upon an unknown island, and consequently obliged to be sociable
with each other.

Have you ever stopped to consider how much originality and
spontaneity emanate from these various individuals who, on the
preceding evening, did not even know each other, and who are now,
for several days, condemned to lead a life of extreme intimacy,
jointly defying the anger of the ocean, the terrible onslaught of
the waves, the violence of the tempest and the agonizing monotony
of the calm and sleepy water? Such a life becomes a sort of
tragic existence, with its storms and its grandeurs, its monotony
and its diversity; and that is why, perhaps, we embark upon that
short voyage with mingled feelings of pleasure and fear.

But, during the past few years, a new sensation had been added to
the life of the transatlantic traveler. The little floating
island is now attached to the world from which it was once quite
free. A bond united them, even in the very heart of the watery
wastes of the Atlantic. That bond is the wireless telegraph, by
means of which we receive news in the most mysterious manner. We
know full well that the message is not transported by the medium
of a hollow wire. No, the mystery is even more inexplicable, more
romantic, and we must have recourse to the wings of the air in
order to explain this new miracle. During the first day of the
voyage, we felt that we were being followed, escorted, preceded
even, by that distant voice, which, from time to time, whispered
to one of us a few words from the receding world. Two friends
spoke to me. Ten, twenty others sent gay or somber words of
parting to other passengers.