> and the aspect of the entire scene appeared unaltered. The stone

hostelry, with the exception of some deep clefts in its walls, had

sustained little injury; but the gourbi, like a house of cards destroyed

by an infant's breath, had completely subsided, and its two inmates lay

motionless, buried under the sunken thatch.



It was two hours after the catastrophe that Captain Servadac regained

consciousness; he had some trouble to collect his thoughts, and the

first sounds that escaped his lips were the concluding words of the

rondo which had been so ruthlessly interrupted;



"Constant ever I will be,

Constant...."



His next thought was to wonder what had happened; and in order to find

an answer, he pushed aside the broken thatch, so that his head appeared

above the debris. "The gourbi leveled to the ground!" he exclaimed,

"surely a waterspout has passed along the coast."



He felt all over his body to perceive what injuries he had sustained,

but not a sprain nor a scratch could he discover. "Where are you, Ben

Zoof?" he shouted.



"Here, sir!" and with military promptitude a second head protruded from

the rubbish.



"Have you any notion what has happened, Ben Zoof?"



"I've a notion, captain, that it's all up with us."



"Nonsense, Ben Zoof; it is nothing but a waterspout!"



"Very good, sir," was the philosophical reply, immediately followed by

the query, "Any bones broken, sir?"



"None whatever," said the captain.



Both men were soon on their feet, and began to make a vigorous clearance

of the ruins, beneath which they found that their arms, cooking

utensils, and other property, had sustained little injury.



"By-the-by, what o'clock is it?" asked the captain.



"It must be eight o'clock, at least," said Ben Zoof, looking at the sun,

which was a considerable height above the horizon. "It is almost time

for us to start."



"To start! what for?"



"To keep your appointment with Count Timascheff."



"By Jove! I had forgotten all about it!" exclaimed Servadac. Then

looking at his watch, he cried, "What are you thinking of, Ben Zoof? It

is scarcely two o'clock."



"Two in the morning, or two in the afternoon?" asked Ben Zoof, again

regarding the sun.



Servadac raised his watch to his ear. "It is going," said he; "but, by

all the wines of Medoc, I am puzzled. Don't you see the sun is in the

west? It must be near setting."



"Setting, captain! Why, it is rising finely, like a conscript at the

sound of the reveille. It is considerably higher since we have been

talking."



Incredible as it might appear, the fact was undeniable that the sun was

rising over the Shelif from that quarter of the horizon behind which

it usually sank for the latter portion of its daily round. They were

utterly bewildered. Some mysterious phenomenon must not only have

altered the position of the sun in the sidereal system, but must even

have brought about an important modification of the earth's rotation on

her axis.



Captain Servadac consoled himself with the prospect of reading an

explanation of the mystery in next week's newspapers, and turned his

attention to what was to him of more immediate importance. "Come, let

us be off," said he to his orderly; "though heaven and earth be

topsy-turvy, I must be at my post this morning."



"To do Count Timascheff the honor of running him through the body,"

added Ben Zoof.



If Servadac and his orderly had been less preoccupied, they would have

noticed that a variety of other physical changes besides the apparent

alteration in the movement of the sun had been evolved during the

atmospheric disturbances of that New Year's night. As they descended

the steep footpath leading from the cliff towards the Shelif, they were

unconscious that their respiration became forced and rapid, like that of

a mountaineer when he has reached an altitude where the air has become

less charged with oxygen. They were also unconscious that their voices

were thin and feeble; either they must themselves have become rather

deaf, or it was evident that the air had become less capable of

transmitting sound.



The weather, which on the previous evening had been very foggy, had

entirely changed. The sky had assumed a singular tint, and was soon

covered with lowering clouds that completely hid the sun. There were,

indeed, all the signs of a coming storm, but the vapor, on account of

the insufficient condensation, failed to fall.



The sea appeared quite deserted, a most unusual circumstance along this

coast, and not a sail nor a trail of smoke broke the gray monotony

of water and sky. The limits of the horizon, too, had become much

circumscribed. On land, as well as on sea, the remote distance had

completely disappeared, and it seemed as though the globe had assumed a

more decided convexity.



At the pace at which they were walking, it was very evident that the

captain and his attendant would not take long to accomplish the three

miles that lay between the gourbi and the place of rendezvous. They

did not exchange a word, but each was conscious of an unusual buoyancy,

which appeared to lift up their bodies and give as it were, wings to

their feet. If Ben Zoof had expressed his sensations in words, he would

have said that he felt "up to anything," and he had even forgotten to

taste so much as a crust of bread, a lapse of memory of which the worthy

soldier was rarely guilty.



As these thoughts were crossing his mind, a harsh bark was heard to the

left of the footpath, and a jackal was seen emerging from a large grove

of lentisks. Regarding the two wayfarers with manifest uneasiness, the

beast took up its position at the foot of a rock, more than thirty feet

in height. It belonged to an African species distinguished by a

black spotted skin, and a black line down the front of the legs. At

night-time, when they scour the country in herds, the creatures are

somewhat formidable, but singly they are no more dangerous than a dog.

Though by no means afraid of them, Ben Zoof had a particular aversion

to jackals, perhaps because they had no place among the fauna of his

beloved Montmartre. He accordingly began to make threatening gestures,

when, to the unmitigated astonishment of himself and the captain, the

animal darted forward, and in one single bound gained the summit of the

rock.



"Good Heavens!" cried Ben Zoof, "that leap must have been thirty feet at

least."



"True enough," replied the captain; "I never saw such a jump."



Meantime the jackal had seated itself upon its haunches, and was staring

at the two men with an air of impudent defiance. This was too much for

Ben Zoof's forbearance, and stooping down he caught up a huge stone,

when to his surprise, he found that it was no heavier than a piece of

petrified sponge. "Confound the brute!" he exclaimed, "I might as well

throw a piece of bread at him. What accounts for its being as light as

this?"



Nothing daunted, however, he hurled the stone into the air. It missed

its aim; but the jackal, deeming it on the whole prudent to decamp,

disappeared across the trees and hedges with a series of bounds, which

could only be likened to those that might be made by an india-rubber

kangaroo. Ben Zoof was sure that his own powers of propelling must equal

those of a howitzer, for his stone, after a lengthened flight through

the air, fell to the ground full five hundred paces the other side of

the rock.



The orderly was now some yards ahead of his master, and had reached

a ditch full of water, and about ten feet wide. With the intention of

clearing it, he made a spring, when a loud cry burst from Servadac. "Ben

Zoof, you idiot! What are you about? You will break your back!"



And well might he be alarmed, for Ben Zoof had sprung to a height of

forty feet into the air. Fearful of the consequences that would attend

the descent of his servant to terra firma, Servadac bounded forwards,

to be on the other side of the ditch in time to break his fall. But the

muscular effort that he made carried him in his turn to an altitude of

thirty feet; in his ascent he passed Ben Zoof, who had already commenced

his downward course; and then, obedient to the laws of gravitation, he

descended with increasing rapidity, and alighted upon the earth without

experiencing a shock greater than if he had merely made a bound of four

or five feet high.



Ben Zoof burst into a roar of laughter. "Bravo!" he said, "we should

make a good pair of clowns."



But the captain was inclined to take a more serious view of the matter.

For a few seconds he stood lost in thought, then said solemnly, "Ben

Zoof, I must be dreaming. Pinch me hard; I must be either asleep or

mad."



"It is very certain that something has happened to us," said Ben Zoof.

"I have occasionally dreamed that I was a swallow flying over the

Montmartre, but I never experienced anything of this kind before; it

must be peculiar to the coast of Algeria."



Servadac was stupefied; he felt instinctively that he was not dreaming,

and yet was powerless to solve the mystery. He was not, however, the man

to puzzle himself for long over any insoluble problem. "Come what may,"

he presently exclaimed, "we will make up our minds for the future to be

surprised at nothing."



"Right, captain," replied Ben Zoof; "and, first of all, let us settle

our little score with Count Timascheff."



Beyond the ditch lay a small piece of meadow land, about an acre in

extent. A soft and delicious herbage carpeted the soil, whilst trees

formed a charming framework to the whole. No spot could have been chosen

more suitable for the meeting between the two adversaries.



Servadac cast a hasty glance round. No one was in sight. "We are the

first on the field," he said.



"Not so sure of that, sir," said Ben Zoof.



"What do you mean?" asked Servadac, looking at his watch, which he had

set as nearly as possible by the sun before leaving the gourbi; "it is

not nine o'clock yet."



"Look up there, sir. I am much mistaken if that is not the sun;" and as

Ben Zoof spoke, he pointed directly overhead to where a faint white disc

was dimly visible through the haze of clouds.



"Nonsense!" exclaimed Servadac. "How can the sun be in the zenith, in

the month of January, in lat. 39 degrees N.?"



"Can't say, sir. I only know the sun is there; and at the rate he has

been traveling, I would lay my cap to a dish of couscous that in less

than three hours he will have set."



Hector Servadac, mute and motionless, stood with folded arms. Presently

he roused himself, and began to look about again. "What means all this?"

he murmured. "Laws of gravity disturbed! Points of the compass reversed!

The length of day reduced one half! Surely this will indefinitely

postpone my meeting with the count. Something has happened; Ben Zoof and

I cannot both be mad!"



The orderly, meantime, surveyed his master with the greatest equanimity;

no phenomenon, however extraordinary, would have drawn from him a

single exclamation of surprise. "Do you see anyone, Ben Zoof?" asked the

captain, at last.



"No one, sir; the count has evidently been and gone." "But supposing

that to be the case," persisted the captain, "my seconds would have

waited, and not seeing me, would have come on towards the gourbi. I can

only conclude that they have been unable to get here; and as for Count

Timascheff--"



Without finishing his sentence. Captain Servadac, thinking it just

probable that the count, as on the previous evening, might come by

water, walked to the ridge of rock that overhung the shore, in order

to ascertain if the Dobryna were anywhere in sight. But the sea was

deserted, and for the first time the captain noticed that, although

the wind was calm, the waters were unusually agitated, and seethed and

foamed as though they were boiling. It was very certain that the yacht

would have found a difficulty in holding her own in such a swell.

Another thing that now struck Servadac was the extraordinary contraction

of the horizon. Under ordinary circumstances, his elevated position

would have allowed him a radius of vision at least five and twenty miles

in length; but the terrestrial sphere seemed, in the course of the last

few hours, to have become considerably reduced in volume, and he could

now see for a distance of only six miles in every direction.



Meantime, with the agility of a monkey, Ben Zoof had clambered to the

top of a eucalyptus, and from his lofty perch was surveying the

country to the south, as well as towards both Tenes and Mostaganem. On

descending, be informed the captain that the plain was deserted.



"We will make our way to the river, and get over into Mostaganem," said

the captain.



The Shelif was not more than a mile and a half from the meadow, but

no time was to be lost if the two men were to reach the town before

nightfall. Though still hidden by heavy clouds, the sun was evidently

declining fast; and what was equally inexplicable, it was not following

the oblique curve that in these latitudes and at this time of year might

be expected, but was sinking perpendicularly on to the horizon.



As he went along, Captain Servadac pondered deeply. Perchance some

unheard-of phenomenon had modified the rotary motion of the globe; or

perhaps the Algerian coast had been transported beyond the equator

into the southern hemisphere. Yet the earth, with the exception of the

alteration in its convexity, in this part of Africa at least, seemed to

have undergone no change of any very great importance. As far as the eye

could reach, the shore was, as it had ever been, a succession of

cliffs, beach, and arid rocks, tinged with a red ferruginous hue. To

the south--if south, in this inverted order of things, it might still

be called--the face of the country also appeared unaltered, and some

leagues away, the peaks of the Merdeyah mountains still retained their

accustomed outline.



Presently a rift in the clouds gave passage to an oblique ray of light

that clearly proved that the sun was setting in the east.



"Well, I am curious to know what they think of all this at Mostaganem,"

said the captain. "I wonder, too, what the Minister of War will say when

he receives a telegram informing him that his African colony has become,

not morally, but physically disorganized; that the cardinal points

are at variance with ordinary rules, and that the sun in the month of

January is shining down vertically upon our heads."



Ben Zoof, whose ideas of discipline were extremely rigid, at once

suggested that the colony should be put under the surveillance of the

police, that the cardinal points should be placed under restraint, and

that the sun should be shot for breach of discipline.



Meantime, they were both advancing with the utmost speed. The

decompression of the atmosphere made the specific gravity of their

bodies extraordinarily light, and they ran like hares and leaped like

chamois. Leaving the devious windings of the footpath, they went as

a crow would fly across the country. Hedges, trees, and streams were

cleared at a bound, and under these conditions Ben Zoof felt that he

could have overstepped Montmartre at a single stride. The earth seemed

as elastic as the springboard of an acrobat; they scarcely touched it

with their feet, and their only fear was lest the height to which they

were propelled would consume the time which they were saving by their

short cut across the fields.



It was not long before their wild career brought them to the right bank

of the Shelif. Here they were compelled to stop, for not only had the

bridge completely disappeared, but the river itself no longer existed.

Of the left bank there was not the slightest trace, and the right bank,

which on the previous evening had bounded the yellow stream, as it

murmured peacefully along the fertile plain, had now become the shore of

a tumultuous ocean, its azure waters extending westwards far as the eye

could reach, and annihilating the tract of country which had hitherto

formed the district of Mostaganem. The shore coincided exactly with what

had been the right bank of the Shelif, and in a slightly curved line

ran north and south, whilst the adjacent groves and meadows all retained

their previous positions. But the river-bank had become the shore of an

unknown sea.



Eager to throw some light upon the mystery, Servadac hurriedly made his

way through the oleander bushes that overhung the shore, took up some

water in the hollow of his hand, and carried it to his lips. "Salt

as brine!" he exclaimed, as soon as he had tasted it. "The sea has

undoubtedly swallowed up all the western part of Algeria."



"It will not last long, sir," said Ben Zoof. "It is, probably, only a

severe flood."



The captain shook his head. "Worse than that, I fear, Ben Zoof," he

replied with emotion. "It is a catastrophe that may have very

serious consequences. What can have become of all my friends and

fellow-officers?"



Ben Zoof was silent. Rarely had he seen his master so much agitated;

and though himself inclined to receive these phenomena with philosophic

indifference, his notions of military duty caused his countenance to

reflect the captain's expression of amazement.



But there was little time for Servadac to examine the changes which a

few hours had wrought. The sun had already reached the eastern horizon,

and just as though it were crossing the ecliptic under the tropics,

it sank like a cannon ball into the sea. Without any warning, day gave

place to night, and earth, sea, and sky were immediately wrapped in

profound obscurity.