The Voyages and Adventures of Captain Hatteras/Chapter III

Richard Shandon was a good sailor; for a long time he had commanded whalers in the Arctic seas, with a well-deserved reputation throughout all Lancaster. Such a letter was well calculated to astonish him; he was astonished, it is true, but with the calmness of a man who is accustomed to surprises.

He suited all the required conditions; no wife, child, nor relatives. He was as independent as man could be. There being no one whose opinion he needed to consult, he betook himself to Messrs. Marcuart & Co.

“If the money is there,” he said to himself, “the rest is all right.”

At the banking-house he was received with the respect due to a man who has sixteen thousand pounds deposited to his credit; having made that point sure, Shandon asked for a sheet of white paper, and in his large sailor's handwriting he sent his acceptance of the plan to the address given above.

That very day he made the necessary arrangements with the builders at Birkenhead, and within twenty-four hours the keel of the Forward was laid on the stocks.

Richard Shandon was a man about forty years old, strong, energetic, and fearless, three qualities most necessary for a sailor, for they give him confidence, vigor, and coolness. He was known to be severe and very hard to please; hence he was more feared than loved by his men. But this reputation was not calculated to interfere with his selection of a crew, for he was known to be skilful in avoiding trouble.

Shandon feared that the mysterious nature of the expedition might stand in his way.

“In that case,” he said, “it's best not to say anything about it; there will always be plenty of men who will want to know the why and the wherefore of the whole matter, and, since I don't know anything about it myself, I should find it hard to answer them. This K. Z. is certainly an odd stick; but, after all, he knows me, he depends on me, and that is enough. As for his ship, it will be a good one, and if it's not going to the Arctic Ocean, my name is not Richard Shandon. But I shall keep that fact for myself and my officers.”

Thereupon Shandon began to choose his crew, bearing in mind the captain's wishes about the independence and health of the men.

He knew a very capital fellow, and a good sailor, James Wall by name. Wall might have been about thirty years old, and had already made some voyages in the northern seas. Shandon offered him the place of second mate, and Wall accepted it at once; all he cared for was to be at sea. Shandon confided all the details of the affair to him and to a certain Johnson, whom he took as boatswain.

“All right,” answered James Wall, “that's as good as anything. Even if it's to seek the Northwest Passage, some have come back from that.”

“Not all,” said Johnson, “but that's no reason that we should not try it.”

“Besides, if our guesses are right,” said Shandon, “it must be said that we start with a fair chance of success. The Forward will be a stanch ship and she will carry good engines. She can go a great distance. We want a crew of only eighteen men.”

“Eighteen men,” answered Johnson; “that's the number the American, Kane, took with him on his famous voyage towards the North Pole.”

“It's strange,” said Wall, “that a private person should try to make his way from Davis Strait to Behring Strait. The expeditions in search of Sir John Franklin have already cost England more than seven hundred and sixty thousand pounds, without producing any practical good. Who in the world wants to throw away his money for such a purpose?”

“In the first place, James,” answered Shandon, “we are in the dark about it all. I don't know whether we are going to the northern or the southern seas. Perhaps there's some new discovery to be tried. At any rate, some day or other a Dr. Clawbonny is to come aboard who will probably know more about it and will be able to tell us. We shall see.”

“Let us wait, then,” said Johnson; “as for me, I'm going to look after some good men, and I'll answer now for their animal heat, as the captain calls it. You can depend on me.”

Johnson was an invaluable man; he was familiar with high latitudes. He had been quartermaster aboard of the Phoenix, which belonged to one of the expeditions sent out in 1853 in search of Franklin; he had been an eye-witness of the death of the French lieutenant Bellot, whom he had accompanied in his expedition across the ice. Johnson knew all the sailors in Liverpool, and immediately set about engaging a crew.

Shandon, Wall, and he succeeded in filling the number by the middle of December, but they met with considerable difficulty; many who were attracted by the high pay were alarmed by the danger, and more than one who had boldly enlisted came later to say that he had changed his mind on account of the dissuasion of his friends. They all tried to pierce the mystery, and pursued Shandon with their questions. He used to refer them to Johnson.

“What can I say, my man?” the boatswain used to answer; “I don't know any more about it than you do. At any rate you will be in good company, with men who won't shirk their work; that's something! So don't be thinking about it all day: take it or leave it!” And the greater number took it.

“You understand,” added Johnson, sometimes, “my only trouble is in making my choice. High pay, such as no sailor ever had before, with the certainty of finding a round sum when we get back. That's very tempting.”

“The fact is,” answered the sailors, “that it is hard to refuse. It will support a man all the rest of his life.”

“I won't hide from you,” continued Johnson, “that the voyage will be long, difficult, and dangerous; that's all stated in our instructions; it's well to know beforehand what one undertakes to do; probably it's to try all that men can possibly do, and perhaps even more. So, if you have n't got a bold heart and a strong body, if you can't say you have more than twenty chances to one of staying there, if, in short, you are particular about leaving your body in one place more than another, here rather than there, get away from here and let some bolder man have your place!”

“But, at least,” said the confused sailor,—“at least, you know the captain?”

“The captain is Richard Shandon, my friend, until we receive another.”

Now it must be said that was what the commander thought; he allowed himself to think that at the last moment he would receive definite instructions as to the object of the voyage, and that he would remain in command of the Forward. He was fond of spreading this opinion about, either in conversation with his officers or in superintending the building of the brig, of which the timbers were now rising in the Birkenhead ship-yard like the sides of a huge whale.

Shandon and Johnson conformed strictly with the recommendation about the health of the crew; they all looked hardy and possessed enough animal heat to run the engines of the Forward; their elastic limbs, their clear and ruddy skin, showed that they were fit to encounter intense cold. They were bold, determined men, energetic and stoutly built; they were not all equally vigorous. Shandon had even hesitated about accepting some of them; for instance, the sailors Gripper and Garry, and the harpooner Simpson, who seemed to him too thin; but, on the other hand, they were well built, they were earnest about it, and they were shipped.

All the crew were members of the same church; in their long voyage their prayers and the reading of the Bible would call them together and console them in the hours of depression; so that it was advisable that there should be no diversity on this score. Shandon knew from experience the usefulness of this practice and its good influence on the men, so valuable that it is never neglected on board of ships which winter in the polar seas.

When all the crew had been engaged, Shandon and his two officers busied themselves with the provisions; they followed closely the captain's instructions, which were definite, precise, and detailed, in which the quality and quantity of the smallest articles were clearly set down. Thanks to the drafts placed at the commander's order, every article was paid for, cash down, with a discount of eight per cent, which Richard carefully placed to the credit of K. Z.

Crew, provisions, and outfit were all ready in January, 1860; the Forward was approaching completion. Shandon never let a day pass without visiting Birkenhead.

On the morning of the 23d of January he was, as usual, on one of the double-ended ferry-boats which ply between the two shores of the Mersey; everything was enveloped in one of the ordinary fogs of that region, which compel the pilot to steer by compass, although the trip is one of but ten minutes.

However, the thickness of the fog could not prevent Shandon from noticing a short, rather stout man, with a refined, agreeable face and pleasant expression, who came towards him, seized both his hands, and pressed them with a warmth and familiarity which a Frenchman would have said was “very southern.”

But if this stranger was not from the South, he had escaped it narrowly; he spoke and gesticulated freely; his thoughts seemed determined to find expression, even if they had to burst out. His eyes, small like the eyes of witty men, his large and mobile mouth, were safety-valves which enabled him to rid himself of too strong a pressure on his feelings; he talked; and he talked so much and joyously, that, it must be said, Shandon could not make out what he was saying.

Still the mate of the Forward was not slow in recognizing this short man whom he had never seen; it flashed into his mind, and the moment that the other stopped to take breath, Shandon uttered these words,—

“Dr. Clawbonny?”

“The same, in person, Commander! For nearly a quarter of an hour I have been looking after you, asking for you of every one and everywhere. Imagine my impatience. Five minutes more and I should have lost my head! So this is you, officer Shandon? You really exist? You are not a myth? Your hand, your hand! Let me press it again in mine! Yes, that is indeed the hand of Richard Shandon. Now, if there is a commander Richard, there is a brig Forward which he commands; and if he commands it, it will sail; and if it sails, it will take Dr. Clawbonny on board.”

“Well, yes, Doctor, I am Richard Shandon, there is a brig Forward, and it will sail.”

“There's logic,” answered the doctor, taking a long breath,—“there's logic. So I am delighted, enchanted! For a long time I've been waiting for something of this sort to turn up, and I've been wanting to try a voyage of this sort. Now, with you—”

“Excuse me—” said Shandon.

“With you,” continued Clawbonny, paying him no attention, “we are sure of going far without turning round.”

“But—” began Shandon.

“For you have shown what stuff you are made of, and I know all you've done. Ah, you are a good sailor!”

“If you please—”

“No, I sha' n't let your courage and skill be doubted for a moment, even by yourself. The captain who chose you for mate is a man who knew what he was about; I can tell you that.”

“But that is not the question,” said Shandon, impatiently.

“What is it, then? Don't keep me anxious any longer.”

“But you won't let me say a word. Tell me. Doctor, if you please, how you came to join this expedition of the Forward?”

“By a letter, a capital letter; here it is, the letter of a brave captain, very short, but very full.”

With these words he handed Shandon a letter running as follows:

, January 22, 1860.

To, Liverpool.

If Dr. Clawbonny wishes to sail on the Forward for a long voyage, he can present himself to the mate, Richard Shandon, who has been advised concerning him.

K. Z., Captain of the Forward.

“The letter reached me this morning, and I'm now ready to go on board of the Forward.”

“But,” continued Shandon, “I suppose you know whither we are bound.”

“Not the least idea in the world; but what difference does it make, provided I go somewhere? They say I'm a learned man; they are wrong; I don't know anything, and if I have published some books which have had a good sale, I was wrong; it was very kind of the public to buy them! I don't know anything, I tell you, except that I am very ignorant. Now I have a chance offered me to complete, or, rather, to make over my knowledge of medicine, surgery, history, geography, botany, mineralogy, conchology, geodesy, chemistry, physics, mechanics, hydrography; well, I accept it, and I assure you, I did n't have to be asked twice.”

“Then,” said Shandon in a tone of disappointment, “you don't know where the Forward is going.”

“0, but I do, commander; it's going where there is something to be learned, discovered; where one can instruct himself, make comparisons, see other customs, other countries, study the ways of other people; in a word, it's going where I have never been.”

“But more precisely?” cried Shandon.

“More precisely,” answered the doctor, “I have understood that it was bound for the Northern Ocean. Well, good for the North!”

“At any rate,” said Shandon, “you know the captain?”

“Not at all! But he's a good fellow, you may depend on it.”

The mate and the doctor stepped ashore at Birkenhead; Shandon gave his companion all the information he had, and the mystery which lay about it all excited highly the doctor's imagination. The sight of the Forward enchanted him. From that time he was always with Shandon, and he came every morning to inspect the hull of the Forward.

In addition he was specially intrusted with the providing of the ship's medicine-chest.

For Clawbonny was a physician, and a good one, although he had never practised much. At twenty-five he was an ordinary young doctor, at forty he was a learned man; being known throughout the whole city, he became a leading member of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Liverpool. His moderate fortune allowed him to give some advice which was no less valuable for being without charge; loved as a thoroughly kind-hearted man must be, he did no harm to any one else nor to himself; quick and garrulous, if you please, but with his heart in his hand, and his hand in that of all the world.

When the news of his intended journey on board the Forward became known in the city, all his friends endeavored to dissuade him, but they only made him cling more obstinately to his intention; and when the doctor had absolutely determined on anything, he was a skilful man who could make him change.

From that day the rumors, conjectures, and apprehensions steadily increased; but that did not interfere with the launching of the Forward on the 5th of February, 1860. Two months later she was ready for sea.

On the 15th of March, as the captain's letter had said, a Danish dog was sent by rail from Edinburgh to Liverpool, to the address of Richard Shandon. He seemed morose, timid, and almost wicked; his expression was very strange. The name of the Forward was engraved on his collar.

The commander gave him quarters on board, and sent a letter, with the news of his arrival, to Leghorn.

Hence, with the exception of the captain, the crew of the Forward was complete. It was composed as follows:—

1. K. Z., captain; 2. Richard Shandon, first mate, in command; 3. James Wall, second mate; 4. Dr. Clawbonny; 5. Johnson, boatswain; 6. Simpson, harpooner; 7. Bell, carpenter; 8. Brunton, first engineer; 9. Plover, second engineer; 10. Strong (negro), cook; 11. Foker, ice-master; 12. Wolston, gunner; 13. Bolton, sailor; 14. Garry, sailor; 15. Clifton, sailor; 16. Gripper, sailor; 17. Pen, sailor; 18. Warren, stoker.

Les Aventures du capitaine Hatteras - Première partie - 3