“And at a hundred paces only from the river!” groaned Joe.
The three hapless aëronauts descended to the ground, and the doctor drew his companions toward the Senegal.
At this point the river sent forth a prolonged roaring; and when Ferguson reached its bank, he recognized the falls of Gouina. But not a boat, not a living creature was to be seen. With a breadth of two thousand feet, the Senegal precipitates itself for a height of one hundred and fifty, with a thundering reverberation. It ran, where they saw it, from east to west, and the line of rocks that barred its course extended from north to south. In the midst of the falls, rocks of strange forms started up like huge ante-diluvian animals, petrified there amid the waters.
The impossibility of crossing this gulf was self-evident, and Kennedy could not restrain a gesture of despair.
But Dr. Ferguson, with an energetic accent of undaunted daring, exclaimed—
“All is not over!”
“I knew it,” said Joe, with that confidence in his master which nothing could ever shake.
The sight of the dried-up grass had inspired the doctor with a bold idea. It was the last chance of escape. He led his friends quickly back to where they had left the covering of the balloon.
“We have at least an hour’s start of those banditti,” said he; “let us lose no time, my friends; gather a quantity of this dried grass; I want a hundred pounds of it, at least.”
“For what purpose?” asked Kennedy, surprised.