The Floating Island (32 page)

Then came the admirable fugue in
C minor of Mozart, so perfect, so free from all scholastic research, so
natural, that it seemed to flow like limpid water, or pass like the breeze
through the leaves. Finally, it was one of the most admirable quartettes of the
divine composer, the tenth in D major, op. 35, which ended this never-to-be-forgotten
evening, of which the nabobs of Milliard City had never had the equal.

And it was not that the Frenchmen
were tired of playing these admirable works, or that the King and Queen were
tired of listening to them; but it was eleven o’clock, and his Majesty said,
—

“We thank you, gentlemen, and our
thanks come from the depths of our hearts. Thanks to the perfection of your
execution, we have enjoyed artistic delights which nothing will make us forget!
It has done us so much good.”

“If the King desires it,” said Yvernès,
“we could still
—
”

“Thank you, gentlemen, for the last
time, thanks. We will not abuse your kindness. It is late, and then
—
tonight
—
I am on duty
—
”

This expression, in the mouth of
the King, recalled our artistes to the realities. Before the sovereign who thus
spoke they felt somewhat confused
—
they
lowered their eyes.

“Yes, gentlemen,” continued the
King, playfully, “am I not the astronomer of the observatory of Floating
Island, and,” added he, with some emotion, “inspector of stars
—
of falling stars?”

DURING the last week of the year,
devoted to Christmas joys, numerous invitations were given for dinners,
parties, and official receptions; a banquet given by the Governor to the
principal personages of Milliard City, attended by the Starboard and Larboard
notables, testified to a certain fusion between the two sections of the town.
The Tankerdons and the Coverleys found themselves at the same table. On New
Year’s Day there was an exchange of cards between the mansion in the Nineteenth
Avenue and that in the Fifteenth. Walter Tankerdon even received an invitation
for one of Mrs. Coverley’s concerts. The welcome with which he was received by
the mistress of the house appeared to be of good augury. But it was a long way
from that to closer ties, although Calistus Munbar, in his characteristic way,
was continually repeating to those who cared to listen to him,
—

“It is done, my friends, it is
done.”

Floating Island continued its
peaceful navigation towards the archipelago of Tonga-Tabou. Nothing seemed
likely to trouble it, when on the night of the 30th of December there occurred
an unexpected meteorologic phenomenon.

Between two and three in the
morning distant detonations were heard. The look-outs did not trouble about
this more than was necessary. They did not suppose that it meant a naval
combat, unless it was between the ships of those South American Republics who
are frequently at war. After all, why should they trouble about it on Floating
Island, an independent island at peace with the powers of the two worlds?

Besides, these detonations, which
came from the eastern parts of the Pacific, lasted until daylight, and
certainly could not be mistaken for the full regular roar of distant artillery.

Commodore Simcoe, informed by one
of his officers, went to observe the horizon from the top of the observatory
tower. There was no light visible on the surface of the wide segment of sea
that lay before his eyes. But the sky had not its usual aspect. Reflections of
flames coloured it up to the zenith. The air appeared misty, although the
weather was fine and the barometer did not indicate by a sudden fall any
perturbation in the atmosphere.

At daybreak the early risers of
Milliard City had a strange surprise. Not only did the detonations continue,
but the air was full of red and black mist, a kind of impalpable dust, which
began to fall like rain. You might call it a shower of fuliginous molecules. In
a few moments the streets of the town, the roofs of the houses were covered
with a substance in which were combined the colours of carmine, madder,
nacarat, and purple with blackish ashes.

The people were all out of doors
—
except Athanase Dorémus,
who never got up before eleven after going to bed at eight. The quartette had,
of course, jumped out of bed and gone to the observatory, where the Commodore,
his officers, his astronomers, without forgetting the new royal functionary,
were endeavouring to discover the cause of the phenomenon.

“It is regrettable,” remarked
Pinchinat, “that this red matter is not liquid, and that this liquid is not a
shower of Pomard or Château Lafitte!”

“Tippler!” said Sebastien Zorn.

But what was the cause of this
phenomenon? There have been many examples of these showers of red dust,
composed of silica, alumina, chromic oxide and ferric oxide. At the beginning
of the century Calabria and the Abruzzi were inundated with these showers,
which the superstitious inhabitants took for drops of blood when, as at
Blancenberghe, in 1819, they were merely chloride of cobalt. There have also
been clouds of molecules of soot or carbon borne from distant fires. There have
even been showers of soot at Fernambouc in 1820, yellow showers at Orleans in
1829, and in the Basses Pyrenees in 1836 showers of pollen drifted from firs in
bloom.

What origin could be attributed
to this fall of dust mingled with scoriæ, with which the air seemed laden and
which fell on Floating Island and the surrounding sea in thick reddish masses?

The King of Malecarlie gave it as
his opinion that these substances came from some volcano in the islands to the
west. His colleagues at the observatory agreed with him. They collected several
handfuls of these scoriæ, the temperature of which was above that of the air,
and which had not cooled down in their passage through the atmosphere. An
eruption of great violence would explain the irregular detonations that had
been heard. These regions are strewn with craters, some in activity, others
extinct, but susceptible of revival under subterranean action; without counting
those which geologic upheavals occasionally lift from the ocean’s depths, the
force of their projection being often extraordinary.

And in the midst of this archipelago
of Tonga to which Floating Island was going, had not a few years before the
peak of Tufua been covered with its eruptive matters for an area of more than a
hundred kilometres? And for hours had not the detonations of the volcano been
heard two hundred kilometres away?

Then, in the month of August,
1883, the eruption of Krakatoa had desolated the parts of the islands of Java
and Sumatra adjoining Sunda Strait, destroying entire villages, causing
earthquakes, covering the soil with compact mud, raising the sea in formidable
waves, infecting the atmosphere with sulphurous vapours, and wrecking ships.
Really, it might be asked if Floating Island were not threatened with dangers
of this kind.

Commodore Simcoe began to be
uneasy, for navigation threatened to become very difficult. He gave orders to
slacken speed, and Floating Island began to move with extreme slowness.

A certain amount of alarm seized
on the Milliardites. Were the dismal prognostics of Sebastien Zorn regarding
the issue of the campaign on the point of realization?

Towards noon the darkness was
profound. The people had left their houses which could not stand if the metal
hull were lifted by plutonian forces. There was equal danger in the case of the
sea rising and sweeping over the coast.

The governor and the commodore
went to Prow Battery, followed by some of the people. Officers were sent to
both harbours with orders to remain there. The engineers were at their posts
ready to manœuvre the island if it became necessary to retreat in the opposite
direction. The misfortune was that the navigation became more difficult as the
sky grew darker.

About three o’clock in the
afternoon the people could hardly see ten yards in front of them. There was no
trace of diffused light, such was the mass of cinders which absorbed the solar
rays. It was feared that Floating Island, laden with the weight of the scoria
fallen on its surface, would not be able to maintain its water line on the
surface of the ocean.

It was not a ship that could be
lightened by throwing overboard cargo, or clearing it of its weight. All that
could be done was to trust in the strength of the construction.

The evening, or rather the night
came, and still the only way to tell the time was by the clock. The darkness
was complete. Beneath the shower of scoriæ it was impossible to keep the
electric moons aloft, and they were brought down. But the lighting of the
streets and houses which had gone on through the day was to be continued as
long as the phenomenon lasted.

The night came; the situation
remained unchanged. It seemed, however, that the detonations were less frequent
and also less violent. The fury of the eruption was diminishing and the rain of
cinder, carried away to the south by rather a strong breeze, began to abate.

The Milliardites, regaining
confidence a little, went into their houses, hoping that next day Floating
Island would find itself under normal conditions. And then they could proceed
to a long and complete clearing up.

No matter! What a miserable New
Year’s Day for the Pearl of the Pacific, and by how little Milliard City had
escaped the fate of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Although it was not situated at
the foot of Vesuvius, did not its voyage bring it within range of the volcanoes
with which the bed of the Pacific is strewn?

The governor, his assistants, and
the council of notables remained in constant attendance at the town hall. The
look-outs on the tower watched every change on the horizon or at the zenith. So
as to maintain its south westerly direction, Floating Island had not stopped
its progress, but its speed was only two or three miles an hour. When day came
—
or at least when
the darkness cleared off
—
its
course would be laid for the Tonga Archipelago. Then doubtless it would be
ascertained which of the islands of this part of the ocean had been the theatre
of such an eruption.

In any case it was manifest as
the night advanced that the phenomenon was passing away.

About three o’clock in the
morning there was a fresh incident which caused another outbreak of alarm among
the dwellers in Milliard City.

Floating Island received a shock
which was felt through all the compartments of its hull. The shock was not
sufficient force to cause the destruction of the houses or throw the engines
out of work. The screws were not stopped in their propulsive movement.
Nevertheless there was no doubt there had been a collision at the fore-end.

What had happened? Had Floating
Island grounded on a shoal? No, for it continued to move. Had it then struck
against a reef? Amid this profound darkness had it run into some vessel
crossing its course, which had not been able to see it lights?

From this collision had there
resulted any serious injuries, if not of a nature to imperil its safety, at
least sufficient to require important repairs at the next stopping-place?

Cyrus Bikerstaff and Commodore
Simcoe made their way not without difficulty through the thick bed of scoriæ
and cinders to the Prow Battery.

There the customs’ officers
informed them that the shock was due to a collision. A ship of large tonnage, a
steamer passing from west to east, had been rammed by the prow of Floating
Island. The shock had not been serious for the island, but perhaps it had been
different for the steamer. They had only sighted her at the moment of the
collision. Shouts had been heard, but they had lasted only a few moments. The
chief of the station and his men had run to the battery, but had seen nothing
and heard nothing. Had the vessel gone down where she was? The hypothesis was
unfortunately only too probable.

As to Floating Island, they had
found that the collision had not caused it any serious damage. Its mass was
such that even at reduced speed it would crumple in any vessel, no matter how
strong she might be
—
even
an ironclad of the first class
—
and
sink it there and then. Something of this sort had doubtless happened.

As to the nationality of this
ship, the chief of the station thought he had heard orders given in a rough
voice
—
one of
those roars peculiar to the commanders of English vessels. He could not,
however, say so positively.

This was a serious matter, and
might have consequences no less serious. What would the United Kingdom say? An
English vessel was a part of England, and we know that Great Britain does not
allow amputation with impunity. What claims and responsibilities Floating
Island might expect!

Thus the New Year began. At ten o’clock
in the morning Commodore Simcoe was still unable to make any observations. The
air was still thick with vapours, although the freshening breeze was beginning
to blow away the rain of cinders. At length the sun pierced the mists of the
horizon.

In what a state were Milliard
City, the park, the country, the works, the ports! What a lot of cleaning had
to be done! After all, that concerned the road officers. It was merely a
question of time and money, and neither was wanting.

The most urgent work was started
on first. The engineers went to Prow Battery on the side of the coast where the
collision had occurred. The damages were insignificant. The solid hull of steel
was no more injured than the wedge driven into a piece of wood
—
the ship, for
instance.

On the sea there was no wreckage.
From the observatory tower the most powerful glasses could see nothing,
although Floating Island had not moved two miles since the collision.