Hottentot soldiers at their
disposal; they set out from Zanzibar at the close of October, 1860. In
the mean while John Petherick, the English consul at the city of
Karthoum, has received about seven hundred pounds from the foreign
office; he is to equip a steamer at Karthoum, stock it with sufficient
provisions, and make his way to Gondokoro; there, he will await Captain
Speke’s caravan, and be able to replenish its supplies to some extent.”
“Well planned,” said Kennedy.
“You can easily see, then, that time presses if we are to take part in
these exploring labors. And that is not all, since, while some are thus
advancing with sure steps to the discovery of the sources of the Nile,
others are penetrating to the very heart of Africa.”
“On foot?” said Kennedy.
“Yes, on foot,” rejoined the doctor, without noticing the insinuation.
“Doctor Krapf proposes to push forward, in the west, by way of the
Djob, a river lying under the equator. Baron de Decken has already set
out from Monbaz, has reconnoitred the mountains of Kenia and
Kilimandjaro, and is now plunging in toward the centre.”
“But all this time on foot?”
“On foot or on mules.”
“Exactly the same, so far as I am concerned,” ejaculated Kennedy.
“Lastly,” resumed the doctor, “M. de Heuglin, the Austrian vice-consul
at Karthoum, has just organized a very important expedition, the first
aim of which is to search for the traveller Vogel, who, in 1853, was
sent into the Soudan to associate himself with the labors of Dr. Barth.
In 1856, he quitted Bornou, and determined to explore the unknown
country that lies between Lake Tchad and Darfur. Nothing has been seen
of him since that time. Letters that were received in Alexandria, in
1860, said that he was killed at the order of the King of Wadai; but
other letters, addressed by Dr. Hartmann to the traveller’s father,
relate that, according to the recital of a felatah of Bornou, Vogel was
merely held as a prisoner at Wara. All hope is not then lost. Hence, a
committee has been organized under the presidency of the Regent of
Saxe-Cogurg-Gotha; my friend Petermann is its secretary; a national
subscription has provided for the expense of the expedition, whose
strength has been increased by the voluntary accession of several
learned men, and M. de Heuglin set out from Massowah, in the month of
June. While engaged in looking for Vogel, he is also to explore all the
country between the Nile and Lake Tchad, that is to say, to knit
together the operations of Captain Speke and those of Dr. Barth, and
then Africa will have been traversed from east to west.”[1]
[1] After the departure of Dr. Ferguson, it was ascertained that M. de
Heuglin, owing to some disagreement, took a route different from the
one assigned to his expedition, the command of the latter having been
transferred to Mr. Muntzinger.
“Well,” said the canny Scot, “since every thing is getting on so well,
what’s the use of our going down there?”
Dr. Ferguson made no reply, but contented himself with a significant
shrug of the shoulders.
CHAPTER SIXTH.
A Servant—match him!—He can see the Satellites of Jupiter.—Dick and Joe
hard at it.—Doubt and Faith.—The Weighing Ceremony.—Joe and
Wellington.—He gets a Half-crown.
Dr. Ferguson had a servant who answered with alacrity to the name of
Joe. He was an excellent fellow, who testified the most absolute
confidence in his master, and the most unlimited devotion to his
interests, even anticipating his wishes and orders, which were always
intelligently executed. In fine, he was a Caleb without the growling,
and a perfect pattern of constant good-humor. Had he been made on
purpose for the place, it could not have been better done. Ferguson put
himself entirely in his hands, so far as the ordinary details of
existence were concerned, and he did well. Incomparable, whole-souled
Joe! a servant who orders your dinner; who likes what you like; who
packs your trunk, without forgetting your socks or your linen; who has
charge of your keys and your secrets, and takes no advantage of all
this!
But then, what a man the doctor was in the eyes of this worthy Joe!
With what respect and what confidence the latter received all his
decisions! When Ferguson had spoken, he would be a fool who should
attempt to question the matter. Every thing he thought was exactly
right; every thing he said, the perfection of wisdom; every thing he
ordered to be done, quite feasible; all that he undertook, practicable;
all that he accomplished, admirable. You might have cut Joe to
pieces—not an agreeable operation, to be sure—and yet he would not have
altered his opinion of his master.
So, when the doctor conceived the project of crossing Africa through
the air, for Joe the thing was already done; obstacles no longer
existed; from the moment when the doctor had made up his mind to start,
he had arrived—along with his faithful attendant, too, for the noble
fellow knew, without a word uttered about it, that he would be one of
the party.
Moreover, he was just the man to render the greatest service by his
intelligence and his wonderful agility. Had the occasion arisen to name
a professor of gymnastics for the monkeys in the Zoological Garden (who
are smart enough, by-the-way!), Joe would certainly have received the
appointment. Leaping, climbing, almost flying—these were all sport to
him.
If Ferguson was the head and Kennedy the arm, Joe was to be the right
hand of the expedition. He had, already, accompanied his master on
several journeys, and had a smattering of science appropriate to his
condition and style of mind, but he was especially remarkable for a
sort of mild philosophy, a charming turn of optimism. In his sight
every thing was easy, logical, natural, and, consequently, he could see
no use in complaining or grumbling.
Among other gifts, he possessed a strength and range of vision that
were perfectly surprising. He enjoyed, in common with Moestlin,
Kepler’s professor, the rare faculty of distinguishing the satellites
of Jupiter with the naked eye, and of counting fourteen of the stars in
the group of Pleiades, the remotest of them being only of the ninth
magnitude. He presumed none the more for that; on the contrary, he made
his bow to you, at a distance, and when occasion arose he bravely knew
how to use his eyes.
With such profound faith as Joe felt in the doctor, it is not to be
wondered at that incessant discussions sprang up between him and
Kennedy, without any lack of respect to the latter, however.
One doubted, the other believed; one had a prudent foresight, the other
blind confidence. The doctor, however, vibrated between doubt and
confidence; that is to say, he troubled his head with neither one nor
the other.
“Well, Mr. Kennedy,” Joe would say.
“Well, my boy?”
“The moment’s at hand. It seems that we are to sail for the moon.”
“You mean the Mountains of the Moon, which are not quite so far off.
But, never mind, one trip is just as dangerous as the other!”
“Dangerous! What! with a man like Dr. Ferguson?”
“I don’t want to spoil your illusions, my good Joe; but this
undertaking of his is nothing more nor less than the act of a madman.
He won’t go, though!”
“He won’t go, eh? Then you haven’t seen his balloon at Mitchell’s
factory in the Borough?”
“I’ll take precious good care to keep away from it!”
“Well, you’ll lose a fine sight, sir. What a splendid thing it is! What
a pretty shape! What a nice car! How snug we’ll feel in it!”
“Then you really think of going with your master?”
“I?” answered Joe, with an accent of profound conviction. “Why, I’d go
with him wherever he pleases! Who ever heard of such a thing? Leave him
to go off alone, after we’ve been all over the world together! Who
would help him, when he was tired? Who would give him a hand in
climbing over the rocks? Who would attend him when he was sick? No, Mr.
Kennedy, Joe will always stick to the doctor!”
“You’re a fine fellow, Joe!”
“But, then, you’re coming with us!”
“Oh! certainly,” said Kennedy; “that is to say, I will go with you up
to the last moment, to prevent Samuel even then from being guilty of