Off on a Comet (3 page)

But Captain Servadac was no meteorologist, and it is to be doubted
whether, since leaving school, he had ever opened his "Course of
Cosmography." Besides, he had other thoughts to occupy his mind. The
prospects of the morrow offered serious matter for consideration. The
captain was actuated by no personal animosity against the count; though
rivals, the two men regarded each other with sincere respect; they had
simply reached a crisis in which one of them was
de trop;
which of
them, fate must decide.

At eight o'clock, Captain Servadac re-entered the gourbi, the single
apartment of which contained his bed, a small writing-table, and some
trunks that served instead of cupboards. The orderly performed his
culinary operations in the adjoining building, which he also used as a
bed-room, and where, extended on what he called his "good oak mattress,"
he would sleep soundly as a dormouse for twelve hours at a stretch. Ben
Zoof had not yet received his orders to retire, and ensconcing himself
in a corner of the gourbi, he endeavored to doze—a task which the
unusual agitation of his master rendered somewhat difficult. Captain
Servadac was evidently in no hurry to betake himself to rest, but
seating himself at his table, with a pair of compasses and a sheet of
tracing-paper, he began to draw, with red and blue crayons, a variety
of colored lines, which could hardly be supposed to have much connection
with a topographical survey. In truth, his character of staff-officer
was now entirely absorbed in that of Gascon poet. Whether he imagined
that the compasses would bestow upon his verses the measure of a
mathematical accuracy, or whether he fancied that the parti-colored
lines would lend variety to his rhythm, it is impossible to determine;
be that as it may, he was devoting all his energies to the compilation
of his rondo, and supremely difficult he found the task.

"Hang it!" he ejaculated, "whatever induced me to choose this meter? It
is as hard to find rhymes as to rally fugitive in a battle. But, by all
the powers! it shan't be said that a French officer cannot cope with a
piece of poetry. One battalion has fought—now for the rest!"

Perseverance had its reward. Presently two lines, one red, the other
blue, appeared upon the paper, and the captain murmured:

"Words, mere words, cannot avail,
Telling true heart's tender tale."

"What on earth ails my master?" muttered Ben Zoof; "for the last hour he
has been as fidgety as a bird returning after its winter migration."

Servadac suddenly started from his seat, and as he paced the room with
all the frenzy of poetic inspiration, read out:

"Empty words cannot convey
All a lover's heart would say."

"Well, to be sure, he is at his everlasting verses again!" said Ben Zoof
to himself, as he roused himself in his corner. "Impossible to sleep in
such a noise;" and he gave vent to a loud groan.

"How now, Ben Zoof?" said the captain sharply. "What ails you?"

"Nothing, sir, only the nightmare."

"Curse the fellow, he has quite interrupted me!" ejaculated the captain.
"Ben Zoof!" he called aloud.

"Here, sir!" was the prompt reply; and in an instant the orderly
was upon his feet, standing in a military attitude, one hand to his
forehead, the other closely pressed to his trouser-seam.

"Stay where you are! don't move an inch!" shouted Servadac; "I have
just thought of the end of my rondo." And in a voice of inspiration,
accompanying his words with dramatic gestures, Servadac began to
declaim:

"Listen, lady, to my vows—
O, consent to be my spouse;
Constant ever I will be,
Constant...."

No closing lines were uttered. All at once, with unutterable violence,
the captain and his orderly were dashed, face downwards, to the ground.

Whence came it that at that very moment the horizon underwent so strange
and sudden a modification, that the eye of the most practiced mariner
could not distinguish between sea and sky?

Whence came it that the billows raged and rose to a height hitherto
unregistered in the records of science?

Whence came it that the elements united in one deafening crash; that the
earth groaned as though the whole framework of the globe were ruptured;
that the waters roared from their innermost depths; that the air
shrieked with all the fury of a cyclone?

Whence came it that a radiance, intenser than the effulgence of the
Northern Lights, overspread the firmament, and momentarily dimmed the
splendor of the brightest stars?

Whence came it that the Mediterranean, one instant emptied of its
waters, was the next flooded with a foaming surge?

Whence came it that in the space of a few seconds the moon's disc
reached a magnitude as though it were but a tenth part of its ordinary
distance from the earth?

Whence came it that a new blazing spheroid, hitherto unknown to
astronomy, now appeared suddenly in the firmament, though it were but to
lose itself immediately behind masses of accumulated cloud?

What phenomenon was this that had produced a cataclysm so tremendous in
effect upon earth, sky, and sea?

Was it possible that a single human being could have survived the
convulsion? and if so, could he explain its mystery?

Violent as the commotion had been, that portion of the Algerian coast
which is bounded on the north by the Mediterranean, and on the west by
the right bank of the Shelif, appeared to have suffered little change.
It is true that indentations were perceptible in the fertile plain,
and the surface of the sea was ruffled with an agitation that was quite
unusual; but the rugged outline of the cliff was the same as heretofore,
and the aspect of the entire scene appeared unaltered. The stone
hostelry, with the exception of some deep clefts in its walls, had
sustained little injury; but the gourbi, like a house of cards destroyed
by an infant's breath, had completely subsided, and its two inmates lay
motionless, buried under the sunken thatch.

It was two hours after the catastrophe that Captain Servadac regained
consciousness; he had some trouble to collect his thoughts, and the
first sounds that escaped his lips were the concluding words of the
rondo which had been so ruthlessly interrupted;

"Constant ever I will be,
Constant...."

His next thought was to wonder what had happened; and in order to find
an answer, he pushed aside the broken thatch, so that his head appeared
above the
debris
. "The gourbi leveled to the ground!" he exclaimed,
"surely a waterspout has passed along the coast."

He felt all over his body to perceive what injuries he had sustained,
but not a sprain nor a scratch could he discover. "Where are you, Ben
Zoof?" he shouted.

"Here, sir!" and with military promptitude a second head protruded from
the rubbish.

"Have you any notion what has happened, Ben Zoof?"

"I've a notion, captain, that it's all up with us."

"Nonsense, Ben Zoof; it is nothing but a waterspout!"

"Very good, sir," was the philosophical reply, immediately followed by
the query, "Any bones broken, sir?"

"None whatever," said the captain.

Both men were soon on their feet, and began to make a vigorous clearance
of the ruins, beneath which they found that their arms, cooking
utensils, and other property, had sustained little injury.

"By-the-by, what o'clock is it?" asked the captain.

"It must be eight o'clock, at least," said Ben Zoof, looking at the sun,
which was a considerable height above the horizon. "It is almost time
for us to start."

"To start! what for?"

"To keep your appointment with Count Timascheff."

"By Jove! I had forgotten all about it!" exclaimed Servadac. Then
looking at his watch, he cried, "What are you thinking of, Ben Zoof? It
is scarcely two o'clock."

"Two in the morning, or two in the afternoon?" asked Ben Zoof, again
regarding the sun.

Servadac raised his watch to his ear. "It is going," said he; "but, by
all the wines of Medoc, I am puzzled. Don't you see the sun is in the
west? It must be near setting."

"Setting, captain! Why, it is rising finely, like a conscript at the
sound of the reveille. It is considerably higher since we have been
talking."

Incredible as it might appear, the fact was undeniable that the sun was
rising over the Shelif from that quarter of the horizon behind which
it usually sank for the latter portion of its daily round. They were
utterly bewildered. Some mysterious phenomenon must not only have
altered the position of the sun in the sidereal system, but must even
have brought about an important modification of the earth's rotation on
her axis.

Captain Servadac consoled himself with the prospect of reading an
explanation of the mystery in next week's newspapers, and turned his
attention to what was to him of more immediate importance. "Come, let
us be off," said he to his orderly; "though heaven and earth be
topsy-turvy, I must be at my post this morning."

"To do Count Timascheff the honor of running him through the body,"
added Ben Zoof.

If Servadac and his orderly had been less preoccupied, they would have
noticed that a variety of other physical changes besides the apparent
alteration in the movement of the sun had been evolved during the
atmospheric disturbances of that New Year's night. As they descended
the steep footpath leading from the cliff towards the Shelif, they were
unconscious that their respiration became forced and rapid, like that of
a mountaineer when he has reached an altitude where the air has become
less charged with oxygen. They were also unconscious that their voices
were thin and feeble; either they must themselves have become rather
deaf, or it was evident that the air had become less capable of
transmitting sound.

The weather, which on the previous evening had been very foggy, had
entirely changed. The sky had assumed a singular tint, and was soon
covered with lowering clouds that completely hid the sun. There were,
indeed, all the signs of a coming storm, but the vapor, on account of
the insufficient condensation, failed to fall.

The sea appeared quite deserted, a most unusual circumstance along this
coast, and not a sail nor a trail of smoke broke the gray monotony
of water and sky. The limits of the horizon, too, had become much
circumscribed. On land, as well as on sea, the remote distance had
completely disappeared, and it seemed as though the globe had assumed a
more decided convexity.

At the pace at which they were walking, it was very evident that the
captain and his attendant would not take long to accomplish the three
miles that lay between the gourbi and the place of rendezvous. They
did not exchange a word, but each was conscious of an unusual buoyancy,
which appeared to lift up their bodies and give as it were, wings to
their feet. If Ben Zoof had expressed his sensations in words, he would
have said that he felt "up to anything," and he had even forgotten to
taste so much as a crust of bread, a lapse of memory of which the worthy
soldier was rarely guilty.

As these thoughts were crossing his mind, a harsh bark was heard to the
left of the footpath, and a jackal was seen emerging from a large grove
of lentisks. Regarding the two wayfarers with manifest uneasiness, the
beast took up its position at the foot of a rock, more than thirty feet
in height. It belonged to an African species distinguished by a
black spotted skin, and a black line down the front of the legs. At
night-time, when they scour the country in herds, the creatures are
somewhat formidable, but singly they are no more dangerous than a dog.
Though by no means afraid of them, Ben Zoof had a particular aversion
to jackals, perhaps because they had no place among the fauna of his
beloved Montmartre. He accordingly began to make threatening gestures,
when, to the unmitigated astonishment of himself and the captain, the
animal darted forward, and in one single bound gained the summit of the
rock.

"Good Heavens!" cried Ben Zoof, "that leap must have been thirty feet at
least."

"True enough," replied the captain; "I never saw such a jump."

Meantime the jackal had seated itself upon its haunches, and was staring
at the two men with an air of impudent defiance. This was too much for
Ben Zoof's forbearance, and stooping down he caught up a huge stone,
when to his surprise, he found that it was no heavier than a piece of
petrified sponge. "Confound the brute!" he exclaimed, "I might as well
throw a piece of bread at him. What accounts for its being as light as
this?"

Nothing daunted, however, he hurled the stone into the air. It missed
its aim; but the jackal, deeming it on the whole prudent to decamp,
disappeared across the trees and hedges with a series of bounds, which
could only be likened to those that might be made by an india-rubber
kangaroo. Ben Zoof was sure that his own powers of propelling must equal
those of a howitzer, for his stone, after a lengthened flight through
the air, fell to the ground full five hundred paces the other side of
the rock.

The orderly was now some yards ahead of his master, and had reached
a ditch full of water, and about ten feet wide. With the intention of
clearing it, he made a spring, when a loud cry burst from Servadac. "Ben
Zoof, you idiot! What are you about? You will break your back!"

And well might he be alarmed, for Ben Zoof had sprung to a height of
forty feet into the air. Fearful of the consequences that would attend
the descent of his servant to
terra firma
, Servadac bounded forwards,
to be on the other side of the ditch in time to break his fall. But the
muscular effort that he made carried him in his turn to an altitude of
thirty feet; in his ascent he passed Ben Zoof, who had already commenced
his downward course; and then, obedient to the laws of gravitation, he
descended with increasing rapidity, and alighted upon the earth without
experiencing a shock greater than if he had merely made a bound of four
or five feet high.