CHAPTER XIV.SENSITIVE NATIONALITY.
When the schooner had approached the island, the Englishmen
were able to make out the name “Dobryna” painted
on the aft-board. A sinuous irregularity of the coast had
armed a kind of cove, which, though hardly spacious
enough for a few fishing-smacks, would afford the yacht
a temporary anchorage, so long as the wind did not blow
violently from either the west or south. Into this cove the
Dobryna was duly signalled, and as soon as she was safely
moored, she lowered her four-oar, and Count Timascheff
and Captain Servadac made their way at once to land.
Colonel Heneage Finch Murphy and Major Sir John
Temple Oliphant stood, grave and prim, formally awaiting
the arrival of their visitors. Captain Servadac, with the
uncontrolled vivacity natural to a Frenchman, was the first
to speak.
“A joyful sight, gentlemen!” he exclaimed. “It will
give us unbounded pleasure to shake hands again with
some of our fellow-creatures. You, no doubt, have escaped
the same disaster as ourselves.”
But the English officers, neither by word nor gesture,
made the slightest acknowledgment of this familiar
greeting.
“What news can you give us of France, England, or
Russia?” continued Servadac, perfectly unconscious of the
stolid rigidity with which his advances were received.
“We are anxious to hear anything you can tell us. Have
you had communications with Europe? Have you—”
“To whom have we the honour of speaking?” at last
interposed Colonel Murphy, in the coldest and most measured
tone, and drawing himself up to his full height.
“Ah! how stupid! I forgot,” said Servadac, with the
slightest possible shrug of the shoulders; “we have not
been introduced.”
Then, with a wave of his hand towards his companion,
who meanwhile had exhibited a reserve hardly less than
that of the British officers, he said—
“Allow me to introduce you to Count Wassili Timascheff.”
“Major Sir John Temple Oliphant,” replied the colonel.
The Russian and the Englishman mutually exchanged
the stiffest of bows.
“I have the pleasure of introducing Captain Servadac,”
said the count in his turn.
“And this is Colonel Heneage Finch Murphy,” was the
major's grave rejoinder.
More bows were interchanged and the ceremony brought
to its due conclusion. It need hardly be said that the
conversation had been carried on in French, a language
which is generally known both by Russians and Englishmen—a
circumstance that is probably in some measure to
be accounted for by the refusal of Frenchmen to learn
either Russian or English.
The formal preliminaries of etiquette being thus complete,
there was no longer any obstacle to a freer intercourse.
The colonel, signing to his guests to follow, led
the way to the apartment occupied jointly by himself and
the major, which, although only a kind of casemate
hollowed in the rock, nevertheless wore a general air of
comfort. Major Oliphant accompanied them, and all four
having taken their seats, the conversation was commenced.
Irritated and disgusted at all the cold formalities.
Hector Servadac resolved to leave all the talking to the
count; and he, quite aware that the Englishmen would
adhere to the fiction that they could be supposed to know
nothing that had transpired previous to the introduction
felt himself obliged to recapitulate matters from the very
beginning.
“You must be aware, gentlemen,” began the count
“that a most singular catastrophe occurred on the 1st of
January last. Its cause, its limits we have utterly failed to
discover, but from the appearance of the island on which
we find you here, you have evidently experienced its
devastating consequences.”
The Englishmen, in silence, bowed assent.
“Captain Servadac, who accompanies me,” continued
the count, “has been most severely tried by the disaster.
Engaged as he was in an important mission as a staff-officer
in Algeria—”
“A French colony, I believe,” interposed Major Oliphant,
half shutting his eyes with an expression of supreme
indifference.
Servadac was on the point of making some cutting-retort,
but Count Timascheff, without allowing the interruption
to be noticed, calmly continued his narrative—
“It was near the mouth of the Shelif that a portion of
Africa, on that eventful night, was transformed into an island
which alone survived; the rest of the vast continent disappeared
as completely as if it had never been.”
The announcement seemed by no means startling to
the phlegmatic colonel.
“Indeed!” was all he said.
“And where were you?” asked Major Oliphant.
“I was out at sea, cruising in my yacht, hard by; and
I look upon it as a miracle, and nothing less, that I and
my crew escaped with our lives.”
“I congratulate you on your luck,” replied the major.
The count resumed—
“It was about a month after the great disruption that
I was sailing—my engine having sustained some damage in
the shock—along the Algerian coast, and had the pleasure
of meeting with my previous acquaintance. Captain Servadac,
who was resident upon the island with his orderly,
Ben Zoof.”
“Ben who?” inquired the major.
“Zoof! Ben Zoof!” ejaculated Servadac, who could
scarcely shout loud enough to relieve his pent-up feelings.
Ignoring this ebullition of the captain's spleen, the
count went on to say—
“Captain Servadac was naturally most anxious to get
what news he could. Accordingly, he left his servant on
the island in charge of his horses, and came on board the
Dobryna with me. We were quite at a loss to know where
we should steer, but decided to direct our course to what
previously had been the east, in order that we might, if
possible, discover the colony of Algeria; but of Algeria not
a trace remained.”
The colonel curled his lip, insinuating only too plainly
that to him it was by no means surprising that a French
colony should be wanting in the element of stability.
Servadac observed the supercilious look, and half rose to
his feet, but, smothering his resentment, took his seat again
without speaking.
“The devastation, gentlemen,” said the count, who
persistently refused to recognize the Frenchman's irritation,
“everywhere was terrible and complete. Not only was
Algeria lost, but there was no trace of Tunis, except one
solitary rock, which was crowned by an ancient tomb of
one of the kings of France”
“Louis the Ninth, I presume,” observed the colonel
“Saint Louis,” blurted out Servadac, savagely.
Colonel Murphy slightly smiled.
Proof against all interruption, Count Timascheff, as if
he had not heard it, went on without pausing. He related
how the schooner had pushed her way onwards to the south,
and had reached the Gulf of Cabes; and how she had
ascertained for certain that the Sahara Sea had no longer
an existence.
The smile of disdain again crossed the colonel's face;
he could not conceal his opinion that such a destiny for the
work of a Frenchman could be no matter of surprise.
“Our next discovery,” continued the count, “was that
a new coast had been upheaved right along in front of the
coast of Tripoli, the geological formation of which war
altogether strange, and which extended to the north as far
as the proper place of Malta.”
“And Malta,” cried Servadac, unable to control himself
any longer; “Malta—town, forts, soldiers, governor, and all—has
vanished just like Algeria.”
For a moment a cloud rested upon the colonel's brow,
only to give place to an expression of decided incredulity.
“The statement seems highly incredible,” he said.
“Incredible?” repeated Servadac. “Why is it that you
doubt my word?”
The captain's rising wrath did not prevent the colonel
from replying coolly—
“Because Malta belongs to England.”
“I can't help that,” answered Servadac, sharply; “it
has gone just as utterly as if it had belonged to China.”
Colonel Murphy turned deliberately away from Servadac,
and appealed to the count—
“Do you not think you may have made some error,
count, in reckoning the bearings of your yacht?”
“No, colonel, I am quite certain of my reckonings; and
not only can I testify that Malta has disappeared, but I
can affirm that a large section of the Mediterranean has
been closed in by a new continent. After the most
anxious investigation, we could discover only one narrow
opening in all the coast, and it is by following that little
channel that we have made our way hither. England,
I fear, has suffered grievously by the late catastrophe.
Not only has Malta been entirely lost, but of the Ionian
Islands that were under England's protection, there seems
to be but little left.”
“Ay, you may depend upon it,” said Servadac, breaking
in upon the conversation petulantly, “your grand
resident lord high commissioner has not much to congratulate
himself about in the condition of Corfu.”
The Englishmen were mystified.
“Corfu, did you say?” asked Major Oliphant
“Yes, Corfu; I said Corfu,” replied Servadac, with a
sort of malicious triumph.
The officers were speechless with astonishment.
The silence of bewilderment was broken at length by
Count Timascheff making inquiry whether nothing had
been heard from England, either by telegraph or by any
passing ship.
“No,” said the colonel; “not a ship has passed; and
the cable is broken.”
“But do not the Italian telegraphs assist you?” continued
the count.
“Italian! I do not comprehend you. You must mean
the Spanish, surely.”
“How?” demanded Timascheff.
“Confound it!” cried the impatient Servadac. “What
matters whether it be Spanish or Italian? Tell us, have
you had no communication at all from Europe?—no news
of any sort from London?”
“Hitherto, none whatever,” replied the colonel; adding
with a stately emphasis, “but we shall be sure to have
tidings from England before long.”
“Whether England is still in existence or not, I suppose,”
said Servadac, in a tone of irony.
The English officers started simultaneously to their
feet.
“England in existence?” the colonel cried. “England!
Ten times more probable that France”
“France!” shouted Servadac in a passion. “France is
not an island that can be submerged; France is an integral
portion of a solid continent France, at least, is safe.”
A scene appeared inevitable, and Count Timascheff's
efforts to conciliate the excited parties were of small avail.
“You are at home here,” said Servadac, with as much
calmness as he could command; “it will be advisable, I
think, for this discussion to be carried on in the open air.”
And hurriedly he left the room.
Followed immediately by the others, he led the way to
a level piece of ground, which he considered he might
fairly claim as neutral territory.
“Now, gentlemen,” he began haughtily, “permit me to
represent that, in spite of any loss France may have sustained
in the fate of Algeria, France is ready to answer
any provocation that affects her honour. Here I am the
representative of my country, and here, on neutral
ground—”
“Neutral ground?” objected Colonel Murphy; “I beg
your pardon. This, Captain Servadac, is English territory.
Do you not see the English flag?” and, as he spoke, he
pointed with national pride to the British standard floating
over the top of the island.
“Pshaw!” cried Servadac, with a contemptuous sneer;
“that flag, you know, has been hoisted but a few short
weeks.”
“That flag has floated where it is for ages,” asserted
the colonel.
“An imposture!” shouted Servadac, as he stamped
with rage.
Recovering his composure in a degree, he continued—
“Can you suppose that I am not aware that this island
on which we find you is what remains of the Ionian representative
republic, over which you English exercise the
right of protection, but have no claim of government?”
The colonel and the major looked at each other in
amazement.
Although Count Timascheff secretly sympathized with
Servadac, he had carefully refrained from taking part in
the dispute; but he was on the point of interfering, when
the colonel, in a greatly subdued tone, begged to be
allowed to speak.
“I begin to apprehend,” he said, “that you must be
labouring under some strange mistake. There is no room
for questioning that the territory here is England's—England's
by right of conquest; ceded to England by the
Treaty of Utrecht. Three times, indeed—in 1727, 1779, and
1792—France and Spain have disputed our title, but always
to no purpose. You are, I assure you, at the present
moment, as much on English soil as if you were in
London, in the middle of Trafalgar Square.”
It was now the turn of the captain and the count to
look surprised.
“Are we not, then, in Corfu?” they asked.
“You are at Gibraltar,” replied the colonel.
Gibraltar! The word fell like a thunderclap upon their
ears. Gibraltar! the western extremity of the Mediterranean!
Why, had they not been sailing persistently
to the east? Could they be wrong in imagining that
they had reached the Ionian Islands? What new mystery
was this?
Count Timascheff was about to proceed with a more
rigorous investigation, when the attention of all was
arrested by a loud outcry. Turning round, they saw that
the crew of the Dobryna was in hot dispute with the
English soldiers. A general altercation had arisen from a
disagreement between the sailor Panofka and Corporal
Pim. It had transpired that the cannon-ball fired in experiment
from the island had not only damaged one of the
spars of the schooner, but had broken Panofka's pipe,
and, moreover, had just grazed his nose, which, for a
Russian's, was unusually long. The discussion over this
mishap led to mutual recriminations, till the sailors had
almost come to blows with the garrison.
Servadac was just in the mood to take Panofka's part,
which drew from Major Oliphant the remark that England
could not be held responsible for any accidental injury
done by her cannon, and if the Russian's long nose came
in the way of the ball, the Russian must submit to the
mischance.
This was too much for Count Timascheff, and having
poured out a torrent of angry invective against the English
officers, he ordered his crew to embark immediately,
“We shall meet again,” said Servadac, as they pushed
off from shore.
“Whenever you please,” was the cool reply.
The geographical mystery haunted the minds of both the
count and the captain, and they felt they could never rest
till they had ascertained what had become of their respective
countries. They were glad to be on board again,
that they might resume their voyage of investigation, and
in two hours were out of sight of the sole remaining fragment
of Gibraltar.
