Commodore Simcoe tried to bring about an understanding between the two sections of the town. He was asked not to interfere in what did not concern him. He had to navigate the island, let him navigate it. He had reefs to avoid, let him avoid them. Politics were not his business.
Commodore Simcoe did as he was told.
Religious passions began to enter into the debate, and the clergy—in which they were perhaps wrong—interfered more than was desirable. They had been living in such accord, the temple and the cathedral, the pastor and the bishop.
The newspapers, of course, descended into the arena. The New Herald fought for the Tankerdons, The Starboard Chronicle for the Coverleys. Ink flowed in deluges, and it was to be feared that the ink would be mingled with blood! Great Heaven! Had it not already been too much sprinkled, this virgin soil of Floating Island, during the struggle with the savages of the New Hebrides!
The bulk of the population were chiefly interested in the two young people, whose romance had been interrupted at the first chapter. But what could they do to make them happy? Already communications had ceased between the two sections of Milliard city. No more receptions, invitations, musical evenings. If this sort of thing lasted, the instruments of the Quartette Party might go mouldy in their cases, and our artistes earn their enormous salaries with their hands in their pockets.
The Superintendent, although he would not admit it, was in an agony of anxiety. He was in a false position, for his whole mind was occupied in displeasing nobody—a sure means of displeasing everybody.
On the 12th of March, Floating Island was approaching the Equator, although it had not reached the latitude in which it would meet the ships sent from Madeleine Bay. It would not be long before they did so, but apparently the elections would take place beforehand, as they were fixed for the 15th.
Meanwhile the Starboardites and Larboardites took to forecasting the result. Always the same promise of equality. No majority was possible, unless some voters would change sides. And the voters remained as firm as the teeth in a tiger’s jaw.
Then arose a genial idea. It seemed to have occurred at the same moment to the minds of all. This idea was simple, it was an honourable one, it would put an end to the rivalry. The candidates themselves would doubtless bow to this just solution.
Why not offer the government of Floating Island to the King of Malecarlie? The ex-sovereign was a wise man, of firm and liberal mind. His toleration and his philosophy would be the best guarantee against the surprises of the future. He knew men from having lived amongst them. He knew that he had to reckon with their weaknesses and their ingratitude. Ambition was not his failing, and never would the thought occur to him to substitute the personal power for the democratic institutions which existed on Floating Island. He would never be more than the president of the council of administration of the new company, Tankerdon, Coverley & Co,
An important group of merchants and functionaries of Milliard City, with whom were a certain number of the officers and sailors at the ports, decided to convey this proposal to their royal fellow-citizen.
It was in the room on the ground floor of the house in Thirty-ninth Avenue that their Majesties received the deputation. They listened with friendliness, and answered with a decided refusal. The deposed sovereigns remembered the past, and under this impression the King replied, —
“I thank you, gentlemen. We are not insensible to your request, but we are happy at present, and we hope that nothing will trouble our future. Believe me, we have finished with the illusions that are inherent to any sovereignty whatever. I am now only an astronomer at the observatory of Floating Island, and I do not wish to be anything else.”
There was no opportunity to persist, after so formal a reply, and the deputation retired.
During the few days preceding the election the excitement increased. It was impossible to arrive at an understanding. The partisans of Jem Tankerdon and Nat Coverley avoided meeting each other, even in the streets. People no longer went from one section to the other. Neither the Starboardites nor the Larboardites crossed First Avenue. Milliard City was now formed into two hostile camps. The only personage who went from one to the other, agitated, crushed, knocked up, perspiring water and blood, exhausting himself in good advice, repulsed to the right, repulsed to the left, was the despairing Superintendent, Calistus Munbar. And three or four times a day he ran aground, like a rudderless ship, in the rooms of the casino, where the quartette overwhelmed him with vain consolations.
Commodore Simcoe confined himself to his special duties. He navigated Floating Island according to the itinerary. Having a holy horror of politics, he would accept whatever governor was given him. His officers, like those of Colonel Stewart, were quite as little interested in the question which had set so many heads on the boil. It was not in Floating Island that pronunciamentos were to be feared.
However, the council of notables, in permanent session at the town hall, discussed and disputed. They were taking to personalities. The police were compelled to take certain precautions, for the crowd thronged from morning to night in front of the town hall, and raised seditious cries.
On the other hand, deplorable news got abroad. Walter Tankerdon had called at the Coverley mansion, and not been admitted. The two young people were forbidden to see one another, and as the marriage had not been celebrated before the attack of the New Hebridean bands, who dared say if it ever would be accomplished?
At last the 15th of March arrived. The election was to take place in the principal room of the town-hall. A noisy crowd blocked the square, as the Roman populace formerly did before the palace of the Quirinal, when the conclave proceeded to the elevation of a Pope to the throne of Saint Peter.
What would come out of this supreme deliberation? The forecast showed that there would be an equality of votes. If the Starboardites remained faithful to Nat Coverley and the Larboardites to Jem Tankerdon, what would happen?
The great day arrived. Between one and three o’clock the ordinary life seemed to be suspended on Floating Island. From five to six thousand people stood excited beneath the windows of the municipal edifice. They awaited the result of the voting of the notables—a result which would be immediately communicated by telephone to the two sections and the two ports.
A first scrutiny took place at thirty-five minutes past one.
The candidates had obtained the same number of suffrages.
An hour afterwards there was a second scrutiny.
It in no way modified the figures of the first.
At thirty-five minutes past three there was the third and last scrutiny.
This time neither had a vote in excess of the other.
The council then separated, and it was best to do so. If it had remained sitting, the members would have become so exasperated that they would have taken to blows. As they crossed the square on their way, some of them to the Tankerdon mansion, and some to the Coverley mansion, the crowd greeted them with the most disagreeable murmurs.
But it was necessary to put an end to this state of affairs, which was most damaging to the interests of Floating Island.
“Between ourselves,” said Pinchinat, when they had heard from the Superintendent the result of the three scrutinies, “it seems that there is a very simple way of settling the question.”
“And what is that?” asked Calistus Munbar, lifting his arms in despair to heaven. “What?”
“Cut the island in half; divide it into two equal parts, like a cake; let the two halves go on as they please, each with a governor of its own!”
“Cut our island in half!” gasped the Superintendent, as if Pinchinat had proposed to cut off a limb.
“With a cold chisel, a mallet, and a screw-wrench, the question would be solved, and there would be two moving islands instead of one on the surface of the Pacific Ocean.”
Pinchinat could never be serious, even when circumstances were of such gravity.
His advice was not accepted—at least in a material sen
se; but if there were no mallet and screw-wrench, if no division was made down the middle of First Avenue from Prow Battery to Stern Battery, the separation was none the less accomplished from a political point of view. The Larboardites and Starboardites had become as much strangers to each other as if a hundred leagues of sea separated them. In fact, the thirty notables had decided to vote separately in default of an understanding. On one side, Jem Tankerdon was appointed governor of his section, and he could govern it as he pleased. On the other, Nat Coverley was appointed governor of his section, and he could govern it as he pleased. Each of them would keep his port, his ships, his officers, his sailors, his militiamen, his functionaries, his tradesmen, his electrical works, his engines, his motors, his engineers, his stokers.
This was very well, but what would Commodore Simcoe do when he wanted to turn, and how could Calistus Munbar perform his duties to the common satisfaction?
As regards the latter, it is true, it was not of much importance. His place had become a sinecure. There could be no question as to amusements and festivities when Floating Island was menaced by civil war—for a reconciliation was not possible.
This was evident from a single indication. On the 17th of March the newspapers announced that the marriage between Walter Tankerdon and Miss Coverley was definitely broken off.
Yes! Broken off—in spite of their prayers, in spite of their supplications; and yet Calistus Munbar had once said that love was the strongest! Well, no! Walter and Di would not separate. They would abandon their relatives; they would marry in some foreign country; they would find a corner in the world where they could be happy without so many millions hanging round their hearts!
After the nomination of Jem Tankerdon and Nat Coverley, nothing had been changed with regard to the course of Floating Island. Commodore Simcoe continued to steer north-east. Once they reached Madeleine Bay, it was probable, if the present state of things continued, that several of the Milliardites would seek on the Continent the quiet which was no longer offered them by the Pearl of the Pacific. Perhaps even Floating Island would be abandoned. And then they would liquidate it; they would put it up to auction; they would sell it at so much a pound, like old and useless iron, and it would be melted down!
But the five thousand miles it had to travel would take another five months to accomplish. During the voyage would the direction be interfered with by the obstinacy of the two chiefs? The spirit of revolt had begun to show itself among the people. Would the Larboardites and Starboardites come to blows, and take to firing on each other, and bathing with blood the steel sidewalks of Milliard City?
No! The parties would not, apparently, go to these extremities. There would not be another secession war between north and south, or rather between the Larboard and Starboard sections of Floating Island. But the inevitable happened, at the risk of provoking a catastrophe.
In the morning of the 19th of March, Commodore Simcoe was in his office at the observatory, waiting for the first observation of altitude to be communicated to him. In his opinion Floating Island could not be far from the spat where it would meet with the supply ships. Look-outs on the tower surveyed the vast circuit of sea, so as to signal the steamers as soon as they appeared on the horizon. With the Commodore were the King of Malecarlie, Colonel Stewart, Sebastien Zorn, Pinchinat, Frascolin, Yvernès, and a few officers and functionaries— who might all be classed as neutrals, for they had not yet taken part in the intestine dissensions. The essential point for them was to arrive as soon as possible at Madeleine Bay, where this deplorable state of things would end.
At this moment two bells sounded, and two orders were transmitted to the Commodore by telephone. They came from the town hall, where Jem Tankerdon and Nat Coverley, with their respective supporters, were in different wings. Here they administered Floating Island, and we need not be astonished at the orders being contradictory.
This very morning the two governors had resolved to disagree regarding the course hitherto followed by Ethel Simcoe. Nat Coverley had decided that Floating Island should go north-east, so as to touch at the Gilbert Islands. Jem Tankerdon, with the object of opening up commercial relations, decided to go south-west, towards Australia.
Thus had the rivals committed themselves, and their friends had sworn to support them.
When he received the two orders sent simultaneously to the observatory, the Commodore remarked, —
“This is what I feared.”
“And which must not last, in the public interest,” said the King of Malecarlie.
“What do you decide?” asked Frascolin.
“I am curious to see how you will manœuvre,” said Pinchinat.
“Inform Jem Tankerdon and Nat Coverley,” said the Commodore, “that we cannot execute their orders, as they contradict each other. Besides, it is better for Floating Island to remain where it is, and wait for the ships which are to meet it here.”
This very wise reply was immediately telephoned to the town hall.
An hour passed without the observatory receiving any other orders. Probably the two governors had given up their intentions.
Suddenly Floating Island began to move in a strange manner. What did this movement indicate? That Jem Tankerdon and Nat Coverley had persisted in their obstinacy to the furthest limits.
All the persons present looked at each other interrogatively.
“What is the matter? What is the matter?”
“What is the matter?” answered the Commodore, shrugging his shoulders; “Jem Tankerdon has sent his orders direct to Watson, the engineer at Larboard Harbour, and Nat Coverley has sent contradictory orders to Somwah, the engineer at Starboard Harbour. One has given orders to go north-east, the other to go southwest. The result is that Floating Island is swinging round on its centre, and the gyration will last as long as the caprice of these two obstinate personages.”
“Well!” said Pinchinat. “This ought to end in a waltz! Athanase Dorémus might as well resign. The Milliardites do not want his lessons!”
This absurd situation—comic from one point of view— probably caused a laugh. Unfortunately the double manœuvre was extremely dangerous, as the Commodore observed. Driven round and round by six million horsepower, Floating Island was in danger of being shaken to pieces.
In fact, the engines were going full speed, the screws working at their maximum power, and the steel subsoil was all of a tremble. The motion became more noticeable. Floating Island pirouetted on its centre. The park, the country described concentric circles, and the places on the shore swung round at from ten to twelve miles an hour.
To argue with the engineers was not to be thought of. Commodore Simcoe had no authority over them. They were subject to the same passions as the Starboardites and Larboardites. Faithful servants of their chiefs, Watson and Somwah would drive on to the bitter end, engine for engine, dynamo for dynamo.
Then occurred a phenomenon, the unpleasantness of which should have calmed the heads by softening the hearts.
On account of the rotation of Floating Island, a number of Milliardites, especially the women, began to feel strangely unwell. Within the houses there were attacks of sickening nausea, principally in those which, being farthest from the centre, were most affected by this waltzing motion.
At this farcical result, Yvernès, Pinchinat, and Frascolin burst out into peals of laughter, although matters were getting most serious.
Under the influence of this continuous whirling, Sebastien Zorn became pale, very pale. He “struck his colours,” as Pinchinat said, and his heart mounted to his lips. Was this ill-timed joke never to finish? To be a prisoner on this immense turning table, which did not even have the gift of revealing the secrets of the future.
For a whole week Floating Island continued to spin round on its centre, which was Milliard City. In vain the King of Malecarlie, Commodore Simcoe, and Colonel Stewart attempted to intervene between the two powers which shared the municipal palace. Neither would lower his flag! Cyrus Bikerstaff himself
, if he could have come to life again, would have found his efforts fail against such ultra-American tenacity.
Then, to add to the misfortune, the sky had been so constantly covered with clouds during this week, that it was not possible to take an altitude. Commodore Simcoe did not know where Floating Island was. Driven round by its powerful screws, it trembled in every wall of its compartments. No one thought of staying indoors. The park was crowded with people camping in the open air. On either side were heard cries of “Hurrah for Tankerdon!” and “Hurrah for Coverley!” Eyes flashed lightnings, fists were clenched threateningly. Was civil war going to break out, with its worst excesses, now that the people had reached a paroxysm of madness?
Neither one side nor the other would see anything of the approaching danger. They would not give in, even if the Pearl of the Pacific were to break into a thousand fragments, and it would continue to spin until the dynamos ceased to drive the screws.
Amid this general irritation, in which he took no part, Walter Tankerdon was a prey to the keenest anguish. He feared not for himself, but for Miss Coverley, that some sudden breaking up would annihilate Milliard City. For eight days he had not seen her. Twenty times he had begged his father to have done with this deplorable manœuvre; but all was in vain.
Then on the night of the 27th of March, taking advantage of the darkness, he endeavoured to see Miss Coverley. He wished to be near her when the catastrophe occurred. Gliding through the crowd which blocked First Avenue, he penetrated into the hostile section, so as to reach the Coverleys’ house.
A little before daybreak a terrific explosion shook the air. Driven beyond the pressure they would bear, the boilers of the Larboard section blew up with the buildings and machinery. And as the source of electrical energy suddenly gave out on this side, half Floating Island was plunged into profound darkness.
CHAPTER XIII
If the engines of Larboard Harbour were now useless, on account of the bursting of the boilers, those of Starboard Harbour were uninjured. But it was as if Floating Island had lost all power of locomotion. Reduced to its starboard screws, all it could do was to turn round and round on itself, for it could not go ahead.