CHAPTER XVII.A SECOND ENIGMA.
Upon re-embarking, the bewildered explorers began to
discuss the question whether it would not now be desirable
to make their way back to Gourbi Island, which was
apparently the only spot in their new world from which
they could hope to derive their future sustenance. Captain
Servadac tried to console himself with the reflection that
Gourbi Island was, after all, a fragment of a French
colony, and as such almost like a bit of his dear France;
and the plan of returning thither was on the point of being
adopted, when Lieutenant Procope remarked that they
ought to remember that they had not hitherto made an
entire circuit of the new shores of the sea on which they
were sailing.
“We have,” he said, “neither investigated the northern
shore from the site of Cape Antibes to the strait that
brought us to Gibraltar, nor have we followed the southern
shore that stretches from the strait to the Gulf of Cabes.
It is the old coast, and not the new, that we have been
tracing: as yet, we cannot say positively that there is no
outlet to the south; as yet, we cannot assert that no oasis
of the African desert has escaped the catastrophe. Perhaps,
even here in the north, we may find that Italy and
Sicily and the larger islands of the Mediterranean may
still maintain their existence.”
“I entirely concur with you,” said Count Timascheff.
“I quite think we ought to make our survey of the confines
of this new basin as complete as possible before we
withdraw.”
Servadac, although he acknowledged the justness of
these observations, could not help pleading that the explorations
might be deferred until after a visit had been
paid to Gourbi Island.
“Depend upon it, captain, you are mistaken,” replied
the lieutenant; “the right thing to do is to use the Dobryna
while she is available.”
“Available! What do you mean?” asked the count,
somewhat taken by surprise.
“I mean,” said Procope, “that the farther this Gallia
of ours recedes from the sun, the lower the temperature will
fall. It is likely enough, I think, that before long the sea
will be frozen over, and navigation will be impossible.
Already you have learned something of the difficulties of
traversing a field of ice, and I am sure, therefore, you will
acquiesce in my wish to continue our explorations while
the water is still open.”
“No doubt you are right, lieutenant,” said the count.
“We will continue our search while we can for some
remaining fragment of Europe. Who shall tell whether
we may not meet with some more survivors from the
catastrophe, to whom it might be in our power to afford
assistance, before we go into our winter quarters?”
Generous and altogether unselfish as this sentiment
really was, it was obviously to the general interest that
they should become acquainted, and if possible establish
friendly relations, with any human inhabitant who might
be sharing their own strange destiny in being rolled away
upon a new planet into the infinitude of space. All
difference of race, all distinction of nationality, must be
merged into the one thought that, few as they were, they
were the sole surviving representatives of a world which it
seemed exceedingly improbable that they would ever see
again; and common sense dictated that they were bound
to direct all their energies to insure that their asteroid
should at least have a united and sympathizing population.
It was on the 25th of February that the yacht left the
little creek in which she had taken refuge, and setting off
at full steam eastwards, she continued her way along the
northern shore. A brisk breeze tended to increase the
keenness of the temperature, the thermometer being, on an
average, about two degrees below zero. Salt water freezes
only at a lower temperature than fresh; the course of the
Dobryna was therefore unimpeded by ice, but it could not
be concealed that there was the greatest necessity to
maintain the utmost possible speed.
The nights continued lovely; the chilled condition of
the atmosphere prevented the formation of clouds; the
constellations gleamed forth with unsullied lustre; and,
much as Lieutenant Procope, from nautical considerations,
might regret the absence of the moon, he could not do
otherwise than own that the magnificent nights of Gallia
were such as must awaken the enthusiasm of an astronomer.
And, as if to compensate for the loss of the moonlight, the
heavens were illuminated by a superb shower of falling
stars, far exceeding, both in number and in brilliancy, the
phenomena which are commonly distinguished as the
August and November meteors; in fact, Gallia was passing
through that meteoric ring which is known to lie exterior
to the earth's orbit, but almost concentric with it. The
luminous bodies seemed to radiate from Algol, in the constellation
of Perseus, and the friction of the atmosphere
enveloping the planetoid not only somewhat arrested the
velocity with which they were travelling, but caused them
to glow with an intenser lustre that was truly marvellous.
During the memorable star-shower of 1833, Ohnsted estimated
that, at Boston, as many as 34,000 of these meteors
darted across the firmament, but on this occasion it may
safely be affirmed that there was at least ten times that
number. No display of fireworks, even of the elaborate
rockets devised by the master-hand of a Ruggieri or a
Brock, could compare with the gorgeous spectacle. The
rocky coast, its metallic surface reflecting the glow of the
dazzling luminaries, appeared literally stippled with light,
whilst the sea, as though spattered with burning hailstones,
shone with a phosphorescence that was perfectly splendid.
So great, however, was the speed at which Gallia was
receding from the sun, that this meteoric storm lasted
scarcely more than four and twenty hours.
Next day the direct progress of the Dobryna was
arrested by a long projection of land, which obliged
her to turn southwards, until she reached what formerly
would have been the southern extremity of Corsica. Of
this, however, there was now no trace; the Strait of Bonifacio
had been replaced by a vast expanse of water, which
had at first all the appearance of being utterly desert; but
on the following morning the explorers unexpectedly
sighted a little island, which (unless it should prove, as
was only too likely, to be of recent origin) they concluded,
from its situation, must be a portion of the northernmost
territory of Sardinia.
The Dobryna approached the land as nearly as was
prudent, the boat was lowered, and in a few minutes the
count and Servadac had landed upon the islet, which was
a mere plot of meadow land, not much more than two
acres in extent, dotted here and there with a few myrtle-bushes
and lentisks, interspersed with some ancient olives.
Having ascertained, as they imagined, that the spot was
devoid of living creature, they were on the point of returning
to their boat, when their attention was arrested by a
faint bleating, and immediately afterwards a solitary she-goat
came bounding towards the shore. The creature had
dark, almost black hair, and small curved horns, and was a
specimen of that domestic breed which, with considerable
justice, has gained for itself the title of “the poor man's
cow.” So far from being alarmed at the presence of
strangers, the goat ran nimbly towards them, and then, by
its movements and plaintive cries, seemed to be enticing
them to follow it
“Come,” said Servadac; “let us see where it will lead
us; it is more than probable it is not alone.”
The count agreed; and the animal, as if comprehending
what was said, trotted on gently for about a hundred
paces, and stopped in front of a kind of cave or burrow that
was half concealed by a grove of lentisks. Here a little
girl, seven or eight years of age, with rich brown hair and
lustrous dark eyes, beautiful as one of Murillo's angels,
was peeping shyly through the branches. Apparently
discovering nothing in the aspect of the strangers to excite
her apprehensions, the child suddenly gained confidence,
darted forwards with outstretched hands, and in a voice
soft and melodious as the language which she spoke, said
in Italian:
“I like you; you will not hurt me, will you?”
“Hurt you, my child?” answered Servadac. “No,
indeed; we will be your friends; we will take care of you.”
And after a few moments' scrutiny of the pretty
maiden, he added:
“Tell us your name, little one.”
“Nina!” was the child's reply.
“Well, then, Nina, can you tell us where we are?”
“At Madalena, I think,” said the little girl; “at least,
I know I was there when that dreadful shock came and
altered everything.”
The count knew that Madalena was close to Caprera,
to the north of Sardinia, which had entirely disappeared
in the disaster. By dint of a series of questions, he gained
from the child a very intelligent account of her experiences.
She told him that she had no parents, and had been
employed in taking care of a flock of goats belonging to
one of the landowners, when one day, all of a sudden,
everything around her, except this little piece of land, had
been swallowed up, and that she and Marzy, her pet goat,
had been left quite alone. She went on to say that at first
she had been very frightened; but when she found that the
earth did not shake any more, she had thanked the great
God, and had soon made herself very happy living with
Marzy. She had enough food, she said, and had been
waiting for a boat to fetch her, and now a boat had come
and she was quite ready to go away; only they must let
her goat go with her: they would both like so much to
get back to the old farm.
“Here, at least, is one nice little inhabitant of Gallia,”
said Captain Servadac, as he caressed the child and conducted
her to the boat.
Half an hour later, both Nina and Marzy were safely
quartered on board the yacht. It is needless to say that
they received the heartiest of welcomes. The Russian
sailors, ever superstitious, seemed almost to regard the
coming of the child as the appearance of an angel; and, incredible
as it may seem, more than one of them wondered
whether she had wings, and amongst themselves they commonly
referred to her as “the little Madonna.”
Soon out of sight of Madalena, the Dobryna for some
hours held a south-easterly course along the shore, which
here was fifty leagues in advance of the former coast-line
of Italy, demonstrating that a new continent must have
been formed, substituted as it were for the old peninsula,
of which not a vestige could be identified. At a latitude
corresponding with the latitude of Rome, the sea took the
form of a deep gulf, extending back far beyond the site of
the Eternal City; the coast making a wide sweep round
to the former position of Calabria, and jutting far beyond
the outline of “the boot,” which Italy resembles. But the
beacon of Messina was not to be discerned; no trace, indeed,
survived of any portion of Sicily; the very peak of
Etna, 11,000 feet as it had reared itself above the level
of the sea, had vanished utterly.
Another sixty leagues to the south, and the Dobryna
sighted the entrance of the strait which had afforded her
so providential a refuge from the tempest, and had conducted
her to the fragmentary relic of Gibraltar. Hence
to the Gulf of Cabes had been already explored, and as it
was universally allowed that it was unnecessary to renew
the search in that direction, the lieutenant started off in a
transverse course, towards a point hitherto uninvestigated.
That point was reached on the 3rd of March, and thence
the coast was continuously followed, as it led through what
had been Tunis, across the province of Constantine, away
to the oasis of Ziban; where, taking a sharp turn, it first
reached a latitude of 32°, and then returned again, thus
forming a sort of irregular gulf, enclosed by the same
unvarying border of mineral concrete. This colossal
boundary then stretched away for nearly 150 leagues over
the Sahara desert, and, extending to the south of Gourbi
Island, occupied what, if Morocco had still existed, would
have been its natural frontier.
Adapting her course to these deviations of the coastline,
the Dobryna was steering northwards, and had barely
reached the limit of the bay, when the attention of all on
board was arrested by the phenomenon of a volcano, at
least 3000 feet high, its crater crowned with smoke, which
occasionally was streaked by tongues of flame.
“A burning mountain!” they exclaimed.
“Gallia, then, has some internal heat,” said Servadac.
“And why not, captain?” rejoined the lieutenant. “If
our asteroid has carried with it a portion of the old earth's
atmosphere, why should it not likewise retain something of
its central fire?”
“Ah, well!” said the captain, shrugging his shoulders,
“I dare say there is caloric enough in our little world to
supply the wants of its population.”
Count Timascheff interrupted the silence that followed
this conversation by saying:
“And now, gentlemen, as our course has brought us
on our way once more towards Gibraltar, what do you say
to our renewing our acquaintance with the Englishmen?
They will be interested in the result of our voyage,”
“For my part,” said Servadac, “I have no desire that
way. They know where to find Gourbi Island; they can
betake themselves thither just when they please. They
have plenty of provisions. If the water freezes, 120
leagues is no very great distance. The reception they
gave us was not so cordial that we need put ourselves
out of the way to repeat our visit.”
“What you say is too true,” replied the count. “I hope
we shall show them better manners when they condescend
to visit us.”
“Ay,” said Servadac, “we must remember that we are
all one people now; no longer Russian, French, or English.
Nationality is extinct.”
“I am sadly afraid, however,” continued the count,
“that an Englishman will be an Englishman ever.”
“Yes,” said the captain, “that is always their failing.”
And thus all further thought of making their way again
to the little garrison of Gibraltar was abandoned.
But even if their spirit of courtesy had disposed them to
renew their acquaintance with the British officers, there
were two circumstances that just then would have rendered
such a proposal very unadvisable. In the first place,
Lieutenant Procope was convinced that it could not be
much longer now before the sea would be entirely frozen;
and, besides this, the consumption of their coal, through the
speed they had maintained, had been so great that there
was only too much reason to fear that fuel would fail
them. Anyhow, the strictest economy was necessary, and
it was accordingly resolved that the voyage should not be
much prolonged. Beyond the volcanic peak, moreover,
the waters seemed to expand into a boundless ocean, and
it might be a thing full of risk to be frozen up while the
yacht was so inadequately provisioned. Taking all these
things into account, it was agreed that further investigations
should be deferred to a more favourable season,
and that, without delay, the Dobryna should return to
Gourbi Island.
This decision was especially welcome to Hector Servadac,
who, throughout the whole of the last five weeks,
had been agitated by much anxious thought on account
of the faithful servant he had left behind.
The transit from the volcano to the island was not
long, and was marked by only one noticeable incident.
This was the finding of a second mysterious document, in
character precisely similar to what they had found before.
The writer of it was evidently engaged upon a calculation,
probably continued from day to day, as to the motions of
the planet Gallia upon its orbit, and committing the results
of his reckonings to the waves as the channel of communication.
Instead of being enclosed in a telescope-case, it was
this time secured in a preserved-meat tin, hermetically
sealed, and stamped with the same initials on the wax
that fastened it. The greatest care was used in opening
it, and it was found to contain the following message:—

“Gallia (?) 
Ab sole, au 1 mars, dist. 78,000,000 l.! 
Chemin parcouru de fév. à mars: 59,000,000 l.!
Va bene! All right! Nil desperandum!
    Enchanté!”

“Another enigma!” exclaimed Servadac; “and still
no intelligible signature, and no address. No clearing up
of the mystery!”
“I have no doubt, in my own mind,” said the count,
“that it is one of a series. It seems to me probable that
they are being sent broadcast upon the sea.”
“I wonder where the hare-brained savant that writes
them can be living?” observed Servadac.
“Very likely he may have met with the fate of Æsop's
abstracted astronomer, who found himself at the bottom of
a well.”
“Ay; but where is that well?” demanded the captain.
This was a question which the count was incapable of
settling; and they could only speculate afresh as to whether
the author of the riddles was dwelling upon some solitary
island, or, like themselves, was navigating the waters of
the new Mediterranean. But they could detect nothing to
guide them to a definite decision.
After thoughtfully regarding the document for some
time, Lieutenant Procope proceeded to observe that he
believed the paper might be considered as genuine, and
accordingly, taking its statements as reliable, he deduced
two important conclusions: first, that whereas, in the
month of January, the distance travelled by the planet
(hypothetically called Gallia) had been recorded as
82,000,000 leagues, the distance travelled in February
was only 59,000,000 leagues—a difference of 23,000,000
leagues in one month; secondly, that the distance of the
planet from the sun, which on the 15th of February had
been 59,000,000 leagues, was on the 1st of March 78,000,000
leagues—an increase of 19,000,000 leagues in a fortnight.
Thus, in proportion as Gallia receded from the sun, so did
the rate of speed diminish by which she travelled along
her orbit: facts to be observed in perfect conformity with
the known laws of celestial mechanism,
“And your inference?” asked the count.
“My inference,” replied the lieutenant, “is a confirmation
of my surmise that we are following an orbit
decidedly elliptical, although we have not yet the material
to determine its eccentricity.”
“As the writer adheres to the appellation of Gallia, do
you not think,” asked the count, “that we might call these
new waters the Gallian Sea?”
“There can be no reason to the contrary, count,” replied
the lieutenant; “and as such I will insert it upon my
new chart.”
“Our friend,” said Servadac, “seems to be more and
more gratified with the condition of things; not only has
he adopted our motto, ‘Nil desperandum!’ but see how
enthusiastically he has wound up with his ‘Enchanté!’”
The conversation dropped.
A few hours later the man on watch announced that
Gourbi Island was in sight.