The Floating Island (40 page)

This sorcerer, who was seated at
his door, gave them anything but an encouraging look, and his gestures appeared
to indicate that he certainly was not giving them a blessing.

Frascolin tried to enter into
conversation with him through the pilot; but he assumed so repulsive a look,
and so threatening an attitude, that they had to abandon any hope of a word
from this Fijian porcupine.

Meanwhile, in spite of the advice
which had been given him, Pinchinat had strolled off through a thick clump of
bananas on the side of a hill.

When Sebastien Zorn, Yvernès and
Frascolin had been rebuffed by the sorcerer’s surliness, and were preparing to
leave Tampoo, their comrade was out of sight.

The time had come for them to get
back to the launch. The tide had begun to ebb, and there were none too many
hours for them to run down the Rewa.

Frascolin, uneasy at not seeing
Pinchinat, hailed him in a loud voice.

There was no reply.

“Where is he, then?” asked
Sebastien Zorn.

“I do not know,” replied Yvernès.

“Did any of you see him go away?”
asked the pilot.

No one had seen him.

“Probably he has gone back to the
launch by the footpath from the village,” said Frascolin.

“Then he was wrong,” said the
pilot “But let us lose no time, and rejoin him.”

They left, not without
considerable anxiety. As they went through Tampoo the pilot remarked that not a
Fijian was visible. All the doors of the huts were shut. There was no gathering
in front of the chiefs house. The women who were occupied in the preparation of
curcuma had disappeared. It seemed that the village had been abandoned for some
time.

The party hurried along.
Frequently they shouted for the absent one, and the absent one did not reply.
Had he not, then, got back to the shore where the launch was moored? Or was the
launch no longer then in charge of the engineer and two sailors?

There remained but a few hundred
yards to traverse. They hurried along, and as soon as they were through the
trees saw the launch and the three men at their posts.

“Our comrade?” shouted Frascolin.

“Is he not with you?” replied the
engineer.

“No
—
not
for the last half-hour.”

“Has he not come back?” asked Yvernès.

“No.”

What had become of him? The pilot
did not conceal his extreme uneasiness.

“We must return to the village,”
said Sebastien Zorn. “We cannot abandon Pinchinat.”

The launch was left in charge of
one of the sailors, although it was dangerous to do so. But it was better to
return to Tampoo in force and well armed this time. If they had to search all
the huts, they would not leave the village, they would not return to Floating
Island until they had found Pinchinat.

They went back along the road to
Tampoo. The same solitude in the village and its surroundings. Where had the
population gone? Not a sound was heard in the streets, and the huts were empty.

There could be no doubt as to
what had happened. Pinchinat had ventured into the banana wood; he had been
seized and dragged away
—
where?
As to the fate reserved for him by these cannibals whom he derided, it was only
too easy to imagine it! A search in the environs of Tampoo produced no result.
How could you find a track through this forest region, which is known only to
the Fijians? Besides, was it not to be feared that they would try to capture
the launch, guarded only by a single sailor? If that misfortune happened, all
hope of rescuing Pinchinat was at an end, the safety of his companions would be
endangered.

The despair of Frascolin, Yvernès,
and Sebastien Zorn was indescribable. What could be done? The pilot and the
engineer did not know what to do.

Frascolin, who had preserved his
coolness, said,
—

“We must return to Floating
Island.”

“Without our comrade?” asked Yvernès.

“Do you think so?” added
Sebastien Zorn.

“I do not see what else to do,”
replied Frascolin. “The governor of Floating Island should be informed; the
authorities of Viti-Levu should be communicated with and asked to take action
—
”

“Yes; let us go!” said the pilot,
“and if we are to take advantage of the tide, we have not a minute to lose.”

“It is the only way of saving
Pinchinat,” said Frascolin, “if it is not too late.”

The only way, in fact.

They left Tampoo, fearing that
they might not find the launch at her post. In vain the name of Pinchinat was
shouted by all! And if they had been less excited they might have seen among
the bushes a few savage Fijians watching their departure.

The launch had not been
interfered with. The sailor had seen no one prowling on the banks of the Rewa.

It was with inexpressible sadness
that Sebastien Zorn, Frascolin and Yvernès decided to take their places in the
boat. They hesitated; they shouted again. But they had to go, as Frascolin
said, and they were right in doing so.

The engineer set the dynamos
going, and the launch with the tide under her flew down the Rewa at prodigious
speed.

At six o’clock the western point
of the delta was rounded, and half an hour afterwards they were alongside the
pier at Starboard Harbour.

In a quarter of an hour Frascolin
and his two comrades had by means of the tram reached Milliard City, and were
at the town hall.

As soon as he had heard what had
occurred, Cyrus Bikerstaff started for Suva, and there he asked for an
interview with the governor-general of the archipelago, which was granted him.

When this official learned what
had passed at Tampoo, he admitted that it was a very serious matter. This
Frenchman was in the hands of one of the tribes of the interior who evaded all
authority.

“Unfortunately,” he added, “we
cannot do anything before to-morrow. Our boats cannot get up to Tampoo against
the tide. Besides, it is indispensable for us to go in force, and the best way
would be to go through the bush.”

“Quite so,” replied Cyrus Bikerstaff;
“but it is not tomorrow, but to-day
—
this
very moment
—
that
we should start.”

“I have not the necessary men at
my disposal,” said the governor.

“We have them, sir,” replied
Cyrus Bikerstaff. “Under the orders of one of your officers who know the country
—
”

“Very well, sir, you can start at
once.”

Half an hour afterwards, a
hundred men, sailors and militia, landed at Suva, under the orders of Commodore
Simcoe, who had asked to take the command of the expedition. The
superintendent, Sebastien Zorn, Yvernès, Frascolin, were at his side. A
detachment of the Viti-Levu police went with them.

The expedition started into the
bush under the guidance of the pilot, who knew these difficult regions of the
interior. They went the shortest way, and at a rapid rate, so as to reach
Tampoo as quickly as possible.

It was not necessary to go as far
as the village. About an hour after midnight orders were given for the column
to halt.

In the deepest part of an almost
impenetrable thicket the glare of a fire was noticed. Doubtless the natives of
Tampoo were gathered here, the village being within half an hour’s march to the
east.

Commodore Simcoe, the pilot,
Calistus Munbar, the three Parisians, went on in front.

They had not gone a hundred yards
before they stopped.

In the light of the fire,
surrounded by a tumultuous crowd of men and women, Pinchinat, half naked, was
tied to a tree, and the Fijian chief was advancing towards him axe in hand.

“Forward! Forward!” shouted
Commodore Simcoe to his sailors and militia.

Sudden surprise and well-grounded
terror on the part of the natives, on whom the detachment spared neither fire
nor steel. In a moment the place was deserted, and the whole band had dispersed
under the trees.

Pinchinat, detached from the
tree, fell into the arms of his friend Frascolin.

How can we describe the joy of
these artistes, these brothers
—
in
which were mingled a few tears, and also well-merited reproaches.

“But, you wretch,” said the
violoncellist, “what possessed you to go away from us?”

“Wretch as much as you like, my
old Sebastien,” replied Pinchinat, “but do not sit upon an alto as poorly
clothed as I am at this moment. Pass me my clothes, so that I can present
myself before the authorities in a more suitable fashion.”

His clothes were found at the foot
of a tree, and he put them on with the greatest coolness imaginable. Then when
he was “presentable “he went to shake hands with the commodore and
superintendent.

“Well,” said Calistus Munbar, “do
you now believe in the cannibalism of the Fijians?”

The
departure of Floating Island was fixed for the 2nd of February. The day before
the excursions ended, the different tourists returned to Milliard City. The
Pinchinat affair created a great sensation. All the Pearl of the Pacific was
interested in his Highness, for the Concert Party were held in universal
esteem. The council of notables accorded its entire approbation to the
energetic conduct of the governor, Cyrus Bikerstaff. The newspapers warmly
congratulated him. Pinchinat became the celebrity of the day. Could you have an
alto terminating his artistic career in the stomach of a Fijian? It was
cheerfully admitted that the natives of Viti-Levu had not absolutely renounced
their cannibalistic tastes. After all, human flesh was so good, according to them,
and this fellow, Pinchinat, was so appetizing!

Floating Island started at
daybreak and moved off towards the New Hebrides. This would take it about
twelve degrees or two hundred leagues out of the way; but it could not be
avoided if Captain Sarol and his companions were to be landed in the New
Hebrides. No one regretted it, however. Everybody was glad to be of service to
these brave fellows who had shown so much courage in the proceedings against
the wild beasts. And they appeared to be so satisfied at being taken home in
this way after such a long absence! Added to which it would be an opportunity
of visiting a group with which the Milliardites were not yet acquainted.

The voyage proceeded with
intentional slowness. It was in these regions between the Fijis and the New Hebrides
in one hundred and seventy degrees thirty-five minutes of east longitude, and
nineteen degrees thirteen minutes south latitude, that the steamer from
Marseilles chartered by the Tankerdon and Coverley families was to meet Floating
Island.

The marriage of Walter and Miss
Coverley was more than ever the subject of general interest. How could anything
else be thought of? Calistus Munbar had not a minute to himself. He was
preparing and organizing the different elements of a festival that would make
its mark in the annals of Floating Island. That he grew thin over the task need
surprise nobody.

Floating Island did not move more
than from twenty to twenty-five kilometres a day. It came within sight of Viti,
whose superb banks are bordered with luxuriant forests of sombre verdure. It
took three days traversing the tranquil waters from Wanara to Ronde. The
passage to which this name is given on the charts afforded a wide road for the
Pearl of the Pacific. A number of terrified whales collided with the steel
hull, which trembled at the blows. But the plates of the compartments held firm
and there were no damages.

At length in the afternoon of the
sixth, the last summits of Fiji disappeared below the horizon. At this moment
Commodore Simcoe left the Polynesian for the Melanesian region of the Pacific.

During the three next days,
Floating Island continued to drift towards the west, after reaching the
nineteenth degree of south latitude. On the 10th of February it was in the
locality where it had been arranged for the steamer from Europe to meet it. The
point marked on the charts displayed in Milliard City was known to all. The
lookouts at the observatory were on the alert. The horizon was swept by
hundreds of telescopes, and as soon as the ship was signalled
—
all the population
were expectant- was not this as it were the prologue of the drama the people
were so eager for, the marriage of Walter Tankerdon and Miss Coverley?

Floating Island had only to
remain stationary, to keep in position against the currents of these seas shut
in by archipelagoes. Commodore Simcoe gave his orders accordingly, and his
officers saw that they were carried out.

“The position is decidedly most
interesting!” said Yvernès.

This was during the two hours’
rest that he and his comrades habitually allowed themselves after luncheon.

“Yes,” replied Frascolin, “and we
shall have no reason to regret this campaign on Floating Island
—
whatever friend
Zorn may think.”

“Wait until it is over,” said the
violoncellist, “and when we have pocketed the fourth instalment of the salary
we have earned.”

“Well,” said Yvernès, “the
company has paid us three since our departure, and I very much approve of what
Frascolin, our worthy accountant, has done in sending this large sum to the
bank at New York.”

In fact the worthy accountant had
deemed it wise to pay the money through the bankers of Milliard City into one
of the best banks in the Union. This was not out of any distrust, but because a
bank on shore seemed to offer more security than one floating over five or six
thousand metres of Pacific water.

It was during this conversation,
amid the scented wreaths of smoke from pipes and cigars, that Yvernès was led
to make the following observation,
—

“The marriage festivities promise
to be splendid, my friends. Our superintendent is sparing neither imagination
nor pains. He will have showers of dollars, and the fountains of Milliard City
will flow with generous wine, I have no doubt. But do you know what is wanting
about this ceremony?”