CHAPTER XVIIITHE VENTURE MADE.
What would be the consequences of this sudden and complete
disruption, Servadac and his people hardly dared to
think.
The first change that came under their observation was
the rapidity of the sun's appearances and disappearances,
forcing them to the conviction that although the comet
still rotated on its axis from east to west, yet the period of
its rotation had been diminished by about one-half. Only
six hours instead of twelve elapsed between sunrise and
sunrise; three hours after rising in the west the sun was
sinking again in the east.
“We are coming to something!” exclaimed Servadac.
“We have got a year of something like 2880 days.”
“I shouldn't think it would be an easy matter to find
saints enough for such a calendar as that!” said Ben Zoof,
Servadac laughed, and remarked that they should have
the professor talking about the 238th of June, and the
325th of December.
It soon became evident that the detached portion was
not revolving round the comet, but was gradually retreating
into space. Whether it had carried with it any
portion of atmosphere, whether it possessed any other
condition for supporting life, and whether it was likely
ever again to approach to the earth, were all questions that
there were no means of determining. For themselves the
all-important problem was—what effect would the rending
asunder of the comet have upon its rate of progress? and
as they were already conscious of a further increase of
muscular power, and a fresh diminution of specific gravity,
Servadac and his associates could not but wonder whether
the alteration in the mass of the comet would not result in
its missing the expected coincidence with, the earth altogether.
Although he professed himself incompetent to pronounce
a decided opinion, Lieutenant Procope manifestly
inclined to the belief that no alteration would ensue in the
rate of Gallia's velocity; but Rosette, no doubt, could
answer the question directly, and the time had now
arrived in which he must be compelled to divulge the
precise moment of collision.
But the professor was in the worst of tempers. Generally
taciturn and morose, he was more than usually
uncivil whenever any one ventured to speak to him. The
loss of his telescope had doubtless a great deal to do with
his ill-humour; but the captain drew the most favourable
conclusions from Rosette's continued irritation. Had the
comet been in any way projected from its course, so as
to be likely to fail in coming into contact with the earth,
the professor would have been quite unable to conceal his
satisfaction. But they required to know more than the
general truth, and felt that they had no time to lose in
getting at the exact details.
The opportunity that was wanted soon came.
On the 18th, Rosette was overheard in furious altercation
with Ben Zoof. The orderly had been taunting the
astronomer with the mutilation of his little comet. A fine
thing, he said, to split in two like a child's toy. It had
cracked like a dry nut; and mightn't one as well live
upon an exploding bomb?—with much more to the same
effect. The professor, by way of retaliation, had commenced
sneering at the “prodigious” mountain of Montmartre,
and the dispute was beginning to look serious
when Servadac entered.
Thinking he could turn the wrangling to some good
account, so as to arrive at the information he was so
anxiously seeking, the captain pretended to espouse the
views of his orderly; he consequently brought upon himself
the full force of the professor's wrath.
Rosette's language became more and more violent,
till Servadac, feigning to be provoked beyond endurance,
cried:
“You forget, sir, that you are addressing the Governour-General
of Gallia.”
“Governour-General! humbug!” roared Rosette.
“Gallia is my comet!”
“I deny it,” said Servadac. “Gallia has lost its chance
of getting back to the earth. Gallia has nothing to do
with you. Gallia is mine; and you must submit to the
government which I please to ordain.”
“And who told you that Gallia is not going back to
the earth?” asked the professor, with a look of withering
scorn.
“Why, isn't her mass diminished? Isn't she split in
half? Isn't her velocity all altered?” demanded the
captain.
“And pray who told you this?” again said the professor,
with a sneer.
“Everybody. Everybody knows it, of course,” replied
Servadac.
“Everybody is very clever. And you always were a
very clever scholar too. We remember that of old, don't
we?”
“Sir!”
“You nearly mastered the first elements of science,
didn't you?”
“Sir!”
“A credit to your class!”
“Hold your tongue, sir!” bellowed the captain again,
as if his anger was uncontrollable.
“Not I,” said the professor.
“Hold your tongue!” repeated Servadac.
“Just because the mass is altered you think the velocity
is altered?”
“Hold your tongue!” cried the captain, louder than
ever.
“What has mass to do with the orbit? Of how many
comets do you know the mass, and yet you know their
movements? Ignorance!” shouted Rosette.
“Insolence!” retorted Servadac.
Ben Zoof, really thinking that his master was angry,
made a threatening movement towards the professor.
“Touch me if you dare!” screamed Rosette, drawing
himself up to the fullest height his diminutive figure would
allow. “You shall answer for your conduct before a court
of justice!”
“Where? On Gallia?” asked the captain.
“No; on the earth.”
“The earth! Pshaw! You know we shall never get
there; our velocity is changed.”
“On the earth,” repeated the professor, with decision.
“Trash!” cried Ben Zoof. “The earth will be too
far off!”
“Not too far off for us to come across her orbit at
42 minutes and 35.6 seconds past two o'clock on the
morning of this coming 1st of January.”
“Thanks, my dear professor—many thanks. You
have given me all the information I required;” and, with
a low bow and a gracious smile, the captain withdrew.
The orderly made an equally polite bow, and followed his
master. The professor, completely nonplussed, was left
alone.
Thirteen days, then—twenty-six of the original
Gallian days, fifty-two of the present—was all the time
for preparation that now remained. Every preliminary
arrangement was hurried on with the greatest earnestness.
There was a general eagerness to be quit of Gallia,
Indifferent to the dangers that must necessarily attend a
balloon ascent under such unparalleled circumstances, and
heedless of Lieutenant Procope's warning that the slightest
check in their progress would result in instantaneous combustion,
they all seemed to conclude that it must be the
simplest thing possible to glide from one atmosphere to
another, so that they were quite sanguine as to the successful
issue of their enterprise. Captain Servadac made
a point of showing himself quite enthusiastic in his anticipations,
and to Ben Zoof the going up in a balloon was
the supreme height of his ambition. The count and the
lieutenant, of colder and less demonstrative temperament,
alike seemed to realize the possible perils of the undertaking,
but even they were determined to put a bold face
upon every difficulty.
The sea had now become navigable, and three voyages
were made to Gourbi Island in the steam launch, consuming
the last of their little reserve of coal.
The first voyage had been made by Servadac with
several of the sailors. They found the gourbi and the adjacent
building quite uninjured by the severity of the
winter; numbers of little rivulets intersected the pastureland;
new plants were springing up under the influence of
the equatorial sun, and the luxuriant foliage was tenanted
by the birds which had flown back from the volcano.
Summer had almost abruptly succeeded to winter, and the
days, though only three hours long, were intensely hot.
Another of the voyages to the island had been to
collect the dry grass and straw which was necessary for
inflating the balloon. Had the balloon been less cumbersome
it would have been conveyed to the island, whence the
start would have been effected; but as it was, it was more
convenient to bring the combustible material to the balloon.
The last of the coal having been consumed, the fragments
of the shipwrecked vessels had to be used day by
day for fuel. Hakkabut began making a great hubbub
when he found that they were burning some of the spars of
the Hansa; but he was effectually silenced by Ben Zoof,
who told him that if he made any more fuss, he should be
compelled to pay 50,000 francs for a balloon-ticket, or else
he should be left behind.
By Christmas Day everything was in readiness for immediate
departure. The festival was observed with a
solemnity still more marked than the anniversary of the
preceding year. Every one looked forward to spending
New Year's Day in another sphere altogether, and Ben
Zoof had already promised Pablo and Nina all sorts of
New Year's gifts.
It may seem strange, but the nearer the critical moment
approached, the less Hector Servadac and Count Timascheff
had to say to each other on the subject. Their mutual
reserve became more apparent; the experiences of the
last two years were fading from their minds like a dream;
and the fair image that had been the cause of their original
rivalry was ever rising, as a vision, between them.
The captain's thoughts began to turn to his unfinished
rondo; in his leisure moments, rhymes suitable and
unsuitable, possible and impossible, were perpetually jingling
in his imagination. He laboured under the conviction
that he had a work of genius to complete. A poet he had
left the earth, and a poet he must return.
Count Timascheff's desire to return to the world was
quite equalled by Lieutenant Procope's. The Russian
sailors' only thought was to follow their master, wherever
he went. The Spaniards, though they would have been
unconcerned to know that they were to remain upon
Gallia, were nevertheless looking forward with some degree
of pleasure to revisiting the plains of Andalusia; and
Nina and Pablo were only too delighted at the prospect of
accompanying their kind protectors on any fresh excursion
whatever.
The only malcontent was Palmyrin Rosette. Day and
night he persevered in his astronomical pursuits, declared
his intention of never abandoning his comet, and swore
positively that nothing should induce him to set foot in
the car of the balloon.
The misfortune that had befallen his telescope was
a never-ending theme of complaint; and just now, when
Gallia was entering the narrow zone of shooting-stars, and
new discoveries might have been within his reach, his loss
made him more inconsolable than ever. In sheer desperation,
he endeavoured to increase the intensity of his vision
by applying to his eyes some belladonna which he found
in the Dobryna's medicine chest; with heroic fortitude he
endured the tortures of the experiment, and gazed up into
the sky until he was nearly blind. But all in vain: not a
single fresh discovery rewarded his sufferings.
No one was quite exempt from the feverish excitement
which prevailed during the last days of December. Lieutenant
Procope superintended his final arrangements.
The two low masts of the schooner had been erected firmly
on the shore, and formed supports for the montgolfier,
which had been duly covered with the netting, and was
ready at any moment to be inflated. The car was close at
hand. Some inflated skins had been attached to its sides,
so that the balloon might float for a time, in the event of
its descending in the sea at a short distance from the
shore. If unfortunately, it should come down in mid-ocean,
nothing but the happy chance of some passing
vessel could save them all from the certain fate of being
drowned.
The 31st came. Twenty-four hours hence and the
balloon, with its large living freight, would be high in the
air. The atmosphere was less buoyant than that of the
earth, but no difficulty in ascending was to be apprehended.
Gallia was now within 96,000,000 miles of the sun,
consequently not much more than 4,000,000 miles from
the earth; and this interval was being diminished at the
rate of nearly 208,000 miles an hour, the speed of the
earth being about 70,000 miles, that of the comet being
little less than 138,000 miles an hour.
It was determined to make the start at two o'clock,
three-quarters of an hour, or, to speak correctly, 42 minutes
35.6 seconds, before the time predicted by the professor as
the instant of collision. The modified rotation of the comet
caused it to be daylight at the time; it would also necessarily
be daylight on that side of the earth upon which the
contact must take place.
An hour previously the balloon was inflated with perfect
success, and the car was securely attached to the network.
It only awaited the stowage of the passengers.
Isaac Hakkabut was the first to take his place in the
car. But scarcely had he done so, when Servadac noticed
that his waist was encompassed by an enormous girdle,
that bulged out to a very extraordinary extent.
“What's all this, Hakkabut?” he asked.
“It's only my little bit of money, your Excellency; my
modest little fortune—a mere bagatelle,” said the Jew.
“And what may your little fortune weigh?” inquired
the captain.
“Only about sixty-six pounds!” said Isaac.
“Sixty-six pounds!” cried Servadac. “We haven't
reckoned for this.”
“Merciful heavens!” began the Jew.
“Sixty-six pounds!” repeated Servadac, “We can
hardly carry ourselves; we can't have any dead weight
here. Pitch it out, man, pitch it out!”
“God of Israel!” whined Hakkabut
“Out with it, I say!” cried Servadac.
“What, all my money, which I have saved so long,
and toiled for so hard?”
“It can't be helped,” said the captain, unmoved.
“Oh, your Excellency!” cried the Jew.
“Now, old Nicodemus, listen to me,” interposed Ben
Zoof; “you just get rid of that pouch of yours, or we will
get rid of you. Take your choice. Quick, quick! or out
you go!”
The avaricious old man was found to value his life
above his money; he made a lamentable outcry about
it, but he unfastened his girdle at last, and put it out of
the car.
Very different was the case with Palmyrin Rosette.
He avowed over and over again his intention of never
quitting the nucleus of his comet. Why should he trust
himself to a balloon, that would blaze up like a piece of
paper? Why should he leave the comet? Why should he
not go once again upon its surface into the far-off realms
of space?
His volubility was brought to a sudden check by Servadac's
bidding two of the sailors, without more ado, to
take him in their arms and put him quietly down at the
bottom of the car.
To the great regret of their owners, the two horses and
Nina's pet goat were obliged to be left behind. The only
creature for which there was found a place was the carrier
pigeon that had brought the professor's message to the
Hive. Servadac thought it might probably be of service in
carrying some communication to the earth.
When every one, except the captain and his orderly,
had taken their places, Servadac said:
“Get in, Ben Zoof.”
“After you, sir,” said Ben Zoof, respectfully.
“No, no!” insisted Servadac; “the captain must be
the last to leave the ship!”
A moment's hesitation and the orderly clambered over
the side of the car. Servadac followed. The cords were
cut. The balloon rose with stately calmness into the air.
