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.