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.



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