On the 31st, then, Ben Zoof was “invested with governor’s powers,” and
took an affecting leave of his master, begging him, if chance should
carry him near Montmartre, to ascertain whether the beloved “mountain”
had been left unmoved.
Farewells over, the -Dobryna- was carefully steered through the creek,
and was soon upon the open sea.
CHAPTER X. A SEARCH FOR ALGERIA
The -Dobryna-, a strong craft of 200 tons burden, had been built in the
famous shipbuilding yards in the Isle of Wight. Her sea going qualities
were excellent, and would have amply sufficed for a circumnavigation of
the globe. Count Timascheff was himself no sailor, but had the
greatest confidence in leaving the command of his yacht in the hands of
Lieutenant Procope, a man of about thirty years of age, and an excellent
seaman. Born on the count’s estates, the son of a serf who had been
emancipated long before the famous edict of the Emperor Alexander,
Procope was sincerely attached, by a tie of gratitude as well as of duty
and affection, to his patron’s service. After an apprenticeship on a
merchant ship he had entered the imperial navy, and had already reached
the rank of lieutenant when the count appointed him to the charge of
his own private yacht, in which he was accustomed to spend by far the
greater part of his time, throughout the winter generally cruising in
the Mediterranean, whilst in the summer he visited more northern waters.
The ship could not have been in better hands. The lieutenant was well
informed in many matters outside the pale of his profession, and his
attainments were alike creditable to himself and to the liberal friend
who had given him his education. He had an excellent crew, consisting
of Tiglew the engineer, four sailors named Niegoch, Tolstoy, Etkef, and
Panofka, and Mochel the cook. These men, without exception, were all
sons of the count’s tenants, and so tenaciously, even out at sea, did
they cling to their old traditions, that it mattered little to them what
physical disorganization ensued, so long as they felt they were sharing
the experiences of their lord and master. The late astounding events,
however, had rendered Procope manifestly uneasy, and not the less
so from his consciousness that the count secretly partook of his own
anxiety.
Steam up and canvas spread, the schooner started eastwards. With a
favorable wind she would certainly have made eleven knots an hour
had not the high waves somewhat impeded her progress. Although only a
moderate breeze was blowing, the sea was rough, a circumstance to
be accounted for only by the diminution in the force of the earth’s
attraction rendering the liquid particles so buoyant, that by the mere
effect of oscillation they were carried to a height that was quite
unprecedented. M. Arago has fixed twenty-five or twenty-six feet as
the maximum elevation ever attained by the highest waves, and his
astonishment would have been very great to see them rising fifty or
even sixty feet. Nor did these waves in the usual way partially unfurl
themselves and rebound against the sides of the vessel; they might
rather be described as long undulations carrying the schooner (its
weight diminished from the same cause as that of the water) alternately
to such heights and depths, that if Captain Servadac had been subject to
seasickness he must have found himself in sorry plight. As the pitching,
however, was the result of a long uniform swell, the yacht did not labor
much harder than she would against the ordinary short strong waves of
the Mediterranean; the main inconvenience that was experienced was the
diminution in her proper rate of speed.
For a few miles she followed the line hitherto presumably occupied by
the coast of Algeria; but no land appeared to the south. The changed
positions of the planets rendered them of no avail for purposes of
nautical observation, nor could Lieutenant Procope calculate his
latitude and longitude by the altitude of the sun, as his reckonings
would be useless when applied to charts that had been constructed for
the old order of things; but nevertheless, by means of the log, which
gave him the rate of progress, and by the compass which indicated the
direction in which they were sailing, he was able to form an estimate
of his position that was sufficiently free from error for his immediate
need.
Happily the recent phenomena had no effect upon the compass; the
magnetic needle, which in these regions had pointed about 22 degrees
from the north pole, had never deviated in the least--a proof that,
although east and west had apparently changed places, north and south
continued to retain their normal position as cardinal points. The log
and the compass, therefore, were able to be called upon to do the work
of the sextant, which had become utterly useless.
On the first morning of the cruise Lieutenant Procope, who, like most
Russians, spoke French fluently, was explaining these peculiarities
to Captain Servadac; the count was present, and the conversation
perpetually recurred, as naturally it would, to the phenomena which
remained so inexplicable to them all.
“It is very evident,” said the lieutenant, “that ever since the 1st of
January the earth has been moving in a new orbit, and from some unknown
cause has drawn nearer to the sun.”
“No doubt about that,” said Servadac; “and I suppose that, having
crossed the orbit of Venus, we have a good chance of running into the
orbit of Mercury.”
“And finish up by a collision with the sun!” added the count.
“There is no fear of that, sir. The earth has undoubtedly entered upon
a new orbit, but she is not incurring any probable risk of being
precipitated onto the sun.”
“Can you satisfy us of that?” asked the count.
“I can, sir. I can give you a proof which I think you will own is
conclusive. If, as you suppose, the earth is being drawn on so as to
be precipitated against the sun, the great center of attraction of our
system, it could only be because the centrifugal and centripetal forces
that cause the planets to rotate in their several orbits had been
entirely suspended: in that case, indeed, the earth would rush onwards
towards the sun, and in sixty-four days and a half the catastrophe you
dread would inevitably happen.”
“And what demonstration do you offer,” asked Servadac eagerly, “that it
will not happen?”
“Simply this, captain: that since the earth entered her new orbit
half the sixty-four days has already elapsed, and yet it is only just
recently that she has crossed the orbit of Venus, hardly one-third of
the distance to be traversed to reach the sun.”
The lieutenant paused to allow time for reflection, and added:
“Moreover, I have every reason to believe that we are not so near the
sun as we have been. The temperature has been gradually diminishing;
the heat upon Gourbi Island is not greater now than we might ordinarily
expect to find in Algeria. At the same time, we have the problem still
unsolved that the Mediterranean has evidently been transported to the
equatorial zone.”
Both the count and the captain expressed themselves reassured by his
representations, and observed that they must now do all in their power
to discover what had become of the vast continent of Africa, of which,
they were hitherto failing so completely to find a vestige.
Twenty-four hours after leaving the island, the -Dobryna- had passed
over the sites where Tenes, Cherchil, Koleah, and Sidi-Feruch once had
been, but of these towns not one appeared within range of the telescope.
Ocean reigned supreme. Lieutenant Procope was absolutely certain that
he had not mistaken his direction; the compass showed that the wind
had never shifted from the west, and this, with the rate of speed as
estimated by the log, combined to assure him that at this date, the 2d
of February, the schooner was in lat. 36 degrees 49 min N. and long. 3
degrees 25 min E., the very spot which ought to have been occupied by
the Algerian capital. But Algiers, like all the other coast-towns, had
apparently been absorbed into the bowels of the earth.
Captain Servadac, with clenched teeth and knitted brow, stood sternly,
almost fiercely, regarding the boundless waste of water. His pulse beat
fast as he recalled the friends and comrades with whom he had spent the
last few years in that vanished city. All the images of his past life
floated upon his memory; his thoughts sped away to his native France,
only to return again to wonder whether the depths of ocean would reveal
any traces of the Algerian metropolis.
“Is it not impossible,” he murmured aloud, “that any city should
disappear so completely? Would not the loftiest eminences of the city
at least be visible? Surely some portion of the Casbah must still rise
above the waves? The imperial fort, too, was built upon an elevation
of 750 feet; it is incredible that it should be so totally submerged.
Unless some vestiges of these are found, I shall begin to suspect that
the whole of Africa has been swallowed in some vast abyss.”
Another circumstance was most remarkable. Not a material object of any
kind was to be noticed floating on the surface of the water; not one
branch of a tree had been seen drifting by, nor one spar belonging to
one of the numerous vessels that a month previously had been moored
in the magnificent bay which stretched twelve miles across from Cape
Matafuz to Point Pexade. Perhaps the depths might disclose what the
surface failed to reveal, and Count Timascheff, anxious that Servadac
should have every facility afforded him for solving his doubts, called
for the sounding-line. Forthwith, the lead was greased and lowered.
To the surprise of all, and especially of Lieutenant Procope, the
line indicated a bottom at a nearly uniform depth of from four to five
fathoms; and although the sounding was persevered with continuously for
more than two hours over a considerable area, the differences of level
were insignificant, not corresponding in any degree to what would be
expected over the site of a city that had been terraced like the seats
of an amphitheater. Astounding as it seemed, what alternative was left
but to suppose that the Algerian capital had been completely leveled by
the flood?
The sea-bottom was composed of neither rock, mud, sand, nor shells;
the sounding-lead brought up nothing but a kind of metallic dust, which
glittered with a strange iridescence, and the nature of which it was
impossible to determine, as it was totally unlike what had ever been
known to be raised from the bed of the Mediterranean.
“You must see, lieutenant, I should think, that we are not so near the
coast of Algeria as you imagined.”
The lieutenant shook his head. After pondering awhile, he said: “If
we were farther away I should expect to find a depth of two or three
hundred fathoms instead of five fathoms. Five fathoms! I confess I am
puzzled.”
For the next thirty-six hours, until the 4th of February, the sea was
examined and explored with the most unflagging perseverance. Its depth
remained invariable, still four, or at most five, fathoms; and although
its bottom was assiduously dredged, it was only to prove it barren of
marine production of any type.
The yacht made its way to lat. 36 degrees, and by reference to the
charts it was tolerably certain that she was cruising over the site of
the Sahel, the ridge that had separated the rich plain of the Mitidja
from the sea, and of which the highest peak, Mount Boujereah, had
reached an altitude of 1,200 feet; but even this peak, which might have
been expected to emerge like an islet above the surface of the sea,
was nowhere to be traced. Nothing was to be done but to put about, and
return in disappointment towards the north.
Thus the -Dobryna- regained the waters of the Mediterranean without
discovering a trace of the missing province of Algeria.
CHAPTER XI. AN ISLAND TOMB
No longer, then, could there be any doubt as to the annihilation of
a considerable portion of the colony. Not merely had there been a
submersion of the land, but the impression was more and more confirmed
that the very bowels of the earth must have yawned and closed again upon
a large territory. Of the rocky substratum of the province it became
more evident than ever that not a trace remained, and a new soil
of unknown formation had certainly taken the place of the old sandy
sea-bottom. As it altogether transcended the powers of those on board to
elucidate the origin of this catastrophe, it was felt to be incumbent on
them at least to ascertain its extent.
After a long and somewhat wavering discussion, it was at length decided
that the schooner should take advantage of the favorable wind and
weather, and proceed at first towards the east, thus following the
outline of what had formerly represented the coast of Africa, until that
coast had been lost in boundless sea.
Not a vestige of it all remained; from Cape Matafuz to Tunis it had all
gone, as though it had never been. The maritime town of Dellis, built
like Algiers, amphitheater-wise, had totally disappeared; the highest
points were quite invisible; not a trace on the horizon was left of the
Jurjura chain, the topmost point of which was known to have an altitude
of more than 7,000 feet.
Unsparing of her fuel, the -Dobryna- made her way at full steam towards
Cape Blanc. Neither Cape Negro nor Cape Serrat was to be seen. The town
of Bizerta, once charming in its oriental beauty, had vanished utterly;
its marabouts, or temple-tombs, shaded by magnificent palms that fringed
the gulf, which by reason of its narrow mouth had the semblance of a
lake, all had disappeared, giving place to a vast waste of sea, the
transparent waves of which, as still demonstrated by the sounding-line,
had ever the same uniform and arid bottom.
In the course of the day the schooner rounded the point where, five
weeks previously, Cape Blanc had been so conspicuous an object, and she
was now stemming the waters of what once had been the Bay of Tunis. But
bay there was none, and the town from which it had derived its name,
with the Arsenal, the Goletta, and the two peaks of Bou-Kournein, had
all vanished from the view. Cape Bon, too, the most northern promontory
of Africa and the point of the continent nearest to the island of
Sicily, had been included in the general devastation.
Before the occurrence of the recent prodigy, the bottom of the
Mediterranean just at this point had formed a sudden ridge across the
Straits of Libya. The sides of the ridge had shelved to so great an
extent that, while the depth of water on the summit had been little more
than eleven fathoms, that on either hand of the elevation was little
short of a hundred fathoms. A formation such as this plainly indicated
that at some remote epoch Cape Bon had been connected with Cape Furina,
the extremity of Sicily, in the same manner as Ceuta has doubtless been
connected with Gibraltar.
Lieutenant Procope was too well acquainted with the Mediterranean to
be unaware of this peculiarity, and would not lose the opportunity of
ascertaining whether the submarine ridge still existed, or whether the
sea-bottom between Sicily and Africa had undergone any modification.
Both Timascheff and Servadac were much interested in watching the
operations. At a sign from the lieutenant, a sailor who was stationed at
the foot of the fore-shrouds dropped the sounding-lead into the water,
and in reply to Procope’s inquiries, reported--“Five fathoms and a flat
bottom.”
The next aim was to determine the amount of depression on either side of
the ridge, and for this purpose the -Dobryna- was shifted for a distance
of half a mile both to the right and left, and the soundings taken
at each station. “Five fathoms and a flat bottom,” was the unvaried
announcement after each operation. Not only, therefore, was it evident
that the submerged chain between Cape Bon and Cape Furina no longer
existed, but it was equally clear that the convulsion had caused a
general leveling of the sea-bottom, and that the soil, degenerated, as
it has been said, into a metallic dust of unrecognized composition,
bore no trace of the sponges, sea-anemones, star-fish, sea-nettles,
hydrophytes, and shells with which the submarine rocks of the
Mediterranean had hitherto been prodigally clothed.
The -Dobryna- now put about and resumed her explorations in a southerly
direction. It remained, however, as remarkable as ever how completely
throughout the voyage the sea continued to be deserted; all expectations
of hailing a vessel bearing news from Europe were entirely falsified, so
that more and more each member of the crew began to be conscious of his
isolation, and to believe that the schooner, like a second Noah’s ark,
carried the sole survivors of a calamity that had overwhelmed the earth.
On the 9th of February the -Dobryna- passed over the site of the city
of Dido, the ancient Byrsa--a Carthage, however, which was now more
completely destroyed than ever Punic Carthage had been destroyed by
Scipio Africanus or Roman Carthage by Hassan the Saracen.
In the evening, as the sun was sinking below the eastern horizon,
Captain Servadac was lounging moodily against the taffrail. From the
heaven above, where stars kept peeping fitfully from behind the moving
clouds, his eye wandered mechanically to the waters below, where the
long waves were rising and falling with the evening breeze.
All at once, his attention was arrested by a luminous speck straight
ahead on the southern horizon. At first, imagining that he was the
victim of some spectral illusion, he observed it with silent attention;
but when, after some minutes, he became convinced that what he saw was
actually a distant light, he appealed to one of the sailors, by whom
his impression was fully corroborated. The intelligence was immediately
imparted to Count Timascheff and the lieutenant.
“Is it land, do you suppose?” inquired Servadac, eagerly.
“I should be more inclined to think it is a light on board some ship,”
replied the count.
“Whatever it is, in another hour we shall know all about it,” said
Servadac.
“No, captain,” interposed Lieutenant Procope; “we shall know nothing
until to-morrow.”
“What! not bear down upon it at once?” asked the count in surprise.
“No, sir; I should much rather lay to and wait till daylight. If we are
really near land, I should be afraid to approach it in the dark.”
The count expressed his approval of the lieutenant’s caution, and
thereupon all sail was shortened so as to keep the -Dobryna- from making
any considerable progress all through the hours of night. Few as those
hours were, they seemed to those on board as if their end would never
come. Fearful lest the faint glimmer should at any moment cease to be
visible, Hector Servadac did not quit his post upon the deck; but the
light continued unchanged. It shone with about the same degree of luster
as a star of the second magnitude, and from the fact of its remaining
stationary, Procope became more and more convinced that it was on land
and did not belong to a passing vessel.
At sunrise every telescope was pointed with keenest interest towards the
center of attraction. The light, of course, had ceased to be visible,
but in the direction where it had been seen, and at a distance of about
ten miles, there was the distinct outline of a solitary island of very
small extent; rather, as the count observed, it had the appearance of
being the projecting summit of a mountain all but submerged. Whatever it
was, it was agreed that its true character must be ascertained, not
only to gratify their own curiosity, but for the benefit of all future
navigators. The schooner accordingly was steered directly towards it,
and in less than an hour had cast anchor within a few cables’ lengths of
the shore.
The little island proved to be nothing more than an arid rock rising
abruptly about forty feet above the water. It had no outlying reefs, a
circumstance that seemed to suggest the probability that in the recent
convulsion it had sunk gradually, until it had reached its present
position of equilibrium.
Without removing his eye from his telescope, Servadac exclaimed: “There
is a habitation on the place; I can see an erection of some kind quite
distinctly. Who can tell whether we shall not come across a human
being?”
Lieutenant Procope looked doubtful. The island had all the appearance of
being deserted, nor did a cannon-shot fired from the schooner have
the effect of bringing any resident to the shore. Nevertheless, it was
undeniable that there was a stone building situated on the top of
the rock, and that this building had much the character of an Arabian
mosque.
The boat was lowered and manned by the four sailors; Servadac,
Timascheff and Procope were quickly rowed ashore, and lost no time
in commencing their ascent of the steep acclivity. Upon reaching the
summit, they found their progress arrested by a kind of wall, or rampart
of singular construction, its materials consisting mainly of vases,
fragments of columns, carved bas-reliefs, statues, and portions of
broken stelae, all piled promiscuously together without any pretense
to artistic arrangement. They made their way into the enclosure, and
finding an open door, they passed through and soon came to a second
door, also open, which admitted them to the interior of the mosque,
consisting of a single chamber, the walls of which were ornamented in
the Arabian style by sculptures of indifferent execution. In the center
was a tomb of the very simplest kind, and above the tomb was suspended a
large silver lamp with a capacious reservoir of oil, in which floated a
long lighted wick, the flame of which was evidently the light that had
attracted Servadac’s attention on the previous night.
“Must there not have been a custodian of the shrine?” they mutually
asked; but if such there had ever been, he must, they concluded, either
have fled or have perished on that eventful night. Not a soul was there
in charge, and the sole living occupants were a flock of wild cormorants
which, startled at the entrance of the intruders, rose on wing, and took
a rapid flight towards the south.
An old French prayer-book was lying on the corner of the tomb; the
volume was open, and the page exposed to view was that which contained
the office for the celebration of the 25th of August. A sudden
revelation dashed across Servadac’s mind. The solemn isolation of the
island tomb, the open breviary, the ritual of the ancient anniversary,
all combined to apprise him of the sanctity of the spot upon which he
stood.
“The tomb of St. Louis!” he exclaimed, and his companions involuntarily
followed his example, and made a reverential obeisance to the venerated
monument.
It was, in truth, the very spot on which tradition asserts that the
canonized monarch came to die, a spot to which for six centuries and
more his countrymen had paid the homage of a pious regard. The lamp
that had been kindled at the memorial shrine of a saint was now in all
probability the only beacon that threw a light across the waters of the
Mediterranean, and even this ere long must itself expire.
There was nothing more to explore. The three together quitted the
mosque, and descended the rock to the shore, whence their boat
re-conveyed them to the schooner, which was soon again on her southward
voyage; and it was not long before the tomb of St. Louis, the only spot
that had survived the mysterious shock, was lost to view.
CHAPTER XII. AT THE MERCY OF THE WINDS
As the affrighted cormorants had winged their flight towards the south,
there sprang up a sanguine hope on board the schooner that land might be
discovered in that direction. Thither, accordingly, it was determined to
proceed, and in a few hours after quitting the island of the tomb,
the -Dobryna- was traversing the shallow waters that now covered the
peninsula of Dakhul, which had separated the Bay of Tunis from the Gulf
of Hammamet. For two days she continued an undeviating course, and
after a futile search for the coast of Tunis, reached the latitude of 34
degrees.
Here, on the 11th of February, there suddenly arose the cry of “Land!”
and in the extreme horizon, right ahead, where land had never been
before, it was true enough that a shore was distinctly to be seen. What
could it be? It could not be the coast of Tripoli; for not only would
that low-lying shore be quite invisible at such a distance, but it was
certain, moreover, that it lay two degrees at least still further
south. It was soon observed that this newly discovered land was of
very irregular elevation, that it extended due east and west across
the horizon, thus dividing the gulf into two separate sections and
completely concealing the island of Jerba, which must lie behind. Its
position was duly traced on the -Dobryna-‘s chart.
“How strange,” exclaimed Hector Servadac, “that after sailing all this
time over sea where we expected to find land, we have at last come upon
land where we thought to find sea!”
“Strange, indeed,” replied Lieutenant Procope; “and what appears to me
almost as remarkable is that we have never once caught sight either of
one of the Maltese tartans or one of the Levantine xebecs that traffic
so regularly on the Mediterranean.”
“Eastwards or westwards,” asked the count--“which shall be our course?
All farther progress to the south is checked.”
“Westwards, by all means,” replied Servadac quickly. “I am longing to
know whether anything of Algeria is left beyond the Shelif; besides,
as we pass Gourbi Island we might take Ben Zoof on board, and then
make away for Gibraltar, where we should be sure to learn something, at
least, of European news.”
With his usual air of stately courtesy, Count Timascheff begged the
captain to consider the yacht at his own disposal, and desired him to
give the lieutenant instructions accordingly.
Lieutenant Procope, however, hesitated, and after revolving matters
for a few moments in his mind, pointed out that as the wind was blowing
directly from the west, and seemed likely to increase, if they went to
the west in the teeth of the weather, the schooner would be reduced to
the use of her engine only, and would have much difficulty in making any
headway; on the other hand, by taking an eastward course, not only would
they have the advantage of the wind, but, under steam and canvas, might
hope in a few days to be off the coast of Egypt, and from Alexandria or
some other port they would have the same opportunity of getting tidings
from Europe as they would at Gibraltar.
Intensely anxious as he was to revisit the province of Oran, and
eager, too, to satisfy himself of the welfare of his faithful Ben
Zoof, Servadac could not but own the reasonableness of the lieutenant’s
objections, and yielded to the proposal that the eastward course should
be adopted. The wind gave signs only too threatening of the breeze
rising to a gale; but, fortunately, the waves did not culminate in
breakers, but rather in a long swell which ran in the same direction as
the vessel.
During the last fortnight the high temperature had been gradually
diminishing, until it now reached an average of 20 degrees Cent. (or 68
degrees Fahr.), and sometimes descended as low as 15 degrees. That this
diminution was to be attributed to the change in the earth’s orbit was a
question that admitted of little doubt. After approaching so near to the
sun as to cross the orbit of Venus, the earth must now have receded
so far from the sun that its normal distance of ninety-one millions of
miles was greatly increased, and the probability was great that it was
approximating to the orbit of Mars, that planet which in its physical
constitution most nearly resembles our own. Nor was this supposition
suggested merely by the lowering of the temperature; it was strongly
corroborated by the reduction of the apparent diameter of the sun’s disc
to the precise dimensions which it would assume to an observer actually
stationed on the surface of Mars. The necessary inference that seemed to
follow from these phenomena was that the earth had been projected into a
new orbit, which had the form of a very elongated ellipse.
Very slight, however, in comparison was the regard which these
astronomical wonders attracted on board the -Dobryna-. All interest
there was too much absorbed in terrestrial matters, and in ascertaining
what changes had taken place in the configuration of the earth itself,
to permit much attention to be paid to its erratic movements through
space.
The schooner kept bravely on her way, but well out to sea, at a distance
of two miles from land. There was good need of this precaution, for so
precipitous was the shore that a vessel driven upon it must inevitably
have gone to pieces; it did not offer a single harbor of refuge, but,
smooth and perpendicular as the walls of a fortress, it rose to a height
of two hundred, and occasionally of three hundred feet. The waves dashed
violently against its base. Upon the general substratum rested a massive
conglomerate, the crystallizations of which rose like a forest of
gigantic pyramids and obelisks.
But what struck the explorers more than anything was the appearance of
singular newness that pervaded the whole of the region. It all seemed
so recent in its formation that the atmosphere had had no opportunity of
producing its wonted effect in softening the hardness of its lines, in
rounding the sharpness of its angles, or in modifying the color of
its surface; its outline was clearly marked against the sky, and its
substance, smooth and polished as though fresh from a founder’s mold,
glittered with the metallic brilliancy that is characteristic of
pyrites. It seemed impossible to come to any other conclusion but
that the land before them, continent or island, had been upheaved by
subterranean forces above the surface of the sea, and that it was mainly
composed of the same metallic element as had characterized the dust so
frequently uplifted from the bottom.
The extreme nakedness of the entire tract was likewise very
extraordinary. Elsewhere, in various quarters of the globe, there may
be sterile rocks, but there are none so adamant as to be altogether
unfurrowed by the filaments engendered in the moist residuum of the
condensed vapor; elsewhere there may be barren steeps, but none so rigid
as not to afford some hold to vegetation, however low and elementary
may be its type; but here all was bare, and blank, and desolate--not a
symptom of vitality was visible.
Such being the condition of the adjacent land, it could hardly be a
matter of surprise that all the sea-birds, the albatross, the gull, the
sea-mew, sought continual refuge on the schooner; day and night they
perched fearlessly upon the yards, the report of a gun failing to
dislodge them, and when food of any sort was thrown upon the deck,
they would dart down and fight with eager voracity for the prize. Their
extreme avidity was recognized as a proof that any land where they could
obtain a sustenance must be far remote.
Onwards thus for several days the -Dobryna- followed the contour of the
inhospitable coast, of which the features would occasionally change,
sometimes for two or three miles assuming the form of a simple arris,
sharply defined as though cut by a chisel, when suddenly the prismatic
lamellae soaring in rugged confusion would again recur; but all along
there was the same absence of beach or tract of sand to mark its base,
neither were there any of those shoals of rock that are ordinarily found
in shallow water. At rare intervals there were some narrow fissures,
but not a creek available for a ship to enter to replenish its supply of
water; and the wide roadsteads were unprotected and exposed to well-nigh
every point of the compass.
But after sailing two hundred and forty miles, the progress of the
-Dobryna- was suddenly arrested. Lieutenant Procope, who had sedulously
inserted the outline of the newly revealed shore upon the maps,
announced that it had ceased to run east and west, and had taken a turn
due north, thus forming a barrier to their continuing their previous
direction. It was, of course, impossible to conjecture how far this
barrier extended; it coincided pretty nearly with the fourteenth
meridian of east longitude; and if it reached, as probably it did,
beyond Sicily to Italy, it was certain that the vast basin of the
Mediterranean, which had washed the shores alike of Europe, Asia, and
Africa, must have been reduced to about half its original area.
It was resolved to proceed upon the same plan as heretofore, following
the boundary of the land at a safe distance. Accordingly, the head of
the -Dobryna- was pointed north, making straight, as it was presumed,
for the south of Europe. A hundred miles, or somewhat over, in that
direction, and it was to be anticipated she would come in sight of
Malta, if only that ancient island, the heritage in succession of
Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Sicilians, Romans, Vandals, Greeks,
Arabians, and the knights of Rhodes, should still be undestroyed.
But Malta, too, was gone; and when, upon the 14th, the sounding-line was
dropped upon its site, it was only with the same result so oftentimes
obtained before.
“The devastation is not limited to Africa,” observed the count.
“Assuredly not,” assented the lieutenant; adding, “and I confess I am
almost in despair whether we shall ever ascertain its limits. To what
quarter of Europe, if Europe still exists, do you propose that I should
now direct your course?”
“To Sicily, Italy, France!” ejaculated Servadac, eagerly,--“anywhere
where we can learn the truth of what has befallen us.”
“How if we are the sole survivors?” said the count, gravely.
Hector Servadac was silent; his own secret presentiment so thoroughly
coincided with the doubts expressed by the count, that he refrained from
saying another word.
The coast, without deviation, still tended towards the north. No
alternative, therefore, remained than to take a westerly course and to
attempt to reach the northern shores of the Mediterranean. On the 16th
the -Dobryna- essayed to start upon her altered way, but it seemed as if
the elements had conspired to obstruct her progress. A furious tempest
arose; the wind beat dead in the direction of the coast, and the danger
incurred by a vessel of a tonnage so light was necessarily very great.
Lieutenant Procope was extremely uneasy. He took in all sail, struck
his topmasts, and resolved to rely entirely on his engine. But the peril
seemed only to increase. Enormous waves caught the schooner and carried
her up to their crests, whence again she was plunged deep into the
abysses that they left. The screw failed to keep its hold upon the
water, but continually revolved with useless speed in the vacant air;
and thus, although the steam was forced on to the extremest limit
consistent with safety, the vessel held her way with the utmost
difficulty, and recoiled before the hurricane.
Still, not a single resort for refuge did the inaccessible shore
present. Again and again the lieutenant asked himself what would become
of him and his comrades, even if they should survive the peril of
shipwreck, and gain a footing upon the cliff. What resources could
they expect to find upon that scene of desolation? What hope could they
entertain that any portion of the old continent still existed beyond
that dreary barrier?
It was a trying time, but throughout it all the crew behaved with
the greatest courage and composure; confident in the skill of their
commander, and in the stability of their ship, they performed their
duties with steadiness and unquestioning obedience.
But neither skill, nor courage, nor obedience could avail; all was in
vain. Despite the strain put upon her engine, the schooner, bare of
canvas (for not even the smallest stay-sail could have withstood the
violence of the storm), was drifting with terrific speed towards the
menacing precipices, which were only a. few short miles to leeward.
Fully alive to the hopelessness of their situation, the crew were all on
deck.
“All over with us, sir!” said Procope to the count. “I have done
everything that man could do; but our case is desperate. Nothing short
of a miracle can save us now. Within an hour we must go to pieces upon
yonder rocks.”
“Let us, then, commend ourselves to the providence of Him to Whom
nothing is impossible,” replied the count, in a calm, clear voice
that could be distinctly heard by all; and as he spoke, he reverently
uncovered, an example in which he was followed by all the rest.
The destruction of the vessel seeming thus inevitable, Lieutenant
Procope took the best measures he could to insure a few days’ supply
of food for any who might escape ashore. He ordered several cases of
provisions and kegs of water to be brought on deck, and saw that they
were securely lashed to some empty barrels, to make them float after the
ship had gone down.
Less and less grew the distance from the shore, but no creek, no inlet,
could be discerned in the towering wall of cliff, which seemed about to
topple over and involve them in annihilation. Except a change of wind
or, as Procope observed, a supernatural rifting of the rock, nothing
could bring deliverance now. But the wind did not veer, and in a few
minutes more the schooner was hardly three cables’ distance from the
fatal land. All were aware that their last moment had arrived. Servadac
and the count grasped each other’s hands for a long farewell; and,
tossed by the tremendous waves, the schooner was on the very point of
being hurled upon the cliff, when a ringing shout was heard. “Quick,
boys, quick! Hoist the jib, and right the tiller!”
Sudden and startling as the unexpected orders were, they were executed
as if by magic.
The lieutenant, who had shouted from the bow, rushed astern and took
the helm, and before anyone had time to speculate upon the object of his
maneuvers, he shouted again, “Look out! sharp! watch the sheets!”
An involuntary cry broke forth from all on board. But it was no cry
of terror. Right ahead was a narrow opening in the solid rock; it was
hardly forty feet wide. Whether it was a passage or no, it mattered
little; it was at least a refuge; and, driven by wind and wave, the
-Dobryna-, under the dexterous guidance of the lieutenant, dashed in
between its perpendicular walls.
Had she not immured herself in a perpetual prison?
CHAPTER XIII. A ROYAL SALUTE
“Then I take your bishop, major,” said Colonel Murphy, as he made a move
that he had taken since the previous evening to consider.
“I was afraid you would,” replied Major Oliphant, looking intently at
the chess-board.
Such was the way in which a long silence was broken on the morning of
the 17th of February by the old calendar.
Another day elapsed before another move was made. It was a protracted
game; it had, in fact, already lasted some months--the players being
so deliberate, and so fearful of taking a step without the most mature
consideration, that even now they were only making the twentieth move.
Both of them, moreover, were rigid disciples of the renowned Philidor,
who pronounces that to play the pawns well is “the soul of chess”; and,
accordingly, not one pawn had been sacrificed without a most vigorous
defense.
The men who were thus beguiling their leisure were two officers in the
British army--Colonel Heneage Finch Murphy and Major Sir John Temple
Oliphant. Remarkably similar in personal appearance, they were hardly
less so in personal character. Both of them were about forty years of
age; both of them were tall and fair, with bushy whiskers and mustaches;
both of them were phlegmatic in temperament, and both much addicted to
the wearing of their uniforms. They were proud of their nationality,
and exhibited a manifest dislike, verging upon contempt, of everything
foreign. Probably they would have felt no surprise if they had been
told that Anglo-Saxons were fashioned out of some specific clay, the
properties of which surpassed the investigation of chemical analysis.
Without any intentional disparagement they might, in a certain way,
be compared to two scarecrows which, though perfectly harmless in
themselves, inspire some measure of respect, and are excellently adapted
to protect the territory intrusted to their guardianship.
English-like, the two officers had made themselves thoroughly at home in
the station abroad in which it had been their lot to be quartered. The
faculty of colonization seems to be indigenous to the native character;
once let an Englishman plant his national standard on the surface of the
moon, and it would not be long before a colony was established round it.
The officers had a servant, named Kirke, and a company of ten soldiers
of the line. This party of thirteen men were apparently the sole
survivors of an overwhelming catastrophe, which on the 1st of January
had transformed an enormous rock, garrisoned with well-nigh two thousand
troops, into an insignificant island far out to sea. But although the
transformation had been so marvelous, it cannot be said that either
Colonel Murphy or Major Oliphant had made much demonstration of
astonishment.
“This is all very peculiar, Sir John,” observed the colonel.
“Yes, colonel; very peculiar,” replied the major.
“England will be sure to send for us,” said one officer.
“No doubt she will,” answered the other.
Accordingly, they came to the mutual resolution that they would “stick
to their post.”
To say the truth, it would have been a difficult matter for the gallant
officers to do otherwise; they had but one small boat; therefore, it was
well that they made a virtue of necessity, and resigned themselves to
patient expectation of the British ship which, in due time, would bring
relief.
They had no fear of starvation. Their island was mined with
subterranean stores, more than ample for thirteen men--nay, for thirteen
Englishmen--for the next five years at least. Preserved meat, ale,
brandy--all were in abundance; consequently, as the men expressed it,
they were in this respect “all right.”
Of course, the physical changes that had taken place had attracted the
notice both of officers and men. But the reversed position of east and
west, the diminution of the force of gravity, the altered rotation of
the earth, and her projection upon a new orbit, were all things that
gave them little concern and no uneasiness; and when the colonel and the
major had replaced the pieces on the board which had been disturbed
by the convulsion, any surprise they might have felt at the chess-men
losing some portion of their weight was quite forgotten in the
satisfaction of seeing them retain their equilibrium.
One phenomenon, however, did not fail to make its due impression upon
the men; this was the diminution in the length of day and night. Three
days after the catastrophe, Corporal Pim, on behalf of himself and his
comrades, solicited a formal interview with the officers. The request
having been granted, Pim, with the nine soldiers, all punctiliously
wearing the regimental tunic of scarlet and trousers of invisible green,
presented themselves at the door of the colonel’s room, where he and
his brother-officer were continuing their game. Raising his hand
respectfully to his cap, which he wore poised jauntily over his right
ear, and scarcely held on by the strap below his under lip, the corporal
waited permission to speak.
After a lingering survey of the chess-board, the colonel slowly lifted
his eyes, and said with official dignity, “Well, men, what is it?”
“First of all, sir,” replied the corporal, “we want to speak to you
about our pay, and then we wish to have a word with the major about our
rations.”
“Say on, then,” said Colonel Murphy. “What is it about your pay?”
“Just this, sir; as the days are only half as long as they were, we
should like to know whether our pay is to be diminished in proportion.”
The colonel was taken somewhat aback, and did not reply immediately,
though by some significant nods towards the major, he indicated that he
thought the question very reasonable. After a few moments’ reflection,
he replied, “It must, I think, be allowed that your pay was calculated
from sunrise to sunrise; there was no specification of what the interval
should be. Your pay will continue as before. England can afford it.”
A buzz of approval burst involuntarily from all the men, but military
discipline and the respect due to their officers kept them in check from
any boisterous demonstration of their satisfaction.
“And now, corporal, what is your business with me?” asked Major
Oliphant.
“We want to know whether, as the days are only six hours long, we are to
have but two meals instead of four?”
The officers looked at each other, and by their glances agreed that the
corporal was a man of sound common sense.
“Eccentricities of nature,” said the major, “cannot interfere with
military regulations. It is true that there will be but an interval of
an hour and a half between them, but the rule stands good--four meals
a day. England is too rich to grudge her soldiers any of her soldiers’
due. Yes; four meals a day.”
“Hurrah!” shouted the soldiers, unable this time to keep their delight
within the bounds of military decorum; and, turning to the right-about,
they marched away, leaving the officers to renew the all-absorbing game.
However confident everyone upon the island might profess to be that
succor would be sent them from their native land--for Britain never
abandons any of her sons--it could not be disguised that that succor
was somewhat tardy in making its appearance. Many and various were the
conjectures to account for the delay. Perhaps England was engrossed
with domestic matters, or perhaps she was absorbed in diplomatic
difficulties; or perchance, more likely than all, Northern Europe had
received no tidings of the convulsion that had shattered the south. The
whole party throve remarkably well upon the liberal provisions of the
commissariat department, and if the officers failed to show the same
tendency to -embonpoint- which was fast becoming characteristic of the
men, it was only because they deemed it due to their rank to curtail any
indulgences which might compromise the fit of their uniform.
On the whole, time passed indifferently well. An Englishman rarely
suffers from -ennui-, and then only in his own country, when required to
conform to what he calls “the humbug of society”; and the two officers,
with their similar tastes, ideas, and dispositions, got on together
admirably. It is not to be questioned that they were deeply affected by
a sense of regret for their lost comrades, and astounded beyond measure
at finding themselves the sole survivors of a garrison of 1,895 men,
but with true British pluck and self-control, they had done nothing
more than draw up a report that 1,882 names were missing from the
muster-roll.
The island itself, the sole surviving fragment of an enormous pile of
rock that had reared itself some 1,600 feet above the sea, was not,
strictly speaking, the only land that was visible; for about twelve
miles to the south there was another island, apparently the very
counterpart of what was now occupied by the Englishmen. It was
only natural that this should awaken some interest even in the most
imperturbable minds, and there was no doubt that the two officers,
during one of the rare intervals when they were not absorbed in their
game, had decided that it would be desirable at least to ascertain
whether the island was deserted, or whether it might not be occupied by
some others, like themselves, survivors from the general catastrophe.
Certain it is that one morning, when the weather was bright and calm,
they had embarked alone in the little boat, and been absent for seven or
eight hours. Not even to Corporal Pim did they communicate the object
of their excursion, nor say one syllable as to its result, and it could
only be inferred from their manner that they were quite satisfied with
what they had seen; and very shortly afterwards Major Oliphant was
observed to draw up a lengthy document, which was no sooner finished
than it was formally signed and sealed with the seal of the 33rd
Regiment. It was directed:
-To the First Lord of the Admiralty,
London,-
and kept in readiness for transmission by the first ship that should
hail in sight. But time elapsed, and here was the 18th of February
without an opportunity having been afforded for any communication with
the British Government.
At breakfast that morning, the colonel observed to the major that he was
under the most decided impression that the 18th of February was a royal
anniversary; and he went on to say that, although he had received no
definite instructions on the subject, he did not think that the peculiar
circumstances under which they found themselves should prevent them from
giving the day its due military honors.
The major quite concurred; and it was mutually agreed that the occasion
must be honored by a bumper of port, and by a royal salute. Corporal Pim
must be sent for. The corporal soon made his appearance, smacking his
lips, having, by a ready intuition, found a pretext for a double morning
ration of spirits.
“The 18th of February, you know, Pim,” said the colonel; “we must have a
salute of twenty-one guns.”
“Very good,” replied Pim, a man of few words.
“And take care that your fellows don’t get their arms and legs blown
off,” added the officer.
“Very good, sir,” said the corporal; and he made his salute and
withdrew.
Of all the bombs, howitzers, and various species of artillery with which
the fortress had been crowded, one solitary piece remained. This was a
cumbrous muzzle-loader of 9-inch caliber, and, in default of the smaller
ordnance generally employed for the purpose, had to be brought into
requisition for the royal salute.
A sufficient number of charges having been provided, the corporal
brought his men to the reduct, whence the gun’s mouth projected over
a sloping embrasure. The two officers, in cocked hats and full staff
uniform, attended to take charge of the proceedings. The gun was
maneuvered in strict accordance with the rules of “The Artilleryman’s
Manual,” and the firing commenced.
Not unmindful of the warning he had received, the corporal was most
careful between each discharge to see that every vestige of fire was
extinguished, so as to prevent an untimely explosion while the men were
reloading; and accidents, such as so frequently mar public rejoicings,
were all happily avoided.
Much to the chagrin of both Colonel Murphy and Major Oliphant, the
effect of the salute fell altogether short of their anticipations. The
weight of the atmosphere was so reduced that there was comparatively
little resistance to the explosive force of the gases, liberated at the
cannon’s mouth, and there was consequently none of the reverberation,
like rolling thunder, that ordinarily follows the discharge of heavy
artillery.
Twenty times had the gun been fired, and it was on the point of being
loaded for the last time, when the colonel laid his hand upon the arm of
the man who had the ramrod. “Stop!” he said; “we will have a ball this
time. Let us put the range of the piece to the test.”
“A good idea!” replied the major. “Corporal, you hear the orders.”
In quick time an artillery-wagon was on the spot, and the men lifted
out a full-sized shot, weighing 200 lbs., which, under ordinary
circumstances, the cannon would carry about four miles. It was proposed,
by means of telescopes, to note the place where the ball first touched
the water, and thus to obtain an approximation sufficiently accurate as
to the true range.
Having been duly charged with powder and ball, the gun was raised to an
angle of something under 45 degrees, so as to allow proper development
to the curve that the projectile would make, and, at a signal from the
major, the light was applied to the priming.
“Heavens!” “By all that’s good!” exclaimed both officers in one breath,
as, standing open-mouthed, they hardly knew whether they were to believe
the evidence of their own senses. “Is it possible?”
The diminution of the force of attraction at the earth’s surface was so
considerable that the ball had sped beyond the horizon.
“Incredible!” ejaculated the colonel.
“Incredible!” echoed the major.
“Six miles at least!” observed the one.
“Ay, more than that!” replied the other.
Awhile, they gazed at the sea and at each other in mute amazement. But
in the midst of their perplexity, what sound was that which startled
them? Was it mere fancy? Was it the reverberation of the cannon still
booming in their ears? Or was it not truly the report of another and
a distant gun in answer to their own? Attentively and eagerly they
listened. Twice, thrice did the sound repeat itself. It was quite
distinct. There could be no mistake.
“I told you so,” cried the colonel, triumphantly. “I knew our country
would not forsake us; it is an English ship, no doubt.”
In half an hour two masts were visible above the horizon. “See! Was
I not right? Our country was sure to send to our relief. Here is the
ship.”
“Yes,” replied the major; “she responded to our gun.”
“It is to be hoped,” muttered the corporal, “that our ball has done her
no damage.”
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400
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416
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823
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826
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829
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«
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883
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,
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.
:
887
888
-
,
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,
-
890
891
892
.
,
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894
.
895
896
,
897
898
;
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,
900
901
.
902
903
;
904
,
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905
.
,
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,
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,
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.
908
909
«
,
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,
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;
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910
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.
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911
912
«
,
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.
913
914
«
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,
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916
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«
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«
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932
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!
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.
.
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951
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,
.
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-
,
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-
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.
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,
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,
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.
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961
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«
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’
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,
-
,
968
.
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969
970
’
971
.
972
973
«
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974
975
«
!
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.
976
977
«
!
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978
979
«
,
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980
981
,
.
982
,
983
?
?
984
?
985
?
986
.
,
.
987
.
.
988
989
«
,
»
,
.
«
990
;
,
.
»
991
992
.
«
!
993
?
.
994
.
»
995
996
«
,
»
;
«
.
»
997
998
«
,
»
,
«
999
.
»
1000