So large a portion of the vessel had been appropriated to the cargo that

the space reserved for the cabin was of most meager dimensions. In one

corner of the compartment stood a small iron stove, in which smoldered a

bare handful of coals; in another was a trestle-board which served as a

bed; two or three stools and a rickety deal table, together with a few

cooking utensils, completed a stock of furniture which was worthy of its

proprietor.

On entering the cabin, Ben Zoof’s first proceeding was to throw on the

fire a liberal supply of coals, utterly regardless of the groans of poor

Isaac, who would almost as soon have parted with his own bones as submit

to such reckless expenditure of his fuel. The perishing temperature

of the cabin, however, was sufficient justification for the orderly’s

conduct, and by a little skillful manipulation he soon succeeded in

getting up a tolerable fire.

The visitors having taken what seats they could, Hakkabut closed the

door, and, like a prisoner awaiting his sentence, stood with folded

hands, expecting the captain to speak.

“Listen,” said Servadac; “we have come to ask a favor.”

Imagining that at least half his property was to be confiscated, the

Jew began to break out into his usual formula about being a poor man and

having nothing to spare; but Servadac, without heeding his complainings,

went on: “We are not going to ruin you, you know.”

Hakkabut looked keenly into the captain’s face.

“We have only come to know whether you can lend us a steelyard.”

So far from showing any symptom of relief, the old miser exclaimed,

with a stare of astonishment, as if he had been asked for some thousand

francs: “A steelyard?”

“Yes!” echoed the professor, impatiently; “a steelyard.”

“Have you not one?” asked Servadac.

“To be sure he has!” said Ben Zoof.

Old Isaac stammered and stuttered, but at last confessed that perhaps

there might be one amongst the stores.

“Then, surely, you will not object to lend it to us?” said the captain.

“Only for one day,” added the professor.

The Jew stammered again, and began to object. “It is a very delicate

instrument, your Excellency. The cold, you know, the cold may do injury

to the spring; and perhaps you are going to use it to weigh something

very heavy.”

“Why, old Ephraim, do you suppose we are going to weigh a mountain with

it?” said Ben Zoof.

“Better than that!” cried out the professor, triumphantly; “we are going

to weigh Gallia with it; my comet.”

“Merciful Heaven!” shrieked Isaac, feigning consternation at the bare

suggestion.

Servadac knew well enough that the Jew was holding out only for a good

bargain, and assured him that the steelyard was required for no other

purpose than to weigh a kilogramme, which (considering how much lighter

everything had become) could not possibly put the slightest strain upon

the instrument.

The Jew still spluttered, and moaned, and hesitated.

“Well, then,” said Servadac, “if you do not like to lend us your

steelyard, do you object to sell it to us?”

Isaac fairly shrieked aloud. “God of Israel!” he ejaculated, “sell my

steelyard? Would you deprive me of one of the most indispensable of

my means of livelihood? How should I weigh my merchandise without my

steelyard--my solitary steelyard, so delicate and so correct?”

The orderly wondered how his master could refrain from strangling the

old miser upon the spot; but Servadac, rather amused than otherwise,

determined to try another form of persuasion. “Come, Hakkabut, I see

that you are not disposed either to lend or to sell your steelyard. What

do you say to letting us hire it?”

The Jew’s eyes twinkled with a satisfaction that he was unable to

conceal. “But what security would you give? The instrument is very

valuable;” and he looked more cunning than ever.

“What is it worth? If it is worth twenty francs, I will leave a deposit

of a hundred. Will that satisfy you?”

He shook his head doubtfully. “It is very little; indeed, it is too

little, your Excellency. Consider, it is the only steelyard in all this

new world of ours; it is worth more, much more. If I take your deposit

it must be in gold--all gold. But how much do you agree to give me for

the hire--the hire, one day?”

“You shall have twenty francs,” said Servadac.

“Oh, it is dirt cheap; but never mind, for one day, you shall have it.

Deposit in gold money a hundred francs, and twenty francs for the hire.”

The old man folded his hands in meek resignation.

“The fellow knows how to make a good bargain,” said Servadac, as Isaac,

after casting a distrustful look around, went out of the cabin.

“Detestable old wretch!” replied the count, full of disgust.

Hardly a minute elapsed before the Jew was back again, carrying his

precious steelyard with ostentatious care. It was of an ordinary kind.

A spring balance, fitted with a hook, held the article to be weighed;

a pointer, revolving on a disc, indicated the weight of the article.

Professor Rosette was manifestly right in asserting that such a machine

would register results quite independently of any change in the force

of attraction. On the earth it would have registered a kilogramme as a

kilogramme; here it recorded a different value altogether, as the result

of the altered force of gravity.

Gold coinage to the worth of one hundred and twenty francs was handed

over to the Jew, who clutched at the money with unmistakable eagerness.

The steelyard was committed to the keeping of Ben Zoof, and the visitors

prepared to quit the _Hansa_.

All at once it occurred to the professor that the steelyard would be

absolutely useless to him, unless he had the means for ascertaining the

precise measurement of the unit of the soil of Gallia which he proposed

to weigh. “Something more you must lend me,” he said, addressing the

Jew. “I must have a measure, and I must have a kilogramme.”

“I have neither of them,” answered Isaac. “I have neither. I am sorry; I

am very sorry.” And this time the old Jew spoke the truth. He would have

been really glad to do another stroke or two of business upon terms as

advantageous as the transaction he had just concluded.

Palmyrin Rosette scratched his head in perplexity, glaring round upon

his companions as if they were personally responsible for his annoyance.

He muttered something about finding a way out of his difficulty, and

hastily mounted the cabin-ladder. The rest followed, but they had hardly

reached the deck when the chink of money was heard in the room below.

Hakkabut was locking away the gold in one of the drawers.

Back again, down the ladder, scrambled the little professor, and before

the Jew was aware of his presence he had seized him by the tail of his

slouchy overcoat. “Some of your money! I must have money!” he said.

“Money!” gasped Hakkabut; “I have no money.” He was pale with fright,

and hardly knew what he was saying.

“Falsehood!” roared Rosette. “Do you think I cannot see?” And peering

down into the drawer which the Jew was vainly trying to close, he cried,

“Heaps of money! French money! Five-franc pieces! the very thing I want!

I must have them!”

The captain and his friends, who had returned to the cabin looked on

with mingled amusement and bewilderment.

“They are mine!” shrieked Hakkabut.

“I will have them!” shouted the professor.

“You shall kill me first!” bellowed the Jew.

“No, but I must!” persisted the professor again.

It was manifestly time for Servadac to interfere. “My dear professor,”

he said, smiling, “allow me to settle this little matter for you.”

“Ah! your Excellency,” moaned the agitated Jew, “protect me! I am but a

poor man--”

“None of that, Hakkabut. Hold your tongue.” And, turning to Rosette,

the captain said, “If, sir, I understand right, you require some silver

five-franc pieces for your operation?”

“Forty,” said Rosette, surlily.

“Two hundred francs!” whined Hakkabut.

“Silence!” cried the captain.

“I must have more than that,” the professor continued. “I want ten

two-franc pieces, and twenty half-francs.”

“Let me see,” said Servadac, “how much is that in all? Two hundred and

thirty francs, is it not?”

“I dare say it is,” answered the professor.

“Count, may I ask you,” continued Servadac, “to be security to the Jew

for this loan to the professor?”

“Loan!” cried the Jew, “do you mean only a loan?”

“Silence!” again shouted the captain.

Count Timascheff, expressing his regret that his purse contained only

paper money, begged to place it at Captain Servadac’s disposal.

“No paper, no paper!” exclaimed Isaac. “Paper has no currency in

Gallia.”

“About as much as silver,” coolly retorted the count.

“I am a poor man,” began the Jew.

“Now, Hakkabut, stop these miserable lamentations of yours, once for

all. Hand us over two hundred and thirty francs in silver money, or we

will proceed to help ourselves.”

Isaac began to yell with all his might: “Thieves! thieves!”

In a moment Ben Zoof’s hand was clasped tightly over his mouth. “Stop

that howling, Belshazzar!”

“Let him alone, Ben Zoof. He will soon come to his senses,” said

Servadac, quietly.

When the old Jew had again recovered himself, the captain addressed him.

“Now, tell us, what interest do you expect?”

Nothing could overcome the Jew’s anxiety to make another good bargain.

He began: “Money is scarce, very scarce, you know--”

“No more of this!” shouted Servadac. “What interest, I say, what

interest do you ask?”

Faltering and undecided still, the Jew went on. “Very scarce, you know.

Ten francs a day, I think, would not be unreasonable, considering--”

The count had no patience to allow him to finish what he was about

to say. He flung down notes to the value of several rubles. With a

greediness that could not be concealed, Hakkabut grasped them all.

Paper, indeed, they were; but the cunning Israelite knew that they would

in any case be security far beyond the value of his cash. He was making

some eighteen hundred per cent. interest, and accordingly chuckled

within himself at his unexpected stroke of business.

The professor pocketed his French coins with a satisfaction far more

demonstrative. “Gentlemen,” he said, “with these franc pieces I obtain

the means of determining accurately both a meter and a kilogramme.”

CHAPTER VII. GALLIA WEIGHED

A quarter of an hour later, the visitors to the _Hansa_ had reassembled

in the common hall of Nina’s Hive.

“Now, gentlemen, we can proceed,” said the professor. “May I request

that this table may be cleared?”

Ben Zoof removed the various articles that were lying on the table, and

the coins which had just been borrowed from the Jew were placed upon it

in three piles, according to their value.

The professor commenced. “Since none of you gentlemen, at the time

of the shock, took the precaution to save either a meter measure or

a kilogramme weight from the earth, and since both these articles are

necessary for the calculation on which we are engaged, I have been

obliged to devise means of my own to replace them.”

This exordium delivered, he paused and seemed to watch its effect

upon his audience, who, however, were too well acquainted with the

professor’s temper to make any attempt to exonerate themselves from the

rebuke of carelessness, and submitted silently to the implied reproach.

“I have taken pains,” he continued, “to satisfy myself that these

coins are in proper condition for my purpose. I find them unworn and

unchipped; indeed, they are almost new. They have been hoarded instead

of circulated; accordingly, they are fit to be utilized for my purpose

of obtaining the precise length of a terrestrial meter.”

Ben Zoof looked on in perplexity, regarding the lecturer with much the

same curiosity as he would have watched the performances of a traveling

mountebank at a fair in Montmartre; but Servadac and his two friends had

already divined the professor’s meaning. They knew that French coinage

is all decimal, the franc being the standard of which the other coins,

whether gold, silver, or copper, are multiples or measures; they knew,

too, that the caliber or diameter of each piece of money is rigorously

determined by law, and that the diameters of the silver coins

representing five francs, two francs, and fifty centimes measure

thirty-seven, twenty-seven, and eighteen millimeters respectively; and

they accordingly guessed that Professor Rosette had conceived the plan

of placing such a number of these coins in juxtaposition that the

length of their united diameters should measure exactly the thousand

millimeters that make up the terrestrial meter.

The measurement thus obtained was by means of a pair of compasses

divided accurately into ten equal portions, or decimeters, each of

course 3.93 inches long. A lath was then cut of this exact length and

given to the engineer of the _Dobryna_, who was directed to cut out of

the solid rock the cubic decimeter required by the professor.

The next business was to obtain the precise weight of a kilogramme. This

was by no means a difficult matter. Not only the diameters, but also the

weights, of the French coins are rigidly determined by law, and as the

silver five-franc pieces always weigh exactly twenty-five grammes,

the united weight of forty of these coins is known to amount to one

kilogramme.

“Oh!” cried Ben Zoof; “to be able to do all this I see you must be rich

as well as learned.”

With a good-natured laugh at the orderly’s remark, the meeting adjourned

for a few hours. By the appointed time the engineer had finished his

task, and with all due care had prepared a cubic decimeter of the

material of the comet.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Professor Rosette, “we are in a position to

complete our calculation; we can now arrive at Gallia’s attraction,

density, and mass.”

Everyone gave him his complete attention.

“Before I proceed,” he resumed, “I must recall to your minds Newton’s

general law, ‘that the attraction of two bodies is directly proportional

to the product of their masses, and inversely proportional to the square

of their distances.’”

“Yes,” said Servadac; “we remember that.”

“Well, then,” continued the professor, “keep it in mind for a

few minutes now. Look here! In this bag are forty five-franc

pieces--altogether they weigh exactly a kilogramme; by which I mean that

if we were on the earth, and I were to hang the bag on the hook of the

steelyard, the indicator on the dial would register one kilogramme. This

is clear enough, I suppose?”

As he spoke the professor designedly kept his eyes fixed upon Ben Zoof.

He was avowedly following the example of Arago, who was accustomed

always in lecturing to watch the countenance of the least intelligent

of his audience, and when he felt that he had made his meaning clear to

him, he concluded that he must have succeeded with all the rest. In

this case, however, it was technical ignorance, rather than any lack

of intelligence, that justified the selection of the orderly for this

special attention.

Satisfied with his scrutiny of Ben Zoof’s face, the professor went on.

“And now, gentlemen, we have to see what these coins weigh here upon

Gallia.”

He suspended the money bag to the hook; the needle oscillated, and

stopped. “Read it off!” he said.

The weight registered was one hundred and thirty-three grammes.

“There, gentlemen, one hundred and thirty-three grammes! Less than

one-seventh of a kilogramme! You see, consequently, that the force of

gravity here on Gallia is not one-seventh of what it is upon the earth!”

“Interesting!” cried Servadac, “most interesting! But let us go on and

compute the mass.”

“No, captain, the density first,” said Rosette.

“Certainly,” said the lieutenant; “for, as we already know the volume,

we can determine the mass as soon as we have ascertained the density.”

The professor took up the cube of rock. “You know what this is,” he went

on to say. “You know, gentlemen, that this block is a cube hewn from

the substance of which everywhere, all throughout your voyage of

circumnavigation, you found Gallia to be composed--a substance to which

your geological attainments did not suffice to assign a name.”

“Our curiosity will be gratified,” said Servadac, “if you will enlighten

our ignorance.”

But Rosette did not take the slightest notice of the interruption.

“A substance it is which no doubt constitutes the sole material of

the comet, extending from its surface to its innermost depths. The

probability is that it would be so; your experience confirms that

probability: you have found no trace of any other substance. Of this

rock here is a solid decimeter; let us get at its weight, and we shall

have the key which will unlock the problem of the whole weight of

Gallia. We have demonstrated that the force of attraction here is only

one-seventh of what it is upon the earth, and shall consequently have to

multiply the apparent weight of our cube by seven, in order to ascertain

its proper weight. Do you understand me, goggle-eyes?”

This was addressed to Ben Zoof, who was staring hard at him. “No!” said

Ben Zoof.

“I thought not; it is of no use waiting for your puzzle-brains to make

it out. I must talk to those who can understand.”

The professor took the cube, and, on attaching it to the hook of the

steelyard, found that its apparent weight was one kilogramme and four

hundred and thirty grammes.

“Here it is, gentlemen; one kilogramme, four hundred and thirty grammes.

Multiply that by seven; the product is, as nearly as possible, ten

kilogrammes. What, therefore, is our conclusion? Why, that the density

of Gallia is just about double the density of the earth, which we know

is only five kilogrammes to a cubic decimeter. Had it not been for

this greater density, the attraction of Gallia would only have been

one-fifteenth instead of one-seventh of the terrestrial attraction.”

The professor could not refrain from exhibiting his gratification that,

however inferior in volume, in density, at least, his comet had the

advantage over the earth.

Nothing further now remained than to apply the investigations thus

finished to the determining of the mass or weight. This was a matter of

little labor.

“Let me see,” said the captain; “what is the force of gravity upon the

various planets?”

“You can’t mean, Servadac, that you have forgotten that? But you always

were a disappointing pupil.”

The captain could not help himself: he was forced to confess that his

memory had failed him.

“Well, then,” said the professor, “I must remind you. Taking the

attraction on the earth as 1, that on Mercury is 1.15, on Venus it

is 0.92, on Mars 0.5, and on Jupiter 2.45; on the moon the attraction is 0.16,

whilst on the surface of the sun a terrestrial kilogramme would weigh 28

kilogrammes.”

“Therefore, if a man upon the surface of the sun were to fall down, he

would have considerable difficulty in getting up again. A cannon ball,

too, would only fly a few yards,” said Lieutenant Procope.

“A jolly battle-field for cowards!” exclaimed Ben Zoof.

“Not so jolly, Ben Zoof, as you fancy,” said his master; “the cowards

would be too heavy to run away.”

Ben Zoof ventured the remark that, as the smallness of Gallia secured to

its inhabitants such an increase of strength and agility, he was almost

sorry that it had not been a little smaller still.

“Though it could not anyhow have been very much smaller,” he added,

looking slyly at the professor.

“Idiot!” exclaimed Rosette. “Your head is too light already; a puff of

wind would blow it away.”

“I must take care of my head, then, and hold it on,” replied the

irrepressible orderly.

Unable to get the last word, the professor was about to retire, when

Servadac detained him.

“Permit me to ask you one more question,” he said. “Can you tell me what

is the nature of the soil of Gallia?”

“Yes, I can answer that. And in this matter I do not think your

impertinent orderly will venture to put Montmartre into the comparison.

This soil is of a substance not unknown upon the earth.” And speaking

very slowly, the professor said: “It contains 70 per cent. of tellurium,

and 30 per cent. of gold.”

Servadac uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“And the sum of the specific gravities of these two substances is 10,

precisely the number that represents Gallia’s density.”

“A comet of gold!” ejaculated the captain.

“Yes; a realization of what the illustrious Maupertuis has already

deemed probable,” replied the astronomer.

“If Gallia, then, should ever become attached to the earth, might it not

bring about an important revolution in all monetary affairs?” inquired

the count.

“No doubt about it!” said Rosette, with manifest satisfaction. “It would

supply the world with about 246,000 trillions of francs.”

“It would make gold about as cheap as dirt, I suppose,” said Servadac.

The last observation, however, was entirely lost upon the professor, who

had left the hall with an air almost majestic, and was already on his

way to the observatory.

“And what, I wonder, is the use of all these big figures?” said Ben Zoof

to his master, when next day they were alone together.

“That’s just the charm of them, my good fellow,” was the captain’s cool

reply, “that they are of no use whatever.”

CHAPTER VIII. JUPITER SOMEWHAT CLOSE

Except as to the time the comet would take to revolve round the sun,

it must be confessed that all the professor’s calculations had

comparatively little interest for anyone but himself, and he was

consequently left very much to pursue his studies in solitude.

The following day was the 1st of August, or, according to Rosette,

the 63rd of April. In the course of this month Gallia would travel

16,500,000 leagues, attaining at the end a distance of 197,000,000

leagues from the sun. This would leave 81,000,000 leagues more to be

traversed before reaching the aphelion of the 15th of January, after

which it would begin once more to approach the sun.

But meanwhile, a marvelous world, never before so close within the range

of human vision, was revealing itself. No wonder that Palmyrin Rosette

cared so little to quit his observatory; for throughout those calm,

clear Gallian nights, when the book of the firmament lay open before

him, he could revel in a spectacle which no previous astronomer had ever

been permitted to enjoy.

The glorious orb that was becoming so conspicuous an object was none

other than the planet Jupiter, the largest of all the bodies existing

within the influence of solar attraction. During the seven months that

had elapsed since its collision with the earth, the comet had been

continuously approaching the planet, until the distance between them was

scarcely more than 61,000,000 leagues, and this would go on diminishing

until the 15th of October.

Under these circumstances, was it perfectly certain that no danger

could accrue? Was not Gallia, when its pathway led it into such close

proximity to this enormous planet, running a risk of being attracted

within its influence? Might not that influence be altogether disastrous?

The professor, it is true, in his estimate of the duration of his

comet’s revolution, had represented that he had made all proper

allowances for any perturbations that would be caused either by

Jupiter, by Saturn, or by Mars; but what if there were any errors in

his calculations? what if there should be any elements of disturbance on

which he had not reckoned?

Speculations of this kind became more and more frequent, and Lieutenant

Procope pointed out that the danger incurred might be of a fourfold

character: first, that the comet, being irresistibly attracted, might

be drawn on to the very surface of the planet, and there annihilated;

secondly, that as the result of being brought under that attraction, it

might be transformed into a satellite, or even a sub-satellite, of that

mighty world; thirdly, that it might be diverted into a new orbit, which

would never be coincident with the ecliptic; or, lastly, its course

might be so retarded that it would only reach the ecliptic too late to

permit any junction with the earth. The occurrence of any one of these

contingencies would be fatal to their hopes of reunion with the globe,

from which they had been so strangely severed.

To Rosette, who, without family ties which he had never found leisure or

inclination to contract, had no shadow of desire to return to the earth,

it would be only the first of these probabilities that could give him

any concern. Total annihilation might not accord with his views, but he

would be quite content for Gallia to miss its mark with regard to

the earth, indifferent whether it revolved as a new satellite around

Jupiter, or whether it wended its course through the untraversed regions

of the milky way. The rest of the community, however, by no means

sympathized with the professor’s sentiments, and the following month was

a period of considerable doubt and anxiety.

On the 1st of September the distance between Gallia and Jupiter was

precisely the same as the mean distance between the earth and the sun;

on the 16th, the distance was further reduced to 26,000,000 leagues. The

planet began to assume enormous dimensions, and it almost seemed as if

the comet had already been deflected from its elliptical orbit, and was

rushing on in a straight line towards the overwhelming luminary.

The more they contemplated the character of this gigantic planet, the

more they became impressed with the likelihood of a serious perturbation

in their own course. The diameter of Jupiter is 85,390 miles, nearly

eleven times as great as that of the earth; his volume is 1,387 times,

and his mass 300 times greater; and although the mean density is only

about a quarter of that of the earth, and only a third of that of water

(whence it has been supposed that the superficies of Jupiter is liquid),

yet his other proportions were large enough to warrant the apprehension

that important disturbances might result from his proximity.

“I forget my astronomy, lieutenant,” said Servadac. “Tell me all you can

about this formidable neighbor.”

The lieutenant having refreshed his memory by reference to Flammarion’s

_Recits de l’Infini_, of which he had a Russian translation, and some

other books, proceeded to recapitulate that Jupiter accomplishes his

revolution round the sun in 4,332 days 14 hours and 2 minutes; that he

travels at the rate of 467 miles a minute along an orbit measuring 2,976

millions of miles; and that his rotation on his axis occupies only 9

hours and 55 minutes.

“His days, then, are shorter than ours?” interrupted the captain.

“Considerably,” answered the lieutenant, who went on to describe how the

displacement of a point at the equator of Jupiter was twenty-seven times

as rapid as on the earth, causing the polar compression to be about

2,378 miles; how the axis, being nearly perpendicular, caused the

days and nights to be nearly of the same length, and the seasons to be

invariable; and how the amount of light and heat received by the planet

is only a twenty-fifth part of that received by the earth, the average

distance from the sun being 475,693,000 miles.

“And how about these satellites? Sometimes, I suppose, Jupiter has the

benefit of four moons all shining at once?” asked Servadac.

Of the satellites, Lieutenant Procope went on to say that one is rather

smaller than our own moon; that another moves round its primary at an

interval about equal to the moon’s distance from ourselves; but that

they all revolve in considerably less time: the first takes only l day

18 hours 27 minutes; the second takes 3 days 13 hours 14 minutes; the

third, 7 days 3 hours 42 minutes; whilst the largest of all takes but 16

days 16 hours 32 minutes. The most remote revolves round the planet at a

distance of 1,192,820 miles.

“They have been enlisted into the service of science,” said Procope. “It

is by their movements that the velocity of light has been calculated;

and they have been made available for the determination of terrestrial

longitudes.”

“It must be a wonderful sight,” said the captain.

“Yes,” answered Procope. “I often think Jupiter is like a prodigious

clock with four hands.”

“I only hope that we are not destined to make a fifth hand,” answered

Servadac.

Such was the style of the conversation that was day by day reiterated

during the whole month of suspense. Whatever topic might be started, it

seemed soon to settle down upon the huge orb that was looming upon them

with such threatening aspect.

“The more remote that these planets are from the sun,” said Procope,

“the more venerable and advanced in formation are they found to be.

Neptune, situated 2,746,271,000 miles from the sun, issued from the

solar nebulosity, thousands of millions of centuries back. Uranus,

revolving 1,753,851,000 miles from the center of the planetary system,

is of an age amounting to many hundred millions of centuries. Jupiter,

the colossal planet, gravitating at a distance of 475,693,000 miles,

may be reckoned as 70,000,000 centuries old. Mars has existed for

1,000,000,000 years at a distance of 139,212,000 miles. The earth,

91,430,000 miles from the sun, quitted his burning bosom 100,000,000

years ago. Venus, revolving now 66,131,000 miles away, may be assigned

the age of 50,000,000 years at least; and Mercury, nearest of all, and

youngest of all, has been revolving at a distance of 35,393,000 miles

for the space of 10,000,000 years--the same time as the moon has been

evolved from the earth.”

Servadac listened attentively. He was at a loss what to say; and the

only reply he made to the recital of this novel theory was to the effect

that, if it were true, he would prefer being captured by Mercury than

by Jupiter, for Mercury, being so much the younger, would probably prove

the less imperative and self-willed master.

It was on the 1st of September that the comet had crossed the orbit of

Jupiter, and on the 1st of October the two bodies were calculated to

be at their minimum separation. No direct shock, however, could be

apprehended; the demonstration was sufficiently complete that the orbit

of Gallia did not coincide with that of the planet, the orbit of Jupiter

being inclined at an angle of 1 degrees 19 mins to the orbit of the

earth, with which that of Gallia was, no doubt, coincident.

As the month of September verged towards its close, Jupiter began

to wear an aspect that must have excited the admiration of the most

ignorant or the most indifferent observer. Its salient points were

illumined with novel and radiant tints, and the solar rays, reflected

from its disc, glowed with a mingled softness and intensity upon Gallia,

so that Nerina had to pale her beauty.

Who could wonder that Rosette, enthusiast as he was, should be

irremovable from his observatory? Who could expect otherwise than that,

with the prospect before him of viewing the giant among planets, ten

times nearer than any mortal eye had ever done, he should have begrudged

every moment that distracted his attention?

Meanwhile, as Jupiter grew large, the sun grew small.

From its increased remoteness the diameter of the sun’s disc was

diminished to 5 degrees 46 mins.

And what an increased interest began to be associated with the

satellites! They were visible to the naked eye! Was it not a new record

in the annals of science?

Although it is acknowledged that they are not ordinarily visible on

earth without the aid of a somewhat powerful telescope, it has been

asserted that a favored few, endued with extraordinary powers of vision,

have been able to identify them with an unassisted eye; but here,

at least, in Nina’s Hive were many rivals, for everyone could so far

distinguish them one from the other as to describe them by their colors.

The first was of a dull white shade; the second was blue; the third was

white and brilliant; the fourth was orange, at times approaching to

a red. It was further observed that Jupiter itself was almost void of

scintillation.

Rosette, in his absorbing interest for the glowing glories of the

planet, seemed to be beguiled into comparative forgetfulness of the

charms of his comet; but no astronomical enthusiasm of the professor

could quite allay the general apprehension that some serious collision

might be impending.

Time passed on. There was nothing to justify apprehension. The question

was continually being asked, “What does the professor really think?”

“Our friend the professor,” said Servadac, “is not likely to tell us

very much; but we may feel pretty certain of one thing: he wouldn’t keep

us long in the dark, if he thought we were not going back to the earth

again. The greatest satisfaction he could have would be to inform us

that we had parted from the earth for ever.”

“I trust from my very soul,” said the count, “that his prognostications

are correct.”

“The more I see of him, and the more I listen to him,” replied Servadac,

“the more I become convinced that his calculations are based on a solid

foundation, and will prove correct to the minutest particular.”

Ben Zoof here interrupted the conversation. “I have something on my

mind,” he said.

“Something on your mind? Out with it!” said the captain.

“That telescope!” said the orderly; “it strikes me that that telescope

which the old professor keeps pointed up at yonder big sun is bringing

it down straight upon us.”

The captain laughed heartily.

“Laugh, captain, if you like; but I feel disposed to break the old

telescope into atoms.”

“Ben Zoof,” said Servadac, his laughter exchanged for a look of stern

displeasure, “touch that telescope, and you shall swing for it!”

The orderly looked astonished.

“I am governor here,” said Servadac.

Ben Zoof knew what his master meant, and to him his master’s wish was

law.

The interval between the comet and Jupiter was, by the 1st of October,

reduced to 43,000,000 miles. The belts all parallel to Jupiter’s equator

were very distinct in their markings. Those immediately north and

south of the equator were of a dusky hue; those toward the poles were

alternately dark and light; the intervening spaces of the planet’s

superficies, between edge and edge, being intensely bright. The belts

themselves were occasionally broken by spots, which the records of

astronomy describe as varying both in form and in extent.

The physiology of belts and spots alike was beyond the astronomer’s

power to ascertain; and even if he should be destined once again to take

his place in an astronomical congress on the earth, he would be just as

incapable as ever of determining whether or no they owed their existence

to the external accumulation of vapor, or to some internal agency. It

would not be Professor Rosette’s lot to enlighten his brother _savants_

to any great degree as to the mysteries that are associated with this,

which must ever rank as one of the most magnificent amongst the heavenly

orbs.

As the comet approached the critical point of its career it cannot be

denied that there was an unacknowledged consciousness of alarm. Mutually

reserved, though ever courteous, the count and the captain were secretly

drawn together by the prospect of a common danger; and as their return

to the earth appeared to them to become more and more dubious, they

abandoned their views of narrow isolation, and tried to embrace the

wider philosophy that acknowledges the credibility of a habitable

universe.

But no philosophy could be proof against the common instincts of their

humanity; their hearts, their hopes, were set upon their natural home;

no speculation, no science, no experience, could induce them to give up

their fond and sanguine anticipation that once again they were to come

in contact with the earth.

“Only let us escape Jupiter,” said Lieutenant Procope, repeatedly, “and

we are free from anxiety.”

“But would not Saturn lie ahead?” asked Servadac and the count in one

breath.

“No!” said Procope; “the orbit of Saturn is remote, and does not come

athwart our path. Jupiter is our sole hindrance. Of Jupiter we must say,

as William Tell said, ‘Once through the ominous pass and all is well.’”

The 15th of October came, the date of the nearest approximation of the

comet to the planet. They were only 31,000,000 miles apart. What would

now transpire? Would Gallia be diverted from its proper way? or would it

hold the course that the astronomer had predicted?

Early next morning the captain ventured to take the count and the

lieutenant up to the observatory. The professor was in the worst of

tempers.

That was enough. It was enough, without a word, to indicate the course

which events had taken. The comet was pursuing an unaltered way.

The astronomer, correct in his prognostications, ought to have been the

most proud and contented of philosophers; his pride and contentment

were both overshadowed by the certainty that the career of his comet was

destined to be so transient, and that it must inevitably once again come

into collision with the earth.

CHAPTER IX MARKET PRICES IN GALLIA

“All right!” said Servadac, convinced by the professor’s ill humor that

the danger was past; “no doubt we are in for a two years’ excursion, but

fifteen months more will take us back to the earth!”

“And we shall see Montmartre again!” exclaimed Ben Zoof, in excited

tones that betrayed his delight in the anticipation.

To use a nautical expression, they had safely “rounded the point,” and

they had to be congratulated on their successful navigation; for if,

under the influence of Jupiter’s attraction, the comet had been retarded

for a single hour, in that hour the earth would have already traveled

2,300,000 miles from the point where contact would ensue, and many

centuries would elapse before such a coincidence would possibly again

occur.

On the 1st of November Gallia and Jupiter were 40,000,000 miles apart.

It was little more than ten weeks to the 15th of January, when the

comet would begin to re-approach the sun. Though light and heat were now

reduced to a twenty-fifth part of their terrestrial intensity, so that

a perpetual twilight seemed to have settled over Gallia, yet the

population felt cheered even by the little that was left, and buoyed

up by the hope that they should ultimately regain their proper position

with regard to the great luminary, of which the temperature has been

estimated as not less than 5,000,000 degrees.

Of the anxiety endured during the last two months Isaac Hakkabut had

known nothing. Since the day he had done his lucky stroke of business he

had never left the tartan; and after Ben Zoof, on the following day, had

returned the steelyard and the borrowed cash, receiving back the paper

roubles deposited, all communication between the Jew and Nina’s Hive had

ceased. In the course of the few minutes’ conversation which Ben Zoof

had held with him, he had mentioned that he knew that the whole soil of

Gallia was made of gold; but the old man, guessing that the orderly was

only laughing at him as usual, paid no attention to the remark, and only

meditated upon the means he could devise to get every bit of the money

in the new world into his own possession. No one grieved over the

life of solitude which Hakkabut persisted in leading. Ben Zoof giggled

heartily, as he repeatedly observed “it was astonishing how they

reconciled themselves to his absence.”

The time came, however, when various circumstances prompted him to think

he must renew his intercourse with the inhabitants of the Hive. Some of

his goods were beginning to spoil, and he felt the necessity of turning

them into money, if he would not be a loser; he hoped, moreover, that

the scarcity of his commodities would secure very high prices.

It happened, just about this same time, that Ben Zoof had been calling

his master’s attention to the fact that some of their most necessary

provisions would soon be running short, and that their stock of coffee,

sugar, and tobacco would want replenishing. Servadac’s mind, of course,

turned to the cargo on board the _Hansa_, and he resolved, according to

his promise, to apply to the Jew and become a purchaser. Mutual interest

and necessity thus conspired to draw Hakkabut and the captain together.

Often and often had Isaac gloated in his solitude over the prospect of

first selling a portion of his merchandise for all the gold and silver

in the colony. His recent usurious transaction had whetted his appetite.

He would next part with some more of his cargo for all the paper money

they could give him; but still he should have goods left, and they would

want these. Yes, they should have these, too, for promissory notes.

Notes would hold good when they got back again to the earth; bills from

his Excellency the governor would be good bills; anyhow there would

be the sheriff. By the God of Israel! he would get good prices, and he

would get fine interest!

Although he did not know it, he was proposing to follow the practice of

the Gauls of old, who advanced money on bills for payment in a future

life. Hakkabut’s “future life,” however, was not many months in advance

of the present.

Still Hakkabut hesitated to make the first advance, and it was

accordingly with much satisfaction that he hailed Captain Servadac’s

appearance on board the _Hansa_.

“Hakkabut,” said the captain, plunging without further preface into

business, “we want some coffee, some tobacco, and other things. I have

come to-day to order them, to settle the price, and to-morrow Ben Zoof

shall fetch the goods away.”

“Merciful, heavens!” the Jew began to whine; but Servadac cut him short.

“None of that miserable howling! Business! I am come to buy your goods.

I shall pay for them.”

“Ah yes, your Excellency,” whispered the Jew, his voice trembling like

a street beggar. “Don’t impose on me. I am poor; I am nearly ruined

already.”

“Cease your wretched whining!” cried Servadac. “I have told you once, I

shall pay for all I buy.”

“Ready money?” asked Hakkabut.

“Yes, ready money. What makes you ask?” said the captain, curious to

hear what the Jew would say.

“Well, you see--you see, your Excellency,” stammered out the Jew, “to

give credit to one wouldn’t do, unless I gave credit to another. You are

solvent--I mean honorable, and his lordship the count is honorable; but

maybe--maybe--”

“Well?” said Servadac, waiting, but inclined to kick the old rascal out

of his sight.

“I shouldn’t like to give credit,” he repeated.

“I have not asked you for credit. I have told you, you shall have ready

money.”

“Very good, your Excellency. But how will you pay me?”

“Pay you? Why, we shall pay you in gold and silver and copper, while our

money lasts, and when that is gone we shall pay you in bank notes.”

“Oh, no paper, no paper!” groaned out the Jew, relapsing into his

accustomed whine.

“Nonsense, man!” cried Servadac.

“No paper!” reiterated Hakkabut.

“Why not? Surely you can trust the banks of England, France, and

Russia.”

“Ah no! I must have gold. Nothing so safe as gold.”

“Well then,” said the captain, not wanting to lose his temper, “you

shall have it your own way; we have plenty of gold for the present.

We will leave the bank notes for by and by.” The Jew’s countenance

brightened, and Servadac, repeating that he should come again the next

day, was about to quit the vessel.

“One moment, your Excellency,” said Hakkabut, sidling up with a

hypocritical smile; “I suppose I am to fix my own prices.”

“You will, of course, charge ordinary prices--proper market prices;

European prices, I mean.”

“Merciful heavens!” shrieked the old man, “you rob me of my rights; you

defraud me of my privilege. The monopoly of the market belongs to me. It

is the custom; it is my right; it is my privilege to fix my own prices.”

Servadac made him understand that he had no intention of swerving from

his decision.

“Merciful heavens!” again howled the Jew, “it is sheer ruin. The time of

monopoly is the time for profit; it is the time for speculation.”

“The very thing, Hakkabut, that I am anxious to prevent. Just stop now,

and think a minute. You seem to forget _my_ rights; you are forgetting

that, if I please, I can confiscate all your cargo for the common

use. You ought to think yourself lucky in getting any price at all. Be

contented with European prices; you will get no more. I am not going

to waste my breath on you. I will come again to-morrow;” and, without

allowing Hakkabut time to renew his lamentations, Servadac went away.

All the rest of the day the Jew was muttering bitter curses against

the thieves of Gentiles in general, and the governor of Gallia in

particular, who were robbing him of his just profits, by binding him

down to a maximum price for his goods, just as if it were a time of

revolution in the state. But he would be even with them yet; he would

have it all out of them: he would make European prices pay, after all.

He had a plan--he knew how; and he chuckled to himself, and grinned

maliciously.

True to his word, the captain next morning arrived at the tartan. He

was accompanied by Ben Zoof and two Russian sailors. “Good-morning, old

Eleazar; we have come to do our little bit of friendly business with

you, you know,” was Ben Zoof’s greeting.

“What do you want to-day?” asked the Jew.

“To-day we want coffee, and we want sugar, and we want tobacco. We must

have ten kilogrammes of each. Take care they are all good; all first

rate. I am commissariat officer, and I am responsible.”

“I thought you were the governor’s aide-de-camp,” said Hakkabut.

“So I am, on state occasions; but to-day, I tell you. I am

superintendent of the commissariat department. Now, look sharp!”

Hakkabut hereupon descended into the hold of the tartan, and soon

returned, carrying ten packets of tobacco, each weighing one kilogramme,

and securely fastened by strips of paper, labeled with the French

government stamp.

“Ten kilogrammes of tobacco at twelve francs a kilogramme: a hundred and

twenty francs,” said the Jew.

Ben Zoof was on the point of laying down the money, when Servadac

stopped him.

“Let us just see whether the weight is correct.”

Hakkabut pointed out that the weight was duly registered on every

packet, and that the packets had never been unfastened. The captain,

however, had his own special object in view, and would not be diverted.

The Jew fetched his steelyard, and a packet of the tobacco was suspended

to it.

“Merciful heavens!” screamed Isaac.

The index registered only 133 grammes!

“You see, Hakkabut, I was right. I was perfectly justified in having

your goods put to the test,” said Servadac, quite seriously.

“But--but, your Excellency--” stammered out the bewildered man.

“You will, of course, make up the deficiency,” the captain continued,

not noticing the interruption.

“Oh, my lord, let me say--” began Isaac again.

“Come, come, old Caiaphas, do you hear? You are to make up the

deficiency,” exclaimed Ben Zoof.

“Ah, yes, yes; but--”

The unfortunate Israelite tried hard to speak, but his agitation

prevented him. He understood well enough the cause of the phenomenon,

but he was overpowered by the conviction that the “cursed Gentiles”

wanted to cheat him. He deeply regretted that he had not a pair of

common scales on board.

“Come, I say, old Jedediah, you are a long while making up what’s

short,” said Ben Zoof, while the Jew was still stammering on.

As soon as he recovered his power of articulation, Isaac began to pour

out a medley of lamentations and petitions for mercy. The captain was

inexorable. “Very sorry, you know, Hakkabut. It is not my fault that the

packet is short weight; but I cannot pay for a kilogramme except I have

a kilogramme.”

Hakkabut pleaded for some consideration.

“A bargain is a bargain,” said Servadac. “You must complete your

contract.”

And, moaning and groaning, the miserable man was driven to make up the

full weight as registered by his own steelyard. He had to repeat the

process with the sugar and coffee: for every kilogramme he had to weigh

seven. Ben Zoof and the Russians jeered him most unmercifully.

“I say, old Mordecai, wouldn’t you rather give your goods away, than

sell them at this rate? I would.”

“I say, old Pilate, a monopoly isn’t always a good thing, is it?”

“I say, old Sepharvaim, what a flourishing trade you’re driving!”

Meanwhile seventy kilogrammes of each of the articles required were

weighed, and the Jew for each seventy had to take the price of ten.

All along Captain Servadac had been acting only in jest. Aware that

old Isaac was an utter hypocrite, he had no compunction in turning a

business transaction with him into an occasion for a bit of fun. But

the joke at an end, he took care that the Jew was properly paid all his

legitimate due.

CHAPTER X. FAR INTO SPACE

A month passed away. Gallia continued its course, bearing its little

population onwards, so far removed from the ordinary influence of human

passions that it might almost be said that its sole ostensible vice was

represented by the greed and avarice of the miserable Jew.

After all, they were but making a voyage--a strange, yet a transient,

excursion through solar regions hitherto untraversed; but if the

professor’s calculations were correct--and why should they be

doubted?--their little vessel was destined, after a two years’ absence,

once more to return “to port.” The landing, indeed, might be a matter

of difficulty; but with the good prospect before them of once again

standing on terrestrial shores, they had nothing to do at present

except to make themselves as comfortable as they could in their present

quarters.

Thus confident in their anticipations, neither the captain, the count,

nor the lieutenant felt under any serious obligation to make any

extensive provisions for the future; they saw no necessity for expending

the strength of the people, during the short summer that would intervene

upon the long severity of winter, in the cultivation or the preservation

of their agricultural resources. Nevertheless, they often found

themselves talking over the measures they would have been driven to

adopt, if they had found themselves permanently attached to their

present home.

Even after the turning-point in their career, they knew that at least

nine months would have to elapse before the sea would be open to

navigation; but at the very first arrival of summer they would be bound

to arrange for the _Dobryna_ and the _Hansa_ to retransport themselves

and all their animals to the shores of Gourbi Island, where they would

have to commence their agricultural labors to secure the crops that must

form their winter store. During four months or thereabouts, they would

lead the lives of farmers and of sportsmen; but no sooner would their

haymaking and their corn harvest have been accomplished, than they

would be compelled again, like a swarm of bees, to retire to their

semi-troglodyte existence in the cells of Nina’s Hive.

Now and then the captain and his friends found themselves speculating

whether, in the event of their having to spend another winter upon

Gallia, some means could not be devised by which the dreariness of a

second residence in the recesses of the volcano might be escaped. Would

not another exploring expedition possibly result in the discovery of

a vein of coal or other combustible matter, which could be turned to

account in warming some erection which they might hope to put up?

A prolonged existence in their underground quarters was felt to be

monotonous and depressing, and although it might be all very well for a

man like Professor Rosette, absorbed in astronomical studies, it was ill

suited to the temperaments of any of themselves for any longer period

than was absolutely indispensable.

One contingency there was, almost too terrible to be taken into account.

Was it not to be expected that the time might come when the internal

fires of Gallia would lose their activity, and the stream of lava would

consequently cease to flow? Why should Gallia be exempt from the destiny

that seemed to await every other heavenly body? Why should it not roll

onwards, like the moon, a dark cold mass in space?

In the event of such a cessation of the volcanic eruption, whilst the

comet was still at so great a distance from the sun, they would indeed

be at a loss to find a substitute for what alone had served to render

life endurable at a temperature of 60 degrees below zero. Happily,

however, there was at present no symptom of the subsidence of the lava’s

stream; the volcano continued its regular and unchanging discharge, and

Servadac, ever sanguine, declared that it was useless to give themselves

any anxiety upon the matter.

On the 15th of December, Gallia was 276,000,000 leagues from the sun,

and, as it was approximately to the extremity of its axis major, would

travel only some 11,000,000 or 12,000,000 leagues during the month.

Another world was now becoming a conspicuous object in the heavens, and

Palmyrin Rosette, after rejoicing in an approach nearer to Jupiter than

any other mortal man had ever attained, was now to be privileged to

enjoy a similar opportunity of contemplating the planet Saturn. Not

that the circumstances were altogether so favorable. Scarcely 31,000,000

miles had separated Gallia from Jupiter; the minimum distance of Saturn

would not be less than 415,000,000 miles; but even this distance,

although too great to affect the comet’s progress more than had been

duly reckoned on, was considerably shorter than what had ever separated

Saturn from the earth.

To get any information about the planet from Rosette appeared quite

impossible. Although equally by night and by day he never seemed to quit

his telescope, he did not evince the slightest inclination to impart the

result of his observations. It was only from the few astronomical works

that happened to be included in the _Dobryna’s_ library that any details

could be gathered, but these were sufficient to give a large amount of

interesting information.

Ben Zoof, when he was made aware that the earth would be invisible to

the naked eye from the surface of Saturn, declared that he then, for his

part, did not care to learn any more about such a planet; to him it

was indispensable that the earth should remain in sight, and it was his

great consolation that hitherto his native sphere had never vanished

from his gaze.

At this date Saturn was revolving at a distance of 420,000,000 miles

from Gallia, and consequently 874,440,000 miles from the sun, receiving

only a hundredth part of the light and heat which that luminary bestows

upon the earth. On consulting their books of reference, the colonists

found that Saturn completes his revolution round the sun in a period of

29 years and 167 days, traveling at the rate of more than 21,000 miles

an hour along an orbit measuring 5,490 millions of miles in length. His

circumference is about 220,000 miles; his superficies, 144,000 millions

of square miles; his volume, 143,846 millions of cubic miles. Saturn

is 735 times larger than the earth, consequently he is smaller than

Jupiter; in mass he is only 90 times greater than the earth, which gives

him a density less than that of water. He revolves on his axis in 10

hours 29 minutes, causing his own year to consist of 86,630 days; and

his seasons, on account of the great inclination of his axis to the

plane of his orbit, are each of the length of seven terrestrial years.

Although the light received from the sun is comparatively feeble, the

nights upon Saturn must be splendid. Eight satellites--Mimas, Enceladus,

Tethys, Dione, Rhea, Titan, Hyperion, and Japetus--accompany the planet;

Mimas, the nearest to its primary, rotating on its axis in 22 1/2 hours,

and revolving at a distance of only 120,800 miles, whilst Japetus,

the most remote, occupies 79 days in its rotation, and revolves at a

distance of 2,314,000 miles.

Another most important contribution to the magnificence of the nights

upon Saturn is the triple ring with which, as a brilliant setting, the

planet is encompassed. To an observer at the equator, this ring, which

has been estimated by Sir William Herschel as scarcely 100 miles in

thickness, must have the appearance of a narrow band of light passing

through the zenith 12,000 miles above his head. As the observer,

however, increases his latitude either north or south, the band will

gradually widen out into three detached and concentric rings, of which

the innermost, dark though transparent, is 9,625 miles in breadth; the

intermediate one, which is brighter than the planet itself, being 17,605

miles broad; and the outer, of a dusky hue, being 8,660 miles broad.

Such, they read, is the general outline of this strange appendage, which

revolves in its own plane in 10 hours 32 minutes. Of what matter it

is composed, and how it resists disintegration, is still an unsettled

question; but it might almost seem that the Designer of the universe, in

permitting its existence, had been willing to impart to His intelligent

creatures the manner in which celestial bodies are evolved, and that

this remarkable ring-system is a remnant of the nebula from which Saturn

was himself developed, and which, from some unknown cause, has become

solidified. If at any time it should disperse, it would either fall

into fragments upon the surface of Saturn, or the fragments, mutually

coalescing, would form additional satellites to circle round the planet

in its path.

To any observer stationed on the planet, between the extremes of lat.

45 degrees on either side of the equator, these wonderful rings would

present various strange phenomena. Sometimes they would appear as an

illuminated arch, with the shadow of Saturn passing over it like the

hour-hand over a dial; at other times they would be like a semi-aureole

of light. Very often, too, for periods of several years, daily eclipses

of the sun must occur through the interposition of this triple ring.

Truly, with the constant rising and setting of the satellites, some with

bright discs at their full, others like silver crescents, in quadrature,

as well as by the encircling rings, the aspect of the heavens from the

surface of Saturn must be as impressive as it is gorgeous.

Unable, indeed, the Gallians were to realize all the marvels of this

strange world. After all, they were practically a thousand times further

off than the great astronomers have been able to approach by means of

their giant telescopes. But they did not complain; their little comet,

they knew, was far safer where it was; far better out of the reach of an

attraction which, by affecting their path, might have annihilated their

best hopes.

The distances of several of the brightest of the fixed stars have

been estimated. Amongst others, Vega in the constellation Lyra is 100

millions of millions of miles away; Sirius in Canis Major, 123 millions

of millions; the Pole-star, 282 millions of millions; and Capella, 340

millions of millions of miles, a figure represented by no less than

fifteen digits.

The hard numerical statement of these enormous figures, however,

fails altogether in any adequate way to convey a due impression of the

magnitude of these distances. Astronomers, in their ingenuity, have

endeavored to use some other basis, and have found “the velocity

of light” to be convenient for their purpose. They have made their

representations something in this way:

“Suppose,” they say, “an observer endowed with an infinite length of

vision: suppose him stationed on the surface of Capella; looking thence

towards the earth, he would be a spectator of events that had happened

seventy years previously; transport him to a star ten times distant, and

he will be reviewing the terrestrial sphere of 720 years back; carry him

away further still, to a star so remote that it requires something less

than nineteen centuries for light to reach it, and he would be a witness

of the birth and death of Christ; convey him further again, and he

shall be looking upon the dread desolation of the Deluge; take him away

further yet (for space is infinite), and he shall be a spectator of the

Creation of the spheres. History is thus stereotyped in space; nothing

once accomplished can ever be effaced.”

Who can altogether be astonished that Palmyrin Rosette, with his burning

thirst for astronomical research, should have been conscious of a

longing for yet wider travel through the sidereal universe? With his

comet now under the influence of one star, now of another, what various

systems might he not have explored! what undreamed-of marvels might not

have revealed themselves before his gaze! The stars, fixed and immovable

in name, are all of them in motion, and Gallia might have followed them

in their un-tracked way.

But Gallia had a narrow destiny. She was not to be allowed to wander

away into the range of attraction of another center; nor to mingle with

the star clusters, some of which have been entirely, others partially

resolved; nor was she to lose herself amongst the 5,000 nebulae which

have resisted hitherto the grasp of the most powerful reflectors. No;

Gallia was neither to pass beyond the limits of the solar system, nor

to travel out of sight of the terrestrial sphere. Her orbit was

circumscribed to little over 1,500 millions of miles; and, in comparison

with the infinite space beyond, this was a mere nothing.

CHAPTER XI. A FETE DAY

The temperature continued to decrease; the mercurial thermometer, which

freezes at 42 degrees below zero, was no longer of service, and the

spirit thermometer of the _Dobryna_ had been brought into use. This now

registered 53 degrees below freezing-point.

In the creek, where the two vessels had been moored for the winter, the

elevation of the ice, in anticipation of which Lieutenant Procope had

taken the precautionary measure of beveling, was going on slowly but

irresistibly, and the tartan was upheaved fifty feet above the level of

the Gallian Sea, while the schooner, as being lighter, had been raised

to a still greater altitude.

So irresistible was this gradual process of elevation, so utterly

defying all human power to arrest, that the lieutenant began to feel

very anxious as to the safety of his yacht. With the exception of the

engine and the masts, everything had been cleared out and conveyed to

shore, but in the event of a thaw it appeared that nothing short of a

miracle could prevent the hull from being dashed to pieces, and then all

means of leaving the promontory would be gone. The _Hansa_, of course,

would share a similar fate; in fact, it had already heeled over to such

an extent as to render it quite dangerous for its obstinate owner, who,

at the peril of his life, resolved that he would stay where he could

watch over his all-precious cargo, though continually invoking curses on

the ill-fate of which he deemed himself the victim.

There was, however, a stronger will than Isaac Hakkabut’s. Although no

one of all the community cared at all for the safety of the Jew, they

cared very much for the security of his cargo, and when Servadac found

that nothing would induce the old man to abandon his present quarters

voluntarily, he very soon adopted measures of coercion that were far

more effectual than any representations of personal danger.

“Stop where you like, Hakkabut,” said the captain to him; “but

understand that I consider it my duty to make sure that your cargo is

taken care of. I am going to have it carried across to land, at once.”

Neither groans, nor tears, nor protestations on the part of the Jew,

were of the slightest avail. Forthwith, on the 20th of December, the

removal of the goods commenced.

Both Spaniards and Russians were all occupied for several days in the

work of unloading the tartan. Well muffled up as they were in furs, they

were able to endure the cold with impunity, making it their special care

to avoid actual contact with any article made of metal, which, in the

low state of the temperature, would inevitably have taken all the skin

off their hands, as much as if it had been red-hot. The task, however,

was brought to an end without accident of any kind; and when the stores

of the _Hansa_ were safely deposited in the galleries of the Hive,

Lieutenant Procope avowed that he really felt that his mind had been

unburdened from a great anxiety.

Captain Servadac gave old Isaac full permission to take up his residence

amongst the rest of the community, promised him the entire control over

his own property, and altogether showed him so much consideration that,

but for his unbounded respect for his master, Ben Zoof would have

liked to reprimand him for his courtesy to a man whom he so cordially

despised.

Although Hakkabut clamored most vehemently about his goods being carried

off “against his will,” in his heart he was more than satisfied to see

his property transferred to a place of safety, and delighted, moreover,

to know that the transport had been effected without a farthing of

expense to himself. As soon, then, as he found the tartan empty, he was

only too glad to accept the offer that had been made him, and very soon

made his way over to the quarters in the gallery where his merchandise

had been stored. Here he lived day and night. He supplied himself with

what little food he required from his own stock of provisions, a small

spirit-lamp sufficing to perform all the operations of his meager

cookery. Consequently all intercourse between himself and the rest of

the inhabitants was entirely confined to business transactions, when

occasion required that some purchase should be made from his stock

of commodities. Meanwhile, all the silver and gold of the colony was

gradually finding its way to a double-locked drawer, of which the Jew

most carefully guarded the key.

The 1st of January was drawing near, the anniversary of the shock

which had resulted in the severance of thirty-six human beings from the

society of their fellow-men. Hitherto, not one of them was missing. The

unvarying calmness of the climate, notwithstanding the cold, had tended

to maintain them in good health, and there seemed no reason to doubt

that, when Gallia returned to the earth, the total of its little

population would still be complete.

The 1st of January, it is true, was not properly “New Year’s Day” in

Gallia, but Captain Servadac, nevertheless, was very anxious to have it

observed as a holiday.

“I do not think,” he said to Count Timascheff and Lieutenant Procope,

“that we ought to allow our people to lose their interest in the world

to which we are all hoping to return; and how can we cement the bond

that ought to unite us, better than by celebrating, in common with our

fellow-creatures upon earth, a day that awakens afresh the kindliest

sentiments of all? Besides,” he added, smiling, “I expect that Gallia,

although invisible just at present to the naked eye, is being closely

watched by the telescopes of our terrestrial friends, and I have no

doubt that the newspapers and scientific journals of both hemispheres

are full of accounts detailing the movements of the new comet.”

“True,” asserted the count. “I can quite imagine that we are occasioning

no small excitement in all the chief observatories.”

“Ay, more than that,” said the lieutenant; “our Gallia is certain to

be far more than a mere object of scientific interest or curiosity. Why

should we doubt that the elements of a comet which has once come into

collision with the earth have by this time been accurately calculated?

What our friend the professor has done here, has been done likewise on

the earth, where, beyond a question, all manner of expedients are being

discussed as to the best way of mitigating the violence of a concussion

that must occur.”

The lieutenant’s conjectures were so reasonable that they commanded

assent. Gallia could scarcely be otherwise than an object of terror to

the inhabitants of the earth, who could by no means be certain that a

second collision would be comparatively so harmless as the first. Even

to the Gallians themselves, much as they looked forward to the event,

the prospect was not unmixed with alarm, and they would rejoice in the

invention of any device by which it was likely the impetus of the shock

might be deadened.

Christmas arrived, and was marked by appropriate religious observance

by everyone in the community, with the exception of the Jew, who made

a point of secluding himself more obstinately than ever in the gloomy

recesses of his retreat.

To Ben Zoof the last week of the year was full of bustle. The

arrangements for the New Year _fete_ were entrusted to him, and he was

anxious, in spite of the resources of Gallia being so limited, to make

the program for the great day as attractive as possible.

It was a matter of debate that night whether the professor should be

invited to join the party; it was scarcely likely that he would care

to come, but, on the whole, it was felt to be advisable to ask him. At

first Captain Servadac thought of going in person with the invitation;

but, remembering Rosette’s dislike to visitors, he altered his mind, and

sent young Pablo up to the observatory with a formal note, requesting

the pleasure of Professor Rosette’s company at the New Year’s _fete_.

Pablo was soon back, bringing no answer except that the professor had

told him that “to-day was the 125th of June, and that to-morrow would be

the 1st of July.”

Consequently, Servadac and the count took it for granted that Palmyrin

Rosette declined their invitation.

An hour after sunrise on New Year’s Day, Frenchmen, Russians, Spaniards,

and little Nina, as the representative of Italy, sat down to a feast

such as never before had been seen in Gallia. Ben Zoof and the Russian

cook had quite surpassed themselves. The wines, part of the _Dobryna’s_

stores, were of excellent quality. Those of the vintages of France and

Spain were drunk in toasting their respective countries, and even Russia

was honored in a similar way by means of a few bottles of kummel. The

company was more than contented--it was as jovial as Ben Zoof could

desire; and the ringing cheers that followed the great toast of the

day--“A happy return to our Mother Earth,” must fairly have startled the

professor in the silence of his observatory.

The _dejeuner_ over, there still remained three hours of daylight. The

sun was approaching the zenith, but so dim and enfeebled were his rays

that they were very unlike what had produced the wines of Bordeaux and

Burgundy which they had just been enjoying, and it was necessary for

all, before starting upon an excursion that would last over nightfall,

to envelop themselves in the thickest of clothing.

Full of spirits, the party left the Hive, and chattering and singing as

they went, made their way down to the frozen shore, where they fastened

on their skates. Once upon the ice, everyone followed his own fancy,

and some singly, some in groups, scattered themselves in all directions.

Captain Servadac, the count, and the lieutenant were generally seen

together. Negrete and the Spaniards, now masters of their novel

exercise, wandered fleetly and gracefully hither and thither,

occasionally being out of sight completely. The Russian sailors,

following a northern custom, skated in file, maintaining their rank by

means of a long pole passed under their right arms, and in this way they

described a trackway of singular regularity. The two children, blithe

as birds, flitted about, now singly, now arm-in-arm, now joining the

captain’s party, now making a short peregrination by themselves, but

always full of life and spirit. As for Ben Zoof, he was here, there,

and everywhere, his imperturbable good temper ensuring him a smile of

welcome whenever he appeared.

Thus coursing rapidly over the icy plain, the whole party had soon

exceeded the line that made the horizon from the shore. First, the rocks

of the coast were lost to view; then the white crests of the cliffs were

no longer to be seen; and at last, the summit of the volcano, with its

corona of vapor, was entirely out of sight. Occasionally the skaters

were obliged to stop to recover their breath, but, fearful of

frost-bite, they almost instantly resumed their exercise, and proceeded

nearly as far as Gourbi Island before they thought about retracing their

course.

But night was coming on, and the sun was already sinking in the east

with the rapidity to which the residents on Gallia were by this time

well accustomed. The sunset upon this contracted horizon was very

remarkable. There was not a cloud nor a vapor to catch the tints of the

declining beams; the surface of the ice did not, as a liquid sea would,

reflect the last green ray of light; but the radiant orb, enlarged by

the effect of refraction, its circumference sharply defined against the

sky, sank abruptly, as though a trap had been opened in the ice for its

reception.

Before the daylight ended. Captain Servadac had cautioned the party to

collect themselves betimes into one group. “Unless you are sure of your

whereabouts before dark,” he said, “you will not find it after. We have

come out like a party of skirmishers; let us go back in full force.”

The night would be dark; their moon was in conjunction, and would not be

seen; the stars would only give something of that “pale radiance” which

the poet Corneille has described.

Immediately after sunset the torches were lighted, and the long series

of flames, fanned by the rapid motion of their bearers, had much the

appearance of an enormous fiery banner. An hour later, and the volcano

appeared like a dim shadow on the horizon, the light from the crater

shedding a lurid glare upon the surrounding gloom. In time the glow of

the burning lava, reflected in the icy mirror, fell upon the troop of

skaters, and cast their lengthened shadows grotesquely on the surface of

the frozen sea.

Later still, half an hour or more afterwards, the torches were all but

dying out. The shore was close at hand. All at once, Ben Zoof uttered

a startled cry, and pointed with bewildered excitement towards the

mountain. Involuntarily, one and all, they plowed their heels into the

ice and came to a halt. Exclamations of surprise and horror burst from

every lip. The volcano was extinguished! The stream of burning lava had

suddenly ceased to flow!

Speechless with amazement, they stood still for some moments. There was

not one of them that did not realize, more or less, how critical was

their position. The sole source of the heat that had enabled them to

brave the rigor of the cold had failed them! death, in the cruellest of

all shapes, seemed staring them in the face--death from cold! Meanwhile,

the last torch had flickered out.

It was quite dark.

“Forward!” cried Servadac, firmly.

At the word of command they advanced to the shore; clambered with

no little difficulty up the slippery rocks; gained the mouth of the

gallery; groped their way into the common hall.

How dreary! how chill it seemed!

The fiery cataract no longer spread its glowing covering over the mouth

of the grotto. Lieutenant Procope leaned through the aperture. The pool,

hitherto kept fluid by its proximity to the lava, was already encrusted

with a layer of ice.

Such was the end of the New Year’s Day so happily begun.

CHAPTER XII. THE BOWELS OF THE COMET

The whole night was spent in speculating, with gloomy forebodings, upon

the chances of the future. The temperature of the hall, now entirely

exposed to the outer air, was rapidly falling, and would quickly become

unendurable. Far too intense was the cold to allow anyone to remain at

the opening, and the moisture on the walls soon resolved itself into

icicles. But the mountain was like the body of a dying man, that retains

awhile a certain amount of heat at the heart after the extremities have

become cold and dead. In the more interior galleries there was still a

certain degree of warmth, and hither Servadac and his companions were

glad enough to retreat.

Here they found the professor, who, startled by the sudden cold, had

been fain to make a precipitate retreat from his observatory. Now would

have been the opportunity to demand of the enthusiast whether he would

like to prolong his residence indefinitely upon his little comet. It is

very likely that he would have declared himself ready to put up with any

amount of discomfort to be able to gratify his love of investigation;

but all were far too disheartened and distressed to care to banter him

upon the subject on which he was so sensitive.

Next morning, Servadac thus addressed his people. “My friends, except

from cold, we have nothing to fear. Our provisions are ample--more than

enough for the remaining period of our sojourn in this lone world of

ours; our preserved meat is already cooked; we shall be able to

dispense with all fuel for cooking purposes. All that we require is

warmth--warmth for ourselves; let us secure that, and all may be well.

Now, I do not entertain a doubt but that the warmth we require is

resident in the bowels of this mountain on which we are living; to

the depth of those bowels we must penetrate; there we shall obtain the

warmth which is indispensable to our very existence.”

His tone, quite as much as his words, restored confidence to many of his

people, who were already yielding to a feeling of despair. The count and

the lieutenant fervently, but silently, grasped his hand.

“Nina,” said the captain, “you will not be afraid to go down to the

lower depths of the mountain, will you?”

“Not if Pablo goes,” replied the child.

“Oh yes, of course, Pablo will go. You are not afraid to go, are you,

Pablo?” he said, addressing the boy.

“Anywhere with you, your Excellency,” was the boy’s prompt reply.

And certain it was that no time must be lost in penetrating below

the heart of the volcano; already the most protected of the many

ramifications of Nina’s Hive were being pervaded by a cold that was

insufferable. It was an acknowledged impossibility to get access to the

crater by the exterior declivities of the mountain-side; they were far

too steep and too slippery to afford a foothold. It must of necessity be

entered from the interior.

Lieutenant Procope accordingly undertook the task of exploring all the

galleries, and was soon able to report that he had discovered one which

he had every reason to believe abutted upon the central funnel. His

reason for coming to this conclusion was that the caloric emitted by the

rising vapors of the hot lava seemed to be oozing, as it were, out of

the tellurium, which had been demonstrated already to be a conductor

of heat. Only succeed in piercing through this rock for seven or eight

yards, and the lieutenant did not doubt that his way would be opened

into the old lava-course, by following which he hoped descent would be

easy.

Under the lieutenant’s direction the Russian sailors were immediately

set to work. Their former experience had convinced them that spades and

pick-axes were of no avail, and their sole resource was to proceed

by blasting with gunpowder. However skillfully the operation might be

carried on, it must necessarily occupy several days, and during that

time the sufferings from cold must be very severe.

“If we fail in our object, and cannot get to the depths of the mountain,

our little colony is doomed,” said Count Timascheff.

“That speech is not like yourself,” answered Servadac, smiling. “What

has become of the faith which has hitherto carried you so bravely

through all our difficulties?”

The count shook his head, as if in despair, and said, sadly, “The Hand

that has hitherto been outstretched to help seems now to be withdrawn.”

“But only to test our powers of endurance,” rejoined the captain,

earnestly. “Courage, my friend, courage! Something tells me that this

cessation of the eruption is only partial; the internal fire is not all

extinct. All is not over yet. It is too soon to give up; never despair!”

Lieutenant Procope quite concurred with the captain. Many causes, he

knew, besides the interruption of the influence of the oxygen upon the

mineral substances in Gallia’s interior, might account for the stoppage

of the lava-flow in this one particular spot, and he considered it more

than probable that a fresh outlet had been opened in some other part of

the surface, and that the eruptive matter had been diverted into the new

channel. But at present his business was to prosecute his labors so

that a retreat might be immediately effected from their now untenable

position.

Restless and agitated, Professor Rosette, if he took any interest in

these discussions, certainly took no share in them. He had brought his

telescope down from the observatory into the common hall, and there at

frequent intervals, by night and by day, he would endeavor to continue

his observations; but the intense cold perpetually compelled him to

desist, or he would literally have been frozen to death. No sooner,

however, did he find himself obliged to retreat from his study of the

heavens, than he would begin overwhelming everybody about him with

bitter complaints, pouring out his regrets that he had ever quitted his

quarters at Formentera.

On the 4th of January, by persevering industry, the process of boring

was completed, and the lieutenant could hear that fragments of the

blasted rock, as the sailors cleared them away with their spades, were

rolling into the funnel of the crater. He noticed, too, that they did

not fall perpendicularly, but seemed to slide along, from which he

inferred that the sides of the crater were sloping; he had therefore

reason to hope that a descent would be found practicable.

Larger and larger grew the orifice; at length it would admit a man’s

body, and Ben Zoof, carrying a torch, pushed himself through it,

followed by the lieutenant and Servadac. Procope’s conjecture proved

correct. On entering the crater, they found that the sides slanted at

the angle of about 4 degrees; moreover, the eruption had evidently been

of recent origin, dating probably only from the shock which had invested

Gallia with a proportion of the atmosphere of the earth, and beneath

the coating of ashes with which they were covered, there were various

irregularities in the rock, not yet worn away by the action of the lava,

and these afforded a tolerably safe footing.

“Rather a bad staircase!” said Ben Zoof, as they began to make their way

down.

In about half an hour, proceeding in a southerly direction, they had

descended nearly five hundred feet. From time to time they came

upon large excavations that at first sight had all the appearance of

galleries, but by waving his torch, Ben Zoof could always see their

extreme limits, and it was evident that the lower strata of the mountain

did not present the same system of ramification that rendered the Hive

above so commodious a residence.

It was not a time to be fastidious; they must be satisfied with such

accommodation as they could get, provided it was warm. Captain Servadac

was only too glad to find that his hopes about the temperature were to

a certain extent realized. The lower they went, the greater was the

diminution in the cold, a diminution that was far more rapid than that

which is experienced in making the descent of terrestrial mines. In

this case it was a volcano, not a colliery, that was the object of

exploration, and thankful enough they were to find that it had not

become extinct. Although the lava, from some unknown cause, had

ceased to rise in the crater, yet plainly it existed somewhere in an

incandescent state, and was still transmitting considerable heat to

inferior strata.

Lieutenant Procope had brought in his hand a mercurial thermometer,

and Servadac carried an aneroid barometer, by means of which he could

estimate the depth of their descent below the level of the Gallian Sea.

When they were six hundred feet below the orifice the mercury registered

a temperature of 6 degrees below zero.

“Six degrees!” said Servadac; “that will not suit us. At this low

temperature we could not survive the winter. We must try deeper down. I

only hope the ventilation will hold out.”

There was, however, nothing to fear on the score of ventilation.

The great current of air that rushed into the aperture penetrated

everywhere, and made respiration perfectly easy.

The descent was continued for about another three hundred feet, which

brought the explorers to a total depth of nine hundred feet from their

old quarters. Here the thermometer registered 12 degrees above zero--a

temperature which, if only it were permanent, was all they wanted. There

was no advantage in proceeding any further along the lava-course; they

could already hear the dull rumblings that indicated that they were at

no great distance from the central focus.

“Quite near enough for me!” exclaimed Ben Zoof. “Those who are chilly

are welcome to go as much lower as they like. For my part, I shall be

quite warm enough here.”

After throwing the gleams of torch-light in all directions, the

explorers seated themselves on a jutting rock, and began to debate

whether it was practicable for the colony to make an abode in these

lower depths of the mountain. The prospect, it must be owned, was not

inviting. The crater, it is true, widened out into a cavern sufficiently

large, but here its accommodation ended. Above and below were a few

ledges in the rock that would serve as receptacles for provisions; but,

with the exception of a small recess that must be reserved for Nina,

it was clear that henceforth they must all renounce the idea of

having separate apartments. The single cave must be their dining-room,

drawing-room, and dormitory, all in one. From living the life of rabbits

in a warren, they were reduced to the existence of moles, with the

difference that they could not, like them, forget their troubles in a

long winter’s sleep.

The cavern, however, was quite capable of being lighted by means of

lamps and lanterns. Among the stores were several barrels of oil and

a considerable quantity of spirits of wine, which might be burned when

required for cooking purposes. Moreover, it would be unnecessary for

them to confine themselves entirely to the seclusion of their gloomy

residence; well wrapped up, there would be nothing to prevent them

making occasional excursions both to the Hive and to the sea-shore. A

supply of fresh water would be constantly required; ice for this purpose

must be perpetually carried in from the coast, and it would be necessary

to arrange that everyone in turn should perform this office, as it would

be no sinecure to clamber up the sides of the crater for 900 feet, and

descend the same distance with a heavy burden.

But the emergency was great, and it was accordingly soon decided that

the little colony should forthwith take up its quarters in the cave.

After all, they said, they should hardly be much worse off than

thousands who annually winter in Arctic regions. On board the

whaling-vessels, and in the establishments of the Hudson’s Bay Company,

such luxuries as separate cabins or sleeping-chambers are never thought

of; one large apartment, well heated and ventilated, with as few corners

as possible, is considered far more healthy; and on board ship the

entire hold, and in forts a single floor, is appropriated to this

purpose. The recollection of this fact served to reconcile them, in a

great degree, to the change to which they felt it requisite to submit.

Having remounted the ascent, they made the result of their exploration

known to the mass of the community, who received the tidings with a

sense of relief, and cordially accepted the scheme of the migration.

The first step was to clear the cavern of its accumulation of ashes,

and then the labor of removal commenced in earnest. Never was a task

undertaken with greater zest. The fear of being to a certainty frozen

to death if they remained where they were, was a stimulus that

made everyone put forth all his energies. Beds, furniture, cooking

utensils--first the stores of the _Dobryna_, then the cargo of the

tartan--all were carried down with the greatest alacrity, and the

diminished weight combined with the downhill route to make the labor

proceed with incredible briskness.

Although Professor Rosette yielded to the pressure of circumstances,

and allowed himself to be conducted to the lower regions, nothing would

induce him to allow his telescope to be carried underground; and as it

was undeniable that it would certainly be of no service deep down in the

bowels of the mountain, it was allowed to remain undisturbed upon its

tripod in the great hall of Nina’s Hive.

As for Isaac Hakkabut, his outcry was beyond description lamentable.

Never, in the whole universe, had a merchant met with such reverses;

never had such a pitiable series of losses befallen an unfortunate man.

Regardless of the ridicule which his abject wretchedness excited, he

howled on still, and kept up an unending wail; but meanwhile he kept

a keen eye upon every article of his property, and amidst universal

laughter insisted on having every item registered in an inventory as it

was transferred to its appointed place of safety. Servadac considerately

allowed the whole of the cargo to be deposited in a hollow apart by

itself, over which the Jew was permitted to keep a watch as vigilant as

he pleased.

By the 10th the removal was accomplished. Rescued, at all events, from

the exposure to a perilous temperature of 60 degrees below zero, the

community was installed in its new home. The large cave was lighted by

the _Dobryna’s_ lamps, while several lanterns, suspended at intervals

along the acclivity that led to their deserted quarters above, gave

a weird picturesqueness to the scene, that might vie with any of the

graphic descriptions of the “Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.”

“How do you like this, Nina?” said Ben Zoof.

“_Va bene!_” replied the child. “We are only living in the cellars

instead of upon the ground floor.”

“We will try and make ourselves comfortable,” said the orderly.

“Oh yes, we will be happy here,” rejoined the child; “it is nice and

warm.”

Although they were as careful as they could to conceal their misgivings

from the rest, Servadac and his two friends could not regard their

present situation without distrust. When alone, they would frequently

ask each other what would become of them all, if the volcanic heat

should really be subsiding, or if some unexpected perturbation should

retard the course of the comet, and compel them to an indefinitely

prolonged residence in their grim abode. It was scarcely likely that the

comet could supply the fuel of which ere long they would be in urgent

need. Who could expect to find coal in the bowels of Gallia,--coal,

which is the residuum of ancient forests mineralized by the lapse of

ages? Would not the lava-cinders exhumed from the extinct volcano be

their last poor resource?

“Keep up your spirits, my friends,” said Servadac; “we have plenty of

time before us at present. Let us hope that as fresh difficulties arise,

fresh ways of escape will open. Never despair!”

“True,” said the count; “it is an old saying that ‘Necessity is the

mother of invention.’ Besides, I should think it very unlikely that the

internal heat will fail us now before the summer.”

The lieutenant declared that he entertained the same hope. As the reason

of his opinion he alleged that the combustion of the eruptive matter

was most probably of quite recent origin, because the comet before

its collision with the earth had possessed no atmosphere, and that

consequently no oxygen could have penetrated to its interior.

“Most likely you are right,” replied the count; “and so far from

dreading a failure of the internal heat, I am not quite sure that we may

not be exposed to a more terrible calamity still?”

“What?” asked Servadac.

“The calamity of the eruption breaking out suddenly again, and taking us

by surprise.”

“Heavens!” cried the captain, “we will not think of that.”

“The outbreak may happen again,” said the lieutenant, calmly; “but

it will be our fault, our own lack of vigilance, if we are taken by

surprise.” And so the conversation dropped.

The 15th of January dawned; and the comet was 220,000,000 leagues from

the sun.

Gallia had reached its aphelion.

CHAPTER XIII. DREARY MONTHS

Henceforth, then, with a velocity ever increasing, Gallia would

re-approach the sun.

Except the thirteen Englishmen who had been left at Gibraltar, every

living creature had taken refuge in the dark abyss of the volcano’s

crater.

And with those Englishmen, how had it fared?

“Far better than with ourselves,” was the sentiment that would have

been universally accepted in Nina’s Hive. And there was every reason

to conjecture that so it was. The party at Gibraltar, they all agreed,

would not, like themselves, have been compelled to have recourse to

a stream of lava for their supply of heat; they, no doubt, had had

abundance of fuel as well as food; and in their solid casemate, with its

substantial walls, they would find ample shelter from the rigor of the

cold. The time would have been passed at least in comfort, and perhaps

in contentment; and Colonel Murphy and Major Oliphant would have had

leisure more than sufficient for solving the most abstruse problems of

the chess-board. All of them, too, would be happy in the confidence that

when the time should come, England would have full meed of praise to

award to the gallant soldiers who had adhered so well and so manfully to

their post.

It did, indeed, more than once occur to the minds both of Servadac

and his friends that, if their condition should become one of extreme

emergency, they might, as a last resource, betake themselves to

Gibraltar, and there seek a refuge; but their former reception had

not been of the kindest, and they were little disposed to renew an

acquaintanceship that was marked by so little cordiality. Not in the

least that they would expect to meet with any inhospitable rebuff. Far

from that; they knew well enough that Englishmen, whatever their faults,

would be the last to abandon their fellow-creatures in the hour of

distress. Nevertheless, except the necessity became far more urgent than

it had hitherto proved, they resolved to endeavor to remain in their

present quarters. Up till this time no casualties had diminished

their original number, but to undertake so long a journey across that

unsheltered expanse of ice could scarcely fail to result in the loss of

some of their party.

However great was the desire to find a retreat for every living thing

in the deep hollow of the crater, it was found necessary to slaughter

almost all the domestic animals before the removal of the community from

Nina’s Hive. To have stabled them all in the cavern below would have

been quite impossible, whilst to have left them in the upper galleries

would only have been to abandon them to a cruel death; and since meat

could be preserved for an indefinite time in the original store-places,

now colder than ever, the expedient of killing the animals seemed to

recommend itself as equally prudent and humane.

Naturally the captain and Ben Zoof were most anxious that their favorite

horses should be saved, and accordingly, by dint of the greatest care,

all difficulties in the way were overcome, and Zephyr and Galette were

conducted down the crater, where they were installed in a large hole and

provided with forage, which was still abundant.

Birds, subsisting only on scraps thrown out to them did not cease to

follow the population in its migration, and so numerous did they become

that multitudes of them had repeatedly to be destroyed.

The general re-arrangement of the new residence was no easy business,

and occupied so much time that the end of January arrived before they

could be said to be fairly settled. And then began a life of dreary

monotony. Then seemed to creep over everyone a kind of moral torpor

as well as physical lassitude, which Servadac, the count, and the

lieutenant did their best not only to combat in themselves, but

to counteract in the general community. They provided a variety of

intellectual pursuits; they instituted debates in which everybody was

encouraged to take part; they read aloud, and explained extracts from

the elementary manuals of science, or from the books of adventurous

travel which their library supplied; and Russians and Spaniards, day

after day, might be seen gathered round the large table, giving their

best attention to instruction which should send them back to Mother

Earth less ignorant than they had left her.

Selfish and morose, Hakkabut could never be induced to be present

at these social gatherings. He was far too much occupied in his own

appropriated corner, either in conning his accounts, or in counting his

money. Altogether, with what he had before, he now possessed the round

sum of 150,000 francs, half of which was in sterling gold; but nothing

could give him any satisfaction while he knew that the days were

passing, and that he was denied the opportunity of putting out his

capital in advantageous investments, or securing a proper interest.

Neither did Palmyrin Rosette find leisure to take any share in the

mutual intercourse. His occupation was far too absorbing for him to

suffer it to be interrupted, and to him, living as he did perpetually in

a world of figures, the winter days seemed neither long nor wearisome.

Having ascertained every possible particular about his comet, he was now

devoting himself with equal ardor to the analysis of all the properties

of the satellite Nerina, to which he appeared to assert the same claim

of proprietorship.

In order to investigate Nerina it was indispensable that he should make

several actual observations at various points of the orbit; and for this

purpose he repeatedly made his way up to the grotto above, where, in

spite of the extreme severity of the cold, he would persevere in the use

of his telescope till he was all but paralyzed. But what he felt more

than anything was the want of some retired apartment, where he could

pursue his studies without hindrance or intrusion.

It was about the beginning of February, when the professor brought his

complaint to Captain Servadac, and begged him to assign him a chamber,

no matter how small, in which he should be free to carry on his task in

silence and without molestation. So readily did Servadac promise to do

everything in his power to provide him with the accommodation for which

he asked, that the professor was put into such a manifest good temper

that the captain ventured to speak upon the matter that was ever

uppermost in his mind.