CHAPTER XVIA JOURNEY AND A DISAPPOINTMENT.
It was as the professor had said. From the day that
Isaac Hakkabut had entered upon his mercantile career,
his dealings had all been carried on by a system of false
weight. That deceitful steelyard had been the mainspring
of his fortune. But when it had become his lot to be the
purchaser instead of the vendor, his spirit had groaned
within him at being compelled to reap the fruits of his own
dishonesty. No one who had studied his character could
be much surprised at the confession that was extorted from
him, that for every supposed kilogramme that he had ever
sold the true weight was only 750 grammes, or just five
and twenty per cent, less than it ought to have been.
The professor, however, had ascertained all that he
wanted to know. By estimating his comet at a third as
much again as its proper weight, he had found that his
calculations were always at variance with the observed
situation of the satellite, which was immediately influenced
by the mass of its primary.
But now, besides enjoying the satisfaction of having
punished old Hakkabut, Rosette was able to recommence
his calculations with reference to the elements of Nerina
upon a correct basis, a task to which he devoted himself
with redoubled energy.
It will be easily imagined that Isaac Hakkabut, thus
caught in his own trap, was jeered most unmercifully by
those whom he had attempted to make his dupes. Ben Zoof,
in particular, was never weaned of telling him how on his
return to the world he would be prosecuted for using false
weights, and would certainly become acquainted with the
inside of a prison. Thus badgered, he secluded himself
more than ever in his dismal hole, never venturing, except
when absolutely obliged, to face the other members of the
community.
On the 7th of October the comet re-entered the zone of
the telescopic planets, one of which had been captured as a
satellite, and the origin of the whole of which is most
probably correctly attributed to the disintegration of some
large planet that formerly revolved between the orbits of
Mars and Jupiter.
By the beginning of the following month half of this
zone had been traversed, and only two months remained
before the collision with the earth was to be expected.
During the month Gallia would travel 40,000,000 leagues
along her orbit, and would approach to within 78,000,000
leagues of the sun.
The temperature was now rarely below 12° below zero,
but that was far too cold to permit the slightest symptoms
of a thaw. The surface of the sea remained as frozen as
ever, and the two vessels, high up on their icy pedestals,
remained unaltered in their critical position.
It was about this time that the question began to be
mooted whether it would not be right to re-open some
communication with the Englishmen at Gibraltar. Not
that any doubt was entertained as to their having been
able successfully to cope with the rigours of the winter;
but Captain Servadac, in a way that did honour to his
generosity, represented that, however uncourteous might
have been their former behaviour, it was at least due to
them that they should be informed of the true condition of
things, which they had had no opportunity of learning;
and, moreover, that they should be invited to co-operate
with the population of Nina's Hive, in the event of any
measures being suggested by which the shock of the
approaching collision could be mitigated.
The count and the lieutenant both heartily concurred
in Servadac's sentiments of humanity and prudence, and
all agreed that if the intercourse were to be opened at all,
no time could be so suitable as the present, while the surface
of the sea presented a smooth and solid footing. After
a thaw should set in, neither the yacht nor the tartan could
be reckoned on for service, and it would be inexpedient to
make use of the steam-launch, for which only a few tons
of coal had been reserved, just sufficient to convey them
to Gourbi Island when the occasion should arise; whilst as
to the yawl, which, transformed into a sledge, had performed
so successful a trip to Formentera, the absence of
wind would make that quite unavailable. It was true
that with the return of summer temperature, there would
be certain to be a derangement in the atmosphere of Gallia,
which would result in wind, but for the present the air was
altogether too still for the yawl to have any prospects of
making its way to Gibraltar.
The only question remaining was as to the possibility
of going on foot. The distance was somewhere about 240
miles. Captain Servadac declared himself quite equal to
the undertaking. To skate sixty or seventy miles a day
would be nothing, he said, to a practical skater like himself.
The 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 tricolour among the
stores,
“I believe so,” said the orderly.
“Then don't say a word to any one, 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 celes
tial 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 this: it 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 tricolour
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. Then, as though he was
marching on to conquest, he gave vent to his enthusiasm
by chanting one of his old military refrains:—

“Onward, Zephyrs,[1] at daylight's bloom. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp! 
Forward, Zephyrs, in evening gloom. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp!”

Both travellers 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 them
selves 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 the 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,
with a sigh.
“And what are we to do, then?” asked Ben Zoof.
“We must pocket our chagrin, and put as good a face
ou 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 rigour 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
chess-board. 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 honour of speaking?”
“To Captain Servadac, the Governour-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 honour 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 despatch to the First Lord of the Admiralty
still awaits the mail.”
“But allow me to repeat,” insisted Servadac, “that we
are no longer on the earth, although we expect to come in
contact with it again in about eight weeks.”
“I have no doubt,” the major answered, “that England
will make every effort to reclaim us.”
Servadac felt perplexed. It was quite evident that
Major Oliphant had not been convinced of the truth of one
syllable of what he had been saying.
“Then I am to understand that you are determined to
retain your two garrisons here and at Gibraltar?” asked
Servadac, with one last effort at persuasion.
“Certainly; these two posts command the entrance of
the Mediterranean.”
“But supposing there is no longer any Mediterranean?”
retorted the captain, growing impatient.
“Oh, England will always take care of that,” was
Major Oliphant's cool reply. “But excuse me,” he
added presently; “I see that Colonel Murphy has just
telegraphed his next move. Allow me to wish you good
afternoon.”
And without further parley, followed by his soldiers, he
retired into the casemate, leaving Captain Servadac gnawing
his moustache with mingled rage and mortification.
“A fine piece of business we have made of this!” said
Ben Zoof, when he found himself alone with his master.
“We will make our way back at once,” replied
Servadac.
“Yes, the sooner the better, with our tails between our
legs,” rejoined the orderly, who this time felt no inclination
to start off to the march of the Algerian zephyrs.
And so the French tricolour returned as it had set out—in
Ben Zoof's knapsack.
On the eighth evening after starting, the travellers again
set foot on the volcanic promontory just in time to witness
a great commotion.
Palmyrin Rosette was in a furious rage.
He had completed all his calculations about Nerina,
but that perfidious satellite had totally disappeared.
The astronomer was frantic at the loss of his moon.
Captured probably by some larger body, it was revolving
in its proper zone of the minor planets.

1^  Zephyr: an Algerian soldier.