Off on a Comet! a Journey through Planetary Space
whole journey there and back might be performed in eight days. Provided
with a compass, a sufficient supply of cold meat, and a spirit lamp, by
which he might boil his coffee, he was perfectly sure he should, without
the least difficulty, accomplish an enterprise that chimed in so exactly
with his adventurous spirit.
Equally urgent were both the count and the lieutenant to be allowed
to accompany him; nay, they even offered to go instead; but Servadac,
expressing himself as most grateful for their consideration, declined
their offer, and avowed his resolution of taking no other companion than
his own orderly.
Highly delighted at his master’s decision, Ben Zoof expressed his
satisfaction at the prospect of “stretching his legs a bit,” declaring
that nothing could induce him to permit the captain to go alone. There
was no delay. The departure was fixed for the following morning, the 2nd
of November.
Although it is not to be questioned that a genuine desire of doing
an act of kindness to his fellow-creatures was a leading motive of
Servadac’s proposed visit to Gibraltar, it must be owned that another
idea, confided to nobody, least of all to Count Timascheff, had been
conceived in the brain of the worthy Gascon. Ben Zoof had an inkling
that his master was “up to some other little game,” when, just before
starting, he asked him privately whether there was a French tricolor
among the stores. “I believe so,” said the orderly.
“Then don’t say a word to anyone, but fasten it up tight in your
knapsack.”
Ben Zoof found the flag, and folded it up as he was directed. Before
proceeding to explain this somewhat enigmatical conduct of Servadac,
it is necessary to refer to a certain physiological fact, coincident
but unconnected with celestial phenomena, originating entirely in the
frailty of human nature. The nearer that Gallia approached the earth,
the more a sort of reserve began to spring up between the captain and
Count Timascheff. Though they could not be said to be conscious of
it, the remembrance of their former rivalry, so completely buried in
oblivion for the last year and ten months, was insensibly recovering
its hold upon their minds, and the question was all but coming to
the surface as to what would happen if, on their return to earth, the
handsome Madame de L---- should still be free. From companions in peril,
would they not again be avowed rivals? Conceal it as they would, a
coolness was undeniably stealing over an intimacy which, though it could
never be called affectionate, had been uniformly friendly and courteous.
Under these circumstances, it was not surprising that Hector Servadac
should not have confided to the count a project which, wild as it was,
could scarcely have failed to widen the unacknowledged breach that was
opening in their friendship.
The project was the annexation of Ceuta to the French dominion. The
Englishmen, rightly enough, had continued to occupy the fragment of
Gibraltar, and their 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.”
“But why not?” persisted the captain.
“Because these very Spaniards have, by formal contract, made over Ceuta,
in its integrity, to the British government.”
Servadac uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“And as the price of that important cession,” continued Major Oliphant,
“they have received a fair equivalent in British gold.”
“Ah!” cried Ben Zoof, “that accounts for that fellow Negrete and his
people having such a lot of money.”
Servadac was silent. It had become clear to his mind what had been the
object of that secret visit to Ceuta which he had heard of as being made
by the two English officers. The arguments that he had intended to use
had completely fallen through; all that he had now to do was carefully
to prevent any suspicion of his disappointed project.
“May I be allowed to ask, Captain Servadac, to what I am indebted for
the honor of this visit?” asked Major Oliphant presently.
“I have come, Major Oliphant, in the hope of doing you and your
companions a service,” replied Servadac, rousing himself from his
reverie.
“Ah, indeed!” replied the major, as though he felt himself quite
independent of all services from exterior sources.
“I thought, major, that it was not unlikely you were in ignorance of
the fact that both Ceuta and Gibraltar have been traversing the solar
regions on the surface of a comet.”
The major smiled incredulously; but Servadac, nothing daunted, went on
to detail the results of the collision between the comet and the earth,
adding that, as there was the almost immediate prospect of another
concussion, it had occurred to him that it might be advisable for the
whole population of Gallia to unite in taking precautionary measures for
the common welfare.
“In fact, Major Oliphant,” he said in conclusion, “I am here to inquire
whether you and your friends would be disposed to join us in our present
quarters.”
“I am obliged to you, Captain Servadac,” answered the major stiffly;
“but we have not the slightest intention of abandoning our post. We have
received no government orders to that effect; indeed, we have received
no orders at all. Our own dispatch to the First Lord of the Admiralty
still awaits the mail.”