A Floating City and The Blockade Runners by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book Chapter XVI here. CHAPTER XVI. Going back to the grand saloon, I saw the following programme posted on the door:— THIS NIGHT! Part First “Ocean Time” Mr. Mac Alpine. Song: “Beautiful Isle of the Sea” Mr. Ewing. Reading Mr. Affleet. Piano solo: “Chant du Berger” Mrs. Alloway. Scotch Song Doctor T——. ( ) Ten minutes interval. Part Second. Piano solo Mr. Paul V——. Burlesque: “Lady of Lyons” Doctor T——. Entertainment Sir James Anderson. Song: “Happy Moment” Mr. Norville. Song: “You Remember” Mr. Ewing. Finale. “God Save the Queen.” As may be seen, it was a complete concert, with a first part, entr’acte, second part, and finale; but it seems there was something wanting in the programme; for I heard some one mutter behind me, “What! no Mendelssohn.” I turned, and saw that it was a steward, who thus protested against the omission of his favourite music. I went on deck, and began to look for Mac Elwin. Corsican had just told me that Fabian had left his cabin, and I wanted, without intruding myself on him, to draw him out of his isolation. I found him at the bows; we talked for some time, but he made no allusion to his past life. At times he was silent and pensive, absorbed in his thoughts, no longer listening to me, and pressing his breast, as if to restrain a painful spasm. Whilst we were walking together, Harry Drake passed us several times, always the same noisy, gesticulating man, obstructive as would be a windmill in a ball-room. Was I mistaken? I could not say; for I had already anticipated it in my mind; but it seemed to me that Harry Drake stared at Fabian with a persistency which the latter must have noticed; for he said to me,— “Who is that man?” “I don’t know,” I replied. “I don’t like his looks,” added Fabian. Put two ships in the open sea, without wind or tide, and, at last, they will come together. Throw two planets into space, and they will fall one on the other. Place two enemies in the midst of a crowd, and they will inevitably meet; it is a fatality, a question of time, that is all. In the evening the concert took place according to the programme; the grand saloon, filled with the audience, was brilliantly lighted. Through the half-open hatchways might be seen the broad, sunburnt faces, and the great black hands of the sailors; the doorways were crowded with stewards; the greater part of the audience—men and women—were seated on side sofas, and in the centre of the saloon, in arm-chairs and lounges, all facing the piano, firmly fastened between the two doors, which opened into the ladies’ saloon. From time to time a rolling motion disturbed the audience; arm-chairs and folding-chairs glided about, a kind of swell caused a similar undulatory movement to all; they caught hold of one another silently, and without making any joke; but upon the whole there was not much fear of falling, thanks to the subsidence. The concert opened with the “Ocean Times.” The “Ocean Times” was a daily newspaper, political, commercial, and literary, which certain passengers had started for the requirements on board. Americans and English took to this sort of pastime; they wrote out their sheet during the day; and let me say, that if the editors were not particular, as to the quality of their articles, their readers were not more so. They were content with little, even with “not enough.” This number for the 1st of April contained a “Great Eastern” leader—tame enough, on general politics—also various facts quite uninteresting to a Frenchman; articles on the money-markets, not particularly comic; curious telegrams, and some rather insipid home news. After all this kind of fun is only amusing to those who make it. The Honourable Mac Alpine, a dogmatical American, read, with earnest gravity, some rather dull lucubrations, which were received by his audience with great applause. He finished his reading with the following news:— “It is announced that President Johnson has resigned in favour of General Grant.” “It is said that Fernando Cortez is going to attack the Emperor Napoleon the Third, piratically, out of revenge for the latter’s conquest of Mexico.” “We are told for a certainty that Pope Pius IX. has designated the Prince Imperial as his successor.” When the “Ocean Times” had been sufficiently applauded, the Honourable Mr. Ewing, a fine-looking young fellow, with a tenor voice, warbled “Beautiful Isle of the Sea,” with all the harshness of an English throat. The “reading” appeared to me to have a questionable charm; it was simply two or three pages of a book, read by a worthy Texian, who began in a low voice, and gradually got higher and higher; he also was very much applauded. The “Shepherd’s Song,” a piano solo, by Mrs. Alloway, and a Scotch song, sung by Doctor T——, concluded the first part of the programme. After the ten minutes’ interval, during which some of the audience left their seats, the second part of the concert began. The Frenchman, Paul V——, played some charming waltzes, which were noisily encored. One of the ship’s doctors on board, a very conceited young man, recited a burlesque scene, a kind of parody on the “Lady of Lyons,” a drama very much in vogue in England. The “burlesque” was succeeded by the “entertainment.” What had Sir James Anderson prepared under this name? Was it a conference or a sermon? Neither the one nor the other. Sir James Anderson rose smilingly, drew a pack of cards from his pocket, turned back his white cuffs, and performed some tricks, the simplicity of which was redeemed by the graceful manner in which they were done. Hurrahs and applause. After the “Happy Moment,” and “You Remember,” sung by Mr. Norville and Mr. Ewing, the programme announced “God Save the Queen;” but some Americans begged Paul V——, as he was a Frenchman, to play the national French Anthem. Immediately my agreeable countryman began the inevitable “Partant pour la Syrie.” Energetic demands from a party of north-men, who wished to hear the “Marseillaise,” and without being pressed further, the obedient pianist, with a compliance which betokened rather a musical facility than political convictions, vigorously attacked the song of Rouget de l’Ile. This was the grand success of the evening, and the assembly, standing, slowly sang the “National Anthem,” which prays God to bless the Queen. Upon the whole this soirée was as good as amateur soirées generally are; that is to say, it was chiefly a success for the performers and their friends. Fabian did not show himself there at all. 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