LITMIR.BIZ

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must be devised to prevent disaster, and that without delay.

      The victualing of the little colony offered no immediate difficulty. Water was abundant, and the cisterns could hardly fail to be replenished by the numerous streams that meandered along the plains; moreover, the Gallian Sea would ere long be frozen over, and the melted ice (water in its congealed state being divested of every particle of salt) would afford a supply of drink that could not be exhausted. The crops that were now ready for the harvest, and the flocks and herds scattered over the island, would form an ample reserve. There was little doubt that throughout the winter the soil would remain unproductive, and no fresh fodder for domestic animals could then be obtained; it would therefore be necessary, if the exact duration of Gallia’s year should ever be calculated, to proportion the number of animals to be reserved to the real length of the winter.

      The next thing requisite was to arrive at a true estimate of the number of the population. Without including the thirteen Englishmen at Gibraltar, about whom he was not particularly disposed to give himself much concern at present, Servadac put down the names of the eight Russians, the two Frenchman, and the little Italian girl, eleven in all, as the entire list of the inhabitants of Gourbi Island.

      “Oh, pardon me,” interposed Ben Zoof, “you are mistaking the state of the case altogether. You will be surprised to learn that the total of people on the island is double that. It is twenty-two.”

      “Twenty-two!” exclaimed the captain; “twenty-two people on this island? What do you mean?”

      “The opportunity has not occurred,” answered Ben Zoof, “for me to tell you before, but I have had company.”

      “Explain yourself, Ben Zoof,” said Servadac. “What company have you had?”

      “You could not suppose,” replied the orderly, “that my own unassisted hands could have accomplished all that harvest work that you see has been done.”

      “I confess,” said Lieutenant Procope, “we do not seem to have noticed that.”

      “Well, then,” said Ben Zoof, “if you will be good enough to come with me for about a mile, I shall be able to show you my companions. But we must take our guns.”

      “Why take our guns?” asked Servadac. “I hope we are not going to fight.”

      “No, not with men,” said Ben Zoof; “but it does not answer to throw a chance away for giving battle to those thieves of birds.”

      Leaving little Nina and her goat in the gourbi, Servadac, Count Timascheff, and the lieutenant, greatly mystified, took up their guns and followed the orderly. All along their way they made unsparing slaughter of the birds that hovered over and around them. Nearly every species of the feathered tribe seemed to have its representative in that living cloud. There were wild ducks in thousands; snipe, larks, rooks, and swallows; a countless variety of seabirds—widgeons, gulls, and seamews; beside a quantity of game—quails, partridges, and woodcocks. The sportsmen did their best; every shot told; and the depredators fell by dozens on either hand.

      Instead of following the northern shore of the island, Ben Zoof cut obliquely across the plain. Making their progress with the unwonted rapidity which was attributable to their specific lightness, Servadac and his companions soon found themselves near a grove of sycamores and eucalyptus massed in picturesque confusion at the base of a little hill. Here they halted.

      “Ah! the vagabonds! the rascals! the thieves!” suddenly exclaimed Ben Zoof, stamping his foot with rage.

      “How now? Are your friends the birds at their pranks again?” asked the captain.

      “No, I don’t mean the birds: I mean those lazy beggars that are shirking their work. Look here; look there!” And as Ben Zoof spoke, he pointed to some scythes, and sickles, and other implements of husbandry that had been left upon the ground.

      “What is it you mean?” asked Servadac, getting somewhat impatient.

      “Hush, hush! listen!” was all Ben Zoof’s reply; and he raised his finger as if in warning.

      Listening attentively, Servadac and his associates could distinctly recognize a human voice, accompanied by the notes of a guitar and by the measured click of castanets.

      “Spaniards!” said Servadac.

      “No mistake about that, sir,” replied Ben Zoof; “a Spaniard would rattle his castanets at the cannon’s mouth.”

      “But what is the meaning of it all?” asked the captain, more puzzled than before.

      “Hark!” said Ben Zoof; “it is the old man’s turn.”

      And then a voice, at once gruff and harsh, was heard vociferating, “My money! my money! when will you pay me my money? Pay me what you owe me, you miserable majos.”

      Meanwhile the song continued:

       “Tu sandunga y cigarro, Y una cana de Jerez, Mi jamelgo y un trabuco, Que mas gloria puede haver?”

      Servadac’s knowledge of Gascon enabled him partially to comprehend the rollicking tenor of the Spanish patriotic air, but his attention was again arrested by the voice of the old man growling savagely, “Pay me you shall; yes, by the God of Abraham, you shall pay me.”

      “A Jew!” exclaimed Servadac.

      “Ay, sir, a German Jew,” said Ben Zoof.

      The party was on the point of entering the thicket, when a singular spectacle made them pause. A group of Spaniards had just begun dancing their national fandango, and the extraordinary lightness which had become the physical property of every object in the new planet made the dancers bound to a height of thirty feet or more into the air, considerably above the tops of the trees. What followed was irresistibly comic. Four sturdy majos had dragged along with them an old man incapable of resistance, and compelled him, nolens volens, to join in the dance; and as they all kept appearing and disappearing above the bank of foliage, their grotesque attitudes, combined with the pitiable countenance of their helpless victim, could not do otherwise than recall most forcibly the story of Sancho Panza tossed in a blanket by the merry drapers of Segovia.

      Servadac, the count, Procope, and Ben Zoof now proceeded to make their way through the thicket until they came to a little glade, where two men were stretched idly on the grass, one of them playing the guitar, and the other a pair of castanets; both were exploding with laughter, as they urged the performers to greater and yet greater exertions in the dance. At the sight of strangers they paused in their music, and simultaneously the dancers, with their victim, alighted gently on the sward.

      Breathless and half exhausted as was the Jew, he rushed with an effort towards Servadac, and exclaimed in French, marked by a strong Teutonic accent, “Oh, my lord governor, help me, help! These rascals defraud me of my rights; they rob me; but, in the name of the God of Israel, I ask you to see justice done!”

      The captain glanced inquiringly towards Ben Zoof, and the orderly, by a significant nod, made his master understand that he was to play the part that was implied by the title. He took the cue, and promptly ordered the Jew to hold his tongue at once. The man bowed his head in servile submission, and folded his hands upon his breast.

      Servadac surveyed him leisurely. He was a man of about fifty, but from his appearance might well have been taken for at least ten years older. Small and skinny, with eyes bright and cunning, a hooked nose, a short yellow beard, unkempt hair, huge feet, and long bony hands, he presented all the typical characteristics of the German Jew, the heartless, wily usurer, the hardened miser and skinflint. As iron is attracted by the magnet, so was this Shylock attracted by the sight of gold, nor would he have hesitated to draw the life-blood of his creditors, if by such means he could secure his claims.

      His name was Isaac Hakkabut, and he was a native of Cologne. Nearly the whole of his time, however, he informed Captain Servadac, had been spent upon the sea, his real business being that of a merchant trading at all the ports of the Mediterranean. A tartan, a small vessel of two hundred tons burden, conveyed his entire stock of merchandise, and,

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