Off on a Comet (10 page)

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.

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."