“A balloon!” he exclaimed. “Out of the question! Balloons are exploded
things. You hardly find them in novels. Balloon, indeed!”
“Listen to me,” replied Procope. “Perhaps I can convince you that my
idea is not so chimerical as you imagine.” And, knitting his brow, he
proceeded to establish the feasibility of his plan. “If we can ascertain
the precise moment when the shock is to happen, and can succeed
in launching ourselves a sufficient time beforehand into Gallia’s
atmosphere, I believe it will transpire that this atmosphere will
amalgamate with that of the earth, and that a balloon whirled along by
the combined velocity would glide into the mingled atmosphere and remain
suspended in mid-air until the shock of the collision is overpast.”
Count Timascheff reflected for a minute, and said, “I think, lieutenant,
I understand your project. The scheme seems tenable; and I shall be
ready to co-operate with you, to the best of my power, in putting it
into execution.”
“Only, remember,” continued Procope, “there are many chances to one
against our success. One instant’s obstruction and stoppage in our
passage, and our balloon is burnt to ashes. Still, reluctant as I am to
acknowledge it, I confess that I feel our sole hope of safety rests in
our getting free from this comet.”
“If the chances were ten thousand to one against us,” said Servadac, “I
think the attempt ought to be made.”
“But have we hydrogen enough to inflate a balloon?” asked the count.
“Hot air will be all that we shall require,” the lieutenant answered;
“we are only contemplating about an hour’s journey.”
“Ah, a fire-balloon! A montgolfier!” cried Servadac. “But what are you
going to do for a casing?”
“I have thought of that. We must cut it out of the sails of the
-Dobryna-; they are both light and strong,” rejoined the lieutenant.
Count Timascheff complimented the lieutenant upon his ingenuity, and Ben
Zoof could not resist bringing the meeting to a conclusion by a ringing
cheer.
Truly daring was the plan of which Lieutenant Procope had thus become
the originator; but the very existence of them all was at stake, and the
design must be executed resolutely. For the success of the enterprise it
was absolutely necessary to know, almost to a minute, the precise time
at which the collision would occur, and Captain Servadac undertook the
task, by gentle means or by stern, of extracting the secret from the
professor.
To Lieutenant Procope himself was entrusted the superintendence of the
construction of the montgolfier, and the work was begun at once. It was
to be large enough to carry the whole of the twenty-three residents in
the volcano, and, in order to provide the means of floating aloft
long enough to give time for selecting a proper place for descent, the
lieutenant was anxious to make it carry enough hay or straw to maintain
combustion for a while, and keep up the necessary supply of heated air.
The sails of the -Dobryna-, which had all been carefully stowed away in
the Hive, were of a texture unusually close, and quite capable of being
made airtight by means of a varnish, the ingredients of which were
rummaged out of the promiscuous stores of the tartan. The lieutenant
himself traced out the pattern and cut out the strips, and all hands
were employed in seaming them together. It was hardly the work for
little fingers, but Nina persisted in accomplishing her own share of it.
The Russians were quite at home at occupation of this sort, and having
initiated the Spaniards into its mysteries, the task of joining together
the casing was soon complete. Isaac Hakkabut and the professor were
the only two members of the community who took no part in this somewhat
tedious proceeding.
A month passed away, but Servadac found no opportunity of getting at the
information he had pledged himself to gain. On the sole occasion when he
had ventured to broach the subject with the astronomer, he had received
for answer that as there was no hurry to get back to the earth, there
need be no concern about any dangers of transit.
Indeed, as time passed on, the professor seemed to become more and more
inaccessible. A pleasant temperature enabled him to live entirely in his
observatory, from which intruders were rigidly shut out. But Servadac
bided his time. He grew more and more impressed with the importance of
finding out the exact moment at which the impact would take place,
but was content to wait for a promising opportunity to put any fresh
questions on the subject to the too reticent astronomer.
Meanwhile, the earth’s disc was daily increasing in magnitude; the comet
traveled 50,000,000 leagues during the month, at the close of which it
was not more than 78,000,000 leagues from the sun.
A thaw had now fairly set in. The breaking up of the frozen ocean was a
magnificent spectacle, and “the great voice of the sea,” as the whalers
graphically describe it, was heard in all its solemnity. Little streams
of water began to trickle down the declivities of the mountain and along
the shelving shore, only to be transformed, as the melting of the snow
continued, into torrents or cascades. Light vapors gathered on the
horizon, and clouds were formed and carried rapidly along by breezes to
which the Gallian atmosphere had long been unaccustomed. All these
were doubtless but the prelude to atmospheric disturbances of a more
startling character; but as indications of returning spring, they were
greeted with a welcome which no apprehensions for the future could
prevent being glad and hearty.
A double disaster was the inevitable consequence of the thaw. Both the
schooner and the tartan were entirely destroyed. The basement of the icy
pedestal on which the ships had been upheaved was gradually undermined,
like the icebergs of the Arctic Ocean, by warm currents of water, and
on the night of the 12th the huge block collapsed -en masse-, so that on
the following morning nothing remained of the -Dobryna- and the -Hansa-
except the fragments scattered on the shore.
Although certainly expected, the catastrophe could not fail to cause a
sense of general depression. Well-nigh one of their last ties to Mother
Earth had been broken; the ships were gone, and they had only a balloon
to replace them!
To describe Isaac Hakkabut’s rage at the destruction of the tartan would
be impossible. His oaths were simply dreadful; his imprecations on the
accursed race were full of wrath. He swore that Servadac and his people
were responsible for his loss; he vowed that they should be sued and
made to pay him damages; he asserted that he had been brought from
Gourbi Island only to be plundered; in fact, he became so intolerably
abusive, that Servadac threatened to put him into irons unless he
conducted himself properly; whereupon the Jew, finding that the captain
was in earnest, and would not hesitate to carry the threat into effect,
was fain to hold his tongue, and slunk back into his dim hole.
By the 14th the balloon was finished, and, carefully sewn and well
varnished as it had been, it was really a very substantial structure. It
was covered with a network that had been made from the light rigging
of the yacht, and the car, composed of wicker-work that had formed
partitions in the hold of the -Hansa-, was quite commodious enough to
hold the twenty-three passengers it was intended to convey. No thought
had been bestowed upon comfort or convenience, as the ascent was to
last for so short a time, merely long enough for making the transit from
atmosphere to atmosphere.
The necessity was becoming more and more urgent to get at the true
hour of the approaching contact, but the professor seemed to grow more
obstinate than ever in his resolution to keep his secret.
On the 15th the comet crossed the orbit of Mars, at the safe distance
of 56,000,000 leagues; but during that night the community thought
that their last hour had taken them unawares. The volcano rocked and
trembled with the convulsions of internal disturbance, and Servadac and
his companions, convinced that the mountain was doomed to some sudden
disruption, rushed into the open air.
The first object that caught their attention as they emerged upon the
open rocks was the unfortunate professor, who was scrambling down
the mountain-side, piteously displaying a fragment of his shattered
telescope.
It was no time for condolence.
A new marvel arrested every eye. A fresh satellite, in the gloom of
night, was shining conspicuously before them.
That satellite was a part of Gallia itself!
By the expansive action of the inner heat, Gallia, like Gambart’s comet,
had been severed in twain; an enormous fragment had been detached and
launched into space!
The fragment included Ceuta and Gibraltar, with the two English
garrisons!
CHAPTER XVII. THE VENTURE MADE
What would be the consequences of this sudden and complete disruption,
Servadac and his people hardly dared to think.
The first change that came under their observation was the rapidity of
the sun’s appearances and disappearances, forcing them to the conviction
that although the comet still rotated on its axis from east to west, yet
the period of its rotation had been diminished by about one-half. Only
six hours instead of twelve elapsed between sunrise and sunrise; three
hours after rising in the west the sun was sinking again in the east.
“We are coming to something!” exclaimed Servadac. “We have got a year of
something like 2,880 days.”
“I shouldn’t think it would be an easy matter to find saints enough for
such a calendar as that!” said Ben Zoof.
Servadac laughed, and remarked that they should have the professor
talking about the 238th of June, and the 325th of December.
It soon became evident that the detached portion was not revolving
round the comet, but was gradually retreating into space. Whether it
had carried with it any portion of atmosphere, whether it possessed
any other condition for supporting life, and whether it was likely ever
again to approach to the earth, were all questions that there were no
means of determining. For themselves the all-important problem was--what
effect would the rending asunder of the comet have upon its rate of
progress? and as they were already conscious of a further increase of
muscular power, and a fresh diminution of specific gravity, Servadac and
his associates could not but wonder whether the alteration in the mass
of the comet would not result in its missing the expected coincidence
with the earth altogether.
Although he professed himself incompetent to pronounce a decided
opinion, Lieutenant Procope manifestly inclined to the belief that no
alteration would ensue in the rate of Gallia’s velocity; but Rosette, no
doubt, could answer the question directly, and the time had now
arrived in which he must be compelled to divulge the precise moment of
collision.
But the professor was in the worst of tempers. Generally taciturn and
morose, he was more than usually uncivil whenever any one ventured to
speak to him. The loss of his telescope had doubtless a great deal to do
with his ill-humor; but the captain drew the most favorable conclusions
from Rosette’s continued irritation. Had the comet been in any way
projected from its course, so as to be likely to fail in coming into
contact with the earth, the professor would have been quite unable
to conceal his satisfaction. But they required to know more than the
general truth, and felt that they had no time to lose in getting at the
exact details.
The opportunity that was wanted soon came.
On the 18th, Rosette was overheard in furious altercation with Ben Zoof.
The orderly had been taunting the astronomer with the mutilation of his
little comet. A fine thing, he said, to split in two like a child’s toy.
It had cracked like a dry nut; and mightn’t one as well live upon an
exploding bomb?--with much more to the same effect. The professor, by
way of retaliation, had commenced sneering at the “prodigious” mountain
of Montmartre, and the dispute was beginning to look serious when
Servadac entered.
Thinking he could turn the wrangling to some good account, so as to
arrive at the information he was so anxiously seeking, the captain
pretended to espouse the views of his orderly; he consequently brought
upon himself the full force of the professor’s wrath.
Rosette’s language became more and more violent, till Servadac, feigning
to be provoked beyond endurance, cried:
“You forget, sir, that you are addressing the Governor-General of
Gallia.”
“Governor-General! humbug!” roared Rosette. “Gallia is my comet!”
“I deny it,” said Servadac. “Gallia has lost its chance of getting back
to the earth. Gallia has nothing to do with you. Gallia is mine; and you
must submit to the government which I please to ordain.”
“And who told you that Gallia is not going back to the earth?” asked the
professor, with a look of withering scorn.
“Why, isn’t her mass diminished? Isn’t she split in half? Isn’t her
velocity all altered?” demanded the captain.
“And pray who told you this?” again said the professor, with a sneer.
“Everybody. Everybody knows it, of course,” replied Servadac.
“Everybody is very clever. And you always were a very clever scholar
too. We remember that of old, don’t we?”
“Sir!”
“You nearly mastered the first elements of science, didn’t you?”
“Sir!”
“A credit to your class!”
“Hold your tongue, sir!” bellowed the captain again, as if his anger was
uncontrollable.
“Not I,” said the professor.
“Hold your tongue!” repeated Servadac.
“Just because the mass is altered you think the velocity is altered?”
“Hold your tongue!” cried the captain, louder than ever.
“What has mass to do with the orbit? Of how many comets do you know the
mass, and yet you know their movements? Ignorance!” shouted Rosette.
“Insolence!” retorted Servadac.
Ben Zoof, really thinking that his master was angry, made a threatening
movement towards the professor.
“Touch me if you dare!” screamed Rosette, drawing himself up to the
fullest height his diminutive figure would allow. “You shall answer for
your conduct before a court of justice!”
“Where? On Gallia?” asked the captain.
“No; on the earth.”
“The earth! Pshaw! You know we shall never get there; our velocity is
changed.”
“On the earth,” repeated the professor, with decision.
“Trash!” cried Ben Zoof. “The earth will be too far off!”
“Not too far off for us to come across her orbit at 42 minutes and 35.6
seconds past two o’clock on the morning of this coming 1st of January.”
“Thanks, my dear professor--many thanks. You have given me all the
information I required;” and, with a low bow and a gracious smile, the
captain withdrew. The orderly made an equally polite bow, and followed
his master. The professor, completely nonplussed, was left alone.
Thirteen days, then--twenty-six of the original Gallian days, fifty-two
of the present--was all the time for preparation that now remained.
Every preliminary arrangement was hurried on with the greatest
earnestness.
There was a general eagerness to be quit of Gallia. Indifferent to
the dangers that must necessarily attend a balloon ascent under such
unparalleled circumstances, and heedless of Lieutenant Procope’s warning
that the slightest check in their progress would result in instantaneous
combustion, they all seemed to conclude that it must be the simplest
thing possible to glide from one atmosphere to another, so that they
were quite sanguine as to the successful issue of their enterprise.
Captain Servadac made a point of showing himself quite enthusiastic in
his anticipations, and to Ben Zoof the going up in a balloon was the
supreme height of his ambition. The count and the lieutenant, of colder
and less demonstrative temperament, alike seemed to realize the possible
perils of the undertaking, but even they were determined to put a bold
face upon every difficulty.
The sea had now become navigable, and three voyages were made to Gourbi
Island in the steam launch, consuming the last of their little reserve
of coal.
The first voyage had been made by Servadac with several of the sailors.
They found the gourbi and the adjacent building quite uninjured by
the severity of the winter; numbers of little rivulets intersected the
pasture-land; new plants were springing up under the influence of the
equatorial sun, and the luxuriant foliage was tenanted by the birds
which had flown back from the volcano. Summer had almost abruptly
succeeded to winter, and the days, though only three hours long, were
intensely hot.
Another of the voyages to the island had been to collect the dry grass
and straw which was necessary for inflating the balloon. Had the balloon
been less cumbersome it would have been conveyed to the island,
whence the start would have been effected; but as it was, it was more
convenient to bring the combustible material to the balloon.
The last of the coal having been consumed, the fragments of the
shipwrecked vessels had to be used day by day for fuel. Hakkabut began
making a great hubbub when he found that they were burning some of the
spars of the -Hansa-; but he was effectually silenced by Ben Zoof, who
told him that if he made any more fuss, he should be compelled to pay
50,000 francs for a balloon-ticket, or else he should be left behind.
By Christmas Day everything was in readiness for immediate departure.
The festival was observed with a solemnity still more marked than the
anniversary of the preceding year. Every one looked forward to spending
New Year’s Day in another sphere altogether, and Ben Zoof had already
promised Pablo and Nina all sorts of New Year’s gifts.
It may seem strange, but the nearer the critical moment approached, the
less Hector Servadac and Count Timascheff had to say to each other on
the subject. Their mutual reserve became more apparent; the experiences
of the last two years were fading from their minds like a dream; and the
fair image that had been the cause of their original rivalry was ever
rising, as a vision, between them.
The captain’s thoughts began to turn to his unfinished rondo; in
his leisure moments, rhymes suitable and unsuitable, possible and
impossible, were perpetually jingling in his imagination. He labored
under the conviction that he had a work of genius to complete. A poet he
had left the earth, and a poet he must return.
Count Timascheff’s desire to return to the world was quite equaled by
Lieutenant Procope’s. The Russian sailors’ only thought was to follow
their master, wherever he went. The Spaniards, though they would have
been unconcerned to know that they were to remain upon Gallia, were
nevertheless looking forward with some degree of pleasure to revisiting
the plains of Andalusia; and Nina and Pablo were only too delighted
at the prospect of accompanying their kind protectors on any fresh
excursion whatever.
The only malcontent was Palmyrin Rosette. Day and night he persevered
in his astronomical pursuits, declared his intention of never abandoning
his comet, and swore positively that nothing should induce him to set
foot in the car of the balloon.
The misfortune that had befallen his telescope was a never-ending theme
of complaint; and just now, when Gallia was entering the narrow zone of
shooting-stars, and new discoveries might have been within his reach,
his loss made him more inconsolable than ever. In sheer desperation, he
endeavored to increase the intensity of his vision by applying to his
eyes some belladonna which he found in the -Dobryna’s- medicine chest;
with heroic fortitude he endured the tortures of the experiment, and
gazed up into the sky until he was nearly blind. But all in vain; not a
single fresh discovery rewarded his sufferings.
No one was quite exempt from the feverish excitement which prevailed
during the last days of December. Lieutenant Procope superintended his
final arrangements. The two low masts of the schooner had been erected
firmly on the shore, and formed supports for the montgolfier, which had
been duly covered with the netting, and was ready at any moment to
be inflated. The car was close at hand. Some inflated skins had been
attached to its sides, so that the balloon might float for a time, in
the event of its descending in the sea at a short distance from the
shore. If unfortunately, it should come down in mid-ocean, nothing but
the happy chance of some passing vessel could save them all from the
certain fate of being drowned.
The 31st came. Twenty-four hours hence and the balloon, with its large
living freight, would be high in the air. The atmosphere was less
buoyant than that of the earth, but no difficulty in ascending was to be
apprehended.
Gallia was now within 96,000,000 miles of the sun, consequently not much
more than 4,000,000 miles from the earth; and this interval was being
diminished at the rate of nearly 208,000 miles an hour, the speed of the
earth being about 70,000 miles, that of the comet being little less than
138,000 miles an hour.
It was determined to make the start at two o’clock, three-quarters of
an hour, or, to speak correctly 42 minutes 35.6 seconds, before the time
predicted by the professor as the instant of collision. The modified
rotation of the comet caused it to be daylight at the time.
An hour previously the balloon was inflated with perfect success,
and the car was securely attached to the network. It only awaited the
stowage of the passengers.
Isaac Hakkabut was the first to take his place in the car. But scarcely
had he done so, when Servadac noticed that his waist was encompassed
by an enormous girdle that bulged out to a very extraordinary extent.
“What’s all this, Hakkabut?” he asked.
“It’s only my little bit of money, your Excellency; my modest little
fortune--a mere bagatelle,” said the Jew.
“And what may your little fortune weigh?” inquired the captain.
“Only about sixty-six pounds!” said Isaac.
“Sixty-six pounds!” cried Servadac. “We haven’t reckoned for this.”
“Merciful heavens!” began the Jew.
“Sixty-six pounds!” repeated Servadac. “We can hardly carry ourselves;
we can’t have any dead weight here. Pitch it out, man, pitch it out!”
“God of Israel!” whined Hakkabut.
“Out with it, I say!” cried Servadac.
“What, all my money, which I have saved so long, and toiled for so
hard?”
“It can’t be helped,” said the captain, unmoved.
“Oh, your Excellency!” cried the Jew.
“Now, old Nicodemus, listen to me,” interposed Ben Zoof; “you just get
rid of that pouch of yours, or we will get rid of you. Take your choice.
Quick, or out you go!”
The avaricious old man was found to value his life above his money; he
made a lamentable outcry about it, but he unfastened his girdle at last,
and put it out of the car.
Very different was the case with Palmyrin Rosette. He avowed over and
over again his intention of never quitting the nucleus of his comet. Why
should he trust himself to a balloon, that would blaze up like a piece
of paper? Why should he leave the comet? Why should he not go once again
upon its surface into the far-off realms of space?
His volubility was brought to a sudden check by Servadac’s bidding two
of the sailors, without more ado, to take him in their arms and put him
quietly down at the bottom of the car.
To the great regret of their owners, the two horses and Nina’s pet goat
were obliged to be left behind. The only creature for which there was
found a place was the carrier-pigeon that had brought the professor’s
message to the Hive. Servadac thought it might probably be of service in
carrying some communication to the earth.
When every one, except the captain and his orderly, had taken their
places, Servadac said, “Get in, Ben Zoof.”
“After you, sir,” said Ben Zoof, respectfully.
“No, no!” insisted Servadac; “the captain must be the last to leave the
ship!”
A moment’s hesitation and the orderly clambered over the side of the
car. Servadac followed. The cords were cut. The balloon rose with
stately calmness into the air.
CHAPTER XVIII. SUSPENSE
When the balloon had reached an elevation of about 2,500 yards,
Lieutenant Procope determined to maintain it at that level. A wire-work
stove, suspended below the casing, and filled with lighted hay, served
to keep the air in the interior at a proper temperature.
Beneath their feet was extended the basin of the Gallian Sea. An
inconsiderable speck to the north marked the site of Gourbi Island.
Ceuta and Gibraltar, which might have been expected in the west, had
utterly disappeared. On the south rose the volcano, the extremity of the
promontory that jutted out from the continent that formed the framework
of the sea; whilst in every direction the strange soil, with its
commixture of tellurium and gold, gleamed under the sun’s rays with a
perpetual iridescence.
Apparently rising with them in their ascent, the horizon was
well-defined. The sky above them was perfectly clear; but away in the
northwest, in opposition to the sun, floated a new sphere, so small that
it could not be an asteroid, but like a dim meteor. It was the fragment
that the internal convulsion had rent from the surface of the comet,
and which was now many thousands of leagues away, pursuing the new orbit
into which it had been projected. During the hours of daylight it
was far from distinct, but after nightfall it would assume a definite
luster.
The object, however, of supreme interest was the great expanse of the
terrestrial disc, which was rapidly drawing down obliquely towards them.
It totally eclipsed an enormous portion of the firmament above, and
approaching with an ever-increasing velocity, was now within half its
average distance from the moon. So close was it, that the two poles
could not be embraced in one focus. Irregular patches of greater or
less brilliancy alternated on its surface, the brighter betokening the
continents, the more somber indicating the oceans that absorbed the
solar rays. Above, there were broad white bands, darkened on the side
averted from the sun, exhibiting a slow but unintermittent movement;
these were the vapors that pervaded the terrestrial atmosphere.
But as the aeronauts were being hurried on at a speed of 70 miles
a second, this vague aspect of the earth soon developed itself into
definite outlines. Mountains and plains were no longer confused, the
distinction between sea and shore was more plainly identified, and
instead of being, as it were, depicted on a map, the surface of the
earth appeared as though modelled in relief.
Twenty-seven minutes past two, and Gallia is only 72,000 miles from the
terrestrial sphere; quicker and quicker is the velocity; ten minutes
later, and they are only 36,000 miles apart!
The whole configuration of the earth is clear.
“Europe! Russia! France!” shout Procope, the count, and Servadac, almost
in a breath.
And they are not mistaken. The eastern hemisphere lies before them
in the full blaze of light, and there is no possibility of error in
distinguishing continent from continent.
The surprise only kindled their emotion to yet keener intensity, and it
would be hard to describe the excitement with which they gazed at the
panorama that was before them. The crisis of peril was close at hand,
but imagination overleaped all consideration of danger; and everything
was absorbed in the one idea that they were again within reach of that
circle of humanity from which they had supposed themselves severed
forever.
And, truly, if they could have paused to study it, that panorama of
the states of Europe which was outstretched before their eyes, was
conspicuous for the fantastic resemblances with which Nature on the one
hand, and international relations on the other, have associated them.
There was England, marching like some stately dame towards the east,
trailing her ample skirts and coroneted with the cluster of her little
islets; Sweden and Norway, with their bristling spine of mountains,
seemed like a splendid lion eager to spring down from the bosom of the
ice-bound north; Russia, a gigantic polar bear, stood with its head
towards Asia, its left paw resting upon Turkey, its right upon Mount
Caucasus; Austria resembled a huge cat curled up and sleeping a watchful
sleep; Spain, with Portugal as a pennant, like an unfurled banner,
floated from the extremity of the continent; Turkey, like an insolent
cock, appeared to clutch the shores of Asia with the one claw, and the
land of Greece with the other; Italy, as it were a foot and leg encased
in a tight-fitting boot, was juggling deftly with the islands of Sicily,
Sardinia, and Corsica; Prussia, a formidable hatchet imbedded in the
heart of Germany, its edge just grazing the frontiers of France; whilst
France itself suggested a vigorous torso with Paris at its breast.
All at once Ben Zoof breaks the silence: “Montmartre! I see Montmartre!”
And, smile at the absurdity as others might, nothing could induce the
worthy orderly to surrender his belief that he could actually make out
the features of his beloved home.
The only individual whose soul seemed unstirred by the approaching earth
was Palmyrin Rosette. Leaning over the side of the car, he kept his eyes
fixed upon the abandoned comet, now floating about a mile and a half
below him, bright in the general irradiation which was flooding the
surrounding space.
Chronometer in hand, Lieutenant Procope stood marking the minutes and
seconds as they fled; and the stillness which had once again fallen upon
them all was only broken by his order to replenish the stove, that the
montgolfier might retain its necessary level. Servadac and the count
continued to gaze upon the earth with an eagerness that almost amounted
to awe. The balloon was slightly in the rear of Gallia, a circumstance
that augured somewhat favorably, because it might be presumed that if
the comet preceded the balloon in its contact with the earth, there
would be a break in the suddenness of transfer from one atmosphere to
the other.
The next question of anxiety was, where would the balloon alight? If
upon -terra firma-, would it be in a place where adequate resources for
safety would be at hand? If upon the ocean, would any passing vessel be
within hail to rescue them from their critical position? Truly, as the
count observed to his comrades, none but a Divine Pilot could steer them
now.
“Forty-two minutes past!” said the lieutenant, and his voice seemed to
thrill through the silence of expectation.
There were not 20,000 miles between the comet and the earth!
The calculated time of impact was 2 hours 47 minutes 35.6 seconds. Five
minutes more and collision must ensue!
But was it so? Just at this moment, Lieutenant Procope observed that the
comet deviated sensibly in an oblique course. Was it possible that after
all collision would not occur?
The deviation, however, was not great; it did not justify any
anticipation that Gallia would merely graze the earth, as it had done
before; it left it certain that the two bodies would inevitably impinge.
“No doubt,” said Ben Zoof, “this time we shall stick together.”
Another thought occurred. Was it not only too likely that, in the fusion
of the two atmospheres, the balloon itself, in which they were being
conveyed, would be rent into ribbons, and every one of its passengers
hurled into destruction, so that not a Gallian should survive to tell
the tale of their strange peregrinations?
Moments were precious; but Hector Servadac resolved that he would adopt
a device to secure that at least some record of their excursion in solar
distances should survive themselves.
Tearing a leaf from his note-book, he wrote down the name of the comet,
the list of the fragments of the earth it had carried off, the names
of his companions, and the date of the comet’s aphelion; and having
subscribed it with his signature, turned to Nina and told her he must
have the carrier-pigeon which was nestling in her bosom.
The child’s eyes filled with tears; she did not say a word, but
imprinting a kiss upon its soft plumage, she surrendered it at once, and
the message was hurriedly fastened to its neck. The bird wheeled round
and round in a few circles that widened in their diameter, and quickly
sunk to an altitude in the comet’s atmosphere much inferior to the
balloon.
Some minutes more were thus consumed and the interval of distance was
reduced to less than 8,000 miles.
The velocity became inconceivably great, but the increased rate of
motion was in no way perceptible; there was nothing to disturb the
equilibrium of the car in which they were making their aerial adventure.
“Forty-six minutes!” announced the lieutenant.
The glowing expanse of the earth’s disc seemed like a vast funnel,
yawning to receive the comet and its atmosphere, balloon and all, into
its open mouth.
“Forty-seven!” cried Procope.
There was half a minute yet. A thrill ran through every vein. A
vibration quivered through the atmosphere. The montgolfier, elongated
to its utmost stretch, was manifestly being sucked into a vortex. Every
passenger in the quivering car involuntarily clung spasmodically to its
sides, and as the two atmospheres amalgamated, clouds accumulated in
heavy masses, involving all around in dense obscurity, while flashes of
lurid flame threw a weird glimmer on the scene.
In a mystery every one found himself upon the earth again. They could
not explain it, but here they were once more upon terrestrial soil; in
a swoon they had left the earth, and in a similar swoon they had come
back!
Of the balloon not a vestige remained, and contrary to previous
computation, the comet had merely grazed the earth, and was traversing
the regions of space, again far away!
CHAPTER XIX. BACK AGAIN
“In Algeria, captain?”
“Yes, Ben Zoof, in Algeria; and not far from Mostaganem.” Such were the
first words which, after their return to consciousness, were exchanged
between Servadac and his orderly.
They had resided so long in the province that they could not for a
moment be mistaken as to their whereabouts, and although they were
incapable of clearing up the mysteries that shrouded the miracle, yet
they were convinced at the first glance that they had been returned to
the earth at the very identical spot where they had quitted it.
In fact, they were scarcely more than a mile from Mostaganem, and in
the course of an hour, when they had all recovered from the bewilderment
occasioned by the shock, they started off in a body and made their way
to the town. It was a matter of extreme surprise to find no symptom of
the least excitement anywhere as they went along. The population was
perfectly calm; every one was pursuing his ordinary avocation; the
cattle were browsing quietly upon the pastures that were moist with the
dew of an ordinary January morning. It was about eight o’clock; the sun
was rising in the east; nothing could be noticed to indicate that
any abnormal incident had either transpired or been expected by the
inhabitants. As to a collision with a comet, there was not the faintest
trace of any such phenomenon crossing men’s minds, and awakening, as
it surely would, a panic little short of the certified approach of the
millennium.
“Nobody expects us,” said Servadac; “that is very certain.”
“No, indeed,” answered Ben Zoof, with a sigh; he was manifestly
disappointed that his return to Mostaganem was not welcomed with a
triumphal reception.
They reached the Mascara gate. The first persons that Servadac
recognized were the two friends that he had invited to be his seconds in
the duel two years ago, the colonel of the 2nd Fusiliers and the captain
of the 8th Artillery. In return to his somewhat hesitating salutation,
the colonel greeted him heartily, “Ah! Servadac, old fellow! is it you?”
“I, myself,” said the captain.
“Where on earth have you been to all this time? In the name of peace,
what have you been doing with yourself?”
“You would never believe me, colonel,” answered Servadac, “if I were to
tell you; so on that point I had better hold my tongue.”
“Hang your mysteries!” said the colonel; “tell me, where have you been?”
“No, my friend, excuse me,” replied Servadac; “but shake hands with me
in earnest, that I may be sure I am not dreaming.” Hector Servadac
had made up his mind, and no amount of persuasion could induce him to
divulge his incredible experiences.
Anxious to turn the subject, Servadac took the earliest opportunity of
asking, “And what about Madame de L----?”
“Madame de L-----!” exclaimed the colonel, taking the words out of his
mouth; “the lady is married long ago; you did not suppose that she was
going to wait for you. ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ you know.”
“True,” replied Servadac; and turning to the count he said, “Do you hear
that? We shall not have to fight our duel after all.”
“Most happy to be excused,” rejoined the count. The rivals took each
other by the hand, and were united henceforth in the bonds of a sincere
and confiding friendship.
“An immense relief,” said Servadac to himself, “that I have no occasion
to finish that confounded rondo!”
It was agreed between the captain and the count that it would be
desirable in every way to maintain the most rigid silence upon the
subject of the inexplicable phenomena which had come within their
experience. It was to them both a subject of the greatest perplexity to
find that the shores of the Mediterranean had undergone no change,
but they coincided in the opinion that it was prudent to keep their
bewilderment entirely to themselves. Nothing induced them to break their
reserve.
The very next day the small community was broken up.
The -Dobryna’s- crew, with the count and the lieutenant, started for
Russia, and the Spaniards, provided, by the count’s liberality, with a
competency that ensured them from want, were despatched to their native
shores. The leave taking was accompanied by genuine tokens of regard and
goodwill.
For Isaac Hakkabut alone there was no feeling of regret. Doubly ruined
by the loss of his tartan, and by the abandonment of his fortune, he
disappeared entirely from the scene. It is needless to say that no
one troubled himself to institute a search after him, and, as Ben Zoof
sententiously remarked, “Perhaps old Jehoram is making money in America
by exhibiting himself as the latest arrival from a comet!”
But however great was the reserve which Captain Servadac might make
on his part, nothing could induce Professor Rosette to conceal his
experiences. In spite of the denial which astronomer after astronomer
gave to the appearance of such a comet as Gallia at all, and of its
being refused admission to the catalogue, he published a voluminous
treatise, not only detailing his own adventures, but setting forth, with
the most elaborate precision, all the elements which settled its period
and its orbit. Discussions arose in scientific circles; an overwhelming
majority decided against the representations of the professor; an
unimportant minority declared themselves in his favor, and a pamphlet
obtained some degree of notice, ridiculing the whole debate under the
title of “The History of an Hypothesis.” In reply to this impertinent
criticism of his labors, Rosette issued a rejoinder full with the most
vehement expressions of indignation, and reiterating his asseveration
that a fragment of Gibraltar was still traversing the regions of space,
carrying thirteen Englishmen upon its surface, and concluding by saying
that it was the great disappointment of his life that he had not been
taken with them.
Pablo and little Nina were adopted, the one by Servadac, the other
by the count, and under the supervision of their guardians, were well
educated and cared for. Some years later, Colonel, no longer Captain,
Servadac, his hair slightly streaked with grey, had the pleasure of
seeing the handsome young Spaniard united in marriage to the Italian,
now grown into a charming girl, upon whom the count bestowed an ample
dowry; the young people’s happiness in no way marred by the fact that
they had not been destined, as once seemed likely, to be the Adam and
Eve of a new world.
The career of the comet was ever a mystery which neither Servadac nor
his orderly could eliminate from the regions of doubt. Anyhow, they were
firmer and more confiding friends than ever.
One day, in the environs of Montmartre, where they were secure from
eavesdroppers, Ben Zoof incidentally referred to the experiences in
the depths of Nina’s Hive; but stopped short and said, “However, those
things never happened, sir, did they?”
His master could only reply, “Confound it, Ben Zoof! What is a man to
believe?”
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758
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759
,
760
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761
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763
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764
765
766
767
768
.
769
,
770
771
.
772
.
773
774
.
775
776
-
’
-
,
,
777
,
,
,
’
,
778
,
779
.
780
.
781
782
.
783
,
,
784
.
785
,
,
786
,
«
787
!
»
788
789
790
,
791
.
792
,
793
,
794
,
,
,
795
,
796
.
;
797
;
798
,
799
,
800
«
.
»
801
,
802
,
803
,
804
,
805
806
.
807
808
,
,
809
,
,
810
.
,
,
,
811
,
,
812
,
813
,
814
;
’
815
,
,
816
.
817
818
819
.
,
820
.
821
822
,
,
823
,
824
’
;
,
«
,
825
,
,
?
»
826
827
,
«
,
!
828
?
»
829