Off on a Comet (37 page)

"Astounding, sir!" he exclaimed. "Yes! Nerina was a planet then;
everything that appertained to the planet was determined; but Nerina is
a moon now. And do you not think, sir, that we have a right to know as
much about our moon as those
terrestrials
"—and he curled his lip as
he spoke with a contemptuous emphasis—"know of theirs?"

"I beg pardon," said the corrected captain.

"Well then, never mind," replied the professor, quickly appeased; "only
will you have the goodness to get me a proper place for study?"

"I will, as I promised, do all I can," answered Servadac.

"Very good," said the professor. "No immediate hurry; an hour hence will
do."

But in spite of this condescension on the part of the man of science,
some hours had to elapse before any place of retreat could be discovered
likely to suit his requirements; but at length a little nook was found
in the side of the cavern just large enough to hold an armchair and
a table, and in this the astronomer was soon ensconced to his entire
satisfaction.

Buried thus, nearly 900 feet below ground, the Gallians ought to have
had unbounded mental energy to furnish an adequate reaction to the
depressing monotony of their existence; but many days would often elapse
without any one of them ascending to the surface of the soil, and had
it not been for the necessity of obtaining fresh water, it seemed almost
probable that there would never have been an effort made to leave the
cavern at all.

A few excursions, it is true, were made in the downward direction. The
three leaders, with Ben Zoof, made their way to the lower depths of the
crater, not with the design of making any further examination as to
the nature of the rock—for although it might be true enough that it
contained thirty per cent. of gold, it was as valueless to them as
granite—but with the intention of ascertaining whether the subterranean
fire still retained its activity. Satisfied upon this point, they came
to the conclusion that the eruption which had so suddenly ceased in one
spot had certainly broken out in another.

February, March, April, May, passed wearily by; but day succeeded to day
with such gloomy sameness that it was little wonder that no notice was
taken of the lapse of time. The people seemed rather to vegetate than
to live, and their want of vigor became at times almost alarming. The
readings around the long table ceased to be attractive, and the debates,
sustained by few, became utterly wanting in animation. The Spaniards
could hardly be roused to quit their beds, and seemed to have scarcely
energy enough to eat. The Russians, constitutionally of more enduring
temperament, did not give way to the same extent, but the long and drear
confinement was beginning to tell upon them all. Servadac, the count,
and the lieutenant all knew well enough that it was the want of air and
exercise that was the cause of much of this mental depression; but
what could they do? The most serious remonstrances on their part were
entirely in vain. In fact, they themselves occasionally fell a prey
to the same lassitude both of body and mind. Long fits of drowsiness,
combined with an utter aversion to food, would come over them. It almost
seemed as if their entire nature had become degenerate, and that, like
tortoises, they could sleep and fast till the return of summer.

Strange to say, little Nina bore her hardships more bravely than any
of them. Flitting about, coaxing one to eat, another to drink, rousing
Pablo as often as he seemed yielding to the common languor, the child
became the life of the party. Her merry prattle enlivened the gloom of
the grim cavern like the sweet notes of a bird; her gay Italian songs
broke the monotony of the depressing silence; and almost unconscious as
the half-dormant population of Gallia were of her influence, they still
would have missed her bright presence sorely. The months still glided
on; how, it seemed impossible for the inhabitants of the living tomb to
say. There was a dead level of dullness.

At the beginning of June the general torpor appeared slightly to relax
its hold upon its victims. This partial revival was probably due to the
somewhat increased influence of the sun, still far, far away. During
the first half of the Gallian year, Lieutenant Procope had taken careful
note of Rosette's monthly announcements of the comet's progress, and he
was able now, without reference to the professor, to calculate the rate
of advance on its way back towards the sun. He found that Gallia had
re-crossed the orbit of Jupiter, but was still at the enormous distance
of 197,000,000 leagues from the sun, and he reckoned that in about four
months it would have entered the zone of the telescopic planets.

Gradually, but uninterruptedly, life and spirits continued to revive,
and by the end of the month Servadac and his little colony had regained
most of their ordinary physical and mental energies. Ben Zoof, in
particular, roused himself with redoubled vigor, like a giant refreshed
from his slumbers. The visits, consequently, to the long-neglected
galleries of Nina's Hive became more and more frequent.

One day an excursion was made to the shore. It was still bitterly cold,
but the atmosphere had lost nothing of its former stillness, and not a
cloud was visible from horizon to zenith. The old footmarks were all as
distinct as on the day in which they had been imprinted, and the only
portion of the shore where any change was apparent was in the little
creek. Here the elevation of the ice had gone on increasing, until the
schooner and the tartan had been uplifted to a height of 150 feet, not
only rendering them quite inaccessible, but exposing them to all but
certain destruction in the event of a thaw.

Isaac Hakkabut, immovable from the personal oversight of his property
in the cavern, had not accompanied the party, and consequently was in
blissful ignorance of the fate that threatened his vessel. "A good thing
the old fellow wasn't there to see," observed Ben Zoof; "he would have
screamed like a peacock. What a misfortune it is," he added, speaking to
himself, "to have a peacock's voice, without its plumage!"

During the months of July and August, Gallia advanced 164,000,000
leagues along her orbit. At night the cold was still intense, but in
the daytime the sun, here full upon the equator, caused an appreciable
difference of 20 degrees in the temperature. Like birds, the population
spent whole days exposed to its grateful warmth, rarely returning till
nightfall to the shade of their gloomy home.

This spring-time, if such it may be called, had a most enlivening
influence upon all. Hope and courage revived as day by day the sun's
disc expanded in the heavens, and every evening the earth assumed a
greater magnitude amongst the fixed stars. It was distant yet, but the
goal was cheeringly in view.

"I can't believe that yonder little speck of light contains my mountain
of Montmartre," said Ben Zoof, one night, after he had been gazing long
and steadily at the far-off world.

"You will, I hope, some day find out that it does," answered his master.

"I hope so," said the orderly, without moving his eye from the distant
sphere. After meditating a while, he spoke again. "I suppose Professor
Rosette couldn't make his comet go straight back, could he?"

"Hush!" cried Servadac.

Ben Zoof understood the correction.

"No," continued the captain; "it is not for man to disturb the order of
the universe. That belongs to a Higher Power than ours!"

Another month passed away, and it was now September, but it was still
impossible to leave the warmth of the subterranean retreat for the
more airy and commodious quarters of the Hive, where "the bees" would
certainly have been frozen to death in their cells. It was altogether
quite as much a matter of congratulation as of regret that the volcano
showed no symptoms of resuming its activity; for although a return of
the eruption might have rendered their former resort again habitable,
any sudden outbreak would have been disastrous to them where they were,
the crater being the sole outlet by which the burning lava could escape.

"A wretched time we have had for the last seven months," said the
orderly one day to his master; "but what a comfort little Nina has been
to us all!"

"Yes, indeed," replied Servadac; "she is a charming little creature. I
hardly know how we should have got on without her."

"What is to become of her when we arrive back at the earth?"

"Not much fear, Ben Zoof, but that she will be well taken care of.
Perhaps you and I had better adopt her."

"Ay, yes," assented the orderly. "You can be her father, and I can be
her mother."

Servadac laughed. "Then you and I shall be man and wife."

"We have been as good as that for a long time," observed Ben Zoof,
gravely.

By the beginning of October, the temperature had so far moderated that
it could scarcely be said to be intolerable. The comet's distance was
scarcely three times as great from the sun as the earth from the sun, so
that the thermometer rarely sunk beyond 35 degrees below zero. The whole
party began to make almost daily visits to the Hive, and frequently
proceeded to the shore, where they resumed their skating exercise,
rejoicing in their recovered freedom like prisoners liberated from a
dungeon. Whilst the rest were enjoying their recreation, Servadac and
the count would hold long conversations with Lieutenant Procope about
their present position and future prospects, discussing all manner of
speculations as to the results of the anticipated collision with
the earth, and wondering whether any measures could be devised for
mitigating the violence of a shock which might be terrible in its
consequences, even if it did not entail a total annihilation of
themselves.

There was no visitor to the Hive more regular than Rosette. He
had already directed his telescope to be moved back to his former
observatory, where, as much as the cold would permit him, he persisted
in making his all-absorbing studies of the heavens.

The result of these studies no one ventured to inquire; but it became
generally noticed that something was very seriously disturbing
the professor's equanimity. Not only would he be seen toiling more
frequently up the arduous way that lay between his nook below and his
telescope above, but he would be heard muttering in an angry tone that
indicated considerable agitation.

One day, as he was hurrying down to his study, he met Ben Zoof, who,
secretly entertaining a feeling of delight at the professor's manifest
discomfiture, made some casual remark about things not being very
straight. The way in which his advance was received the good orderly
never divulged, but henceforward he maintained the firm conviction that
there was something very much amiss up in the sky.

To Servadac and his friends this continual disquietude and ill-humor on
the part of the professor occasioned no little anxiety. From what, they
asked, could his dissatisfaction arise? They could only conjecture that
he had discovered some flaw in his reckonings; and if this were so,
might there not be reason to apprehend that their anticipations of
coming into contact with the earth, at the settled time, might all be
falsified?

Day followed day, and still there was no cessation of the professor's
discomposure. He was the most miserable of mortals. If really his
calculations and his observations were at variance, this, in a man of
his irritable temperament, would account for his perpetual perturbation.
But he entered into no explanation; he only climbed up to his telescope,
looking haggard and distressed, and when compelled by the frost to
retire, he would make his way back to his study more furious than ever.
At times he was heard giving vent to his vexation. "Confound it! what
does it mean? what is she doing? All behind! Is Newton a fool? Is the
law of universal gravitation the law of universal nonsense?" And the
little man would seize his head in both his hands, and tear away at the
scanty locks which he could ill afford to lose.

Enough was overheard to confirm the suspicion that there was some
irreconcilable discrepancy between the results of his computation and
what he had actually observed; and yet, if he had been called upon to
say, he would have sooner insisted that there was derangement in
the laws of celestial mechanism, than have owned there was the least
probability of error in any of his own calculations. Assuredly, if the
poor professor had had any flesh to lose he would have withered away to
a shadow.

But this state of things was before long to come to an end. On the 12th,
Ben Zoof, who was hanging about outside the great hall of the cavern,
heard the professor inside utter a loud cry. Hurrying in to ascertain
the cause, he found Rosette in a state of perfect frenzy, in which
ecstasy and rage seemed to be struggling for the predominance.

"Eureka! Eureka!" yelled the excited astronomer.

"What, in the name of peace, do you mean?" bawled Ben Zoof, in
open-mouthed amazement.

"Eureka!" again shrieked the little man.

"How? What? Where?" roared the bewildered orderly.

"Eureka! I say," repeated Rosette; "and if you don't understand me, you
may go to the devil!"

Without availing himself of this polite invitation, Ben Zoof betook
himself to his master. "Something has happened to the professor,"
he said; "he is rushing about like a madman, screeching and yelling
'Eureka!'"

"Eureka?" exclaimed Servadac. "That means he has made a discovery;" and,
full of anxiety, he hurried off to meet the professor.

But, however great was his desire to ascertain what this discovery
implied, his curiosity was not yet destined to be gratified. The
professor kept muttering in incoherent phrases: "Rascal! he shall pay
for it yet. I will be even with him! Cheat! Thrown me out!" But he did
not vouchsafe any reply to Servadac's inquiries, and withdrew to his
study.