The Jet of Light.--The Missionary.--The Rescue in a Ray of Electricity.--A Lazarist Priest.--But little Hope.--The Doctor's Care.--A Life of Self-Denial. --Passing a Volcano.
Dr. Ferguson darted his powerful electric jet toward various points of space, and caused it to rest on a spot from which shouts of terror were heard. His companions fixed their gaze eagerly on the place.
The baobab, over which the balloon was hanging almost motionless, stood in the centre of a clearing, where, between fields of Indian-corn and sugar-cane, were seen some fifty low, conical huts, around which swarmed a numerous tribe.
A hundred feet below the balloon stood a large post, or stake, and at its foot lay a human being--a young man of thirty years or more, with long black hair, half naked, wasted and wan, bleeding, covered with wounds, his head bowed over upon his breast, as Christ's was, when He hung upon the cross.
The hair, cut shorter on the top of his skull, still indicated the place of a half-effaced tonsure.
"A missionary! a priest!" exclaimed Joe.
"Poor, unfortunate man!" said Kennedy.
"We must save him, Dick!" responded the doctor; "we must save him!"
The crowd of blacks, when they saw the balloon over their heads, like a huge comet with a train of dazzling light, were seized with a terror that may be readily imagined. Upon hearing their cries, the prisoner raised his head. His eyes gleamed with sudden hope, and, without too thoroughly comprehending what was taking place, he stretched out his hands to his unexpected deliverers.
"He is alive!" exclaimed Ferguson. "God be praised! The savages have got a fine scare, and we shall save him! Are you ready, friends?"
"Ready, doctor, at the word."
"Joe, shut off the cylinder!"
The doctor's order was executed. An almost imperceptible breath of air impelled the balloon directly over the prisoner, at the same time that it gently lowered with the contraction of the gas. For about ten minutes it remained floating in the midst of luminous waves, for Ferguson continued to flash right down upon the throng his glowing sheaf of rays, which, here and there, marked out swift and vivid sheets of light. The tribe, under the influence of an indescribable terror, disappeared little by little in the huts, and there was complete solitude around the stake. The doctor had, therefore, been right in counting upon the fantastic appearance of the balloon throwing out rays, as vivid as the sun's, through this intense gloom.
The car was approaching the ground; but a few of the savages, more audacious than the rest, guessing that their victim was about to escape from their clutches, came back with loud yells, and Kennedy seized his rifle. The doctor, however, besought him not to fire.
The priest, on his knees, for he had not the strength to stand erect, was not even fastened to the stake, his weakness rendering that precaution superfluous. At the instant when the car was close to the ground, the brawny Scot, laying aside his rifle, and seizing the priest around the waist, lifted him into the car, while, at the same moment, Joe tossed over the two hundred pounds of ballast.
The doctor had expected to ascend rapidly, but, contrary to his calculations, the balloon, after going up some three or four feet, remained there perfectly motionless.
"What holds us?" he asked, with an accent of terror.
Some of the savages were running toward them, uttering ferocious cries.
"Ah, ha!" said Joe, "one of those cursed blacks is hanging to the car!"
"Dick! Dick!" cried the doctor, "the water-tank!"
Kennedy caught his friend's idea on the instant, and, snatching up with desperate strength one of the water-tanks weighing about one hundred pounds, he tossed it overboard. The balloon, thus suddenly lightened, made a leap of three hundred feet into the air, amid the howlings of the tribe whose prisoner thus escaped them in a blaze of dazzling light.
"Hurrah!" shouted the doctor's comrades.
Suddenly, the balloon took a fresh leap, which carried it up to an elevation of a thousand feet.
"What's that?" said Kennedy, who had nearly lost his balance.
"Oh! nothing; only that black villain leaving us!" replied the doctor, tranquilly, and Joe, leaning over, saw the savage that had clung to the car whirling over and over, with his arms outstretched in the air, and presently dashed to pieces on the ground. The doctor then separated his electric wires, and every thing was again buried in profound obscurity. It was now one o'clock in the morning.
The Frenchman, who had swooned away, at length opened his eyes.
"You are saved!" were the doctor's first words.
"Saved!" he with a sad smile replied in English, "saved from a cruel death! My brethren, I thank you, but my days are numbered, nay, even my hours, and I have but little longer to live."
With this, the missionary, again yielding to exhaustion, relapsed into his fainting-fit.
"He is dying!" said Kennedy.
"No," replied the doctor, bending over him, "but he is very weak; so let us lay him under the awning."
And they did gently deposit on their blankets that poor, wasted body, covered with scars and wounds, still bleeding where fire and steel had, in twenty places, left their agonizing marks. The doctor, taking an old handkerchief, quickly prepared a little lint, which he spread over the wounds, after having washed them. These rapid attentions were bestowed with the celerity and skill of a practised surgeon, and, when they were complete, the doctor, taking a cordial from his medicine-chest, poured a few drops upon his patient's lips.
The latter feebly pressed his kind hands, and scarcely had the strength to say, "Thank you! thank you!"
The doctor comprehended that he must be left perfectly quiet; so he closed the folds of the awning and resumed the guidance of the balloon.
The latter, after taking into account the weight of the new passenger, had been lightened of one hundred and eighty pounds, and therefore kept aloft without the aid of the cylinder. At the first dawn of day, a current drove it gently toward the west-northwest. The doctor went in under the awning for a moment or two, to look at his still sleeping patient.
"May Heaven spare the life of our new companion! Have you any hope?" said the Scot.
"Yes, Dick, with care, in this pure, fresh atmosphere."
"How that man has suffered!" said Joe, with feeling. "He did bolder things than we've done, in venturing all alone among those savage tribes!"
"That cannot be questioned," assented the hunter.
During the entire day the doctor would not allow the sleep of his patient to be disturbed. It was really a long stupor, broken only by an occasional murmur of pain that continued to disquiet and agitate the doctor greatly.
Toward evening the balloon remained stationary in the midst of the gloom, and during the night, while Kennedy and Joe relieved each other in carefully tending the sick man, Ferguson kept watch over the safety of all.
By the morning of the next day, the balloon had moved, but very slightly, to the westward. The dawn came up pure and magnificent. The sick man was able to call his friends with a stronger voice. They raised the curtains of the awning, and he inhaled with delight the keen morning air.
"How do you feel to-day?" asked the doctor.
"Better, perhaps," he replied. "But you, my friends, I have not seen you yet, excepting in a dream! I can, indeed, scarcely recall what has occurred. Who are you --that your names may not be forgotten in my dying prayers?"
"We are English travellers," replied Ferguson. "We are trying to cross Africa in a balloon, and, on our way, we have had the good fortune to rescue you."
"Science has its heroes," said the missionary.
"But religion its martyrs!" rejoined the Scot.
"Are you a missionary?" asked the doctor.
"I am a priest of the Lazarist mission. Heaven sent you to me--Heaven be praised! The sacrifice of my life had been accomplished! But you come from Europe; tell me about Europe, about France! I have been without news for the last five years!"
"Five years! alone! and among these savages!" exclaimed Kennedy with amazement.
"They are souls to redeem! ignorant and barbarous brethren, whom religion alone can instruct and civilize."
Dr. Ferguson, yielding to the priest's request, talked to him long and fully about France. He listened eagerly, and his eyes filled with tears. He seized Kennedy's and Joe's hands by turns in his own, which were burning with fever. The doctor prepared him some tea, and he drank it with satisfaction. After that, he had strength enough to raise himself up a little, and smiled with pleasure at seeing himself borne along through so pure a sky.
"You are daring travellers!" he said, "and you will succeed in your bold enterprise. You will again behold your relatives, your friends, your country--you--"
At this moment, the weakness of the young missionary became so extreme that they had to lay him again on the bed, where a prostration, lasting for several hours, held him like a dead man under the eye of Dr. Ferguson. The latter could not suppress his emotion, for he felt that this life now in his charge was ebbing away. Were they then so soon to lose him whom they had snatched from an agonizing death? The doctor again washed and dressed the young martyr's frightful wounds, and had to sacrifice nearly his whole stock of water to refresh his burning limbs. He surrounded him with the tenderest and most intelligent care, until, at length, the sick man revived, little by little, in his arms, and recovered his consciousness if not his strength.
The doctor was able to gather something of his history from his broken murmurs.
"Speak in your native language," he said to the sufferer; "I understand it, and it will fatigue you less."
The missionary was a poor young man from the village of Aradon, in Brittany, in the Morbihan country. His earliest instincts had drawn him toward an ecclesiastical career, but to this life of self-sacrifice he was also desirous of joining a life of danger, by entering the mission of the order of priesthood of which St. Vincent de Paul was the founder, and, at twenty, he quitted his country for the inhospitable shores of Africa. From the sea-coast, overcoming obstacles, little by little, braving all privations, pushing onward, afoot, and praying, he had advanced to the very centre of those tribes that dwell among the tributary streams of the Upper Nile. For two years his faith was spurned, his zeal denied recognition, his charities taken in ill part, and he remained a prisoner to one of the cruelest tribes of the Nyambarra, the object of every species of maltreatment. But still he went on teaching, instructing, and praying. The tribe having been dispersed and he left for dead, in one of those combats which are so frequent between the tribes, instead of retracing his steps, he persisted in his evangelical mission. His most tranquil time was when he was taken for a madman. Meanwhile, he had made himself familiar with the idioms of the country, and he catechised in them. At length, during two more long years, he traversed these barbarous regions, impelled by that superhuman energy that comes from God. For a year past he had been residing with that tribe of the Nyam-Nyams known as the Barafri, one of the wildest and most ferocious of them all. The chief having died a few days before our travellers appeared, his sudden death was attributed to the missionary, and the tribe resolved to immolate him. His sufferings had already continued for the space of forty hours, and, as the doctor had supposed, he was to have perished in the blaze of the noonday sun. When he heard the sound of fire-arms, nature got the best of him, and he had cried out, "Help! help!" He then thought that he must have been dreaming, when a voice, that seemed to come from the sky, had uttered words of consolation.
"I have no regrets," he said, "for the life that is passing away from me; my life belongs to God!"
"Hope still!" said the doctor; "we are near you, and we will save you now, as we saved you from the tortures of the stake."
"I do not ask so much of Heaven," said the priest, with resignation. "Blessed be God for having vouchsafed to me the joy before I die of having pressed your friendly hands, and having heard, once more, the language of my country!"
The missionary here grew weak again, and the whole day went by between hope and fear, Kennedy deeply moved, and Joe drawing his hand over his eyes more than once when he thought that no one saw him.
The balloon made little progress, and the wind seemed as though unwilling to jostle its precious burden.
Toward evening, Joe discovered a great light in the west. Under more elevated latitudes, it might have been mistaken for an immense aurora borealis, for the sky appeared on fire. The doctor very attentively examined the phenomenon.
"It is, perhaps, only a volcano in full activity," said he.
"But the wind is carrying us directly over it," replied Kennedy.
"Very well, we shall cross it then at a safe height!" said the doctor.
Three hours later, the Victoria was right among the mountains. Her exact position was twenty-four degrees fifteen minutes east longitude, and four degrees forty-two minutes north latitude, and four degrees forty-two minutes north latitude. In front of her a volcanic crater was pouring forth torrents of melted lava, and hurling masses of rock to an enormous height. There were jets, too, of liquid fire that fell back in dazzling cascades--a superb but dangerous spectacle, for the wind with unswerving certainty was carrying the balloon directly toward this blazing atmosphere.
This obstacle, which could not be turned, had to be crossed, so the cylinder was put to its utmost power, and the balloon rose to the height of six thousand feet, leaving between it and the volcano a space of more than three hundred fathoms.
From his bed of suffering, the dying missionary could contemplate that fiery crater from which a thousand jets of dazzling flame were that moment escaping.
"How grand it is!" said he, "and how infinite is the power of God even in its most terrible manifestations!"
This overflow of blazing lava wrapped the sides of the mountain with a veritable drapery of flame; the lower half of the balloon glowed redly in the upper night; a torrid heat ascended to the car, and Dr. Ferguson made all possible haste to escape from this perilous situation.
By ten o'clock the volcano could be seen only as a red point on the horizon, and the balloon tranquilly pursued her course in a less elevated zone of the atmosphere.
光束——传教士——电光中救人——天主教遣使会神父——希望渺茫——博士的关照——舍己布道的一生——路过火山
弗格森把这束强光照向四面八方，最后对准发出惊叫的那个地方，停了下来。他的两个同伴把热切的目光投向那里。
“维多利亚号”悬在猴面包树上一动不动。这棵树就耸立在一块空地中间。在一块芝麻地和甘蔗田之间，清晰地显现出50多座低矮的圆锥顶茅屋。茅屋周围乱哄哄地挤着许多土著人。
距离气球100步左右的地上栽着一根木桩。 木桩脚下躺着一个人。这个人年纪轻轻，最多30岁；只见他满头长长的黑发，身子半裸，骨瘦如柴，浑身血迹，遍体鳞伤，头垂到胸前，活像钉在十字架上的耶稣。头顶短短的头发显示出他受过剃发礼。
“真的是位传教士！一个神甫！”乔嚷道。
“可怜的人！不幸的人！”猎人不禁同情地叫了一声。
“肯尼迪，我们要把他救出来！”博士坚定地说，“一定要救出来！”
气球悬在空中，像一颗拖着闪光尾巴的大慧星。部落里的黑人们看到后无不惊慌失措，魂飞胆丧。那位可怜的囚犯听到叫声，抬起了头。看到眼前的情景，他的眼睛一亮，目光顿时充满了希望。尽管他没完全明白发生了什么事，仍然向意外的援救者伸出了双手。
“他还活着！还活着！”弗格森欣喜地喊道，“谢天谢地！这些野人现在吓呆住了！我们快去救他！朋友们，准备好了吗？”
“弗格森，我们正等着呢。”
“乔，关灭喷嘴。”
博士的命令立即得到了执行。这时，一股若有若无的微风驱使“维多利亚号”轻轻移到囚犯的上空。与此同时，随着氢气的冷缩，气球也缓缓地下降。“维多利亚号”在光的波浪中漂浮了10秒钟左右。这段时间里，弗格森手中那束夺目的强光始终对着人群不停地扫来扫去。黑人们为一种难以名状的恐惧左右，纷纷溜回自己的茅屋躲了起来。村庄周围很快空无一人。依靠“维多利亚号”在浓密的黑暗中发射出太阳般的光芒突然出现在空中来吓跑黑人，救出传教士，博士的这一招果然奏效了。
吊篮接近地面了。可是这时，几位胆大的黑人明白过来他们的牺牲品要逃掉，立即大声喊叫着返了回来。肯尼迪抓起枪，但博士吩咐他别放。
跪在地上的神甫，连站起来的力气也没有了。他甚至没有被绑在木桩上，因为他已经奄奄一息，绳子对他来说是多余的。当吊篮即将触地时，猎人放下手中的武器， 拦腰抱起神甫，把他连拖带拉，弄进吊篮。几乎同一时刻，乔把200斤压载物急促地扔了出去。
博士原以为气球会很快升起来。可是，出乎他的预料，气球离开地面三四尺高后，竟然一动不动了！
“谁在拉住我们？”他惊骇地问道。
这时，几位黑人正恶狠狠地大呼小叫着朝这儿跑来。
“哎呀！”乔向外探出身子往下一瞧，不禁大叫起来，“有个可恶的黑鬼抓住吊篮了！”
“肯尼迪，肯尼迪！”博士喊道，“快！水箱！”
肯尼迪立即明白了朋友的用意。 他马上搬起一只100多斤重的水箱，一下子推出了吊篮。“维多利亚号”突然减轻了负担，猛地往空中上升了300尺。
眼睁睁地看着气球带走了他们的牺牲品，土著人气愤极了，他们发出了一片狂暴的咆哮。可怜的传教士就这样在耀眼夺目的光辉中被从土人的残暴中解救了出来。
“万岁！”博士的两位伙伴兴奋地又喊又叫。
突然，气球又往上猛升，一直把他们带到1000多尺的高空。
“怎么回事！”肯尼迪惊愕地问。气球的这一突然举动险些使他们失去平衡。
“没什么！是那个坏蛋松开了吊篮。”弗格森·弗格森平静地答道。
听到此话，乔立即俯身查看。由于他动作快，还来得及。只见那个野人摊着双手，在空中翻着斤牛，不大一会儿，一头栽到地上，摔得粉身碎骨。博士分开了两根导线，周围马上又陷入了一片黑暗之中。这时，已是早上一点钟。
一直昏迷着的法国人终于睁开了双眼。
“您得救了。”博士告诉他。
“得救了？”他用英语重复了一遍，脸上露出凄惨的微笑，“从令人痛苦的死亡中得救了！兄弟们，我感谢你们。但是，我现在是活一天算一天，甚至活一小时算一小时。我的时日已经不多了。”
传教士说完话，已极度不支，又陷入了昏迷。
“他死了。”狄克·肯尼迪叫道。
“没有死。”弗格森俯下身子，仔细观察了一番后说，“可是，他非常衰弱。我们把他抬到帐篷里躺着吧。”
他们把这个骨瘦如柴的可怜人轻轻放到铺盖上。这位传教士遍体鳞伤，刀口还在淌血，全身仅仅烧伤和烙伤就有20余处。博士为他洗净了创口，然后把一只手帕撕成条，轻轻敷在伤处。博士做这一切时动作敏捷，手法熟练，活像位医生。包扎完毕，博士从药箱中取出一瓶强心剂，往神甫嘴里滴了几滴。
神甫艰难地张了张嘴，有气无力地说了句“谢谢。”
博士明白伤者需要绝对静养。他放下帐篷周围的幕帘，自己又去操纵气球了。
尽管增加了新的乘客。 由于事先已减去近180斤的载重，所以，气球不借助氢氧喷嘴的加热仍可保持平衡。天刚破晓，一股气流轻轻吹着“维多利亚号”向西北偏北方向飘去。飞行中，弗格森博士走到昏睡的神甫跟前，仔细观察了一会儿。
“我们能救活他吗？他可是上帝派来给我们作伴的呀！”猎人问博士，“你有把握吗？”
“是的，肯尼迪。在我们细心照料下，在这种如此纯净的空气中，他会活过来的。”
“这个人受了多少罪啊！”乔动情地说，“你们知道，他在那儿做的可比我们要勇敢，竟然一个人到那些野人堆里去！”
“这点毫无疑问。”猎人答道。
整整一个白天，博士不让任何人打扰这个不幸的人。病人一直昏睡不醒，其间不时发出几声痛苦的呻吟，似乎在宽慰弗格森博士，他仍然活着。
傍晚时分，“维多利亚号”停了下来，在黑暗中度过了一夜。晚上，乔和肯尼迪轮流看护病人，弗格森值班负责大家的安全。
第二天早晨，“维多利亚号”微微向西偏航。这一天，晴空万里，有望是个好天气。病人已经能够大点声与他的新朋友讲话了。帐篷四周的幕帘已掀开，他幸福地呼吸着清晨清新的空气。
“您感觉怎样？”弗格森博士问他。
“也许好些了。”他答道，“但是，我的朋友，我真不敢相信眼前的事，还一直以为是在梦中见到的你们。说真的，我还没弄明白到底发生了什么事。你们是谁？我要为你们祈祷。”
“我们是英国旅行家。”弗格森答道，“我们正尝试乘气球穿越非洲大陆。我们路过那儿的时候，有幸救了您。”
“科学界有科学界的英雄啊。”传教士说。
“宗教界也有宗教界的殉道者呀！”苏格兰人应了一句。
“您是传教士？”博士问。
“我是天主教遣使会传道团的神甫。上帝把你们派到我这儿来，我真感谢上帝！可是我的生命已经不属于我自己了。好了，你们刚刚从欧洲来，就请给我讲讲欧洲，讲讲法国吧！我已经5年没有得到法国的消息了。”
“5年！您一个人竟然在那些野人中间待了5年！”肯尼迪吃惊地叫道。
“那是些需要拯救的灵魂。”年青的神甫解释说，“对那些愚昧无知的兄弟，只有宗教才能开化和启迪他们。”
弗格森·弗格森满足了传教士的愿望，给他说了好半天有关法国的事。教士急切地听着博士的讲述，热泪夺眶而出。可怜的年青人用他那滚烫的手一会儿抓住肯尼迪的手，一会儿握着乔的手。博士给他煮了几杯热茶，他高兴地喝了下去。这时，他有了点气力能微微抬起身子。当看到自已被带在这湛蓝的天空飞行时，他欣慰地微笑了。
“你们真是些无畏的旅行家！”他赞叹道，“你们的勇敢事业一定会成功。你们将见到你们的父母、朋友、祖国。你们……！”
话说到这儿，年青神甫已虚弱不堪，不得不让他重新躺下来。他一连虚脱了几个小时，如同死人一般动也不动。弗格森博士始终守在旁边，双手抓着他的手，脸上情不自禁地流露出不安的神色。他感觉到这个生命在渐渐逝去。难道说，他们真的那么快就要失去这位刚从刽子手的手中夺回来的人吗？博士把这位殉道者身上那些惨不忍睹的伤口重新包扎了一遍，接着，又不得不牺牲很大部分储备水来为病人擦身子，好使他滚烫的肢体降温。总之，病人得到了弗格森博士无微不至，尽心尽力的照顾。最后，病人在他的怀抱中终于一点点地苏醒过来，尽管不一定能活下去，起码恢复了知觉。
可怜的人睁开眼后，刚用英语说了几句，博士马上告诉他说：
“请用您的母语讲吧，我懂法语，而且，这样您也不太吃力。”
于是年青的传教士断断续续地讲起了自己的经历，博士听后感到非常惊讶。
传教士是法国莫尔比昂省中部布列塔尼地区阿拉东村人。初期受的教育使他选择了传教士的职业。过上了这种舍己为人的生活后，他还想使生活带点冒险色彩。于是，他加入了圣人万桑·德·保尔创办的天主教遣使会①传教团。20岁时，他离开祖国来到了非洲这一片不好客的土地上。从此，他克服艰难险阻，不顾穷困潦倒，一路边走边布道，最后到了居住在上尼罗河支流的这些部落里。两年中，他的传教一直不为人接受，他的虔诚一直不为人理解，他的博爱一直被歪曲。后来，他成了尼昂巴拉地区最残暴的一个部落的俘虏，受到百般虐待。可是，他仍继续教诲、传道和祷告。这里的部落之间常常相互残杀。一次，囚禁他的部落在与其他部落打仗中被战败，他们以为他死了，就扔下他各自逃窜了。可是，他并没因此掉过头往回走，而是继续在非洲传播福音。他最安宁的时候就是被当作疯子的那些日子。他毫不灰心，走一处，学一处，已经熟悉了这些地区各部落的语言。他坚持讲授教理，宣扬上帝。这样，在上帝赐与的这种超人力量的驱动下，他在漫长的两年时间里走遍了这些野蛮的地区。最近一年来，他待在一个名叫“巴拉夫利”的尼阿姆—尼阿姆人部落里。这个部落是最野蛮部落中的一个。就在几天前，部落的酋长死了。他被归罪为酋长暴死的祸首。部落的人于是决定把他杀了作祭品。在气球到来时，他已经受了40个小时的酷刑。正如博士所料，他在中午太阳当顶时就要被杀死了。他听到枪声后，本能使他叫起了“救命”。当天空传来一种声音安抚他时，他还以为自己是在做梦。
①由法国人万桑·德·保尔于1625年创建。该会的宗旨是向农民传教以及教育培养农村神职人员。
“我死而无憾，”他补充说，“因为我的生命是属于上帝的！”
“您别绝望，”博士安慰他，“有我们在您身边。就像把您从刽子手手中救出来一样，我们也会把您从死神手中救出来的！”
“我不向上帝祈求更多的了！”神甫认命地说，“感谢上帝的赐福，在我！临死前给了我这份快乐，让我能握握朋友的手，听听祖国的语言。”
传教士又一次衰弱下去。 一个白天，传教士就这样一会儿清醒一会儿昏迷。3位旅行家也随之一会儿觉得有希望，一会儿担心他死去。肯尼迪非常悲愤，而乔则一直躲在一旁悄悄擦眼泪。
“维多利亚号”移动得非常慢，风好像也在痛惜这位可怜的人，想让他死前得到安宁。
天将黑时，乔注意到西方有一大片微微亮光。如果是在纬度较高的地区，大家可能以为是看到了大片北极光。天空就像着了火似的。博士仔细地察看这种现象。
“不过是座正在喷发的火山罢了，不可能是别的。”他判断道。
“可是，风正把我们往那上面刮呢。”肯尼迪担心地说。
“那有什么！我们就以安全高度从火山上空飞过去好了。”
3个小时后， “维多利亚号”已处于火山区上空了。它的准确方位是东经24度15分， 北纬4度42分。气球前方的下面，一个火光熊熊的火山口正往外流着烧得红通通的熔岩流；大大小小的岩石块被高高喷起，条条火流瀑布般垂下山口，令人看了赞叹不已。此时，风正一成不变地把气球径直向这片冲天火海中送去，这景象可真是既壮观又危险。
既然没法绕过这个火障，就只有飞越过去了。于是，氢氧喷嘴的火头被开到了最大，“维多利亚号”很快升到6000尺的高空，与火山相隔300多托瓦兹的距离。
垂死的神甫躺在哪儿，正好可以凝视伴随着隆隆响声喷发出千万道耀眼火光的火山口。
“多美啊！”他赞叹道，“神的力量多么大啊！他甚至在用最可怕的启示告诉我们，他是无处不在的。”
炽热的熔岩洪流给山坡覆盖了一层真正的火的地毯。黑夜中，气球的下半部被火映得发亮。一股灼热难忍的热浪直冲吊篮里。弗格森博士急忙使气球离开这个危险的境地。
晚上10点钟左右，从气球上望去，火山只是地平线上的一个红点了。“维多利亚号”降低了高度，继续平静地旅行。