Propeller Island

by Jules Verne

  “Gentlemen,” said Commodore Simcoe, “we can no longer remain at the observatory, which is in danger of being a heap of ruins. Let us get into the country, and wait until the storm is over.”

  “It is a cyclone,” replied the King of Malecarlie, showing the barometer, fallen to 713 millimetres.

  Floating Island had been caught in one of those cyclonic movements which act like powerful condensers. These eddying tempests formed by a mass of water, whose gyration takes place round an almost vertical axis, move from east to west along the north of the southern hemisphere. A cyclone is the atmospheric phenomenon most fraught with disasters, and to escape from it, its comparatively calm centre must be reached, or at least the right side of its trajectory, the workable semicircle which is free from the fury of the waves. But this manœuvre was impossible for want of motors. This time it was not human stupidity nor the imbecile obstinacy of its leaders which was ruining Floating Island, but a formidable atmospheric disturbance which would end by annihilating it.

  The King of Malecarlie, Commodore Simcoe, Colonel Stewart, Sebastien Zorn and his comrades, the astronomers, and the officers, abandoned the observatory, where they were no longer safe. It was time. Scarcely had they gone a hundred yards, before the lofty tower collapsed with a horrible noise, fell through the ground, and disappeared into the abyss.

  A moment afterwards the entire edifice was a mass of ruins.

  Nevertheless the quartette thought of going up First Avenue and running to the casino, where their instruments were, which they wished to save if possible. The casino was still standing. They reached it, they mounted to their rooms, they carried off the two violins, the alto, and the violoncello to the park, in which they sought refuge.

  There were gathered several thousand persons of both sections. The Tankerdon and Coverley families were there, and perhaps it was fortunate for them that amid the darkness they could not see each other, could not recognize each other.

  Walter had, however, been fortunate enough to meet with Di. He would try and save her at the moment of the supreme catastrophe. He would cling with her to some piece of wreckage.

  The girl divined that the young man was near her, and this cry escaped her, —

  “Ah! Walter!”

  “Di, dear Di! I am here! I will not leave you any more.”

  As to our Parisians, they would not leave each other. They would remain together. Frascolin had lost nothing of his coolness. Yvernès was very nervous. Pinchinat was ironically resigned. Sebastien Zorn said to Athanase Dorémus, who had at last decided to join his compatriots, —

  “I told them it would end badly! I predicted it!”

  “Enough of your tremolos in a minor key, old Isaiah,” said his Highness; “start on your penitential psalms.”

  Towards midnight the force of the cyclone increased. The converging winds raised monstrous waves and hurled them against Floating Island. Where would this strife of the elements take them? To be sheltered on some reef? To be rent asunder in mid-ocean?

  The hull was now rent in a thousand places. The joints were cracking everywhere. St. Mary’s church, the temple, the town hall, had fallen through the gaping fissures through which the sea came leaping up. Of these magnificent edifices not a vestige remained. What riches, what treasures, pictures, statues, objects of art had vanished for ever! The people would see no more of this superb Milliard City when daylight came, if ever the daylight came for them.

  The sea began to spread over the country, over the park. The island sank lower and lower in the water. The surface of Floating Island was at the level of the sea, and the cyclone was driving the waves over on to it.

  No shelter now anywhere. Prow Battery, which was then to windward, afforded no protection against the waves or the squalls which swept on to it. The compartments opened, and the dislocation continued, with a noise that was heard above the most violent rolls of thunder. The supreme catastrophe was approaching.

  About three in the morning the park cracked along a length of two kilometres in the bed of Serpentine River, and through this the sea flowed. Instant flight was inevitable, and the people dispersed into the country. Some ran towards the ports, others towards the batteries. Families were separated; mothers in vain sought for their children; while the sea rolled over Floating Island as if in an enormous tidal wave.

  Walter Tankerdon, who had not left Di, tried to lead her towards Starboard Harbour. She had not strength to follow him. He lifted her, almost inanimate; he carried her in his arms; and in this way he went through the terror-stricken crowd, amid this horrible darkness.

  At five o’clock in the morning, more cracking and rending of metal were heard in the east.

  A piece about half a square mile in area had been detached from Floating Island.

  It was Starboard Harbour, with its works, its engines, its warehouses, that had drifted off.

  Beneath the redoubled blows of the cyclone, then at the height of its violence, Floating Island was thrown about like a wreck. Its hull became broken up. The compartments divided; and some, as the waves leapt over them, disappeared in the depths of the ocean.

  “After the burst-up of the company,” said Pinchinat, “the burst-up of Floating Island.”

  That was the summing-up of the situation.

  Of the marvellous Floating Island there now remained but a few scattered pieces, like the sporadic fragments of a shattered comet, floating not in space, but on the surface of the wide Pacific.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  When the day broke, a spectator from a height of a few hundred feet would have seen three fragments of Floating Island, measuring two or three hectares each, floating on the sea, and about a dozen of smaller size at a short distance from one another.

  The cyclone began to die away with the first appearance of daylight. With the rapidity peculiar to these great atmospheric disturbances, its centre moved thirty miles towards the east. But the sea, so terribly lashed, continued tremendous, and the wrecks large and small rolled and pitched like vessels on an ocean in fury.

  The part of Floating Island which had suffered most was that which had formed the base of Milliard City. It had sunk beneath the weight of its edifices. In vain would you search for any vestige of its monuments, of the houses which bordered the main avenues of both sections. Never had the separation between Larboardites and Starboardites been more complete, and never assuredly had they dreamt of such.

  Was the number of victims considerable? It was to be feared so, although the people had taken refuge in time in the centre of the country, where the ground offered more resistance to dismemberment.

  Well! Were they satisfied, these Coverleys and Tankerdons, of the result due to their culpable rivalry? It was not one of them who would govern, to the exclusion of the other. Swallowed up was Milliard City, and with it the enormous price they had paid for it, But do not pity their fate! There remained to them millions enough in the coffers of the American and European banks to assure them of their daily bread in their old age.

  The largest fragment comprised that portion of the country which extended between the observatory and Prow Battery. Its area was about three acres, and on it the shipwrecked people—if we can so describe them—were gathered to the number of three thousand.

  On the next largest portion were some of the buildings in the neighbourhood of Larboard Harbour, the port, with some of the storehouses of provisions and one of the tanks of fresh water. The electric works, the buildings in which were the machinery and boilers, had disappeared at the time of the explosion. On this second fragment two thousand people had taken refuge.

  With regard to Starboard Harbour, it will not have been forgotten that this part of Floating Island had been violently forced off at three o’clock in the morning. It had doubtless sunk, for as far as the eye could reach, nothing could be seen of it.

  With the first two fragments floated a third, of an area of from four to five hectares, comprising that portion of the country about Stern Battery, on w
hich were about four thousand people. And there were twelve more pieces, measuring a few hundred square metres each, on which the rest of the people saved from the disaster had taken refuge.

  That was all that was left of the Pearl of the Pacific.

  There must, therefore, have been many hundred victims of the catastrophe; and the survivors might be thankful that Floating Island had not been swallowed up entirely in the waters of the Pacific.

  But if they were far from land, how were these fragments to reach a coast? Were the people to perish by famine? And would there survive a single witness of this disaster, unequalled in maritime necrology?

  No, there was no need to despair. These drifting fragments bore energetic men, and all that was possible to do for the common safety would be done.

  It was on the fragment around Prow Battery that were gathered Commodore Ethel Simcoe, the King and Queen of Malecarlie, the staff of the observatory, Colonel Stewart, some of the officers, a certain number of the notables of Milliard City, the clergy—in fact, an important part of the population.

  There also were the Coverley and Tankerdon families, overwhelmed by the frightful responsibility which rested on their chiefs. And were they not also smitten in their dearest affections, for Walter and Di had disappeared! Were they on one of the other fragments? Could they ever hope to see them again?

  The Quartette Party with their precious instruments were complete. To use a well-known formula, “death alone would separate them.” Frascolin was still taking matters coolly, and had not lost all hope. Yvernès, who was accustomed to look at things on their extraordinary side, remarked;

  “It would be difficult to imagine a grander finish.”

  Sebastien Zorn was nearly crazy. To have been the prophet predicting the misfortunes of Floating Island, as Jeremiah did the misfortunes of Sion, did not console him. He was hungry, he was cold, he was continually coughing.

  And Calistus Munbar? Well, the superintendent was simply sublime—yes, sublime! He would not despair of the safety of the people, or the safety of Floating Island. Floating Island could be repaired. The fragments were sound, and it could not be said that the elements had triumphed over this masterpiece of naval architecture.

  It was certain that danger was no longer imminent. All that could sink during the cyclone had sunk with Milliard City—its hotels, its houses, the works, the batteries, all the heavy superstructure. The fragments now were in good condition. They were floating higher than before, and the waves were not sweeping over their surface.

  Here was a respite, a tangible amelioration, and as the fear of immediate sinking was removed, the people’s spirits had improved. They were much calmer. Only the women and children, incapable of reasoning, had failed to overcome their terror.

  And what had happened to Athanase Dorémus? At the commencement of the breaking up, the professor of dancing and deportment had been carried away with his old servant on one of the fragments. But a current had brought him towards the piece on which were his compatriots of the quartette.

  Commodore Simcoe, like the captain of a disabled ship, aided by his devoted staff, had set to work. In the first place, would it be possible to join up the pieces that were floating separately? If it were impossible, could they establish communications between them? This last question was easily answered in the affirmative, for several boats had remained uninjured in Larboard Harbour. By sending them from one fragment to another, Commodore Simcoe could ascertain what resources were left, what amount of fresh water and provisions.

  But was he able to find out the longitude and latitude of this flotilla of wreckage?

  No! For want of instruments to take an altitude, the position could not be determined, and hence they could not know if they were near any island or continent.

  About nine o’clock in the morning, Commodore Simcoe embarked with two of his officers in a boat which had come from Larboard Harbour to fetch him. In this boat he visited the different fragments, and this was what he ascertained in the course of the inquiry.

  The distilling apparatus at Larboard Harbour had been destroyed, but the tank contained enough drinking water for a fortnight, if the consumption were reduced to what was strictly necessary. The reserves in the store-houses were sufficient for the food of the people for nearly as long.

  It was therefore necessary that in two weeks at the outside a landing should be effected on some point in the Pacific.

  This information was in a certain measure reassuring. But Commodore Simcoe could not help discovering that there had been many hundred victims of this terrible night. The grief of the Tankerdon and Coverley families was inexpressible. Neither Walter nor Di had been found on any of the fragments visited by the boat. At the moment of the catastrophe the young man, carrying his betrothed, was going towards Starboard Harbour, and of this part of Floating Island nothing remained on the surface of the Pacific.

  In the afternoon the wind abated from hour to hour, the sea fell, and the fragments were barely affected by the undulations of the surge. By means of the boats from Larboard Harbour, Commodore Simcoe provided for the food of the people, sending them what was necessary to save them from dying of hunger.

  Communications became easier and more rapid. The different pieces, obedient to the laws of attraction, like fragments of cork on the surface of a basin of water, approached one another. And was not that of good augury to the confident Calistus Munbar, who saw in it the reconstitution of the Pearl of the Pacific?

  The night went by in darkness. The time had gone when the avenues of Milliard City, the streets of the commercial quarters, the lawns in the park, the fields and prairies were bright with electric lights, when the aluminium moons poured in profusion a dazzling effulgence over the surface of Floating Island!

  Amid the darkness there were a few collisions between the fragments. These shocks could not be avoided, but fortunately they were not violent enough to cause serious damage.

  At daybreak it was seen that the pieces were all very near together, and floating on a tranquil sea. In a few strokes of the oar it was easy to pass from one to the other. Commodore Simcoe had every facility for regulating the consumption of food and fresh water. That was the important point, and the people understood it and were resigned.

  The boats took several families about. They went in search of those they had not yet found. What happiness among these who were met with again, who gave no thought to the dangers with which they were still threatened. What sorrow for those who vainly sought for the absent?

  It was evidently a fortunate circumstance that the sea had calmed down. But it was perhaps regrettable that the wind had not continued blowing from the south-east. It would have helped the current which in this part of the Pacific runs towards the Australian coast.

  By order of Commodore Simcoe, look-outs were posted to watch every point of the horizon. If a ship appeared, they would make signals. But ships are few in these distant regions at this period of the year when the equinoctial storms prevail.

  There was, therefore, a very poor chance of noticing either smoke or masts and sails along the line of sky and water. And yet about two in the afternoon Commodore Simcoe received the following communication from one of the look-outs:

  “In the north-east there is something on the move, and although the hull cannot be distinguished, it is certain that a vessel is passing in the offing.”

  This news caused extraordinary excitement. The King of Malecarlie, Commodore Simcoe, the officers and engineers, all went to the side where the vessel had been signalled from. Orders were given to attract attention by hoisting flags at the end of spars and by simultaneous discharges of the firearms they had left. If the night came before these signals were noticed, a fire would be lighted, and during the night, as it would be visible at a great distance, it was impossible that it could escape being perceived.

  It was not necessary to wait until the evening. The mass in question visibly approached. Clouds of smoke rolled overhead, and there could be
no doubt it was making for the fragments of Floating Island.

  The glasses kept it in view, although its hull was very little above the sea, and it possessed neither masts nor sails.

  “My friends,” Commodore Simcoe soon exclaimed, “I am not mistaken! It is a piece of our island! It is Starboard Harbour which was carried away by the currents. Doubtless Mr. Somwah has repaired his engines, and is coming to us.”

  Demonstrations verging on madness welcomed the news. It seemed that the safety of all was now assured. It was as it were a vital part of Floating Island which came back with this piece of Starboard Harbour.

  Matters had, in fact, happened as Commodore Simcoe supposed. After the breaking off, Starboard Harbour, seized by a counter-current, had drifted off to the northeast. When day came Mr. Somwah had repaired the slight damages to his engines, and returned to the scene of the wreck, bringing with him several hundred more survivors.

  Three hours afterwards, Starboard Harbour was not more than a cable’s length from the flotilla. And what transports of joy, what shouts of enthusiasm welcomed its arrival. Walter Tankerdon and Di Coverley, who had taken refuge there before the catastrophe, were there side by side.

  With the arrival of Starboard Harbour, with its reserves of provisions and water, there was some chance of safety. The stores contained enough oil to drive the engines and dynamos and work the screws for some days. Its five million horse-power would enable it to reach the nearest land. This land, according to the observations made by the officer of the port, was New Zealand.

  But the difficulty was that these thousands of people could not take passage on Starboard Harbour, its area being only from six to seven thousand square metres. Would it have to be sent fifty miles away in search of help?

  No! The voyage would require considerable time, and there were not many hours to spare. There was not a day to lose if the people were to be preserved from the horrors of famine.