Before long the hull was full in sight. A long trail of smoke betokened
her to be a steamer; and very soon, by the aid of the glass, it could be
ascertained that she was a schooner-yacht, and making straight for the
island. A flag at her mast-head fluttered in the breeze, and towards
this the two officers, with the keenest attention, respectively adjusted
their focus.
Simultaneously the two telescopes were lowered. The colonel and the
major stared at each other in blank astonishment. “Russian!” they
gasped.
And true it was that the flag that floated at the head of yonder mast
was the blue cross of Russia.
CHAPTER XIV. SENSITIVE NATIONALITY
When the schooner had approached the island, the Englishmen were able
to make out the name “-Dobryna-” painted on the aft-board. A sinuous
irregularity of the coast had formed a kind of cove, which, though
hardly spacious enough for a few fishing-smacks, would afford the yacht
a temporary anchorage, so long as the wind did not blow violently from
either west or south. Into this cove the -Dobryna- was duly signaled,
and as soon as she was safely moored, she lowered her four-oar, and
Count Timascheff and Captain Servadac made their way at once to land.
Colonel Heneage Finch Murphy and Major Sir John Temple Oliphant stood,
grave and prim, formally awaiting the arrival of their visitors. Captain
Servadac, with the uncontrolled vivacity natural to a Frenchman, was the
first to speak.
“A joyful sight, gentlemen!” he exclaimed. “It will give us unbounded
pleasure to shake hands again with some of our fellow-creatures. You, no
doubt, have escaped the same disaster as ourselves.”
But the English officers, neither by word nor gesture, made the
slightest acknowledgment of this familiar greeting.
“What news can you give us of France, England, or Russia?” continued
Servadac, perfectly unconscious of the stolid rigidity with which his
advances were received. “We are anxious to hear anything you can tell
us. Have you had communications with Europe? Have you--”
“To whom have we the honor of speaking?” at last interposed Colonel
Murphy, in the coldest and most measured tone, and drawing himself up to
his full height.
“Ah! how stupid! I forgot,” said Servadac, with the slightest possible
shrug of the shoulders; “we have not been introduced.”
Then, with a wave of his hand towards his companion, who meanwhile had
exhibited a reserve hardly less than that of the British officers, he
said:
“Allow me to introduce you to Count Wassili Timascheff.”
“Major Sir John Temple Oliphant,” replied the colonel.
The Russian and the Englishman mutually exchanged the stiffest of bows.
“I have the pleasure of introducing Captain Servadac,” said the count in
his turn.
“And this is Colonel Heneage Finch Murphy,” was the major’s grave
rejoinder.
More bows were interchanged and the ceremony brought to its due
conclusion. It need hardly be said that the conversation had been
carried on in French, a language which is generally known both by
Russians and Englishmen--a circumstance that is probably in some measure
to be accounted for by the refusal of Frenchmen to learn either Russian
or English.
The formal preliminaries of etiquette being thus complete, there was no
longer any obstacle to a freer intercourse. The colonel, signing to
his guests to follow, led the way to the apartment occupied jointly by
himself and the major, which, although only a kind of casemate hollowed
in the rock, nevertheless wore a general air of comfort. Major
Oliphant accompanied them, and all four having taken their seats, the
conversation was commenced.
Irritated and disgusted at all the cold formalities, Hector Servadac
resolved to leave all the talking to the count; and he, quite aware that
the Englishmen would adhere to the fiction that they could be supposed
to know nothing that had transpired previous to the introduction felt
himself obliged to recapitulate matters from the very beginning.
“You must be aware, gentlemen,” began the count, “that a most singular
catastrophe occurred on the 1st of January last. Its cause, its limits
we have utterly failed to discover, but from the appearance of the
island on which we find you here, you have evidently experienced its
devastating consequences.”
The Englishmen, in silence, bowed assent.
“Captain Servadac, who accompanies me,” continued the count, “has been
most severely tried by the disaster. Engaged as he was in an important
mission as a staff-officer in Algeria--”
“A French colony, I believe,” interposed Major Oliphant, half shutting
his eyes with an expression of supreme indifference.
Servadac was on the point of making some cutting retort, but Count
Timascheff, without allowing the interruption to be noticed, calmly
continued his narrative:
“It was near the mouth of the Shelif that a portion of Africa, on that
eventful night, was transformed into an island which alone survived; the
rest of the vast continent disappeared as completely as if it had never
been.”
The announcement seemed by no means startling to the phlegmatic colonel.
“Indeed!” was all he said.
“And where were you?” asked Major Oliphant.
“I was out at sea, cruising in my yacht; hard by; and I look upon it as
a miracle, and nothing less, that I and my crew escaped with our lives.”
“I congratulate you on your luck,” replied the major.
The count resumed: “It was about a month after the great disruption
that I was sailing--my engine having sustained some damage in the
shock--along the Algerian coast, and had the pleasure of meeting with
my previous acquaintance, Captain Servadac, who was resident upon the
island with his orderly, Ben Zoof.”
“Ben who?” inquired the major.
“Zoof! Ben Zoof!” ejaculated Servadac, who could scarcely shout loud
enough to relieve his pent-up feelings.
Ignoring this ebullition of the captain’s spleen, the count went on to
say: “Captain Servadac was naturally most anxious to get what news he
could. Accordingly, he left his servant on the island in charge of his
horses, and came on board the -Dobryna- with me. We were quite at a loss
to know where we should steer, but decided to direct our course to
what previously had been the east, in order that we might, if possible,
discover the colony of Algeria; but of Algeria not a trace remained.”
The colonel curled his lip, insinuating only too plainly that to him it
was by no means surprising that a French colony should be wanting in the
element of stability. Servadac observed the supercilious look, and half
rose to his feet, but, smothering his resentment, took his seat again
without speaking.
“The devastation, gentlemen,” said the count, who persistently refused
to recognize the Frenchman’s irritation, “everywhere was terrible and
complete. Not only was Algeria lost, but there was no trace of Tunis,
except one solitary rock, which was crowned by an ancient tomb of one of
the kings of France--”
“Louis the Ninth, I presume,” observed the colonel.
“Saint Louis,” blurted out Servadac, savagely.
Colonel Murphy slightly smiled.
Proof against all interruption, Count Timascheff, as if he had not heard
it, went on without pausing. He related how the schooner had pushed her
way onwards to the south, and had reached the Gulf of Cabes; and how
she had ascertained for certain that the Sahara Sea had no longer an
existence.
The smile of disdain again crossed the colonel’s face; he could not
conceal his opinion that such a destiny for the work of a Frenchman
could be no matter of surprise.
“Our next discovery,” continued the count, “was that a new coast
had been upheaved right along in front of the coast of Tripoli, the
geological formation of which was altogether strange, and which extended
to the north as far as the proper place of Malta.”
“And Malta,” cried Servadac, unable to control himself any longer;
“Malta--town, forts, soldiers, governor, and all--has vanished just like
Algeria.”
For a moment a cloud rested upon the colonel’s brow, only to give place
to an expression of decided incredulity.
“The statement seems highly incredible,” he said.
“Incredible?” repeated Servadac. “Why is it that you doubt my word?”
The captain’s rising wrath did not prevent the colonel from replying
coolly, “Because Malta belongs to England.”
“I can’t help that,” answered Servadac, sharply; “it has gone just as
utterly as if it had belonged to China.”
Colonel Murphy turned deliberately away from Servadac, and appealed to
the count: “Do you not think you may have made some error, count, in
reckoning the bearings of your yacht?”
“No, colonel, I am quite certain of my reckonings; and not only can
I testify that Malta has disappeared, but I can affirm that a large
section of the Mediterranean has been closed in by a new continent.
After the most anxious investigation, we could discover only one narrow
opening in all the coast, and it is by following that little channel
that we have made our way hither. England, I fear, has suffered
grievously by the late catastrophe. Not only has Malta been entirely
lost, but of the Ionian Islands that were under England’s protection,
there seems to be but little left.”
“Ay, you may depend upon it,” said Servadac, breaking in upon the
conversation petulantly, “your grand resident lord high commissioner has
not much to congratulate himself about in the condition of Corfu.”
The Englishmen were mystified.
“Corfu, did you say?” asked Major Oliphant.
“Yes, Corfu; I said Corfu,” replied Servadac, with a sort of malicious
triumph.
The officers were speechless with astonishment.
The silence of bewilderment was broken at length by Count Timascheff
making inquiry whether nothing had been heard from England, either by
telegraph or by any passing ship.
“No,” said the colonel; “not a ship has passed; and the cable is
broken.”
“But do not the Italian telegraphs assist you?” continued the count.
“Italian! I do not comprehend you. You must mean the Spanish, surely.”
“How?” demanded Timascheff.
“Confound it!” cried the impatient Servadac. “What matters whether it be
Spanish or Italian? Tell us, have you had no communication at all from
Europe?--no news of any sort from London?”
“Hitherto, none whatever,” replied the colonel; adding with a stately
emphasis, “but we shall be sure to have tidings from England before
long.”
“Whether England is still in existence or not, I suppose,” said
Servadac, in a tone of irony.
The Englishmen started simultaneously to their feet.
“England in existence?” the colonel cried. “England! Ten times more
probable that France--”
“France!” shouted Servadac in a passion. “France is not an island that
can be submerged; France is an integral portion of a solid continent.
France, at least, is safe.”
A scene appeared inevitable, and Count Timascheff’s efforts to
conciliate the excited parties were of small avail.
“You are at home here,” said Servadac, with as much calmness as he
could command; “it will be advisable, I think, for this discussion to
be carried on in the open air.” And hurriedly he left the room. Followed
immediately by the others, he led the way to a level piece of ground,
which he considered he might fairly claim as neutral territory.
“Now, gentlemen,” he began haughtily, “permit me to represent that,
in spite of any loss France may have sustained in the fate of Algeria,
France is ready to answer any provocation that affects her honor. Here I
am the representative of my country, and here, on neutral ground--”
“Neutral ground?” objected Colonel Murphy; “I beg your pardon. This,
Captain Servadac, is English territory. Do you not see the English
flag?” and, as he spoke, he pointed with national pride to the British
standard floating over the top of the island.
“Pshaw!” cried Servadac, with a contemptuous sneer; “that flag, you
know, has been hoisted but a few short weeks.”
“That flag has floated where it is for ages,” asserted the colonel.
“An imposture!” shouted Servadac, as he stamped with rage.
Recovering his composure in a degree, he continued: “Can you suppose
that I am not aware that this island on which we find you is what
remains of the Ionian representative republic, over which you English
exercise the right of protection, but have no claim of government?”
The colonel and the major looked at each other in amazement.
Although Count Timascheff secretly sympathized with Servadac, he had
carefully refrained from taking part in the dispute; but he was on
the point of interfering, when the colonel, in a greatly subdued tone,
begged to be allowed to speak.
“I begin to apprehend,” he said, “that you must be la-boring under some
strange mistake. There is no room for questioning that the territory
here is England’s--England’s by right of conquest; ceded to England
by the Treaty of Utrecht. Three times, indeed--in 1727, 1779, and
1792--France and Spain have disputed our title, but always to no
purpose. You are, I assure you, at the present moment, as much on
English soil as if you were in London, in the middle of Trafalgar
Square.”
It was now the turn of the captain and the count to look surprised. “Are
we not, then, in Corfu?” they asked.
“You are at Gibraltar,” replied the colonel.
Gibraltar! The word fell like a thunderclap upon their ears. Gibraltar!
the western extremity of the Mediterranean! Why, had they not been
sailing persistently to the east? Could they be wrong in imagining that
they had reached the Ionian Islands? What new mystery was this?
Count Timascheff was about to proceed with a more rigorous
investigation, when the attention of all was arrested by a loud outcry.
Turning round, they saw that the crew of the -Dobryna- was in hot
dispute with the English soldiers. A general altercation had arisen
from a disagreement between the sailor Panofka and Corporal Pim. It had
transpired that the cannon-ball fired in experiment from the island
had not only damaged one of the spars of the schooner, but had broken
Panofka’s pipe, and, moreover, had just grazed his nose, which, for a
Russian’s, was unusually long. The discussion over this mishap led to
mutual recriminations, till the sailors had almost come to blows with
the garrison.
Servadac was just in the mood to take Panofka’s part, which drew from
Major Oliphant the remark that England could not be held responsible for
any accidental injury done by her cannon, and if the Russian’s long nose
came in the way of the ball, the Russian must submit to the mischance.
This was too much for Count Timascheff, and having poured out a torrent
of angry invective against the English officers, he ordered his crew to
embark immediately.
“We shall meet again,” said Servadac, as they pushed off from shore.
“Whenever you please,” was the cool reply.
The geographical mystery haunted the minds of both the count and the
captain, and they felt they could never rest till they had ascertained
what had become of their respective countries. They were glad to be on
board again, that they might résumé their voyage of investigation,
and in two hours were out of sight of the sole remaining fragment of
Gibraltar.
CHAPTER XV. AN ENIGMA FROM THE SEA
Lieutenant Procope had been left on board in charge of the -Dobryna-,
and on resuming the voyage it was a task of some difficulty to make him
understand the fact that had just come to light. Some hours were spent
in discussion and in attempting to penetrate the mysteries of the
situation.
There were certain things of which they were perfectly certain. They
could be under no misapprehension as to the distance they had positively
sailed from Gourbi Island towards the east before their further progress
was arrested by the unknown shore; as nearly as possible that was
fifteen degrees; the length of the narrow strait by which they had made
their way across that land to regain the open sea was about three miles
and a half; thence onward to the island, which they had been assured,
on evidence that they could not disbelieve, to be upon the site of
Gibraltar, was four degrees; while from Gibraltar to Gourbi Island was
seven degrees or but little more. What was it altogether? Was it not
less than thirty degrees? In that latitude, the degree of longitude
represents eight and forty miles. What, then, did it all amount to?
Indubitably, to less than 1,400 miles. So brief a voyage would bring the
-Dobryna- once again to her starting-point, or, in other words, would
enable her to complete the circumnavigation of the globe. How changed
the condition of things! Previously, to sail from Malta to Gibraltar by
an eastward course would have involved the passage of the Suez Canal,
the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, the Atlantic; but what had
happened now? Why, Gibraltar had been reached as if it had been just at
Corfu, and some three hundred and thirty degrees of the earth’s circuit
had vanished utterly.
After allowing for a certain margin of miscalculation, the main fact
remained undeniable; and the necessary inference that Lieutenant Procope
drew from the round of the earth being completed in 1,400 miles, was
that the earth’s diameter had been reduced by about fifteen sixteenths
of its length.
“If that be so,” observed the count, “it accounts for some of the
strange phenomena we witness. If our world has become so insignificant a
spheroid, not only has its gravity diminished, but its rotary speed has
been accelerated; and this affords an adequate explanation of our days
and nights being thus curtailed. But how about the new orbit in which we
are moving?”
He paused and pondered, and then looked at Procope as though awaiting
from him some further elucidation of the difficulty. The lieutenant
hesitated. When, in a few moments, he began to speak, Servadac smiled
intelligently, anticipating the answer he was about to hear.
“My conjecture is,” said Procope, “that a fragment of considerable
magnitude has been detached from the earth; that it has carried with
it an envelope of the earth’s atmosphere, and that it is now traveling
through the solar system in an orbit that does not correspond at all
with the proper orbit of the earth.”
The hypothesis was plausible; but what a multitude of bewildering
speculations it entailed! If, in truth, a certain mass had been broken
off from the terrestrial sphere, whither would it wend its way? What
would be the measure of the eccentricity of its path? What would be its
period round the sun? Might it not, like a comet, be carried away into
the vast infinity of space? or, on the other hand, might it not be
attracted to the great central source of light and heat, and be absorbed
in it? Did its orbit correspond with the orbit of the ecliptic? and was
there no chance of its ever uniting again with the globe, from which it
had been torn off by so sudden and violent a disruption?
A thoughtful silence fell upon them all, which Servadac was the first
to break. “Lieutenant,” he said, “your explanation is ingenious, and
accounts for many appearances; but it seems to me that in one point it
fails.”
“How so?” replied Procope. “To my mind the theory meets all objections.”
“I think not,” Servadac answered. “In one point, at least, it appears to
me to break down completely.”
“What is that?” asked the lieutenant.
“Stop a moment,” said the captain. “Let us see that we understand each
other right. Unless I mistake you, your hypothesis is that a fragment of
the earth, comprising the Mediterranean and its shores from Gibraltar
to Malta, has been developed into a new asteroid, which is started on an
independent orbit in the solar regions. Is not that your meaning?”
“Precisely so,” the lieutenant acquiesced.
“Well, then,” continued Servadac, “it seems to me to be at fault in this
respect: it fails, and fails completely, to account for the geological
character of the land that we have found now encompassing this sea. Why,
if the new land is a fragment of the old--why does it not retain its old
formation? What has become of the granite and the calcareous deposits?
How is it that these should all be changed into a mineral concrete with
which we have no acquaintance?”
No doubt, it was a serious objection; for, however likely it might be
that a mass of the earth on being detached would be eccentric in its
movements, there was no probable reason to be alleged why the material
of its substance should undergo so complete a change. There was nothing
to account for the fertile shores, rich in vegetation, being transformed
into rocks arid and barren beyond precedent.
The lieutenant felt the difficulty, and owned himself unprepared to give
at once an adequate solution; nevertheless, he declined to renounce his
theory. He asserted that the arguments in favor of it carried conviction
to his mind, and that he entertained no doubt but that, in the course of
time, all apparently antagonistic circumstances would be explained so as
to become consistent with the view he took. He was careful, however,
to make it understood that with respect to the original cause of
the disruption he had no theory to offer; and although he knew what
expansion might be the result of subterranean forces, he did not venture
to say that he considered it sufficient to produce so tremendous an
effect. The origin of the catastrophe was a problem still to be solved.
“Ah! well,” said Servadac, “I don’t know that it matters much where our
new little planet comes from, or what it is made of, if only it carries
France along with it.”
“And Russia,” added the count.
“And Russia, of course,” said Servadac, with a polite bow.
There was, however, not much room for this sanguine expectation, for if
a new asteroid had thus been brought into existence, it must be a sphere
of extremely limited dimensions, and there could be little chance that
it embraced more than the merest fraction of either France or Russia. As
to England, the total cessation of all telegraphic communication between
her shores and Gibraltar was a virtual proof that England was beyond its
compass.
And what was the true measurement of the new little world? At Gourbi
Island the days and nights were of equal length, and this seemed to
indicate that it was situated on the equator; hence the distance by
which the two poles stood apart would be half what had been reckoned
would be the distance completed by the -Dobryna- in her circuit. That
distance had been already estimated to be something under 1,400 miles,
so that the Arctic Pole of their recently fashioned world must be about
350 miles to the north, and the Antarctic about 350 miles to the south
of the island. Compare these calculations with the map, and it is at
once apparent that the northernmost limit barely touched the coast of
Provence, while the southernmost reached to about lat. 20 degrees
N., and fell in the heart of the desert. The practical test of these
conclusions would be made by future investigation, but meanwhile
the fact appeared very much to strengthen the presumption that, if
Lieutenant Procope had not arrived at the whole truth, he had made a
considerable advance towards it.
The weather, ever since the storm that had driven the -Dobryna- into the
creek, had been magnificent. The wind continued favorable, and now under
both steam and canvas, she made a rapid progress towards the north,
a direction in which she was free to go in consequence of the total
disappearance of the Spanish coast, from Gibraltar right away to
Alicante. Malaga, Almeria, Cape Gata, Carthagena. Cape Palos--all were
gone. The sea was rolling over the southern extent of the peninsula, so
that the yacht advanced to the latitude of Seville before it sighted any
land at all, and then, not shores such as the shores of Andalusia, but
a bluff and precipitous cliff, in its geological features resembling
exactly the stern and barren rock that she had coasted beyond the site
of Malta. Here the sea made a decided indentation on the coast; it ran
up in an acute-angled triangle till its apex coincided with the very
spot upon which Madrid had stood. But as hitherto the sea had encroached
upon the land, the land in its turn now encroached upon the sea; for a
frowning headland stood out far into the basin of the Mediterranean,
and formed a promontory stretching out beyond the proper places of
the Balearic Isles. Curiosity was all alive. There was the intensest
interest awakened to determine whether no vestige could be traced of
Majorca, Minorca, or any of the group, and it was during a deviation
from the direct course for the purpose of a more thorough scrutiny, that
one of the sailors raised a thrill of general excitement by shouting, “A
bottle in the sea!”
Here, then, at length was a communication from the outer world. Surely
now they would find a document which would throw some light upon all the
mysteries that had happened? Had not the day now dawned that should set
their speculations all at rest?
It was the morning of the 21st of February. The count, the captain,
the lieutenant, everybody hurried to the forecastle; the schooner was
dexterously put about, and all was eager impatience until the supposed
bottle was hauled on deck.
It was not, however, a bottle; it proved to be a round leather
telescope-case, about a foot long, and the first thing to do before
investigating its contents was to make a careful examination of its
exterior. The lid was fastened on by wax, and so securely that it would
take a long immersion before any water could penetrate; there was no
maker’s name to be deciphered; but impressed very plainly with a seal on
the wax were the two initials “P. R.”
When the scrutiny of the outside was finished, the wax was removed and
the cover opened, and the lieutenant drew out a slip of ruled paper,
evidently torn from a common note-book. The paper had an inscription
written in four lines, which were remarkable for the profusion of notes
of admiration and interrogation with which they were interspersed:
“Gallia???
-Ab sole-, au 15 fev. 59,000,000 l.!
Chemin parcouru de janv. a fev. 82,000,000 l.!!
-Va bene! All right!!- Parfait!!!”
There was a general sigh of disappointment. They turned the paper over
and over, and handed it from one to another. “What does it all mean?”
exclaimed the count.
“Something mysterious here!” said Servadac. “But yet,” he continued,
after a pause, “one thing is tolerably certain: on the 15th, six days
ago, someone was alive to write it.”
“Yes; I presume there is no reason to doubt the accuracy of the date,”
assented the count.
To this strange conglomeration of French, English, Italian, and Latin,
there was no signature attached; nor was there anything to give a
clue as to the locality in which it had been committed to the waves.
A telescope-case would probably be the property of some one on board
a ship; and the figures obviously referred to the astronomical wonders
that had been experienced.
To these general observations Captain Servadac objected that he thought
it unlikely that any one on board a ship would use a telescope-case for
this purpose, but would be sure to use a bottle as being more secure;
and, accordingly, he should rather be inclined to believe that the
message had been set afloat by some -savant- left alone, perchance, upon
some isolated coast.
“But, however interesting it might be,” observed the count, “to know
the author of the lines, to us it is of far greater moment to ascertain
their meaning.”
And taking up the paper again, he said, “Perhaps we might analyze it
word by word, and from its detached parts gather some clue to its sense
as a whole.”
“What can be the meaning of all that cluster of interrogations after
Gallia?” asked Servadac.
Lieutenant Procope, who had hitherto not spoken, now broke his silence
by saying, “I beg, gentlemen, to submit my opinion that this document
goes very far to confirm my hypothesis that a fragment of the earth has
been precipitated into space.”
Captain Servadac hesitated, and then replied, “Even if it does, I do not
see how it accounts in the least for the geological character of the new
asteroid.”
“But will you allow me for one minute to take my supposition for
granted?” said Procope. “If a new little planet has been formed, as I
imagine, by disintegration from the old, I should conjecture that Gallia
is the name assigned to it by the writer of this paper. The very notes
of interrogation are significant that he was in doubt what he should
write.”
“You would presume that he was a Frenchman?” asked the count.
“I should think so,” replied the lieutenant.
“Not much doubt about that,” said Servadac; “it is all in French,
except a few scattered words of English, Latin, and Italian, inserted to
attract attention. He could not tell into whose hands the message would
fall first.”
“Well, then,” said Count Timascheff, “we seem to have found a name for
the new world we occupy.”
“But what I was going especially to observe,” continued the lieutenant,
“is that the distance, 59,000,000 leagues, represents precisely the
distance we ourselves were from the sun on the 15th. It was on that day
we crossed the orbit of Mars.”
“Yes, true,” assented the others.
“And the next line,” said the lieutenant, after reading it aloud,
“apparently registers the distance traversed by Gallia, the new little
planet, in her own orbit. Her speed, of course, we know by Kepler’s
laws, would vary according to her distance from the sun, and if she
were--as I conjecture from the temperature at that date--on the 15th of
January at her perihelion, she would be traveling twice as fast as the
earth, which moves at the rate of between 50,000 and 60,000 miles an
hour.”
“You think, then,” said Servadac, with a smile, “you have determined
the perihelion of our orbit; but how about the aphelion? Can you form a
judgment as to what distance we are likely to be carried?”
“You are asking too much,” remonstrated the count.
“I confess,” said the lieutenant, “that just at present I am not able to
clear away the uncertainty of the future; but I feel confident that by
careful observation at various points we shall arrive at conclusions
which not only will determine our path, but perhaps may clear up the
mystery about our geological structure.”
“Allow me to ask,” said Count Timascheff, “whether such a new asteroid
would not be subject to ordinary mechanical laws, and whether, once
started, it would not have an orbit that must be immutable?”
“Decidedly it would, so long as it was undisturbed by the attraction
of some considerable body; but we must recollect that, compared to the
great planets, Gallia must be almost infinitesimally small, and so might
be attracted by a force that is irresistible.”
“Altogether, then,” said Servadac, “we seem to have settled it to our
entire satisfaction that we must be the population of a young little
world called Gallia. Perhaps some day we may have the honor of being
registered among the minor planets.”
“No chance of that,” quickly rejoined Lieutenant Procope. “Those minor
planets all are known to rotate in a narrow zone between the orbits of
Mars and Jupiter; in their perihelia they cannot approximate the sun as
we have done; we shall not be classed with them.”
“Our lack of instruments,” said the count, “is much to be deplored; it
baffles our investigations in every way.”
“Ah, never mind! Keep up your courage, count!” said Servadac, cheerily.
And Lieutenant Procope renewed his assurances that he entertained good
hopes that every perplexity would soon be solved.
“I suppose,” remarked the count, “that we cannot attribute much
importance to the last line: -‘Va bene! All right!!- Parfait!!!’”
The captain answered, “At least, it shows that whoever wrote it had no
murmuring or complaint to make, but was quite content with the new order
of things.”
CHAPTER XVI. THE RESIDUUM OF A CONTINENT
Almost unconsciously, the voyagers in the -Dobryna- fell into the habit
of using Gallia as the name of the new world in which they became aware
they must be making an extraordinary excursion through the realms
of space. Nothing, however, was allowed to divert them from their
ostensible object of making a survey of the coast of the Mediterranean,
and accordingly they persevered in following that singular boundary
which had revealed itself to their extreme astonishment.
Having rounded the great promontory that had barred her farther progress
to the north, the schooner skirted its upper edge. A few more leagues
and they ought to be abreast of the shores of France. Yes, of France.
But who shall describe the feelings of Hector Servadac when, instead of
the charming outline of his native land, he beheld nothing but a solid
boundary of savage rock? Who shall paint the look of consternation with
which he gazed upon the stony rampart--rising perpendicularly for a
thousand feet--that had replaced the shores of the smiling south? Who
shall reveal the burning anxiety with which he throbbed to see beyond
that cruel wall?
But there seemed no hope. Onwards and onwards the yacht made her way,
and still no sign of France. It might have been supposed that Servadac’s
previous experiences would have prepared him for the discovery that the
catastrophe which had overwhelmed other sites had brought destruction
to his own country as well. But he had failed to realize how it might
extend to France; and when now he was obliged with his own eyes to
witness the waves of ocean rolling over what once had been the lovely
shores of Provence, he was well-nigh frantic with desperation.
“Am I to believe that Gourbi Island, that little shred of Algeria,
constitutes all that is left of our glorious France? No, no; it cannot
be. Not yet have we reached the pole of our new world. There is--there
must be--something more behind that frowning rock. Oh, that for a moment
we could scale its towering height and look beyond! By Heaven, I adjure
you, let us disembark, and mount the summit and explore! France lies
beyond.”
Disembarkation, however, was an utter impossibility. There was no
semblance of a creek in which the -Dobryna- could find an anchorage.
There was no outlying ridge on which a footing could be gained. The
precipice was perpendicular as a wall, its topmost height crowned with
the same conglomerate of crystallized lamellae that had all along been
so pronounced a feature.
With her steam at high pressure, the yacht made rapid progress towards
the east. The weather remained perfectly fine, the temperature
became gradually cooler, so that there was little prospect of vapors
accumulating in the atmosphere; and nothing more than a few cirri,
almost transparent, veiled here and there the clear azure of the sky.
Throughout the day the pale rays of the sun, apparently lessened in its
magnitude, cast only faint and somewhat uncertain shadows; but at night
the stars shone with surpassing brilliancy. Of the planets, some, it was
observed, seemed to be fading away in remote distance. This was the case
with Mars, Venus, and that unknown orb which was moving in the orbit of
the minor planets; but Jupiter, on the other hand, had assumed splendid
proportions; Saturn was superb in its luster, and Uranus, which hitherto
had been imperceptible without a telescope was pointed out by
Lieutenant Procope, plainly visible to the naked eye. The inference was
irresistible that Gallia was receding from the sun, and traveling far
away across the planetary regions.
On the 24th of February, after following the sinuous course of what
before the date of the convulsion had been the coast line of the
department of Var, and after a fruitless search for Hyeres, the
peninsula of St. Tropez, the Lerius Islands, and the gulfs of Cannes and
Jouar, the -Dobryna- arrived upon the site of the Cape of Antibes.
Here, quite unexpectedly, the explorers made the discovery that the
massive wall of cliff had been rent from the top to the bottom by a
narrow rift, like the dry bed of a mountain torrent, and at the base of
the opening, level with the sea, was a little strand upon which there
was just space enough for their boat to be hauled up.
“Joy! joy!” shouted Servadac, half beside himself with ecstasy; “we can
land at last!”
Count Timascheff and the lieutenant were scarcely less impatient than
the captain, and little needed his urgent and repeated solicitations:
“Come on! Quick! Come on! no time to lose!”
It was half-past seven in the morning, when they set their foot upon
this untried land. The bit of strand was only a few square yards in
area, quite a narrow strip. Upon it might have been recognized
some fragments of that agglutination of yellow limestone which is
characteristic of the coast of Provence. But the whole party was far
too eager to wait and examine these remnants of the ancient shore; they
hurried on to scale the heights.
The narrow ravine was not only perfectly dry, but manifestly had never
been the bed of any mountain torrent. The rocks that rested at the
bottom--just as those which formed its sides--were of the same lamellous
formation as the entire coast, and had not hitherto been subject to the
disaggregation which the lapse of time never fails to work. A skilled
geologist would probably have been able to assign them their proper
scientific classification, but neither Servadac, Timascheff, nor
the lieutenant could pretend to any acquaintance with their specific
character.
Although, however, the bottom of the chasm had never as yet been the
channel of a stream, indications were not wanting that at some future
time it would be the natural outlet of accumulated waters; for already,
in many places, thin layers of snow were glittering upon the surface of
the fractured rocks, and the higher the elevation that was gained, the
more these layers were found to increase in area and in depth.
“Here is a trace of fresh water, the first that Gallia has exhibited,”
said the count to his companions, as they toiled up the precipitous
path.
“And probably,” replied the lieutenant, “as we ascend we shall find not
only snow but ice. We must suppose this Gallia of ours to be a sphere,
and if it is so, we must now be very close to her Arctic regions; it is
true that her axis is not so much inclined as to prolong day and night
as at the poles of the earth, but the rays of the sun must reach us here
only very obliquely, and the cold, in all likelihood, will be intense.”
“So cold, do you think,” asked Servadac, “that animal life must be
extinct?”
“I do not say that, captain,” answered the lieutenant; “for, however
far our little world may be removed from the sun, I do not see why its
temperature should fall below what prevails in those outlying regions
beyond our system where sky and air are not.” “And what temperature may
that be?” inquired the captain with a shudder.
“Fourier estimates that even in those vast unfathomable tracts, the
temperature never descends lower than 60 degrees,” said Procope.
“Sixty! Sixty degrees below zero!” cried the count. “Why, there’s not a
Russian could endure it!”
“I beg your pardon, count. It is placed on record that the English
-have- survived it, or something quite approximate, upon their Arctic
expeditions. When Captain Parry was on Melville Island, he knew the
thermometer to fall to 56 degrees,” said Procope.
As the explorers advanced, they seemed glad to pause from time to time,
that they might recover their breath; for the air, becoming more and
more rarefied, made respiration somewhat difficult and the ascent
fatiguing. Before they had reached an altitude of 600 feet they noticed
a sensible diminution of the temperature; but neither cold nor fatigue
deterred them, and they were resolved to persevere. Fortunately, the
deep striae or furrows in the surface of the rocks that made the bottom
of the ravine in some degree facilitated their progress, but it was not
until they had been toiling up for two hours more that they succeeded in
reaching the summit of the cliff.
Eagerly and anxiously did they look around. To the south there was
nothing but the sea they had traversed; to the north, nothing but one
drear, inhospitable stretch.
Servadac could not suppress a cry of dismay. Where was his beloved
France? Had he gained this arduous height only to behold the rocks
carpeted with ice and snow, and reaching interminably to the far-off
horizon? His heart sank within him.
The whole region appeared to consist of nothing but the same strange,
uniform mineral conglomerate, crystallized into regular hexagonal
prisms. But whatever was its geological character, it was only too
evident that it had entirely replaced the former soil, so that not a
vestige of the old continent of Europe could be discerned. The
lovely scenery of Provence, with the grace of its rich and undulating
landscape; its gardens of citrons and oranges rising tier upon tier
from the deep red soil--all, all had vanished. Of the vegetable kingdom,
there was not a single representative; the most meager of Arctic plants,
the most insignificant of lichens, could obtain no hold upon that stony
waste. Nor did the animal world assert the feeblest sway. The mineral
kingdom reigned supreme.
Captain Servadac’s deep dejection was in strange contrast to his general
hilarity. Silent and tearful, he stood upon an ice-bound rock, straining
his eyes across the boundless vista of the mysterious territory. “It
cannot be!” he exclaimed. “We must somehow have mistaken our bearings.
True, we have encountered this barrier; but France is there beyond! Yes,
France is -there!- Come, count, come! By all that’s pitiful, I entreat
you, come and explore the farthest verge of the ice-bound track!”
He pushed onwards along the rugged surface of the rock, but had not
proceeded far before he came to a sudden pause. His foot had come in
contact with something hard beneath the snow, and, stooping down, he
picked up a little block of stony substance, which the first glance
revealed to be of a geological character altogether alien to the
universal rocks around. It proved to be a fragment of dis-colored
marble, on which several letters were inscribed, of which the only part
at all decipherable was the syllable “Vil.”
“Vil--Villa!” he cried out, in his excitement dropping the marble, which
was broken into atoms by the fall.
What else could this fragment be but the sole surviving remnant of some
sumptuous mansion that once had stood on this unrivaled site? Was it not
the residue of some edifice that had crowned the luxuriant headland of
Antibes, overlooking Nice, and commanding the gorgeous panorama that
embraced the Maritime Alps and reached beyond Monaco and Mentone to the
Italian height of Bordighera? And did it not give in its sad and too
convincing testimony that Antibes itself had been involved in the great
destruction? Servadac gazed upon the shattered marble, pensive and
disheartened.
Count Timascheff laid his hand kindly on the captain’s shoulder, and
said, “My friend, do you not remember the motto of the old Hope family?”
He shook his head mournfully.
“-Orbe fracto, spes illoesa-,” continued the count--“Though the world be
shattered, hope is unimpaired.”
Servadac smiled faintly, and replied that he felt rather compelled to
take up the despairing cry of Dante, “All hope abandon, ye who enter
here.”
“Nay, not so,” answered the count; “for the present at least, let our
maxim be -Nil desperandum!-”
CHAPTER XVII. A SECOND ENIGMA
Upon re-embarking, the bewildered explorers began to discuss the
question whether it would not now be desirable to make their way back
to Gourbi Island, which was apparently the only spot in their new world
from which they could hope to derive their future sustenance. Captain
Servadac tried to console himself with the reflection that Gourbi Island
was, after all, a fragment of a French colony, and as such almost like
a bit of his dear France; and the plan of returning thither was on the
point of being adopted, when Lieutenant Procope remarked that they ought
to remember that they had not hitherto made an entire circuit of the new
shores of the sea on which they were sailing.
“We have,” he said, “neither investigated the northern shore from the
site of Cape Antibes to the strait that brought us to Gibraltar, nor
have we followed the southern shore that stretches from the strait to
the Gulf of Cabes. It is the old coast, and not the new, that we have
been tracing; as yet, we cannot say positively that there is no outlet
to the south; as yet, we cannot assert that no oasis of the African
desert has escaped the catastrophe. Perhaps, even here in the north,
we may find that Italy and Sicily and the larger islands of the
Mediterranean may still maintain their existence.”
“I entirely concur with you,” said Count Timascheff. “I quite think we
ought to make our survey of the confines of this new basin as complete
as possible before we withdraw.”
Servadac, although he acknowledged the justness of these observations,
could not help pleading that the explorations might be deferred until
after a visit had been paid to Gourbi Island.
“Depend upon it, captain, you are mistaken,” replied the lieutenant;
“the right thing to do is to use the -Dobryna- while she is available.”
“Available! What do you mean?” asked the count, somewhat taken by
surprise.
“I mean,” said Procope, “that the farther this Gallia of ours recedes
from the sun, the lower the temperature will fall. It is likely enough,
I think, that before long the sea will be frozen over, and navigation
will be impossible. Already you have learned something of the
difficulties of traversing a field of ice, and I am sure, therefore, you
will acquiesce in my wish to continue our explorations while the water
is still open.”
“No doubt you are right, lieutenant,” said the count. “We will continue
our search while we can for some remaining fragment of Europe. Who
shall tell whether we may not meet with some more survivors from the
catastrophe, to whom it might be in our power to afford assistance,
before we go into our winter quarters?”
Generous and altogether unselfish as this sentiment really was, it was
obviously to the general interest that they should become acquainted,
and if possible establish friendly relations, with any human inhabitant
who might be sharing their own strange destiny in being rolled away upon
a new planet into the infinitude of space. All difference of race, all
distinction of nationality, must be merged into the one thought that,
few as they were, they were the sole surviving representatives of a
world which it seemed exceedingly improbable that they would ever see
again; and common sense dictated that they were bound to direct all
their energies to insure that their asteroid should at least have a
united and sympathizing population.
It was on the 25th of February that the yacht left the little creek in
which she had taken refuge, and setting off at full steam eastwards,
she continued her way along the northern shore. A brisk breeze tended to
increase the keenness of the temperature, the thermometer being, on
an average, about two degrees below zero. Salt water freezes only at a
lower temperature than fresh; the course of the -Dobryna- was therefore
unimpeded by ice, but it could not be concealed that there was the
greatest necessity to maintain the utmost possible speed.
The nights continued lovely; the chilled condition of the atmosphere
prevented the formation of clouds; the constellations gleamed forth
with unsullied luster; and, much as Lieutenant Procope, from nautical
considerations, might regret the absence of the moon, he could not do
otherwise than own that the magnificent nights of Gallia were such as
must awaken the enthusiasm of an astronomer. And, as if to compensate
for the loss of the moonlight, the heavens were illuminated by a
superb shower of falling stars, far exceeding, both in number and in
brilliancy, the phenomena which are commonly distinguished as the August
and November meteors; in fact, Gallia was passing through that meteoric
ring which is known to lie exterior to the earth’s orbit, but almost
concentric with it. The rocky coast, its metallic surface reflecting the
glow of the dazzling luminaries, appeared literally stippled with light,
whilst the sea, as though spattered with burning hailstones, shone with
a phosphorescence that was perfectly splendid. So great, however, was
the speed at which Gallia was receding from the sun, that this meteoric
storm lasted scarcely more than four and twenty hours.
Next day the direct progress of the -Dobryna- was arrested by a long
projection of land, which obliged her to turn southwards, until she
reached what formerly would have been the southern extremity of Corsica.
Of this, however, there was now no trace; the Strait of Bonifacio had
been replaced by a vast expanse of water, which had at first all the
appearance of being utterly desert; but on the following morning the
explorers unexpectedly sighted a little island, which, unless it should
prove, as was only too likely, to be of recent origin they concluded,
from its situation, must be a portion of the northernmost territory of
Sardinia.
The -Dobryna- approached the land as nearly as was prudent, the boat was
lowered, and in a few minutes the count and Servadac had landed upon
the islet, which was a mere plot of meadow land, not much more than
two acres in extent, dotted here and there with a few myrtle-bushes and
lentisks, interspersed with some ancient olives. Having ascertained, as
they imagined, that the spot was devoid of living creature, they were on
the point of returning to their boat, when their attention was arrested
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