Hardly able to believe or realize what Bob shouted, Jerry and Ned looked to where he pointed. There, in the air over their heads, perhaps a mile or two miles high, was a cigar-shaped, black object, floating along in a gentle wind. It looked like some big bird, winging its way over the ocean, but well the boys knew no birds would be so far from land.
“It’s the balloon! The dirigible!” cried Bob again.
“By Jove, Chunky!” yelled Ned, “I believe you’re right! Speed up, Jerry! Can it be possible that we have really found her, and at last we will be able to see Mr. Jackson?”
“It’s the balloon, all right,” agreed Jerry slowly. “But whether it’s the one we want or not, is another question.”
“We’ll soon settle that. I’ll get the telescope,” cried Ned.
He rushed into the main cabin, and came back with the powerful glass. This he focused on the black object, which seemed to increase in size as the Comet, shooting upward, came nearer and nearer to it.
“Well?” asked Jerry anxiously.
“I can’t make out any name on it,” replied Ned, “but it’s a dirigible balloon, all right, and it’s hardly likely to be any other than the disabled Manhattan.”
“Can you see any one on board?” asked Bob.
“No; I can’t make out a soul. But they may be all inside the cabin.”