"We must make a final effort," he said to his companions, about six o'clock. "We must endeavor to find an atmospheric current which will carry us forward. We must risk everything."
And while his friends slept he brought the hydrogen in the balloon to a very high temperature. The balloon filled out as the gas expanded, and mounted perpendicularly upwards. The doctor sought vainly for a breath of wind from a hundred feet to nearly five miles up. His point of departure was exactly beneath. A dead calm appeared to reign even up to the last limit of the atmospheric air.
At length the water failed; the blow-pipe ceased for want of gas; the Buntzen-pile stopped working; and the "Victoria," collapsing, descended quietly upon the sand, where the car had already hollowed out its impression.
It was mid-day; the bearings were 19° 35' long., 6° 51' lat.—nearly 500 miles from Lake Tchad, more than 400 miles from the western coast of Africa.
As the balloon touched the ground, Dick and Joe aroused from their torpor.
"We are stopping," said the Scot.
"We have no choice," replied the doctor in a grave tone.
His companions understood him. The level of the ground was of the level of the sea, in consequence of its uniform flatness; so the balloon maintained itself in perfect equilibrium, and was absolutely motionless.
The weight of the travelers was replaced by an equivalent charge of sand, and they alighted. Each was absorbed in thought, and for many hours no one spoke. Joe prepared supper of biscuit and pemmican, of which they ate little; a sip of tepid water completed this melancholy repast. No one kept watch during the night, yet no one slept. The heat was suffocating. Next day there was only half a pint of water remaining—the doctor put it by, resolved that it should not be touched, except in the last extremity.
"I am suffocating," Joe soon cried; "the heat is greater than ever. But that does not astonish me," he added, after consulting the thermometer; "it is 140°!"
"The sand is baking you," said the Scot, "as if it were
