by Jules Verne
The maximum speed to which the island could attain, when the engines were developing their ten million horse-power, was eight knots an hour. The most powerful waves, when raised by a storm, could have no influence on it. Its size rendered it unaffected by the undulations of the surge. Fear of sea-sickness there could be none. For the first few days just a slight thrill could be perceived, which the rotation of the screws communicated to its subsoil. Terminated by rams extending at each end for some sixty yards, dividing the waters without effort, it passed without shock or jolt over the immense liquid field open to its excursions.
The electrical energy produced at the works was employed for other purposes than the locomotion of Floating Island. It lighted the country, the park, and the city. It gave the luminant for the lighthouse, whose beams signalled from afar the presence of the island and prevented all chance of collision. It furnished the various currents required by the telegraphs, telephotes, telautographs, telephones used in the private houses and business establishments. It fed the artificial moons, of five thousand candle-power, which lighted an area of five hundred square yards.
This extraordinary construction was now on its second voyage across the Pacific. A month before it had left Madeleine Bay and coasted up to the thirty-fifth parallel, so as to be in the latitude of the Sandwich Islands. It was off the coast of Lower California when Calistus Munbar, learning by telephone that the Concert Quartette had left San Francisco, had started for San Diego to secure those eminent artistes. We know the way he effected this, how he brought them on to Floating Island, then moored a few cable lengths off the coast, and how, thanks to this peculiarly smart proceeding, the dilettanti of Floating Island were to be charmed with chamber music.
Such was this new wonder of the world, this masterpiece of human genius, worthy of the twentieth century, of which two violins, an alto, and a ‘cello were the guests, and which was bearing them to the west across the Pacific.
CHAPTER VI.
Even supposing that Sebastien Zorn, Frascolin, Yvernès, and Pinchinat were men who could be astonished at nothing, it would have been difficult for them to resist a legitimate outburst of anger, and a desire to spring at Calistus Munbar’s throat. To have every reason to think that they were in North America, and yet to be really in mid ocean! To believe that they were within twenty miles of San Diego, where they were expected to give a concert next day, and to suddenly learn that they were moving away from it on an artificial island! Really their anger was excusable.
Fortunately for himself, the American had taken care to get out of the way. Profiting by the surprise, or rather the amazement of the quartette, he had left the platform and gone down in the lift, where he was for the moment out of range of the recriminations and exuberances of the four Parisians.
“Rascal!” exclaimed the ‘cellist.
“Animal!” exclaimed the alto.
“Suppose that, thanks to him, we are to see wonders!” remarked the solo violin.
“Are you going to make excuses for him, then?” asked the second violin.
“No excuses!” said Pinchinat. “If there is a magistrate on Floating Island, we will have this Yankee hoaxer sent to prison.”
“And if there is an executioner,’ said Zorn, “we will have him hanged.”
But to obtain their different results it was first necessary to descend to the level of the inhabitants of Milliard City, the police not acting at a hundred and fifty feet in the air. And that they would have done in a few moments, if descent had been possible. But the cage of the lift had not come up again, and there was nothing like a staircase. At the summit of this tower the quartette found themselves cut off from communication with the rest of humanity.
After their first outburst of vexation and anger, Sebastien Zorn, Pinchinat, and Frascolin left Yvernès to his admirations and remained silent, and finally motionless. Above them rose the flagstaff on which the flag floated.
Zorn experienced a furious desire to cut the halliards, and bring down the flag, as a ship lowers its colours. But as this might lead to trouble, his comrades restrained him at the moment when his hand was brandishing a bowie-knife.
“Do not put us in the wrong,” said the wise Frascolin.
“Then—you accept the situation?” asked Pinchinat.
“No, but do not complicate it.”
“And our luggage on the road to San Diego!” remarked his highness, crossing his arms.
“And our concert to-morrow!” exclaimed Zorn.
“We will give it by telephone,” said the first violin, but the joke had anything but a soothing effect on the excited ‘cellist.
The observatory, it will be remembered, occupied the middle of a vast square, on which abutted the First Avenue. At the other end of this principal artery, some two miles long, which separated the two sections of Milliard City, the artistes could perceive a sort of monumental palace, surmounted by a belfry of very light and elegant construction. They said to themselves that this must be the seat of government of the island, the residence of the municipality, supposing that Milliard City had a mayor and etceteras. They were not mistaken. And just then the clock in the belfry gave forth a joyous carillon, the notes of which reached the tower with the last undulations of the breeze.
“Listen!” said Yvernès. “That is in D major.”
“And in two-four time,” said Pinchinat.
The clock was striking five.
“And dinner,” exclaimed Sebastien Zorn, “and bed! Are we, owing to this miserable Munbar, to spend the night on this platform a hundred and fifty feet in the air?”
It was to be feared so, if the lift did not afford the prisoners the means of quitting their prison.
In fact the twilight is short in these low latitudes, and the sun falls like a projectile below the horizon. The four looked away to the furthest limits of the sky, over a deserted sea, without a sail, without even a trace of smoke. Across the country ran the trams away to the shore of the island, and between the two harbours. At this time the park was crowded. From the tower it looked like an immense basket of flowers—azaleas, clematis, jasmine, glycenas, passion-flowers, begonias, salvias, hyacinths, dahlias, camellias, roses of a hundred varieties. The people were crowding in, grown men and young folks, none of those little fops which are the shame of the great cities of Europe, but strong, well-built adults. Women and girls, most of them in pale straw-coloured dresses, the hue preferred in the torrid zone, leading little lap-dogs in silk coats with chains laced with gold. Here and there these people were following the sandy paths, capriciously winding among the lawns. Some were reclining on the cushions of electric cars, others were seated on benches sheltered by the trees. Farther off young gentlemen were playing tennis, and cricket, and golf, and also polo, mounted on spirited ponies. Groups of children—American children of astonishing exuberance, among whom originality is so precocious, particularly in the case of the girls—were playing on the grass.
The commercial quarters of the town were still busy at this time of day.
The moving footways still ran on with their burden of passengers down the principal streets. At the foot of the tower, in the square of the observatory, there was a passing crowd whose attention the four prisoners endeavoured to attract.
Pinchinat and Frascolin yelled again and again to them. They were heard, evidently, for arms were stretched out towards them, and even words reached their ears. But there was no sign of surprise. Nobody seemed astonished at the group on the tower.
The words that came aloft were “good-bye” and “how do you do,” and “good-evening,” and other formulas of polite greeting. It seemed as though the people had been informed of the arrival of the four Parisians on Floating Island.
“Ah!” said Pinchinat, “they are laughing at us.”
“I think they are,” remarked Yvernès.
An hour went by—an hour during which their appeals were in vain. The pressing invitations of Frascolin met with no more success than the furious invectiv
es of Zorn. And the dinner-hour was approaching, the park was beginning to empty, the idlers in the streets were clearing off. It was maddening.
“Certainly,” said Yvernès, “we resemble the people whom some evil genius attracted within a sacred enclosure, and who were condemned to perish for having seen what their eyes should not have seen.”
“And we are to be left to the tortures of hunger,” said Pinchinat.
“That shall not be until we have exhausted every means of prolonging our existence,” said Zorn.
“If we have to eat each other, we will let Yvernès be number one!” said Pinchinat.
“When you please!” sighed the first violin in a subdued voice, bowing his head to receive the fatal blow.
At this moment a noise was heard in the depths of the tower. The cage of the lift came up and stopped at the platform. The prisoners, expecting to sec Calistus Munbar, prepared to give him the welcome he deserved.
The cage was empty.
Be it so. There was plenty of time for that. The hoaxed would not fail to find the hoaxer. The thing to do at once was to descend to his level, and the way to do that was to enter the cage.
That is what they did; and as soon as they were in it began to descend, and in less than a minute they were at the ground level of the tower.
The door opened. The four went out. The interior court was deserted. They crossed it and took one of the paths along the square.
A few people were moving about who appeared to take no notice of the strangers. At a remark from Frascolin, advising him to be cautious, Zorn restrained his tempestuous recriminations. It was of the authorities that they must demand justice. There was no danger in doing that. It was decided to return to the Excelsior Hotel and wait until the morning to claim their rights as free men; and the quartette began to walk along First Avenue.
Did they attract much attention? Yes and no. People looked at them, but not to any great extent—as though, perhaps, they were some of the few tourists occasionally visiting Milliard City. The quartette, under the influence of such extraordinary circumstances, did not feel very comfortable, and thought they were gazed at much more than they really were. On the other hand, it was not astonishing that the people appeared strange to them, these islanders of a moving island, these men voluntarily separated from their kind wandering over the face of the largest ocean of the globe. With a little imagination they might fancy these Floating Islanders belonged to another planet of the solar system. This was the opinion of Yvernès, whose excitable brain was rather attracted by imaginary worlds. As to Pinchinat, he was content to say, —
“These people we are meeting have quite a millionaire look about them, and seem to be fitted with screws behind, like their island.”
But they got more and more hungry, and began to hurry towards the hotel. In the morning they would see about getting back to San Diego on one of the Floating Island steamers, after receiving an indemnity which Calistus Munbar would have to pay, as was only just.
But as they were going along First Avenue, Frascolin stopped before a sumptuous edifice, on the front of which, in gold letters, was the inscription “Casino.” To the right of the superb arcade which surmounted the principal door a restaurant was visible, and through the arabesqued glass could be seen a series of tables, of which some were occupied by diners, while a numerous staff was busy about them.
“Here people eat!” said the second violin, consulting his famished comrades with a look.
Pinchinat’s laconic reply was, “Let us go in.”
And they entered the restaurant in single file. No particular notice seemed to be taken of their presence in this establishment, usually patronized by strangers. Five minutes afterwards they were attacking the first course of an excellent dinner, of which Pinchinat had chosen the bill of fare. Fortunately, the quartette’s purse was well filled, and if it ran low on Floating Island it would soon be replenished by the takings at San Diego.
The cookery was excellent, being much superior to that of the New York and San Francisco hotels; the apparatus used was the electric stove, admirably adapted for either a fierce or gentle fire. The preserved oyster soup, fricasseed corn, stewed celery, and rhubarb cakes, which are traditional, were followed by fish of extreme freshness, rump-steaks of incomparable tenderness, game doubtless from the forests and prairies of California, and vegetables grown on the island. As drinks, there was no iced water in American fashion, but various beers and wines which the growers of Burgundy, the Bordelais, and the Rhine had placed in the cellars of Milliard City—at a high price we may be sure.
This bill of fare cheered up the Parisians. Their ideas took another turn. Perhaps they took a less gloomy view of the day’s adventures. It is well known that orchestral musicians know how to drink, as is only natural with those who expend their breath in chasing sonorous waves through wind instruments, though less excusable with those who have only to manipulate the strings. It is of no consequence, however. Yvernès, Pinchinat, and Frascolin began to see life in rose colour, and even in the colours of gold, in this city of millionaires. Sebastien Zorn alone refused to follow his comrades’ lead, and did not let his anger drown in the vintages of France.
In short, the quartette had become very well satisfied with themselves on the whole, when the time came to ask for their bill. It was handed to Frascolin by the superintendent in a black coat. The second violin cast his eyes on the total, rose from his seat, sat down again, rose again, rubbed his eyes, and looked at the ceiling.
“What is the matter with you?” asked Yvernès.
“A shudder from head to foot,” replied Frascolin.
“Is it dear?”
“More than dear. We have to pay two hundred francs.”
“The four?”
“No—each.”
In fact, the amount was a hundred and sixty dollars. The game cost fifteen dollars, the fish twenty dollars, the rump-steaks twenty-five dollars, the Medoc and Burgundy thirty dollars a bottle, the rest at the same rate.
“Confound it!” exclaimed his Highness.
“The thieves!” exclaimed Sebastien Zorn.
These remarks being in French were not understood by the restaurant manager. Nevertheless this personage was quite aware of what was passing. But if a slight smile appeared on his lips, it was a smile of surprise not of disdain. It seemed to him quite natural that a dinner should cost a hundred and sixty dollars. That was the price in Floating Island.
“No scandal!” said Pinchinat. “France is looking at us. Let us pay.”
“And no matter how,” replied Frascolin. “On the road to San Diego, after to-morrow, we shall not have enough to buy a sandwich with!”
So saying, he took out his purse and extracted from it a respectable number of paper dollars, which, fortunately, were current at Milliard City, and he was about to hand them over when a voice was heard, —
“These gentlemen have not to pay anything.”
It was the voice of Calistus Munbar. The Yankee had just entered the room, expansive and smiling as usual.
“At last!” shouted Zorn, feeling inclined to take him by the throat and clutch him as he clutched the fingerboard of his ‘cello in the forte passages.
“Be calm, my dear Zorn,” said the American. “Let us go into the room where coffee is waiting for us. There we can talk at our ease, and when our conversation is over—”
“I will strangle you!” replied Sebastien Zorn.
“No, you will kiss my hands.”
“I shall not kiss you at all,” said the ‘cellist, by turns red and white with anger.
A minute afterwards, Calistus Munbar’s guests were lounging on soft couches while he was balancing himself in a rocking-chair.
And this is what he said by way of introduction: —
“Calistus Munbar, of New York, fifty years of age, great-grand-nephew of the celebrated Barnum, at the moment Superintendent of the Fine Arts of Floating Island, entrusted with all that concerns painting, sculpture, music
, and the pleasures generally of Milliard City. And now that you know me, gentlemen—”
“Is it by chance,” said Zorn, “that you are not also an agent of the police, entrusted with the enticing of people into traps and keeping them prisoners, whether they like it or not?”
“Do not be too hasty, irritable ‘cellist,” replied the American, “and wait for the end.”
“We will wait,” said Frascolin, gravely, “and we are listening.”
“Gentlemen,” continued Calistus Munbar, graciously, “all I wish to touch on in this interview is the question of music as it exists in our island. Lyrical theatres, Milliard City does not as yet possess any, but if you wish it, they will rise from the soil as by enchantment. Up to the present our fellow-citizens have satisfied their musical tendencies by keeping themselves acquainted with the masterpieces of lyric art by means of the most approved apparatus. The ancient and modern masters, the great artistes of the day, the most sought after of instrumentalists, have been heard by us by means of the phonograph—”
“A mere bird-organ” your phonograph!” exclaimed Yvernès, disdainfully.