Off on a Comet! a Journey through Planetary Space
behind for the general good of the community at Nina’s Hive.
At sunrise on the following morning, the 16th of April, Captain Servadac
and the lieutenant took their places in the yawl. The thermometer was
more than 20 degrees below zero, and it was with deep emotion that their
companions beheld them thus embarking upon the vast white plain. Ben
Zoof’s heart was too full for words; Count Timascheff could not forbear
pressing his two brave friends to his bosom; the Spaniards and the
Russian sailors crowded round for a farewell shake of the hand, and
little Nina, her great eyes flooded with tears, held up her face for a
parting kiss. The sad scene was not permitted to be long. The sail was
quickly hoisted, and the sledge, just as if it had expanded a huge white
wing, was in a little while carried far away beyond the horizon.
Light and unimpeded, the yawl scudded on with incredible speed. Two
sails, a brigantine and a jib, were arranged to catch the wind to the
greatest advantage, and the travelers estimated that their progress
would be little under the rate of twelve leagues an hour. The motion of
their novel vehicle was singularly gentle, the oscillation being less
than that of an ordinary railway-carriage, while the diminished force of
gravity contributed to the swiftness. Except that the clouds of ice-dust
raised by the metal runners were an evidence that they had not actually
left the level surface of the ice, the captain and lieutenant might
again and again have imagined that they were being conveyed through the
air in a balloon.
Lieutenant Procope, with his head all muffled up for fear of frost-bite,
took an occasional peep through an aperture that had been intentionally
left in the roof, and by the help of a compass, maintained a proper and
straight course for Formentera. Nothing could be more dejected than the
aspect of that frozen sea; not a single living creature relieved the
solitude; both the travelers, Procope from a scientific point of view,
Servadac from an aesthetic, were alike impressed by the solemnity of the
scene, and where the lengthened shadow of the sail cast upon the ice by
the oblique rays of the setting sun had disappeared, and day had
given place to night, the two men, drawn together as by an involuntary
impulse, mutually held each other’s hands in silence.
There had been a new moon on the previous evening; but, in the absence
of moonlight, the constellations shone with remarkable brilliancy.
The new pole-star close upon the horizon was resplendent, and even had
Lieutenant Procope been destitute of a compass, he would have had no
difficulty in holding his course by the guidance of that alone. However
great was the distance that separated Gallia from the sun, it was after
all manifestly insignificant in comparison with the remoteness of the
nearest of the fixed stars.
Observing that Servadac was completely absorbed in his own thoughts,
Lieutenant Procope had leisure to contemplate some of the present
perplexing problems, and to ponder over the true astronomical position.
The last of the three mysterious documents had represented that Gallia,
in conformity with Kepler’s second law, had traveled along her orbit
during the month of March twenty millions of leagues less than she had
done in the previous month; yet, in the same time, her distance from the
sun had nevertheless been increased by thirty-two millions of leagues.
She was now, therefore, in the center of the zone of telescopic planets
that revolve between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, and had captured
for herself a satellite which, according to the document, was Nerina,
one of the asteroids most recently identified. If thus, then, it was
within the power of the unknown writer to estimate with such apparent
certainty Gallia’s exact position, was it not likely that his
mathematical calculations would enable him to arrive at some definite
conclusion as to the date at which she would begin again to approach the
sun? Nay, was it not to be expected that he had already estimated, with
sufficient approximation to truth, what was to be the true length of the
Gallian year?
So intently had they each separately been following their own train of
thought, that daylight reappeared almost before the travelers were aware
of it. On consulting their instruments, they found that they must have
traveled close upon a hundred leagues since they started, and they
resolved to slacken their speed. The sails were accordingly taken in
a little, and in spite of the intensity of the cold, the explorers
ventured out of their shelter, in order that they might reconnoiter
the plain, which was apparently as boundless as ever. It was completely
desert; not so much as a single point of rock relieved the bare
uniformity of its surface.
“Are we not considerably to the west of Formentera?” asked Servadac,
after examining the chart.
“Most likely,” replied Procope. “I have taken the same course as I
should have done at sea, and I have kept some distance to windward of
the island; we can bear straight down upon it whenever we like.”
“Bear down then, now; and as quickly as you can.”
The yawl was at once put with her head to the northeast and Captain
Servadac, in defiance of the icy blast, remained standing at the bow,
his gaze fixed on the horizon.
All at once his eye brightened.
“Look! look!” he exclaimed, pointing to a faint outline that broke the
monotony of the circle that divided the plain from the sky.
In an instant the lieutenant had seized his telescope.
“I see what you mean,” said he; “it is a pylone that has been used for
some geodesic survey.”
The next moment the sail was filled, and the yawl was bearing down upon
the object with inconceivable swiftness, both Captain Servadac and the
lieutenant too excited to utter a word. Mile after mile the distance
rapidly grew less, and as they drew nearer the pylone they could
see that it was erected on a low mass of rocks that was the sole
interruption to the dull level of the field of ice. No wreath of
smoke rose above the little island; it was manifestly impossible, they
conceived, that any human being could there have survived the cold; the
sad presentiment forced itself upon their minds that it was a mere cairn
to which they had been hurrying.
Ten minutes later, and they were so near the rock that the lieutenant
took in his sail, convinced that the impetus already attained would
be sufficient to carry him to the land. Servadac’s heart bounded as he
caught sight of a fragment of blue canvas fluttering in the wind from
the top of the pylone: it was all that now remained of the French
national standard. At the foot of the pylone stood a miserable shed, its
shutters tightly closed. No other habitation was to be seen; the entire
island was less than a quarter of a mile in circumference; and the
conclusion was irresistible that it was the sole surviving remnant of
Formentera, once a member of the Balearic Archipelago.
To leap on shore, to clamber over the slippery stones, and to reach the
cabin was but the work of a few moments. The worm-eaten door was bolted
on the inside. Servadac began to knock with all his might. No answer.
Neither shouting nor knocking could draw forth a reply.
“Let us force it open, Procope!” he said.
The two men put their shoulders to the door, which soon yielded to their
vigorous efforts, and they found themselves inside the shed, and in
almost total darkness. By opening a shutter they admitted what daylight
they could. At first sight the wretched place seemed to be deserted; the
little grate contained the ashes of a fire long since extinguished; all
looked black and desolate. Another instant’s investigation, however,
revealed a bed in the extreme corner, and extended on the bed a human
form.
“Dead!” sighed Servadac; “dead of cold and hunger!”
Lieutenant Procope bent down and anxiously contemplated the body.
“No; he is alive!” he said, and drawing a small flask from his pocket he
poured a few drops of brandy between the lips of the senseless man.
There was a faint sigh, followed by a feeble voice, which uttered the
one word, “Gallia?”
“Yes, yes! Gallia!” echoed Servadac, eagerly.
“My comet, my comet!” said the voice, so low as to be almost inaudible,
and the unfortunate man relapsed again into unconsciousness.
“Where have I seen this man?” thought Servadac to himself; “his face is
strangely familiar to me.”
But it was no time for deliberation. Not a moment was to be lost in
getting the unconscious astronomer away from his desolate quarters.
He was soon conveyed to the yawl; his books, his scanty wardrobe, his
papers, his instruments, and the blackboard which had served for
his calculations, were quickly collected; the wind, by a fortuitous
Providence, had shifted into a favorable quarter; they set their sail
with all speed, and ere long were on their journey back from Formentera.
Thirty-six hours later, the brave travelers were greeted by the
acclamations of their fellow-colonists, who had been most anxiously
awaiting their reappearance, and the still senseless _savant_, who had
neither opened his eyes nor spoken a word throughout the journey, was
safely deposited in the warmth and security of the great hall of Nina’s
Hive.
END OF FIRST BOOK
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I. THE ASTRONOMER
By the return of the expedition, conveying its contribution from
Formentera, the known population of Gallia was raised to a total of
thirty-six.
On learning the details of his friends’ discoveries, Count Timascheff
did not hesitate in believing that the exhausted individual who was
lying before him was the author alike of the two unsigned documents
picked up at sea, and of the third statement so recently brought to hand
by the carrier-pigeon. Manifestly, he had arrived at some knowledge of
Gallia’s movements: he had estimated her distance from the sun; he had
calculated the diminution of her tangential speed; but there was nothing
to show that he had arrived at the conclusions which were of the most
paramount interest to them all. Had he ascertained the true character of
her orbit? had he established any data from which it would be possible
to reckon what time must elapse before she would again approach the
earth?
The only intelligible words which the astronomer had uttered had been,
“My comet!”
To what could the exclamation refer? Was it to be conjectured that a
fragment of the earth had been chipped off by the collision of a comet?
and if so, was it implied that the name of the comet itself was Gallia,
and were they mistaken in supposing that such was the name given by the
_savant_ to the little world that had been so suddenly launched
into space? Again and again they discussed these questions; but no
satisfactory answer could be found. The only man who was able to throw
any light upon the subject was lying amongst them in an unconscious and
half-dying condition.
Apart from motives of humanity, motives of self-interest made it a
matter of the deepest concern to restore animation to that senseless
form. Ben Zoof, after making the encouraging remark that _savants_ have
as many lives as a cat, proceeded, with Negrete’s assistance, to give
the body such a vigorous rubbing as would have threatened serious
injury to any ordinary mortal, whilst they administered cordials and
restoratives from the _Dobryna’s_ medical stores powerful enough, one
might think, to rouse the very dead.
Meanwhile the captain was racking his brain in his exertions to recall
what were the circumstances of his previous acquaintance with the
Frenchman upon whose features he was gazing; he only grew more and more
convinced that he had once been familiar with them. Perhaps it was not
altogether surprising that he had almost forgotten him; he had never