“It is Bengal Island! It is the very same,” repeated the doctor, exultingly.
“And what of that?” asked Dick.
“It is there that we shall alight, if God permits.”
“But, it seems to be inhabited, doctor.”
“Joe is right; and, unless I’m mistaken, there is a group of about a score of natives on it now.”
“We’ll make them scatter; there’ll be no great trouble in that,” responded Ferguson.
“So be it,” chimed in the hunter.
The sun was at the zenith as the balloon approached the island.
The blacks, who were members of the Makado tribe, were howling lustily, and one of them waved his bark hat in the air. Kennedy took aim at him, fired, and his hat flew about him in pieces. Thereupon there was a general scamper. The natives plunged headlong into the river, and swam to the opposite bank. Immediately, there came a shower of balls from both banks, along with a perfect cloud of arrows, but without doing the balloon any damage, where it rested with its anchor snugly secured in the fissure of a rock. Joe lost no time in sliding to the ground.
“The ladder!” cried the doctor. “Follow me, Kennedy.”
“What do you wish, sir?”
“Let us alight. I want a witness.”
“Here I am!”
“Mind your post, Joe, and keep a good lookout.”
“Never fear, doctor; I’ll answer for all that.”
“Come, Dick,” said the doctor, as he touched the ground.
So saying, he drew his companion along toward a group of rocks that rose upon one point of the island; there, after searching for some time, he began to rummage among the brambles, and, in so doing, scratched his hands until they bled.
Suddenly he grasped Kennedy’s arm, exclaiming: “Look! look!”
“Letters!”
Yes; there, indeed, could be descried, with perfect precision of outline, some letters carved on the rock. It was quite easy to make them out:
“A. D.”
“A.D.!” repeated Dr. Ferguson. “Andrea Debono—the very signature of the traveller who farthest ascended the current of the Nile.”
“No doubt of that, friend Samuel,” assented Kennedy.
“Are you now convinced?”
“It is the Nile! We cannot entertain a doubt on that score now,” was the reply.
The doctor, for the last time, examined those precious initials, the exact form and size of which he carefully noted.
“And now,” said he—“now for the balloon!”
“Quickly, then, for I see some of the natives getting ready to recross the river.”
“That matters little to us now. Let the wind but send us northward for a few hours, and we shall reach Gondokoro, and press the hands of some of our countrymen.”
Ten minutes more, and the balloon was majestically ascending, while Dr. Ferguson, in token of success, waved the English flag triumphantly from his car.
CHAPTER NINETEENTH.
The Nile.—The Trembling Mountain.—A Remembrance of the Country.—The Narratives of the Arabs.—The Nyam-Nyams.—Joe’s Shrewd Cogitations.—The Balloon runs the Gantlet.—Aerostatic Ascensions.—Madame Blanchard.
“Which way do we head?” asked Kennedy, as he saw his friend consulting the compass.
“North-northeast.”
“The deuce! but that’s not the north?”
“No, Dick; and I’m afraid that we shall have some trouble in getting to Gondokoro. I am sorry for it; but, at last, we have succeeded in connecting the explorations from the east with those from the north; and we must not complain.”
The balloon was now receding gradually from the Nile.
“One last look,” said the doctor, “at this impassable latitude, beyond which the most intrepid travellers could not make their way. There are those intractable tribes, of whom Petherick, Arnaud, Miuni, and the young traveller Lejean, to whom we are indebted for the best work on the Upper Nile, have spoken.”
“Thus, then,” added Kennedy, inquiringly, “our discoveries agree with the speculations of science.”
“Absolutely so. The sources of the White Nile, of the Bahr-el-Abiad, are immersed in a lake as large as a sea; it is there that it takes its rise. Poesy, undoubtedly, loses something thereby. People were fond of ascribing a celestial origin to this king of rivers. The ancients gave it the name of an ocean, and were not far from believing that it flowed directly from the sun; but we must come down from these flights from time to time, and accept what science teaches us. There will not always be scientific men, perhaps; but there always will be poets.”
“We can still see cataracts,” said Joe.
“Those are the cataracts of Makedo, in the third degree of latitude. Nothing could be more accurate. Oh, if we could only have followed the course of the Nile for a few hours!”
“And down yonder, below us, I see the top of a mountain,” said the hunter.
“That is Mount Longwek, the _Trembling Mountain_ of the Arabs. This whole country was visited by Debono, who went through it under the name of Latif-Effendi. The tribes living near the Nile are hostile to each other, and are continually waging a war of extermination. You may form some idea, then, of the difficulties he had to encounter.”
The wind was carrying the balloon toward the northwest, and, in order to avoid Mount Longwek, it was necessary to seek a more slanting current.
“My friends,” said the doctor, “here is where _our_ passage of the African Continent really commences; up to this time we have been following the traces of our predecessors. Henceforth we are to launch ourselves upon the unknown. We shall not lack the courage, shall we?”
“Never!” said Dick and Joe together, almost in a shout.
“Onward, then, and may we have the help of Heaven!”
At ten o’clock at night, after passing over ravines, forests, and scattered villages, the aëronauts reached the side of the Trembling Mountain, along whose gentle slopes they went quietly gliding. In that memorable day, the 23d of April, they had, in fifteen hours, impelled by a rapid breeze, traversed a distance of more than three hundred and fifteen miles.
But this latter part of the journey had left them in dull spirits, and complete silence reigned in the car. Was Dr. Ferguson absorbed in the thought of his discoveries? Were his two companions thinking of their trip through those unknown regions? There were, no doubt, mingled with these reflections, the keenest reminiscences of home and distant friends. Joe alone continued to manifest the same careless philosophy, finding it _quite natural_ that home should not be there, from the moment that he left it; but he respected the silent mood of his friends, the doctor and Kennedy.
About ten the balloon anchored on the side of the Trembling Mountain, so called, because, in Arab tradition, it is said to tremble the instant that a Mussulman sets foot upon it. The travellers then partook of a substantial meal, and all quietly passed the night as usual, keeping the regular watches.
On awaking the next morning, they all had pleasanter feelings. The weather was fine, and the wind was blowing from the right quarter; so that a good breakfast, seasoned with Joe’s merry pranks, put them in high good-humor.
The region they were now crossing is very extensive. It borders on the Mountains of the Moon on one side, and those of Darfur on the other—a space about as broad as Europe.
“We are, no doubt, crossing what is supposed to be the kingdom of Usoga. Geographers have pretended that there existed, in the centre of Africa, a vast depression, an immense central lake. We shall see whether there is any truth in that idea,” said the doctor.
“But how did they come to think so?” asked Kennedy.
“From the recitals of the Arabs. Those fellows are great narrators—too much so, probably. Some travellers, who had got as far as Kazeh, or the great lakes, saw slaves that had been brought from this region; interrogated them concerning it, and, from their different narratives, made up a jumble of notions, and deduced systems from them. Down at the bottom of it all there is some appearance of truth; and you see that they were right about the sources of the Nile.”
“Nothing could be more correct,” said Kennedy. “It was by the aid of these documents that some attempts at maps were made, and so I am going to try to follow our route by one of them, rectifying it when need be.”
“Is all this region inhabited?” asked Joe.
“Undoubtedly; and disagreeably inhabited, too.”
“I thought so.”
“These scattered tribes come, one and all, under the title of Nyam-Nyams, and this compound word is only a sort of nickname. It imitates the sound of chewing.”
“That’s it! Excellent!” said Joe, champing his teeth as though he were eating; “Nyam-Nyam.”
“My good Joe, if you were the immediate object of this chewing, you wouldn’t find it so excellent.”
“Why, what’s the reason, sir?”
“These tribes are considered man-eaters.”
“Is that really the case?”
“Not a doubt of it! It has also been asserted that these natives had tails, like mere quadrupeds; but it was soon discovered that these appendages belonged to the skins of animals that they wore for clothing.”
“More’s the pity! a tail’s a nice thing to chase away mosquitoes.”
“That may be, Joe; but we must consign the story to the domain of fable, like the dogs’ heads which the traveller, Brun-Rollet, attributed to other tribes.”
“Dogs’ heads, eh? Quite convenient for barking, and even for man-eating!”