“Well, Joe, what do you think of that?”
“Well, doctor, it’s very curious, but quite natural. What one grasshopper does on a small scale, thousands do on a grand scale.”
“It’s a terrible shower,” said the hunter; “more so than hail itself in the devastation it causes.”
“It is impossible to prevent it,” replied Ferguson. “Sometimes the inhabitants have had the idea to burn the forests, and even the standing crops, in order to arrest the progress of these insects; but the first ranks plunging into the flames would extinguish them beneath their mass, and the rest of the swarm would then pass irresistibly onward. Fortunately, in these regions, there is some sort of compensation for their ravages, since the natives gather these insects in great numbers and greedily eat them.”
“They are the prawns of the air,” said Joe, who added that he was sorry that he had never had the chance to taste them—just for information’s sake!
The country became more marshy toward evening; the forests dwindled to isolated clumps of trees; and on the borders of the river could be seen plantations of tobacco, and swampy meadow-lands fat with forage. At last the city of Jenné, on a large island, came in sight, with the two towers of its clay-built mosque, and the putrid odor of the millions of swallows’ nests accumulated in its walls. The tops of some baobabs, mimosas, and date-trees peeped up between the houses; and, even at night, the activity of the place seemed very great. Jenné is, in fact, quite a commercial city: it supplies all the wants of Timbuktu. Its boats on the river, and its caravans along the shaded roads, bear thither the various products of its industry.
“Were it not that to do so would prolong our journey,” said the doctor, “I should like to alight at this place. There must be more than one Arab there who has travelled in England and France, and to whom our style of locomotion is not altogether new. But it would not be prudent.”
“Let us put off the visit until our next trip,” said Joe, laughing.
“Besides, my friends, unless I am mistaken, the wind has a slight tendency to veer a little more to the eastward, and we must not lose such an opportunity.”
The doctor threw overboard some articles that were no longer of use—some 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!”
XLI
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
