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When, three hours after sunset, on the 23d of March, the Gallian moon
rose upon the western horizon, it was observed that she had entered upon her
last quarter. She had taken only four days to pass from syzygy to quadrature,
and it was consequently evident that she would be visible for little more than
a week at a time, and that her lunation would be accomplished within sixteen
days. The lunar months, like the solar days, had been diminished by one-half.
Three days later the moon was in conjunction with the sun, and was consequently
lost to view; Ben Zoof, as the first observer of the satellite, was extremely
interested in its movements, and wondered whether it would ever reappear.
On the 26th, under an atmosphere perfectly clear and dry, the
thermometer fell to 12 degrees F. below zero. Of the present distance of Gallia
from the sun, and the number of leagues she had traversed since the receipt of
the last mysterious document, there were no means of judging; the extent of
diminution in the apparent disc of the sun did 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 de-spond 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 water-line.
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.”
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