Off on a Comet (41 page)

A double disaster was the inevitable consequence of the thaw. Both the
schooner and the tartan were entirely destroyed. The basement of the icy
pedestal on which the ships had been upheaved was gradually undermined,
like the icebergs of the Arctic Ocean, by warm currents of water, and
on the night of the 12th the huge block collapsed
en masse
, so that on
the following morning nothing remained of the
Dobryna
and the
Hansa
except the fragments scattered on the shore.

Although certainly expected, the catastrophe could not fail to cause a
sense of general depression. Well-nigh one of their last ties to Mother
Earth had been broken; the ships were gone, and they had only a balloon
to replace them!

To describe Isaac Hakkabut's rage at the destruction of the tartan would
be impossible. His oaths were simply dreadful; his imprecations on the
accursed race were full of wrath. He swore that Servadac and his people
were responsible for his loss; he vowed that they should be sued and
made to pay him damages; he asserted that he had been brought from
Gourbi Island only to be plundered; in fact, he became so intolerably
abusive, that Servadac threatened to put him into irons unless he
conducted himself properly; whereupon the Jew, finding that the captain
was in earnest, and would not hesitate to carry the threat into effect,
was fain to hold his tongue, and slunk back into his dim hole.

By the 14th the balloon was finished, and, carefully sewn and well
varnished as it had been, it was really a very substantial structure. It
was covered with a network that had been made from the light rigging
of the yacht, and the car, composed of wicker-work that had formed
partitions in the hold of the
Hansa
, was quite commodious enough to
hold the twenty-three passengers it was intended to convey. No thought
had been bestowed upon comfort or convenience, as the ascent was to
last for so short a time, merely long enough for making the transit from
atmosphere to atmosphere.

The necessity was becoming more and more urgent to get at the true
hour of the approaching contact, but the professor seemed to grow more
obstinate than ever in his resolution to keep his secret.

On the 15th the comet crossed the orbit of Mars, at the safe distance
of 56,000,000 leagues; but during that night the community thought
that their last hour had taken them unawares. The volcano rocked and
trembled with the convulsions of internal disturbance, and Servadac and
his companions, convinced that the mountain was doomed to some sudden
disruption, rushed into the open air.

The first object that caught their attention as they emerged upon the
open rocks was the unfortunate professor, who was scrambling down
the mountain-side, piteously displaying a fragment of his shattered
telescope.

It was no time for condolence.

A new marvel arrested every eye. A fresh satellite, in the gloom of
night, was shining conspicuously before them.

That satellite was a part of Gallia itself!

By the expansive action of the inner heat, Gallia, like Gambart's comet,
had been severed in twain; an enormous fragment had been detached and
launched into space!

The fragment included Ceuta and Gibraltar, with the two English
garrisons!

What would be the consequences of this sudden and complete disruption,
Servadac and his people hardly dared to think.

The first change that came under their observation was the rapidity of
the sun's appearances and disappearances, forcing them to the conviction
that although the comet still rotated on its axis from east to west, yet
the period of its rotation had been diminished by about one-half. Only
six hours instead of twelve elapsed between sunrise and sunrise; three
hours after rising in the west the sun was sinking again in the east.

"We are coming to something!" exclaimed Servadac. "We have got a year of
something like 2,880 days."

"I shouldn't think it would be an easy matter to find saints enough for
such a calendar as that!" said Ben Zoof.

Servadac laughed, and remarked that they should have the professor
talking about the 238th of June, and the 325th of December.

It soon became evident that the detached portion was not revolving
round the comet, but was gradually retreating into space. Whether it
had carried with it any portion of atmosphere, whether it possessed
any other condition for supporting life, and whether it was likely ever
again to approach to the earth, were all questions that there were no
means of determining. For themselves the all-important problem was—what
effect would the rending asunder of the comet have upon its rate of
progress? and as they were already conscious of a further increase of
muscular power, and a fresh diminution of specific gravity, Servadac and
his associates could not but wonder whether the alteration in the mass
of the comet would not result in its missing the expected coincidence
with the earth altogether.

Although he professed himself incompetent to pronounce a decided
opinion, Lieutenant Procope manifestly inclined to the belief that no
alteration would ensue in the rate of Gallia's velocity; but Rosette, no
doubt, could answer the question directly, and the time had now
arrived in which he must be compelled to divulge the precise moment of
collision.

But the professor was in the worst of tempers. Generally taciturn and
morose, he was more than usually uncivil whenever any one ventured to
speak to him. The loss of his telescope had doubtless a great deal to do
with his ill-humor; but the captain drew the most favorable conclusions
from Rosette's continued irritation. Had the comet been in any way
projected from its course, so as to be likely to fail in coming into
contact with the earth, the professor would have been quite unable
to conceal his satisfaction. But they required to know more than the
general truth, and felt that they had no time to lose in getting at the
exact details.

The opportunity that was wanted soon came.

On the 18th, Rosette was overheard in furious altercation with Ben Zoof.
The orderly had been taunting the astronomer with the mutilation of his
little comet. A fine thing, he said, to split in two like a child's toy.
It had cracked like a dry nut; and mightn't one as well live upon an
exploding bomb?—with much more to the same effect. The professor, by
way of retaliation, had commenced sneering at the "prodigious" mountain
of Montmartre, and the dispute was beginning to look serious when
Servadac entered.

Thinking he could turn the wrangling to some good account, so as to
arrive at the information he was so anxiously seeking, the captain
pretended to espouse the views of his orderly; he consequently brought
upon himself the full force of the professor's wrath.

Rosette's language became more and more violent, till Servadac, feigning
to be provoked beyond endurance, cried:

"You forget, sir, that you are addressing the Governor-General of
Gallia."

"Governor-General! humbug!" roared Rosette. "Gallia is my comet!"

"I deny it," said Servadac. "Gallia has lost its chance of getting back
to the earth. Gallia has nothing to do with you. Gallia is mine; and you
must submit to the government which I please to ordain."

"And who told you that Gallia is not going back to the earth?" asked the
professor, with a look of withering scorn.

"Why, isn't her mass diminished? Isn't she split in half? Isn't her
velocity all altered?" demanded the captain.

"And pray who told you this?" again said the professor, with a sneer.

"Everybody. Everybody knows it, of course," replied Servadac.

"Everybody is very clever. And you always were a very clever scholar
too. We remember that of old, don't we?"

"Sir!"

"You nearly mastered the first elements of science, didn't you?"

"Sir!"

"A credit to your class!"

"Hold your tongue, sir!" bellowed the captain again, as if his anger was
uncontrollable.

"Not I," said the professor.

"Hold your tongue!" repeated Servadac.

"Just because the mass is altered you think the velocity is altered?"

"Hold your tongue!" cried the captain, louder than ever.

"What has mass to do with the orbit? Of how many comets do you know the
mass, and yet you know their movements? Ignorance!" shouted Rosette.

"Insolence!" retorted Servadac.

Ben Zoof, really thinking that his master was angry, made a threatening
movement towards the professor.

"Touch me if you dare!" screamed Rosette, drawing himself up to the
fullest height his diminutive figure would allow. "You shall answer for
your conduct before a court of justice!"

"Where? On Gallia?" asked the captain.

"No; on the earth."

"The earth! Pshaw! You know we shall never get there; our velocity is
changed."

"On the earth," repeated the professor, with decision.

"Trash!" cried Ben Zoof. "The earth will be too far off!"

"Not too far off for us to come across her orbit at 42 minutes and 35.6
seconds past two o'clock on the morning of this coming 1st of January."

"Thanks, my dear professor—many thanks. You have given me all the
information I required;" and, with a low bow and a gracious smile, the
captain withdrew. The orderly made an equally polite bow, and followed
his master. The professor, completely nonplussed, was left alone.

Thirteen days, then—twenty-six of the original Gallian days, fifty-two
of the present—was all the time for preparation that now remained.
Every preliminary arrangement was hurried on with the greatest
earnestness.

There was a general eagerness to be quit of Gallia. Indifferent to
the dangers that must necessarily attend a balloon ascent under such
unparalleled circumstances, and heedless of Lieutenant Procope's warning
that the slightest check in their progress would result in instantaneous
combustion, they all seemed to conclude that it must be the simplest
thing possible to glide from one atmosphere to another, so that they
were quite sanguine as to the successful issue of their enterprise.
Captain Servadac made a point of showing himself quite enthusiastic in
his anticipations, and to Ben Zoof the going up in a balloon was the
supreme height of his ambition. The count and the lieutenant, of colder
and less demonstrative temperament, alike seemed to realize the possible
perils of the undertaking, but even they were determined to put a bold
face upon every difficulty.

The sea had now become navigable, and three voyages were made to Gourbi
Island in the steam launch, consuming the last of their little reserve
of coal.

The first voyage had been made by Servadac with several of the sailors.
They found the gourbi and the adjacent building quite uninjured by
the severity of the winter; numbers of little rivulets intersected the
pasture-land; new plants were springing up under the influence of the
equatorial sun, and the luxuriant foliage was tenanted by the birds
which had flown back from the volcano. Summer had almost abruptly
succeeded to winter, and the days, though only three hours long, were
intensely hot.

Another of the voyages to the island had been to collect the dry grass
and straw which was necessary for inflating the balloon. Had the balloon
been less cumbersome it would have been conveyed to the island,
whence the start would have been effected; but as it was, it was more
convenient to bring the combustible material to the balloon.

The last of the coal having been consumed, the fragments of the
shipwrecked vessels had to be used day by day for fuel. Hakkabut began
making a great hubbub when he found that they were burning some of the
spars of the
Hansa
; but he was effectually silenced by Ben Zoof, who
told him that if he made any more fuss, he should be compelled to pay
50,000 francs for a balloon-ticket, or else he should be left behind.

By Christmas Day everything was in readiness for immediate departure.
The festival was observed with a solemnity still more marked than the
anniversary of the preceding year. Every one looked forward to spending
New Year's Day in another sphere altogether, and Ben Zoof had already
promised Pablo and Nina all sorts of New Year's gifts.

It may seem strange, but the nearer the critical moment approached, the
less Hector Servadac and Count Timascheff had to say to each other on
the subject. Their mutual reserve became more apparent; the experiences
of the last two years were fading from their minds like a dream; and the
fair image that had been the cause of their original rivalry was ever
rising, as a vision, between them.

The captain's thoughts began to turn to his unfinished rondo; in
his leisure moments, rhymes suitable and unsuitable, possible and
impossible, were perpetually jingling in his imagination. He labored
under the conviction that he had a work of genius to complete. A poet he
had left the earth, and a poet he must return.

Count Timascheff's desire to return to the world was quite equaled by
Lieutenant Procope's. The Russian sailors' only thought was to follow
their master, wherever he went. The Spaniards, though they would have
been unconcerned to know that they were to remain upon Gallia, were
nevertheless looking forward with some degree of pleasure to revisiting
the plains of Andalusia; and Nina and Pablo were only too delighted
at the prospect of accompanying their kind protectors on any fresh
excursion whatever.

The only malcontent was Palmyrin Rosette. Day and night he persevered
in his astronomical pursuits, declared his intention of never abandoning
his comet, and swore positively that nothing should induce him to set
foot in the car of the balloon.

The misfortune that had befallen his telescope was a never-ending theme
of complaint; and just now, when Gallia was entering the narrow zone of
shooting-stars, and new discoveries might have been within his reach,
his loss made him more inconsolable than ever. In sheer desperation, he
endeavored to increase the intensity of his vision by applying to his
eyes some belladonna which he found in the
Dobryna's
medicine chest;
with heroic fortitude he endured the tortures of the experiment, and
gazed up into the sky until he was nearly blind. But all in vain; not a
single fresh discovery rewarded his sufferings.