"We saw you climbing and could not imagine what you were doing," put in Billy.
"Wall," continued the old sailor, "I managed fine at first, although that thar gas sausage was stretched as smooth and tight as a drum. The network around it gave me a foothold though, and once I was half-way round the lower bulge of the bag—where I was clinging on upside down,—I was all right.
"I had the valve lever in my hand and was just going to open it when I felt everything cave in around me like something had been pulled from under my feet—or as if I had been sitting on a cloud and it had melted.
"The dirigible had blown up.
"Luckily I kept my wits about me and deliberately made a dive for the sea. It was a good height but I struck it clean. Down and down I went till I thought I'd never come up again. My ear-drums felt like they'd bust and my head seemed to have been hit with an axe. But come up I did eventually as you know, and found poor George Melville there, too. Of the dirigible there was not so much of as a match-stick left. The rest you know."
Ben's voice shook a little as he reached the latter part of his narrative. The rugged sailor's face grew soft and he winked back a tear. The others said nothing for a few seconds and then Captain Hazzard looked up.
"Since you have become one of us in such a strange way, I presume you would like to know where we are bound for?"
"Wall, if it ain't askin' too much I would," rejoined the rugged adventurer.
"We are bound for the South Pole."
Ben never flicked an eyelid.