“Oh!” ejaculated the astonished friends.
“Not a word!” cautioned the doctor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.
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.