“I make it a point never to be surprised,” observed Holmes, as he peered through the glass, “but this beats me. I didn’t know there was an island of this nature in these latitudes6. Blackstone, go below and pipe Captain Cook on deck. Perhaps he knows what island that is.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, Captain Holmes,” replied the Judge. “I didn’t ship on this voyage as a cabin-boy or a messenger-boy. Therefore I—”
“Bonaparte, put the Judge in irons,” interrupted Holmes, sternly. “I expect to be obeyed, Judge Blackstone, whether you shipped as a Lord Chief-Justice or a state-room steward8. When I issue an order it must be obeyed. Step lively there, Bonaparte. Get his honor ironed and summon your marines. We may have work to do before night. Hamlet, pipe Captain Cook on deck.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Hamlet, with alacrity9, as he made off.
“That’s the way to obey orders,” said Holmes, with a scornful glance at Blackstone.
“I was only jesting, Captain,” said the latter, paling somewhat.
“That’s all right,” said Holmes, taking up his glass again. “So was I when I ordered you in irons, and in order that you may appreciate the full force of the joke I repeat it. Bonaparte, do your duty.”
In an instant the order was obeyed, and the unhappy Judge shortly found himself manacled and alone in the forecastle. Meanwhile Captain Cook, in response to the commander’s order, repaired to the deck and scanned the distant coast.
“I can’t place it,” he said. “It can’t be Monte Cristo, can it?”
“No, it can’t,” said the Count, who stood hard by. “My island was in the Mediterranean10, and even if it dragged anchor it couldn’t have got out through the Strait of Gibraltar.”
“Perhaps it’s Robinson Crusoe’s island,” suggested Doctor Johnson.
“Not it,” observed De Foe11. “If it is, the rest of you will please keep off. It’s mine, and I may want to use it again. I’ve been having a number of interviews with Crusoe latterly, and he’s given me a lot of new points, which I intend incorporating in a sequel for the Cimmerian Magazine.”
“Well, in the name of Atlas12, what island is it, then?” roared Holmes, angrily. “What is the matter with all you learned lubbers that I have brought along on this trip? Do you suppose I’ve brought you to whistle up favorable winds? Not by the beard of the Prophet! I brought you to give me information, and now when I ask for the name of a simple little island like that in plain sight there’s not one of you able so much as to guess at it reasonably. The next man I ask for information goes into irons with Judge Blackstone if he doesn’t answer me instantly with the information I want. Munchausen, what island is that?”
“Ahem! that?” replied Munchausen, trembling, as he reflected upon the Captain’s threat. “What? Nobody knows what island that is? Why, you surprise me—”
“See here, Baron13,” retorted Holmes, menacingly, “I ask you a plain question, and I want a plain answer, with no evasions14 to gain time. Now it’s irons or an answer. What island is that?”
“It’s an island that doesn’t appear on any chart, Captain,” Munchausen responded instantly, pulling himself together for a mighty15 effort, “and it has never been given a name; but as you insist upon having one, we’ll call it Holmes Island, in your honor. It is not stationary16. It is a floating island of lava17 formation, and is a menace to every craft that goes to sea. I spent a year of my life upon it once, and it is more barren than the desert of Sahara, because you cannot raise even sand upon it, and it is devoid18 of water of any sort, salt or fresh.”
“What did you live on during that year?” asked Holmes, eying him narrowly.
“Canned food from wrecks20,” replied the Baron, feeling much easier now that he had got a fair start—“canned food from wrecks, commander. There is a magnetic property in the upper stratum21 of this piece of derelict real estate, sir, which attracts to it every bit of canned substance that is lost overboard in all parts of the world. A ship is wrecked22, say, in the Pacific Ocean, and ultimately all the loose metal upon her will succumb23 to the irresistible24 attraction of this magnetic upper stratum, and will find its way to its shores. So in any other part of the earth. Everything metallic25 turns up here sooner or later; and when you consider that thousands of vessels27 go down every year, vessels which are provisioned with tinned foods only, you will begin to comprehend how many millions of pounds of preserved salmon28, sardines29, pâté de foie gras, peaches, and so on, can be found strewn along its coast.”
“Munchausen,” said Holmes, smiling, “by the blush upon your cheek, coupled with an occasional uneasy glance of the eye, I know that for once you are standing30 upon the, to you, unfamiliar31 ground of truth, and I admire you for it. There is nothing to be ashamed of in telling the truth occasionally. You are a man after my own heart. Come below and have a cocktail32. Captain Cook, take command of the Gehenna during my absence; head her straight for Holmes Island, and when you discover anything new let me know. Bonaparte, in honor of Munchausen’s remarkable33 genius I proclaim general amnesty to our prisoners, and you may release Blackstone from his dilemma34; and if you have any tin soldiers among your marines, see that they are lashed35 to the rigging. I don’t want this electric island of the Baron’s to get a grip upon my military force at this juncture36.”
With this Holmes, followed by Munchausen, went below, and the two worthies37 were soon deep in the mysteries of a phantom38 cocktail, while Doctor Johnson and De Foe gazed mournfully out over the ocean at the floating island.
“De Foe,” said Johnson, “that ought to be a lesson to you. This realism that you tie up to is all right when you are alone with your conscience; but when there are great things afoot, an imagination and a broad view as to the limitations of truth aren’t at all bad. You or I might now be drinking that cocktail with Holmes if we’d only risen to the opportunity the way Munchausen did.”
“That is true,” said De Foe, sadly. “But I didn’t suppose he wanted that kind of information. I could have spun39 a better yarn40 than that of Munchausen’s with my eyes shut. I supposed he wanted truth, and I gave it.”
“I’d like to know what has become of the House-boat,” said Raleigh, anxiously gazing through the glass at the island. “I can see old Henry Morgan sitting down there on the rocks with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, and Kidd and Abeuchapeta are standing back of him, yelling like mad, but there isn’t a boat in sight.”
“Who is that man, off to the right, dancing a fandango?” asked Johnson.
“It looks like Conrad, but I can’t tell. He appears to have gone crazy. He’s got that wild look on his face which betokens41 insanity42. We’ll have to be careful in our parleyings with these people,” said Raleigh.
“Anything new?” asked Holmes, returning to the deck, smacking43 his lips in enjoyment
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