The Floating Island (18 page)

Read The Floating Island Online

Authors: Jules Verne

Mrs. Tankerdon was an American, a
fairly good wife, very submissive to her husband, an excellent mother, gentle
to her children, predestined to bring up a numerous family, and having in no
way failed to fulfil her functions. If there were several millions to be shared
amongst the direct heirs, why should there not be a dozen in the world? And
there were.

Of the whole family the attention
of the quartette was directed only to the eldest son, who is destined to play a
certain part in this history. Walter Tankerdon, most elegant in his person, of
moderate intelligence, of pleasing manners and face, taking more after Mrs.
Tankerdon than after the head of the family. Fairly well educated, having
travelled in America and Europe, but recalled by his habits and tastes to the
attractive life on Floating Island, he was familiar with every branch of sport,
and the best player in the island at tennis, polo, golf and cricket. He was not
too proud of the fortune which would be his some day, and he was a good-hearted
fellow; but as there were no poor in the island, he had no opportunity of being
charitable. In short, it was to be desired that his brothers and sisters would
resemble him. If these were not yet old enough to marry, he, who was nearly
thirty, might think of doing so. Did he? We will see.

There existed a striking contrast
between the Tankerdon family, the most important of the Larboard Section, and
the Coverley family, the most considerable in the Starboard Section. Nat
Coverley was of a much finer nature than his rival. That was due to the French
origin of his ancestors. His fortune had not come from the entrails of the soil
in the form of petroleum lakes, nor from the smoking entrails of the porcine
race. No! It was industrial enterprises, railways and banking, which had made
him what he was. All he wanted was to enjoy his wealth in peace, and

he made no secret
of it

he would
oppose to the utmost every attempt to transform the Pearl of the Pacific into
an enormous workshop or an immense house of business.

Tall, well set up, his fine head
grey-haired, wearing all his beard, the chestnut of which was streaked with a
few silver threads. Somewhat cold in character, of distinguished manners, he
occupied the first rank among the notables who in Milliard City kept up the
traditions of good society in the Southern States. He loved the arts,
understood painting and music, spoke easily the French language, which was much
in use among the Starboardites, kept himself abreast of American and European
literature, and when opportunity offered applauded in bravos and bravas which
the ruder types of New England and the Far West applauded in hurrahs and hips.

Mrs. Coverley was ten years
younger than her husband, and had just turned forty. She was an elegant,
distinguished woman, belonging to one of the old demi-Creole families of
Louisiana, a good musician, a good pianist, and it is not to be believed that a
Reyer of the twentieth century would have proscribed the piano in Milliard
City. In her house in Fifteenth Avenue the quartette had many an occasion to
perform with her assistance, and they could but congratulate her on her
artistic talents.

Heaven had not blessed the
Coverleys as it had blessed the Tankerdons. Three daughters were the heiresses
of an immense fortune, which Coverley did not brag about as his rival did. They
were good-looking enough, and would find suitors enough among the nobility or
the wealthy when the time came for them to marry. In America these remarkable
dowries are not rare. A few years ago did we not hear of little Miss Terry,
who, at the age of two years, was being sought for her 30,000,000
l
.? Let
us hope that each girl would marry to her taste, and that to the advantage of
being among the richest women in the States they would add that of being among
the happiest.

Diana, or rather Di, as she was
familiarly called, the eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Coverley, was barely
twenty. She was a very pretty girl, and possessed the physical and mental
qualities of her father and mother. Beautiful blue eyes, magnificent hair,
between chestnut and blonde, a colour fresh as the petals of the rose newly
opened, an elegant and graceful figure, explained why Miss Coverley was the
admired of the young men of Milliard City, who would probably not leave to
strangers the task of winning this “inestimable treasure,” as she might well be
called in terms of mathematical accuracy. There was reason for supposing that
Mr. Coverley would not see in difference of religion an obstacle to a union
which seemed to assure the happiness of his daughter.

In truth, it was regrettable that
questions of social rivalry separated the two leading families of Floating
Island. Walter Tankerdon seemed to have been specially created to become the
husband of Di Coverley.

But that was a combination not to
be thought of. Rather cut the island in two, and let the Larboardites float
away on one half, and the Starboardites on the other, than sign such a marriage
contract.

“Providing that love does not
enter into the matter!” said the superintendent, winking his eye behind his
gold eye-glasses.

But it did not seem that Walter
Tankerdon had any fancy for Di Coverley, and inversely

or at least if it were so, they both
maintained a reserve which deceived the curious of the select world of Milliard
City.

The island continued to descend
towards the Equator, along the hundred and sixtieth meridian. Ahead of it
extended that portion of the Pacific which offers the widest expanses destitute
of islands and islets, and the depth of which reaches two leagues. During the
25th of July they passed over the basin of Belknap, an abyss of six thousand
metres, from which the sounding apparatus brought up those curious molluscs or
zoophytes, constituted in such a way as to support with impunity the pressure
of masses of water estimated at six hundred atmospheres.

Five days afterwards Floating
Island traversed a group of islands belonging to England, although they are
occasionally called the American Islands. Leaving Palmyra and Samarang to
starboard, it approached within two miles of Fanning, one of the numerous guano
islands in these parts, the most important of the archipelago. The others are
but emerged peaks, more barren than verdant, of which the United Kingdom has
not made much up to now. But she has put her foot down in this place, and we
know that the large foot of England generally leaves ineffaceable impressions.

Every day, while his comrades
walked in the park or in the surrounding country, Frascolin, much interested by
the details of this curious voyage, went to the Prow Battery. There he often
met the Commodore. Ethel Simcoe gladly talked to him about the phenomena
peculiar to these seas, and when they were of interest, the second violin did
not omit to communicate them to his companions.

For instance, they could not
restrain their admiration in presence of a spectacle which Nature gratuitously
offered them during the night of the 30th of July.

An immense shoal of jelly-fish,
covering several square miles, had been signalled during the afternoon. Never
before had the islanders met with such masses of these medusæ, to which certain
naturalists have given the name of Oceanians. These animals, of very rudimentary
organization, approach in their hemispherical form to the products of the
vegetable Kingdom. The fish, greedy as they may be, treat them as flowers, for
none, it seems, feed on them. The Oceanians peculiar to the torrid zone of the
Pacific are of the shape of many-coloured umbrellas, transparent, and bordered
with tentacles. They do not measure more than an inch or so; judge then of the
milliards required to form a shoal of such extent.

And when these numbers were
mentioned in presence of Pinchinat:

“They could not,” remarked his
Highness, “surprise these notables of Floating Island, for the milliard is the
current coin.”

At nightfall, many of the people
went out to the forecastle, that is to say the terrace which looked down on
Prow Battery. The trams were invaded; the electric cars were loaded with
sight-seers. Elegant carriages conveyed the leading nabobs. The Coverleys and
the Tankerdons elbowed each other at a distance. Mr. Jem did not salute Mr.
Nat, who did not salute Mr. Jem. The families were fully represented. Yvernès
and Pinchinat had the pleasure of talking with Mrs. Coverley and her daughter,
who always gave them a hearty welcome. Perhaps Walter Tankerdon felt a little
annoyance at not being able to join in the conversation, and perhaps also Miss
Di would not have been averse to his doing so. But what a scandal that would
have caused, and what allusions more or less indiscreet on the part of the
Starboard
Chronicle
or the
New Herald
in their society article!

When the darkness is complete as
far as it can be in these tropical starlight nights, the Pacific seems to sleep
in its deepest depths. The immense mass of water is impregnated with
phosphorescent lights, illuminated by rosy and blue reflections, not only in
well marked luminous lines along the crests of the waves, but as if the light
were shed from innumerable legions of gleaming worms. This phosphorescence
becomes so intense that it is possible to read by it as by the radiation of a
distant aurora. It seems as if the Pacific dissolved the sunshine during the
day and emitted it at night in luminous waves.

When the prow of Floating Island
cut into the mass of medusæ, it divided it into two branches along its metal
shore. In a few hours the island was girt by a belt of phosphorescent light. It
was as it were an aureole, one of those glories of the middle ages which
surround the heads of the saints. The phenomenon lasted until the birth of the
dawn, the first hues of which extinguished it.

Six days afterwards the Pearl of
the Pacific touched the imaginary great circle of our spheroid which cuts the
horizon into equal parts. From it the poles of the celestial sphere could be
simultaneously seen, the one in the north illuminated by the scintillations of
the Pole Star, the other in the south decorated like a soldier’s breast with
the Southern Cross. From the different points on this equatorial line the stars
appeared to describe circles perpendicular to the plane of the horizon. If you
would enjoy nights and days of equal length, it is in these regions or in
continents and islands traversed by the Equator that you should make your home.

It was the second time since its
creation that Floating Island had passed from one hemisphere to another,
crossing the equinoctial line, first in descending towards the south, then in
ascending towards the north. The occasion of this passage was kept as a
holiday. There would be public games in the park, religious ceremonies in the
temple and cathedral, races of electric vehicles round the island. From the
platform of the observatory there would be a magnificent display of fireworks,
from which the rockets and serpents and Roman candles would rival the
splendours of the stars of the firmament.

This, as you may have guessed,
was in imitation of the fantastic scenes customary on ships when they cross the
Equator, a pendant to the baptism of the line. And, as a fact, this day was
always chosen for the baptism of the children born since the departure from
Madeleine Bay, and there was a similar baptismal ceremony with regard to the
strangers who had not before entered the southern hemisphere.

“It will be our turn then,” said
Frascolin to his comrades, “and we are going to receive baptism.”

“Fancy!” replied Sebastien Zorn,
with protesting gestures of indignation.

“Yes, my old bass scraper!” replied
Pinchinat. “They will throw unblessed buckets of water on our head, seat us on
planks that see-saw, pitch us into surprise depths, and Father Neptune will
come on board with his company of buffoons to shave our faces with the black
grease pot.”

“If they think,” said Zorn, “that
I will submit to this masquerade


“We shall have to,” said Yvernès.
“Every country has its customs, and the guests must submit.”

“Not when they are detained
against their will!” said the intractable chief of the quartette party.

He need not have excited himself
about this carnival with which many crews amuse themselves when crossing the
line! He need have had no fear of Father Neptune! He and his comrades would not
be sprinkled with sea water, but with champagne of the best brands. They would
not be hoaxed by being shown the Equator previously drawn on the object glass
of a telescope. That might do for sailors on board ship, but not for the
serious people of Floating Island.

The festival took place in the
afternoon of the 5th of August. With the exception of the custom-house
officers, who were never allowed to leave their posts, the State servants all
had a holiday. All work was suspended in the town and harbours. The screws did
not work. The accumulators possessed a voltage sufficient for the lighting and
communications. The island was not stationary, but drifted with the current
towards the line which divides the two hemispheres of the globe. Chants and
prayers were heard in the churches, in the temple as at St. Mary’s church, and
the organs played cheerily. Great rejoicings took place in the park, where the
sporting events were brought off with remarkable enthusiasm. The different
classes associated together. The richest gentlemen, with Walter Tankerdon at
their head, did wonders at golf and tennis. When the sun had dropped
perpendicularly below the horizon, leaving a twilight of only forty-eight
minutes, the rockets would take their flight across space, and a moonless night
would give the best of conditions for the display of firework magnificence.

In the large room of the casino
the quartette were baptized, as we have said, and by the hand of Cyrus
Bikerstaff. The Governor offered them a foaming tankard, and the champagne
flowed in torrents. The artistes had their full share of Cliquot and Roederer.
Sebastien Zorn could not have the bad taste to complain of a baptism which in
no way reminded him of the salt water he had imbibed to the earliest days of
his life.

Other books

Into the Fire by Peter Liney
The Steel Wave by Jeff Shaara
Sorrow Bound by David Mark
Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark
Hooked (TKO #2) by Ana Layne