An Enigma From The Sea

: BOOK I.
: Off On A Comet

Lieutenant Procope had been left on board in charge of the Dobryna,

and on resuming the voyage it was a task of some difficulty to make him

understand the fact that had just come to light. Some hours were spent

in discussion and in attempting to penetrate the mysteries of the

situation.



There were certain things of which they were perfectly certain. They

could be under no misapprehension as to the distanc they had positively

sailed from Gourbi Island towards the east before their further progress

was arrested by the unknown shore; as nearly as possible that was

fifteen degrees; the length of the narrow strait by which they had made

their way across that land to regain the open sea was about three miles

and a half; thence onward to the island, which they had been assured,

on evidence that they could not disbelieve, to be upon the site of

Gibraltar, was four degrees; while from Gibraltar to Gourbi Island was

seven degrees or but little more. What was it altogether? Was it not

less than thirty degrees? In that latitude, the degree of longitude

represents eight and forty miles. What, then, did it all amount to?

Indubitably, to less than 1,400 miles. So brief a voyage would bring the

Dobryna once again to her starting-point, or, in other words, would

enable her to complete the circumnavigation of the globe. How changed

the condition of things! Previously, to sail from Malta to Gibraltar by

an eastward course would have involved the passage of the Suez Canal,

the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, the Atlantic; but what had

happened now? Why, Gibraltar had been reached as if it had been just at

Corfu, and some three hundred and thirty degrees of the earth's circuit

had vanished utterly.



After allowing for a certain margin of miscalculation, the main fact

remained undeniable; and the necessary inference that Lieutenant Procope

drew from the round of the earth being completed in 1,400 miles, was

that the earth's diameter had been reduced by about fifteen sixteenths

of its length.



"If that be so," observed the count, "it accounts for some of the

strange phenomena we witness. If our world has become so insignificant a

spheroid, not only has its gravity diminished, but its rotary speed has

been accelerated; and this affords an adequate explanation of our days

and nights being thus curtailed. But how about the new orbit in which we

are moving?"



He paused and pondered, and then looked at Procope as though awaiting

from him some further elucidation of the difficulty. The lieutenant

hesitated. When, in a few moments, he began to speak, Servadac smiled

intelligently, anticipating the answer he was about to hear.



"My conjecture is," said Procope, "that a fragment of considerable

magnitude has been detached from the earth; that it has carried with

it an envelope of the earth's atmosphere, and that it is now traveling

through the solar system in an orbit that does not correspond at all

with the proper orbit of the earth."



The hypothesis was plausible; but what a multitude of bewildering

speculations it entailed! If, in truth, a certain mass had been broken

off from the terrestrial sphere, whither would it wend its way? What

would be the measure of the eccentricity of its path? What would be its

period round the sun? Might it not, like a comet, be carried away into

the vast infinity of space? or, on the other hand, might it not be

attracted to the great central source of light and heat, and be absorbed

in it? Did its orbit correspond with the orbit of the ecliptic? and was

there no chance of its ever uniting again with the globe, from which it

had been torn off by so sudden and violent a disruption?



A thoughtful silence fell upon them all, which Servadac was the first

to break. "Lieutenant," he said, "your explanation is ingenious, and

accounts for many appearances; but it seems to me that in one point it

fails."



"How so?" replied Procope. "To my mind the theory meets all objections."



"I think not," Servadac answered. "In one point, at least, it appears to

me to break down completely."



"What is that?" asked the lieutenant.



"Stop a moment," said the captain. "Let us see that we understand each

other right. Unless I mistake you, your hypothesis is that a fragment of

the earth, comprising the Mediterranean and its shores from Gibraltar

to Malta, has been developed into a new asteroid, which is started on an

independent orbit in the solar regions. Is not that your meaning?"



"Precisely so," the lieutenant acquiesced.



"Well, then," continued Servadac, "it seems to me to be at fault in this

respect: it fails, and fails completely, to account for the geological

character of the land that we have found now encompassing this sea. Why,

if the new land is a fragment of the old--why does it not retain its old

formation? What has become of the granite and the calcareous deposits?

How is it that these should all be changed into a mineral concrete with

which we have no acquaintance?"



No doubt, it was a serious objection; for, however likely it might be

that a mass of the earth on being detached would be eccentric in its

movements, there was no probable reason to be alleged why the material

of its substance should undergo so complete a change. There was nothing

to account for the fertile shores, rich in vegetation, being transformed

into rocks arid and barren beyond precedent.



The lieutenant felt the difficulty, and owned himself unprepared to give

at once an adequate solution; nevertheless, he declined to renounce his

theory. He asserted that the arguments in favor of it carried conviction

to his mind, and that he entertained no doubt but that, in the course of

time, all apparently antagonistic circumstances would be explained so as

to become consistent with the view he took. He was careful, however,

to make it understood that with respect to the original cause of

the disruption he had no theory to offer; and although he knew what

expansion might be the result of subterranean forces, he did not venture

to say that he considered it sufficient to produce so tremendous an

effect. The origin of the catastrophe was a problem still to be solved.



"Ah! well," said Servadac, "I don't know that it matters much where our

new little planet comes from, or what it is made of, if only it carries

France along with it."



"And Russia," added the count.



"And Russia, of course," said Servadac, with a polite bow.



There was, however, not much room for this sanguine expectation, for if

a new asteroid had thus been brought into existence, it must be a sphere

of extremely limited dimensions, and there could be little chance that

it embraced more than the merest fraction of either France or Russia. As

to England, the total cessation of all telegraphic communication between

her shores and Gibraltar was a virtual proof that England was beyond its

compass.



And what was the true measurement of the new little world? At Gourbi

Island the days and nights were of equal length, and this seemed to

indicate that it was situated on the equator; hence the distance by

which the two poles stood apart would be half what had been reckoned

would be the distance completed by the Dobryna in her circuit. That

distance had been already estimated to be something under 1,400 miles,

so that the Arctic Pole of their recently fashioned world must be about

350 miles to the north, and the Antarctic about 350 miles to the south

of the island. Compare these calculations with the map, and it is at

once apparent that the northernmost limit barely touched the coast of

Provence, while the southernmost reached to about lat. 20 degrees

N., and fell in the heart of the desert. The practical test of these

conclusions would be made by future investigation, but meanwhile

the fact appeared very much to strengthen the presumption that, if

Lieutenant Procope had not arrived at the whole truth, he had made a

considerable advance towards it.



The weather, ever since the storm that had driven the Dobryna into the

creek, had been magnificent. The wind continued favorable, and now under

both steam and canvas, she made a rapid progress towards the north,

a direction in which she was free to go in consequence of the total

disappearance of the Spanish coast, from Gibraltar right away to

Alicante. Malaga, Almeria, Cape Gata, Carthagena. Cape Palos--all were

gone. The sea was rolling over the southern extent of the peninsula, so

that the yacht advanced to the latitude of Seville before it sighted any

land at all, and then, not shores such as the shores of Andalusia, but

a bluff and precipitous cliff, in its geological features resembling

exactly the stern and barren rock that she had coasted beyond the site

of Malta. Here the sea made a decided indentation on the coast; it ran

up in an acute-angled triangle till its apex coincided with the very

spot upon which Madrid had stood. But as hitherto the sea had encroached

upon the land, the land in its turn now encroached upon the sea; for a

frowning headland stood out far into the basin of the Mediterranean,

and formed a promontory stretching out beyond the proper places of

the Balearic Isles. Curiosity was all alive. There was the intensest

interest awakened to determine whether no vestige could be traced of

Majorca, Minorca, or any of the group, and it was during a deviation

from the direct course for the purpose of a more thorough scrutiny, that

one of the sailors raised a thrill of general excitement by shouting, "A

bottle in the sea!"



Here, then, at length was a communication from the outer world. Surely

now they would find a document which would throw some light upon all the

mysteries that had happened? Had not the day now dawned that should set

their speculations all at rest?



It was the morning of the 21st of February. The count, the captain,

the lieutenant, everybody hurried to the forecastle; the schooner was

dexterously put about, and all was eager impatience until the supposed

bottle was hauled on deck.



It was not, however, a bottle; it proved to be a round leather

telescope-case, about a foot long, and the first thing to do before

investigating its contents was to make a careful examination of its

exterior. The lid was fastened on by wax, and so securely that it would

take a long immersion before any water could penetrate; there was no

maker's name to be deciphered; but impressed very plainly with a seal on

the wax were the two initials "P. R."



When the scrutiny of the outside was finished, the wax was removed and

the cover opened, and the lieutenant drew out a slip of ruled paper,

evidently torn from a common note-book. The paper had an inscription

written in four lines, which were remarkable for the profusion of notes

of admiration and interrogation with which they were interspersed:



"Gallia???

Ab sole, au 15 fev. 59,000,000 l.!

Chemin parcouru de janv. a fev. 82,000,000 l.!!

Va bene! All right!! Parfait!!!"



There was a general sigh of disappointment. They turned the paper over

and over, and handed it from one to another. "What does it all mean?"

exclaimed the count.



"Something mysterious here!" said Servadac. "But yet," he continued,

after a pause, "one thing is tolerably certain: on the 15th, six days

ago, someone was alive to write it."



"Yes; I presume there is no reason to doubt the accuracy of the date,"

assented the count.



To this strange conglomeration of French, English, Italian, and Latin,

there was no signature attached; nor was there anything to give a

clue as to the locality in which it had been committed to the waves.

A telescope-case would probably be the property of some one on board

a ship; and the figures obviously referred to the astronomical wonders

that had been experienced.



To these general observations Captain Servadac objected that he thought

it unlikely that any one on board a ship would use a telescope-case for

this purpose, but would be sure to use a bottle as being more secure;

and, accordingly, he should rather be inclined to believe that the

message had been set afloat by some savant left alone, perchance, upon

some isolated coast.



"But, however interesting it might be," observed the count, "to know

the author of the lines, to us it is of far greater moment to ascertain

their meaning."



And taking up the paper again, he said, "Perhaps we might analyze it

word by word, and from its detached parts gather some clue to its sense

as a whole."



"What can be the meaning of all that cluster of interrogations after

Gallia?" asked Servadac.



Lieutenant Procope, who had hitherto not spoken, now broke his silence

by saying, "I beg, gentlemen, to submit my opinion that this document

goes very far to confirm my hypothesis that a fragment of the earth has

been precipitated into space."



Captain Servadac hesitated, and then replied, "Even if it does, I do not

see how it accounts in the least for the geological character of the new

asteroid."



"But will you allow me for one minute to take my supposition for

granted?" said Procope. "If a new little planet has been formed, as I

imagine, by disintegration from the old, I should conjecture that Gallia

is the name assigned to it by the writer of this paper. The very notes

of interrogation are significant that he was in doubt what he should

write."



"You would presume that he was a Frenchman?" asked the count.



"I should think so," replied the lieutenant.



"Not much doubt about that," said Servadac; "it is all in French,

except a few scattered words of English, Latin, and Italian, inserted to

attract attention. He could not tell into whose hands the message would

fall first."



"Well, then," said Count Timascheff, "we seem to have found a name for

the new world we occupy."



"But what I was going especially to observe," continued the lieutenant,

"is that the distance, 59,000,000 leagues, represents precisely the

distance we ourselves were from the sun on the 15th. It was on that day

we crossed the orbit of Mars."



"Yes, true," assented the others.



"And the next line," said the lieutenant, after reading it aloud,

"apparently registers the distance traversed by Gallia, the new little

planet, in her own orbit. Her speed, of course, we know by Kepler's

laws, would vary according to her distance from the sun, and if she

were--as I conjecture from the temperature at that date--on the 15th of

January at her perihelion, she would be traveling twice as fast as the

earth, which moves at the rate of between 50,000 and 60,000 miles an

hour."



"You think, then," said Servadac, with a smile, "you have determined

the perihelion of our orbit; but how about the aphelion? Can you form a

judgment as to what distance we are likely to be carried?"



"You are asking too much," remonstrated the count.



"I confess," said the lieutenant, "that just at present I am not able to

clear away the uncertainty of the future; but I feel confident that by

careful observation at various points we shall arrive at conclusions

which not only will determine our path, but perhaps may clear up the

mystery about our geological structure."



"Allow me to ask," said Count Timascheff, "whether such a new asteroid

would not be subject to ordinary mechanical laws, and whether, once

started, it would not have an orbit that must be immutable?"



"Decidedly it would, so long as it was undisturbed by the attraction

of some considerable body; but we must recollect that, compared to the

great planets, Gallia must be almost infinitesimally small, and so might

be attracted by a force that is irresistible."



"Altogether, then," said Servadac, "we seem to have settled it to our

entire satisfaction that we must be the population of a young little

world called Gallia. Perhaps some day we may have the honor of being

registered among the minor planets."



"No chance of that," quickly rejoined Lieutenant Procope. "Those minor

planets all are known to rotate in a narrow zone between the orbits of

Mars and Jupiter; in their perihelia they cannot approximate the sun as

we have done; we shall not be classed with them."



"Our lack of instruments," said the count, "is much to be deplored; it

baffles our investigations in every way."



"Ah, never mind! Keep up your courage, count!" said Servadac, cheerily.



And Lieutenant Procope renewed his assurances that he entertained good

hopes that every perplexity would soon be solved.



"I suppose," remarked the count, "that we cannot attribute much

importance to the last line: 'Va bene! All right!! Parfait!!!'"



The captain answered, "At least, it shows that whoever wrote it had no

murmuring or complaint to make, but was quite content with the new order

of things."