The Voyages and Adventures of Captain Hatteras Part 6

"Unless," said the doctor, "we should be as unlucky as the _Fox_ in 1857, and should be caught the first year by the ice in the north of Baffin's Bay, and we should have to winter among the icebergs."

"We must hope to be luckier, Mr. Shandon," said Johnson; "and if, with a s.h.i.+p like the _Forward_, we can't go where we please, the attempt must be given up forever."

"Besides," continued the doctor, "if the captain is on board he will know better than we what is to be done, and so much the better because we are perfectly ignorant; for his singularly brief letter gives us no clew to the probable aim of the voyage."

"It's a great deal," answered Shandon, with some warmth, "to know what route we have to take; and now for a good month, I fancy, we shall be able to get along without his supernatural intervention and orders.

Besides, you know what I think about him."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the doctor; "I used to think as you did, that he was going to leave the command of the s.h.i.+p in your hands, and that he would never come on board; but--"

"But what?" asked Shandon, with some ill-humor.

"But since the arrival of the second letter, I have altered my views somewhat."

"And why so, doctor?"

"Because, although this letter does tell you in which direction to go, it still does not inform you of the final aim of the voyage; and we have yet to know whither we are to go. I ask you how can a third letter reach us now that we are on the open sea. The postal service on the sh.o.r.e of Greenland is very defective. You see, Shandon, I fancy that he is waiting for us at some Danish settlement up there,--at Holsteinborg or Upernavik. We shall find that he has been completing the supply of seal-skins, buying sledges and dogs,--in a word, providing all the equipment for a journey in the arctic seas. So I shall not be in the least surprised to see him coming out of his cabin some fine morning and taking command in the least supernatural way in the world."

"Possibly," answered Shandon, dryly; "but meanwhile the wind's freshening, and there's no use risking our topsails in such weather."

Shandon left the doctor, and ordered the topsails furled.

"He still clings to that idea," said the doctor to the boatswain.

"Yes," was the answer, "and it's a pity; for you may very well be right, Dr. Clawbonny."

Towards the evening of Sat.u.r.day the _Forward_ rounded the Mull of Galloway, on which the light could be seen in the northeast. During the night they left the Mull of Cantire to the north, and on the east Fair Head, on the Irish coast. Towards three o'clock in the morning, the brig, pa.s.sing Rathlin Island on its starboard quarter, came out from the North Channel into the ocean.

That was Sunday, April 8. The English, and especially sailors, are very observant of that day; hence the reading of the Bible, of which the doctor gladly took charge, occupied a good part of the morning.

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The wind rose to a gale, and threatened to drive the s.h.i.+p back upon the Irish coast. The waves ran very high; the vessel rolled a great deal. If the doctor was not sea-sick, it was because he was determined not to be, for nothing would have been easier. At midday Malin Head disappeared from their view in the south; it was the last sight these bold sailors were to have of Europe, and more than one gazed at it for a long time who was doubtless fated never to set eyes on it again.

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By observation the lat.i.tude then was 55 57', and the longitude, according to the chronometer, 7 40'.[1]

[Footnote 1: Meridian of Greenwich.]

The gale abated towards nine o'clock of the evening; the _Forward_, a good sailer, kept on its route to the northwest. That day gave them all a good opportunity to judge of her sea-going qualities; as good judges had already said at Liverpool, she was well adapted for carrying sail.

During the following days, the _Forward_ made very good progress; the wind veered to the south, and the sea ran high. The brig set every sail. A few petrels and puffins flew about the p.o.o.p-deck; the doctor succeeded in shooting one of the latter, which fortunately fell on board.

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Simpson, the harpooner, seized it and carried it to the doctor.

"It's an ugly bird, Dr. Clawbonny," he said.

"But then it will make a good meal, my friend."

"What, are you going to eat it?"

"And you shall have a taste of it," said the doctor, laughing.

"Never!" answered Simpson; "it's strong and oily, like all sea-birds."

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"True," said the doctor; "but I have a way of dressing such game, and if you recognize it to be a sea-bird, I'll promise never to kill another in all my life."

"So you are a cook, too, Dr. Clawbonny?" asked Johnson.

"A learned man ought to know a little of everything."

"Then take care, Simpson," said the boatswain; "the doctor is a clever man, and he'll make us take this puffin for a delicious grouse."

In fact, the doctor was in the right about this bird; he removed skilfully the fat which lies beneath the whole surface of the skin, princ.i.p.ally on its thighs, and with it disappeared all the rancid, fishy odor with which this bird can be justly charged. Thus prepared, the bird was called delicious, even by Simpson.

During the recent storm, Richard Shandon had made up his mind about the qualities of his crew; he had tested his men one by one, as every officer should do who wishes to be prepared for future dangers; he knew on whom he could rely.

James Wall, who was warmly attached to Richard, was intelligent and efficient, but he had very little originality; as second officer he was exactly in his place.

Johnson, who was accustomed to the dangers of the sea, and an old sailor in arctic regions, lacked neither coolness nor courage.

Simpson, the harpooner, and Bell, the carpenter, were steady men, obedient and well disciplined. The ice-master, Foker, an experienced sailor, who had sailed in northern waters, promised to be of the greatest service.

Of the other men, Garry and Bolton seemed to be the best; Bolton was a jolly fellow, always laughing and joking; Garry, a man about thirty-five years old, had an energetic, but rather pale and sad face.

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The three sailors, Clifton, Gripper, and Pen, seemed to be the least enthusiastic and determined; they were inclined to grumbling. Gripper had even wished to break his engagement when the time came for sailing, and only a feeling of shame prevented him. If things went well, if they encountered no excessive dangers, and their toil was not too severe, these three men could be counted on; but they were hard to please with their food, for they were inclined to gluttony. In spite of their having been forewarned, they were by no means pleased with being teetotalers, and at their meals they used to miss their brandy or gin; but they made up for it with the tea and coffee which were distributed with a lavish hand.

As for the two engineers, Brunton and Plover, and the stoker, Warren, they had been so far well satisfied with having nothing to do.

Shandon knew therefore what to expect from each man.

On the 14th of April, the _Forward_ crossed the Gulf Stream, which, after following the eastern coast of America as far as Newfoundland, turns to the northeast and moves towards the sh.o.r.e of Norway. They were then in lat.i.tude 51 37', and longitude 22 37', two hundred miles from the end of Greenland. The weather grew colder; the thermometer fell to 32, the freezing-point.

The doctor, without yet putting on his arctic winter dress, was wearing a suit of sea-clothes, like all the officers and sailors; he was an amusing sight in his high boots, in which he could not bend his legs, his huge tarpaulin hat, his trousers and coat of the same material; in heavy rain, or when the brig was s.h.i.+pping seas, the doctor used to look like a sort of sea-monster, a comparison which always flattered him.

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For two days the sea was very rough; the wind veered to the northwest, and delayed the _Forward_. From the 14th to the 16th of April there was still a high sea running; but on Monday there fell a heavy shower which almost immediately had the effect of calming the sea. Shandon called the doctor's attention to it.

"Well," said the doctor, "that confirms the curious observations of the whaler Scoresby, who was a member of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, of which I have the honor to be a corresponding member. You see that while the rain is falling the waves are hardly to be noticed, even when the wind is strong. On the other hand, in dry weather the sea would be rougher even with a gentler wind."