# Works of Jules Verne/Five Weeks in a Balloon/Chapter 22

CHAPTER XXII THE RESCUE
Ferguson directed his electric light towards various points, and stopped at the spot whence the cries of terror were heard. His two companions regarded it fixedly.
The "baobab," above which the "Victoria" was hovering, was growing in the center of an open space. Between the oil-plant fields and the sugar-canes they distinguished fifty huts of low and conical appearance, around which a numerous tribe had congregated.
A hundred feet below the balloon a stake had been prepared. At the foot of this stake lay a human being, a young man about thirty years old, with long black hair; he was half naked, emaciated, stained with blood, and covered with wounds. His head was bent forward on his chest.
Some hairs more closely shaven on the top of the head indicated the place where the tonsure had been half effaced.
"A missionary! a priest!" cried Joe.
"Poor fellow!" said the Scot.
"We will save him, Dick," said the doctor.
The crowd of negroes perceiving the balloon, which appeared like an enormous comet with a dazzling tail, were seized with a panic, as may readily be imagined. At their cries, the prisoner raised his head. His eyes sparkled with ​a rapid feeling of hope, and, without understanding all that was going on, he extended his hands towards his would-be helpers.
"He lives, he lives!" cried Ferguson. "Heaven be praised! These savages are in a most excellent fright. We shall save him. Are you ready, friends?"
"We are quite ready, Samuel."
"Joe, slacken the blow-pipe."
The doctor's orders were obeyed. A scarcely perceptible breeze carried the "Victoria" gently over the prisoner, at the same time that it was gradually lowered by the contraction of the gas. For about ten minutes it remained floating in the midst of the waves of electric light. Ferguson darted amongst the crowd his sparkling clusters of light, which shot here and there in rapid and brilliant gleams. The tribe, under the influence of indescribable terror, disappeared gradually into their huts, and the neighborhood of the stake was deserted. The doctor had been right to count upon the fantastic appearance of the "Victoria," which darted rays as from the sun into the darkness.
The car approached the ground. But some negroes, bolder than the rest, began to comprehend that their victim would escape, and returned, yelling loudly. Kennedy seized his rifle, but the doctor ordered him not to fire.
The priest was kneeling down, not having sufficient strength to stand upright; he was not even tied to the stake, as his weakness rendered bonds useless. At the moment that the car touched the ground, the Scot leaned over, and, seizing the priest round the waist, placed him in the car. At the same moment, Joe threw overboard the 200 lbs. of ballast. The doctor expected to ascend with extreme rapidity: but, contrary to his hopes, the balloon, after rising about three or four feet from the ground, remained stationary.
"What is delaying us?" he exclaimed, in terrified accents.
Some savages now came running up and uttering fierce cries.
"Oh!" cried Joe, leaning over, "one of those cursed niggers is holding on to the balloon."
"Dick, Dick!" cried the doctor, "the water-tank!"
Dick understood, and raising one of the chests of water, ​which weighed more than 100 lbs., he threw it overboard.
The "Victoria," suddenly lightened, made a bound of 300 feet into the air, amidst the yells of the tribe, from whom the prisoner had escaped in a flash of dazzling light.
"Hurrah!" cried the doctor's companions.
Suddenly the balloon gave another bound, which carried it up to an elevation of 1,000 feet.
"What is it?" asked Kennedy, who had nearly lost his equilibrium.
"Nothing! It is only that blackguard who has let go," replied the doctor calmly.
And Joe, looking quickly over, could still perceive the savage with extended hands tumbling over and over in the air, and he soon fell crushed upon the ground. The doctor then separated the two electric wires, and the obscurity became profound. It was one o'clock in the morning.
The Frenchman, who had fainted, at length opened his eyes.
"You are saved!" said the doctor.
"Saved!" he answered in English, with a sad smile, "saved from a cruel death. My brothers, I thank you; but my days are numbered, even my hours are fast running out, and I have not long to live———"
And the missionary, utterly exhausted, relapsed into insensibility.
"He is dead!" exclaimed Dick.
"No, no," replied Ferguson, as he bent over him, "but he is very weak; let us lay him down in the tent."
They laid down gently upon the coverings the poor emaciated body, covered with scars and still bleeding wounds, and on which the iron and the fire had left a hundred saddening traces. The doctor made some lint from a handkerchief, which he placed upon the wounds, after having washed them carefully. He did all this with the practiced hand of a doctor, then taking a cordial from the medicine-chest he poured a few drops down his patient's throat.
The priest feebly touched his quivering lips, and had scarcely strength to murmur "Thank you!"
The doctor perceived that it was necessary to leave him in perfect repose, so he drew the curtains of the tent and resumed his guidance of the balloon.
​The balloon, taking into account the weight of its new guest, had been divested of nearly 180 lbs. weight. It therefore kept itself up without the assistance of the blowpipe. At daybreak a current drove it gently towards the west-nor'west. Ferguson had been contemplating the unconscious priest for some time, when Dick inquired:
"Can we preserve the life of this companion whom Heaven has sent? Have you any hope?"
"Yes, Dick, with care and pure air."
"How the man has suffered!" said Joe, with feeling.
"He has done a much bolder thing than we have, in coming alone amongst these tribes."
"No doubt about that," replied the doctor.
During all that day the doctor would not permit the sleep of his patient to be disturbed. It was a long rest, interrupted occasionally by painful murmurings, which did not reassure Ferguson.
Towards evening the "Victoria" rested motionless in the gloom, and during that night, while Joe and Kennedy laid down by the side of the invalid, Ferguson kept watch. The following morning they perceived that the "Victoria" had drifted very slightly towards the west. The day promised to be fair and beautiful. The invalid was able to address his friends in a stronger voice, they pulled back the curtains of the tent, and he breathed with delight the crisp morning air.
"How do you feel?" asked Ferguson.
"Rather better," replied he. "But, my friends, I have scarcely seen you but as it were in a dream. I can hardly understand what has happened. Tell me who you are, so that your names may be remembered in my last prayer."
"We are English travelers," said Samuel, "and are attempting to cross Africa in a balloon, and during our passage we have had the happiness to render you assistance."
"Science has its heroes," said the missionary.
"And religion has its martyrs," replied the Scotchman.
"You are a missionary, then?" said the doctor.
"I am a priest of the Mission of the Lazarists. Heaven sent you to me, and Heaven be praised for it. The sacrifice of my life was offered. But you come from Europe! Speak to me of Europe, and of France! I have had no news for five years!"
​"Five years alone, amongst those savages!" exclaimed Kennedy.
"There were souls to be saved," said the young priest. "Ignorant brothers, barbarians, whom religion alone is able to instruct and to civilize."
Samuel Ferguson, yielding to the desire of the missionary, talked to him for a long time of France. The priest listened eagerly, and tears gathered in his eyes. The poor young man took by turns the hands of Kennedy and Joe in his feverish grasp, the doctor prepared some cups of tea, of which he gladly partook. He had then sufficient strength to sit up a little, and smiled at seeing himself carried through such a pure atmosphere.
"You are certainly wonderful travelers," he said, "and you will succeed in your bold enterprise. You will see your parents, your friends, your country once again, you———"
The weakness of the young priest here became so great that he was obliged to lie down again. During the prostration of some hours which followed, he was like one dead under Ferguson's hands. He could not contain his emotion, he felt his patient's life was speeding. Were they then to lose so quickly he whom they had snatched from martyrdom? He dressed the patient's wounds once more, and sacrificed the greater part of the supply of water, in order to refresh the sick man's burning limbs. He bestowed the most tender and discriminating care upon his patient, who recovered little by little, and returned to consciousness, if not to life.
"Speak your native tongue," he said. "I understand it.
The doctor learnt his history in disconnected sentences.
The missionary was a poor young man from the village of Aradon, in Bretagne, in the plain of Morbihan; his first instincts led him towards an ecclesiastical career. To that life of self-denial he wished to unite a life of danger, and entered into the order of mission priests, of which St. Vincent de Paul was the glorious founder. At twenty years of age he quitted his native land for the inhospitable plains of Africa. Then, by degrees, overcoming obstacles, enduring privations, praying and marching, he advanced into the midst of the tribes which dwell by the affluents of the upper Nile. During two years his religion was scoffed at, his ​zeal despised, his kindness of heart misunderstood; he remained the prisoner of one of the most cruel people of the Nyambarra, the object of a thousand ill-treatments. But he continued to pray, and to instruct, both by example and precept. The tribe was dispersed, and left him for dead, after one of those combats which so frequently take place between neighboring tribes; instead of retracing his steps, he continued his evangelical pilgrimage. The most peaceful time he enjoyed was that when he was taken for an idiot; and having become familiarized with the dialects of the country, he continued his good work. Finally, after two more long years, he penetrated these barbarous regions, impelled by that superhuman force which comes from God alone. For one year he had dwelt with this tribe of Nyam-Nyam, called Barafia, and one of the most savage. The chief having died some days before, they attributed his sudden death to the missionary, and resolved to kill him; his punishment had already lasted forty hours, and, as the doctor had supposed, he was to have died at noon.
When he heard the report of firearms, Nature asserted herself, and he cried aloud for help; he almost believed he was dreaming when a voice came from heaven bearing him words of consolation.
"I do not regret the existence which I am about to quit," added he; "my life is with God."
"Do not abandon all hope," replied the doctor; "we are with you—we will save you from death as we have saved you from suffering."
"I do not ask so much from Heaven," replied the resigned priest; "blessed be God for having permitted me the happiness of clasping friendly hands and hearing my native tongue once more before I die."
The missionary sank back again. The day passed thus alternating between hope and fear. Kennedy was visibly affected, and Joe wiped his eyes unobserved.
The "Victoria" made but little way, and the wind appeared to be desirous of taking care of its precious freight.
Joe gave notice in the evening that he could perceive a strong light in the west. In higher latitudes it might have been thought to be an immense aurora borealis—the sky seemed on fire. The doctor examined this phenomenon attentively.
​"It is nothing but an active volcano, after all," he said.
"But the wind will carry us right over it," said Joe.
"Well, we will clear it at a safe distance."
Three hours afterwards the "Victoria" was amongst mountains; the exact position was 24° 15′ long., and 4° 42′ lat. In front a fiery crater poured molten lava and belched forth large rocks to an immense height, while streams of liquid fire ran down in cascades of dazzling beauty. It was a grand and fearful sight, for the wind, with a fixed direction, carried the balloon towards the burning mountain.
This obstacle, which they could not avoid, they must pass over. The blow-pipe was warmed to full pressure, and the "Victoria" ascended to 6,000 feet, leaving a distance of 300 fathoms between it and the volcano.
From his bed of pain the dying priest was able to watch the crater from which a thousand sheaves of fire were scintillating with a roar.
"How splendid it is!" he said, "and the power of God is infinite, even in these terrible manifestations."
This outpouring of burning lava clothed the sides of the mountain in a veritable carpet of fire. The lower part of the balloon shone brightly in the darkness, a tremendous heat reached even to the car, and Doctor Ferguson hastened to escape from this perilous position.
Towards ten o'clock in the evening the mountain was only a red spot on the horizon, and the "Victoria" peacefully continued her journey in a less elevated zone.
Layout 2