Off on a Comet (14 page)

The weather, ever since the storm that had driven the
Dobryna
into the
creek, had been magnificent. The wind continued favorable, and now under
both steam and canvas, she made a rapid progress towards the north,
a direction in which she was free to go in consequence of the total
disappearance of the Spanish coast, from Gibraltar right away to
Alicante. Malaga, Almeria, Cape Gata, Carthagena. Cape Palos—all were
gone. The sea was rolling over the southern extent of the peninsula, so
that the yacht advanced to the latitude of Seville before it sighted any
land at all, and then, not shores such as the shores of Andalusia, but
a bluff and precipitous cliff, in its geological features resembling
exactly the stern and barren rock that she had coasted beyond the site
of Malta. Here the sea made a decided indentation on the coast; it ran
up in an acute-angled triangle till its apex coincided with the very
spot upon which Madrid had stood. But as hitherto the sea had encroached
upon the land, the land in its turn now encroached upon the sea; for a
frowning headland stood out far into the basin of the Mediterranean,
and formed a promontory stretching out beyond the proper places of
the Balearic Isles. Curiosity was all alive. There was the intensest
interest awakened to determine whether no vestige could be traced of
Majorca, Minorca, or any of the group, and it was during a deviation
from the direct course for the purpose of a more thorough scrutiny, that
one of the sailors raised a thrill of general excitement by shouting, "A
bottle in the sea!"

Here, then, at length was a communication from the outer world. Surely
now they would find a document which would throw some light upon all the
mysteries that had happened? Had not the day now dawned that should set
their speculations all at rest?

It was the morning of the 21st of February. The count, the captain,
the lieutenant, everybody hurried to the forecastle; the schooner was
dexterously put about, and all was eager impatience until the supposed
bottle was hauled on deck.

It was not, however, a bottle; it proved to be a round leather
telescope-case, about a foot long, and the first thing to do before
investigating its contents was to make a careful examination of its
exterior. The lid was fastened on by wax, and so securely that it would
take a long immersion before any water could penetrate; there was no
maker's name to be deciphered; but impressed very plainly with a seal on
the wax were the two initials "P. R."

When the scrutiny of the outside was finished, the wax was removed and
the cover opened, and the lieutenant drew out a slip of ruled paper,
evidently torn from a common note-book. The paper had an inscription
written in four lines, which were remarkable for the profusion of notes
of admiration and interrogation with which they were interspersed:

"Gallia???
Ab sole
, au 15 fev. 59,000,000 l.!
Chemin parcouru de janv. a fev. 82,000,000 l.!!
Va bene! All right!!
Parfait!!!"

There was a general sigh of disappointment. They turned the paper over
and over, and handed it from one to another. "What does it all mean?"
exclaimed the count.

"Something mysterious here!" said Servadac. "But yet," he continued,
after a pause, "one thing is tolerably certain: on the 15th, six days
ago, someone was alive to write it."

"Yes; I presume there is no reason to doubt the accuracy of the date,"
assented the count.

To this strange conglomeration of French, English, Italian, and Latin,
there was no signature attached; nor was there anything to give a
clue as to the locality in which it had been committed to the waves.
A telescope-case would probably be the property of some one on board
a ship; and the figures obviously referred to the astronomical wonders
that had been experienced.

To these general observations Captain Servadac objected that he thought
it unlikely that any one on board a ship would use a telescope-case for
this purpose, but would be sure to use a bottle as being more secure;
and, accordingly, he should rather be inclined to believe that the
message had been set afloat by some
savant
left alone, perchance, upon
some isolated coast.

"But, however interesting it might be," observed the count, "to know
the author of the lines, to us it is of far greater moment to ascertain
their meaning."

And taking up the paper again, he said, "Perhaps we might analyze it
word by word, and from its detached parts gather some clue to its sense
as a whole."

"What can be the meaning of all that cluster of interrogations after
Gallia?" asked Servadac.

Lieutenant Procope, who had hitherto not spoken, now broke his silence
by saying, "I beg, gentlemen, to submit my opinion that this document
goes very far to confirm my hypothesis that a fragment of the earth has
been precipitated into space."

Captain Servadac hesitated, and then replied, "Even if it does, I do not
see how it accounts in the least for the geological character of the new
asteroid."

"But will you allow me for one minute to take my supposition for
granted?" said Procope. "If a new little planet has been formed, as I
imagine, by disintegration from the old, I should conjecture that Gallia
is the name assigned to it by the writer of this paper. The very notes
of interrogation are significant that he was in doubt what he should
write."

"You would presume that he was a Frenchman?" asked the count.

"I should think so," replied the lieutenant.

"Not much doubt about that," said Servadac; "it is all in French,
except a few scattered words of English, Latin, and Italian, inserted to
attract attention. He could not tell into whose hands the message would
fall first."

"Well, then," said Count Timascheff, "we seem to have found a name for
the new world we occupy."

"But what I was going especially to observe," continued the lieutenant,
"is that the distance, 59,000,000 leagues, represents precisely the
distance we ourselves were from the sun on the 15th. It was on that day
we crossed the orbit of Mars."

"Yes, true," assented the others.

"And the next line," said the lieutenant, after reading it aloud,
"apparently registers the distance traversed by Gallia, the new little
planet, in her own orbit. Her speed, of course, we know by Kepler's
laws, would vary according to her distance from the sun, and if she
were—as I conjecture from the temperature at that date—on the 15th of
January at her perihelion, she would be traveling twice as fast as the
earth, which moves at the rate of between 50,000 and 60,000 miles an
hour."

"You think, then," said Servadac, with a smile, "you have determined
the perihelion of our orbit; but how about the aphelion? Can you form a
judgment as to what distance we are likely to be carried?"

"You are asking too much," remonstrated the count.

"I confess," said the lieutenant, "that just at present I am not able to
clear away the uncertainty of the future; but I feel confident that by
careful observation at various points we shall arrive at conclusions
which not only will determine our path, but perhaps may clear up the
mystery about our geological structure."

"Allow me to ask," said Count Timascheff, "whether such a new asteroid
would not be subject to ordinary mechanical laws, and whether, once
started, it would not have an orbit that must be immutable?"

"Decidedly it would, so long as it was undisturbed by the attraction
of some considerable body; but we must recollect that, compared to the
great planets, Gallia must be almost infinitesimally small, and so might
be attracted by a force that is irresistible."

"Altogether, then," said Servadac, "we seem to have settled it to our
entire satisfaction that we must be the population of a young little
world called Gallia. Perhaps some day we may have the honor of being
registered among the minor planets."

"No chance of that," quickly rejoined Lieutenant Procope. "Those minor
planets all are known to rotate in a narrow zone between the orbits of
Mars and Jupiter; in their perihelia they cannot approximate the sun as
we have done; we shall not be classed with them."

"Our lack of instruments," said the count, "is much to be deplored; it
baffles our investigations in every way."

"Ah, never mind! Keep up your courage, count!" said Servadac, cheerily.

And Lieutenant Procope renewed his assurances that he entertained good
hopes that every perplexity would soon be solved.

"I suppose," remarked the count, "that we cannot attribute much
importance to the last line:
'Va bene! All right!!
Parfait!!!'"

The captain answered, "At least, it shows that whoever wrote it had no
murmuring or complaint to make, but was quite content with the new order
of things."

Almost unconsciously, the voyagers in the
Dobryna
fell into the habit
of using Gallia as the name of the new world in which they became aware
they must be making an extraordinary excursion through the realms
of space. Nothing, however, was allowed to divert them from their
ostensible object of making a survey of the coast of the Mediterranean,
and accordingly they persevered in following that singular boundary
which had revealed itself to their extreme astonishment.

Having rounded the great promontory that had barred her farther progress
to the north, the schooner skirted its upper edge. A few more leagues
and they ought to be abreast of the shores of France. Yes, of France.

But who shall describe the feelings of Hector Servadac when, instead of
the charming outline of his native land, he beheld nothing but a solid
boundary of savage rock? Who shall paint the look of consternation with
which he gazed upon the stony rampart—rising perpendicularly for a
thousand feet—that had replaced the shores of the smiling south? Who
shall reveal the burning anxiety with which he throbbed to see beyond
that cruel wall?

But there seemed no hope. Onwards and onwards the yacht made her way,
and still no sign of France. It might have been supposed that Servadac's
previous experiences would have prepared him for the discovery that the
catastrophe which had overwhelmed other sites had brought destruction
to his own country as well. But he had failed to realize how it might
extend to France; and when now he was obliged with his own eyes to
witness the waves of ocean rolling over what once had been the lovely
shores of Provence, he was well-nigh frantic with desperation.

"Am I to believe that Gourbi Island, that little shred of Algeria,
constitutes all that is left of our glorious France? No, no; it cannot
be. Not yet have we reached the pole of our new world. There is—there
must be—something more behind that frowning rock. Oh, that for a moment
we could scale its towering height and look beyond! By Heaven, I adjure
you, let us disembark, and mount the summit and explore! France lies
beyond."

Disembarkation, however, was an utter impossibility. There was no
semblance of a creek in which the
Dobryna
could find an anchorage.
There was no outlying ridge on which a footing could be gained. The
precipice was perpendicular as a wall, its topmost height crowned with
the same conglomerate of crystallized lamellae that had all along been
so pronounced a feature.

With her steam at high pressure, the yacht made rapid progress towards
the east. The weather remained perfectly fine, the temperature
became gradually cooler, so that there was little prospect of vapors
accumulating in the atmosphere; and nothing more than a few cirri,
almost transparent, veiled here and there the clear azure of the sky.
Throughout the day the pale rays of the sun, apparently lessened in its
magnitude, cast only faint and somewhat uncertain shadows; but at night
the stars shone with surpassing brilliancy. Of the planets, some, it was
observed, seemed to be fading away in remote distance. This was the case
with Mars, Venus, and that unknown orb which was moving in the orbit of
the minor planets; but Jupiter, on the other hand, had assumed splendid
proportions; Saturn was superb in its luster, and Uranus, which hitherto
had been imperceptible without a telescope was pointed out by
Lieutenant Procope, plainly visible to the naked eye. The inference was
irresistible that Gallia was receding from the sun, and traveling far
away across the planetary regions.

On the 24th of February, after following the sinuous course of what
before the date of the convulsion had been the coast line of the
department of Var, and after a fruitless search for Hyeres, the
peninsula of St. Tropez, the Lerius Islands, and the gulfs of Cannes and
Jouar, the
Dobryna
arrived upon the site of the Cape of Antibes.

Here, quite unexpectedly, the explorers made the discovery that the
massive wall of cliff had been rent from the top to the bottom by a
narrow rift, like the dry bed of a mountain torrent, and at the base of
the opening, level with the sea, was a little strand upon which there
was just space enough for their boat to be hauled up.

"Joy! joy!" shouted Servadac, half beside himself with ecstasy; "we can
land at last!"

Count Timascheff and the lieutenant were scarcely less impatient than
the captain, and little needed his urgent and repeated solicitations:
"Come on! Quick! Come on! no time to lose!"

It was half-past seven in the morning, when they set their foot upon
this untried land. The bit of strand was only a few square yards in
area, quite a narrow strip. Upon it might have been recognized
some fragments of that agglutination of yellow limestone which is
characteristic of the coast of Provence. But the whole party was far
too eager to wait and examine these remnants of the ancient shore; they
hurried on to scale the heights.

The narrow ravine was not only perfectly dry, but manifestly had never
been the bed of any mountain torrent. The rocks that rested at the
bottom—just as those which formed its sides—were of the same lamellous
formation as the entire coast, and had not hitherto been subject to the
disaggregation which the lapse of time never fails to work. A skilled
geologist would probably have been able to assign them their proper
scientific classification, but neither Servadac, Timascheff, nor
the lieutenant could pretend to any acquaintance with their specific
character.