Towards half-past nine the eclipse commenced The disc of the moon seemed to graze that of the sun. But the moon’s shadow was not to fall completely on the earth, hiding the sun, until between forty three minutes past eleven and forty-seven minutes fifty-seven seconds past eleven. That was the time fixed in the almanacs, and everyone knows that no error can creep into them, established, verified, and controlled as they are by the scientific men of all the observatories in the world.
The astronomer had brought a good many glasses with him, and he distributed them amongst his companions, that all might watch the progress of the phenomenon without injury to the eyes.
The brown disc of the moon gradually advanced, and terrestrial objects began to assume a peculiar orange hue, whilst the atmosphere on tire zenith completely changed colour. At a quarter-past ten half the disc of the sun was darkened, and a few dogs which happened to be at liberty showed signs of uneasiness and howled piteously. The wild ducks, thinking night had come, began to utter sleepy calls and to seek their nests, and the mothers gathered their little ones under their wings. The hush of eventide fell upon all animated nature.
At eleven o’clock two-thirds of the sun were covered, and all terrestrial objects became a kind of vinous red. A gloomy twilight set in, to be succeeded during the four minutes of totality by absolute darkness. A few planets, amongst others Mercury and Venus, began to appear, and some constellations—Capella, 
and 
of Taurus, and 
of Orion. The darkness deepened every moment.
Thomas Black remained motionless with his eye glued to the glass of his instrument, eagerly watching the progress of the phenomenon. At forty-three minutes past eleven the discs of the two luminaries ought to be exactly opposite to each other, that of the moon completely hiding that of the sun.
“Forty-three minutes past eleven,” announced Hobson, who was attentively watching the minute hand of his chronometer.
Thomas Black remained motionless, stooping over his instrument. Half a minute passed, and then the astronomer drew himself up, with eyes distended and eager. Once more he bent over the telescope, and cried in a choked voice—
“She is going! she is going! The moon, the moon is going! She is disappearing, running away!”
True enough the disc of the moon was gliding away from that of the sun without having completely covered it!
The astronomer had fallen backwards, completely overcome. The four minutes were past. The luminous corona had not appeared!
“What is the matter?” inquired Hobson.
“The matter is,” screamed the poor astronomer, “that the eclipse was not total—not total for this portion of the globe! Do you hear? It was not to‑t‑a‑l! I say not to‑t‑a‑l!!”
“Then your almanacs are incorrect.”
“Incorrect! Don’t tell that to me, if you please, Lieutenant Hobson!”
“But what then?” said Hobson, suddenly changing countenance.
“Why,” said Black, “we are not after all on the seventieth parallel!”
“Only fancy!” cried Mrs. Barnett.
“We can soon prove it,” said the astronomer whose eyes flashed with rage and disappointment. “The sun will pass the meridian in a few minutes. … My sextant—quick … make haste!”
One of the soldiers rushed to the house and fetched the instrument required.
The astronomer pointed it upon the sun; he watched the orb of day pass the meridian, and rapidly noted down a few calculations.
“What was the situation of Cape Bathurst a year ago when we took the latitude?” he inquired.
“Seventy degrees, forty-four minutes, and thirty-seven seconds,” replied Hobson.
“Well, sir, it is now seventy-three degrees, seven minutes, and twenty seconds! You see we are not under the seventieth parallel!
“Or rather we are no longer there!” muttered Hobson.
A sudden light had broken in upon his mind, all the phenomena hitherto so inexplicable were now explained.
Cape Bathurst had drifted three degrees farther north since the arrival of the Lieutenant and his companions!
Part II
I
A Floating Fort
And so Fort Hope, founded by Lieutenant Hobson on the borders of the Polar Sea, had drifted! Was the courageous agent of the Company to blame for this? No; anyone might have been deceived as he had been. No human prevision could have foreseen such a calamity. He meant to build upon a rock, and he had not even built upon sand. The peninsula of Victoria, which the best maps of English America join to the American continent, had been torn suddenly away from it. This peninsula was in fact nothing but an immense piece of ice, five hundred square miles in extent, converted by successive deposits of sand and earth into apparently solid ground well clothed with vegetation. Connected with the mainland for thousands of centuries, the earthquake of the 8th of January had dragged it away from its moorings, and it was now a floating island, at the mercy of the winds and waves, and had been carried along the Arctic Ocean by powerful currents for the last three months!
Yes, Fort Hope was built upon ice! Hobson at once understood the mysterious change in their latitude. The isthmus—that is to say, the neck of land which connected the peninsula of Victoria with the mainland—had been snapped in two by a subterranean convulsion connected with the eruption of the volcano some months before. As long as the northern winter continued, the frozen sea maintained things as they were; but when the thaw came, when the ice fields, melted beneath the rays of the sun, and the huge icebergs, driven out into the offing, drew back to the farthest limits of the horizon—when the sea at last became open, the whole peninsula drifted away, with its woods, its cliffs, its promontories, its inland lagoon, and its coastline, under the influence of a current about which nothing was known. For months this
