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<h2> CHAPTER VII. BEN ZOOF WATCHES IN VAIN </h2>
<p>In a few minutes the governor general and his population were asleep. The
gourbi being in ruins, they were obliged to put up with the best
accommodation they could find in the adjacent erection. It must be owned
that the captain's slumbers were by no means sound; he was agitated by the
consciousness that he had hitherto been unable to account for his strange
experiences by any reasonable theory. Though far from being advanced in
the knowledge of natural philosophy, he had been instructed, to a certain
degree, in its elementary principles; and, by an effort of memory, he
managed to recall some general laws which he had almost forgotten. He
could understand that an altered inclination of the earth's axis with
regard to the ecliptic would introduce a change of position in the
cardinal points, and bring about a displacement of the sea; but the
hypothesis entirely failed to account, either for the shortening of the
days, or for the diminution in the pressure of the atmosphere. He felt
that his judgment was utterly baffled; his only remaining hope was that
the chain of marvels was not yet complete, and that something farther
might throw some light upon the mystery.</p>
<p>Ben Zoof's first care on the following morning was to provide a good
breakfast. To use his own phrase, he was as hungry as the whole population
of three million Algerians, of whom he was the representative, and he must
have enough to eat. The catastrophe which had overwhelmed the country had
left a dozen eggs uninjured, and upon these, with a good dish of his
famous couscous, he hoped that he and his master might have a sufficiently
substantial meal. The stove was ready for use, the copper skillet was as
bright as hands could make it, and the beads of condensed steam upon the
surface of a large stone al-caraza gave evidence that it was supplied with
water. Ben Zoof at once lighted a fire, singing all the time, according to
his wont, a snatch of an old military refrain.</p>
<p>Ever on the lookout for fresh phenomena, Captain Servadac watched the
preparations with a curious eye. It struck him that perhaps the air, in
its strangely modified condition, would fail to supply sufficient oxygen,
and that the stove, in consequence, might not fulfill its function. But
no; the fire was lighted just as usual, and fanned into vigor by Ben Zoof
applying his mouth in lieu of bellows, and a bright flame started up from
the midst of the twigs and coal. The skillet was duly set upon the stove,
and Ben Zoof was prepared to wait awhile for the water to boil. Taking up
the eggs, he was surprised to notice that they hardly weighed more than
they would if they had been mere shells; but he was still more surprised
when he saw that before the water had been two minutes over the fire it
was at full boil.</p>
<p>"By jingo!" he exclaimed, "a precious hot fire!"</p>
<p>Servadac reflected. "It cannot be that the fire is hotter," he said, "the
peculiarity must be in the water." And taking down a centigrade
thermometer, which hung upon the wall, he plunged it into the skillet.
Instead of 100 degrees, the instrument registered only 66 degrees.</p>
<p>"Take my advice, Ben Zoof," he said; "leave your eggs in the saucepan a
good quarter of an hour."</p>
<p>"Boil them hard! That will never do," objected the orderly.</p>
<p>"You will not find them hard, my good fellow. Trust me, we shall be able
to dip our sippets into the yolks easily enough."</p>
<p>The captain was quite right in his conjecture, that this new phenomenon
was caused by a diminution in the pressure of the atmosphere. Water
boiling at a temperature of 66 degrees was itself an evidence that the
column of air above the earth's surface had become reduced by one-third of
its altitude. The identical phenomenon would have occurred at the summit
of a mountain 35,000 feet high; and had Servadac been in possession of a
barometer, he would have immediately discovered the fact that only now for
the first time, as the result of experiment, revealed itself to him—a
fact, moreover, which accounted for the compression of the blood-vessels
which both he and Ben Zoof had experienced, as well as for the attenuation
of their voices and their accelerated breathing. "And yet," he argued with
himself, "if our encampment has been projected to so great an elevation,
how is it that the sea remains at its proper level?"</p>
<p>Once again Hector Servadac, though capable of tracing consequences, felt
himself totally at a loss to comprehend their cause; hence his agitation
and bewilderment!</p>
<p>After their prolonged immersion in the boiling water, the eggs were found
to be only just sufficiently cooked; the couscous was very much in the
same condition; and Ben Zoof came to the conclusion that in future he must
be careful to commence his culinary operations an hour earlier. He was
rejoiced at last to help his master, who, in spite of his perplexed
preoccupation, seemed to have a very fair appetite for breakfast.</p>
<p>"Well, captain?" said Ben Zoof presently, such being his ordinary way of
opening conversation.</p>
<p>"Well, Ben Zoof?" was the captain's invariable response to his servant's
formula.</p>
<p>"What are we to do now, sir?"</p>
<p>"We can only for the present wait patiently where we are. We are encamped
upon an island, and therefore we can only be rescued by sea."</p>
<p>"But do you suppose that any of our friends are still alive?" asked Ben
Zoof.</p>
<p>"Oh, I think we must indulge the hope that this catastrophe has not
extended far. We must trust that it has limited its mischief to some small
portion of the Algerian coast, and that our friends are all alive and
well. No doubt the governor general will be anxious to investigate the
full extent of the damage, and will send a vessel from Algiers to explore.
It is not likely that we shall be forgotten. What, then, you have to do,
Ben Zoof, is to keep a sharp lookout, and to be ready, in case a vessel
should appear, to make signals at once."</p>
<p>"But if no vessel should appear!" sighed the orderly.</p>
<p>"Then we must build a boat, and go in search of those who do not come in
search of us."</p>
<p>"Very good. But what sort of a sailor are you?"</p>
<p>"Everyone can be a sailor when he must," said Servadac calmly.</p>
<p>Ben Zoof said no more. For several succeeding days he scanned the horizon
unintermittently with his telescope. His watching was in vain. No ship
appeared upon the desert sea. "By the name of a Kabyle!" he broke out
impatiently, "his Excellency is grossly negligent!"</p>
<p>Although the days and nights had become reduced from twenty-four hours to
twelve, Captain Servadac would not accept the new condition of things, but
resolved to adhere to the computations of the old calendar.
Notwithstanding, therefore, that the sun had risen and set twelve times
since the commencement of the new year, he persisted in calling the
following day the 6th of January. His watch enabled him to keep an
accurate account of the passing hours.</p>
<p>In the course of his life, Ben Zoof had read a few books. After pondering
one day, he said: "It seems to me, captain, that you have turned into
Robinson Crusoe, and that I am your man Friday. I hope I have not become a
negro."</p>
<p>"No," replied the captain. "Your complexion isn't the fairest in the
world, but you are not black yet."</p>
<p>"Well, I had much sooner be a white Friday than a black one," rejoined Ben
Zoof.</p>
<p>Still no ship appeared; and Captain Servadac, after the example of all
previous Crusoes, began to consider it advisable to investigate the
resources of his domain. The new territory of which he had become the
monarch he named Gourbi Island. It had a superficial area of about nine
hundred square miles. Bullocks, cows, goats, and sheep existed in
considerable numbers; and as there seemed already to be an abundance of
game, it was hardly likely that a future supply would fail them. The
condition of the cereals was such as to promise a fine ingathering of
wheat, maize, and rice; so that for the governor and his population, with
their two horses, not only was there ample provision, but even if other
human inhabitants besides themselves should yet be discovered, there was
not the remotest prospect of any of them perishing by starvation.</p>
<p>From the 6th to the 13th of January the rain came down in torrents; and,
what was quite an unusual occurrence at this season of the year, several
heavy storms broke over the island. In spite, however, of the continual
downfall, the heavens still remained veiled in cloud. Servadac, moreover,
did not fail to observe that for the season the temperature was unusually
high; and, as a matter still more surprising, that it kept steadily
increasing, as though the earth were gradually and continuously
approximating to the sun. In proportion to the rise of temperature, the
light also assumed greater intensity; and if it had not been for the
screen of vapor interposed between the sky and the island, the irradiation
which would have illumined all terrestrial objects would have been vivid
beyond all precedent.</p>
<p>But neither sun, moon, nor star ever appeared; and Servadac's irritation
and annoyance at being unable to identify any one point of the firmament
may be more readily imagined than described. On one occasion Ben Zoof
endeavored to mitigate his master's impatience by exhorting him to assume
the resignation, even if he did not feel the indifference, which he
himself experienced; but his advice was received with so angry a rebuff
that he retired in all haste, abashed, to r�sum� his watchman's duty,
which he performed with exemplary perseverance. Day and night, with the
shortest possible intervals of rest, despite wind, rain, and storm, he
mounted guard upon the cliff—but all in vain. Not a speck appeared
upon the desolate horizon. To say the truth, no vessel could have stood
against the weather. The hurricane raged with tremendous fury, and the
waves rose to a height that seemed to defy calculation. Never, even in the
second era of creation, when, under the influence of internal heat, the
waters rose in vapor to descend in deluge back upon the world, could
meteorological phenomena have been developed with more impressive
intensity.</p>
<p>But by the night of the 13th the tempest appeared to have spent its fury;
the wind dropped; the rain ceased as if by a spell; and Servadac, who for
the last six days had confined himself to the shelter of his roof,
hastened to join Ben Zoof at his post upon the cliff. Now, he thought,
there might be a chance of solving his perplexity; perhaps now the huge
disc, of which he had had an imperfect glimpse on the night of the 31st of
December, might again reveal itself; at any rate, he hoped for an
opportunity of observing the constellations in a clear firmament above.</p>
<p>The night was magnificent. Not a cloud dimmed the luster of the stars,
which spangled the heavens in surpassing brilliancy, and several nebulae
which hitherto no astronomer had been able to discern without the aid of a
telescope were clearly visible to the naked eye.</p>
<p>By a natural impulse, Servadac's first thought was to observe the position
of the pole-star. It was in sight, but so near to the horizon as to
suggest the utter impossibility of its being any longer the central pivot
of the sidereal system; it occupied a position through which it was out of
the question that the axis of the earth indefinitely prolonged could ever
pass. In his impression he was more thoroughly confirmed when, an hour
later, he noticed that the star had approached still nearer the horizon,
as though it had belonged to one of the zodiacal constellations.</p>
<p>The pole-star being manifestly thus displaced, it remained to be
discovered whether any other of the celestial bodies had become a fixed
center around which the constellations made their apparent daily
revolutions. To the solution of this problem Servadac applied himself with
the most thoughtful diligence. After patient observation, he satisfied
himself that the required conditions were answered by a certain star that
was stationary not far from the horizon. This was Vega, in the
constellation Lyra, a star which, according to the precession of the
equinoxes, will take the place of our pole-star 12,000 years hence. The
most daring imagination could not suppose that a period of 12,000 years
had been crowded into the space of a fortnight; and therefore the captain
came, as to an easier conclusion, to the opinion that the earth's axis had
been suddenly and immensely shifted; and from the fact that the axis, if
produced, would pass through a point so little removed above the horizon,
he deduced the inference that the Mediterranean must have been transported
to the equator.</p>
<p>Lost in bewildering maze of thought, he gazed long and intently upon the
heavens. His eyes wandered from where the tail of the Great Bear, now a
zodiacal constellation, was scarcely visible above the waters, to where
the stars of the southern hemisphere were just breaking on his view. A cry
from Ben Zoof recalled him to himself.</p>
<p>"The moon!" shouted the orderly, as though overjoyed at once again
beholding what the poet has called:</p>
<p>"The kind companion of terrestrial night;"<br/></p>
<p>and he pointed to a disc that was rising at a spot precisely opposite the
place where they would have expected to see the sun. "The moon!" again he
cried.</p>
<p>But Captain Servadac could not altogether enter into his servant's
enthusiasm. If this were actually the moon, her distance from the earth
must have been increased by some millions of miles. He was rather disposed
to suspect that it was not the earth's satellite at all, but some planet
with its apparent magnitude greatly enlarged by its approximation to the
earth. Taking up the powerful field-glass which he was accustomed to use
in his surveying operations, he proceeded to investigate more carefully
the luminous orb. But he failed to trace any of the lineaments, supposed
to resemble a human face, that mark the lunar surface; he failed to
decipher any indications of hill and plain; nor could he make out the
aureole of light which emanates from what astronomers have designated
Mount Tycho. "It is not the moon," he said slowly.</p>
<p>"Not the moon?" cried Ben Zoof. "Why not?"</p>
<p>"It is not the moon," again affirmed the captain.</p>
<p>"Why not?" repeated Ben Zoof, unwilling to renounce his first impression.</p>
<p>"Because there is a small satellite in attendance." And the captain drew
his servant's attention to a bright speck, apparently about the size of
one of Jupiter's satellites seen through a moderate telescope, that was
clearly visible just within the focus of his glass.</p>
<p>Here, then, was a fresh mystery. The orbit of this planet was assuredly
interior to the orbit of the earth, because it accompanied the sun in its
apparent motion; yet it was neither Mercury nor Venus, because neither one
nor the other of these has any satellite at all.</p>
<p>The captain stamped and stamped again with mingled vexation, agitation,
and bewilderment. "Confound it!" he cried, "if this is neither Venus nor
Mercury, it must be the moon; but if it is the moon, whence, in the name
of all the gods, has she picked up another moon for herself?"</p>
<p>The captain was in dire perplexity.</p>
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