The Floating Island (43 page)

Such were the people among whom
Captain Sarol had recruited his accomplices. He had promised them the pillage
of this opulent Pearl of the Pacific, not an inhabitant of which was to be
spared. Of these savages, who were awaiting his appearance at the approaches to
Erromango, some had come from the neighbouring islands, separated by narrow
arms of the sea; principally from Tanna, which is within thirty-five miles to
the south. From here had come the sturdy natives of the district of Wanissi,
savage worshippers of the god Teapolo, and whose nudity is almost complete, the
natives of Plage Noire, of Sangalli, the most formidable and the most dreaded
of the archipelago.

But although the northern group
is relatively less savage, it does not follow that no contingent from there had
placed itself under Captain Sarol. To the north of Sandwich Island there is the
island of Api, with its eighteen thousand inhabitants, where they eat their
prisoners, the body of which is reserved for the young people, the arms and
thighs for the full-grown men, the intestines for the dogs and pigs. There is
the island of Paama with its ferocious tribes, who yield in nothing to the
natives of Api. There is the island of Mallicolo, with its cannibal Kanakas.

There is finally Aurora Island,
one of the worst of the archipelago, in which no white man lives, and in which,
a few years before, had been massacred the crew of the French coaster. It was
from these different islands that reinforcements had come to Captain Sarol.

As soon as Floating Island
appeared, as soon as it was within a few cables’ lengths of Erromango, Captain
Sarol had given the signal expected by the natives.

In a few minutes the rocks at the
water level had given passage to three or four thousand savages.

The danger was most serious, for
these New Hebrideans let loose on Milliard City would recoil from no attempt,
from no violence. They had the advantage of surprise, and were armed not only
with long javelins tipped with bone, which make very dangerous wounds, and with
arrows poisoned with a sort of vegetable venom, but with Snider rifles, the use
of which has greatly spread in the archipelago.

At the beginning of this affair,
which had been a long time in preparation
—
for
it was Sarol who was marching at the head of the assailants
—
the militia, the
sailors, the functionaries, every man in a fit state to fight, was called upon.

Cyrus Bikerstaff, Commodore
Simcoe, and Colonel Stewart were quite equal to the occasion. The King of
Malecarlie had offered his services. Although he was no longer in the vigour of
youth, he at least had courage. The natives were still at Larboard Harbour,
where the officer of the port was trying to organize resistance. But no doubt
the bands would not delay to precipitate themselves on the town.

To begin with, orders were given
to shut the gates of the enclosure round Milliard City, in which almost the
whole population had assembled for the marriage festivities.

That the country and park would
be ravaged was to be expected. That the two harbours and the electrical works
would be devastated was to be feared. That the batteries at the Prow and Stern
would be destroyed, there was nothing to prevent. The greatest misfortune would
be that the artillery of Floating Island would be turned against the town, and
it was not impossible that the Malays knew how to use it.

First of all, at the King of
Malecarlie’s proposal, most of the women and children were sent to the town
hall. This vast municipal hotel was plunged in profound obscurity, as was the
entire island, for the electrical apparatus had ceased working, owing to the
engineers having to escape from the assailants.

However, by Commodore Simcoe’s
efforts, the arms deposited at the town hall were distributed to the militia
and the sailors, and there was no scarcity of ammunition. Leaving Di with Mrs.
Tankerdon and Mrs. Coverley, Walter came to join the group, which now included
Jem Tankerdon, Nat Coverley, Calistus Munbar, Pinchinat, Yvernès, Frascolin,
and Sebastien Zorn.

“Well,” murmured the
violoncellist, “it seems as though this was to be the end of it.”

“But it is not the end of it!” exclaimed
the Superintendent. “No! it is not the end; and it is not our dear Floating
Island which will succumb to a handful of Kanakas!”

Well spoken, Calistus Munbar! We
can understand what rage devoured you at the thought of these rascally New
Hebrideans interrupting so well-organized a festival! Yes! he must hope to
repulse them. Unfortunately they were not superior in number, and they had not
the advantage of the offensive.

The reports of guns were heard in
the distance, in the direction of both harbours. Captain Sarol had begun by
interfering with the working of the screws, without which Floating Island could
not get away from Erromango, which was his basis of operations.

The Governor, the King of
Malecarlie, Commodore Simcoe, Colonel Stewart, united in a committee of
defence, had at first thought of making a sortie. No, that would be to
sacrifice a number of the defenders of whom they had such want. There was no
mercy to be hoped from these savages, who, like the wild beasts a fortnight
before, had invaded Floating Island. Besides, would they not attempt to wreck
it on the rocks of Erromango, and then hand it over to pillage?

An hour afterwards the assailants
arrived before the gates of Milliard City. They tried to break them in in vain.
They tried to climb them, but were driven back by firearms.

As Milliard City had not been
taken by surprise, it had become difficult to force an entry in the darkness.
And so Captain Sarol drew off his savages towards the park and country, and
there waited for daylight.

Between four and five o’clock the
first hues of the morning appeared on the eastern horizon. The militia and
sailors under Commodore Simcoe and Captain Stewart, leaving half their forces
at the town hall, marched to the observatory square, expecting that Captain
Sarol would endeavour to force the gates on that side; for as no help could
come from without, it was necessary, at all costs, to prevent the savages from
penetrating into the town.

The quartette followed the
defenders, whose officers led them towards the end of First Avenue.

“To have escaped from the
cannibals of Fiji,” said Pinchinat, “to be obliged to defend one’s cutlets from
the cannibals of the New Hebrides!”

“They will not eat the whole of
us!”  said Yvernès.

“And I will resist to my last
fragment!” added Yvernès.

Sebastien Zorn remained silent.
We know that what he thought of the adventure would not prevent him from doing
his duty.

As soon as the light came, shots
began to be interchanged through the gates of the square. There was a
courageous defence in the enclosure of the observatory. There were victims on
both sides. Among the Milliardites, Jem Tankerdon was wounded in the shoulder
slightly, but he would not abandon his post. Nat Coverley and Walter were
conspicuous in the fight. The King of Malecarlie endeavoured to bring down
Captain Sarol, who did not spare himself among the savages.

In truth, the assailants were too
many. All that Erromango, Tanna, and the neighbouring islands could furnish
were in this attack on Milliard City. There was one fortunate circumstance,
however, and Commodore Simcoe noticed it: Floating Island, instead of drifting
on to Erromango, was being gently carried by a slight current towards the
northern group, although it would have been better if it had been moving out to
sea.

Nevertheless time went on, the
savages redoubled their efforts, and in spite of their courageous resistance,
the defenders could not keep them back. About ten o’clock the gates were
forced. Before the howling crowd that swarmed into the square Commodore Simcoe
had to retreat towards the town hall, which could be defended like a fortress.

In their retreat, the militia and
sailors gave way foot by foot. Perhaps now they had entered the town, the New
Hebrideans, carried away by their instincts, of pillage, might disperse through
the different quarters, and thus give the Milliardites some advantage.

Vain hope! Captain Sarol would
not allow his men to leave First Avenue. By it they would reach the town hall,
where they would overcome the last efforts of the besieged. When Captain Sarol
was master of that, the victory would be complete. The hour of pillage and
massacre would sound.

“Decidedly there are too many of
them,” said Frascolin, whose arm was grazed by a javelin.

And the arrows rained, and the
bullets too, as the retreat became quicker.

About two o’clock the defenders
had been driven back to the town hall square. Of dead there were already fifty
—
of wounded about
twice or thrice as many. Before the town hall was reached by the savages, its
doors were closed; the women and children were moved into the interior
apartments, where they would be sheltered from the projectiles. Then Cyrus
Bikerstaff, the King of Malecarlie, Commodore Simcoe, Colonel Stewart, Jem
Tankerdon, Nat Coverley, their friends, the militiamen and the sailors, posted
themselves at the windows, and the firing recommenced with fresh violence.

“We must hold this,” said the
Governor. “This is our last chance, and it will require a miracle to save us.”

The assault was immediately
ordered by Captain Sarol, who felt sure of success, although the task was a
serious one. In fact, the doors were strong, and it would be difficult to break
them in without artillery. The savages attacked them with tomahawks, under the
fire from the windows, which made them lose heavily. But that did not matter to
their chief; though if he could be killed, his death might change the face of
matters.

Two hours elapsed. The town hall
still held out. If the bullets decimated the assailants, their masses were
renewed unceasingly. In vain the most skilful marksmen, Jem Tankerdon, Colonel
Stewart, endeavoured to hit Captain Sarol. While numbers of his people fell
around him, he seemed invulnerable.

And it was not Sarol, amid a more
furious fusillade than ever, whom a Snider bullet had hit on the central balcony.
It was Cyrus Bikerstaff, shot full in the chest. He fell
—
he could only utter a few stifled
words, the blood mounted to his throat. He was carried into the room behind,
where he soon yielded his last breath. Thus died the first governor of Floating
Island, an able administrator, an honest and great man.

The assault was pursued with
redoubled fury. The doors were yielding to the axes of the savages. How could
the last fortress of Floating Island be saved? How could they save the women,
the children, all those within from a general massacre?

The King of Malecarlie, Ethel
Simcoe, and Colonel Stewart, were discussing whether it would be better to
retreat by the rear of the town hall. But where would they go? To the battery
at the Stern? But could they reach it? To one of the harbours? But were not the
savages in possession of them? And the wounded, already numerous, how could
they resolve to abandon them?

At this moment a fortunate thing
happened, which would probably change the state of affairs.

The King of Malecarlie stepped
out on to the balcony, without heeding the bullets and arrows which rained
around him. He brought up his rifle and aimed at Captain Sarol, just as one of
the doors was about to give passage to the assailants.

Captain Sarol fell dead.

The Malays drew back, carrying
the body of their chief, and began to retreat towards the gates of the square.

Almost immediately shouts were
heard at the top of First Avenue, where a fusillade broke out with renewed
intensity.

What had happened? Had the
defenders of the ports and batteries been successful? Had they advanced on the
town? Had they attempted to take the natives in the rear, notwithstanding their
small numbers?

“The firing is increasing near
the observatory,” said Colonel Stewart.

“The scoundrels have had a
reinforcement,” said Commodore Simcoe.

“I do not think so,” observed the
King of Malecarlie. “This firing cannot be explained
—
”

“Yes! There it is again,” said
Pinchinat, “and again to our advantage.”

“Look! look!” said Calistus
Munbar; “the beggars are beginning to run.”

“Come, my friends,” said the King
of Malecarlie, “let us chase these rascals out of the town. Forward!”

Officers, militiamen, sailors,
ran downstairs and out of the principal doorway.

The square was abandoned by the
crowd of savages, who fled, some down First Avenue, others along the
neighbouring streets.

What was the cause of this rapid
and unexpected change? Was it to be attributed to the disappearance of Captain
Sarol
—
to the
absence of leadership which had followed? Was it possible that the assailants,
so superior in force, had been discouraged by the death of their chief at the
very moment the town hall was about to be carried?

Led by Commodore Simcoe and
Colonel Stewart, about two hundred men of the sailors and militia, with them
Jem and Walter Tankerdon, Nat Coverley, Frascolin and his comrades, advanced
down First Avenue, chasing the fugitives, who did not even turn to give them a
bullet or an arrow, and threw away Sniders, bows, and javelins.

“Forward! Forward!”  shouted
Commodore Simcoe, in a voice of thunder.

Round the observatory the firing
grew fiercer. It was evident that a terrible fight was going on.

Help, then, had arrived on
Floating Island! But what help? Where had it come from?

Anyhow, the assailants were
retreating on all sides, a prey to an incomprehensible panic. Had they been
attacked by reinforcements from Larboard Harbour?