CHAPTER XIII.THE BOWELS OF THE COMET.
The whole night was spent in speculating, with gloomy
forebodings, upon the chances of the future. The temperature
of the hall, now entirely exposed to the outer air,
was rapidly falling, and would quickly become unendurable.
Far too intense was the cold to allow any one to
remain at the opening, and the moisture on the walls soon
resolved itself into icicles. But the mountain was like the
body of a dying man, that retains awhile a certain amount
of heat at the heart after the extremities have become
cold and dead. In the more interior galleries there was
still a certain degree of warmth, and hither Servadac and
his companions were glad enough to retreat.
Here they found the professor, who, startled by the
sudden cold, had been fain to make a precipitate retreat
from his observatory. Now would have been the opportunity
to demand of the enthusiast whether he would like
to prolong his residence indefinitely upon his little comet.
It is very likely that he would have declared himself ready
to put up with any amount of discomfort to be able to
gratify his love of investigation; but all were far too disheartened
and distressed to care to banter him upon the
subject on which he was so sensitive.
Next morning, Servadac thus addressed his people:
“My friends, except from cold, we have nothing to
fear. Our provisions are ample—more than enough for
the remaining period of our sojourn in this lone world of
ours; our preserved meat is already cooked; we shall be
able to dispense with all fuel for cooking purposes. All
that we require is warmth—warmth for ourselves: let us
secure that, and all may be well. Now, I do not entertain
a doubt but that the warmth we require is resident in the
bowels of this mountain on which we are living; to the
depth of those bowels we must penetrate; there we shall
obtain the warmth which is indispensable to our very
existence.”
His tone, quite as much as his words, restored confidence
to many of his people, who were already yielding
to a feeling of despair. The count and the lieutenant
fervently, but silently, grasped his hand.
“Nina,” said the captain, “you will not be afraid to go
down to the lower depths of the mountain, will you?”
“Not if Pablo goes,” replied the child.
“Oh yes, of course, Pablo will go. You are not afraid
to go, are you, Pablo?” he said, addressing the boy.
“Anywhere with you, your Excellency,” was the boy's
prompt reply.
And certain it was that no time must be lost in penetrating
below the heart of the volcano; already the most
protected of the many ramifications of Nina's Hive were
being pervaded by a cold that was insufferable.
The conviction became more and more settled that
heat was existent in the deep recesses of the volcano; the
question became more and more urgent, how that heat
could be reached, and how it could be utilized.
It was an acknowledged impossibility to get access to
the crater by the exterior declivities of the mountain-side;
they were far too steep and too slippery to afford a foothold.
It must of necessity be entered from the interior.
Lieutenant Procope accordingly undertook the task of
exploring all the galleries, and was soon able to report
that he had discovered one which he had every reason to
believe abutted upon the central funnel. His reason for
coming to this conclusion was that the caloric emitted by
the rising vapours of the hot lava seemed to be oozing, as
it were, out of the tellurium, which had been demonstrated
already to be a conductor of heat. Only succeed in
piercing through this rock for seven or eight yards, and
the lieutenant did not doubt that his way would be opened
into the old lava-course, by following which he hoped
descent would be easy.
Under the lieutenant's direction the Russian sailors
were immediately set to work. Their former experience
had convinced them that spades and pick-axes were of
no avail, and their sole resource was to proceed by blasting
with gunpowder. However skilfully the operation might
be carried on, it must necessarily occupy several days,
and during that time the sufferings from cold must be
very severe.
“If we fail in our object, and cannot get to the depths
of the mountain, our little colony is doomed,” said Count
Timascheff.
“That speech is not like yourself,” answered Servadac,
smiling. “What has become of the faith which has
hitherto carried you so bravely through all our difficulties?”
The count shook his head, as if in despair, and said,
sadly:
“The Hand that has hitherto been outstretched to
help seems now to be withdrawn.”
“But only to test our powers of endurance,” rejoined
the captain, earnestly. “Courage, my friend, courage!
Something tells me that this cessation of the eruption is
only partial; the internal fire is not all extinct. All is not
over yet. It is too soon to give up; never despair!”
Lieutenant Procope quite concurred with the captain.
Many causes, he knew, besides the interruption of the
influence of the oxygen upon the mineral substances in
Gallia's interior, might account for the stoppage of the
lava-flow in this one particular spot, and he considered it
more than probable that a fresh outlet had been opened
in some other part of the surface, and that the eruptive
matter had been diverted into the new channel. But at
present his business was to prosecute his labours so that
a retreat might be immediately effected from their now
untenantable position.
Restless and agitated, Professor Rosette, if he took any
interest in these discussions, certainly took no share in
them. He had brought his telescope down from the observatory
into the common hall, and there at frequent
intervals, by night and by day, he would endeavour to
continue his observations; but the intense cold perpetually
compelled him to desist, or he would literally have been
frozen to death. No sooner, however, did he find himself
obliged to retreat from his study of the heavens, than he
would begin overwhelming everybody about him with
bitter complaints, pouring out his regrets that he had ever
quitted his quarters at Formentera.
On the 4th of January, by persevering industry, the
process of boring was completed, and the lieutenant could
hear that fragments of the blasted rock, as the sailors cleared
them away with their spades, were rolling into the funnel
of the crater. He noticed, too, that they did not fall perpendicularly,
but seemed to slide along, from which he
inferred that the sides of the crater were sloping; he had
therefore reason to hope that a descent would be found
practicable.
Larger and larger grew the orifice; at length it would
admit a man's body, and Ben Zoof, carrying a torch,
pushed himself through it, followed by the lieutenant and
Servadac. Procope's conjecture proved correct. On entering
the crater, they found that the sides slanted at the
angle of about 45°; moreover, the eruption had evidently
been of recent origin, dating probably only from the shock
which had invested Gallia with a proportion of the atmosphere
of the earth, and beneath the coating of ashes with
which they were covered, there were various irregularities
in the rock, not yet worn away by the action of the lava,
and these afforded a tolerably safe footing.
“Rather a bad staircase!” said Ben Zoof, as they
began to make their way down.
In about half an hour, proceeding in a southerly
direction, they had descended nearly five hundred feet.
From time to time they came upon large excavations that
at first sight had all the appearance of galleries, but by
waving his torch, Ben Zoof could always see their extreme
limits, and it was evident that the lower strata of the
mountain did not present the same system of ramification
that rendered the Hive above so commodious a residence.
It was not a time to be fastidious; they must be
satisfied with such accommodation as they could get,
provided it was warm. Captain Servadac was only too
glad to find that his hopes about the temperature were
to a certain extent realized. The lower they went, the
greater was the diminution in the cold, a diminution that
was far more rapid than that which is experienced in
making the descent of terrestrial mines. In this case it
was a volcano, not a colliery, that was the object of exploration,
and thankful enough they were to find that it had
not become extinct. Although the lava, from some unknown
cause, had ceased to rise and overflow the crater,
yet plainly it existed somewhere in an incendescent state,
and was still transmitting considerable heat to inferior
strata.
Lieutenant Procope had brought in his hand a mercurial
thermometer, and Servadac carried an aneroid
barometer, by means of which he could estimate the depth
of their descent below the level of the Gallian Sea. When
they were six hundred feet below the orifice the mercury
registered a temperature of 6° below zero.
“Six degrees!” said Servadac; “that will not suit us.
At this low temperature we could not survive the winter.
We must try deeper down. I only hope the ventilation
will hold out.”
There was, however, nothing to fear on the score of
ventilation. The great current of air that rushed into
the aperture penetrated everywhere, and made respiration
perfectly easy.
The descent was continued for about another three
hundred feet, which brought the explorers to a total depth
of nine hundred feet from their old quarters. Here the
thermometer registered 12° above zero—a temperature
which if only it were permanent, was all they wanted.
There was no advantage in proceeding any further along
the lava-course; they could already hear dull rumblings
that indicated that they were at no great distance from the
central focus.
“Quite near enough for me!” exclaimed Ben Zoof
“Those who are chilly are welcome to go as much lower
as they like. For my part, I shall be quite warm enough
here.”
After throwing the gleams of torch-light in all directions,
the explorers seated themselves on a jutting rock,
and began to debate whether it was practicable for the
colony to make an abode in these lower depths of the
mountain. The prospect, it must be owned, was not
inviting. The crater, it is true, widened out into a cavern
sufficiently large, but here its accommodation ended.
Above and below were a few ledges in the rock that would
serve as receptacles for provisions; but, with the exception
of a small recess that must be reserved for Nina, it was
clear that henceforth they must all renounce the idea of
having separate apartments. The single cave must be
their dining-room, drawing-room, and dormitory, all in
one. From living the life of rabbits in a warren, they were
reduced to the existence of moles, with the difference that
they could not, like them, forget their troubles in a long
winter's sleep.
The cavern, however, was quite capable of being lighted
by means of lamps and lanterns. Among the stores were
several barrels of oil and a considerable quantity of spirits
of wine, which might be burnt when required for cooking
purposes. Moreover, it would be unnecessary for them to
confine themselves entirely to the seclusion of their gloomy
residence; well wrapped up, there would be nothing to
prevent them making occasional excursions both to the
Hive and to the sea-shore. A supply of fresh water
would be constantly required; ice for this purpose must
be perpetually carried in from the coast, and it would be
necessary to arrange that every one in turn should perform
this office, as it would be no sinecure to clamber up
the sides of the crater for 900 feet, and descend the same
distance with a heavy burden.
But the emergency was great, and it was accordingly
soon decided that the little colony should forthwith take
up its quarters in the cave. After all, they said, they
should hardly be much worse off than thousands who
annually winter in Arctic regions. On board the whaling-vessels,
and in the establishments of the Hudson's Bay
Company, such luxuries as separate cabins or sleeping-chambers
are never thought of; one large apartment,
well heated and ventilated, with as few corners as possible,
is considered far more healthy; and on board ship the
entire hold, and in forts a single floor, is appropriated
to this purpose. The recollection of this fact served to
reconcile them, in a great degree, to the change to which
they felt it requisite to submit.
Having remounted the ascent, they made the result of
their exploration known to the mass of the community,
who received the tidings with a sense of relief, and cordially
accepted the scheme of the migration.
The first step was to clear the cavern of its accumulation
of ashes, and then the labour of removal commenced
in earnest. Never was a task undertaken with greater zest.
The fear of being to a certainty frozen to death if they
remained where they were, was a stimulus that made every
one put forth all his energies. Beds, furniture, cooking
utensils—first the stores of the Dobryna, then the cargo of
the tartan—all were carried down with the greatest alacrity,
and the diminished weight combined with the downhill
route to make the labour proceed with incredible briskness.
Although Professor Rosette yielded to the pressure of
circumstances, and allowed himself to be conducted to
the lower regions, nothing would induce him to allow his
telescope to be carried underground; and as it was undeniable
that it would certainly be of no service deep down
in the bowels of the mountain, it was allowed to remain
undisturbed upon its tripod in the great hall of Nina's Hive.
As for Isaac Hakkabut, his outcry was beyond description
lamentable. Never, in the whole universe, had a
merchant met with such reverses; never had such a pitiable
series of losses befallen an unfortunate man. Regardless
of the ridicule which his abject wretchedness excited,
he howled on still, and kept up an unending wail; but
meanwhile he kept a keen eye upon every article of his
property, and amidst universal laughter insisted on having
every item registered in an inventory as it was transferred
to its appointed place of safety. Servadac considerately
allowed the whole of the cargo to be deposited in a hollow
apart by itself, over which the Jew was permitted to keep
a watch as vigilant as he pleased.
By the 10th the removal was accomplished. Rescued,
at all events, from the exposure to a perilous temperature
of 60° below zero, the community was installed in its new
home. The large cave was lighted by the Dobryna
lamps, while several lanterns, suspended at intervals along
the acclivity that led to their deserted quarters above, gave
a weird picturesqueness to the scene, that might vie with
any of the graphic descriptions of the “Arabian Nights'
Entertainments.”
“How do you like this, Nina?” said Ben Zoof.
“Va bene!” replied the child. “We are only living in
the cellars instead of upon the ground floor.”
“We will try and make ourselves comfortable,” said
the orderly.
“Oh yes, we will be happy here,” rejoined the child;
“it is nice and warm.”
Although they were as careful as they could to conceal
their misgivings from the rest, Servadac and his two
friends could not regard their present situation without
distrust. When alone, they would frequently ask each other
what would become of them all, if the volcanic heat should
really be subsiding, or if some unexpected perturbation
should retard the course of the comet, and compel them
to an indefinitely prolonged residence in their grim abode.
It was scarcely likely that the comet could supply the fuel
of which ere long they would be in urgent need. Who
could expect to find coal in the bowels of Gallia,—coal,
which is the residuum of ancient forests mineralized by the
lapse of ages? Would not the lava-cinders exhumed from
the extinct volcano be their last poor resource?
“Keep up your spirits, my friends,” said Servadac,
“we have plenty of time before us at present. Let us
hope that as fresh difficulties arise, fresh ways of escape
will open. Never despair!”
“True,” said the count; “it is an old saying that
`Necessity is the mother of invention.' Besides, I should
think it very unlikely that the internal heat will fail us
now before the summer.”
The lieutenant declared that he entertained the same
hope. As the reason of his opinion he alleged that the
combustion of the eruptive matter was most probably of
quite recent origin, because the comet before its collision
with the earth had possessed no atmosphere, and that consequently
no oxygen could have penetrated to its interior.
“Most likely you are right,” replied the count; “and
so far from dreading a failure of the internal heat, I am
not quite sure that we may not be exposed to a more
terrible calamity still?”
“What?” asked Servadac.
“The calamity of the eruption breaking out suddenly
again, and taking us by surprise.”
“Heavens!” cried the captain, “we will not think
of that.”
“The outbreak may happen again,” said the lieutenant,
calmly; “but it will be our fault, our own lack of vigilance,
if we are taken by surprise,”
And so the conversation dropped.
The 15th of January dawned: and the comet was
220,000,000 leagues from the sun.
Gallia had reached its aphelion.