CAPTAIN LEN GUY.
I slept ill. Again and again I "dreamed that I was dreaming."
Now--this is an observation made by Edgar Poe--when one suspects
that one is dreaming, the waking comes almost instantly. I woke
then, and every time in a very bad humour with Captain Len Guy. The
idea of leaving the Kerguelens on the _Halbrane_ had full possession
of me, and I grew more and more angry with her disobliging captain.
In fact, I passed the night in a fever of indignation, and only
recovered my temper with daylight. Nevertheless I was determined to
have an explanation with Captain Len Guy about his detestable
conduct. Perhaps I should fail to get anything out of that human
hedgehog, but at least I should have given him a piece of my mind.
I went out at eight o'clock in the morning. The weather was
abominable. Rain, mixed with snow, a storm coming over the mountains
at the back of the bay from the west, clouds scurrying down from the
lower zones, an avalanche of wind and water. It was not likely that
Captain Len Guy had come ashore merely to enjoy such a wetting and
blowing.
No one on the quay; of course not. As for my getting on board the
_Halbrane_, that could not be done without hailing one of her boats,
and the boatswain would not venture to send it for me.
"Besides," I reflected, "on his quarter-deck the captain is at
home, and neutral ground is better for what I want to say to him, if
he persists in his unjustifiable refusal. I will watch him this
time, and if his boat touches the quay, he shall not succeed in
avoiding me."
I returned to the Green Cormorant, and took up my post behind the
window panes, which were dimmed by the hissing rain. There I waited,
nervous, impatient, and in a state of growing irritation. Two hours
wore away thus. Then, with the instability of the winds in the
Kerguelens, the weather became calm before I did. I opened my
window, and at the same moment a sailor stepped into one of the
boats of the _Halbrane_ and laid hold of a pair of oars, while a
second man seated himself in the back, but without taking the tiller
ropes. The boat touched the landing-place and Captain Len Guy
stepped on shore.
In a few seconds I was out of the inn, and confronted him.
"Sir," said I in a cold hard tone.
Captain Len Guy looked at me steadily, and I was struck by the
sadness of his eyes, which were as black as ink. Then in a very low
voice he asked:
"You are a stranger?"
"A stranger at the Kerguelens? Yes."
"Of English nationality?"
"No. American."
He saluted me, and I returned the curt gesture.
"Sir," I resumed, "I believe Mr. Atkins of the Green Cormorant
has spoken to you respecting a proposal of mine. That proposal, it
seems to me, deserved a favourable reception on the part of a--"
"The proposal to take passage on my ship?" interposed Captain
Len Guy.
"Precisely."
"I regret, sir, I regret that I could not agree to your request."
"Will you tell me why?"
"Because I am not in the habit of taking passengers. That is the
first reason."
"And the second, captain?"
"Because the route of the _Halbrane_ is never settled beforehand.
She starts for one port and goes to another, just as I find it to my
advantage. You must know that I am not in the service of a
shipowner. My share in the schooner is considerable, and I have no
one but myself to consult in respect to her."
"Then it entirely depends on you to give me a passage?"
"That is so, but I can only answer you by a refusal--to my
extreme regret."
"Perhaps you will change your mind, captain, when you know that I
care very little what the destination of your schooner may be. It is
not unreasonable to suppose that she will go somewhere--"
"Somewhere indeed." I fancied that Captain Len Guy threw a long
look towards the southern horizon.
"To go here or to go there is almost a matter of indifference to
me. What I desired above all was to get away from Kerguelen at the
first opportunity that should offer."
Captain Len Guy made me no answer; he remained in silent thought,
but did not endeavour to slip away from me.
"You are doing me the honour to listen to me?" I asked him
sharply.
"Yes, sir."
"I will then add that, if I am not mistaken, and if the route of
your ship has not been altered, it was your intention to leave
Christmas Harbour for Tristan d'Acunha."
"Perhaps for Tristan d'Acunha, perhaps for the Cape, perhaps for
the Falklands, perhaps for elsewhere."
"Well, then, Captain Guy, it is precisely elsewhere that I want to
go," I replied ironically, and trying hard to control my
irritation.
Then a singular change took place in the demeanour of Captain Len
Guy. His voice became more sharp and harsh. In very plain words he
made me understand that it was quite useless to insist, that our
interview had already lasted too long, that time pressed, and he had
business at the port; in short that we had said all that we could
have to say to each other.
I had put out my arm to detain him--to seize him would be a more
correct term--and the conversation, ill begun, seemed likely to end
still more ill, when this odd person turned towards me and said in a
milder tone,--
"Pray understand, sir, that I am very sorry to be unable to do
what you ask, and to appear disobliging to an American. But I could
not act otherwise. In the course of the voyage of the _Halbrane_ some
unforeseen incident might occur to make the presence of a passenger
inconvenient--even one so accommodating as yourself. Thus I might
expose myself to the risk of being unable to profit by the chances
which I seek."
"I have told you, captain, and I repeat it, that although my
intention is to return to America and to Connecticut, I don't care
whether I get there in three months or in six, or by what route;
it's all the same to me, and even were your schooner to take me to
the Antarctic seas--"
"The Antarctic seas!" exclaimed Captain Len Guy, with a question
in his tone. And his look searched my thoughts with the keenness of
a dagger.
"Why do you speak of the Antarctic seas?" he asked, taking my
hand.
"Well, just as I might have spoken of the ‘Hyperborean seas'
from whence an Irish poet has made Sebastian Cabot address some
lovely verses to his Lady.(1) I spoke of the South Pole as I might
have spoken of the North."
Captain Len Guy did not answer, and I thought I saw tears glisten in
his eyes. Then, as though he would escape from some harrowing
recollection which my words had evoked, he said,--
"Who would venture to seek the South Pole?"
"It would be difficult to reach, and the experiments would be of
no practical use," I replied. "Nevertheless there are men
sufficiently adventurous to embark in such an enterprise."
"Yes--adventurous is the word!" muttered the captain.
"And now," I resumed, "the United States is again making an
attempt with Wilkes's fleet, the _Vancouver_, the _Peacock_, the
_Flying Fish_, and others."
"The United States, Mr. Jeorling? Do you mean to say that an
expedition has been sent by the Federal Government to the Antarctic
seas?"
"The fact is certain, and last year, before I left America, I
learned that the vessels had sailed. That was a year ago, and it is
very possible that Wilkes has gone farther than any of the preceding
explorers."
Captain Len Guy had relapsed into silence, and came out of his
inexplicable musing only to say abruptly,--
"You come from Connecticut, sir?"
"From Connecticut."
"And more specially?"
"From Providence."
"Do you know Nantucket Island?"
"I have visited it several times."
"You know, I think," said the captain, looking straight into my
eyes, "that Nantucket Island was the birthplace of Arthur Gordon
Pym, the hero of your famous romance-writer Edgar Poe."
"Yes. I remember that Poe's romance starts from Nantucket."
"Romance, you say? That was the word you used?"
"Undoubtedly, captain."
"Yes, and that is what everybody says! But, pardon me, I cannot
stay any longer. I regret that I cannot alter my mind with respect
to your proposal. But, at any rate, you will only have a few days to
wait. The season is about to open. Trading ships and whalers will
put in at Christmas Harbour, and you will be able to make a choice,
with the certainty of going to the port you want to reach. I am very
sorry, sir, and I salute you."
With these words Captain Len Guy walked quickly away, and the
interview ended differently from what I had expected, that is to say
in formal, although polite, fashion.
As there is no use in contending with the impossible, I gave up the
hope of a passage on the _Halbrane_, but continued to feel angry with
her intractable captain. And why should I not confess that my
curiosity was aroused? I felt that there was something mysterious
about this sullen mariner, and I should have liked to find out what
it was.
That day, Atkins wanted to know whether Captain Len Guy had made
himself less disagreeable. I had to acknowledge that I had been no
more fortunate in my negotiations than my host himself, and the
avowal surprised him not a little. He could not understand the
captain's obstinate refusal. And--a fact which touched him more
nearly--the Green Cormorant had not been visited by either Len Guy
or his crew since the arrival of the _Halbrane_. The men were
evidently acting upon orders. So far as Hurliguerly was concerned,
it was easy to understand that after his imprudent advance he did
not care to keep up useless relations with me. I knew not whether he
had attempted to shake the resolution of his chief; but I was
certain of one thing; if he had made any such effort it had failed.
During the three following days, the 10th, 11th, and 12th of August,
the work of repairing and re-victualling the schooner went on
briskly; but all this was done with regularity, and without such
noise and quarrelling as seamen at anchor usually indulge in. The
_Halbrane_ was evidently well commanded, her crew well kept in hand,
discipline strictly maintained.
The schooner was to sail on the 15th of August, and on the eve of
that day I had no reason to think that Captain Len Guy had repented
him of his categorical refusal. Indeed, I had made up my mind to the
disappointment, and had no longer any angry feeling about it. When
Captain Len Guy and myself met on the quay, we took no notice of
each other; nevertheless, I fancied there was some hesitation in his
manner; as though he would have liked to speak to me. He did not do
so, however, and I was not disposed to seek a further explanation.
At seven o'clock in the evening of the 14th of August, the island
being already wrapped in darkness, I was walking on the port after I
had dined, walking briskly too, for it was cold, although dry
weather. The sky was studded with stars and the air was very keen. I
could not stay out long, and was returning to mine inn, when a man
crossed my path, paused, came back, and stopped in front of me. It
was the captain of the _Halbrane_.
"Mr. Jeorling," he began, "the _Halbrane_ sails to-morrow
morning, with the ebb tide."
"What is the good of telling me that," I replied, "since you
refuse--"
"Sir, I have thought over it, and if you have not changed your
mind, come on board at seven o'clock."
"Really, captain," I replied, "I did not expect this relenting
on your part."
"I repeat that I have thought over it, and I add that the _Halbrane_
shall proceed direct to Tristan d'Acunha. That will suit you, I
suppose?"
"To perfection, captain. To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, I
shall be on board."
"Your cabin is prepared."
"The cost of the voyage--"
"We can settle that another time," answered the captain, "and
to your satisfaction. Until to-morrow, then--"
"Until to-morrow."
I stretched out my arm, to shake hands with him upon our bargain.
Perhaps he did not perceive my movement in the darkness, at all
events he made no response to it, but walked rapidly away and got
into his boat.
I was greatly surprised, and so was Atkins, when I found him in the
eating-room of the Green Cormorant and told him what had occurred.
His comment upon it was characteristic.
"This queer captain," he said, "is as full of whims as a
spoilt child! It is to be hoped he will not change his mind again at
the last moment."
The next morning at daybreak I bade adieu to the Green Cormorant,
and went down to the port, with my kind-hearted host, who insisted
on accompanying me to the ship, partly in order to make his mind
easy respecting the sincerity of the captain's repentance, and
partly that he might take leave of him, and also of Hurliguerly. A
boat was waiting at the quay, and we reached the ship in a few
minutes.
The first person whom I met on the deck was Hurliguerly; he gave me
a look of triumph, which said as plainly as speech: "Ha! you see
now. Our hard-to-manage captain has given in at last. And to whom do
you owe this, but to the good boatswain who did his best for you,
and did not boast overmuch of his influence?"
Was this the truth? I had strong reasons for doubting it. After all,
what did it matter?
[Illustration: Going aboard the _Halbrane_.]
Captain Len Guy came on deck immediately after my arrival; this was
not surprising, except for the fact that he did not appear to remark
my presence.
Atkins then approached the captain and said in a pleasant tone,--
"We shall meet next year!"
"If it please God, Atkins."
They shook hands. Then the boatswain took a hearty leave of the
innkeeper, and was rowed back to the quay.
Before dark the white summits of Table Mount and Havergal, which
rise, the former to two, the other to three thousand feet above the
level of the sea, had disappeared from our view.
(1) Thomas D'Arcy McGee. (J.V.)