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About the 10th of
February, the preparations were pretty well completed; and the balloons, firmly
secured, one within the other, were altogether finished. They had been
subjected to a powerful pneumatic pressure in all parts, and the test gave
excellent evidence of their solidity and of the care applied in their
construction.
Joe hardly knew what he
was about, with delight. He trotted incessantly to and fro between his home in
Greek Street, and the Mitchell establishment, always full of business, but
always in the highest spirits, giving details of the affair to people who did
not even ask him, so proud was he, above all things, of being permitted to
accompany his master. I have even a shrewd suspicion that what with showing the
balloon, explaining the plans and views of the doctor, giving folks a glimpse
of the latter, through a half-opened window, or pointing him out as he passed
along the streets, the clever scamp earned a few half-crowns, but we must not
find fault with him for that. He had as much right as anybody else to speculate
upon the admiration and curiosity of his contemporaries.
On the 16th of February,
the Resolute cast anchor near Greenwich. She was a screw propeller of eight
hundred tons, a fast sailer, and the very vessel that had been sent out to the
polar regions, to revictual the last expedition of Sir James Ross. Her
commander, Captain Bennet, had the name of being a very amiable person, and he
took a particular interest in the doctor’s expedition, having been one of
that gentleman’s admirers for a long time. Bennet was rather a man of
science than a man of war, which did not, however, prevent his vessel from
carrying four carronades, that had never hurt any body, to be sure, but had
performed the most pacific duty in the world.
The hold of the Resolute
was so arranged as to find a stowing-place for the balloon. The latter was
shipped with the greatest precaution on the 18th of February, and was then
carefully deposited at the bottom of the vessel in such a way as to prevent
accident. The car and its accessories, the anchors, the cords, the supplies,
the water-tanks, which were to be filled on arriving, all were embarked and put
away under Ferguson’s own eyes.
Ten tons of sulphuric
acid and ten tons of iron filings, were put on board for the future production
of the hydrogen gas. The quantity was more than enough, but it was well to be
provided against accident. The apparatus to be employed in manufacturing the
gas, including some thirty empty casks, was also stowed away in the hold.
These various
preparations were terminated on the 18th of February, in the evening. Two
state-rooms, comfortably fitted up, were ready for the reception of Dr.
Ferguson and his friend Kennedy. The latter, all the while swearing that he
would not go, went on board with a regular arsenal of hunting weapons, among
which were two double-barrelled breech-loading fowling-pieces, and a rifle that
had withstood every test, of the make of Purdey, Moore & Dickson, at
Edinburgh. With such a weapon a marksman would find no difficulty in lodging a
bullet in the eye of a chamois at the distance of two thousand paces. Along
with these implements, he had two of Colt’s six-shooters, for unforeseen
emergencies. His powder-case, his cartridge-pouch, his lead, and his bullets,
did not exceed a certain weight prescribed by the doctor.
The three travellers got
themselves to rights on board during the working-hours of February 19th. They
were received with much distinction by the captain and his officers, the doctor
continuing as reserved as ever, and thinking of nothing but his expedition.
Dick seemed a good deal moved, but was unwilling to betray it; while Joe was
fairly dancing and breaking out in laughable remarks. The worthy fellow soon
became the jester and merry-andrew of the boatswain’s mess, where a berth
had been kept for him.
On the 20th, a grand
farewell dinner was given to Dr. Ferguson and Kennedy by the Royal Geographical
Society. Commander Bennet and his officers were present at the entertainment,
which was signalized by copious libations and numerous toasts. Healths were
drunk, in sufficient abundance to guarantee all the guests a lifetime of
centuries. Sir Francis M—— presided, with restrained but dignified
feeling.
To his own supreme confusion,
Dick Kennedy came in for a large share in the jovial felicitations of the
night. After having drunk to the “intrepid Ferguson, the glory of
England,” they had to drink to “the no less courageous Kennedy, his
daring companion.”
Dick blushed a good deal,
and that passed for modesty; whereupon the applause redoubled, and Dick blushed
again.
A message from the Queen
arrived while they were at dessert. Her Majesty offered her compliments to the
two travellers, and expressed her wishes for their safe and successful journey.
This, of course, rendered imperative fresh toasts to “Her most gracious
Majesty.”
At midnight, after
touching farewells and warm shaking of hands, the guests separated.
The boats of the
Resolute were in waiting at the stairs of Westminster Bridge. The captain
leaped in, accompanied by his officers and passengers, and the rapid current of
the Thames, aiding the strong arms of the rowers, bore them swiftly to
Greenwich. In an hour’s time all were asleep on board.
The next morning,
February 21st, at three o’clock, the furnaces began to roar; at five, the
anchors were weighed, and the Resolute, powerfully driven by her screw, began
to plough the water toward the mouth of the Thames.
It is needless to say
that the topic of conversation with every one on board was Dr. Ferguson’s
enterprise. Seeing and hearing the doctor soon inspired everybody with such
confidence that, in a very short time, there was no one, excepting the
incredulous Scotchman, on the steamer who had the least doubt of the perfect
feasibility and success of the expedition.
During the long,
unoccupied hours of the voyage, the doctor held regular sittings, with lectures
on geographical science, in the officers’ mess-room. These young men felt
an intense interest in the discoveries made during the last forty years in
Africa; and the doctor related to them the explorations of Barth, Burton,
Speke, and Grant, and depicted the wonders of this vast, mysterious country,
now thrown open on all sides to the investigations of science. On the north,
the young Duveyrier was exploring Sahara, and bringing the chiefs of the
Touaregs to Paris. Under the inspiration of the French Government, two
expeditions were preparing, which, descending from the north, and coming from
the west, would cross each other at Timbuctoo. In the south, the indefatigable
Livingstone was still advancing toward the equator; and, since March, 1862, he
had, in company with Mackenzie, ascended the river Rovoonia. The nineteenth
century would, assuredly, not pass, contended the doctor, without Africa having
been compelled to surrender the secrets she has kept locked up in her bosom for
six thousand years.
But the interest of Dr.
Ferguson’s hearers was excited to the highest pitch when he made known to
them, in detail, the preparations for his own journey. They took pleasure in
verifying his calculations; they discussed them; and the doctor frankly took
part in the discussion.
As a general thing, they
were surprised at the limited quantity of provision that he took with him; and
one day one of the officers questioned him on that subject.
“That peculiar
point astonishes you, does it?” said Ferguson.
“It does,
indeed.”
“But how long do
you think my trip is going to last? Whole months? If so, you are greatly
mistaken. Were it to be a long one, we should be lost; we should never get
back. But you must know that the distance from Zanzibar to the coast of Senegal
is only thirty-five hundred—say four thousand miles. Well, at the rate of
two hundred and forty miles every twelve hours, which does not come near the
rapidity of our railroad trains, by travelling day and night, it would take
only seven days to cross Africa!”
“But then you
could see nothing, make no geographical observations, or reconnoitre the face
of the country.”
“Ah!” replied
the doctor, “if I am master of my balloon—if I can ascend and
descend at will, I shall stop when I please, especially when too violent
currents of air threaten to carry me out of my way with them.”
“And you will
encounter such,” said Captain Bennet. “There are tornadoes that
sweep at the rate of more than two hundred and forty miles per hour.”
“You see, then,
that with such speed as that, we could cross Africa in twelve hours. One would
rise at Zanzibar, and go to bed at St. Louis!”
“But,”
rejoined the officer, “could any balloon withstand the wear and tear of
such velocity?”
“It has happened
before,” replied Ferguson.
“And the balloon
withstood it?”
“Perfectly well.
It was at the time of the coronation of Napoleon, in 1804. The aeronaut,
Gernerin, sent up a balloon at Paris, about eleven o’clock in the
evening. It bore the following inscription, in letters of gold: ‘Paris,
25 Frimaire; year XIII; Coronation of the Emperor Napoleon by his Holiness,
Pius VII.’ On the next morning, the inhabitants of Rome saw the same
balloon soaring above the Vatican, whence it crossed the Campagna, and finally
fluttered down into the lake of Bracciano. So you see, gentlemen, that a
balloon can resist such velocities.”
“A
balloon—that might be; but a man?” insinuated Kennedy.
“Yes, a man,
too!—for the balloon is always motionless with reference to the air that
surrounds it. What moves is the mass of the atmosphere itself: for instance,
one may light a taper in the car, and the flame will not even waver. An aeronaut
in Garnerin’s balloon would not have suffered in the least from the
speed. But then I have no occasion to attempt such velocity; and if I can
anchor to some tree, or some favorable inequality of the ground, at night, I
shall not fail to do so. Besides, we take provision for two months with us,
after all; and there is nothing to prevent our skilful huntsman here from
furnishing game in abundance when we come to alight.”
“Ah! Mr.
Kennedy,” said a young midshipman, with envious eyes, “what
splendid shots you’ll have!”
“Without
counting,” said another, “that you’ll have the glory as well
as the sport!”
“Gentlemen,”
replied the hunter, stammering with confusion, “I
greatly—appreciate—your compliments— but
they—don’t—belong to me.”
“You!”
exclaimed every body, “don’t you intend to go?”
“I am not
going!”
“You won’t
accompany Dr. Ferguson?”
“Not only shall I
not accompany him, but I am here so as to be present at the last moment to
prevent his going.”
Every eye was now turned
to the doctor.
“Never mind
him!” said the latter, calmly. “This is a matter that we
can’t argue with him. At heart he knows perfectly well that he IS
going.”
“By Saint
Andrew!” said Kennedy, “I swear—”
“Swear to nothing,
friend Dick; you have been ganged and weighed—you and your powder, your
guns, and your bullets; so don’t let us say anything more about
it.”
And, in fact, from that
day until the arrival at Zanzibar, Dick never opened his mouth. He talked
neither about that nor about anything else. He kept absolutely silent.
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