Off on a Comet! a Journey through Planetary Space by Jules Verne (free ebook reader for android TXT) 📗

claim was indisputable. But the island of Ceuta, which before the shock had commanded the opposite side of the strait, and had been occupied by Spaniards, had since been abandoned, and was therefore free to the first occupant who should lay claim to it. To plant the tricolor upon it, in the name of France, was now the cherished wish of Servadac’s heart.

“Who knows,” he said to himself, “whether Ceuta, on its return to earth, may not occupy a grand and commanding situation? What a proud thing it would be to have secured its possession to France!”

Next morning, as soon as they had taken their brief farewell of their friends, and were fairly out of sight of the shore, Servadac imparted his design to Ben Zoof, who entered into the project with the greatest zest, and expressed himself delighted, not only at the prospect of adding to the dominions of his beloved country, but of stealing a march upon England.

Both travelers were warmly clad, the orderly’s knapsack containing all the necessary provisions. The journey was accomplished without special incident; halts were made at regular intervals, for the purpose of taking food and rest. The temperature by night as well as by day was quite endurable, and on the fourth afternoon after starting, thanks to the straight course which their compass enabled them to maintain, the adventurers found themselves within a few miles of Ceuta.

As soon as Ben Zoof caught sight of the rock on the western horizon, he was all excitement. Just as if he were in a regiment going into action, he talked wildly about “columns” and “squares” and “charges.” The captain, although less demonstrative, was hardly less eager to reach the rock. They both pushed forward with all possible speed till they were within a mile and a half of the shore, when Ben Zoof, who had a very keen vision, stopped suddenly, and said that he was sure he could see something moving on the top of the island.

“Never mind, let us hasten on,” said Servadac. A few minutes carried them over another mile, when Ben Zoof stopped again.

“What is it, Ben Zoof?” asked the captain.

“It looks to me like a man on a rock, waving his arms in the air,” said the orderly.

“Plague on it!” muttered Servadac; “I hope we are not too late.” Again they went on; but soon Ben Zoof stopped for the third time.

“It is a semaphore, sir; I see it quite distinctly.” And he was not mistaken; it had been a telegraph in motion that had caught his eye.

“Plague on it!” repeated the captain.

“Too late, sir, do you think?” said Ben Zoof.

“Yes, Ben Zoof; if that’s a telegraph—and there is no doubt of it—somebody has been before us and erected it; and, moreover, if it is moving, there must be somebody working it now.”

He was keenly disappointed. Looking towards the north, he could distinguish Gibraltar faintly visible in the extreme distance, and upon the summit of the rock both Ben Zoof and himself fancied they could make out another semaphore, giving signals, no doubt, in response to the one here.

“Yes, it is only too clear; they have already occupied it, and established their communications,” said Servadac.

“And what are we to do, then?” asked Ben Zoof.

“We must pocket our chagrin, and put as good a face on the matter as we can,” replied the captain.

“But perhaps there are only four or five Englishmen to protect the place,” said Ben Zoof, as if meditating an assault.

“No, no, Ben Zoof,” answered Servadac; “we must do nothing rash. We have had our warning, and, unless our representations can induce them to yield their position, we must resign our hope.”

Thus discomfited, they had reached the foot of the rock, when all at once, like a “Jack-in-the-box,” a sentinel started up before them with the challenge:

“Who goes there?”

“Friends. Vive la France!” cried the captain.

“Hurrah for England!” replied the soldier.

By this time four other men had made their appearance from the upper part of the rock.

“What do you want?” asked one of them, whom Servadac remembered to have seen before at Gibraltar.

“Can I speak to your commanding officer?” Servadac inquired.

“Which?” said the man. “The officer in command of Ceuta?”

“Yes, if there is one.”

“I will acquaint him with your arrival,” answered the Englishman, and disappeared.

In a few minutes the commanding officer, attired in full uniform, was seen descending to the shore. It was Major Oliphant himself.

Servadac could no longer entertain a doubt that the Englishmen had forestalled him in the occupation of Ceuta. Provisions and fuel had evidently been conveyed thither in the boat from Gibraltar before the sea had frozen, and a solid casemate, hollowed in the rock, had afforded Major Oliphant and his contingent ample protection from the rigor of the winter. The ascending smoke that rose above the rock was sufficient evidence that good fires were still kept up; the soldiers appeared to have thriven well on what, no doubt, had been a generous diet, and the major himself, although he would scarcely have been willing to allow it, was slightly stouter than before.

Being only about twelve miles distant from Gibraltar, the little garrison at Ceuta had felt itself by no means isolated in its position; but by frequent excursions across the frozen strait, and by the constant use of the telegraph, had kept up their communication with their fellow-countrymen on the other island. Colonel Murphy and the major had not even been forced to forego the pleasures of the chessboard. The game that had been interrupted by Captain Servadac’s former visit was not yet concluded; but, like the two American clubs that played their celebrated game in 1846 between Washington and Baltimore, the two gallant officers made use of the semaphore to communicate their well-digested moves.

The major stood waiting for his visitor to speak.

“Major Oliphant, I believe?” said Servadac, with a courteous bow.

“Yes, sir, Major Oliphant, officer in command of the garrison at Ceuta,” was the Englishman’s reply. “And to whom,” he added, “may I have the honor of speaking?”

“To Captain Servadac, the governor general of Gallia.”

“Indeed!” said the major, with a supercilious look.

“Allow me to express my surprise,” resumed the captain, “at seeing you installed as commanding officer upon what I have always understood to be Spanish soil. May I demand your claim to your position?”

“My claim is that of first occupant.”

“But do you not think that the party of Spaniards now resident with me may at some future time assert a prior right to the proprietorship?”

“I think not, Captain Servadac.”