Works of Jules Verne/Adventures of Captain Hatteras/The English at the North Pole/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV
THE DOG-CAPTAIN
The 5th of April brought the sailing day. Dr. Clawbonny's coming on board somewhat reassured people's minds, for where the learned Doctor went it must be safe to follow; but still the sailors seemed so restless and uneasy, that Shandon longed to be fairly out at sea, for he did not feel sure of any of them till they had lost sight of land.
Dr. Clawbonny's cabin was on the poop, which took up all the stern of the vessel. The captain's cabin and the chief officer's were on either side, overlooking the deck. The captain's remained hermetically closed after being furnished according to his written directions, and the key, as he ordered, was sent to him at Lubeck, so that no one could enter but himself.
This was a great vexation to Shandon, as it damped his ambitious hopes of getting sole command. In fitting up his own cabin, he took for granted they were going to the Arctic, and knowing, as he did, so thoroughly all that was required, he left nothing wanting.
The cabin of the second mate was in the forecastle, where the men slept—a large, roomy place, with a stove in the center, and every accomodation, for the sailors were treated as precious cargo on this vessel, and well provided for.
Dr. Clawbonny looked after himself, and he had had plenty of time, as he had taken possession of his cabin since the 5th of February, the day the Forward was launched.
"The happiest of the animals," he said, "would be a snail, who could make a shell to his own liking, and I mean to be an intelligent snail."
And truly his shell did him credit, for the Doctor took a perfect delight in arranging his scientific treasures. His books, and herbals, and cases, and mathematical instruments; his thermometer, and barometers, and hygrometers, and udometers; his glasses, and compasses, and sextants; and maps and charts; and phials, and powders, and medicine-bottles—all were arranged and classified with an amount of order that might have shamed the British Museum. Inestimable riches were stored up in that small space of six feet square, and it must be owned the good Doctor was not a little proud of his sanctum, though three of his least corpulent friends would have sufficed to crowd it uncomfortably.
To complete the description of the Forward it need only further be said that the dog's-kennel was built right below the window of the mysterious cabin, but its savage inmate preferred wandering between decks and in the hold. It seemed impossible to make him sociable, nobody could do anything with him, and in the night his piteous howls would resound through the whole vessel.
What was the reason? Could it be grief for his absent master? or was it instinctive fear of the voyage? or did it bode approaching danger. This last was the common opinion among the sailors, and many a one joked over it who verily believed the poor dog was an imp of the devil.
Pen, a coarse brutal fellow at all times, rushed so furiously at the beast one day that he fell right against the capstan, and split his head open frightfully. Of course this accident was laid to the "uncanny dog's account."
Clifton was the most superstitious of all the crew, and he made the singular discovery, that whenever the animal was promenading the deck he went to the side the wind was, changing his position as the ship tacked, just as if he had been the captain.
Dr. Clawbonny was so gentle and winning that he would have tamed a tiger, but all his attempts to get into this dog's good graces were in vain.
Besides, the animal would answer to none of the names borne by his canine brethren, so in the end he got called "Captain," for he appeared perfectly familiar with ship life. This was certainly not his first voyage, and more than one of the sailors fully expected to see him some day suddenly assume the human form, and begin giving orders in a stentorian voice.
Richard Shandon had no apprehensions on that score, though he had anxieties enough of another nature, and the night before sailing he had a long confidential talk on the subject with the Doctor and his two officers.
The four sat comfortably together in the saloon indulging themselves with a glass of grog—a farewell glass, for, in accordance with the instructions received from Aberdeen, every man on board, from the captain down to the stoker, must be a total abstainer; that is to say, neither wine, nor beer, nor spirits would be allowed on board, except in case of illness, or when ordered by the doctor.
For more than an hour they had been talking over the departure of the ship next day, for if the captain's words were verified, the morning would bring a letter containing final instructions.
"I hope," said Shandon, "that if this letter doesn't give us the name of the captain, it will tell us at least the destination of the ship, or how shall we know which way to steer?"
"Goodness me!" exclaimed the impatient doctor, "were I in your place I should be off even if no letter came; it will find its way to us by hook or by crook, I'll warrant."
"You stick at nothing, Doctor. But pray, how should we direct our course then?"
"Towards the North Pole, most assuredly. That's a matter of course; it doesn't admit of a doubt."
"Not admit of a doubt!" said Wall; "and why not towards the South Pole?"
"The South Pole! Never! Would the captain ever dream of exposing a brig to all the difficulties of crossing the broad Atlantic?" said the Doctor.
"You say go to the North," continued Shandon, "but that's a wide word. Is it to be to Spitzbergen, or Greenland, or Labrador, or Hudson's Bay? It is true enough that all these routes lead to the same impassable fields of ice; but that doesn't remove the necessity of choosing one or other, and I should be greatly puzzled to decide upon which. Can you help me, Doctor?"
"No," replied the loquacious little man, vexed at having no answer ready. "But the question is just this, if you don't get a letter, what will you do?"
"I shall do nothing; I shall wait."
"You won't sail!" cried Clawbonny, aghast at the possibility.
"No, not I."
"That's the wisest way," said Johnson, quickly, while the Doctor rose, and began pacing the floor, for he was too agitated to sit still. Yes, that's the wisest way, and yet too great delay might be attended with bad consequences. In the first place, this is a good time of the year; and if North it is to be, we ought to take advantage of the breaking up of the ice to get past Davis's Straits. Then, again, the men are getting more restless every day; their friends and old shipmates are constantly urging them to leave the Forward; and if we wait much longer we may find ourselves in a pretty fix."
"That's quite true," added James Wall; "and if once a panic got amongst the crew, they would desert to a man, and I very much doubt if you would succeed in getting fresh hands."
"But what's to be done, then?" asked Shandon.
"Just what you said," replied the Doctor, "wait; but wait till to-morrow before you begin to despair. Every one of the captain's promises have been kept hitherto, and there is no ground for believing that we shall not be told where we're going when the right time comes. For my own part, I have not the slightest doubt that we'll be in full sail to-morrow in the Irish Sea, so I vote that we have one more glass of grog, and drink to our safe voyage. It certainly has a rather mysterious beginning, but, with such sailors as you, a thousand chances to one but we'll have a prosperous ending."
"And now, sir, if I may give you my advice," said Johnson, "I would give orders to be ready to sail to-morrow, that the crew may not imagine there is any uncertainty. To-morrow, whether a letter comes or not, I would weigh anchor. Don't light the fires, for the wind bids fair to keep steady, and we shall be able to get out easily with the tide. Let the pilot come on board and we'll get over to Birkenhead, and cast anchor off the point. This will cut us off from communication with the shore, and yet be near enough to allow of this wonderful letter reaching us, should it arrive after all."
"That's well spoken, my good Johnson," said the Doctor, holding out his hand to the old tar.
"Well, so be it, then," said Shandon, "and now goodnight." They each retired to their respective cabins, but were too excited to sleep much, and were up again by sunrise.
The morning letters had all been delivered, but not one came for Richard Shandon. Still he went on with his preparations for sailing, and, as we have seen, the news had spread over Liverpool and brought together an unusual concourse of spectators. Many came on board to give a farewell embrace to a friend, or a last entreaty not to go, and some to gratify their curiosity by looking over the vessel, and trying once more to discover its real destination. But they found the chief officer more taciturn and reserved than ever, and went off grumbling.
Ten o'clock struck, and eleven; at one o'clock the tide would turn. Shandon stood on the poop gazing with uneasy troubled looks at the crowd.
It was a cloudy day and the waves were dashing high outside the basin, for there was a pretty strong south-east wind blowing, but this could not prevent them getting easily out of the Mersey.
Twelve o'clock struck and no letter. Dr. Clawbonny began to walk impatiently up and down, staring about through his eye-glass, and gesticulating in the most excited manner. Shandon bit his lips silently till the blood came.
Presently Johnson came up to him and said, "If we are to sail with this tide, sir, we have no time to lose; for it will take us a full hour to get out of the docks."
Shandon threw a last look round, consulted his watch, and said briefly, "Go."
This monosyllabic reply was enough for Johnson. He gave immediate orders for all visitors to go ashore, and the sailors began to haul in the ropes. There was a simultaneous rush towards the side of the vessel. The general confusion which ensued was greatly increased by the furious yelling of the dog, and reached a climax when the animal made one sudden bound from the forecastle right into the midst of the crowd, who fled before him right and left. He gave a loud deep bark, and jumped on the poop, carrying a letter between his teeth. Incredible as the fact may appear, it could be confirmed by at least a thousand eyewitnesses.
"A letter!" exclaimed Shandon. "Then he is on board."
"He has been, there is no doubt, but he is not now," replied Johnson, pointing to the deck, which was quite clear of all strangers.
"Captain! Captain!" called the Doctor, trying to take the letter out of his mouth; but the dog resisted stoutly, and was evidently determined to give the message to none but the right party.
"Here, Captain!" shouted Shandon; and at once the beast sprang forward and passively allowed him to withdraw the anxiously-expected missive, giving three loud, clear barks, which were distinctly heard amid the profound silence on the ship and on the quay.
Shandon held the letter in his hand without opennig it, till the Doctor exclaimed, impatiently, "Do, pray, read it."
The letter bore no postmark, and was simply addressed, "To the Chief Officer, Richard Shandon, on board the brig Forward." Shandon opened it, and read as follows:—
"You will steer your course towards Cape Farewell. You will reach it on the 20th of April. If the captain does not come on board, you will go through Davis's Straits, and up Baffin's Bay to Melville Bay.
"The captain of the Forward.
Shandon carefully folded up this laconic epistle, put it in his pocket, and gave orders to sail.
The Forward was soon out of the basin, and, guided by a Liverpool pilot, got into the Mersey, the crowd hurrying along the Victoria Docks to have a last glimpse as she passed by. The fore and mainsails were soon hoisted, and the brig, with a speed worthy of her name, rounded Birkenhead Point, and glided swiftly away into the Irish Sea.