exposed to the enormous pressure of the accumulated ice.
Neither Servadac, nor the count, nor Lieutenant Procope were men to
be easily disheartened, but it could not be concealed that they felt
themselves in circumstances by which they were equally harassed and
perplexed. The sole expedient that their united counsel could suggest
was to obtain a refuge below ground, and -that- was denied them by the
strange and impenetrable substratum of the soil; yet hour by hour the
sun’s disc was lessening in its dimensions, and although at midday some
faint radiance and glow were to be distinguished, during the night the
painfulness of the cold was becoming almost intolerable.
Mounted upon Zephyr and Galette, the captain and the count scoured the
island in search of some available retreat. Scarcely a yard of ground
was left unexplored, the horses clearing every obstacle as if they were,
like Pegasus, furnished with wings. But all in vain. Soundings were made
again and again, but invariably with the same result; the rock, hard as
adamant, never failed to reveal itself within a few feet of the surface
of the ground.
The excavation of any silo being thus manifestly hopeless, there seemed
nothing to be done except to try and render the buildings alongside the
gourbi impervious to frost. To contribute to the supply of fuel, orders
were given to collect every scrap of wood, dry or green, that the island
produced; and this involved the necessity of felling the numerous
trees that were scattered over the plain. But toil as they might at the
accumulation of firewood, Captain Servadac and his companions could not
resist the conviction that the consumption of a very short period would
exhaust the total stock. And what would happen then?
Studious if possible to conceal his real misgivings, and anxious that
the rest of the party should be affected as little as might be by his
own uneasiness, Servadac would wander alone about the island, racking
his brain for an idea that would point the way out of the serious
difficulty. But still all in vain.
One day he suddenly came upon Ben Zoof, and asked him whether he had no
plan to propose. The orderly shook his head, but after a few moments’
pondering, said: “Ah! master, if only we were at Montmartre, we would
get shelter in the charming stone-quarries.”
“Idiot!” replied the captain, angrily, “if we were at Montmartre, you
don’t suppose that we should need to live in stone-quarries?”
But the means of preservation which human ingenuity had failed to secure
were at hand from the felicitous provision of Nature herself. It was on
the 10th of March that the captain and Lieutenant Procope started off
once more to investigate the northwest corner of the island; on their
way their conversation naturally was engrossed by the subject of
the dire necessities which only too manifestly were awaiting them. A
discussion more than usually animated arose between them, for the two
men were not altogether of the same mind as to the measures that ought
to be adopted in order to open the fairest chance of avoiding a fatal
climax to their exposure; the captain persisted that an entirely
new abode must be sought, while the lieutenant was equally bent upon
devising a method of some sort by which their present quarters might
be rendered sufficiently warm. All at once, in the very heat of his
argument, Procope paused; he passed his hand across his eyes, as if to
dispel a mist, and stood, with a fixed gaze centered on a point towards
the south. “What is that?” he said, with a kind of hesitation. “No, I am
not mistaken,” he added; “it is a light on the horizon.”
“A light!” exclaimed Servadac; “show me where.”
“Look there!” answered the lieutenant, and he kept pointing steadily in
its direction, until Servadac also distinctly saw the bright speck in
the distance.
It increased in clearness in the gathering shades of evening. “Can it be
a ship?” asked the captain.
“If so, it must be in flames; otherwise we should not be able to see it
so far off,” replied Procope.
“It does not move,” said Servadac; “and unless I am greatly deceived, I
can hear a kind of reverberation in the air.”
For some seconds the two men stood straining eyes and ears in rapt
attention. Suddenly an idea struck Servadac’s mind. “The volcano!” he
cried; “may it not be the volcano that we saw, whilst we were on board
the -Dobryna?-”
The lieutenant agreed that it was very probable.
“Heaven be praised!” ejaculated the captain, and he went on in the tones
of a keen excitement: “Nature has provided us with our winter quarters;
the stream of burning lava that is flowing there is the gift of a
bounteous Providence; it will provide us all the warmth we need. No time
to lose! To-morrow, my dear Procope, to-morrow we will explore it all;
no doubt the life, the heat we want is reserved for us in the heart and
bowels of our own Gallia!”
Whilst the captain was indulging in his expressions of enthusiasm,
Procope was endeavoring to collect his thoughts. Distinctly he
remembered the long promontory which had barred the -Dobryna’s- progress
while coasting the southern confines of the sea, and which had obliged
her to ascend northwards as far as the former latitude of Oran; he
remembered also that at the extremity of the promontory there was a
rocky headland crowned with smoke; and now he was convinced that he was
right in identifying the position, and in believing that the smoke had
given place to an eruption of flame.
When Servadac gave him a chance of speaking, he said, “The more I
consider it, captain, the more I am satisfied that your conjecture is
correct. Beyond a doubt, what we see is the volcano, and to-morrow we
will not fail to visit it.”
On returning to the gourbi, they communicated their discovery to Count
Timascheff only, deeming any further publication of it to be premature.
The count at once placed his yacht at their disposal, and expressed his
intention of accompanying them.
“The yacht, I think,” said Procope, “had better remain where she is;
the weather is beautifully calm, and the steam-launch will answer our
purpose better; at any rate, it will convey us much closer to shore than
the schooner.”
The count replied that the lieutenant was by all means to use his own
discretion, and they all retired for the night.
Like many other modern pleasure-yachts, the -Dobryna-, in addition to
her four-oar, was fitted with a fast-going little steam-launch, its
screw being propelled, on the Oriolle system, by means of a boiler,
small but very effective. Early next morning, this handy little craft
was sufficiently freighted with coal (of which there was still about ten
tons on board the -Dobryna-), and manned by nobody except the captain,
the count, and the lieutenant, left the harbor of the Shelif, much to
the bewilderment of Ben Zoof, who had not yet been admitted into the
secret. The orderly, however, consoled himself with the reflection
that he had been temporarily invested with the full powers of governor
general, an office of which he was not a little proud.
The eighteen miles between the island and the headland were made in
something less than three hours. The volcanic eruption was manifestly
very considerable, the entire summit of the promontory being enveloped
in flames. To produce so large a combustion either the oxygen of
Gallia’s atmosphere had been brought into contact with the explosive
gases contained beneath her soil, or perhaps, still more probable, the
volcano, like those in the moon, was fed by an internal supply of oxygen
of her own.
It took more than half an hour to settle on a suitable landing-place.
At length, a small semi-circular creek was discovered among the rocks,
which appeared advantageous, because, if circumstances should so
require, it would form a safe anchorage for both the -Dobryna- and the
-Hansa-.
The launch securely moored, the passengers landed on the side of the
promontory opposite to that on which a torrent of burning lava was
descending to the sea. With much satisfaction they experienced, as they
approached the mountain, a sensible difference in the temperature, and
their spirits could not do otherwise than rise at the prospect of having
their hopes confirmed, that a deliverance from the threatened calamity
had so opportunely been found. On they went, up the steep acclivity,
scrambling over its rugged projections, scaling the irregularities of
its gigantic strata, bounding from point to point with the agility of
chamois, but never alighting on anything except on the accumulation of
the same hexagonal prisms with which they had now become so familiar.
Their exertions were happily rewarded. Behind a huge pyramidal rock they
found a hole in the mountain-side, like the mouth of a great tunnel.
Climbing up to this orifice, which was more than sixty feet above the
level of the sea, they ascertained that it opened into a long dark
gallery. They entered and groped their way cautiously along the sides.
A continuous rumbling, that increased as they advanced, made them aware
that they must be approaching the central funnel of the volcano; their
only fear was lest some insuperable wall of rock should suddenly bar
their further progress.
Servadac was some distance ahead.
“Come on!” he cried cheerily, his voice ringing through the darkness,
“come on! Our fire is lighted! no stint of fuel! Nature provides that!
Let us make haste and warm ourselves!”
Inspired by his confidence, the count and the lieutenant advanced
bravely along the unseen and winding path. The temperature was now at
least fifteen degrees above zero, and the walls of the gallery were
beginning to feel quite warm to the touch, an indication, not to be
overlooked, that the substance of which the rock was composed was
metallic in its nature, and capable of conducting heat.
“Follow me!” shouted Servadac again; “we shall soon find a regular
stove!”
Onwards they made their way, until at last a sharp turn brought them
into a sudden flood of light. The tunnel had opened into a vast cavern,
and the gloom was exchanged for an illumination that was perfectly
dazzling. Although the temperature was high, it was not in any way
intolerable.
One glance was sufficient to satisfy the explorers that the grateful
light and heat of this huge excavation were to be attributed to a
torrent of lava that was rolling downwards to the sea, completely
subtending the aperture of the cave. Not inaptly might the scene be
compared to the celebrated Grotto of the Winds at the rear of the
central fall of Niagara, only with the exception that here, instead of
a curtain of rushing water, it was a curtain of roaring flame that hung
before the cavern’s mouth.
“Heaven be praised!” cried Servadac, with glad emotion; “here is all
that we hoped for, and more besides!”
CHAPTER XXI. WINTER QUARTERS
The habitation that had now revealed itself, well lighted and thoroughly
warm, was indeed marvelous. Not only would it afford ample accommodation
for Hector Servadac and “his subjects,” as Ben Zoof delighted to
call them, but it would provide shelter for the two horses, and for a
considerable number of domestic animals.
This enormous cavern was neither more or less than the common junction
of nearly twenty tunnels (similar to that which had been traversed by
the explorers), forming ramifications in the solid rock, and the pores,
as it were, by which the internal heat exuded from the heart of the
mountain. Here, as long as the volcano retained its activity, every
living creature on the new asteroid might brave the most rigorous of
climates; and as Count Timascheff justly remarked, since it was the only
burning mountain they had sighted, it was most probably the sole outlet
for Gallia’s subterranean fires, and consequently the eruption might
continue unchanged for ages to come.
But not a day, not an hour, was to be lost now. The steam-launch
returned to Gourbi Island, and preparations were forthwith taken in hand
for conveying man and beast, corn and fodder, across to the volcanic
headland. Loud and hearty were the acclamations of the little colony,
especially of the Spaniards, and great was the relief of Nina, when
Servadac announced to them the discovery of their future domicile; and
with requickened energies they labored hard at packing, anxious to reach
their genial winter quarters without delay.
For three successive days the -Dobryna-, laden to her very gunwale, made
a transit to and fro. Ben Zoof was left upon the island to superintend
the stowage of the freight, whilst Servadac found abundant occupation in
overlooking its disposal within the recesses of the mountain. First
of all, the large store of corn and fodder, the produce of the recent
harvest, was landed and deposited in one of the vaults; then, on the
15th, about fifty head of live cattle--bullocks, cows, sheep, and
pigs--were conveyed to their rocky stalls. These were saved for the sake
of preserving the several breeds, the bulk of the island cattle being
slaughtered, as the extreme severity of the climate insured all meat
remaining fresh for almost an indefinite period. The winter which they
were expecting would probably be of unprecedented length; it was quite
likely that it would exceed the six months’ duration by which many
arctic explorers have been tried; but the population of Gallia had
no anxiety in the matter of provisions--their stock was far more than
adequate; while as for drink, as long as they were satisfied with pure
water, a frozen sea would afford them an inexhaustible reservoir.
The need for haste in forwarding their preparations became more and more
manifest; the sea threatened to be un-navigable very soon, as ice was
already forming which the noonday sun was unable to melt. And if haste
were necessary, so also were care, ingenuity, and forethought. It
was indispensable that the space at their command should be properly
utilized, and yet that the several portions of the store should all be
readily accessible.
On further investigation an unexpected number of galleries was
discovered, so that, in fact, the interior of the mountain was like a
vast bee-hive perforated with innumerable cells; and in compliment to
the little Italian it was unanimously voted by the colony that their new
home should be called “Nina’s Hive.”
The first care of Captain Servadac was to ascertain how he could make
the best possible use of the heat which nature had provided for them
so opportunely and with so lavish a hand. By opening fresh vents in the
solid rock (which by the action of the heat was here capable of fissure)
the stream of burning lava was diverted into several new channels, where
it could be available for daily use; and thus Mochel, the -Dobryna’s-
cook, was furnished with an admirable kitchen, provided with a permanent
stove, where he was duly installed with all his culinary apparatus.
“What a saving of expense it would be,” exclaimed Ben Zoof, “if every
household could be furnished with its own private volcano!”
The large cavern at the general junction of the galleries was fitted up
as a drawing-room, and arranged with all the best furniture both of the
gourbi and of the cabin of the -Dobryna-. Hither was also brought the
schooner’s library, containing a good variety of French and Russian
books; lamps were suspended over the different tables; and the walls of
the apartment were tapestried with the sails and adorned with the flags
belonging to the yacht. The curtain of fire extending over the opening
of the cavern provided it, as already stated, with light and heat.
The torrent of lava fell into a small rock-bound basin that had no
apparent communication with the sea, and was evidently the aperture of
a deep abyss, of which the waters, heated by the descent of the eruptive
matter, would no doubt retain their liquid condition long after the
Gallian Sea had become a sheet of ice.
A small excavation to the left of the common hall was allotted for
the special use of Servadac and the count; another on the right was
appropriated to the lieutenant and Ben Zoof; whilst a third recess,
immediately at the back, made a convenient little chamber for Nina. The
Spaniards and the Russian sailors took up their sleeping-quarters in the
adjacent galleries, and found the temperature quite comfortable.
Such were the internal arrangements of Nina’s Hive, the refuge where
the little colony were full of hope that they would be able to brave
the rigors of the stern winter-time that lay before them--a winter-time
during which Gallia might possibly be projected even to the orbit of
Jupiter, where the temperature would not exceed one twenty-fifth of the
normal winter temperature of the earth.
The only discontented spirit was Isaac Hakkabut. Throughout all the
preparations which roused even the Spaniards to activity, the Jew,
still incredulous and deaf to every representation of the true state of
things, insisted upon remaining in the creek at Gourbi Island; nothing
could induce him to leave his tartan, where, like a miser, he would keep
guard over his precious cargo, ever grumbling and growling, but with his
weather-eye open in the hope of catching sight of some passing sail. It
must be owned that the whole party were far from sorry to be relieved
of his presence; his uncomely figure and repulsive countenance was
a perpetual bugbear. He had given out in plain terms that he did not
intend to part with any of his property, except for current money, and
Servadac, equally resolute, had strictly forbidden any purchases to be
made, hoping to wear out the rascal’s obstinacy.
Hakkabut persistently refused to credit the real situation; he could
not absolutely deny that some portions of the terrestrial globe had
undergone a certain degree of modification, but nothing could bring him
to believe that he was not, sooner or later, to résumé his old line of
business in the Mediterranean. With his wonted distrust of all with whom
he came in contact, he regarded every argument that was urged upon him
only as evidence of a plot that had been devised to deprive him of his
goods. Repudiating, as he did utterly, the hypothesis that a fragment
had become detached from the earth, he scanned the horizon for hours
together with an old telescope, the case of which had been patched up
till it looked like a rusty stove-pipe, hoping to descry the passing
trader with which he might effect some bartering upon advantageous
terms.
At first he professed to regard the proposed removal into
winter-quarters as an attempt to impose upon his credulity; but the
frequent voyages made by the -Dobryna- to the south, and the repeated
consignments of corn and cattle, soon served to make him aware that
Captain Servadac and his companions were really contemplating a
departure from Gourbi Island.
The movement set him thinking. What, he began to ask himself--what
if all that was told him was true? What if this sea was no longer
the Mediterranean? What if he should never again behold his German
fatherland? What if his marts for business were gone for ever? A vague
idea of ruin began to take possession of his mind: he must yield
to necessity; he must do the best he could. As the result of his
cogitations, he occasionally left his tartan and made a visit to the
shore. At length he endeavored to mingle with the busy group, who were
hurrying on their preparations; but his advances were only met by jeers
and scorn, and, ridiculed by all the rest, he was fain to turn his
attention to Ben Zoof, to whom he offered a few pinches of tobacco.
“No, old Zebulon,” said Ben Zoof, steadily refusing the gift, “it is
against orders to take anything from you. Keep your cargo to yourself;
eat and drink it all if you can; we are not to touch it.”
Finding the subordinates incorruptible, Isaac determined to go to the
fountain-head. He addressed himself to Servadac, and begged him to tell
him the whole truth, piteously adding that surely it was unworthy of a
French officer to deceive a poor old man like himself.
“Tell you the truth, man!” cried Servadac. “Confound it, I have told
you the truth twenty times. Once for all, I tell you now, you have left
yourself barely time enough to make your escape to yonder mountain.”
“God and Mahomet have mercy on me!” muttered the Jew, whose creed
frequently assumed a very ambiguous character.
“I will tell you what,” continued the captain--“you shall have a few men
to work the -Hansa- across, if you like.”
“But I want to go to Algiers,” whimpered Hakkabut.
“How often am I to tell you that Algiers is no longer in existence? Only
say yes or no--are you coming with us into winter-quarters?”
“God of Israel! what is to become of all my property?”
“But, mind you,” continued the captain, not heeding the interruption,
“if you do not choose voluntarily to come with us, I shall have the
-Hansa-, by my orders, removed to a place of safety. I am not going
to let your cursed obstinacy incur the risk of losing your cargo
altogether.”
“Merciful Heaven! I shall be ruined!” moaned Isaac, in despair.
“You are going the right way to ruin yourself, and it would serve you
right to leave you to your own devices. But be off! I have no more to
say.”
And, turning contemptuously on his heel, Servadac left the old man
vociferating bitterly, and with uplifted hands protesting vehemently
against the rapacity of the Gentiles.
By the 20th all preliminary arrangements were complete, and everything
ready for a final departure from the island. The thermometer stood on
an average at 8 degrees below zero, and the water in the cistern was
completely frozen. It was determined, therefore, for the colony to
embark on the following day, and take up their residence in Nina’s Hive.
A final consultation was held about the -Hansa-. Lieutenant Procope
pronounced his decided conviction that it would be impossible for the
tartan to resist the pressure of the ice in the harbor of the Shelif,
and that there would be far more safety in the proximity of the
volcano. It was agreed on all hands that the vessel must be shifted; and
accordingly orders were given, four Russian sailors were sent on board,
and only a few minutes elapsed after the -Dobryna- had weighed anchor,
before the great lateen sail of the tartan was unfurled, and the
“shop-ship,” as Ben Zoof delighted to call it, was also on her way to
the southward.
Long and loud were the lamentations of the Jew. He kept exclaiming that
he had given no orders, that he was being moved against his will, that
he had asked for no assistance, and needed none; but it required no very
keen discrimination to observe that all along there was a lurking gleam
of satisfaction in his little gray eyes, and when, a few hours later, he
found himself securely anchored, and his property in a place of safety,
he quite chuckled with glee.
“God of Israel!” he said in an undertone, “they have made no charge; the
idiots have piloted me here for nothing.”
For nothing! His whole nature exulted in the consciousness that he was
enjoying a service that had been rendered gratuitously.
Destitute of human inhabitants, Gourbi Island was now left to the
tenancy of such birds and beasts as had escaped the recent promiscuous
slaughter. Birds, indeed, that had migrated in search of warmer shores,
had returned, proving that this fragment of the French colony was the
only shred of land that could yield them any sustenance; but their life
must necessarily be short. It was utterly impossible that they could
survive the cold that would soon ensue.
The colony took possession of their new abode with but few formalities.
Everyone, however, approved of all the internal arrangements of Nina’s
Hive, and were profuse in their expressions of satisfaction at finding
themselves located in such comfortable quarters. The only malcontent
was Hakkabut; he had no share in the general enthusiasm, refused even
to enter or inspect any of the galleries, and insisted on remaining on
board his tartan.
“He is afraid,” said Ben Zoof, “that he will have to pay for his
lodgings. But wait a bit; we shall see how he stands the cold out there;
the frost, no doubt, will drive the old fox out of his hole.”
Towards evening the pots were set boiling, and a bountiful supper, to
which all were invited, was spread in the central hall. The stores of
the -Dobryna- contained some excellent wine, some of which was broached
to do honor to the occasion. The health of the governor general was
drunk, as well as the toast “Success to his council,” to which Ben Zoof
was called upon to return thanks. The entertainment passed off merrily.
The Spaniards were in the best of spirits; one of them played the
guitar, another the castanets, and the rest joined in a ringing chorus.
Ben Zoof contributed the famous Zouave refrain, well known throughout
the French army, but rarely performed in finer style than by this
-virtuoso:-
-“Misti goth dar dar tire lyre!
Flic! floc! flac! lirette, lira!
Far la rira,
Tour tala rire,
Tour la Ribaud,
Ricandeau,
Sans repos, repit, repit, repos, ris pot, ripette!
Si vous attrapez mon refrain,
Fameux vous etes.”-
The concert was succeeded by a ball, unquestionably the first that had
ever taken place in Gallia. The Russian sailors exhibited some of their
national dances, which gained considerable applause, even although they
followed upon the marvelous fandangos of the Spaniards. Ben Zoof, in
his turn, danced a -pas seul- (often performed in the Elysee Montmartre)
with an elegance and vigor that earned many compliments from Negrete.
It was nine o’clock before the festivities came to an end, and by that
time the company, heated by the high temperature of the hall, and by
their own exertions, felt the want of a little fresh air. Accordingly
the greater portion of the party, escorted by Ben Zoof, made their way
into one of the adjacent galleries that led to the shore. Servadac,
with the count and lieutenant, did not follow immediately; but shortly
afterwards they proceeded to join them, when on their way they were
startled by loud cries from those in advance.
Their first impression was that they were cries of distress, and they
were greatly relieved to find that they were shouts of delight, which
the dryness and purity of the atmosphere caused to re-echo like a volley
of musketry.
Reaching the mouth of the gallery, they found the entire group pointing
with eager interest to the sky.
“Well, Ben Zoof,” asked the captain, “what’s the matter now?”
“Oh, your Excellency,” ejaculated the orderly, “look there! look there!
The moon! the moon’s come back!”
And, sure enough, what was apparently the moon was rising above the
mists of evening.
CHAPTER XXII. A FROZEN OCEAN
The moon! She had disappeared for weeks; was she now returning? Had
she been faithless to the earth? and had she now approached to be a
satellite of the new-born world?
“Impossible!” said Lieutenant Procope; “the earth is millions and
millions of leagues away, and it is not probable that the moon has
ceased to revolve about her.”
“Why not?” remonstrated Servadac. “It would not be more strange than the
other phenomena which we have lately witnessed. Why should not the moon
have fallen within the limits of Gallia’s attraction, and become her
satellite?”
“Upon that supposition,” put in the count, “I should think that it would
be altogether unlikely that three months would elapse without our seeing
her.”
“Quite incredible!” continued Procope. “And there is another thing which
totally disproves the captain’s hypothesis; the magnitude of Gallia
is far too insignificant for her power of attraction to carry off the
moon.”
“But,” persisted Servadac, “why should not the same convulsion that tore
us away from the earth have torn away the moon as well? After wandering
about as she would for a while in the solar regions, I do not see why
she should not have attached herself to us.”
The lieutenant repeated his conviction that it was not likely.
“But why not?” again asked Servadac impetuously.
“Because, I tell you, the mass of Gallia is so inferior to that of the
moon, that Gallia would become the moon’s satellite; the moon could not
possibly become hers.”
“Assuming, however,” continued Servadac, “such to be the case--”
“I am afraid,” said the lieutenant, interrupting him, “that I cannot
assume anything of the sort even for a moment.”
Servadac smiled good-humoredly.
“I confess you seem to have the best of the argument, and if Gallia had
become a satellite of the moon, it would not have taken three months to
catch sight of her. I suppose you are right.”
While this discussion had been going on, the satellite, or whatever it
might be, had been rising steadily above the horizon, and had reached a
position favorable for observation. Telescopes were brought, and it was
very soon ascertained, beyond a question, that the new luminary was not
the well-known Phoebe of terrestrial nights; it had no feature in common
with the moon. Although it was apparently much nearer to Gallia than the
moon to the earth, its superficies was hardly one-tenth as large, and
so feebly did it reflect the light of the remote sun, that it scarcely
emitted radiance enough to extinguish the dim luster of stars of the
eighth magnitude. Like the sun, it had risen in the west, and was now
at its full. To mistake its identity with the moon was absolutely
impossible; not even Servadac could discover a trace of the seas,
chasms, craters, and mountains which have been so minutely delineated
in lunar charts, and it could not be denied that any transient hope
that had been excited as to their once again being about to enjoy the
peaceful smiles of “the queen of night” must all be resigned.
Count Timascheff finally suggested, though somewhat doubtfully, the
question of the probability that Gallia, in her course across the zone
of the minor planets, had carried off one of them; but whether it
was one of the 169 asteroids already included in the astronomical
catalogues, or one previously unknown, he did not presume to determine.
The idea to a certain extent was plausible, inasmuch as it has been
ascertained that several of the telescopic planets are of such small
dimensions that a good walker might make a circuit of them in four and
twenty hours; consequently Gallia, being of superior volume, might be
supposed capable of exercising a power of attraction upon any of these
miniature microcosms.
The first night in Nina’s Hive passed without special incident; and
next morning a regular scheme of life was definitely laid down. “My lord
governor,” as Ben Zoof until he was peremptorily forbidden delighted to
call Servadac, had a wholesome dread of idleness and its consequences,
and insisted upon each member of the party undertaking some special
duty to fulfill. There was plenty to do. The domestic animals required
a great deal of attention; a supply of food had to be secured and
preserved; fishing had to be carried on while the condition of the sea
would allow it; and in several places the galleries had to be further
excavated to render them more available for use. Occupation, then, need
never be wanting, and the daily round of labor could go on in orderly
routine.
A perfect concord ruled the little colony. The Russians and Spaniards
amalgamated well, and both did their best to pick up various scraps
of French, which was considered the official language of the place.
Servadac himself undertook the tuition of Pablo and Nina, Ben Zoof being
their companion in play-hours, when he entertained them with enchanting
stories in the best Parisian French, about “a lovely city at the foot of
a mountain,” where he always promised one day to take them.
The end of March came, but the cold was not intense to such a degree
as to confine any of the party to the interior of their resort; several
excursions were made along the shore, and for a radius of three or
four miles the adjacent district was carefully explored. Investigation,
however, always ended in the same result; turn their course in whatever
direction they would, they found that the country retained everywhere
its desert character, rocky, barren, and without a trace of vegetation.
Here and there a slight layer of snow, or a thin coating of ice arising
from atmospheric condensation indicated the existence of superficial
moisture, but it would require a period indefinitely long, exceeding
human reckoning, before that moisture could collect into a stream and
roll downwards over the stony strata to the sea. It seemed at present
out of their power to determine whether the land upon which they were
so happily settled was an island or a continent, and till the cold was
abated they feared to undertake any lengthened expedition to ascertain
the actual extent of the strange concrete of metallic crystallization.
By ascending one day to the summit of the volcano, Captain Servadac
and the count succeeded in getting a general idea of the aspect of the
country. The mountain itself was an enormous block rising symmetrically
to a height of nearly 3,000 feet above the level of the sea, in the
form of a truncated cone, of which the topmost section was crowned by a
wreath of smoke issuing continuously from the mouth of a narrow crater.
Under the old condition of terrestrial things, the ascent of this steep
acclivity would have been attended with much fatigue, but as the effect
of the altered condition of the law of gravity, the travelers performed
perpetual prodigies in the way of agility, and in little over an hour
reached the edge of the crater, without more sense of exertion than if
they had traversed a couple of miles on level ground. Gallia had its
drawbacks, but it had some compensating advantages.
Telescopes in hand, the explorers from the summit scanned the
surrounding view. Their anticipations had already realized what they
saw. Just as they expected, on the north, east, and west lay the Gallian
Sea, smooth and motionless as a sheet of glass, the cold having, as it
were, congealed the atmosphere so that there was not a breath of wind.
Towards the south there seemed no limit to the land, and the volcano
formed the apex of a triangle, of which the base was beyond the reach of
vision. Viewed even from this height, whence distance would do much
to soften the general asperity, the surface nevertheless seemed to
be bristling with its myriads of hexagonal lamellae, and to present
difficulties which, to an ordinary pedestrian, would be insurmountable.
“Oh for some wings, or else a balloon!” cried Servadac, as he gazed
around him; and then, looking down to the rock upon which they were
standing, he added, “We seem to have been transplanted to a soil strange
enough in its chemical character to bewilder the -savants- at a museum.”
“And do you observe, captain,” asked the count, “how the convexity
of our little world curtails our view? See, how circumscribed is the
horizon!”
Servadac replied that he had noticed the same circumstance from the top
of the cliffs of Gourbi Island.
“Yes,” said the count; “it becomes more and more obvious that ours is a
very tiny world, and that Gourbi Island is the sole productive spot upon
its surface. We have had a short summer, and who knows whether we
are not entering upon a winter that may last for years, perhaps for
centuries?”
“But we must not mind, count,” said Servadac, smiling. “We have agreed,
you know, that, come what may, we are to be philosophers.”
“Ay, true, my friend,” rejoined the count; “we must be philosophers
and something more; we must be grateful to the good Protector who has
hitherto befriended us, and we must trust His mercy to the end.”
For a few moments they both stood in silence, and contemplated land and
sea; then, having given a last glance over the dreary panorama, they
prepared to wend their way down the mountain. Before, however, they
commenced their descent, they resolved to make a closer examination of
the crater. They were particularly struck by what seemed to them almost
the mysterious calmness with which the eruption was effected. There was
none of the wild disorder and deafening tumult that usually accompany
the discharge of volcanic matter, but the heated lava, rising with a
uniform gentleness, quietly overran the limits of the crater, like the
flow of water from the bosom of a peaceful lake. Instead of a boiler
exposed to the action of an angry fire, the crater rather resembled a
brimming basin, of which the contents were noiselessly escaping. Nor
were there any igneous stones or red-hot cinders mingled with the smoke
that crowned the summit; a circumstance that quite accorded with the
absence of the pumice-stones, obsidians, and other minerals of volcanic
origin with which the base of a burning mountain is generally strewn.
Captain Servadac was of opinion that this peculiarity augured favorably
for the continuance of the eruption. Extreme violence in physical, as
well as in moral nature, is never of long duration. The most terrible
storms, like the most violent fits of passion, are not lasting; but here
the calm flow of the liquid fire appeared to be supplied from a source
that was inexhaustible, in the same way as the waters of Niagara,
gliding on steadily to their final plunge, would defy all effort to
arrest their course.
Before the evening of this day closed in, a most important change was
effected in the condition of the Gallian Sea by the intervention of
human agency. Notwithstanding the increasing cold, the sea, unruffled
as it was by a breath of wind, still retained its liquid state. It is an
established fact that water, under this condition of absolute stillness,
will remain uncongealed at a temperature several degrees below zero,
whilst experiment, at the same time, shows that a very slight shock will
often be sufficient to convert it into solid ice. It had occurred to
Servadac that if some communication could be opened with Gourbi Island,
there would be a fine scope for hunting expeditions. Having this
ultimate object in view, he assembled his little colony upon a
projecting rock at the extremity of the promontory, and having called
Nina and Pablo out to him in front, he said: “Now, Nina, do you think
you could throw something into the sea?”
“I think I could,” replied the child, “but I am sure that Pablo would
throw it a great deal further than I can.”
“Never mind, you shall try first.”
Putting a fragment of ice into Nina’s hand, he addressed himself to
Pablo:
“Look out, Pablo; you shall see what a nice little fairy Nina is! Throw,
Nina, throw, as hard as you can.”
Nina balanced the piece of ice two or three times in her hand, and threw
it forward with all her strength.
A sudden thrill seemed to vibrate across the motionless waters to the
distant horizon, and the Gallian Sea had become a solid sheet of ice!
CHAPTER XXIII. A CARRIER-PIGEON
When, three hours after sunset, on the 23d of March, the Gallian moon
rose upon the western horizon, it was observed that she had entered upon
her last quarter. She had taken only four days to pass from syzygy to
quadrature, and it was consequently evident that she would be visible
for little more than a week at a time, and that her lunation would be
accomplished within sixteen days. The lunar months, like the solar
days, had been diminished by one-half. Three days later the moon was in
conjunction with the sun, and was consequently lost to view; Ben Zoof,
as the first observer of the satellite, was extremely interested in its
movements, and wondered whether it would ever reappear.
On the 26th, under an atmosphere perfectly clear and dry, the
thermometer fell to 12 degrees F. below zero. Of the present distance of
Gallia from the sun, and the number of leagues she had traversed since
the receipt of the last mysterious document, there were no means of
judging; the extent of diminution in the apparent disc of the sun did
not afford sufficient basis even for an approximate calculation; and
Captain Servadac was perpetually regretting that they could receive no
further tidings from the anonymous correspondent, whom he persisted in
regarding as a fellow-countryman.
The solidity of the ice was perfect; the utter stillness of the air at
the time when the final congelation of the waters had taken place had
resulted in the formation of a surface that for smoothness would rival
a skating-rink; without a crack or flaw it extended far beyond the range
of vision.
The contrast to the ordinary aspect of polar seas was very remarkable.
There, the ice-fields are an agglomeration of hummocks and icebergs,
massed in wild confusion, often towering higher than the masts of the
largest whalers, and from the instability of their foundations liable
to an instantaneous loss of equilibrium; a breath of wind, a slight
modification of the temperature, not unfrequently serving to bring about
a series of changes outrivaling the most elaborate transformation scenes
of a pantomime. Here, on the contrary, the vast white plain was level as
the desert of Sahara or the Russian steppes; the waters of the Gallian
Sea were imprisoned beneath the solid sheet, which became continually
stouter in the increasing cold.
Accustomed to the uneven crystallizations of their own frozen seas, the
Russians could not be otherwise than delighted with the polished
surface that afforded them such excellent opportunity for enjoying
their favorite pastime of skating. A supply of skates, found hidden
away amongst the -Dobryna’s- stores, was speedily brought into use. The
Russians undertook the instruction of the Spaniards, and at the end of
a few days, during which the temperature was only endurable through the
absence of wind, there was not a Gallian who could not skate tolerably
well, while many of them could describe figures involving the most
complicated curves. Nina and Pablo earned loud applause by their rapid
proficiency; Captain Servadac, an adept in athletics, almost outvied his
instructor, the count; and Ben Zoof, who had upon some rare occasions
skated upon the Lake of Montmartre (in his eyes, of course, a sea),
performed prodigies in the art.
This exercise was not only healthful in itself, but it was acknowledged
that, in case of necessity, it might become a very useful means of
locomotion. As Captain Servadac remarked, it was almost a substitute for
railways, and as if to illustrate this proposition, Lieutenant Procope,
perhaps the greatest expert in the party, accomplished the twenty miles
to Gourbi Island and back in considerably less than four hours.
The temperature, meanwhile, continued to decrease, and the average
reading of the thermometer was about 16 degrees F. below zero; the light
also diminished in proportion, and all objects appeared to be enveloped
in a half-defined shadow, as though the sun were undergoing a perpetual
eclipse. It was not surprising that the effect of this continuously
overhanging gloom should be to induce a frequent depression of spirits
amongst the majority of the little population, exiles as they were from
their mother earth, and not unlikely, as it seemed, to be swept far away
into the regions of another planetary sphere. Probably Count Timascheff,
Captain Servadac, and Lieutenant Procope were the only members of the
community who could bring any scientific judgment to bear upon the
uncertainty that was before them, but a general sense of the strangeness
of their situation could not fail at times to weigh heavily upon
the minds of all. Under these circumstances it was very necessary to
counteract the tendency to despond by continual diversion; and the
recreation of skating thus opportunely provided, seemed just the thing
to arouse the flagging spirits, and to restore a wholesome excitement.
With dogged obstinacy, Isaac Hakkabut refused to take any share either
in the labors or the amusements of the colony. In spite of the cold,
he had not been seen since the day of his arrival from Gourbi Island.
Captain Servadac had strictly forbidden any communication with him; and
the smoke that rose from the cabin chimney of the -Hansa- was the sole
indication of the proprietor being still on board. There was nothing to
prevent him, if he chose, from partaking gratuitously of the volcanic
light and heat which were being enjoyed by all besides; but rather
than abandon his close and personal oversight of his precious cargo, he
preferred to sacrifice his own slender stock of fuel.
Both the schooner and the tartan had been carefully moored in the way
that seemed to promise best for withstanding the rigor of the winter.
After seeing the vessels made secure in the frozen creek. Lieutenant
Procope, following the example of many Arctic explorers, had the
precaution to have the ice beveled away from the keels, so that there
should be no risk of the ships’ sides being crushed by the increasing
pressure; he hoped that they would follow any rise in the level of the
ice-field, and when the thaw should come, that they would easily regain
their proper water-line.
On his last visit to Gourbi Island, the lieutenant had ascertained that
north, east, and west, far as the eye could reach, the Gallian Sea had
become one uniform sheet of ice. One spot alone refused to freeze; this
was the pool immediately below the central cavern, the receptacle for
the stream of burning lava. It was entirely enclosed by rocks, and if
ever a few icicles were formed there by the action of the cold, they
were very soon melted by the fiery shower. Hissing and spluttering as
the hot lava came in contact with it, the water was in a continual
state of ebullition, and the fish that abounded in its depths defied
the angler’s craft; they were, as Ben Zoof remarked, “too much boiled to
bite.”
At the beginning of April the weather changed. The sky became overcast,
but there was no rise in the temperature. Unlike the polar winters of
the earth, which ordinarily are affected by atmospheric influence, and
liable to slight intermissions of their severity at various shiftings
of the wind, Gallia’s winter was caused by her immense distance from the
source of all light and heat, and the cold was consequently destined
to go on steadily increasing until it reached the limit ascertained by
Fourier to be the normal temperature of the realms of space.
With the over-clouding of the heavens there arose a violent tempest;
but although the wind raged with an almost inconceivable fury, it
was unaccompanied by either snow or rain. Its effect upon the burning
curtain that covered the aperture of the central hall was very
remarkable. So far from there being any likelihood of the fire being
extinguished by the vehemence of the current of air, the hurricane
seemed rather to act as a ventilator, which fanned the flame into
greater activity, and the utmost care was necessary to avoid being burnt
by the fragments of lava that were drifted into the interior of the
grotto. More than once the curtain itself was rifted entirely asunder,
but only to close up again immediately after allowing a momentary
draught of cold air to penetrate the hall in a way that was refreshing
and rather advantageous than otherwise.
On the 4th of April, after an absence of about four days, the new
satellite, to Ben Zoof’s great satisfaction, made its reappearance in
a crescent form, a circumstance that seemed to justify the anticipation
that henceforward it would continue to make a periodic revolution every
fortnight.
The crust of ice and snow was far too stout for the beaks of the
strongest birds to penetrate, and accordingly large swarms had left the
island, and, following the human population, had taken refuge on the
volcanic promontory; not that there the barren shore had anything in the
way of nourishment to offer them, but their instinct impelled them to
haunt now the very habitations which formerly they would have shunned.
Scraps of food were thrown to them from the galleries; these were
speedily devoured, but were altogether inadequate in quantity to meet
the demand. At length, emboldened by hunger, several hundred birds
ventured through the tunnel, and took up their quarters actually in
Nina’s Hive. Congregating in the large hall, the half-famished creatures
did not hesitate to snatch bread, meat, or food of any description from
the hands of the residents as they sat at table, and soon became such an
intolerable nuisance that it formed one of the daily diversions to hunt
them down; but although they were vigorously attacked by stones and
sticks, and even occasionally by shot, it was with some difficulty that
their number could be sensibly reduced.
By a systematic course of warfare the bulk of the birds were all
expelled, with the exception of about a hundred, which began to build in
the crevices of the rocks. These were left in quiet possession of their
quarters, as not only was it deemed advisable to perpetuate the various
breeds, but it was found that these birds acted as a kind of police,
never failing either to chase away or to kill any others of their
species who infringed upon what they appeared to regard as their own
special privilege in intruding within the limits of their domain.
On the 15th loud cries were suddenly heard issuing from the mouth of the
principal gallery.
“Help, help! I shall be killed!”
Pablo in a moment recognized the voice as Nina’s. Outrunning even Ben
Zoof he hurried to the assistance of his little playmate, and discovered
that she was being attacked by half a dozen great sea-gulls, and only
after receiving some severe blows from their beaks could he succeed by
means of a stout cudgel in driving them away.
“Tell me, Nina, what is this?” he asked as soon as the tumult had
subsided.
The child pointed to a bird which she was caressing tenderly in her
bosom.
“A pigeon!” exclaimed Ben Zoof, who had reached the scene of commotion,
adding:
“A carrier-pigeon! And by all the saints of Montmartre, there is a
little bag attached to its neck!”
He took the bird, and rushing into the hall placed it in Servadac’s
hands.
“Another message, no doubt,” cried the captain, “from our unknown
friend. Let us hope that this time he has given us his name and
address.”
All crowded round, eager to hear the news. In the struggle with the
gulls the bag had been partially torn open, but still contained the
following dispatch:
“Gallia!
Chemin parcouru du 1er Mars au 1er Avril: 39,000,000 l.!
Distance du soleil: 110,000,000 l.!
Capte Nerina en passant.
Vivres vont manquer et...”
The rest of the document had been so damaged by the beaks of the gulls
that it was illegible. Servadac was wild with vexation. He felt more and
more convinced that the writer was a Frenchman, and that the last
line indicated that he was in distress from scarcity of food. The
very thought of a fellow-countryman in peril of starvation drove him
well-nigh to distraction, and it was in vain that search was made
everywhere near the scene of conflict in hopes of finding the missing
scrap that might bear a signature or address.
Suddenly little Nina, who had again taken possession of the pigeon, and
was hugging it to her breast, said:
“Look here, Ben Zoof!”
And as she spoke she pointed to the left wing of the bird. The wing bore
the faint impress of a postage-stamp, and the one word: “FORMENTERA.”
CHAPTER XXIV. A SLEDGE-RIDE
Formentera was at once recognized by Servadac and the count as the
name of one of the smallest of the Balearic Islands. It was more than
probable that the unknown writer had thence sent out the mysterious
documents, and from the message just come to hand by the carrier-pigeon,
it appeared all but certain that at the beginning of April, a fortnight
back, he had still been there. In one important particular the present
communication differed from those that had preceded it: it was written
entirely in French, and exhibited none of the ecstatic exclamations in
other languages that had been remarkable in the two former papers. The
concluding line, with its intimation of failing provisions, amounted
almost to an appeal for help. Captain Servadac briefly drew attention
to these points, and concluded by saying, “My friends, we must, without
delay, hasten to the assistance of this unfortunate man.”
“For my part,” said the count, “I am quite ready to accompany you; it is
not unlikely that he is not alone in his distress.”
Lieutenant Procope expressed much surprise. “We must have passed close
to Formentera,” he said, “when we explored the site of the Balearic
Isles; this fragment must be very small; it must be smaller than the
remaining splinter of Gibraltar or Ceuta; otherwise, surely it would
never have escaped our observation.”
“However small it may be,” replied Servadac, “we must find it. How far
off do you suppose it is?”
“It must be a hundred and twenty leagues away,” said the lieutenant,
thoughtfully; “and I do not quite understand how you would propose to
get there.”
“Why, on skates of course; no difficulty in that, I should imagine,”
.
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