Off on a Comet! a Journey through Planetary Space
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,”
answered Servadac, and he appealed to the count for confirmation of his
opinion.
The count assented, but Procope looked doubtful.
“Your enterprise is generous,” he said, “and I should be most unwilling
to throw any unnecessary obstacle in the way of its execution; but,
pardon me, if I submit to you a few considerations which to my mind
are very important. First of all, the thermometer is already down to
22 degrees below zero, and the keen wind from the south is making the
temperature absolutely unendurable; in the second place, supposing you
travel at the rate of twenty leagues a day, you would be exposed for
at least six consecutive days; and thirdly, your expedition will be of
small avail unless you convey provisions not only for yourselves, but
for those whom you hope to relieve.”
“We can carry our own provisions on our backs in knapsacks,” interposed
Servadac, quickly, unwilling to recognize any difficulty in the way.
“Granted that you can,” answered the lieutenant, quietly; “but where, on
this level ice-field, will you find shelter in your periods of rest?
You must perish with cold; you will not have the chance of digging out
ice-huts like the Esquimaux.”
“As to rest,” said Servadac, “we shall take none; we shall keep on our
way continuously; by traveling day and night without intermission, we
shall not be more than three days in reaching Formentera.”
“Believe me,” persisted the lieutenant, calmly, “your enthusiasm is
carrying you too far; the feat you propose is impossible; but even
conceding the possibility of your success in reaching your destination,
what service do you imagine that you, half-starved and half-frozen
yourself, could render to those who are already perishing by want and
exposure? you would only bring them away to die.”
The obvious and dispassionate reasoning of the lieutenant could not fail
to impress the minds of those who listened to him; the impracticability
of the journey became more and more apparent; unprotected on that drear
expanse, any traveler must assuredly succumb to the snow-drifts that
were continually being whirled across it. But Hector Servadac, animated
by the generous desire of rescuing a suffering fellow-creature, could
scarcely be brought within the bounds of common sense. Against his
better judgment he was still bent upon the expedition, and Ben Zoof
declared himself ready to accompany his master in the event of Count
Timascheff hesitating to encounter the peril which the undertaking
involved. But the count entirely repudiated all idea of shrinking from
what, quite as much as the captain, he regarded as a sacred duty, and
turning to Lieutenant Procope, told him that unless some better plan
could be devised, he was prepared to start off at once and make the
attempt to skate across to Formentera. The lieutenant, who was lost in
thought, made no immediate reply.
“I wish we had a sledge,” said Ben Zoof.
“I dare say that a sledge of some sort could be contrived,” said the
count; “but then we should have no dogs or reindeers to draw it.”
“Why not rough-shoe the two horses?”
“They would never be able to endure the cold,” objected the count.
“Never mind,” said Servadac, “let us get our sledge and put them to the
test. Something must be done!”
“I think,” said Lieutenant Procope, breaking his thoughtful silence,
“that I can tell you of a sledge already provided for your hand, and I
can suggest a motive power surer and swifter than horses.”
“What do you mean?” was the eager inquiry.
“I mean the _Dobryna_‘s yawl,” answered the lieutenant; “and I have no
doubt that the wind would carry her rapidly along the ice.”
The idea seemed admirable. Lieutenant Procope was well aware to what
marvelous perfection the Americans had brought their sail-sledges, and
had heard how in the vast prairies of the United States they had been
known to outvie the speed of an express train, occasionally attaining
a rate of more than a hundred miles an hour. The wind was still blowing
hard from the south, and assuming that the yawl could be propelled
with a velocity of about fifteen or at least twelve leagues an hour, he
reckoned that it was quite possible to reach Formentera within twelve
hours, that is to say, in a single day between the intervals of sunrise
and sunrise.
The yawl was about twelve feet long, and capable of holding five or six
people. The addition of a couple of iron runners would be all that was
requisite to convert it into an excellent sledge, which, if a sail
were hoisted, might be deemed certain to make a rapid progress over the
smooth surface of the ice. For the protection of the passengers it was
proposed to erect a kind of wooden roof lined with strong cloth; beneath
this could be packed a supply of provisions, some warm furs, some
cordials, and a portable stove to be heated by spirits of wine.
For the outward journey the wind was as favorable as could be desired;
but it was to be apprehended that, unless the direction of the wind
should change, the return would be a matter of some difficulty; a system
of tacking might be carried out to a certain degree, but it was not
likely that the yawl would answer her helm in any way corresponding to
what would occur in the open sea. Captain Servadac, however, would not
listen to any representation of probable difficulties; the future, he
said, must provide for itself.
The engineer and several of the sailors set vigorously to work, and
before the close of the day the yawl was furnished with a pair of stout
iron runners, curved upwards in front, and fitted with a metal scull
designed to assist in maintaining the directness of her course; the roof
was put on, and beneath it were stored the provisions, the wraps, and
the cooking utensils.
A strong desire was expressed by Lieutenant Procope that he should be
allowed to accompany Captain Servadac instead of Count Timascheff. It
was unadvisable for all three of them to go, as, in case of there being
several persons to be rescued, the space at their command would be
quite inadequate. The lieutenant urged that he was the most experienced
seaman, and as such was best qualified to take command of the sledge
and the management of the sails; and as it was not to be expected that
Servadac would resign his intention of going in person to relieve his
fellow-countryman, Procope submitted his own wishes to the count. The
count was himself very anxious to have his share in the philanthropic
enterprise, and demurred considerably to the proposal; he yielded,
however, after a time, to Servadac’s representations that in the event
of the expedition proving disastrous, the little colony would need his
services alike as governor and protector, and overcoming his reluctance
to be left out of the perilous adventure, was prevailed upon to remain