Off on a Comet (34 page)

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.

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.