fr:Hector Servadac - Chapitre V
CHAPTER V.A MYSTERIOUS SEA.
as the commotion had been, that portion of the
Algerian coast which is bounded on the north by the
Mediterranean, and on the west by the right bank of
the Shelif, appeared to have suffered little change. It is
true that slight indentations were perceptible in the fertile
plain, and the surface of the sea was ruffled with an agitation
that was quite unusual; but the rugged outline of the
cliff was the same as heretofore, and the physical aspect
of the entire scene appeared generally 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 it is not altogether surprising
that 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 to the question, he pushed
aside the broken thatch, so that his head appeared above
the débris.
“The gourbi levelled to the ground!” he exclaimed, as he looked about him; “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 next
“Here, sir!” and with military promptitude a second
head protruded from the rubbish.
“Have you any notion what has happened, Ben Zoof?” asked Servadac.
“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
presently.
“It must be eight o'clock, at least,” said Ben Zoor, 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 that 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. If Captain Servadac could now have laid hands upon a member of the Board of Longitudes, he would doubtless have sought all manner of information; but as it was, he 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 honour of running him
through the body,” added Ben Zoof.