“Well, in the name of Atlas, 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, Baron,” retorted Holmes, menacingly, “I ask you a plain question, and I want a plain answer, with no evasions 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 mighty 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 stationary. It is a floating island of lava 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 devoid of water of any sort, salt or fresh.”
“What did you live on during that year?” asked Holmes, eying him narrowly.
“Canned food from wrecks,” 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 stratum 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 wrecked, say, in the Pacific Ocean, and ultimately all the loose metal upon her will succumb to the irresistible attraction of this magnetic upper stratum, and will find its way to its shores. So in any other part of the earth. Everything metallic turns up here sooner or later; and when you consider that thousands of vessels go down every year, vessels which are provisioned with tinned foods only, you will begin to comprehend how many millions of pounds of preserved salmon, sardines, 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 standing upon the, to you, unfamiliar 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 cocktail. 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 remarkable genius I proclaim general amnesty to our prisoners, and you may release Blackstone from his dilemma; and if you have any tin soldiers among your marines, see that they are lashed to the rigging. I don’t want this electric island of the Baron’s to get a grip upon my military force at this juncture.”
With this Holmes, followed by Munchausen, went below, and the two worthies were soon deep in the mysteries of a phantom 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.”
