Off on a Comet, Jules Verne [10 ebook reader .txt] 📗

CHAPTER XII

AT THE MERCY OF THE WINDS

 

As the affrighted cormorants had winged their flight towards the south,

there sprang up a sanguine hope on board the schooner that land might be

discovered in that direction. Thither, accordingly, it was determined

to proceed, and in a few hours after quitting the island of the tomb,

the Dobryna was traversing the shallow waters that now covered

the peninsula of Dakhul, which had separated the Bay of Tunis from

the Gulf of Hammamet. For two days she continued an undeviating course,

and after a futile search for the coast of Tunis, reached the latitude

of 34 degrees.

 

Here, on the 11th of February, there suddenly arose the cry of “Land!”

and in the extreme horizon, right ahead, where land had never been before,

it was true enough that a shore was distinctly to be seen.

What could it be? It could not be the coast of Tripoli; for not only

would that lowlying shore be quite invisible at such a distance,

but it was certain, moreover, that it lay two degrees at least still

further south. It was soon observed that this newly discovered land

was of very irregular elevation, that it extended due east and west

across the horizon, thus dividing the gulf into two separate sections

and completely concealing the island of Jerba, which must lie behind.

Its position was duly traced on the Dobryna‘s chart.

 

“How strange,” exclaimed Hector Servadac, “that after sailing all this

time over sea where we expected to find land, we have at last come upon

land where we thought to find sea!”

 

“Strange, indeed,” replied Lieutenant Procope; “and what appears

to me almost as remarkable is that we have never once caught sight

either of one of the Maltese tartans or one of the Levantine xebecs

that traffic so regularly on the Mediterranean.”

 

“Eastwards or westwards,” asked the count—“which shall be our course?

All farther progress to the south is checked.”

 

“Westwards, by all means,” replied Servadac quickly.

“I am longing to know whether anything of Algeria is left

beyond the Shelif; besides, as we pass Gourbi Island we might

take Ben Zoof on board, and then make away for Gibraltar,

where we should be sure to learn something, at least,

of European news.”

 

With his usual air of stately courtesy, Count Timascheff

begged the captain to consider the yacht at his own disposal,

and desired him to give the lieutenant instructions accordingly.

 

Lieutenant Procope, however, hesitated, and after revolving

matters for a few moments in his mind, pointed out that as

the wind was blowing directly from the west, and seemed likely

to increase, if they went to the west in the teeth of the weather,

the schooner would be reduced to the use of her engine only,

and would have much difficulty in making any headway;

on the other hand, by taking an eastward course, not only would

they have the advantage of the wind, but, under steam and canvas,

might hope in a few days to be off the coast of Egypt, and from

Alexandria or some other port they would have the same opportunity

of getting tidings from Europe as they would at Gibraltar.

 

Intensely anxious as he was to revisit the province of Oran, and eager,

too, to satisfy himself of the welfare of his faithful Ben Zoof, Servadac

could not but own the reasonableness of the lieutenant’s objections,

and yielded to the proposal that the eastward course should be adopted.

The wind gave signs only too threatening of the breeze rising to a gale;

but, fortunately, the waves did not culminate in breakers, but rather

in a long swell which ran in the same direction as the vessel.

 

During the last fortnight the high temperature had been gradually

diminishing, until it now reached an average of 20 degrees Cent.

(or 68 degrees Fahr.), and sometimes descended as low as 15 degrees.

That this diminution was to be attributed to the change in

the earth’s orbit was a question that admitted of little doubt.

After approaching so near to the sun as to cross the orbit of Venus,

the earth must now have receded so far from the sun that its normal

distance of ninety-one millions of miles was greatly increased,

and the probability was great that it was approximating to the orbit of Mars,

that planet which in its physical constitution most nearly resembles

our own. Nor was this supposition suggested merely by the lowering

of the temperature; it was strongly corroborated by the reduction

of the apparent diameter of the sun’s disc to the precise dimensions

which it would assume to an observer actually stationed on the surface

of Mars. The necessary inference that seemed to follow from these

phenomena was that the earth had been projected into a new orbit,

which had the form of a very elongated ellipse.

 

Very slight, however, in comparison was the regard which these astronomical

wonders attracted on board the Dobryna. All interest there was too much

absorbed in terrestrial matters, and in ascertaining what changes had taken

place in the configuration of the earth itself, to permit much attention

to be paid to its erratic movements through space.

 

The schooner kept bravely on her way, but well out to sea,

at a distance of two miles from land. There was good need

of this precaution, for so precipitous was the shore that a

vessel driven upon it must inevitably have gone to pieces;

it did not offer a single harbor of refuge, but, smooth and

perpendicular as the walls of a fortress, it rose to a height

of two hundred, and occasionally of three hundred feet.

The waves dashed violently against its base. Upon the general

substratum rested a massive conglomerate, the crystallizations

of which rose like a forest of gigantic pyramids and obelisks.

 

But what struck the explorers more than anything was the appearance

of singular newness that pervaded the whole of the region.

It all seemed so recent in its formation that the atmosphere had had no

opportunity of producing its wonted effect in softening the hardness

of its lines, in rounding the sharpness of its angles, or in modifying

the color of its surface; its outline was clearly marked against the sky,

and its substance, smooth and polished as though fresh from a founder’s mold,

glittered with the metallic brilliancy that is characteristic of pyrites.

It seemed impossible to come to any other conclusion but that the land

before them, continent or island, had been upheaved by subterranean

forces above the surface of the sea, and that it was mainly composed

of the same metallic element as had characterized the dust so frequently

uplifted from the bottom.

 

The extreme nakedness of the entire tract was likewise very extraordinary.

Elsewhere, in various quarters of the globe, there may be sterile rocks,

but there are none so adamant as to be altogether unfurrowed by the filaments

engendered in the moist residuum of the condensed vapor; elsewhere there may

be barren steeps, but none so rigid as not to afford some hold to vegetation,

however low and elementary may be its type; but here all was bare, and blank,

and desolate—not a symptom of vitality was visible.

 

Such being the condition of the adjacent land, it could hardly be

a matter of surprise that all the sea-birds, the albatross, the gull,

the sea-mew, sought continual refuge on the schooner; day and night

they perched fearlessly upon the yards, the report of a gun failing

to dislodge them, and when food of any sort was thrown upon the deck,

they would dart down and fight with eager voracity for the prize.

Their extreme avidity was recognized as a proof that any land where they

could obtain a sustenance must be far remote.

 

Onwards thus for several days the Dobryna followed the contour of

the inhospitable coast, of which the features would occasionally change,

sometimes for two or three miles assuming the form of a simple arris,

sharply defined as though cut by a chisel, when suddenly the prismatic

lamellae soaring in rugged confusion would again recur; but all along

there was the same absence of beach or tract of sand to mark its base,

neither were there any of those shoals of rock that are ordinarily found

in shallow water. At rare intervals there were some narrow fissures, but not

a creek available for a ship to enter to replenish its supply of water;

and the wide roadsteads were unprotected and exposed to well-nigh every

point of the compass.

 

But after sailing two hundred and forty miles, the progress of the Dobryna

was suddenly arrested. Lieutenant Procope, who had sedulously inserted

the outline of the newly revealed shore upon the maps, announced that it

had ceased to run east and west, and had taken a turn due north,

thus forming a barrier to their continuing their previous direction.

It was, of course, impossible to conjecture how far this barrier extended;

it coincided pretty nearly with the fourteenth meridian of east longitude;

and if it reached, as probably it did, beyond Sicily to Italy, it was certain

that the vast basin of the Mediterranean, which had washed the shores

alike of Europe, Asia, and Africa, must have been reduced to about half

its original area.

 

It was resolved to proceed upon the same plan as heretofore, following

the boundary of the land at a safe distance. Accordingly, the head

of the Dobryna was pointed north, making straight, as it was presumed,

for the south of Europe. A hundred miles, or somewhat over,

in that direction, and it was to be anticipated she would come in sight

of Malta, if only that ancient island, the heritage in succession

of Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Sicilians, Romans, Vandals, Greeks, Arabians,

and the knights of Rhodes, should still be undestroyed.

 

But Malta, too, was gone; and when, upon the 14th, the sounding-line

was dropped upon its site, it was only with the same result

so oftentimes obtained before.

 

“The devastation is not limited to Africa,” observed the count.

 

“Assuredly not,” assented the lieutenant; adding, “and I confess I

am almost in despair whether we shall ever ascertain its limits.

To what quarter of Europe, if Europe still exists, do you propose

that I should now direct your course?”

 

“To Sicily, Italy, France!” ejaculated Servadac, eagerly,—“anywhere where we

can learn the truth of what has befallen us.”

 

“How if we are the sole survivors?” said the count, gravely.

 

Hector Servadac was silent; his own secret presentiment so

thoroughly coincided with the doubts expressed by the count,

that he refrained from saying another word.

 

The coast, without deviation, still tended towards the north.

No alternative, therefore, remained than to take a westerly course

and to attempt to reach the northern shores of the Mediterranean. On the

l6th the Dobryna essayed to start upon her altered way, but it

seemed as if the elements