Off on a Comet by Jules Verne (best non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

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 waterline.

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 1.!

Distance du soleil: 110,000,000 1.!

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.”