Not a shot is fired, not a monkey budges! The unfortunates are dead drunk! Ordered to guard their provisions, they have not been sober for three days, and are oblivious to everything. The cannonade, the battle, the rout—nothing has been able to penetrate their stupefaction. They are still sleeping like logs and snoring, while the English look down at them, unable to believe their blinking eyes.
It is all over! In a quarter of an hour, an entire army has dissolved, evaporated! The English have taken 1000 prisoners; the rest have fled into the wilderness to resume the savage life.
Farandoul and his downcast but furious brothers return to their guns to save some vestige of quadrumane honor by mounting a desperate defense. A hurricane of fire and iron envelops the little fort.
The heroic monkey gunners load and swab angrily—with such ardor that when dusk falls they refuse to leave their guns and continue firing, even after the English fleet has left its moorings and set out for the open sea.
X.
On the English side, the joy was unconfined. The colony was reconquered, nothing remaining in quadrumane hands but the little fort and the Governor’s mansion defended by Dick Broken.
The day after the landing, Sir Roderick Blakeley,43 Commander-in-Chief of the English expedition, made his entry into reconquered Melbourne. The city was celebrating, the English flag flying at every window. It was strange to see all the bimanes, finally reassured, pressing around the conquerors and heaping felicitations upon them. The most frightened bimanes were holding their heads high again; every trace of the conquest was disappearing. Already the word “quadrumane” was forbidden, erased from every edifice on which it had been inscribed.
The quadrumane artistes of the Melbourne Opera were shamefully cast out by their bimane colleagues. The performances of Coco’s opera were halted, the maestro himself having vanished.44
Lastly, as a final ignominy, there was already talk of raising a statue to the man whom more bimanes than ever were calling the heroic Croknuff.
In the afternoon, a long column of prisoners filed between two hedges of bearded highlanders, preceded by a tartan-kilted bagpiper playing merry tunes. Among the prisoners still clad in scraps of their uniforms, Colonel Makako stood out by virtue of his disheartened expression. At the sight of Lady Arabella Cardigan, standing beside Sir Roderick Blakeley, he bellowed lugubriously while lifting his arms in the air.
Lady Arabella leaned towards the General, who smiled while making a sign. The liberated Makako was immediately placed in the hands of the astute Englishwoman.
Let us say at once, so that our readers should be in no doubt as to the fate of the ex-Colonel, that he now became part of Lady Cardigan’s household. Lady Arabella, true to her promise, had no wish to separate Makako’s destiny from hers. She took him with her to England, to the Cardigan estate, which Makako had deluded himself that he might one day visit as its master.
Unfortunately, Makako is not master there—far from it! At first, he was comfortably lodged in a barred cage in the depths of the great greenhouse of Cardigan Castle, but his submissiveness and misery soon resulted in his being permitted a measure of liberty. Makako is no longer in chains; he vegetates while dreamily indulging his delusions of grandeur and sadly polishing Lord Cardigan’s boots. He still sees Lady Arabella from time to time, when she deigns to grant him permission to fulfill the functions of a trusted domestic servant by carrying her letters to her on a silver platter.
Lady Arabella’s guests do not always treat him kindly, and Makako’s aristocratic heart groans. Despite his unhappiness, the old feudal spirit of the patrician monkey of Borneo still persists. Makako lords it over the servants, and still refuses disdainfully—for lack of time—to enter into communication with a reporter from a great Liberal newspaper, who contacted him in the hope of extracting a few interesting memoirs.
Let us return to Melbourne, where Dick Broken’s monkeys were defending themselves desperately.
The solidly-barricaded Governor’s mansion resisted repeated English attacks. While supervising the defense, Dick Broken, faithful to his old habits of reportage, sent correspondence from time to time to the Melbourne Herald, which had reappeared—but as it simply forwarded his reports to the enemy, he refused all offers of capitulation and responded to the attacks with furious sorties at the head of an elite corps of 50 monkeys.
One of the pavilions at the corner of the Governor’s mansion had been taken and retaken 20 times over. For a week, they had fought on the rooftops for possession of the pavilion’s cupola. When the English believed that they were definitely in control of it, they installed themselves therein and prepared to move out of it to launch a decisive attack on the rest of the building—but the monkeys swiftly climbed up on the roof and precipitated themselves in an assault on the cupola, dislodging the enemy and replacing the Farandoulian flag, which had only been struck momentarily, at the summit of the monument.
Unfortunately, their food supplies were running out. Dick Broken was careful to say nothing about it in his correspondence, but he was cruelly tormented by fear of starvation.
From the height of their elevated position, the monkeys had been able to watch the long column of their brothers, made captive by the English, filing into the city. Their humiliation had wounded them deeply, but while the cannons of Farandoul’s little fort still sounded in the distance, they still clung to a vague hope.
The Point Rocas fort, occupied by Farandoul and his faithful monkeys, still held out—the garrison, when called to surrender, had received the envoys proudly. “So long as we have ammunition to feed to our cannons,” Farandoul replied, “we shall swallow the shells of the British lion!”
As everyone knows, though, in addition to its natural bravery, the British lion has a powerful dose of finesse. Instead of continuing a duel of shell bursts with Farandoul, it decided that it would be simpler to let the defenders of Point Rocas exhaust their provisions. A rigorous blockade was established around the little fort, at a respectful distance.
When the English General judged that the right moment had come, he sent new proposals to the Farandoulians, whose courage and constancy he admired. At the same time, he sent the monkeys’ former King a letter from Dick Broken, informing him of the want of food and desperate situation of the last of Melbourne’s monkeys. Even so, the little fort held out for another week by eking out the last rations of coconuts. The monkeys, who had become transparently thin, still refused to surrender.
In the end, when the impossibility of attempting an escape by sea had been clearly demonstrated, the ultimate decision was taken by a council whose members included both bimanes and quadrumanes.
The Farandoulian flag was lowered, yielding its place to a flag of truce.
The little fort was ready to capitulate!
The conditions were lengthily debated by the Generals. Finally, a treaty was signed for the surrender of the fort and Dick Broken’s monkeys. The members of the garrison were granted the honors of war and left with their weapons and baggage. The bimanes were prisoners; as for the quadrumanes, England was charged with their repatriation.
The open mouths of the cannons, silent since the night-watch, seemed to be yawning in despair. As noon sounded, to the sound of fifes and bagpipes, the drawbridge fell and the little fort’s garrison filed down the slope towards the English staff-officers.
Farandoul and Mandibul came on horseback at the column’s head; behind them marched the bimane Colonels and the hero’s five foster-brothers, blackened by gunpowder and covered in glorious scars. Three hundred and fifty brave monkeys of martial aspect, in stained and ragged uniforms, came next, preceded by six monkey drummers playing the funeral march.
It was all over! The following day was the cruel day of separation. The bimane leaders dined with the English General, who acquainted them with the intentions of Her Majesty’s government. Farandoul and the ex-mariners of La Belle Léocadie would be transported to Europe, far from quadrumane populations that were still profound
ly agitated. Because Farandoul had stipulated, as a condition of the fort’s surrender, a full pardon for Dick Broken, that individual was set at liberty.
Farandoul arranged with the General that La Belle Léocadie should be returned to the monkeys, in order that they might return to their hearths under the guidance of our hero’s five brothers. Farandoul’s foster-father, despite a thorough search, had not been found among the prisoners—he had disappeared, like so many others, during the rout of Makako’s army.
A few hours after La Belle Léocadie had put to sea, carrying 100 monkeys, accompanied by an English corvette carrying the rest of the quadrumanes, a long-boat came to take the bimanes to Sandridge to convey them aboard the Admiral’s frigate. Saturnin, Mandibul and the bimane ex-Generals having taken their places in the long-boat’s stern, the oars fell in response to a blast from the officer’s whistle, and the long-boat moved off under their rapid propulsion.
Farandoul could not take his eyes off the shore: that Australian land for whose regeneration he had attempted such great things...
His concentration was broken by a unanimous cry that went up from the long-boat’s passengers. A kind of reef had abruptly risen up. An enormous monster with an iron carapace had emerged from the water underneath the long-boat, which now found itself aground on its back, three meters above the waves. Farandoul recognized the Nautilus. Good old Captain Nemo had arrived just in time to save him!
The bewildered Englishmen, however, continued mechanically to ply their oars in the empty air, while a great tumult erupted aboard the not-far-distant ships.
The prisoners leapt with a single bound on to the back of the Nautilus and ran towards the stern, where the ports were already wide open, inviting them to enter. Before the Englishmen could recover from their surprise, they all found themselves safely ensconced in the belly of the vessel.
In the interior of the Nautilus, each one was greeted as an escaped prisoner. The first words of Captain Nemo had been these: “My dear Farandoul, I’m happy to have good news to bring you—the Bora-Bora affair has been successfully concluded.”
“I hope that the pirates’ banker has been hanged!”
“No, the Sultan of Borneo wanted to appoint him as his Prime Minister; fortunately, the prudent fellow fled with the funds to Sumatra. On his arrival, the Rajah of Sumatra, desirous of ensuring that such a rich foreigner remained in his estates, had him impaled, and confiscated the funds to defray the expenses of that judiciary procedure. I was almost in despair for your credit, when the Sumatran Minister of Justice, unconcerned with regularizing his appointment, thought that the occasion was ripe for beating the retreat, and departed with the cash-box. Now, while I was following the trail of that cash-box in the Nautilus, in order to protect your rights, I encountered the ship which the Minister of Justice had chartered for it. I captured it and redeposited the Minister in Sumatra with a receipt for his royal master. And that’s how I saved your 54 million coins!”
Ten days after this miraculous escape, the Nautilus arrived at the Mysterious Island, and Captain Nemo put Farandoul in possession of his 54 million coins.
Let us rapidly pass over the three months of rest and tranquility that the mariners allowed themselves in the Captain’s domains before Farandoul profited from an opportunity to visit the isle of his childhood.
The monkeys taken prisoner by the English had returned to their hearths. His five brothers were there, about to proceed with a reorganization of the island with the aid of the Australian veterans. After a brief sojourn, during which Farandoul carried out a survey of the entire island, in order to ascertain the changes and reforms necessary for the development of civilization, he set out in La Belle Léocadie bound for the Mysterious Island.
Soon enough, the 54 million coins made a substantial reinforcement for the arms stowed in the hold of La Belle Léocadie. Captain Nemo commissioned Farandoul to carry a mysterious package to Monsieur Jules Verne in Paris, and La Belle Léocadie set sail for Le Havre.
Do you know how much work there is to do on such a journey? Our mariners did not have very much free time left over for counting their wealth. Among the 54 million coins, there were many copper ones and not a few that were fake or had been withdrawn from circulation. In the end, the calculations having been rigorously made and checked nine, ten, or 11 times over—as recommended by the wisest professors of arithmetic—Farandoul found that each sailor would have 33,578 francs to set him up. That wasn’t at all bad, even for former Generals and Colonels.
They eventually sighted Le Havre; as there was an unexpended balance of 35 francs Farandoul called the sailors together to arrange a share-out.
Alas, all the calculations had been in vain! An ominous splashing set them all shivering. A stream of water soon manifested itself. The cargo of 54 million coins had overstrained the hold; some planks had given way and La Belle Léocadie was sinking rapidly.
A lamentable conclusion to such joyful hopes! Bora-Bora must have been laughing in his grave: La Belle Léocadie had had its day!
Fortunately, all the mariners could swim. A minute after the poor three-master had finally disappeared, the 17 sailors, with Farandoul and Mandibul at the head, cleft the waves in the direction of the jetty at Le Havre, which was visible in the distance. Having left the ship in order of rank, they came up the stairway to the quay in the same order.
Disdaining the helping hands that were offered to them, they climbed nimbly on to the quay. On arrival there, they all moved as one to lift their arms into the air, the same word on all their lips: “Ruined!”
“No!” Mandibul suddenly exclaimed, patting his pockets. “I still have the 35 francs!”
Farandoul also uttered a cry, in which equal doses of joy and astonishment were mingled. “It’s him!”
It was, indeed, him! It was Farandoul’s brave foster-father, whom he had recognized as he gazed on the soil of France for the very first time. And in what state did he see him? Wretched, crippled and captive: attached by a chain to a stall set against the parapet of the quay, whose proprietor was selling parrots and exotic curios.
Farandoul leapt upon Mandibul’s 35 francs and ran towards the merchant. “How much?” he stammered, in a voice choked with emotion, indicating to the mercantile soul that he meant the tearful quadrumane.
The old gentleman was liberated, and fell weeping into the arms of his adoptive son, all misery and suffering forgotten in that minute of happiness. The poor monkey had had some cruel times to endure. It will be remembered that he was on a mission to Makako’s camp when the attack took place; caught up in the rout, he had fallen into the hands of the English, who had sold him in spite of his human rights!
We shall not follow our friends to Paris, which they were able to reach, thanks to advances made by one of Captain Lastic’s old fitters. We shall content ourselves with saying that Farandoul religiously carried out his duty to deliver Captain Nemo’s letters—which he had, fortunately, saved from the wreck—to the required address.
Firmly determined on another attempt to make his fortune, Farandoul resolved to find his foster-father a place where he would be safe from further vicissitudes. The old gentleman was rather worn out and very feeble. The director of the Botanical Gardens, to whom Farandoul related his anxieties, was moved to tears; he consented to provide shelter for the brave quadrumane’s final days, and gave him his own apartment with a little garden.
The separation was cruel, but Farandoul courageously tore himself away from his foster-father and took the road to Le Havre again, with his companions. New projects having gestated in his fertile brain, America would be privileged to see what he might do next!
PART TWO: THE TWO AMERICAS
AROUND THE WORLD IN MORE THAN 80 DAYS
I.
The Transatlantic Company ship Hudson was heading towards New York with a rapidity favored by a magnificent south-east breeze. Saturnin Farandoul—monarch in reserve, as he called himself—and ex-General Mandibul had spent their time during the c
rossing from Le Havre to New York in long conversations regarding the instability of human things and dissertations on the fragility of empires and the frustrations of politics.
“My dear Mandibul,” Farandoul almost always said, by way of conclusion, “I’m abandoning the idea of social reform forever, and launching myself wholeheartedly into the world of industry. Business, commerce—that’s what I need, and since great enterprises are necessary to my health, it’s full steam ahead with great commercial enterprises!”
“Bravo, sir—sorry! Bravo, my dear Farandoul!”
It was in this state of mind that our heroes landed on the American shore.
All the seamen of La Belle Léocadie—the former Australian generals—had, of course, opted to follow the fortunes of their captain; the crew was complete and ready to share in his adventures. Farandoul’s first priority, therefore, was to seek out an enterprise in which he would be able to use those strong arms and devoted hearts.
Mandibul, who still held a grudge against England, proposed an invasion of Canada.
“No politics!” said Farandoul. “No politics—business! I too bear resentment against England, but I might have found a means of satisfying that resentment while remaining in profitable territory. This is my idea: the famous Niagara Falls, situated on the border, belong partly to the United States and partly to Canada. They’re much too far away from New York for the convenience of tourists, so why not bring them closer? We’ll excavate a canal branching from the Erie canal and, by means to which I’ll have to devote more intensive study if the project goes through, we can gradually relocate the falls, Goat Island and the Cave of the Winds, to the Hudson, a few leagues from New York. Canada will no longer have anything but an unimportant little waterfall, a miniature cascade, and the United States will be the sole possessor of the marvel of the Americas. We won’t ask anything of the States for that, but we’ll construct and exploit a railway between New York and the nearer falls—an exclusive railway, whose immense receipts will be sufficient to cover our expenses. That’s the plan—we just need shareholders.”
The Adventures of Saturnin Farandoul Page 14