Off on a Comet - Jules Verne (classic english novels .TXT) 📗
- Author: Jules Verne
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are each of the length of seven terrestrial years.
Although the light received from the sun is comparatively feeble,
the nights upon Saturn must be splendid. Eight satellites—
Mimas, Enceladus, Tethys, Dione, Rhea, Titan, Hyperion, and Japetus—
accompany the planet; Mimas, the nearest to its primary, rotating on its
axis in 221/2 hours, and revolving at a distance of only 120,800 miles,
whilst Japetus, the most remote, occupies 79 days in its rotation,
and revolves at a distance of 2,314,000 miles.
Another most important contribution to the magnificence of the nights
upon Saturn is the triple ring with which, as a brilliant setting,
the planet is encompassed. To an observer at the equator, this ring,
which has been estimated by Sir William Herschel as scarcely 100
miles in thickness, must have the appearance of a narrow band
of light passing through the zenith 12,000 miles above his head.
As the observer, however, increases his latitude either north
or south, the band will gradually widen out into three detached
and concentric rings, of which the innermost, dark though transparent,
is 9,625 miles in breadth; the intermediate one, which is brighter
than the planet itself, being 17,605 miles broad; and the outer,
of a dusky hue, being 8,660 miles broad.
Such, they read, is the general outline of this strange appendage,
which revolves in its own plane in 10 hours 32 minutes.
Of what matter it is composed, and how it resists disintegration,
is still an unsettled question; but it might almost seem
that the Designer of the universe, in permitting its existence,
had been willing to impart to His intelligent creatures the manner
in which celestial bodies are evolved, and that this remarkable
ring-system is a remnant of the nebula from which Saturn
was himself developed, and which, from some unknown cause,
has become solidified. If at any time it should disperse,
it would either fall into fragments upon the surface of Saturn,
or the fragments, mutually coalescing, would form additional
satellites to circle round the planet in its path.
To any observer stationed on the planet, between the extremes of lat.
45 degrees on either side of the equator, these wonderful rings would
present various strange phenomena. Sometimes they would appear as an
illuminated arch, with the shadow of Saturn passing over it like the hour-hand
over a dial; at other times they would be like a semi-aureole of light.
Very often, too, for periods of several years, daily eclipses of the sun
must occur through the interposition of this triple ring.
Truly, with the constant rising and setting of the satellites,
some with bright discs at their full, others like silver crescents,
in quadrature, as well as by the encircling rings, the aspect
of the heavens from the surface of Saturn must be as impressive
as it is gorgeous.
Unable, indeed, the Gallians were to realize all the marvels of this
strange world. After all, they were practically a thousand times
further off than the great astronomers have been able to approach
by means of their giant telescopes. But they did not complain;
their little comet, they knew, was far safer where it was;
far better out of the reach of an attraction which, by affecting
their path, might have annihilated their best hopes.
The distances of several of the brightest of the fixed stars have
been estimated. Amongst others, Vega in the constellation Lyra
is 100 millions of millions of miles away; Sirius in Canis Major,
123 millions of millions; the Pole-star, 282 millions of millions;
and Capella, 340 millions of millions of miles, a figure represented
by no less than fifteen digits.
The hard numerical statement of these enormous figures, however,
fails altogether in any adequate way to convey a due impression
of the magnitude of these distances. Astronomers, in their ingenuity,
have endeavored to use some other basis, and have found “the
velocity of light” to be convenient for their purpose.
They have made their representations something in this way:
“Suppose,” they say, “an observer endowed with an infinite length of vision:
suppose him stationed on the surface of Capella; looking thence
towards the earth, he would be a spectator of events that had happened
seventy years previously; transport him to a star ten times distant,
and he will be reviewing the terrestrial sphere of 720 years back;
carry him away further still, to a star so remote that it requires
something less than nineteen centuries for light to reach it,
and he would be a witness of the birth and death of Christ;
convey him further again, and he shall be looking upon the dread
desolation of the Deluge; take him away further yet (for space is
infinite), and he shall be a spectator of the Creation of the spheres.
History is thus stereotyped in space; nothing once accomplished can
ever be effaced.”
Who can altogether be astonished that Palmyrin Rosette, with his
burning thirst for astronomical research, should have been conscious
of a longing for yet wider travel through the sidereal universe?
With his comet now under the influence of one star, now of another,
what various systems might he not have explored! what undreamed-of
marvels might not have revealed themselves before his gaze!
The stars, fixed and immovable in name, are all of them in motion,
and Gallia might have followed them in their un-tracked way.
But Gallia had a narrow destiny. She was not to be allowed
to wander away into the range of attraction of another center;
nor to mingle with the star clusters, some of which have
been entirely, others partially resolved; nor was she to lose
herself amongst the 5,000 nebulae which have resisted hitherto
the grasp of the most powerful reflectors. No; Gallia was
neither to pass beyond the limits of the solar system,
nor to travel out of sight of the terrestrial sphere.
Her orbit was circumscribed to little over 1,500 millions
of miles; and, in comparison with the infinite space beyond,
this was a mere nothing.
A FETE DAY
The temperature continued to decrease; the mercurial thermometer,
which freezes at 42 degrees below zero, was no longer of service,
and the spirit thermometer of the Dobryna had been brought into use.
This now registered 53 degrees below freezing-point.
In the creek, where the two vessels had been moored for the winter,
the elevation of the ice, in anticipation of which Lieutenant Procope
had taken the precautionary measure of beveling, was going on slowly
but irresistibly, and the tartan was upheaved fifty feet above
the level of the Gallian Sea, while the schooner, as being lighter,
had been raised to a still greater altitude.
So irresistible was this gradual process of elevation,
so utterly defying all human power to arrest, that the lieutenant
began to feel very anxious as to the safety of his yacht.
With the exception of the engine and the masts,
everything had been cleared out and conveyed to shore,
but in the event of a thaw it appeared that nothing short
of a miracle could prevent the hull from being dashed to pieces,
and then all means of leaving the promontory would be gone.
The Hansa, of course, would share a similar fate; in fact,
it had already heeled over to such an extent as to render it
quite dangerous for its obstinate owner, who, at the peril
of his life, resolved that he would stay where he could watch
over his all-precious cargo, though continually invoking curses
on the ill-fate of which he deemed himself the victim.
There was, however, a stronger will than Isaac Hakkabut’s. Although
no one of all the community cared at all for the safety of the Jew,
they cared very much for the security of his cargo, and when Servadac
found that nothing would induce the old man to abandon his present
quarters voluntarily, he very soon adopted measures of coercion that
were far more effectual than any representations of personal danger.
“Stop where you like, Hakkabut,” said the captain to him; “but understand
that I consider it my duty to make sure that your cargo is taken care of.
I am going to have it carried across to land, at once.”
Neither groans, nor tears, nor protestations on the part of the Jew,
were of the slightest avail. Forthwith, on the 20th of December,
the removal of the goods commenced.
Both Spaniards and Russians were all occupied for several days
in the work of unloading the tartan. Well muffled up as they
were in furs, they were able to endure the cold with impunity,
making it their special care to avoid actual contact with any
article made of metal, which, in the low state of the temperature,
would inevitably have taken all the skin off their hands,
as much as if it had been red-hot. The task, however, was brought
to an end without accident of any kind; and when the stores
of the Hansa were safely deposited in the galleries
of the Hive, Lieutenant Procope avowed that he really felt
that his mind had been unburdened from a great anxiety.
Captain Servadac gave old Isaac full permission to take up his residence
amongst the rest of the community, promised him the entire control over
his own property, and altogether showed him so much consideration that,
but for his unbounded respect for his master, Ben Zoof would have liked
to reprimand him for his courtesy to a man whom he so cordially despised.
Although Hakkabut clamored most vehemently about his goods
being carried off “against his will,” in his heart he was more
than satisfied to see his property transferred to a place
of safety, and delighted, moreover, to know that the transport
had been effected without a farthing of expense to himself.
As soon, then, as he found the tartan empty, he was only too
glad to accept the offer that had been made him, and very soon
made his way over to the quarters in the gallery where his
merchandise had been stored. Here he lived day and night.
He supplied himself with what little food he required from
his own stock of provisions, a small spirit-lamp sufficing
to perform all the operations of his meager cookery.
Consequently all intercourse between himself and the rest of
the inhabitants was entirely confined to business transactions,
when occasion required that some purchase should be made from
his stock of commodities. Meanwhile, all the silver and gold of
the colony was gradually finding its way to a double-locked drawer,
of which the Jew most carefully guarded the key.
The 1st of January was drawing near, the anniversary of the shock
which had resulted in the severance of thirty-six human beings from
the society of their fellow-men. Hitherto, not one of them was missing.
The unvarying calmness of the climate, notwithstanding the cold,
had tended to maintain them in good health, and there seemed no reason
to doubt that, when Gallia returned to the earth, the total of its
little population would still be complete.
The 1st of January, it is true, was not properly “New Year’s Day”
in Gallia, but Captain Servadac, nevertheless, was very anxious
to have it observed as a holiday.
“I do not think,” he said to Count Timascheff and Lieutenant Procope,
“that we ought to allow our people to lose their interest in the world
to which we are all hoping to return; and how can we cement the bond
that ought to unite us, better than by celebrating, in common with our
fellow-creatures upon earth, a day that awakens afresh the kindliest
sentiments of all? Besides,” he added, smiling, “I expect that Gallia,
although invisible just at present to the naked eye, is being closely
watched by the telescopes of our terrestrial friends, and I have
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