by Jules Verne
CHAPTER IV
DOG-CAPTAIN
The day of departure arrived with the 5th of April. The admissionof the doctor on board had given the crew more confidence. They knewthat where the worthy doctor went they could follow. However, thesailors were still uneasy, and Shandon, fearing that some of themwould desert, wished to be off. With the coast out of sight, theywould make up their mind to the inevitable.
Dr. Clawbonny's cabin was situated at the end of the poop, and occupiedall the stern of the vessel. The captain's and mate's cabins gaveupon deck. The captain's remained hermetically closed, after beingfurnished with different instruments, furniture, travellinggarments, books, clothes for changing, and utensils, indicated ina detailed list. According to the wish of the captain, the key ofthe cabin was sent to Lubeck; he alone could enter his room.
This detail vexed Shandon, and took away all chance of the chiefcommand. As to his own cabin, he had perfectly appropriated it tothe needs of the presumed voyage, for he thoroughly understood theneeds of a Polar expedition. The room of the third officer was placedunder the lower deck, which formed a vast sleeping-room for thesailors' use; the men were very comfortably lodged, and would nothave found anything like the same convenience on board any other ship;they were cared for like the most priceless cargo: a vast stoveoccupied all the centre of the common room. Dr. Clawbonny was in hiselement; he had taken possession of his cabin on the 6th of February,the day after the _Forward_ was launched.
"The happiest of animals," he used to say, "is a snail, for it canmake a shell exactly to fit it; I shall try to be an intelligent snail."
And considering that the shell was to be his lodging for a considerabletime, the cabin began to look like home; the doctor had a _savant's_or a child's pleasure in arranging his scientific traps. His books,his herbals, his set of pigeon-holes, his instruments of precision,his chemical apparatus, his collection of thermometers, barometers,hygrometers, rain-gauges, spectacles, compasses, sextants, maps,plans, flasks, powders, bottles for medicine-chest, were all classedin an order that would have shamed the British Museum. The space ofsix square feet contained incalculable riches: the doctor had onlyto stretch out his hand without moving to become instantaneously adoctor, a mathematician, an astronomer, a geographer, a botanist,or a conchologist. It must be acknowledged that he was proud of hismanagement and happy in his floating sanctuary, which three of histhinnest friends would have sufficed to fill. His friends came toit in such numbers that even a man as easy-going as the doctor mighthave said with Socrates, "My house is small, but may it please Heavennever to fill it with friends!"
To complete the description of the _Forward_ it is sufficient to saythat the kennel of the large Danish dog was constructed under thewindow of the mysterious cabin but its savage inhabitant preferredwandering between decks and in the hold; it seemed impossible to tamehim, and no one had been able to become his master; during the nighthe howled lamentably, making the hollows of the ship ring in a sinisterfashion. Was it regret for his absent master? Was it the instinctof knowing that he was starting for a perilous voyage? Was it apresentiment of dangers to come? The sailors decided that it was forthe latter reason, and more than one pretended to joke who believedseriously that the dog was of a diabolical kind. Pen, who was a brutalman, was going to strike him once, when he fell, unfortunately,against the angle of the capstan, and made a frightful wound in hishead. Of course this accident was placed to the account of thefantastic animal. Clifton, the most superstitious of the crew, madethe singular observation that when the dog was on the poop he alwayswalked on the windward side, and afterwards, when the brig was outat sea, and altered its tack, the surprising animal changed itsdirection with the wind the same as the captain of the _Forward_ wouldhave done in his place. Dr. Clawbonny, whose kindness and caresseswould have tamed a tiger, tried in vain to win the good graces ofthe dog; he lost his time and his pains. The animal did not answerto any name ever written in the dog calendar, and the crew ended bycalling him Captain, for he appeared perfectly conversant with shipcustoms; it was evident that it was not his first trip. From suchfacts it is easy to understand the boatswain's answer to Clifton'sfriend, and the credulity of those who heard it; more than one repeatedjokingly that he expected one day to see the dog take human shapeand command the manoeuvres with a resounding voice.
If Richard Shandon did not feel the same apprehensions he was notwithout anxiety, and the day before the departure, in the eveningof April 5th, he had a conversation on the subject with the doctor,Wall, and Johnson in the poop cabin. These four persons were tastingtheir tenth grog, and probably their last, for the letter fromAberdeen had ordered that all the crew, from the captain to the stoker,should be teetotallers, and that there should be no wine, beer, norspirits on board except those given by the doctor's orders. Theconversation had been going on about the departure for the last hour.If the instructions of the captain were realised to the end, Shandonwould receive his last instructions the next day.
"If the letter," said the commander, "does not tell me the captain'sname, it must at least tell me the destination of the brig, or I shallnot know where to take her to."
"If I were you," said the impatient doctor, "I should start whetherI get a letter or no; they'll know how to send after you, you maydepend."
"You are ready for anything, doctor; but if so, to what quarter ofthe globe should you set sail?"
"To the North Pole, of course; there's not the slightest doubt aboutthat."
"Why should it not be the South Pole?" asked Wall.
"The South Pole is out of the question. No one with any sense wouldsend a brig across the whole of the Atlantic. Just reflect a minute,and you'll see the impossibility."
"The doctor has an answer to everything," said Wall.
"Well, we'll say north," continued Shandon. "But where north? ToSpitzbergen or Greenland? Labrador or Hudson's Bay? Although alldirections end in insuperable icebergs, I am not less puzzled as towhich to take. Have you an answer to that, doctor?"
"No," he answered, vexed at having nothing to say; "but if you don'tget a letter what shall you do?"
"I shall do nothing; I shall wait."
"Do you mean to say you won't start?" cried Dr. Clawbonny, agitatinghis glass in despair.
"Certainly I do."
"And that would be the wisest plan," said Johnson tranquilly, whilethe doctor began marching round the table, for he could not keep still;"but still, if we wait too long, the consequences may be deplorable;the season is good now if we are really going north, as we ought toprofit by the breaking up of the ice to cross Davis's Straits; besides,the crew gets more and more uneasy; the friends and companions ofour men do all they can to persuade them to leave the _Forward_, andtheir influence may be pernicious for us."
"Besides," added Wall, "if one of them deserted they all would, andthen I don't know how you would get another crew together."
"But what can I do?" cried Shandon.
"What you said you would do," replied the doctor; "wait and wait tillto-morrow before you despair. The captain's promises have all beenfulfilled up to now with the greatest regularity, and there's noreason to believe we shan't be made acquainted with our destinationwhen the proper time comes. I haven't the slightest doubt thatto-morrow we shall be sailing in the Irish Channel, and I proposewe drink a last grog to our pleasant voyage. It begins in anunaccountable fashion, but with sailors like you there are a thousandchances that it will end well."
And all four drank to their safe return.
"Now, commander," continued Johnson, "if you will allow me to adviseyou, you will prepare everything to start; the crew must think thatyou know what you are about. If you don't get a letter to-morrow,set sail; do not get up the steam, the wind looks like holding out,and it will be easy enough to sail; let the pilot come on board; goout of the docks with the tide, and anchor below Birkenhead; our menwon't be able to communicate with land, and if the devil of a lettercomes it will find us as easily there as elsewhere."
"By heavens! you are right, Johnson!" cried the doctor, holding outhis hand to the old sailor.
"So be it," answered Shandon.
Then each one entered his cabin, and waited in feverish sleep forthe rising of the sun. The next day the first distribution of letterstook place in the town, and not one bore the address of the commander,Richard Shandon. Nevertheless, he made his preparations fordeparture, and the news spread at once all over Liverpool, and, aswe have already seen, an extraordinary affluence of spectatorscrowded the wharfs of New Prince's Docks. Many of them came on boardto shake hands for the last time with a comrade, or to try and dissuadea friend, or to take a look at the brig, and to know its destination;they were disappointed at finding the commander more taciturn andreserved than ever. He had his reasons for that.
Ten o'clock struck. Eleven followed. The tide began to go out thatday at about one o'clock in the afternoon. Shandon from the top ofthe poop was looking at the crowd with uneasy eyes, trying to readthe secret of his destiny on one of the faces. But in vain. The sailorsof the _Forward_ executed his orders in silence, looking at him allthe time, waiting for orders which did not come. Johnson went onpreparing for departure. The weather was cloudy and the sea rough;a south-easter blew with violence, but it was easy to get out of theMersey.
At twelve o'clock nothing had yet been received. Dr. Clawbonny marchedup and down in agitation, looking through his telescope,gesticulating, impatient for the sea, as he said. He felt moved,though he struggled against it. Shandon bit his lips till the bloodcame. Johnson came up to him and said--
"Commander, if we want to profit by the tide, there is no time tobe lost; we shall not be clear of the docks for at least an hour."
Shandon looked round him once more and consulted his watch. The twelveo'clock letters had been distributed. In despair he told Johnson tostart. The boatswain ordered the deck to be cleared of spectators,and the crowd made a general movement to regain the wharves whilethe last moorings were unloosed. Amidst the confusion a dog's barkwas distinctly heard, and all at once the animal broke through thecompact mass, jumped on to the poop, and, as a thousand spectatorscan testify, dropped a letter at Shandon's feet.
"A letter!" cried Shandon. "_He_ is on board, then?"
"He was, that's certain, but he isn't now," said Johnson, pointingto the deserted deck.
Shandon held the letter without opening it in his astonishment.
"But read it, read it, I say," said the doctor.
Shandon looked at it. The envelope had no postmark or date; it wasaddressed simply to:
"RICHARD SHANDON,
"Commander on board the brig
"_Forward_."
Shandon opened the letter and read as follows:--
"Sail for Cape Farewell. You will reach it by the 20th of April. Ifthe captain does not appear on board, cross Davis's Straits, and sailup Baffin's Sea to Melville Bay.
"THE CAPTAIN OF THE 'FORWARD,'
"K. Z."
Shandon carefully folded this laconic epistle, put it in his pocket,and gave the order for departure. His voice, which rang above theeast wind, had something solemn in it.
Soon the _Forward_ had passed the docks, and directed by a Liverpoolpilot whose little cutter followed, went down the Mersey with thecurrent. The crowd precipitated itself on to the exterior wharf alongthe Victoria Docks in order to get a last glimpse of the strange brig.The two topsails, the foresail and the brigantine sail were rapidlyset up, and the _Forward_, worthy of its name, after having roundedBirkenhead Point, sailed with extraordinary fleetness into the IrishSea.
