CHAPTER XXIII.A CARRIER-PIGEON.
When, three hours after sunset, on the 23rd of March,
the Gallian moon rose upon the western horizon, it was
observed that she had entered upon her last quarter. She
had taken only four days to pass from syzygy to quadrature,
and it was consequently evident that she would be
visible for little more than a week at a time, and that her
lunation would be accomplished within sixteen days. The
lunar months, like the solar days, had been diminished by
one half. Three days later the moon was in conjunction
with the sun, and was consequently lost to view; Ben
Zoof, as the first observer of the satellite, was extremely
interested in its movements, and wondered whether it
would ever re-appear.
On the 26th, under an atmosphere perfectly clear and
dry, the thermometer fell to 12° C. below zero. Of the
present distance of Gallia from the sun, and the number of
leagues she had traversed since the receipt of the last
mysterious document, there were no means of judging;
the extent of diminution in the apparent disc of the sun
did not afford sufficient basis even for an approximate
calculation; and Captain Servadac was perpetually regretting
that they could receive no further tidings from
the anonymous correspondent, whom he persisted in regarding
as a fellow-countryman.
The solidity of the ice was perfect; the utter stillness of
the air at the time when the final congelation of the
waters had taken place had resulted in the formation of a
surface that for smoothness would rival a skating-rink;
without a crack or flaw it extended far beyond the range
of vision.
The contrast to the ordinary aspect of polar seas was
very remarkable. There, the ice-fields are an agglomeration
of hummocks and icebergs, massed in wild confusion,
often towering higher than the masts of the largest whalers,
and from the instability of their foundations liable to
an instantaneous loss of equilibrium; a breath of wind, a
slight modification of the temperature, not unfrequently
serving to bring about a series of changes outrivalling the
most elaborate transformation scenes of a pantomime
Here, on the contrary, the vast white plain was level as
the desert of Sahara or the Russian steppes; the waters of
the Gallian Sea were imprisoned beneath the solid sheet
which became continually stouter in the increasing cold.
Accustomed to the uneven crystallizations of their own
frozen seas, the Russians could not be otherwise than
delighted with the polished surface that afforded them such
excellent opportunity for enjoying their favourite pastime a
skating. A supply of skates, found hidden away amongst
the Dobryna's stores, was speedily brought into use. The
Russians undertook the instruction of the Spaniards, and
at the end of a few days, during which the temperature
was only endurable through the absence of wind, there
was not a Gallian who could not skate tolerably well,
while many of them could describe figures involving the
most complicated curves. Nina and Pablo earned loud
applause by their rapid proficiency; Captain Servadac,
an adept in athletics, almost outvied his instructor, the
count; and Ben Zoof, who had upon some rare occasions
skated upon the Lake of Montmartre (in his eyes, of course,
a sea), performed prodigies in the art.
This exercise was not only healthy in itself, but it was
acknowledged that, in case of necessity, it might become a
very useful means of locomotion. As Captain Servadac
remarked, it was almost a substitute for railways, and as if
to illustrate this proposition, Lieutenant Procope, perhaps
the greatest expert in the party, accomplished the twenty
miles to Gourbi Island and back in considerably less than
four hours.
The temperature, meanwhile, continued to decrease, and
the average reading of the thermometer was about 16° C.
below zero; the light also diminished in proportion, and
all objects appeared to be enveloped in a half-defined
shadow, as though the sun were undergoing a perpetual
eclipse. It was not surprising that the effect of this continuously
overhanging gloom should be to induce a frequent
depression of spirits amongst the majority of the
little population, exiles as they were from their mother
earth, and not unlikely, as it seemed, to be swept far away
into the regions of another planetary sphere. Probably
Count Timascheff, Captain Servadac, and Lieutenant Procope
were the only members of the community who could
bring any scientific judgment to bear upon the uncertainty
that was before them, but a general sense of the strangeness
of their situation could not fail at times to weigh
heavily upon the minds of all. Under these circumstances
it was very necessary to counteract the tendency to despond
by continual diversion; and the recreation of skating
thus opportunely provided, seemed just the thing to arouse
the flagging spirits, and to restore a wholesome excitement.
With dogged obstinacy, Isaac Hakkabut refused to
take any share either in the labours or the amusements of
the colony. In spite of the cold, he had not been seen
since the day of his arrival from Gourbi Island. Captain
Servadac had strictly forbidden any communication with
him; and the smoke that rose from the cabin chimney of
the Hansa was the sole indication of the proprietor being
still on board. There was nothing to prevent him, if he
chose, from partaking gratuitously of the volcanic light
and heat which were being enjoyed by all besides; but
rather than abandon his close and personal oversight of his
precious cargo, he preferred to sacrifice his own slender
stock of fuel.
Both the schooner and the tartan had been carefully
moored in the way that seemed to promise best for withstanding
the rigour of the winter. After seeing the vessels
made secure in the frozen creek, Lieutenant Procope, following
the example of many Arctic explorers, had the
precaution to have the ice bevelled away from the keels,
so that there should be no risk of the ships' sides being
crushed by the increasing pressure; he hoped that they
would follow any rise in the level of the ice-field, and when
the thaw should come, that they would easily regain their
proper water-line.
On his last visit to Gourbi Island, the lieutenant had
ascertained that north, east, and west, far as the eye could
reach, the Gallian Sea had become one uniform sheet of
ice. One spot alone refused to freeze: this was the pool
immediately below the central cavern, the receptacle for
the stream of burning lava. It was entirely enclosed by
rocks, and if ever a few icicles were formed there by the
action of the cold, they were very soon melted by the fiery
shower. Hissing and spluttering as the hot lava came in
contact with it, the water was in a continual state of ebullition,
and the fish that abounded in its depths defied the
angler's craft; they were, as Ben Zoof remarked, “too much
boiled to bite.”
At the beginning of April the weather changed. The
sky became overcast, but there was no rise in the temperature.
Unlike the polar winters of the earth, which
ordinarily are affected by atmospheric influence, and liable
to slight intermissions of their severity at various shiftings
of the wind, Gallia's winter was caused by her immense
distance from the source of all light and heat, and the cold
was consequently destined to go on steadily increasing
until it reached the limit ascertained by Fourier to be the
normal temperature of the realms of space.
With the over-clouding of the heavens there arose a
violent tempest; but although the wind raged with an
almost inconceivable fury, it was unaccompanied by either
snow or rain. Its effect upon the burning curtain that
covered the aperture of the central hall was very remarkable.
So far from there being any likelihood of the fire
being extinguished by the vehemence of the current of air,
the hurricane semed rather to act as a ventilator, which
fanned the flame into greater activity, and the utmost care
was necessary to avoid being burnt by the fragments of
lava that were drifted into the interior of the grotto.
More than once the curtain itself was rifted entirely
asunder, but only to close up again immediately after
allowing a momentary draught of cold air to penetrate
the hall in a way that was refreshing and rather advantageous
than otherwise.
On the 4th of April, after an absence of about four
days, the new satellite, to Ben Zoof's great satisfaction, made
its re-appearance in a crescent form, a circumstance that
seemed to justify the anticipation that henceforward it
would continue to make a periodic revolution every fortnight.
The crust of ice and snow was far too stout for the
beaks of the strongest birds to penetrate, and accordingly
large swarms had left the island, and, following the human
population, had taken refuge on the volcanic promontory;
not that there the barren shore had anything in the way of
nourishment to offer them, but their instinct impelled
them to haunt now the very habitations which formerly
they would have shunned. Scraps of food were thrown to
them from the galleries; these were speedily devoured,
but were altogether inadequate in quantity to meet the
demand. At length, emboldened by hunger, several hundred
birds ventured through the tunnel, and took up their
quarters actually in Nina's Hive. Congregating in the
large hall, the half-famished creatures did not hesitate to
snatch bread, meat, or food of any description from the
hands of the residents as they sat at table, and soon
became such an intolerable nuisance that it formed one of
the daily diversions to hunt them down; but although
they were vigourously attacked by stones and sticks, and
even occasionally by shot, it was with some difficulty that
their number could be sensibly reduced.
First and foremost in these daily raids upon the birds
was Ben Zoof. He yelled and shouted, and swore at the
intruders much as he had done upon the island, and by
the help of his companions succeeded in doing a considerable
amount of destruction. For days the table was
supplied with an abundance of woodcocks, wild ducks,
snipes, and partridges; and although the birds had been
knocked down at random, they could hardly have been
more choice as delicacies if they had been selected with
especial regard to their edible qualities.
By a systematic course of warfare the bulk of the birds
were all expelled, with the exception of about a hundred,
which began to build in the crevices of the rocks. These
were left in quiet possession of their quarters, as not only
was it deemed advisable to perpetuate the various breeds,
but it was found that these birds acted as a kind of police,
never failing either to chase away or to kill any others of
their species who infringed upon what they appeared to
regard as their own special privilege in intruding within
the limits of their domain.
On the 15th loud cries were suddenly heard issuing
from the mouth of the principal gallery.
“Help, help! I shall be killed!”
Pablo in a moment recognized the voice as Nina's.
Outrunning even Ben Zoof he hurried to the assistance of
his little playmate, and discovered that she was being
attacked by half a dozen great sea-gulls, and only after
receiving some severe blows from their beaks could he
succeed by means of a stout cudgel in driving them away.
“Tell me, Nina, what is this?” he asked as soon as
the tumult had subsided.
The child pointed to a bird which she was caressing
tenderly in her bosom.
“A pigeon!” exclaimed Ben Zoof, who had reached
the scene of commotion, adding:
“A carrier-pigeon! And by all the saints of Montmartre,
there is a little bag attached to its neck!”
He took the bird, and rushing into the hall placed it in
Servadac's hands.
“Another message, no doubt,” cried the captain, “from
our unknown friend. Let us hope that this time he has
given us his name and address.”
All crowded round, eager to hear the news. In the
struggle with the sea-gulls the bag had been partially torn
open, but it was found to contain the following despatch:
“Gallia!
Chemin parcouru du 1er Mars au 1er Avril: 39,000,000l.!
Distance du soleil: 110,000,000l.!
Capté Nérina en passant.
Vivres vont manquer et......”
The rest of the document had been so damaged by the
beaks of the gulls that it was illegible. Servadac was wild
with vexation. He felt more and more convinced that the
writer was a Frenchman, and that the last line indicated
that he was in distress from scarcity of food. The very
thought of a fellow-countryman in peril of starvation drove
him well-nigh to distraction, and it was in vain that
search was made everywhere near the scene of conflict in
hopes of finding the missing scrap that might bear a
signature or address.
Suddenly little Nina, who had again taken possession
of the pigeon, and was hugging it to her breast, said—
“Look here, Ben Zoof!”
And as she spoke she pointed to the left wing of the
bird.
The wing bore the faint impress of a postage-stamp,
and the one word
“Formentera.”
