A Sledge-ride
:
BOOK II
Formentera was at once recognized by Servadac and the count as the
name of one of the smallest of the Balearic Islands. It was more than
probable that the unknown writer had thence sent out the mysterious
documents, and from the message just come to hand by the carrier-pigeon,
it appeared all but certain that at the beginning of April, a fortnight
back, he had still been there. In one important particular the present
c
mmunication differed from those that had preceded it: it was written
entirely in French, and exhibited none of the ecstatic exclamations in
other languages that had been remarkable in the two former papers. The
concluding line, with its intimation of failing provisions, amounted
almost to an appeal for help. Captain Servadac briefly drew attention
to these points, and concluded by saying, "My friends, we must, without
delay, hasten to the assistance of this unfortunate man."
"For my part," said the count, "I am quite ready to accompany you; it is
not unlikely that he is not alone in his distress."
Lieutenant Procope expressed much surprise. "We must have passed close
to Formentera," he said, "when we explored the site of the Balearic
Isles; this fragment must be very small; it must be smaller than the
remaining splinter of Gibraltar or Ceuta; otherwise, surely it would
never have escaped our observation."
"However small it may be," replied Servadac, "we must find it. How far
off do you suppose it is?"
"It must be a hundred and twenty leagues away," said the lieutenant,
thoughtfully; "and I do not quite understand how you would propose to
get there."
"Why, on skates of course; no difficulty in that, I should imagine,"
answered Servadac, and he appealed to the count for confirmation of his
opinion.
The count assented, but Procope looked doubtful.
"Your enterprise is generous," he said, "and I should be most unwilling
to throw any unnecessary obstacle in the way of its execution; but,
pardon me, if I submit to you a few considerations which to my mind
are very important. First of all, the thermometer is already down to
22 degrees below zero, and the keen wind from the south is making the
temperature absolutely unendurable; in the second place, supposing you
travel at the rate of twenty leagues a day, you would be exposed for
at least six consecutive days; and thirdly, your expedition will be of
small avail unless you convey provisions not only for yourselves, but
for those whom you hope to relieve."
"We can carry our own provisions on our backs in knapsacks," interposed
Servadac, quickly, unwilling to recognize any difficulty in the way.
"Granted that you can," answered the lieutenant, quietly; "but where, on
this level ice-field, will you find shelter in your periods of rest?
You must perish with cold; you will not have the chance of digging out
ice-huts like the Esquimaux."
"As to rest," said Servadac, "we shall take none; we shall keep on our
way continuously; by traveling day and night without intermission, we
shall not be more than three days in reaching Formentera."
"Believe me," persisted the lieutenant, calmly, "your enthusiasm is
carrying you too far; the feat you propose is impossible; but even
conceding the possibility of your success in reaching your destination,
what service do you imagine that you, half-starved and half-frozen
yourself, could render to those who are already perishing by want and
exposure? you would only bring them away to die."
The obvious and dispassionate reasoning of the lieutenant could not fail
to impress the minds of those who listened to him; the impracticability
of the journey became more and more apparent; unprotected on that drear
expanse, any traveler must assuredly succumb to the snow-drifts that
were continually being whirled across it. But Hector Servadac, animated
by the generous desire of rescuing a suffering fellow-creature, could
scarcely be brought within the bounds of common sense. Against his
better judgment he was still bent upon the expedition, and Ben Zoof
declared himself ready to accompany his master in the event of Count
Timascheff hesitating to encounter the peril which the undertaking
involved. But the count entirely repudiated all idea of shrinking from
what, quite as much as the captain, he regarded as a sacred duty, and
turning to Lieutenant Procope, told him that unless some better plan
could be devised, he was prepared to start off at once and make the
attempt to skate across to Formentera. The lieutenant, who was lost in
thought, made no immediate reply.
"I wish we had a sledge," said Ben Zoof.
"I dare say that a sledge of some sort could be contrived," said the
count; "but then we should have no dogs or reindeers to draw it."
"Why not rough-shoe the two horses?"
"They would never be able to endure the cold," objected the count.
"Never mind," said Servadac, "let us get our sledge and put them to the
test. Something must be done!"
"I think," said Lieutenant Procope, breaking his thoughtful silence,
"that I can tell you of a sledge already provided for your hand, and I
can suggest a motive power surer and swifter than horses."
"What do you mean?" was the eager inquiry.
"I mean the Dobryna's yawl," answered the lieutenant; "and I have no
doubt that the wind would carry her rapidly along the ice."
The idea seemed admirable. Lieutenant Procope was well aware to what
marvelous perfection the Americans had brought their sail-sledges, and
had heard how in the vast prairies of the United States they had been
known to outvie the speed of an express train, occasionally attaining
a rate of more than a hundred miles an hour. The wind was still blowing
hard from the south, and assuming that the yawl could be propelled
with a velocity of about fifteen or at least twelve leagues an hour, he
reckoned that it was quite possible to reach Formentera within twelve
hours, that is to say, in a single day between the intervals of sunrise
and sunrise.
The yawl was about twelve feet long, and capable of holding five or six
people. The addition of a couple of iron runners would be all that was
requisite to convert it into an excellent sledge, which, if a sail
were hoisted, might be deemed certain to make a rapid progress over the
smooth surface of the ice. For the protection of the passengers it was
proposed to erect a kind of wooden roof lined with strong cloth; beneath
this could be packed a supply of provisions, some warm furs, some
cordials, and a portable stove to be heated by spirits of wine.
For the outward journey the wind was as favorable as could be desired;
but it was to be apprehended that, unless the direction of the wind
should change, the return would be a matter of some difficulty; a system
of tacking might be carried out to a certain degree, but it was not
likely that the yawl would answer her helm in any way corresponding to
what would occur in the open sea. Captain Servadac, however, would not
listen to any representation of probable difficulties; the future, he
said, must provide for itself.
The engineer and several of the sailors set vigorously to work, and
before the close of the day the yawl was furnished with a pair of stout
iron runners, curved upwards in front, and fitted with a metal scull
designed to assist in maintaining the directness of her course; the roof
was put on, and beneath it were stored the provisions, the wraps, and
the cooking utensils.
A strong desire was expressed by Lieutenant Procope that he should be
allowed to accompany Captain Servadac instead of Count Timascheff. It
was unadvisable for all three of them to go, as, in case of there being
several persons to be rescued, the space at their command would be
quite inadequate. The lieutenant urged that he was the most experienced
seaman, and as such was best qualified to take command of the sledge
and the management of the sails; and as it was not to be expected that
Servadac would resign his intention of going in person to relieve his
fellow-countryman, Procope submitted his own wishes to the count. The
count was himself very anxious to have his share in the philanthropic
enterprise, and demurred considerably to the proposal; he yielded,
however, after a time, to Servadac's representations that in the event
of the expedition proving disastrous, the little colony would need his
services alike as governor and protector, and overcoming his reluctance
to be left out of the perilous adventure, was prevailed upon to remain
behind for the general good of the community at Nina's Hive.
At sunrise on the following morning, the 16th of April, Captain Servadac
and the lieutenant took their places in the yawl. The thermometer was
more than 20 degrees below zero, and it was with deep emotion that their
companions beheld them thus embarking upon the vast white plain. Ben
Zoof's heart was too full for words; Count Timascheff could not forbear
pressing his two brave friends to his bosom; the Spaniards and the
Russian sailors crowded round for a farewell shake of the hand, and
little Nina, her great eyes flooded with tears, held up her face for a
parting kiss. The sad scene was not permitted to be long. The sail was
quickly hoisted, and the sledge, just as if it had expanded a huge white
wing, was in a little while carried far away beyond the horizon.
Light and unimpeded, the yawl scudded on with incredible speed. Two
sails, a brigantine and a jib, were arranged to catch the wind to the
greatest advantage, and the travelers estimated that their progress
would be little under the rate of twelve leagues an hour. The motion of
their novel vehicle was singularly gentle, the oscillation being less
than that of an ordinary railway-carriage, while the diminished force of
gravity contributed to the swiftness. Except that the clouds of ice-dust
raised by the metal runners were an evidence that they had not actually
left the level surface of the ice, the captain and lieutenant might
again and again have imagined that they were being conveyed through the
air in a balloon.
Lieutenant Procope, with his head all muffled up for fear of frost-bite,
took an occasional peep through an aperture that had been intentionally
left in the roof, and by the help of a compass, maintained a proper and
straight course for Formentera. Nothing could be more dejected than the
aspect of that frozen sea; not a single living creature relieved the
solitude; both the travelers, Procope from a scientific point of view,
Servadac from an aesthetic, were alike impressed by the solemnity of the
scene, and where the lengthened shadow of the sail cast upon the ice by
the oblique rays of the setting sun had disappeared, and day had
given place to night, the two men, drawn together as by an involuntary
impulse, mutually held each other's hands in silence.
There had been a new moon on the previous evening; but, in the absence
of moonlight, the constellations shone with remarkable brilliancy.
The new pole-star close upon the horizon was resplendent, and even had
Lieutenant Procope been destitute of a compass, he would have had no
difficulty in holding his course by the guidance of that alone. However
great was the distance that separated Gallia from the sun, it was after
all manifestly insignificant in comparison with the remoteness of the
nearest of the fixed stars.
Observing that Servadac was completely absorbed in his own thoughts,
Lieutenant Procope had leisure to contemplate some of the present
perplexing problems, and to ponder over the true astronomical position.
The last of the three mysterious documents had represented that Gallia,
in conformity with Kepler's second law, had traveled along her orbit
during the month of March twenty millions of leagues less than she had
done in the previous month; yet, in the same time, her distance from the
sun had nevertheless been increased by thirty-two millions of leagues.
She was now, therefore, in the center of the zone of telescopic planets
that revolve between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, and had captured
for herself a satellite which, according to the document, was Nerina,
one of the asteroids most recently identified. If thus, then, it was
within the power of the unknown writer to estimate with such apparent
certainty Gallia's exact position, was it not likely that his
mathematical calculations would enable him to arrive at some definite
conclusion as to the date at which she would begin again to approach the
sun? Nay, was it not to be expected that he had already estimated, with
sufficient approximation to truth, what was to be the true length of the
Gallian year?
So intently had they each separately been following their own train of
thought, that daylight reappeared almost before the travelers were aware
of it. On consulting their instruments, they found that they must have
traveled close upon a hundred leagues since they started, and they
resolved to slacken their speed. The sails were accordingly taken in
a little, and in spite of the intensity of the cold, the explorers
ventured out of their shelter, in order that they might reconnoiter
the plain, which was apparently as boundless as ever. It was completely
desert; not so much as a single point of rock relieved the bare
uniformity of its surface.
"Are we not considerably to the west of Formentera?" asked Servadac,
after examining the chart.
"Most likely," replied Procope. "I have taken the same course as I
should have done at sea, and I have kept some distance to windward of
the island; we can bear straight down upon it whenever we like."
"Bear down then, now; and as quickly as you can."
The yawl was at once put with her head to the northeast and Captain
Servadac, in defiance of the icy blast, remained standing at the bow,
his gaze fixed on the horizon.
All at once his eye brightened.
"Look! look!" he exclaimed, pointing to a faint outline that broke the
monotony of the circle that divided the plain from the sky.
In an instant the lieutenant had seized his telescope.
"I see what you mean," said he; "it is a pylone that has been used for
some geodesic survey."
The next moment the sail was filled, and the yawl was bearing down upon
the object with inconceivable swiftness, both Captain Servadac and the
lieutenant too excited to utter a word. Mile after mile the distance
rapidly grew less, and as they drew nearer the pylone they could
see that it was erected on a low mass of rocks that was the sole
interruption to the dull level of the field of ice. No wreath of
smoke rose above the little island; it was manifestly impossible, they
conceived, that any human being could there have survived the cold; the
sad presentiment forced itself upon their minds that it was a mere cairn
to which they had been hurrying.
Ten minutes later, and they were so near the rock that the lieutenant
took in his sail, convinced that the impetus already attained would
be sufficient to carry him to the land. Servadac's heart bounded as he
caught sight of a fragment of blue canvas fluttering in the wind from
the top of the pylone: it was all that now remained of the French
national standard. At the foot of the pylone stood a miserable shed, its
shutters tightly closed. No other habitation was to be seen; the entire
island was less than a quarter of a mile in circumference; and the
conclusion was irresistible that it was the sole surviving remnant of
Formentera, once a member of the Balearic Archipelago.
To leap on shore, to clamber over the slippery stones, and to reach the
cabin was but the work of a few moments. The worm-eaten door was bolted
on the inside. Servadac began to knock with all his might. No answer.
Neither shouting nor knocking could draw forth a reply.
"Let us force it open, Procope!" he said.
The two men put their shoulders to the door, which soon yielded to their
vigorous efforts, and they found themselves inside the shed, and in
almost total darkness. By opening a shutter they admitted what daylight
they could. At first sight the wretched place seemed to be deserted; the
little grate contained the ashes of a fire long since extinguished; all
looked black and desolate. Another instant's investigation, however,
revealed a bed in the extreme corner, and extended on the bed a human
form.
"Dead!" sighed Servadac; "dead of cold and hunger!"
Lieutenant Procope bent down and anxiously contemplated the body.
"No; he is alive!" he said, and drawing a small flask from his pocket he
poured a few drops of brandy between the lips of the senseless man.
There was a faint sigh, followed by a feeble voice, which uttered the
one word, "Gallia?"
"Yes, yes! Gallia!" echoed Servadac, eagerly.
"My comet, my comet!" said the voice, so low as to be almost inaudible,
and the unfortunate man relapsed again into unconsciousness.
"Where have I seen this man?" thought Servadac to himself; "his face is
strangely familiar to me."
But it was no time for deliberation. Not a moment was to be lost in
getting the unconscious astronomer away from his desolate quarters.
He was soon conveyed to the yawl; his books, his scanty wardrobe, his
papers, his instruments, and the blackboard which had served for
his calculations, were quickly collected; the wind, by a fortuitous
Providence, had shifted into a favorable quarter; they set their sail
with all speed, and ere long were on their journey back from Formentera.
Thirty-six hours later, the brave travelers were greeted by the
acclamations of their fellow-colonists, who had been most anxiously
awaiting their reappearance, and the still senseless savant, who had
neither opened his eyes nor spoken a word throughout the journey, was
safely deposited in the warmth and security of the great hall of Nina's
Hive.