Dick Sand; or, a Captain at Fifteen by Jules Verne
[Redactor's Note: _Dick Sand; or, a Captain at Fifteen_, number V018 in
the T&M listing of the works of Jules Verne, is a translation of _Un
capitaine de quinze ans (1878)_. This translation was first published
by George Munro (N.Y.) in 1878 and reprinted many times in the U.S.
This is a different translation from that of Ellen E. Frewer who
translated the book for Sampson and Low in London entitled _Dick Sands,
the Boy Captain_. American translations were often free of the
religious and colonial bias inserted by the English translators of
Verne's works.]
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DICK SAND;
or,
A CAPTAIN AT FIFTEEN.
By JULES VERNE,
_Author of "Eight Hundred Leagues on the Amazon," "Twenty
Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," "The Mysterious
Island," "Tour of the World in Eighty Days,"
"Michael Strogoff," etc., etc._
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
52-58 Duane STREET, NEW YORK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
_PART I._
CHAPTER I. The Brig-Schooner "Pilgrim."
CHAPTER II. Dick Sand.
CHAPTER III. The Wreck.
CHAPTER IV. The Survivors of the "Waldeck."
CHAPTER V. "S. V."
CHAPTER VI. A Whale in Sight.
CHAPTER VII. Preparations.
CHAPTER VIII. The Jubarte.
CHAPTER IX. Captain Sand.
CHAPTER X. The Four Days which Follow.
CHAPTER XI. Tempest.
CHAPTER XII. On the Horizon.
CHAPTER XIII. Land! Land.
CHAPTER XIV. The Best to Do.
CHAPTER XV. Harris.
CHAPTER XVI. On the Way.
CHAPTER XVII. A Hundred Miles in Ten Days.
CHAPTER XVIII. The Terrible Word.
_PART II._
CHAPTER I. The Slave Trade.
CHAPTER II. Harris and Negoro.
CHAPTER III. On the March.
CHAPTER IV. The Bad Roads of Angola.
CHAPTER V. Ants and their Dwelling.
CHAPTER VI. The Diving-Bell.
CHAPTER VII. In Camp on the Banks of the Coanza.
CHAPTER VIII. Some of Dick Sand's Notes.
CHAPTER IX. Kazounde.
CHAPTER X. The Great Market-day.
CHAPTER XI. The King of Kazounde is Offered a Punch.
CHAPTER XII. A Royal Burial.
CHAPTER XIII. The Interior of a Factory.
CHAPTER XIV. Some News of Dr. Livingston.
CHAPTER XV. Where a Manticore may Lead.
CHAPTER XVI. A Magician.
CHAPTER XVII. Drifting.
CHAPTER XVIII. Various Incidents.
CHAPTER XIX. "S. V."
CHAPTER XX. Conclusion.
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DICK SAND
_PART I._
CHAPTER I.
THE BRIG-SCHOONER "PILGRIM."
On February 2, 1876, the schooner "Pilgrim" was in latitude 43° 57'
south, and in longitude 165° 19' west of the meridian of Greenwich.
This vessel, of four hundred tons, fitted out at San Francisco for
whale-fishing in the southern seas, belonged to James W. Weldon, a rich
Californian ship-owner, who had for several years intrusted the command
of it to Captain Hull.
The "Pilgrim" was one of the smallest, but one of the best of that
flotilla, which James W. Weldon sent each season, not only beyond
Behring Strait, as far as the northern seas, but also in the quarters
of Tasmania or of Cape Horn, as far as the Antarctic Ocean. She sailed
in a superior manner. Her very easily managed rigging permitted her to
venture, with a few men, in sight of the impenetrable fields of ice of
the southern hemisphere. Captain Hull knew how to disentangle himself,
as the sailors say, from among those icebergs, which, during the
summer, drift by the way of New Zealand or the Cape of Good Hope, under
a much lower latitude than that which they reach in the northern seas
of the globe. It is true that only icebergs of small dimensions were
found there; they were already worn by collisions, eaten away by the
warm waters, and the greater number of them were going to melt in the
Pacific or the Atlantic.
Under the command of Captain Hull, a good seaman, and also one of the
most skilful harpooners of the flotilla, was a crew composed of five
sailors and a novice. It was a small number for this whale-fishing,
which requires a good many persons. Men are necessary as well for the
management of the boats for the attack, as for the cutting up of the
captured animals. But, following the example of certain ship-owners,
James W. Weldon found it much more economical to embark at San
Francisco only the number of sailors necessary for the management of
the vessel. New Zealand did not lack harpooners, sailors of all
nationalities, deserters or others, who sought to be hired for the
season, and who followed skilfully the trade of fishermen. The busy
period once over, they were paid, they were put on shore, and they
waited till the whalers of the following year should come to claim
their services again. There was obtained by this method better work
from the disposable sailors, and a much larger profit derived by their
co-operation.
They had worked in this way on board the "Pilgrim."
The schooner had just finished her season on the limit of the Antarctic
Circle. But she had not her full number of barrels of oil, of coarse
whalebones nor of fine. Even at that period, fishing was becoming
difficult. The whales, pursued to excess, were becoming rare. The
"right" whale, which bears the name of "North Caper," in the Northern
Ocean, and that of "Sulphur Bottom," in the South Sea, was likely to
disappear. The whalers had been obliged to fall back on the finback or
jubarte, a gigantic mammifer, whose attacks are not without danger.
This is what Captain Hull had done during this cruise; but on his next
voyage he calculated on reaching a higher latitude, and, if necessary,
going in sight of Clarie and Adelie Lands, whose discovery, contested
by the American Wilkes, certainly belongs to the illustrious commander
of the "Astrolabe" and the Zelee, to the Frenchman, Dumont d'Urville.
In fact, the season had not been favorable for the "Pilgrim." In the
beginning of January, that is to say, toward the middle of the Southern
summer, and even when the time for the whalers to return had not yet
arrived Captain Hull had been obliged to abandon the fishing places.
His additional crew--a collection of pretty sad subjects--gave him an
excuse, as they say, and he determined to separate from them.
The "Pilgrim" then steered to the northwest, for New Zealand, which she
sighted on the 15th of January. She arrived at Waitemata, port of
Auckland, situated at the lowest end of the Gulf of Chouraki, on the
east coast of the northern island, and landed the fishermen who had
been engaged for the season.
The crew was not satisfied. The cargo of the "Pilgrim" was at least two
hundred barrels of oil short. There had never been worse fishing.
Captain Hull felt the disappointment of a hunter who, for the first
time, returns as he went away--or nearly so. His self-love, greatly
excited, was at stake, and he did not pardon those scoundrels whose
insubordination had compromised the results of his cruise.
It was in vain that he endeavored to recruit a new fishing crew at
Auckland. All the disposable seamen were embarked on the other whaling
vessels. He was thus obliged to give up the hope of completing the
"Pilgrim's" cargo, and Captain Hull was preparing to leave Auckland
definitely, when a request for a passage was made which he could not
refuse.
Mrs. Weldon, wife of the "Pilgrim's" owner, was then at Auckland with
her young son Jack, aged about five years, and one of her relatives,
her Cousin Benedict. James W. Weldon, whom his business operations
sometimes obliged to visit New Zealand, had brought the three there,
and intended to bring them back to San Francisco.
But, just as the whole family was going to depart, little Jack became
seriously ill, and his father, imperatively recalled by his business,
was obliged to leave Auckland, leaving his wife, his son, and Cousin
Benedict there.
Three months had passed away--three long months of separation, which
were extremely painful to Mrs. Weldon. Meanwhile her young child was
restored to health, and she was at liberty to depart, when she was
informed of the arrival of the "Pilgrim."
Now, at that period, in order to return to San Francisco, Mrs. Weldon
found herself under the necessity of going to Australia by one of the
vessels of the Golden Age Trans-oceanic Company, which ply between
Melbourne and the Isthmus of Panama by Papeiti. Then, once arrived at
Panama, it would be necessary for her to await the departure of the
American steamer, which establishes a regular communication between the
Isthmus and California. Thence, delays, trans-shipments, always
disagreeable for a woman and a child. It was just at this time that the
"Pilgrim" came into port at Auckland. Mrs. Weldon did not hesitate, but
asked Captain Hull to take her on board to bring her back to San
Francisco--she, her son, Cousin Benedict, and Nan, an old negress who
had served her since her infancy. Three thousand marine leagues to
travel on a sailing vessel! But Captain Hull's ship was so well
managed, and the season still so fine on both sides of the Equator!
Captain Hull consented, and immediately put his own cabin at the
disposal of his passenger. He wished that, during a voyage which might
last forty or fifty days, Mrs. Weldon should be installed as well as
possible on board the whaler.
There were then certain advantages for Mrs. Weldon in making the voyage
under these conditions. The only disadvantage was that this voyage
would be necessarily prolonged in consequence of this circumstance--the
"Pilgrim" would go to Valparaiso, in Chili, to effect her unloading.
That done, there would be nothing but to ascend the American coast,
with land breezes, which make these parts very agreeable.
Besides, Mrs. Weldon was a courageous woman, whom the sea did not
frighten. Then thirty years of age, she was of robust health, being
accustomed to long voyages, for, having shared with her husband the
fatigues of several passages, she did not fear the chances more or less
contingent, of shipping on board a ship of moderate tonnage. She knew
Captain Hull to be an excellent seaman, in whom James W. Weldon had
every confidence. The "Pilgrim" was a strong vessel, capital sailer,
well quoted in the flotilla of American whalers. The opportunity
presented itself. It was necessary to profit by it. Mrs. Weldon did
profit by it.
Cousin Benedict--it need not be said--would accompany her.
This cousin was a worthy man, about fifty years of age. But,
notwithstanding his fifty years, it would not have been prudent to let
him go out alone. Long, rather than tall, narrow, rather than thin, his
figure bony, his skull enormous and very hairy, one recognized in his
whole interminable person one of those worthy savants, with gold
spectacles, good and inoffensive beings, destined to remain great
children all their lives, and to finish very old, like centenaries who
would die at nurse.
"Cousin Benedict"--he was called so invariably, even outside of the
family, and, in truth, he was indeed one of those good men who seem to
be the born cousins of all the world--Cousin Benedict, always impeded
by his long arms and his long limbs, would be absolutely incapable of
attending to matters alone, even in the most ordinary circumstances of
life. He was not troublesome, oh! no, but rather embarrassing for
others, and embarrassed for himself. Easily satisfied, besides being
very accommodating, forgetting to eat or drink, if some one did not
bring him something to eat or drink, insensible to the cold as to the
heat, he seemed to belong less to the animal kingdom than to the
vegetable kingdom. One must conceive a very useless tree, without fruit
and almost without leaves, incapable of giving nourishment or shelter,
but with a good heart.
Such was Cousin Benedict. He would very willingly render service to
people if, as Mr. Prudhomme would say, he were capable of rendering it.
Finally, his friends loved him for his very feebleness. Mrs. Weldon
regarded him as her child--a large elder brother of her little Jack.
It is proper to add here that Cousin Benedict was, meanwhile, neither
idle nor unoccupied. On the contrary, he was a worker. His only
passion--natural history--absorbed him entirely.
To say "Natural History" is to say a great deal.
We know that the different parts of which this science is composed are
zoology, botany, mineralogy, and geology.
Now Cousin Benedict was, in no sense, a botanist, nor a mineralogist,
nor a geologist.
Was he, then, a zoologist in the entire acceptation of the word, a kind
of Cuvier of the New World, decomposing an animal by analysis, or
putting it together again by synthesis, one of those profound
connoisseurs, versed in the study of the four types to which modern
science refers all animal existence, vertebrates, mollusks,
articulates, and radiates? Of these four divisions, had the artless but
studious savant observed the different classes, and sought the orders,
the families, the tribes, the genera, the species, and the varieties
which distinguish them?
No.
Had Cousin Benedict devoted himself to the study of the vertebrates,
mammals, birds, reptiles, and fishes?
No.
Was it to the mollusks, from the cephalopodes to the bryozoans, that he
had given his preference, and had malacology no more secrets for him?
Not at all.
Then it was on the radiates, echinoderms, acalephes, polypes,
entozoons, sponges, and infusoria, that he had for such a long time
burned the midnight oil?
It must, indeed, be confessed that it was not on the radiates.
Now, in zoology there only remains to be mentioned the division of the
articulates, so it must be that it was on this division that Cousin
Benedict's only passion was expended.
Yes, and still it is necessary to select.
This branch of the articulates counts six classes: insects, myriapodes,
arachnides, crustaceans, cirrhopodes, and annelides.
Now, Cousin Benedict, scientifically speaking, would not know how to
distinguish an earth-worm from a medicinal leech, a sand-fly from a
glans-marinus, a common spider from a false scorpion, a shrimp from a
frog, a gally-worm from a scolopendra.
But, then, what was Cousin Benedict? Simply an entomologist--nothing
more.
To that, doubtless, it may be said that in its etymological
acceptation, entomology is that part of the natural sciences which
includes all the articulates. That is true, in a general way; but it is
the custom to give this word a more restricted sense. It is then only
applied, properly speaking, to the study of insects, that is to say:
"All the articulate animals of which the body, composed of rings placed
end to end, forms three distinct segments, and which possesses three
pairs of legs, which have given them the name of hexapodes."
Now, as Cousin Benedict had confined himself to the study of the
articulates of this class, he was only an entomologist.
But, let us not be mistaken about it. In this class of the insects are
counted not less than ten orders:
1. Orthopterans as grasshoppers, crickets, etc.
2. Neuropters as ant-eaters, dragon-flies or libellula.
3. Hymenopters as bees, wasps, ants.
4. Lepidopters as butterflies, etc.
5. Hemipters as cicada, plant-lice, fleas, etc.
6. Coleopters as cockchafers, fire-flies, etc.
7. Dipters as gnats, musquitoes, flies.
8. Rhipipters as stylops.
9. Parasites as acara, etc.
10. Thysanurans as lepidotus, flying-lice, etc.
Now, in certain of these orders, the coleopters, for example, there are
recognized thirty thousand species, and sixty thousand in the dipters;
so subjects for study are not wanting, and it will be conceded that
there is sufficient in this class alone to occupy a man!
Thus, Cousin Benedict's life was entirely and solely consecrated to
entomology.
To this science he gave all his hours--all, without exception, even the
hours of sleep, because he invariably dreamt "hexapodes." That he
carried pins stuck in his sleeves and in the collar of his coat, in the
bottom of his hat, and in the facings of his vest, need not be
mentioned.
When Cousin Benedict returned from some scientific promenade his
precious head-covering in particular was no more than a box of natural
history, being bristling inside and outside with pierced insects.
And now all will be told about this original when it is stated, that it
was on account of his passion for entomology that he had accompanied
Mr. and Mrs. Weldon to New Zealand. There his collection was enriched
by some rare subjects, and it will be readily understood that he was in
haste to return to classify them in the cases of his cabinet in San
Francisco.
So, as Mrs. Weldon and her child were returning to America by the
"Pilgrim," nothing more natural than for Cousin Benedict to accompany
them during that passage.
But it was not on him that Mrs. Weldon could rely, if she should ever
find herself in any critical situation. Very fortunately, the prospect
was only that of a voyage easily made during the fine season, and on
board of a ship whose captain merited all her confidence.
During the three days that the "Pilgrim" was in port at Waitemata, Mrs.
Weldon made her preparations in great haste, for she did not wish to
delay the departure of the schooner. The native servants whom she
employed in her dwelling in Auckland were dismissed, and, on the 22d
January, she embarked on board the "Pilgrim," bringing only her son
Jack, Cousin Benedict, and Nan, her old negress.
Cousin Benedict carried all his curious collection of insects in a
special box. In this collection figured, among others, some specimens
of those new staphylins, species of carnivorous coleopters, whose eyes
are placed above the head, and which, till then, seemed to be peculiar
to New Caledonia. A certain venomous spider, the "katipo," of the
Maoris, whose bite is often fatal to the natives, had been very highly
recommended to him. But a spider does not belong to the order of
insects properly so called; it is placed in that of the arachnida, and,
consequently, was valueless in Cousin Benedict's eyes. Thus he scorned
it, and the most beautiful jewel of his collection was a remarkable
staphylin from New Zealand.
It is needless to say that Cousin Benedict, by paying a heavy premium,
had insured his cargo, which to him seemed much more precious than all
the freight of oil and bones stowed away in the hold of the "Pilgrim."
Just as the "Pilgrim" was getting under sail, when Mrs. Weldon and her
companion for the voyage found themselves on the deck of the schooner,
Captain Hull approached his passenger:
"It is understood, Mrs. Weldon," he said to her, "that, if you take
passage on board the 'Pilgrim,' it is on your own responsibility."
"Why do you make that observation to me, Mr. Hull?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"Because I have not received an order from your husband in regard to
it, and, all things considered, a schooner cannot offer you the
guarantees of a good passage, like a packet-boat, specially intended to
carry travelers."
"If my husband were here," replied Mrs. Weldon, "do you think, Mr.
Hull, that he would hesitate to embark on the 'Pilgrim,' in company
with his wife and child?"
"No, Mrs. Weldon, he would not hesitate," said Captain Hull; "no,
indeed! no more than I should hesitate myself! The 'Pilgrim' is a good
ship after all, even though she has made but a sad cruise, and I am
sure of her, as much so as a seaman can be of the ship which he has
commanded for several years. The reason I speak, Mrs. Weldon, is to get
rid of personal responsibility, and to repeat that you will not find on
board the comfort to which you have been accustomed."
"As it is only a question of comfort, Mr. Hull," replied Mrs. Weldon,
"that should not stop me. I am not one of those troublesome passengers
who complain incessantly of the narrowness of the cabins, and the
insufficiency of the table."
Then, after looking for a few moments at her little Jack, whom she held
by the hand, Mrs. Weldon said:
"Let us go, Mr. Hull!"
The orders were given to get under way at once, the sails were set, and
the "Pilgrim," working to get out to sea in the shortest time possible,
steered for the American coast.
But, three days after her departure, the schooner, thwarted by strong
breezes from the east, was obliged to tack to larboard to make headway
against the wind. So, at the date of February 2d, Captain Hull still
found himself in a higher latitude than he would have wished, and in
the situation of a sailor who wanted to double Cape Horn rather than
reach the New Continent by the shortest course.
CHAPTER II.
DICK SAND.
Meanwhile the sea was favorable, and, except the delays, navigation
would be accomplished under very supportable conditions.
Mrs. Weldon had been installed on board the "Pilgrim" as comfortably as
possible.
Neither poop nor "roufle" was at the end of the deck. There was no
stern cabin, then, to receive the passengers. She was obliged to be
contented with Captain Hull's cabin, situated aft, which constituted
his modest sea lodging. And still it had been necessary for the captain
to insist, in order to make her accept it. There, in that narrow
lodging, was installed Mrs. Weldon, with her child and old Nan. She
took her meals there, in company with the captain and Cousin Benedict,
for whom they had fitted up a kind of cabin on board.
As to the commander of the "Pilgrim," he had settled himself in a cabin
belonging to the ship's crew--a cabin which would be occupied by the
second officer, if there were a second one on board. But the
brig-schooner was navigated, we know, under conditions which enabled
her to dispense with the services of a second officer.
The men of the "Pilgrim," good and strong seamen, were very much united
by common ideas and habits. This fishing season was the fourth which
they had passed together. All Americans of the West, they were
acquainted for a long period, and belonged to the same coast of the
State of California.
These brave men showed themselves very thoughtful towards Mrs. Weldon,
the wife of the owner of their ship, for whom they professed boundless
devotion. It must be said that, largely interested in the profits of
the ship, they had navigated till then with great gain. If, by reason
of their small number, they did not spare themselves, it was because
every labor increased their earnings in the settling of accounts at the
end of each season. This time, it is true, the profit would be almost
nothing, and that gave them just cause to curse and swear against those
New Zealand scoundrels.
One man on board, alone among all, was not of American origin.
Portuguese by birth, but speaking English fluently, he was called
Negoro, and filled the humble position of cook on the schooner.
The "Pilgrim's" cook having deserted at Auckland, this Negoro, then out
of employment, offered himself for the place. He was a taciturn man,
not at all communicative, who kept to himself, but did his work
satisfactorily. In engaging him, Captain Hull seemed to be rather
fortunate, and since embarking, the master cook had merited no reproach.
Meanwhile, Captain Hull regretted not having had the time to inform
himself sufficiently about Negoro's antecedents. His face, or rather
his look, was only half in his favor, and when it is necessary to bring
an unknown into the life on board, so confined, so intimate, his
antecedents should be carefully inquired into.
Negoro might be forty years old. Thin, nervous, of medium height, with
very brown hair, skin somewhat swarthy, he ought to be strong. Had he
received any instruction? Yes; that appeared in certain observations
which escaped him sometimes. Besides, he never spoke of his past life,
he said not a word about his family. Whence he came, where he had
lived, no one could tell. What would his future be? No one knew any
more about that. He only announced his intention of going on shore at
Valparaiso. He was certainly a singular man. At all events, he did not
seem to be a sailor. He seemed to be even more strange to marine things
than is usual with a master cook, part of whose existence is passed at
sea.
Meanwhile, as to being incommoded by the rolling and pitching of the
ship, like men who have never navigated, he was not in the least, and
that is something for a cook on board a vessel.
Finally, he was little seen. During the day, he most generally remained
confined in his narrow kitchen, before the stove for melting, which
occupied the greater part of it. When night came and the fire in the
stove was out, Negoro went to the cabin which was assigned to him at
the end of the crew's quarters. Then he went to bed at once and went to
sleep.
It has been already said that the "Pilgrim's" crew was composed of five
sailors and a novice.
This young novice, aged fifteen, was the child of an unknown father and
mother. This poor being, abandoned from his birth, had been received
and brought up by public charity.
Dick Sand--that was his name--must have been originally from the State
of New York, and doubtless from the capital of that State.
If the name of Dick--an abbreviation of Richard--had been given to the
little orphan, it was because it was the name of the charitable
passer-by who had picked him up two or three hours after his birth. As
to the name of Sand, it was attributed to him in remembrance of the
place where he had been found; that is to say, on that point of land
called Sandy-Hook, which forms the entrance of the port of New York, at
the mouth of the Hudson.
Dick Sand, when he should reach his full growth, would not exceed
middle height, but he was well built. One could not doubt that he was
of Anglo-Saxon origin. He was brown, however, with blue eyes, in which
the crystalline sparkled with ardent fire. His seaman's craft had
already prepared him well for the conflicts of life. His intelligent
physiognomy breathed forth energy. It was not that of an audacious
person, it was that of a darer. These three words from an unfinished
verse of Virgil are often cited:
"Audaces fortuna juvat"....
but they are quoted incorrectly. The poet said:
"Audentes fortuna juvat"....
It is on the darers, not on the audacious, that Fortune almost always
smiled. The audacious may be unguarded. The darer thinks first, acts
afterwards. There is the difference!
Dick Sand was _audens_.
At fifteen he already knew how to take a part, and to carry out to the
end whatever his resolute spirit had decided upon. His manner, at once
spirited and serious, attracted attention. He did not squander himself
in words and gestures, as boys of his age generally do. Early, at a
period of life when they seldom discuss the problems of existence, he
had looked his miserable condition in the face, and he had promised "to
make" himself.
And he had made himself--being already almost a man at an age when
others are still only children.
At the same time, very nimble, very skilful in all physical exercises,
Dick Sand was one of those privileged beings, of whom it may be said
that they were born with two left feet and two right hands. In that
way, they do everything with the right hand, and always set out with
the left foot.
Public charity, it has been said, had brought up the little orphan. He
had been put first in one of those houses for children, where there is
always, in America, a place for the little waifs. Then at four, Dick
learned to read, write and count in one of those State of New York
schools, which charitable subscriptions maintain so generously.
At eight, the taste for the sea, which Dick had from birth, caused him
to embark as cabin-boy on a packet ship of the South Sea. There he
learned the seaman's trade, and as one ought to learn it, from the
earliest age. Little by little he instructed himself under the
direction of officers who were interested in this little old man. So
the cabin-boy soon became the novice, expecting something better, of
course. The child who understands, from the beginning, that work is the
law of life, the one who knows, from an early age, that he will gain
his bread only by the sweat of his brow--a Bible precept which is the
rule of humanity--that one is probably intended for great things; for
some day he will have, with the will, the strength to accomplish them.
It was, when he was a cabin-boy on board a merchant vessel, that Dick
Sand was remarked by Captain Hull. This honest seaman immediately
formed a friendship with this honest young boy, and later he made him
known to the ship-owner, James W. Weldon. The latter felt a lively
interest in this orphan, whose education he completed at San Francisco,
and he had him brought up in the Catholic religion, to which his family
adhered.
During the course of his studies, Dick Sand showed a particular liking
for geography, for voyages, while waiting till he was old enough to
learn that branch of mathematics which relates to navigation. Then to
this theoretical portion of his instruction, he did not neglect to join
the practical. It was as novice that he was able to embark for the
first time on the "Pilgrim." A good seaman ought to understand fishing
as well as navigation. It is a good preparation for all the
contingencies which the maritime career admits of. Besides, Dick Sand
set out on a vessel of James W. Weldon's, his benefactor, commanded by
his protector, Captain Hull. Thus he found himself in the most
favorable circumstances.
To speak of the extent of his devotion to the Weldon family, to whom he
owed everything, would be superfluous. Better let the facts speak for
themselves. But it will be understood how happy the young novice was
when he learned that Mrs. Weldon was going to take passage on board the
"Pilgrim." Mrs. Weldon for several years had been a mother to him, and
in Jack he saw a little brother, all the time keeping in remembrance
his position in respect to the son of the rich ship-owner. But--his
protectors knew it well--this good seed which they had sown had fallen
on good soil. The orphan's heart was filled with gratitude, and some
day, if it should be necessary to give his life for those who had
taught him to instruct himself and to love God, the young novice would
not hesitate to give it. Finally, to be only fifteen, but to act and
think as if he were thirty, that was Dick Sand.
Mrs. Weldon knew what her _protégé_ was worth. She could trust little
Jack with him without any anxiety. Dick Sand cherished this child, who,
feeling himself loved by this "large brother," sought his company.
During those long leisure hours, which are frequent in a voyage, when
the sea is smooth, when the well set up sails require no management,
Dick and Jack were almost always together. The young novice showed the
little boy everything in his craft which seemed amusing.
Without fear Mrs. Weldon saw Jack, in company with Dick Sand, spring
out on the shrouds, climb to the top of the mizzen-mast, or to the
booms of the mizzen-topmast, and come down again like an arrow the
whole length of the backstays. Dick Sand went before or followed him,
always ready to hold him up or keep him back, if his six-year-old arms
grew feeble during those exercises. All that benefited little Jack,
whom sickness had made somewhat pale; but his color soon came back on
board the "Pilgrim," thanks to this gymnastic, and to the bracing
sea-breezes.
So passed the time. Under these conditions the passage was being
accomplished, and only the weather was not very favorable, neither the
passengers nor the crew of the "Pilgrim" would have had cause to
complain.
Meanwhile this continuance of east winds made Captain Hull anxious. He
did not succeed in getting the vessel into the right course. Later,
near the Tropic of Capricorn, he feared finding calms which would delay
him again, without speaking of the equatorial current, which would
irresistibly throw him back to the west. He was troubled then, above
all, for Mrs. Weldon, by the delays for which, meanwhile, he was not
responsible. So, if he should meet, on his course, some transatlantic
steamer on the way toward America, he already thought of advising his
passenger to embark on it. Unfortunately, he was detained in latitudes
too high to cross a steamer running to Panama; and, besides, at that
period communication across the Pacific, between Australia and the New
World, was not as frequent as it has since become.
It then was necessary to leave everything to the grace of God, and it
seemed as if nothing would trouble this monotonous passage, when the
first incident occurred precisely on that day, February 2d, in the
latitude and longitude indicated at the beginning of this history.
Dick Sand and Jack, toward nine o'clock in the morning, in very clear
weather, were installed on the booms of the mizzen-topmast. Thence they
looked down on the whole ship and a portion of the ocean in a largo
circumference. Behind, the perimeter of the horizon was broken to their
eyes, only by the mainmast, carrying brigantine and fore-staff. That
beacon hid from them a part of the sea and the sky. In the front, they
saw the bowsprit stretching over the waves, with its three jibs, which
were hauled tightly, spread out like three great unequal wings.
Underneath rounded the foremast, and above, the little top-sail and
the little gallant-sail, whose bolt-rope quivered with the pranks of
the breeze. The schooner was then running on the larboard tack, and
hugging the wind as much as possible.
Dick Sand explained to Jack how the "Pilgrim," ballasted properly, well
balanced in all her parts, could not capsize, even if she gave a pretty
strong heel to starboard, when the little boy interrupted him.
"What do I see there?" said he.
"You see something, Jack?" demanded Dick Sand, who stood up straight on
the booms.
"Yes--there!" replied little Jack, showing a point of the sea, left
open by the interval between the stays of the standing-jib and the
flying-jib.
Dick Sand looked at the point indicated attentively, and forthwith,
with a loud voice, he cried;
"A wreck to windward, over against starboard!"
* * * * *
CHAPTER III.
THE WRECK.
Dick Sand's cry brought all the crew to their feet. The men who were
not on watch came on deck. Captain Hull, leaving his cabin, went toward
the bow.
Mrs. Weldon, Nan, even the indifferent Cousin Benedict himself, came to
lean over the starboard rail, so as to see the wreck signaled by the
young novice.
Negoro, alone, did not leave the cabin, which served him for a kitchen;
and as usual, of all the crew, he was the only one whom the encounter
with a wreck did not appear to interest.
Then all regarded attentively the floating object which the waves were
rocking, three miles from the "Pilgrim."
"Ah! what can that be?" said a sailor.
"Some abandoned raft," replied another.
"Perhaps there are some unhappy shipwrecked ones on that raft," said
Mrs. Weldon.
"We shall find out," replied Captain Hull. "But that wreck is not a
raft. It is a hull thrown over on the side."
"Ah! is it not more likely to be some marine animal--some mammifer of
great size?" observed Cousin Benedict.
"I do not think so," replied the novice.
"Then what is your idea, Dick?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"An overturned hull, as the captain has said, Mrs. Weldon. It even
seems to me that I see its copper keel glistening in the sun."
"Yes--indeed," replied Captain Hull. Then addressing the helmsman:
"Steer to the windward, Bolton. Let her go a quarter, so as to come
alongside the wreck."
"Yes, sir," replied the helmsman.
"But," continued Cousin Benedict, "I keep to what I have said.
Positively it is an animal."
"Then this would be a whale in copper," replied Captain Hull, "for,
positively, also, I see it shine in the sun!"
"At all events, Cousin Benedict," added Mrs. Weldon, "you will agree
with us that this whale must be dead, for it is certain that it does
not make the least movement."
"Ah! Cousin Weldon," replied Cousin Benedict, who was obstinate, "this
would not be the first time that one has met a whale sleeping on the
surface of the waves."
"That is a fact," replied Captain Hull; "but to-day, the thing is not a
whale, but a ship."
"We shall soon see," replied Cousin Benedict, who, after all, would
give all the mammifers of the Arctic or Antarctic seas for an insect of
a rare species.
"Steer, Bolton, steer!" cried Captain Hull again, "and do not board the
wreck. Keep a cable's length. If we cannot do much harm to this hull,
it might cause us some damage, and I do not care to hurt the sides of
the 'Pilgrim' with it. Tack a little, Bolton, tack!"
The "Pilgrim's" prow, which had been directed toward the wreck, was
turned aside by a slight movement of the helm.
The schooner was still a mile from the capsized hull. The sailors were
eagerly looking at it. Perhaps it held a valuable cargo, which it would
be possible to transfer to the "Pilgrim." We know that, in these
salvages, the third of the value belongs to the rescuers, and, in this
case, if the cargo was not damaged, the crew, as they say, would make
"a good haul." This would be a fish of consolation for their incomplete
fishing.
A quarter of an hour later the wreck was less than a mile from the
"Pilgrim."
It was indeed a ship, which presented itself on its side, to the
starboard. Capsized as far as the nettings, she heeled so much that it
would be almost impossible to stand upon her deck. Nothing could be
seen beyond her masts. From the port-shrouds were banging only some
ends of broken rope, and the chains broken by the cloaks of
white-crested waves. On the starboard side opened a large hole between
the timbers of the frame-work and the damaged planks.
"This ship has been run into," cried Dick Sand.
"There is no doubt of that," replied Captain Hull; "and it is a miracle
that she did not sink immediately."
"If there has been a collision," observed Mrs. Weldon, "we must hope
that the crew of this ship has been picked up by those who struck her."
"It is to be hoped so, Mrs. Weldon," replied Captain, Hull, "unless
this crew sought refuge in their own boats after the collision, in case
the colliding vessel should sail right on--which, alas! sometimes
happens."
"Is it possible? That would be a proof of very great inhumanity, Mr.
Hull."
"Yes, Mrs. Weldon. Yes! and instances are not wanting. As to the crew
of this ship, what makes me believe that it is more likely they have
left it, is that I do not see a single boat; and, unless the men on
board have been picked up, I should be more inclined to think that they
have tried to roach the land. But, at this distance from the American
continent, or from the islands of Oceanica, it is to be feared that
they have not succeeded."
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Weldon, "we shall never know the secret of this
catastrophe. Meanwhile, it might be possible that some man of the crew
is still on board."
"That is not probable, Mrs. Weldon," replied Captain Hull. "Our
approach would be already known, and they would make some signals to
us. But we shall make sure of it.--Luff a little, Bolton, luff," cried
Captain Hull, while indicating with his hand what course to take.
The "Pilgrim" was now only three cables' length from the wreck, and
they could no longer doubt that this hull had been completely abandoned
by all its crew.
But, at that moment, Dick Sand made a gesture which imperiously
demanded silence.
"Listen, listen!" said he.
Each listened.
"I hear something like a bark!" cried Dick Sand. In fact, a distant
barking resounded from the interior of the hull. Certainly there was a
living dog there, imprisoned perhaps, for it was possible that the
hatches were hermetically closed. But they could not see it, the deck
of the capsized vessel being still invisible.
"If there be only a dog there, Mr. Hull," said Mrs. "Weldon," we shall
save it."
"Yes, yes!" cried little Jack, "we shall save it. I shall give it
something to eat! It will love us well! Mama, I am going to bring it a
piece of sugar!"
"Stay still, my child," replied Mrs. Weldon smiling. "I believe that
the poor animal is dying of hunger, and it will prefer a good mess to
your morsel of sugar."
"Well, then, let it have my soup," cried little Jack. "I can do without
it very well."
At that moment the barking was more distinctly heard. Three hundred
feet, at the most, separated the two ships. Almost immediately a dog of
great height appeared on the starboard netting, and clung there,
barking more despairingly than ever.
"Howik," said Captain Hull, turning toward the master of the
"Pilgrim's" crew, "heave to, and lower the small boat."
"Hold on, my dog, hold on!" cried little Jack to the animal, which
seemed to answer him with a half-stifled bark.
The "Pilgrim's" sails were rapidly furled, so that the ship should
remain almost motionless, less than half a cable's length from the
wreck.
The boat was brought alongside. Captain Hull, Dick Sand and two sailors
got into it at once.
The dog barked all the time. It tried to hold on to the netting, but
every moment it fell back on the deck. One would say that its barks
were no longer addressed to those who were coming to him. Were they
then addressed to some sailors or passengers imprisoned in this ship?
"Is there, then, on board some shipwrecked one who has survived?" Mrs.
Weldon asked herself.
A few strokes of the oars and the "Pilgrim's" boat would reach the
capsized hull.
But, suddenly, the dog's manner changed. Furious barks succeeded its
first barks inviting the rescuers to come. The most violent anger
excited the singular animal.
"What can be the matter with that dog?" said Captain Hull, while the
boat was turning the stern of the vessel, so as to come alongside of
the part of the deck lying under the water.
What Captain Hull could not then observe, what could not be noticed
even on board the "Pilgrim," was that the dog's fury manifested itself
just at the moment when Negoro, leaving his kitchen, had just come
toward the forecastle.
Did the dog then know and recognize the master cook? It was very
improbable.
However that may be, after looking at the dog, without showing any
surprise, Negoro, who, however, frowned for an instant, returned to the
crew's quarters.
Meanwhile the boat had rounded the stern of the ship. Her aftboard
carried this single name: "Waldeck."
"Waldeck," and no designation of the port attached. But, by the form of
the hull, by certain details which a sailor seizes at the first glance,
Captain Hull had, indeed, discovered that this ship was of American
construction. Besides, her name confirmed it. And now, this hull, it
was all that remained of a large brig of five hundred tons.
At the "Waldeck's" prow a large opening indicated the place where the
collision had occurred. In consequence of the capsizing of the hull,
this opening was then five or six feet above the water--which explained
why the brig had not yet foundered.
On the deck, which Captain Hull saw in its whole extent, there was
nobody.
The dog, having left the netting, had just let itself slip as far as
the central hatch, which was open; and it barked partly toward the
interior, partly toward the exterior.
"It is very certain that this animal is not alone on board!" observed
Dick Sand.
"No, in truth!" replied Captain Hull.
The boat then skirted the larboard netting, which was half under water.
A somewhat strong swell of the sea would certainly submerge the
"Waldeck" in a few moments.
The brig's deck had been swept from one end to the other. There was
nothing left except the stumps of the mainmast and of the mizzen-mast,
both broken off two feet above the scuttles, and which had fallen in
the collision, carrying away shrouds, back-stays, and rigging.
Meanwhile, as far as the eye could see, no wreck was visible around the
"Waldeck"--which seemed to indicate that the catastrophe was already
several days old.
"If some unhappy creatures have survived the collision," said Captain
Hull, "it is probable that either hunger or thirst has finished them,
for the water must have gained the store-room. There are only dead
bodies on board!"
"No," cried Dick Sand, "no! The dog would not bark that way. There are
living beings on board!"
At that moment the animal, responding to the call of the novice, slid
to the sea, and swam painfully toward the boat, for it seemed to be
exhausted.
They took it in, and it rushed eagerly, not for a piece of bread that
Dick Sand offered it first, but to a half-tub which contained a little
fresh water.
"This poor animal is dying of thirst!" cried Dick Sand.
The boat then sought a favorable place to board the "Waldeck" more
easily, and for that purpose it drew away a few strokes. The dog
evidently thought that its rescuers did not wish to go on board, for he
seized Dick Sand by his jacket, and his lamentable barks commenced
again with new strength.
They understood it. Its pantomime and its language were as clear as a
man's language could be. The boat was brought immediately as far as the
larboard cat-head. There the two sailors moored it firmly, while
Captain Hull and Dick Sand, setting foot on the deck at the same time
as the dog, raised themselves, not without difficulty, to the hatch
which opened between the stumps of the two masts.
By this hatch the two made their way into the hold.
The "Waldeck's" hold, half full of water, contained no goods. The brig
sailed with ballast--a ballast of sand which had slid to larboard and
which helped to keep the ship on her side. On that head, then, there
was no salvage to effect.
"Nobody here," said Captain Hull.
"Nobody," replied the novice, after having gone to the foremost part of
the hold.
But the dog, which was on the deck, kept on barking and seemed to call
the captain's attention more imperatively.
"Let us go up again," said Captain Hull to the novice.
Both appeared again on the deck.
The dog, running to them, sought to draw them to the poop.
They followed it.
There, in the square, five bodies--undoubtedly five corpses--were lying
on the floor.
By the daylight which entered in waves by the opening, Captain Hull
discovered the bodies of five negroes.
Dick Sand, going from one to the other, thought he felt that the
unfortunates were still breathing.
"On board! on board!" cried Captain Hull.
The two sailors who took care of the boat were called, and helped to
carry the shipwrecked men out of the poop.
This was not without difficulty, but two minutes after, the five blacks
were laid in the boat, without being at all conscious that any one was
trying to save them. A few drops of cordial, then a little fresh water
prudently administered, might, perhaps, recall them to life.
The "Pilgrim" remained a half cable's length from the wreck, and the
boat would soon reach her.
A girt-line was let down from the main-yard, and each of the blacks
drawn up separately reposed at last on the "Pilgrim's" deck.
The dog had accompanied them.
"The unhappy creatures!" cried Mrs. Weldon, on perceiving those poor
men, who were only inert bodies.
"They are alive, Mrs. Weldon. We shall save them. Yes, we shall save
them," cried Dick Sand.
"What has happened to them?" demanded Cousin Benedict.
"Wait till they can speak," replied Captain Hull, "and they will tell
us their history. But first of all, let us make them drink a little
water, in which we shall mix a few drops of rum." Then, turning round:
"Negoro!" he called.
At that name the dog stood up as if it knew the sound, its hair
bristling, its mouth open.
Meanwhile, the cook did not appear.
"Negoro!" repeated Captain Hull.
The dog again gave signs of extreme fury.
Negoro left the kitchen.
Hardly had he shown himself on the deck, than the dog sprang on him and
wanted to jump at his throat.
With a blow from the poker with which he was armed, the cook drove away
the animal, which some of the sailors succeeded in holding.
"Do you know this dog?" Captain Hull asked the master cook.
"I?" replied Negoro. "I have never seen it."
"That is singular," murmured Dick Sand.
* * * * *
CHAPTER IV.
THE SURVIVORS OF THE "WALDECK."
The slave trade was still carried on, on a large scale, in all
equinoctial Africa. Notwithstanding the English and French cruisers,
ships loaded with slaves leave the coasts of Angola and Mozambique
every year to transport negroes to various parts of the world, and, it
must be said, of the civilized world.
Captain Hull was not ignorant of it. Though these parts were not
ordinarily frequented by slave-ships, he asked himself if these blacks,
whose salvage he had just effected, were not the survivors of a cargo
of slaves that the "Waldeck" was going to sell to some Pacific colony.
At all events, if that was so, the blacks became free again by the sole
act of setting foot on his deck, and he longed to tell it to them.
Meanwhile the most earnest care had been lavished on the shipwrecked
men from the "Waldeck." Mrs. Weldon, aided by Nan and Dick Sand, had
administered to them a little of that good fresh water of which they
must have been deprived for several days, and that, with some
nourishment, sufficed to restore them to life.
The eldest of these blacks--he might be about sixty years old--was soon
able to speak, and he could answer in English the questions which were
addressed to him.
"The ship which carried you was run into?" asked Captain Hull, first of
all.
"Yes," replied the old black. "Ten days ago our ship was struck, during
a very dark night. We were asleep----"
"But the men of the 'Waldeck'--what has become of them?"
"They were no longer there, sir, when my companions and I reached the
deck."
"Then, was the crew able to jump on board the ship which struck the
'Waldeck'?" demanded Captain Hull.
"Perhaps, and we must indeed hope so for their sakes."
"And that ship, after the collision, did it not return to pick you up?"
"No."
"Did she then go down herself?"
"She did not founder," replied the old black, shaking his head, "for we
could see her running away in the night."
This fact, which was attested by all the survivors of the "Waldeck,"
may appear incredible. It is only too true, however, that captains,
after some terrible collision, due to their imprudence, have often
taken flight without troubling themselves about the unfortunate ones
whom they had put in danger, and without endeavoring to carry
assistance to them.
That drivers do as much and leave to others, on the public way, the
trouble of repairing the misfortune which they have caused, that is
indeed to be condemned. Still, their victims are assured of finding
immediate help. But, that men to men, abandon each other thus at sea,
it is not to be believed, it is a shame!
Meanwhile, Captain Hull knew several examples of such inhumanity, and
he was obliged to tell Mrs. Weldon that such facts, monstrous as they
might be, were unhappily not rare.
Then, continuing:
"Whence came the 'Waldeck?'" he asked.
"From Melbourne."
"Then you are not slaves?"
"No, sir!" the old black answered quickly, as he stood up straight. "We
are subjects of the State of Pennsylvania, and citizens of free
America!"
"My friends," replied Captain Hull, "believe me that you have not
compromised your liberty in coming on board of the American brig, the
'Pilgrim.'"
In fact, the five blacks which the "Waldeck" carried belonged to the
State of Pennsylvania. The oldest, sold in Africa as a slave at the age
of six years, then brought to the United States, had been freed already
many years ago by the Emancipation Proclamation. As to his companions,
much younger than he, sons of slaves liberated before their birth, they
were born free; no white had ever had the right of property over them.
They did not even speak that "negro" language, which does not use the
article, and only knows the infinitive of the verbs--a language which
has disappeared little by little, indeed, since the anti-slavery war.
These blacks had, then, freely left the United States, and they were
returning to it freely.
As they told Captain Hull, they were engaged as laborers at an
Englishman's who owned a vast mine near Melbourne, in Southern
Australia. There they had passed three years, with great profit to
themselves; their engagement ended, they had wished to return to
America.
They then had embarked on the "Waldeck," paying their passage like
ordinary passengers. On the 5th of December they left Melbourne, and
seventeen days after, during a very black night, the "Waldeck" had been
struck by a large steamer.
The blacks were in bed. A few seconds after the collision, which was
terrible, they rushed on the deck.
Already the ship's masts had fallen, and the "Waldeck" was lying on the
side; but she would not sink, the water not having invaded the hold
sufficiently to cause it.
As to the captain and crew of the "Waldeck," all had disappeared,
whether some had been precipitated into the sea, whether others were
caught on the rigging of the colliding ship, which, after the
collision, had fled to return no more.
The five blacks were left alone on board, on a half-capsized hull,
twelve hundred miles from any land.
Then oldest of the negroes was named Tom. His age, as well as his
energetic character, and his experience, often put to the proof during
a long life of labor, made him the natural head of the companions who
were engaged with him.
The other blacks were young men from twenty-five to thirty years old,
whose names were Bat (abbreviation of Bartholomew), son of old Tom,
Austin, Acteon, and Hercules, all four well made and vigorous, and who
would bring a high price in the markets of Central Africa. Even though
they had suffered terribly, one could easily recognize in them
magnificent specimens of that strong race, on which a liberal
education, drawn from the numerous schools of North America, had
already impressed its seal.
Tom and his companions then found themselves alone on the "Waldeck"
after the collision, having no means of raising that inert hull,
without even power to leave it, because the two boats on board had been
shattered in the boarding. They were reduced to waiting for the passage
of a ship, while the wreck drifted little by little under the action of
the currents. This action explained why she had been encountered so far
out of her course, for the "Waldeck," having left Melbourne, ought to
be found in much lower latitude.
During the ten days which elapsed between the collision and the moment
when the "Pilgrim" arrived in sight of the shipwrecked vessel the five
blacks were sustained by some food which they had found in the office
of the landing-place. But, not being able to penetrate into the
steward's room, which the water entirely covered, they had had no
spirits to quench their thirst, and they had suffered cruelly, the
water casks fastened to the deck having been stove in by the collision.
Since the night before, Tom and his companions, tortured by thirst, had
become unconscious.
Such was the recital which Tom gave, in a few words, to Captain Hull.
There was no reason to doubt the veracity of the old black. His
companions confirmed all that he had said; besides, the facts pleaded
for the poor men.
Another living being, saved on the wreck, would doubtless have spoken
with the same sincerity if it had been gifted with speech.
It was that dog, that the sight of Negoro seemed to affect in such a
disagreeable manner. There was in that some truly inexplicable
antipathy.
Dingo--that was the name of the dog--belonged to that race of mastiffs
which is peculiar to New Holland. It was not in Australia, however,
that the captain of the "Waldeck" had found it. Two years before Dingo,
wandering half dead of hunger, had been met on the western coast of
Africa, near the mouth of the Congo. The captain of the "Waldeck" had
picked up this fine animal, who, being not very sociable, seemed to be
always regretting some old master, from whom he had been violently
separated, and whom it would be impossible to find again in that desert
country. S. V.--those two letters engraved on his collar--were all that
linked this animal to a past, whose mystery one would seek in vain to
solve.
Dingo, a magnificent and robust beast, larger than the dogs of the
Pyrenees, was then a superb specimen of the New Holland variety of
mastiffs. When it stood up, throwing its head back, it equaled the
height of a man. Its agility--its muscular strength, would be
sufficient for one of those animals which without hesitation attack
jaguars and panthers, and do not fear to face a bear. Its long tail of
thick hair, well stocked and stiff like a lion's tail, its general hue
dark fawn-color, was only varied at the nose by some whitish streaks.
This animal, under the influence of anger, might become formidable, and
it will be understood that Negoro was not satisfied with the reception
given him by this vigorous specimen of the canine race.
Meanwhile, Dingo, if it was not sociable, was not bad. It seemed rather
to be sad. An observation which had been made by old Tom on board the
"Waldeck" was that this dog did not seem to like blacks. It did not
seek to harm them, but certainly it shunned them. May be, on that
African coast where it wandered, it had suffered some bad treatment
from the natives. So, though Tom and his companions were honest men,
Dingo was never drawn toward them. During the ten days that the
shipwrecked dog had passed on the "Waldeck," it had kept at a distance,
feeding itself, they knew not how, but having also suffered cruelly
from thirst.
Such, then, were the survivors of this wreck, which the first surge of
the sea would submerge. No doubt it would have carried only dead bodies
into the depths of the ocean if the unexpected arrival of the
"Pilgrim," herself kept back by calms and contrary winds, had not
permitted Captain Hull to do a work of humanity.
This work had only to be completed by bringing back to their country
the shipwrecked men from the "Waldeck," who, in this shipwreck, had
lost their savings of three years of labor. This is what was going to
be done. The "Pilgrim," after having effected her unloading at
Valparaiso, would ascend the American coast as far as California. There
Tom and his companions would be well received by James W. Weldon--his
generous wife assured them of it--and they would be provided with all
that would be necessary for them to return to the State of Pennsylvania.
These honest men, reassured about the future, had only to thank Mrs.
Weldon and Captain Hull. Certainly they owed them a great deal, and
although they were only poor negroes, perhaps, they did not despair of
some day paying this debt of gratitude.
CHAPTER V.
S. V.
Meanwhile, the "Pilgrim" had continued her course, making for the east
as much as possible. This lamentable continuance of calms did not cease
to trouble Captain Hull--not that he was uneasy about two or three
weeks' delay in a passage from New Zealand to Valparaiso, but because
of the extra fatigue which this delay might bring to his lady passenger.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Weldon did not complain, and philosophically took her
misfortune in patience.
That same day, February 2d, toward evening, the wreck was lost sight of.
Captain Hull was troubled, in the first place, to accommodate Tom and
his companions as conveniently as possible. The crew's quarters on the
"Pilgrim," built on the deck in the form of a "roufle," would be too
small to hold them. An arrangement was then made to lodge them under
the forecastle. Besides, these honest men, accustomed to rude labors,
could not be hard to please, and with fine weather, warm and
salubrious, this sleeping-place ought to suffice for the whole passage.
The life on board, shaken for a moment from its monotony by this
incident, then went on as usual.
Tom, Austin, Bat, Acteon, and Hercules would indeed wish to make
themselves useful. But with these constant winds, the sails once set,
there was nothing more to do. Meanwhile, when there was a veering
about, the old black and his companions hastened to give a hand to the
crew, and it must be confessed that when the colossal Hercules hauled
some rope, they were aware of it. This vigorous negro, six feet high,
brought in a tackle all by himself.
It was joy for little Jack to look at this giant. He was not afraid of
him, and when Hercules hoisted him up in his arms, as if he were only a
cork baby, there were cries of joy to go on.
"Lift me very high," said little Jack.
"There, Master Jack!" replied Hercules.
"Am I very heavy?"
"I do not even feel you."
"Well, higher still! To the end of your arm!" And Hercules, holding the
child's two little feet in his large hand, walked him about like a
gymnast in a circus. Jack saw himself, tall, taller, which amused him
very much. He even tried to make himself heavy--which the colossus did
not perceive at all.
Dick Sand and Hercules, they were two friends for little Jack. He was
not slow in making himself a third--that was Dingo.
It has been said that Dingo was not a sociable dog. Doubtless that held
good, because the society of the "Waldeck" did not suit it. On board
the "Pilgrim" it was quite another thing. Jack probably knew how to
touch the fine animal's heart. The latter soon took pleasure in playing
with the little boy, whom this play pleased. It was soon discovered
that Dingo was one of those dogs who have a particular taste for
children. Besides, Jack did it no harm. His greatest pleasure was to
transform Dingo into a swift steed, and it is safe to affirm that a
horse of this kind is much superior to a pasteboard quadruped, even
when it has wheels to its feet. So Jack galloped bare-back on the dog,
which let him do it willingly, and, in truth, Jack was no heavier to it
than the half of a jockey to a race-horse.
But what a break each day in the stock of sugar in the store-room!
Dingo soon became a favorite with the whole crew. Alone, Negoro
continued to avoid any encounter with the animal, whose antipathy was
always as strong as it was inexplicable.
Meanwhile, little Jack had not neglected Dick Sand, his friend of old,
for Dingo. All the time that was unclaimed by his duties on board, the
novice passed with the little boy.
Mrs. Weldon, it is needless to say, always regarded this intimacy with
the most complete satisfaction.
One day, February 6th, she spoke of Dick to Captain Hull, and the
captain praised the young novice in the highest terms.
"That boy," he said to Mrs. Weldon, "will be a good seaman some day,
I'll guarantee. He has truly a passion for the sea, and by this passion
he makes up for the theoretical parts of the calling which he has not
yet learned. What he already knows is astonishing, when we think of
the short time he has had to learn."
"It must be added," replied Mrs. Weldon, "that he is also an excellent
person, a true boy, very superior to his age, and who has never merited
any blame since we have known him."
"Yes, he is a good young man," continued the captain, "justly loved and
appreciated by all."
"This cruise finished," said Mrs. Weldon, "I know that my husband's
intention is to have him follow a course of navigation, so that, he may
afterwards obtain a captain's commission."
"And Mr. Weldon is right," replied Captain Hull. "Dick Sand will one
day do honor to the American marine."
"This poor orphan commenced life sadly," observed Mrs. Weldon. "He has
been in a hard school!"
"Doubtless, Mrs. Weldon; but the lessons have not been lost on him. He
has learned that he must make his own way in this world, and he is in a
fair way to do it."
"Yes, the way of duty!"
"Look at him now, Mrs. Weldon," continued Captain Hull. "He is at the
helm, his eye fixed on the point of the foresail. No distraction on the
part of this young novice, as well as no lurch to the ship. Dick Sand
has already the confidence of an old steersman. A good beginning for a
seaman. Our craft, Mrs. Weldon, is one of those in which it is
necessary to begin very young. He who has not been a cabin-boy will
never arrive at being a perfect seaman, at least in the merchant
marine. Everything must be learned, and, consequently, everything must
be at the same time instinctive and rational with the sailor--the
resolution to grasp, as well as the skill to execute."
"Meanwhile, Captain Hull," replied Mrs. Weldon, "good officers are not
lacking in the navy."
"No," replied Captain Hull; "but, in my opinion, the best have almost
all begun their career as children, and, without speaking of Nelson and
a few others, the worst are not those who began by being cabin-boys."
At that moment they saw Cousin Benedict springing up from the rear
companion-way. As usual he was absorbed, and as little conscious of
this world as the Prophet Elias will be when he returns to the earth.
Cousin Benedict began to walk about on the deck like an uneasy spirit,
examining closely the interstices of the netting, rummaging under the
hen-cages, putting his hand between the seams of the deck, there, where
the pitch had scaled off.
"Ah! Cousin Benedict," asked Mrs. Weldon, "do you keep well?"
"Yes--Cousin Weldon--I am well, certainly--but I am in a hurry to get
on land."
"What are you looking for under that bench, Mr. Benedict?" asked
Captain Hull.
"Insects, sir," returned Cousin Benedict. "What do you expect me to
look for, if not insects?"
"Insects! Faith, I must agree with you; but it is not at sea that you
will enrich your collection."
"And why not, sir? It is not impossible to find on board some specimen
of----"
"Cousin Benedict," said Mrs. Weldon, "do you then slander Captain Hull?
His ship is so well kept, that you will return empty-handed from your
hunt."
Captain Hull began to laugh.
"Mrs. Weldon exaggerates," replied he. "However, Mr. Benedict, I
believe you will lose your time rummaging in our cabins."
"Ah! I know it well," cried Cousin Benedict, shrugging his shoulders.
"I have had a good search----"
"But, in the 'Pilgrim's' hold," continued Captain Hull, "perhaps you
will find some cockroaches--subjects of little interest, however."
"Of little interest, those nocturnal orthopters which have incurred the
maledictions of Virgil and Horace!" retorted Cousin Benedict, standing
up straight. "Of little interest, those near relations of the
'periplaneta orientalis' and of the American kakerlac, which
inhabit----"
"Which infest!" said Captain Hull.
"Which reign on board!" retorted Cousin Benedict, fiercely.
"Amiable sovereignty!"
"Ah! you are not an entomologist, sir?"
Never at my own expense."
"Now, Cousin Benedict," said Mrs. Weldon, smiling, "do not wish us to
be devoured for love of science."
"I wish, nothing, Cousin Weldon," replied, the fiery entomologist,
"except to be able to add to my collection some rare subject which
might do it honor."
"Are you not satisfied, then, with the conquests that you have made in
New Zealand?"
"Yes, truly, Cousin Weldon. I have been rather fortunate in conquering
one of those new staphylins which till now had only been found some
hundreds of miles further, in New Caledonia."
At that moment Dingo, who was playing with Jack, approached Cousin
Benedict, gamboling.
"Go away! go away!" said the latter, pushing off the animal.
"To love cockroaches and detest dogs!" cried Captain Hull. "Oh! Mr.
Benedict!"
"A good dog, notwithstanding," said little Jack, taking Dingo's great
head in his small hands.
"Yes. I do not say no," replied Cousin Benedict. "But what do you want?
This devil of an animal has not realized the hopes I conceived on
meeting it."
"Ah! my goodness!" cried Mrs. Weldon, "did you, then, hope to be able
to classify it in the order of the dipters or the hymenopters?"
"No," replied Cousin Benedict, seriously. "But is it not true that this
Dingo, though it be of the New Zealand race, was picked up on the
western coast of Africa?"
"Nothing is more true," replied Mrs. Weldon, "and Tom had often heard
the captain of the 'Waldeck' say so."
"Well, I had thought--I had hoped--that this dog would have brought
away some specimens of hemipteras peculiar to the African fauna."
"Merciful heavens!" cried Mrs. Weldon.
"And that perhaps," added Cousin Benedict, "some penetrating or
irritating flea--of a new species----"
"Do you understand, Dingo?" said Captain Hull. "Do you understand, my
dog? You have failed in all your duties!"
"But I have examined it well," added the entomologist, with an accent
of deep regret. "I have not been able to find a single insect."
"Which you would have immediately and mercilessly put to death, I
hope!" cried Captain Hull.
"Sir," replied Cousin Benedict, dryly, "learn that Sir John Franklin
made a scruple of killing the smallest insect, be it a mosquito, whose
attacks are otherwise formidable as those of a flea; and meanwhile you
will not hesitate to allow, that Sir John Franklin was a seaman who was
as good as the next."
"Surely," said Captain Hull, bowing.
"And one day, after being frightfully devoured by a dipter, he blew and
sent it away, saying to it, without even using _thou_ or _thee_: 'Go!
the world is large enough for you and for me!'"
"Ah!" ejaculated Captain Hull.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Mr. Benedict," retorted Captain Hull, "another had said that
long before Sir John Franklin."
"Another?"
"Yes; and that other was Uncle Toby."
"An entomologist?" asked Cousin Benedict, quickly.
"No! Sterne's Uncle Toby, and that worthy uncle pronounced precisely
the same words, while setting free a mosquito that annoyed him, but
which he thought himself at liberty to _thee_ and _thou_: 'Go, poor
devil,' he said to it, 'the world is large enough to contain us, thee
and me!'"
"An honest man, that Uncle Toby!" replied Cousin Benedict. "Is he dead?"
"I believe so, indeed," retorted Captain Hull, gravely, "as he has
never existed!"
And each began to laugh, looking at Cousin Benedict.
Thus, then, in these conversations, and many others, which invariably
bore on some point of entomological science, whenever Cousin Benedict
took part, passed away long hours of this navigation against contrary
winds. The sea always fine, but winds which obliged the schooner to
tack often. The "Pilgrim" made very little headway toward the east--the
breeze was so feeble; and they longed to reach those parts where the
prevailing winds would be more favorable.
It must be stated here that Cousin Benedict had endeavored to initiate
the young novice into the mysteries of entomology. But Dick Sand had
shown himself rather refractory to these advances. For want of better
company the savant had fallen back on the negroes, who comprehended
nothing about it. Tom, Acteon, Bat, and Austin had even finished by
deserting the class, and the professor found himself reduced to
Hercules alone, who seemed to him to have some natural disposition to
distinguish a parasite from a thysanuran.
So the gigantic black lived in the world of coleopteras, carnivorous
insects, hunters, gunners, ditchers, cicindelles, carabes, sylphides,
moles, cockchafers, horn-beetles, tenebrions, mites, lady-birds,
studying all Cousin Benedict's collection, not but the latter trembled
on seeing his frail specimens in Hercules' great hands, which were hard
and strong as a vise. But the colossal pupil listened so quietly to the
professor's lessons that it was worth risking something to give them.
While Cousin Benedict worked in that manner, Mrs. Weldon did not leave
little Jack entirely unoccupied; She taught him to read and to write.
As to arithmetic, it was his friend Dick Sand who inculcated the first
elements.
At the age of five, one is still only a little child, and is perhaps
better instructed by practical games than by theoretical lessons
necessarily a little arduous.
Jack learned to read, not in a primer, but by means of movable letters,
printed in red on cubes of wood. He amused himself by arranging the
blocks so as to form words. Sometimes Mrs. Weldon took these cubes and
composed a word; then she disarranged them, and it was for Jack to
replace them in the order required.
The little boy liked this manner of learning to read very much. Each
day he passed some hours, sometimes in the cabin, sometimes on the
deck, in arranging and disarranging the letters of his alphabet.
Now, one day this led to an incident so extraordinary, so unexpected,
that it is necessary to relate with some detail.
It was on the morning of February 9th, Jack, half-lying on the deck,
was amusing himself forming a word which old Tom was to put together
again, after the letters had been mixed. Tom, with his hand over his
eyes so as not to cheat, as he agreed, would see nothing, and did see
nothing of the work of the little boy.
Of these different letters, about fifty in number, some were large,
others small. Besides, some of these cubes carried a figure, which
taught the child to form numbers as well as to form words.
These cubes were arranged on the deck, and little Jack was taking
sometimes one, sometimes another, to make a word--a truly great labor.
Now, for same moments, Dingo was moving round the young child, when
suddenly it stopped. Its eyes became fixed, its right paw was raised,
its tail wagged convulsively. Then, suddenly throwing itself on one of
the cubes, it seized it in its mouth and laid it on the deck a few
steps from Jack.
This cube bore a large letter--the letter S.
"Dingo, well Dingo!" cried the little boy, who at first was afraid that
his S was swallowed by the dog.
But Dingo had returned, and, beginning the same performance again, it
seized another cube, and went to lay it near the first.
This second cube was a large V.
This time Jack gave a cry.
At this cry, Mrs. Weldon, Captain Hull, and the young novice, who were
walking on the deck, assembled. Little Jack then told them what had
just passed.
Dingo knew its letters; Dingo knew how to read! That was very certain,
that! Jack had seen it!
Dick Sand wanted to go and take the two cubes, to restore them to his
friend Jack, but Dingo showed him its teeth.
However, the novice succeeded in gaining possession of the two cubes,
and he replaced them in the set.
Dingo advanced again, seized again the same two letters, and carried
them to a distance. This time its two paws lay on them; it seemed
decided to guard them at all hazards. As to the other letters of the
alphabet, it did not seem as if it had any knowledge of them.
"That is a curious thing," said Mrs. Weldon.
"It is, in fact, very singular," replied Captain Hull, who was looking
attentively at the two letters.
"S. V.," said Mrs. Weldon.
"S. V.," repeated Captain Hull. "But those are precisely the letters
which are on Dingo's collar!"
Then, all at once, turning to the old black: "Tom," he asked, "have you
not told me that this dog only belonged to the captain of the 'Waldeck'
for a short time?"
"In fact, sir," replied Tom, "Dingo was only on board two years at the
most."
"And have you not added that the captain of the 'Waldeck' had picked up
this dog on the western coast of Africa?"
"Yes, sir, in the neighborhood of the mouth of the Congo. I have often
heard the captain say so."
"So," asked Captain Hull, "it has never been known to whom this dog had
belonged, nor whence it came?"
"Never, sir. A dog found is worse than a child! That has no papers,
and, more, it cannot explain."
Captain Hull was silent, and reflected.
"Do those two letters, then, awake some remembrance?" Mrs. Weldon asked
Captain Hull, after leaving him to his reflections for some moments.
"Yes, Mrs. Weldon, a remembrance, or rather a coincidence at least
singular."
What?"
"Those two letters might well have a meaning, and fix for us the fate
of an intrepid traveler."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mrs. Weldon.
"Here is what I mean, Mrs. Weldon. In 1871--consequently two years
ago--a French traveler set out, under the auspices of the Paris
Geographical Society, with the intention of crossing Africa from the
west to the east. His point of departure was precisely the mouth of the
Congo. His point of arrival would be as near as possible to Cape
Deldago, at the mouths of the Rovuma, whose course he would descend.
Now, this French traveler was named Samuel Vernon."
"Samuel Vernon!" repeated Mrs. Weldon.
"Yes, Mrs. Weldon; and those two names begin precisely by those two
letters which Dingo has chosen among all the others, and which are
engraved on its collar."
"Exactly," replied Mrs. Weldon. "And that traveler----"
"That traveler set out," replied Captain Hull, "and has not been heard
of since his departure."
"Never?" said the novice.
"Never," repeated Captain Hull.
"What do you conclude from it?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"That, evidently, Samuel Vernon has not been able to reach the eastern
coast of Africa, whether he may have been made prisoner by the natives,
whether death may have struck him on the way."
"And then this dog?"
"This dog would have belonged to him; and, more fortunate than its
master, if my hypothesis is true, it would have been able to return to
the Congo coast, because it was there, at the time when these events
must have taken place, that it was picked up by the captain of the
'Waldeck.'"
"But," observed Mrs. Weldon, "do you know if this French traveler was
accompanied on his departure by a dog? Is it not a mere supposition on
your part?"
"It is only a supposition, indeed, Mrs. Weldon," replied Captain Hull.
"But what is certain is, that Dingo knows these two letters S and V,
which are precisely the initials of the two names of the French
traveler. Now, under what circumstances this animal would learn to
distinguish them is what I cannot explain; but, I repeat it, it very
certainly knows them; and look, it pushes them with its paw, and seems
to invite us to read them with it."
In fact, they could not misunderstand Dingo's intention.
"Then was Samuel Vernon alone when he left the sea-coast of the Congo?"
ask Dick Sand.
"That I know not," replied Captain Hull. "However, it is probable that
he would take a native escort."
At that moment Negoro, leaving his post, showed himself on the deck. At
first no one remarked his presence, and could not observe the singular
look he cast on the dog when he perceived the two letters over which
the animal seem to mount guard. But Dingo, having perceived the
master-cook, began to show signs of the most extreme fury.
Negoro returned immediately to the crew's quarters, not without a
menacing gesture at the dog's skill having escaped him.
"There is some mystery there," murmured Captain Hull, who had lost none
of this little scene.
"But, sir," said the novice, "is it not very astonishing that a dog
should know the letters of the alphabet?"
"No!" cried little Jack. "Mama has often told me the story of a dog
which knew how to read and write, and even play dominoes, like a real
schoolmaster!"
"My dear child," replied Mrs. Weldon, smiling, "that dog, whose name
was Munito, was not a savant, as you suppose. If I may believe what has
been told me about it, Munito would not have been able to distinguish
the letters which served to compose the words. But its master, a clever
American, having remarked what fine hearing Munito had, applied himself
to cultivating that sense, and to draw from it some very curious
effects."
"How did he set to work, Mrs. Weldon?" asked Dick Sand, whom the
history interested almost as much as little Jack.
"In this way, my friend." When Munito was 'to appear' before the
public, letters similar to these were displayed on a table. On that
table the poodle walked about, waiting till a word was proposed,
whether in a loud voice or in a low voice. Only, one essential
condition was that its master should know the word."
"And, in the absence of its master--" said the novice.
"The dog could have done nothing," replied Mrs. Weldon, "and here is
the reason. The letters spread out on the table, Munito walked about
through this alphabet. When it arrived before the letter which it
should choose to form the word required, it stopped; but if it stopped
it was because it heard the noise--imperceptible to all others--of a
toothpick that the American snapped in his pocket. That noise was the
signal for Munito to take the letter and arrange it in suitable order."
"And that was all the secret?" cried Dick Sand.
"That was the whole secret," replied Mrs. Weldon. "It is very simple,
like all that is done in the matter of prestidigitation. In case of the
American's absence, Munito would be no longer Munito. I am, then,
astonished, his master not being there--if, indeed, the traveler,
Samuel Vernon, has ever been its master--that Dingo could have
recognized those two letters."
"In fact," replied Captain Hull, "it is very astonishing. But, take
notice, there are only two letters in question here, two particular
letters, and not a word chosen by chance. After all, that dog which
rang at the door of a convent to take possession of the plate intended
for the poor passers-by, that other which commissioned at the same time
with one of its kind, to turn the spit for two days each, and which
refused to fill that office when its turn had not come, those two dogs,
I say, advanced farther than Dingo into that domain of intelligence
reserved for man. Besides, we are in the presence of an inscrutable
fact. Of all the letters of that alphabet, Dingo has only chosen these
two: S and V. The others it does not even seem to know. Therefore we
must conclude that, for a reason which escapes us, its attention has
been especially drawn to those two letters."
"Ah! Captain Hull," replied the young novice, "if Dingo could speak!
Perhaps he would tell us what those two letters signify, and why it has
kept a tooth ready for our head cook."
"And what a tooth!" replied Captain Hull, as Dingo, opening its mouth,
showed its formidable fangs.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VI.
A WHALE IN SIGHT.
It will be remembered that this singular incident was made, more than
once, the subject of conversation held in the stern of the "Pilgrim"
between Mrs. Weldon, Captain Hull, and the young novice. The latter,
more particularly, experienced an instinctive mistrust with regard to
Negoro, whose conduct, meanwhile, merited no reproach.
In the prow they talked of it also, but they did not draw from it the
same conclusions. There, among the ship's crew, Dingo passed merely for
a dog that knew how to read, and perhaps even write, better than more
than one sailor on board. As for talking, if he did not do it, it was
probably for good reasons that he kept silent.
"But, one of these fine days," says the steersman, Bolton, "one fine
day that dog will come and ask us how we are heading; if the wind is to
the west-north-west-half-north, and we will have to answer him! There
are animals that speak! Well, why should not a dog do as much if he
took it into his head? It is more difficult to talk with a beak than
with a mouth!"
"No doubt," replied the boatswain, Howik. "Only it has never been
known."
It would have astonished these brave men to tell them that, on the
contrary, it had been known, and that a certain Danish servant
possessed a dog which pronounced distinctly twenty words. But whether
this animal comprehended what he said was a mystery. Very evidently
this dog, whose glottis was organized in a manner to enable him to emit
regular sounds, attached no more sense to his words than do the
paroquets, parrots, jackdaws, and magpies to theirs. A phrase with
animals is nothing more than a kind of song or spoken cry, borrowed
from a strange language of which they do not know the meaning.
However that might be, Dingo had become the hero of the deck, of which
fact he took no proud advantage. Several times Captain Hull repeated
the experiment. The wooden cubes of the alphabet were placed before
Dingo, and invariably, without an error, without hesitation, the two
letters, S and V, were chosen from among all by the singular animal,
while the others never attracted his attention.
As for Cousin Benedict, this experiment was often renewed before him,
without seeming to interest him.
"Meanwhile," he condescended to say one day, "we must not believe that
the dogs alone have the privilege of being intelligent in this manner.
Other animals equal them, simply in following their instinct. Look at
the rats, who abandon the ship destined to founder at sea; the beavers,
who know how to foresee the rising of the waters, and build their dams
higher in consequence; those horses of Nicomedes, of Scanderberg, and
of Oppien, whose grief was such that they died when their masters did;
those asses, so remarkable for their memory, and many other beasts
which have done honor to the animal kingdom. Have we not seen birds,
marvelously erect, that correctly write words dictated by their
professors; cockatoos that count, as well as a reckoner in the
Longitude Office, the number of persons present in a parlor? Has there
not existed a parrot, worth a hundred gold crowns, that recited the
Apostle's Creed to the cardinal, his master, without missing a word?
Finally, the legitimate pride of an entomologist should be raised to
the highest point, when he sees simple insects give proofs of a
superior intelligence, and affirm eloquently the axiom:
"'In minimis maximus Deus,'
those ants which, represent the inspectors of public works in the
largest cities, those aquatic _argyronetes_ which manufacture
diving-bells, without having ever learned the mechanism; those fleas
which draw carriages like veritable coachmen, which go through the
exercise as well as riflemen, which fire off cannon better than the
commissioned artillerymen of West Point? No! this Dingo does not merit
so many eulogies, and if he is so strong on the alphabet, it is,
without doubt, because he belongs to a species of mastiff, not yet
classified in zoological science, the _canis alphabeticus_ of New
Zealand."
In spite of these discourses and others of the envious entomologist,
Dingo lost nothing in the public estimation, and continued to be
treated as a phenomenon in the conversations of the forecastle.
All this time, it is probable that Negoro did not share the enthusiasm
of the ship in regard to the animal. Perhaps he found it too
intelligent. However, the dog always showed the same animosity against
the head cook, and, doubtless, would have brought upon itself some
misfortune, if it had not been, for one thing, "a dog to defend
itself," and for another, protected by the sympathy of the whole crew.
So Negoro avoided coming into Dingo's presence more than ever. But Dick
Sand had observed that since the incident of the two letters, the
reciprocal antipathy between the man and the dog was increased. That
was truly inexplicable.
On February 10th, the wind from the northeast, which, till then, had
always succeeded those long and overwhelming calms, during which the
"Pilgrim" was stationary, began to abate perceptibly. Captain Hull then
could hope that a change in the direction of the atmospheric currents
was going to take place. Perhaps the schooner would finally sail with
the wind. It was still only nineteen days since her departure from the
port of Auckland. The delay was not yet of much account, and, with a
favorable wind, the "Pilgrim," well rigged, would easily make up for
lost time. But several days must still elapse before the breezes would
blow right from the west.
This part of the Pacific was always deserted. No vessel showed itself
in these parts. It was a latitude truly forsaken by navigators. The
whalers of the southern seas were not yet prepared to go beyond the
tropic. On the "Pilgrim," which peculiar circumstances had obliged to
leave the fishing grounds before the end of the season, they must not
expect to cross any ship bound for the same destination.
As to the trans-pacific packet-boats, it has been already said that
they did not follow so high a parallel in their passages between
Australia and the American continent.
However, even if the sea is deserted, one must not give up observing it
to the extreme limits of the horizon. Monotonous as it may appear to
heedless minds, it is none the less infinitely varied for him who knows
how to comprehend it. Its slightest changes charm the imagination of
one who feels the poetry of the ocean. A marine herb which floats up
and down on the waves, a branch of sargasso whose light track zebras,
the surface of the waters, and end of a board, whose history he would
wish to guess, he would need nothing more. Facing this infinite, the
mind is no longer stopped by anything. Imagination runs riot. Each of
those molecules of water, that evaporation is continually changing from
the sea to the sky, contains perhaps the secret of some catastrophe.
So, those are to be envied, whose inner consciousness knows how to
interrogate the mysteries of the ocean, those spirits who rise from its
moving surface to the heights of heaven.
Besides, life always manifests itself above as well as below the seas.
The "Pilgrim's" passengers could see flights of birds excited in the
pursuit of the smallest fishes, birds which, before winter, fly from
the cold climate of the poles. And more than once, Dick Sand, a scholar
of Mrs. Weldon's in that branch as in others, gave proofs of marvelous
skill with the gun and pistol, in bringing down some of those
rapid-winged creatures.
There were white petrels here; there, other petrels, whose wings were
embroidered with brown. Sometimes, also, companies of _damiers_ passed,
or some of those penquins whose gait on land is so heavy and so
ridiculous. However, as Captain Hull remarked, these penquins, using
their stumps like true fins, can challenge the most rapid fishes in
swimming, to such an extent even, that sailors have often confounded
them with bonitoes.
Higher, gigantic albatrosses beat the air with great strokes,
displaying an extent of ten feet between the extremities of their
wings, and then came to light on the surface of the waters, which they
searched with their beaks to get their food.
All these scenes made a varied spectacle, that only souls closed to the
charms of nature would have found monotonous.
That day Mrs. Weldon was walking aft on the "Pilgrim," when a rather
curious phenomenon attracted her attention. The waters of the sea had
become reddish quite suddenly. One might have believed that they had
just been stained with blood; and this inexplicable tinge extended as
far as the eye could reach.
Dick Sand. was then with little Jack near Mrs. Weldon.
"Dick," she said to the young novice, "Do you see that singular color
of the waters of the Pacific? Is it due to the presence of a marine
herb?"
"No, Mrs. Weldon," replied Dick Sand, "that tinge is produced by
myriads of little crustaceans, which generally serve to nourish the
great mammifers. Fishermen call that, not without reason, 'whales'
food.'"
"Crustaceans!" said Mrs. Weldon. "But they are so small that we might
almost call them sea insects. Perhaps Cousin Benedict would be very
much enchanted to make a collection of them." Then calling: "Cousin
Benedict!" cried she.
Cousin Benedict appeared out of the companion-way almost at the same
time as Captain Hull.
"Cousin Benedict," said Mrs. Weldon, "see that immense reddish field
which extends as far as we can see."
"Hold!" said Captain Hull. "That is whales' food. Mr. Benedict, a fine
occasion to study this curious species of crustacea."
"Phew!" from the entomologist.
"How--phew!" cried the captain. "But you have no right to profess such
indifference. These crustaceans form one of the six classes of the
articulates, if I am not mistaken, and as such----"
"Phew!" said Cousin Benedict again, shaking his lead.
"For instance----I find you passably disdainful for an entomologist!"
"Entomologist, it may be," replied Cousin Benedict, "but more
particularly hexapodist, Captain Hull, please remember."
"At all events," replied Captain Hull, "if these crustaceans do not
interest you, it can't be helped; but it would be otherwise if you
possessed a whale's stomach. Then what a regale! Do you see, Mrs.
Weldon, when we whalers, during the fishing season, arrive in sight of
a shoal of these crustaceans, we have only time to prepare our harpoons
and our lines. We are certain that the game is not distant."
"Is it possible that such little beasts can feed such large ones?"
cried Jack.
"Ah! my boy," replied Captain Hull, "little grains of vermicelli, of
flour, of fecula powder, do they not make very good porridge? Yes; and
nature has willed that it should be so. When a whale floats in the
midst of these red waters, its soup is served; it has only to open its
immense mouth. Myriads of crustaceans enter it. The numerous plates of
those whalebones with which the animal's palate is furnished serve to
strain like fishermen's nets; nothing can get out of them again, and
the mass of crustaceans is ingulfed in the whale's vast stomach, as the
soup of your dinner in yours."
"You think right, Jack," observed Dick Sand, "that Madam Whale does not
lose time in picking these crustaceans one by one, as you pick shrimps."
"I may add," said Captain Hull, "that it is just when the enormous
gourmand is occupied in this way, that it is easiest to approach it
without exciting its suspicion. That is the favorable moment to harpoon
it with some success."
At that instant, and as if to corroborate Captain Hull, a sailor's
voice was heard from the front of the ship:
"A whale to larboard!"
Captain Hull strode up.
"A whale!" cried he.
And his fisherman's instinct urging him, he hastened to the "Pilgrim's"
forecastle.
Mrs. Weldon, Jack, Dick Sand, Cousin Benedict himself, followed him at
once.
In fact, four miles to windward a certain bubbling indicated that a
huge marine mammifer was moving in the midst of the red waters. Whalers
could not be mistaken in it. But the distance was still too
considerable to make it possible to recognize the species to which this
mammifer belonged. These species, in fact, are quite distinct.
Was it one of those "right" whales, which the fishermen of the Northern
Ocean seek most particularly? Those cetaceans, which lack the dorsal
fin, but whose skin covers a thick stratum of lard, may attain a length
of eighty feet, though the average does not exceed sixty, and then a
single one of those monsters furnishes as much as a hundred barrels of
oil.
Was it, on the contrary, a "humpback," belonging to the species of
baloenopters, a designation whose termination should at least gain it
the entomologist's esteem? These possess dorsal fins, white in color,
and as long as half the body, which resemble a pair of wings--something
like a flying whale.
Had they not in view, more likely, a "finback" mammifer, as well known
by the name "jubarte," which is provided with a dorsal fin, and whose
length may equal that of the "right" whale?
Captain Hull and his crew could not yet decide, but they regarded the
animal with more desire than admiration.
If it is true that a clockmaker cannot find himself in a room in the
presence of a clock without experiencing the irresistible wish to wind
it up, how much more must the whaler, before a whale, be seized with
the imperative desire to take possession of it? The hunters of large
game, they say, are more eager than the hunters of small game. Then,
the larger the animal, the more it excites covetousness. Then, how
should hunters of elephants and fishers of whalers feel? And then there
was that disappointment, felt by all the "Pilgrim's" crew, of returning
with an incomplete cargo.
Meanwhile, Captain Hull tried to distinguish the animal which had been
signaled in the offing. It was not very visible from that distance.
Nevertheless, the trained eye of a whaler could not be deceived in
certain details easier to discern at a distance.
In fact, the water-spout, that is, that column of vapor and water which
the whale throws back by its rents, would attract Captain Hull's
attention, and fix it on the species to which this cetacean belonged.
"That is not a 'right' whale," cried he. "Its water-spout would be at
once higher and of a smaller volume. On the other hand, if the noise
made by that spout in escaping could be compared to the distant noise
of a cannon, I should be led to believe that that whale belongs to the
species of 'humpbacks;' but there is nothing of the kind, and, on
listening, we are assured that this noise is of quite a different
nature. What is your opinion on this subject, Dick?" asked Captain
Hull, turning toward the novice.
"I am ready to believe, captain," replied Dick Sand, "that we have to
do with a jubarte. See how his rents throw that column of liquid
violently into the air. Does it not seem to you also--which would
confirm my idea--that that spout contains more water than condensed
vapor? And, if I am not mistaken, it is a special peculiarity of the
jubarte."
"In fact, Dick," replied Captain Hull, "there is no longer any doubt
possible! It is a jubarte which floats on the surface of these red
waters."
"That's fine," cried little Jack.
"Yes, my boy! and when we think that the great beast is there, in
process of breakfasting, and little suspecting that the whalers are
watching it."
"I would dare to affirm that it is a jubarte of great size," observed
Dick Sand.
"Truly," replied Captain Hull, who was gradually becoming more excited.
"I think it is at least seventy feet long!"
"Good!" added the boatswain. "Half a dozen whales of that size would
suffice to fill a ship as large as ours!"
"Yes, that would be sufficient," replied Captain Hull, who mounted on
the bowsprit to see better.
"And with this one," added the boatswain, "we should take on board in a
few hours the half of the two hundred barrels of oil which we lack."
"Yes!--truly--yes!" murmured Captain Hull.
"That is true," continued Dick Sand; "but it is sometimes a hard matter
to attack those enormous jubartes!"
"Very hard, very hard!" returned Captain Hull. "Those baloenopters have
formidable tails, which must not be approached without distrust. The
strongest pirogue would not resist a well-given blow. But, then, the
profit is worth the trouble!"
"Bah!" said one of the sailors, "a fine jubarte is all the same a fine
capture!"
"And profitable!" replied another.
"It would be a pity not to salute this one on the way!"
It was evident that these brave sailors were growing excited in looking
at the whale. It was a whole cargo of barrels of oil that was floating
within reach of their hands. To hear them, without doubt there was
nothing more to be done, except to stow those barrels in the
"Pilgrim's" hold to complete her lading. Some of the sailors, mounted
on the ratlines of the fore-shrouds, uttered longing cries. Captain
Hull, who no longer spoke, was in a dilemma. There was something there,
like an irresistible magnet, which attracted the "Pilgrim" and all her
crew.
"Mama, mama!" then cried little Jack, "I should like to have the whale,
to see how it is made."
"Ah! you wish to have this whale, my boy? Ah! why not, my friends?"
replied Captain Hull, finally yielding to his secret desire. "Our
additional fishermen are lacking, it is true, but we alone----"
"Yes! yes!" cried the sailors, with a single voice.
"This will not be the first time that I have followed the trade of
harpooner," added Captain Hull, "and you will see if I still know how
to throw the harpoon!"
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" responded the crew.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VII.
PREPARATIONS.
It will be understood that the sight of this prodigious mammifer was
necessary to produce such excitement on board the "Pilgrim."
The whale, which floated in the middle of the red waters, appeared
enormous. To capture it, and thus complete the cargo, that was very
tempting. Could fishermen let such an occasion escape them?
However, Mrs. Weldon believed she ought to ask Captain Hull if it was
not dangerous for his men and for him to attack a whale under those
circumstances.
"No, Mrs. Weldon," replied Captain Hull. "More than once it has been my
lot to hunt the whale with a single boat, and I have always finished by
taking possession of it. I repeat it, there is no danger for us, nor,
consequently, for yourself."
Mrs. Weldon, reassured, did not persist.
Captain Hull at once made his preparations for capturing the jubarte.
He knew by experience that the pursuit of that baloenopter was not free
from difficulties, and he wished to parry all.
What rendered this capture less easy was that the schooner's crew could
only work by means of a single boat, while the "Pilgrim" possessed a
long-boat, placed on its stocks between the mainmast and the
mizzen-mast, besides three whale-boats, of which two were suspended on
the larboard and starboard pegs, and the third aft, outside the
crown-work.
Generally these three whale-boats were employed simultaneously in the
pursuit of cetaceans. But during the fishing season, we know, an
additional crew, hired at the stations of New Zealand, came to the
assistance of the "Pilgrim's" sailors.
Now, in the present circumstances, the "Pilgrim" could only furnish the
five sailors on board--that is, enough to arm a single whale-boat. To
utilize the group of Tom and his friends, who had offered themselves at
once, was impossible. In fact, the working of a fishing pirogue
requires very well trained seamen. A false move of the helm, or a false
stroke of an oar, would be enough to compromise the safety of the
whale-boat during an attack.
On the other hand, Captain Hull did not wish to leave his ship without
leaving on board at least one man from the crew, in whom he had
confidence. It was necessary to provide for all eventualities.
Now Captain Hull, obliged to choose strong seamen to man the
whale-boat, was forced to put on Dick Sand the care of guarding the
"Pilgrim."
"Dick," said he to him, "I shall charge you to remain on board during
my absence, which I hope will be short."
"Well, sir," replied the young novice.
Dick Sand would have wished to take part in this fishing, which had a
great attraction for him, but he understood that, for one reason, a
man's arms were worth more than his for service in a whale-boat, and
that for another, he alone could replace Captain Hull. So he was
satisfied. The whale-boat's crew must be composed of the five men,
including the master, Howik, which formed the whole crew of the
"Pilgrim." The four sailors were going to take their places at the
oars, and Howik would hold the stern oar, which serves to guide a boat
of this kind. A simple rudder, in fact, would not have a prompt enough
action, and in case the side oars should be disabled, the stern oar,
well handled, could put the whale-boat beyond the reach of the
monster's blows.
There was only Captain Hull besides. He had reserved to himself the
post of harpooner, and, as he had said, this would not be his first
attempt. It was he who must first throw the harpoon, then watch the
unrolling of the long line fastened at its end; then, finally finish
the animal with spears, when it should return to the surface of the
ocean.
Whalers sometimes employ firearms for this kind of fishing. By means of
a special instrument, a sort of small cannon, stationed either on board
the ship or at the front of the boat, they throw either a harpoon,
which draws with it the rope fastened to its end, or explosive balls,
which produce great ravages in the body of the animal.
But the "Pilgrim" was not furnished with apparatus of this kind. This
was, besides, an instrument of high price, rather difficult to manage,
and fishermen, but little friendly to innovations, seem to prefer the
employment of primitive weapons, which they use skilfully--that is to
say,--the harpoon and spear.
It was then by the usual method, attacking the whale with the sword,
that Captain Hull was going to attempt to capture the jubarte signaled
five miles from his ship.
Besides, the weather would favor this expedition. The sea, being very
calm, was propitious for the working of a whale-boat. The wind was
going down, and the "Pilgrim" would only drift in an insensible manner
while her crew were occupied in the offing.
So the starboard whale-boat was immediately lowered, and the four
sailors went into it.
Howik passed them two of those long spears which serve as harpoons,
then two long lances with sharp points. To those offensive arms he
added five coils of those strong flexible ropes that the whalers call
"lines," and which measure six hundred feet in length. Less would not
do, for it sometimes happens that these cords, fastened end to end, are
not enough for the "demand," the whale plunges down so deep.
Such were the different weapons which were carefully disposed in the
front of the boat.
Howik and the four sailors only waited for the order to let go the rope.
A single place was vacant in the prow of the whale-boat--that which
Captain Hull would occupy.
It is needless to say that the "Pilgrim's" crew, before quitting her,
had brought the ship's sails aback. In other words, the yards were
braced in such a manner that the sails, counteracting their action,
kept the vessel almost stationary.
Just as he was about to embark, Captain Hull gave a last glance at his
ship. He was sure that all was in order, the halliards well turned, the
sails suitably trimmed. As he was leaving the young novice on board
during an absence which might last several hours, he wished, with a
good reason, that unless for some urgent cause, Dick Sand would not
have to execute a single maneuver.
At the moment of departing he gave the young man some last words of
advice.
"Dick," said he, "I leave you alone. Watch over everything. If, as is
possible, it should become necessary to get the ship under way, in case
we should be led too far in pursuit of this jubarte, Tom and his
companions could come to your aid perfectly well. After telling them
clearly what they would have to do, I am assured that they would do it."
"Yes, Captain Hull," replied old Tom, "and Mr. Dick can count on us."
"Command! command!" cried Bat. "We have such a strong desire to make
ourselves useful."
"On what must we pull?" asked Hercules, turning up the large sleeves of
his jacket.
"On nothing just now," replied Dick Sand, smiling.
"At your service," continued the colossus.
"Dick," continued Captain Hull, "the weather is beautiful. The wind has
gone down. There is no indication that it will freshen again. Above
all, whatever may happen, do not put a boat to sea, and do not leave
the ship."
"That is understood."
"If it should become necessary for the 'Pilgrim' to come to us, I shall
make a signal to you, by hoisting a flag at the end of a boat-hook."
"Rest assured, captain, I shall not lose sight of the whale-boat,"
replied Dick Sand.
"Good, my boy," replied Captain Hull. "Courage and coolness. Behold
yourself assistant captain. Do honor to your grade. No one has been
such at your age!"
Dick Sand did not reply, but he blushed while smiling. Captain Hull
understood that blush and that smile.
"The honest boy!" he said to himself; "modesty and good humor, in
truth, it is just like him!"
Meanwhile, by these urgent recommendations, it was plain that, even
though there would be no danger in doing it, Captain Hull did not leave
his ship willingly, even for a few hours. But an irresistible
fisherman's instinct, above all, the strong desire to complete his
cargo of oil, and not fall short of the engagements made by James W.
Weldon in Valparaiso, all that told him to attempt the adventure.
Besides, that sea, so fine, was marvelously conducive to the pursuit of
a cetacean. Neither his crew nor he could resist such a temptation. The
fishing cruise would be finally complete, and this last consideration
touched Captain Hull's heart above everything.
Captain Hull went toward the ladder.
"I wish you success," said Mrs. Weldon to him.
"Thank you, Mrs. Weldon."
"I beg you, do not do too much harm to the poor whale," cried little
Jack.
"No, my boy," replied Captain Hull.
"Take it very gently, sir."
"Yes--with gloves, little Jack."
"Sometimes," observed Cousin Benedict, "we find rather curious insects
on the back of these large mammals."
"Well, Mr. Benedict," replied Captain Hull, laughing, "you shall have
the right to 'entomologize' when our jubarte will be alongside of the
'Pilgrim.'"
Then turning to Tom:
"Tom, I count on your companions and you," said he, "to assist us in
cutting up the whale, when it is lashed to the ship's hull--which will
not be long."
"At your disposal, sir," replied the old black.
"Good!" replied Captain Hull.
"Dick, these honest men will aid you in preparing the empty barrels.
During our absence they will bring them on deck, and by this means the
work will go fast on our return."
"That shall be done, captain."
For the benefit of those who do not know, it is necessary to say that
the jubarte, once dead, must be towed as far as the "Pilgrim," and
firmly lashed to her starboard side. Then the sailors, shod in boots,
with cramp-hooks would take their places on the back of the enormous
cetacean, and cut it up methodically in parallel bands marked off from
the head to the tail. These bands would be then cut across in slices of
a foot and a half, then divided into pieces, which, after being stowed
in the barrels, would be sent to the bottom of the hold.
Generally the whaling ship, when the fishing is over, manages to land
as soon as possible, so as to finish her manipulations. The crew lands,
and then proceeds to melt the lard, which, under the action of the
heat, gives up all its useful part--that is, the oil. In this
operation, the whale's lard weighs about a third of its weight.
But, under present circumstances, Captain Hull could not dream of
putting back to finish that operation. He only counted on melting this
quantity of lard at Valparaiso. Besides, with winds which could not
fail to hail from the west, he hoped to make the American coast before
twenty days, and that lapse of time could not compromise the results of
his fishing.
The moment for setting out had come. Before the "Pilgrim's" sails had
been brought aback, she had drawn a little nearer to the place where
the jubarte continued to signal its presence by jets of vapor and water.
The jubarte was all this time swimming in the middle of the vast red
field of crustaceans, opening its large mouth automatically, and
absorbing at each draught myriads of animalcules.
According to the experienced ones on board, there was no fear that the
whale dreamt of escaping. It was, doubtless, what the whalers call a
"fighting" whale.
Captain Hull strode over the netting, and, descending the rope ladder,
he reached the prow of the whale-boat.
Mrs. Weldon, Jack, Cousin Benedict, Tom, and his companions, for a last
time wished the captain success.
Dingo itself, rising on its paws and passing its head above the
railing, seemed to wish to say good-by to the crew.
Then all returned to the prow, so as to lose none of the very
attractive movements of such a fishing.
The whale-boat put off, and, under the impetus of its four oars,
vigorously handled, it began to distance itself from the "Pilgrim."
"Watch well, Dick, watch well!" cried Captain Hull to the young novice
for the last time.
"Count on me, sir."
"One eye for the ship, one eye for the whale-boat, my boy. Do not
forget it."
"That shall be done, captain," replied Dick Sand, who went to take his
place near the helm.
Already the light boat was several hundred feet from the ship. Captain
Hull, standing at the prow, no longer able to make himself heard,
renewed his injunctions by the most expressive gestures.
It was then that Dingo, its paws still resting on the railing, gave a
sort of lamentable bark, which would have an unfavorable effect upon
men somewhat given to superstition.
That bark even made Mrs. Weldon shudder.
"Dingo," said she, "Dingo, is that the way you encourage your friends?
Come, now, a fine bark, very clear, very sonorous, very joyful."
But the dog barked no more, and, letting itself fall back on its paws,
it came slowly to Mrs. Weldon, whose hand it licked affectionately.
"It does not wag its tail," murmured Tom in a low tone. "Bad sign--bad
sign."
But almost at once Dingo stood up, and a howl of anger escaped it.
Mrs. Weldon turned round.
Negoro had just left his quarters, and was going toward the forecastle,
with the intention, no doubt, of looking for himself at the movements
of the whale-boat.
Dingo rushed at the head cook, a prey to the strongest as well as to
the most inexplicable fury.
Negoro seized a hand-spike and took an attitude of defense.
The dog was going to spring at his throat.
"Here, Dingo, here!" cried Dick Sand, who, leaving his post of
observation for an instant, ran to the prow of the ship.
Mrs. Weldon on her side, sought to calm the dog.
Dingo obeyed, not without repugnance, and returned to the young novice,
growling secretly.
Negoro had not pronounced a single word, but his face had grown pale
for a moment. Letting go of his hand-spike, he regained his cabin.
"Hercules," then said Dick Sand, "I charge you especially to watch over
that man."
"I shall watch," simply replied Hercules, clenching his two enormous
fists in sign of assent.
Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand then turned their eyes again on the
whale-boat, which the four oarsmen bore rapidly away.
It was nothing but a speck on the sea.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VIII.
THE JUBARTE.
Captain Hull, an experienced whaler, would leave nothing to chance. The
capture of a jubarte is a difficult thing. No precaution ought to be
neglected. None was in this case.
And, first of all, Captain Hull sailed so as to come up to the whale on
the leeward, so that no noise might disclose the boat's approach.
Howik then steered the whale-boat, following the rather elongated curve
of that reddish shoal, in the midst of which floated the jubarte. They
would thus turn the curve.
The boatswain, set over this work, was a seaman of great coolness, who
inspired Captain Hull with every confidence. He had not to fear either
hesitation or distraction from Howik.
"Attention to the steering, Howik," said Captain Hull. "We are going to
try to surprise the jubarte. We will only show ourselves when we are
near enough to harpoon it."
"That is understood, sir," replied the boatswain.
"I am going to follow the contour of these reddish waters, so as to
keep to the leeward."
"Good!" said Captain Hull. "Boys, as little noise as possible in
rowing."
The oars, carefully muffled with straw, worked silently. The boat,
skilfully steered by the boatswain, had reached the large shoal of
crustaceans. The starboard oars still sank in the green and limpid
water, while those to larboard, raising the reddish liquid, seemed to
rain drops of blood.
"Wine and water!" said one of the sailors.
"Yes," replied Captain Hull, "but water that we cannot drink, and wine
that we cannot swallow. Come, boys, let us not speak any more, and
heave closer!"
The whale-boat, steered by the boatswain, glided noiselessly on the
surface of those half-greased waters, as if it were floating on a bed
of oil.
The jubarte did not budge, and did not seem to have yet perceived the
boat, which described a circle around it.
Captain Hull, in making the circuit, necessarily went farther than the
"Pilgrim," which gradually grew smaller in the distance. This rapidity
with which objects diminish at sea has always an odd effect. It seems
as if we look at them shortened through the large end of a telescope.
This optical illusion evidently takes place because there are no points
of comparison on these large spaces. It was thus with the "Pilgrim,"
which decreased to the eye and seemed already much more distant than
she really was.
Half an hour after leaving her, Captain Hull and his companions found
themselves exactly to the leeward of the whale, so that the latter
occupied an intermediate point between the ship and the boat.
So the moment had come to approach, while making as little noise as
possible. It was not impossible for them to get beside the animal and
harpoon it at good range, before its attention would be attracted.
"Row more slowly, boys," said Captain Hull, in a low voice.
"It seems to me," replied Howik, "that the gudgeon suspects something.
It breathes less violently than it did just now!"
"Silence! silence!" repeated Captain Hull.
Five minutes later the whale-boat was at a cable's length from the
jubarte. A cable's length, a measure peculiar to the sea, comprises a
length of one hundred and twenty fathoms, that is to say, two hundred
meters.
The boatswain, standing aft, steered in such a manner as to approach
the left side of the mammal, but avoiding, with the greatest care,
passing within reach of the formidable tail, a single blow of which
would be enough to crush the boat.
At the prow Captain Hull, his legs a little apart to maintain his
equilibrium, held the weapon with which he was going to give the first
blow. They could count on his skill to fix that harpoon in the thick
mass which emerged from the waters.
Near the captain, in a pail, was coiled the first of the five lines,
firmly fastened to the harpoon, and to which they would successively
join the other four if the whale plunged to great depths.
"Are we ready, boys?" murmured Captain Hull.
"Yes," replied Howik, grasping his oar firmly in his large hands.
"Alongside! alongside!"
The boatswain obeyed the order, and the whale-boat came within less
than ten feet of the animal.
The latter no longer moved, and seemed asleep.
Whales thus surprised while asleep offer an easier prize, and it often
happens that the first blow which is given wounds them mortally.
"This immovableness is quite astonishing!" thought Captain Hull. "The
rascal ought not to be asleep, and nevertheless----there is something
there!"
The boatswain thought the same, and he tried to see the opposite side
of the animal.
But it was not the moment to reflect, but to attack.
Captain Hull, holding his harpoon by the middle of the handle, balanced
it several times, to make sure of good aim, while he examined the
jubarte's side. Then he threw it with all the strength of his arm.
"Back, back!" cried he at once.
And the sailors, pulling together, made the boat recoil rapidly, with
the intention of prudently putting it in safety from the blows of the
cetacean's tail.
But at that moment a cry from the boatswain made them understand why
the whale was so extraordinarily motionless for so long a time on the
surface of the sea.
"A young whale!" said he.
In fact, the jubarte, after having been struck by the harpoon, was
almost entirely overturned on the side, thus discovering a young whale,
which she was in process of suckling.
This circumstance, as Captain Hull well knew, would render the capture
of the jubarte much more difficult. The mother was evidently going to
defend herself with greater fury, as much for herself as to protect her
"little one "--if, indeed, we can apply that epithet to an animal which
did not measure less than twenty feet.
Meanwhile, the jubarte did not rush at the boat, as there was reason to
fear, and there was no necessity, before taking flight, to quickly cut
the line which connected the boat with the harpoon. On the contrary,
and as generally happens, the whale, followed by the young one, dived,
at first in a very oblique line; then rising again with an immense
bound, she commenced to cleave the waters with extreme rapidity.
But before she had made her first plunge, Captain Hull and the
boatswain, both standing, had had time to see her, and consequently to
estimate her at her true value.
This jubarte was, in reality, a whale of the largest size. From the
head to the tail, she measured at least eighty feet. Her skin, of a
yellowish brown, was much varied with numerous spots of a darker brown.
It would indeed be a pity, after an attack so happily begun, to be
under the necessity of abandoning so rich a prey.
The pursuit, or rather the towing, had commenced. The whale-boat, whose
oars had been raised, darted like an arrow while swinging on the tops
of the waves.
Howik kept it steady, notwithstanding those rapid and frightful
oscillations. Captain Hull, his eye on his prey, did not cease making
his eternal refrain:
"Be watchful, Howik, be watchful!"
And they could be sure that the boatswain's vigilance would not be at
fault for an instant.
Meanwhile, as the whale-boat did not fly nearly as fast as the whale,
the line of the harpoon spun out with such rapidity that it was to be
feared that it would take fire in rubbing against the edge of the
whale-boat. So Captain Hull took care to keep it damp, by filling with
water the pail at the bottom of which the line was coiled.
All this time the jubarte did not seem inclined to stop her flight, nor
willing to moderate it. The second line was then lashed to the end of
the first, and it was not long before it was played out with the same
velocity.
At the end of five minutes it was necessary to join on the third line,
which ran off under the water.
The jubarte did not stop. The harpoon had evidently not penetrated into
any vital part of the body. They could even observe, by the increased
obliquity of the line, that the animal, instead of returning to the
surface, was sinking into lower depths.
"The devil!" cried Captain Hull, "but that rascal will use up our five
lines!"
"And lead us to a good distance from the 'Pilgrim,'" replied the
boatswain.
"Nevertheless, she must return to the surface to breathe," replied
Captain Hull. "She is not a fish, and she must have the provision of
air like a common individual."
"She has held her breath to run better," said one of the sailors,
laughing.
In fact, the line was unrolling all the time with equal rapidity.
To the third line, it was soon necessary to join the fourth, and that
was not done without making the sailors somewhat anxious touching their
future part of the prize.
"The devil! the devil!" murmured Captain Hull. "I have never seen
anything like that! Devilish jubarte!"
Finally the fifth line had to be let out, and it was already half
unrolled when it seemed to slacken.
"Good! good!" cried Captain Hull. "The line is less stiff. The jubarte
is getting tired."
At that moment, the "Pilgrim" was more than five miles to the leeward
of the whale-boat. Captain Hull, hoisting a flag at the end of a
boat-hook, gave the signal to come nearer.
And almost at once, he could see that Dick Sand, aided by Tom and his
companions, commenced to brace the yards in such a manner as to trim
them close to the wind.
But the breeze was feeble and irregular. It only came in short puffs.
Most certainly, the "Pilgrim" would have some trouble in joining the
whale-boat, if indeed she could reach it. Meanwhile, as they had
foreseen, the jubarte had returned to the surface of the water to
breathe, with the harpoon fixed in her side all the time. She then
remained almost motionless, seeming to wait for her young whale, which
this furious course must have left behind.
Captain Hull made use of the oars so as to join her again, and soon he
was only a short distance from her.
Two oars were laid down and two sailors armed themselves, as the
captain had done, with long lances, intended to strike the enemy.
Howik worked skilfully then, and held himself ready to make the boat
turn rapidly, in case the whale should turn suddenly on it.
"Attention!" cried Captain Hull. "Do not lose a blow! Aim well, boys!
Are we ready, Howik?"
"I am prepared, sir," replied the boatswain, "but one thing troubles
me. It is that the beast, after having fled so rapidly, is very quiet
now."
"In fact, Howik, that seems to me suspicious. Let us be careful!"
"Yes, but let us go forward."
Captain Hull grew more and more animated.
The boat drew still nearer. The jubarte only turned in her place. Her
young one was no longer near her; perhaps she was trying to find it
again.
Suddenly she made a movement with her tail, which took her thirty feet
away.
Was she then going to take flight again, and must they take up this
interminable pursuit again on the surface of the waters?
"Attention!" cried Captain Hull. "The beast is going to take a spring
and throw herself on us. Steer, Howik, steer!"
The jubarte, in fact, had turned in such a manner as to present herself
in front of the whale-boat. Then, beating the sea violently with her
enormous fins, she rushed forward.
The boatswain, who expected this direct blow, turned in such a fashion
that the jubarte passed by the boat, but without reaching it.
Captain Hull and the two sailors gave her three vigorous thrusts on the
passage, seeking to strike some vital organ.
The jubarte stopped, and, throwing to a great height two columns of
water mingled with blood, she turned anew on the boat, bounding, so to
say, in a manner frightful to witness.
These seamen must have been expert fishermen, not to lose their
presence of mind on this occasion.
Howik again skilfully avoided the jubarte's attack, by darting the boat
aside.
Three new blows, well aimed, again gave the animal three new wounds.
But, in passing, she struck the water so roughly with her formidable
tail, that an enormous wave arose, as if the sea were suddenly opened.
The whale-boat almost capsized, and, the water rushing in over the
side, it was half filled.
"The bucket, the bucket!" cried Captain Hull.
The two sailors, letting go their oars, began to bale out the boat
rapidly, while the captain cut the line, now become useless.
No! the animal, rendered furious by grief, no longer dreamt of flight.
It was her turn to attack, and her agony threatened to be terrible.
A third time she turned round, "head to head," a seaman would say, and
threw herself anew on the boat.
But the whale-boat, half full of water, could no longer move with the
same facility. In this condition, how could it avoid the shock which
threatened it? If it could be no longer steered, there was still less
power to escape.
And besides, no matter how quickly the boat might be propelled, the
swift jubarte would have always overtaken it with a few bounds. It was
no longer a question of attack, but of defense.
Captain Hull understood it all.
The third attack of the animal could not be entirely kept off. In
passing she grazed the whale-boat with her enormous dorsal fin, but
with so much force that Howik was thrown down from his bench.
The three lances, unfortunately affected by the oscillation, this time
missed their aim.
"Howik! Howik!" cried Captain Hull, who himself had been hardly able to
keep his place.
"Present!" replied the boatswain, as he got up. But he then perceived
that in his fall his stern oar had broken in the middle.
"Another oar!" said Captain Hull.
"I have one," replied Howik.
At that moment, a bubbling took place under the waters only a few
fathoms from the boat.
The young whale had just reappeared. The jubarte saw it, and rushed
towards it.
This circumstance could only give a more terrible character to the
contest. The whale was going to fight for two.
Captain Hull looked toward the "Pilgrim." His hand shook the boat-hook,
which bore the flag, frantically.
What could Dick Sand do that had not been already done at the first
signal from the captain? The "Pilgrim's" sails were trimmed, and the
wind commenced to fill them. Unhappily the schooner did not possess a
helix, by which the action could be increased to sail faster.
To lower one of the boats, and, with the aid of the blacks, row to the
assistance of the captain, would be a considerable loss of time;
besides, the novice had orders not to quit the ship, no matter what
happened. However, he had the stern-boat lowered from its pegs, and
towed it along, so that the captain and his companions might take
refuge in it, in case of need.
At that moment the jubarte, covering the young whale with her body, had
returned to the charge. This time she turned in such a manner as to
reach the boat exactly.
"Attention, Howik!" cried Captain Hull, for the last time.
But the boatswain was, so to speak, disarmed. Instead of a lever, whose
length gave force, he only held in his hand an oar relatively short. He
tried to put about; it was impossible.
The sailors knew that they were lost. All rose, giving a terrible cry,
which was perhaps heard on the "Pilgrim."
A terrible blow from the monster's tail had just struck the whale-boat
underneath. The boat, thrown into the air with irresistible violence,
fell back, broken in three pieces, in the midst of waves furiously
lashed by the whale's bounds.
The unfortunate sailors, although grievously wounded, would have had,
perhaps, the strength to keep up still, either by swimming or by
hanging on to some of the floating wreck. That is what Captain Hull
did, for he was seen for a moment hoisting the boatswain on a wreck.
But the jubarte, in the last degree of fury, turned round, sprang up,
perhaps in the last pangs of a terrible agony, and with her tail she
beat the troubled waters frightfully, where the unfortunate sailors
were still swimming.
For some minutes one saw nothing but a liquid water-spout scattering
itself in sheafs on all sides.
A quarter of an hour after, when Dick Sand, who, followed by the
blacks, had rushed into the boat, had reached the scene of the
catastrophe, every living creature had disappeared. There was nothing
left but some pieces of the whale-boat on the surface of the waters,
red with blood.
* * * * *
CHAPTER IX.
CAPTAIN SAND.
The first impression felt by the passengers of the "Pilgrim" in
presence of this terrible catastrophe was a combination of pity and
horror. They only thought of this frightful death of Captain Hull and
the five sailors. This fearful scene had just taken place almost under
their eyes, while they could do nothing to save the poor men. They had
not even been able to arrive in time to pick up the whale-boat's crew,
their unfortunate companions, wounded, but still living, and to oppose
the "Pilgrim's" hull to the jubarte's formidable blows. Captain Hull
and his men had forever disappeared.
When the schooner arrived at the fatal place, Mrs. Weldon fell on her
knees, her hands raised toward Heaven.
"Let us pray!" said the pious woman.
She was joined by her little Jack, who threw himself on his knees,
weeping, near his mother. The poor child understood it all. Dick Sand,
Nan, Tom, and the other blacks remained standing, their heads bowed.
All repeated the prayer that Mrs. Weldon addressed to God, recommending
to His infinite goodness those who had just appeared before Him.
Then Mrs. Weldon, turning to her companions, "And now, my friends,"
said she, "let us ask Heaven for strength and courage for ourselves."
Yes! They could not too earnestly implore the aid of Him who can do all
things, for their situation was one of the gravest!
This ship which carried them had no longer a captain to command her, no
longer a crew to work her. She was in the middle of that immense
Pacific Ocean, hundreds of miles from any land, at the mercy of the
winds and waves.
What fatality then had brought that whale in the "Pilgrim's" course?
What still greater fatality had urged the unfortunate Captain Hull,
generally so wise, to risk everything in order to complete his cargo?
And what a catastrophe to count among the rarest of the annals of
whale-fishing was this one, which did not allow of the saving of one of
the whale-boat's sailors!
Yes, it was a terrible fatality! In fact, there was no longer a seaman
on board the "Pilgrim." Yes, one--Dick Sand--and he was only a
beginner, a young man of fifteen. Captain, boatswain, sailors, it may
be said that the whole crew was now concentrated in him.
On board there was one lady passenger, a mother and her son, whose
presence would render the situation much more difficult. Then there
were also some blacks, honest men, courageous and zealous without a
doubt, ready to obey whoever should undertake to command them, but
ignorant of the simplest notions of the sailor's craft.
Dick Sand stood motionless, his arms crossed, looking at the place
where Captain Hull had just been swallowed up--Captain Hull, his
protector, for whom he felt a filial affection. Then his eyes searched
the horizon, seeking to discover some ship, from which he would demand
aid and assistance, to which he might be able at least to confide Mrs.
Weldon. He would not abandon the "Pilgrim," no, indeed, without having
tried his best to bring her into port. But Mrs. Weldon and her little
boy would be in safety. He would have had nothing more to fear for
those two beings, to whom he was devoted body and soul.
The ocean was deserted. Since the disappearance of the jubarte, not a
speck came to alter the surface. All was sky and water around the
"Pilgrim." The young novice knew only too well that he was beyond the
routes followed by the ships of commerce, and that the other whalers
were cruising still farther away at the fishing-grounds.
However, the question was, to look the situation in the face, to see
things as they were. That is what Dick Sand did, asking God, from the
depths of his heart, for aid and succor. What resolution was he going
to take?
At that moment Negoro appeared on the deck, which he had left after the
catastrophe. What had been felt in the presence of this irreparable
misfortune by a being so enigmatical, no one could tell. He had
contemplated the disaster without making a gesture, without departing
from his speechlessness. His eye had evidently seized all the details
of it. But if at such a moment one could think of observing him, he
would be astonished at least, because not a muscle of his impassible
face had moved. At any rate, and as if he had not heard it, he had not
responded to the pious appeal of Mrs. Weldon, praying for the engulfed
crew. Negoro walked aft, there even where Dick Sand was standing
motionless. He stopped three steps from the novice.
"You wish to speak to me?" asked Dick Sand.
"I wish to speak to Captain Hull," replied Negoro, coolly, "or, in his
absence, to boatswain Howik."
"You know well that both have perished!" cried the novice.
"Then who commands on board now?" asked Negoro, very insolently.
"I," replied Dick Sand, without hesitation.
"You!" said Negoro, shrugging his shoulders. "A captain of fifteen
years?"
"A captain of fifteen years!" replied the novice, advancing toward the
cook.
The latter drew back.
"Do not forget it," then said Mrs. Weldon. "There is but one captain
here--Captain Sand, and it is well for all to remember that he will
know how to make himself obeyed."
Negoro bowed, murmuring in an ironical tone a few words that they could
not understand, and he returned to his post.
We see, Dick's resolution was taken.
Meanwhile the schooner, under the action of the breeze, which commenced
to freshen, had already passed beyond the vast shoal of crustaceans.
Dick Sand examined the condition of the sails; then his eyes were cast
on the deck. He had then this sentiment, that, if a frightful
responsibility fell upon him in the future, it was for him to have the
strength to accept it. He dared to look at the survivors of the
"Pilgrim," whose eyes were now fixed on him. And, reading in their
faces that he could count on them, he said to them in two words, that
they could in their turn count on him.
Dick Sand had, in all sincerity, examined his conscience.
If he was capable of taking in or setting the sails of the schooner,
according to circumstances, by employing the arms of Tom and his
companions, he evidently did not yet possess all the knowledge
necessary to determine his position by calculation.
In four or five years more, Dick Sand would know thoroughly that
beautiful and difficult sailor's craft. He would know how to use the
sextant--that instrument which Captain Hull's hand had held every day,
and which gave him the height of the stars. He would read on the
chronometer the hour of the meridian of Greenwich, and from it would be
able to deduce the longitude by the hour angle. The sun would be made
his counselor each day. The moon--the planets would say to him, "There,
on that point of the ocean, is thy ship!" That firmament, on which the
stars move like the hands of a perfect clock, which nothing shakes nor
can derange, and whose accuracy is absolute--that firmament would tell
him the hours and the distances. By astronomical observations he would
know, as his captain had known every day, nearly to a mile, the place
occupied by the "Pilgrim," and the course followed as well as the
course to follow.
And now, by reckoning, that is by the progress measured on the log,
pointed out by the compass, and corrected by the drift, he must alone
ask his way.
However, he did not falter.
Mrs. Weldon understood all that was passing in the young novice's
resolute heart.
"Thank you, Dick," she said to him, in a voice which did not tremble.
"Captain Hull is no more. All his crew have perished with him. The fate
of the ship is in your hands! Dick, you will save the ship and those on
board!"
"Yes, Mrs. Weldon," replied Dick Sand, "yes! I shall attempt it, with
the aid of God!"
"Tom and his companions are honest men on whom you can depend entirely."
"I know it, and I shall make sailors of them, and we shall work
together. With fine weather that will be easy. With bad weather--well,
with bad weather, we shall strive, and we shall save you yet, Mrs.
Weldon--you and your little Jack, both! Yes, I feel that I shall do it."
And he repeated:
"With the aid of God!"
"Now, Dick, can you tell where the 'Pilgrim' is?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"Easily," replied the novice. "I have only to consult the chart on
board, on which her position was marked yesterday by Captain Hull."
"And will you be able to put the ship in the right direction?"
"Yes, I shall be able to put her prow to the east, nearly at the point
of the American coast that we must reach."
"But, Dick," returned Mrs. Weldon, "you well understand, do you not,
that this catastrophe may, and indeed must, modify our first projects?
It is no longer a question of taking the 'Pilgrim' to Valparaiso. The
nearest port of the American coast is now her port of destination."
"Certainly, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice. "So fear nothing! We
cannot fail to reach that American coast which stretches so far to the
south."
"Where is it situated?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"There, in that direction," replied Dick Sand, pointing to the east,
which he knew by means of the compass.
"Well, Dick, we may reach Valparaiso, or any other part of the coast.
What matter? What we want is to land."
"And we shall do it, Mrs. Weldon, and I shall land you on a good
place," replied the young man, in a firm voice. "Besides, in standing
in for the land, I do not renounce the hope of encountering some of
those vessels which do the coasting trade on that shore. Ah! Mrs.
Weldon, the wind begins to blow steadily from the northwest! God grant
that it may keep on; we shall make progress, and good progress. We
shall drive in the offing with all our sails set, from the brigantine
to the flying-jib!"
Dick Sand had spoken with the confidence of the seaman, who feels that
he stands on a good ship, a ship of whose every movement he is master.
He was going to take the helm and call his companions to set the sails
properly, when Mrs. Weldon reminded him that he ought first to know the
"Pilgrim's" position.
It was, indeed, the first thing to do. Dick Sand went into the
captain's cabin for the chart on which the position of the day before
was indicated. He could then show Mrs. Weldon that the schooner was in
latitude 43° 35', and in longitude 164° 13', for, in the last
twenty-four hours, she had not, so to say, made any progress.
Mrs. Weldon leaned over this chart. She looked at the brown color which
represented the land on the right of the ocean. It was the coast of
South America, an immense barrier thrown between the Pacific and the
Atlantic from Cape Horn to the shores of Columbia. To consider it in
that way, that chart, which, was then spread out under her eyes, on
which was drawn a whole ocean, gave the impression that it would be
easy to restore the "Pilgrim's" passengers to their country. It is an
illusion which is invariably produced on one who is not familiar with
the scale on which marine charts are drawn. And, in fact, it seemed to
Mrs. Weldon that the land ought to be in sight, as it was on that piece
of paper!
And, meanwhile, on that white page, the "Pilgrim" drawn on an exact
scale, would be smaller than the most microscopic of infusoria! That
mathematical point, without appreciable dimensions, would appear lost,
as it was in reality in the immensity of the Pacific!
Dick Sand himself had not experienced the same impression as Mrs.
Weldon. He knew how far off the land was, and that many hundreds of
miles would not suffice to measure the distance from it. But he had
taken his part; he had become a man under the responsibility which had
fallen upon him.
The moment to act had come. He must profit by this northwest breeze
which was blowing up. Contrary winds had given place to favorable
winds, and some clouds scattered in the zenith under the cirrous form,
indicated that they would blow steadily for at least a certain time.
Dick called Tom and his companions.
"My friends," he said to them, "our ship has no longer any crew but
you. I cannot work without your aid. You are not sailors, but you have
good arms. Place them, then, at the 'Pilgrim's' service and we can
steer her. Every one's salvation depends on the good work of every one
on board."
"Mr. Dick," replied Tom, "my companions and I, we are your sailors. Our
good will shall not be wanting. All that men can do, commanded by you,
we shall do it."
"Well spoken, old Tom," said Mrs. Weldon.
"Yes, well spoken," continued Dick Sand; "but we must be prudent, and I
shall not carry too much canvas, so as not to run any risk.
Circumstances require a little less speed, but more security. I will
show you, my friends, what each will have to do in the work. As to me,
I shall remain at the helm, as long as fatigue does not oblige me to
leave it. From time to time a few hours' sleep will be sufficient to
restore me. But, during those few hours, it will be very necessary for
one of you to take my place. Tom, I shall show you how we steer by
means of the mariner's compass. It is not difficult, and, with a little
attention, you will soon learn to keep the ship's head in the right
direction."
"Whenever you like, Mr. Dick," replied the old black.
"Well," replied the novice, "stay near me at the helm till the end of
the day, and if fatigue overcomes me, you will then be able to replace
me for a few hours."
"And I," said little Jack, "will I not be able to help my friend, Dick,
a little?"
"Yes, dear child," replied Mrs. Weldon, clasping Jack in her arms, "you
shall learn to steer, and I am sure that while you are at the helm we
shall have good winds."
"Very sure--very sure. Mother, I promise it to you," replied the little
boy, clapping his hands.
"Yes," said the young novice, smiling, "good cabin-boys know how to
maintain good winds. That is well known by old sailors." Then,
addressing Tom, and the other blacks: "My friends," he said to them,
"we are going to put the 'Pilgrim' under full sail. You will only have
to do what I shall tell you."
"At your orders," replied Tom, "at your orders, Captain Sand."
* * * * *
CHAPTER X.
THE FOUR DAYS WHICH FOLLOW.
Dick Sand was then captain of the "Pilgrim," and, without losing an
instant, he took the necessary measures for putting the ship under full
sail.
It was well understood that the passengers could have only one
hope--that of reaching some part of the American coast, if not
Valparaiso. What Dick Sand counted on doing was to ascertain the
direction and speed of the "Pilgrim," so as to get an average. For
that, it was sufficient to make each day on the chart the way made, as
it has been said, by the log and the compass. There was then on board
one of those "patent logs," with an index and helix, which give the
speed very exactly for a fixed time. This useful instrument, very
easily handled, could render the most useful services, and the blacks
were perfectly adapted to work it.
A single cause of error would interfere--the currents. To combat it,
reckoning would be insufficient; astronomical observations alone would
enable one to render an exact calculation from it. Now, those
observations the young novice was still unable to make.
For an instant Dick Sand had thought of bringing the "Pilgrim" back to
New Zealand. The passage would be shorter, and he would certainly have
done it if the wind, which, till then, had been contrary, had not
become favorable. Better worth while then to steer for America.
In fact, the wind had changed almost to the contrary direction, and now
it blew from the northwest with a tendency to freshen. It was then
necessary to profit by it and make all the headway possible.
So Dick Sand prepared to put the "Pilgrim" under full sail.
In a schooner brig-rigged, the foremast carries four square sails; the
foresail, on the lower mast; above, the top-sail, on the topmast;
then, on the top-gallant mast, a top-sail and a royal.
The mainmast, on the contrary, has fewer sails. It only carries a
brigantine below, and a fore-staffsail above. Between these two masts,
on the stays which support them at the prow, a triple row of triangular
sails may be set.
Finally, at the prow, on the bowsprit, and its extreme end, were hauled
the three jibs.
The jibs, the brigantine, the fore-staff, and the stay-sails are easily
managed. They can be hoisted from the deck without the necessity of
climbing the masts, because they are not fastened on the yards by means
of rope-bands, which must be previously loosened.
On the contrary, the working of the foremast sails demands much greater
proficiency in seamanship. In fact, when it is necessary to set them,
the sailors must climb by the rigging--it may be in the foretop, it
may be on the spars of the top-gallant mast, it may be to the top of
the said mast--and that, as well in letting them fly as in drawing them
in to diminish their surface in reefing them. Thence the necessity of
running out on foot-ropes--movable ropes stretched below the yards--of
working with one hand while holding on by the other--perilous work for
any one who is not used to it. The oscillation from the rolling and
pitching of the ship, very much increased by the length of the lever,
the flapping of the sails under a stiff breeze, have often sent a man
overboard. It was then a truly dangerous operation for Tom and his
companions.
Very fortunately, the wind was moderate. The sea had not yet had time
to become rough. The rolling and pitching kept within bounds.
When Dick Sand, at Captain Hull's signal, had steered toward the scene
of the catastrophe, the "Pilgrim" only carried her jibs, her
brigantine, her foresail, and her top-sail. To get the ship under way
as quickly as possible, the novice had only to make use of, that is, to
counter-brace, the foresail. The blacks had easily helped him in that
maneuver.
The question now was to get under full sail, and, to complete the
sails, to hoist the top-sails, the royal, the fore-staff, and the
stay-sails.
"My friends," said the novice to the five blacks, "do as I tell you,
and all will go right."
Dick Sand was standing at the wheel of the helm.
"Go!" cried he. "Tom, let go that rope quickly!"
"Let go?" said Tom, who did not understand that expression.
"Yes, loosen it! Now you, Bat--the same thing! Good! Heave--haul taut.
Let us see, pull it in!"
"Like that?" said Bat.
"Yes, like that. Very good. Come, Hercules--strong. A good pull there!"
To say "strong" to Hercules was, perhaps, imprudent. The giant of
course gave a pull that brought down the rope.
"Oh! not so strong, my honest fellow!" cried Dick Sand, smiling. "You
are going to bring down the masts!"
"I have hardly pulled," replied Hercules.
"Well, only make believe! You will see that that will be enough! Well,
slacken--cast off! Make fast--Make fast--like that! Good! All together!
Heave--pull on the braces."
And the whole breadth of the foremast, whose larboard braces had been
loosened, turned slowly. The wind then swelling the sails imparted a
certain speed to the ship.
Dick Sand then had the jib sheet-ropes loosened. Then he called the
blacks aft:
"Behold what is done, my friends, and well done. Now let us attend to
the mainmast. But break nothing, Hercules."
"I shall try," replied the colossus, without being willing to promise
more.
This second operation was quite easy. The main-boom sheet-rope having
been let go gently, the brigantine took the wind more regularly, and
added its powerful action to that of the forward sails.
The fore-staff was then set above the brigantine, and, as it is simply
brailed up, there was nothing to do but bear on the rope, to haul
aboard, then to secure it. But Hercules pulled so hard, along with his
friend Acteon, without counting little Jack, who had joined them, that
the rope broke off.
All three fell backwards--happily, without hurting themselves. Jack was
enchanted.
"That's nothing! that's nothing!" cried the novice. "Fasten the two
ends together for this time and hoist softly!"
That was done under Dick Sand's eyes, while he had not yet left the
helm. The "Pilgrim" was already sailing rapidly, headed to the east,
and there was nothing more to be done but keep it in that direction.
Nothing easier, because the wind was favorable, and lurches were not to
be feared.
"Good, my friends!" said the novice. "You will be good sailors before
the end of the voyage!"
"We shall do our best, Captain Sand," replied Tom.
Mrs. Weldon also complimented those honest men.
Little Jack himself received his share of praise, for he had worked
bravely.
"Indeed, I believe, Mr. Jack," said Hercules, smiling, "that it was you
who broke the rope. What a good little fist you have. Without you we
should have done nothing right."
And little Jack, very proud of himself, shook his friend Hercules' hand
vigorously.
The setting of the "Pilgrim's" sails was not yet complete. She still
lacked those top-sails whose action is not to be despised under this
full-sail movement. Top-sail, royal, stay-sails, would add sensibly to
the schooner's speed, and Dick Sand resolved to set them.
This operation would be more difficult than the others, not for the
stay-sails, which could be hoisted, hauled aboard and fastened from
below, but for the cross-jacks of the foremast. It was necessary to
climb to the spars to let them out, and Dick Sand, not wishing to
expose any one of his improvised crew, undertook to do it himself.
He then called Tom and put him at the wheel, showing him how he should
keep the ship. Then Hercules, Bat, Acteon and Austin being placed, some
at the royal halyards, others at those of the top-sails, he proceeded
up the mast. To climb the rattlings of the fore-shrouds, then the
rattlings of the topmast-shrouds, to gain the spars, that was only play
for the young novice. In a minute he was on the foot-rope of the
top-sail yard, and he let go the rope-bands which kept the sail bound.
Then he stood on the spars again and climbed on the royal yard, where
he let out the sail rapidly.
Dick Sand had finished his task, and seizing one of the starboard
backstays, he slid to the deck.
There, under his directions, the two sails were vigorously hauled and
fastened, then the two yards hoisted to the block. The stay-sails being
set next between the mainmast and the foremast, the work was finished.
Hercules had broken nothing this time.
The "Pilgrim" then carried all the sails that composed her rigging.
Doubtless Dick Sand could still add the foremast studding-sails to
larboard, but it was difficult work under the present circumstances,
and should it be necessary to take them in, in case of a squall, it
could not be done fast enough. So the novice stopped there.
Tom was relieved from his post at the wheel, which Dick Sand took
charge of again.
The breeze freshened. The "Pilgrim," making a slight turn to starboard,
glided rapidly over the surface of the sea, leaving behind her a very
flat track, which bore witness to the purity of her water-line.
"We are well under way, Mrs. Weldon," then said Dick Sand, "and, now,
may God preserve this favorable wind!"
Mrs. Weldon pressed the young man's hand. Then, fatigued with all the
emotions of that last hour, she sought her cabin, and fell into a sort
of painful drowsiness, which was not sleep.
The new crew remained on the schooner's deck, watching on the
forecastle, and ready to obey Dick Sand's orders--that is to say, to
change the set of the sails according to the variations of the wind;
but so long as the breeze kept both that force and that direction,
there would be positively nothing to do.
During all this time what had become of Cousin Benedict?
Cousin Benedict was occupied in studying with a magnifying glass an
articulate which he had at last found on board--a simple orthopter,
whose head disappeared under the prothorax; an insect with flat
elytrums, with round abdomen, with rather long wings, which belonged to
the family of the roaches, and to the species of American cockroaches.
It was exactly while ferreting in Negoro's kitchen, that he had made
that precious discovery, and at the moment when the cook was going to
crush the said insect pitilessly. Thence anger, which, indeed, Negoro
took no notice of.
But this Cousin Benedict, did he know what change had taken place on
board since the moment when Captain Hull and his companions had
commenced that fatal whale-fishing? Yes, certainly. He was even on the
deck when the "Pilgrim" arrived in sight of the remains of the
whale-boat. The schooner's crew had then perished before his eyes.
To pretend that this catastrophe had not affected him, would be to
accuse his heart. That pity for others that all people feel, he had
certainly experienced it. He was equally moved by his cousin's
situation. He had come to press Mrs. Weldon's hand, as if to say to
her: "Do not be afraid. I am here. I am left to you."
Then Cousin Benedict had turned toward his cabin, doubtless so as to
reflect on the consequences of this disastrous event, and on the
energetic measures that he must take. But on his way he had met the
cockroach in question, and his desire was--held, however, against
certain entomologists--to prove the cockroaches of the phoraspe
species, remarkable for their colors, have very different habits from
cockroaches properly so called; he had given himself up to the study,
forgetting both that there had been a Captain Hull in command of the
"Pilgrim," and that that unfortunate had just perished with his crew.
The cockroach absorbed him entirely. He did not admire it less, and he
made as much time over it as if that horrible insect had been a golden
beetle.
The life on board had then returned to its usual course, though every
one would remain for a long time yet under the effects of such a keen
and unforeseen catastrophe.
During this day Dick Sand was everywhere, so that everything should be
in its place, and that he could be prepared for the smallest
contingency. The blacks obeyed him with zeal. The most perfect order
reigned on board the "Pilgrim." It might then be hoped that all would
go well.
On his side, Negoro made no other attempt to resist Dick Sand's
authority. He appeared to have tacitly recognized him. Occupied as
usual in his narrow kitchen, he was not seen more than before. Besides,
at the least infraction--at the first symptom of insubordination, Dick
Sand was determined to send him to the hold for the rest of the
passage. At a sign from him, Hercules would take the head cook by the
skin of the neck; that would not have taken long. In that case, Nan,
who knew how to cook, would replace the cook in his functions. Negoro
then could say to himself that he was indispensable, and, as he was
closely watched, he seemed unwilling to give any cause of complaint.
The wind, though growing stronger till evening, did not necessitate any
change in the "Pilgrim's" sails. Her solid masting, her iron rigging,
which was in good condition, would enable her to bear in this condition
even a stronger breeze.
During the night it is often the custom to lessen the sails, and
particularly to take in the high sails, fore-staff, top-sail, royal,
etc. That is prudent, in case some squall of wind should come up
suddenly. But Dick Sand believed he could dispense with this
precaution. The state of the atmosphere indicated nothing of the kind,
and besides, the young novice determined to pass the first night on the
deck, intending to have an eye to everything. Then the progress was
more rapid, and he longed to be in less desolate parts.
It has been said that the log and the compass were the only instruments
which Dick Sand could use, so as to estimate approximately the way made
by the "Pilgrim."
During this day the novice threw the log every half-hour, and he noted
the indications furnished by the instrument.
As to the instrument which bears the name of compass, there were two on
board. One was placed in the binnacle, under the eyes of the man at the
helm. Its dial, lighted by day by the diurnal light, by night by two
side-lamps, indicated at every moment which way the ship headed--that
is, the direction she followed. The other compass was an inverted one,
fixed to the bars of the cabin which Captain Hull formerly occupied. By
that means, without leaving his chamber, he could always know if the
route given was exactly followed, if the man at the helm, from
ignorance or negligence, allowed the ship to make too great lurches.
Besides, there is no ship employed in long voyages which does not
possess at least two compasses, as she has two chronometers. It is
necessary to compare these instruments with each other, and,
consequently, control their indications.
The "Pilgrim" was then sufficiently provided for in that respect, and
Dick Sand charged his men to take the greatest care of the two
compasses, which were so necessary to him.
Now, unfortunately, during the night of the 12th to the 13th of
February, while the novice was on watch, and holding the wheel of the
helm, a sad accident took place. The inverted compass, which was
fastened by a copper ferule to the woodwork of the cabin, broke off and
fell on the floor. It was not seen till the next day.
How had the ferule come to break. It was inexplicable enough. It was
possible, however, that it was oxydized, and that the pitching and
rolling had broken it from the woodwork. Now, indeed, the sea had been
rougher during the night. However it was, the compass was broken in
such a manner that it could not be repaired.
Dick Sand was much thwarted. Henceforth he was reduced to trust solely
to the compass in the binnacle. Very evidently no one was responsible
for the breaking of the second compass, but it might have sad
consequences. The novice then took every precaution to keep the other
compass beyond the reach of every accident.
Till then, with that exception, all went well on board the "Pilgrim."
Mrs. Weldon, seeing Dick Sand's calmness, had regained confidence. It
was not that she had ever yielded to despair. Above all, she counted on
the goodness of God. Also, as a sincere and pious Catholic, she
comforted herself by prayer.
Dick Sand had arranged so as to remain at the helm during the night. He
slept five or six hours in the day, and that seemed enough for him, as
he did not feel too much fatigued. During this time Tom or his son Bat
took his place at the wheel of the helm, and, thanks to his counsels,
they were gradually becoming passable steersmen.
Often Mrs. Weldon and the novice talked to each other. Dick Sand
willingly took advice from this intelligent and courageous woman. Each
day he showed her on the ship's chart the course run, which he took by
reckoning, taking into account only the direction and the speed of the
ship. "See, Mrs. Weldon," he often repeated to her, "with these winds
blowing, we cannot fail to reach the coast of South America. I should
not like to affirm it, but I verily believe that when our vessel shall
arrive in sight of land, it will not be far from Valparaiso."
Mrs. Weldon could not doubt the direction of the vessel was right,
favored above all by those winds from the northwest. But how far the
"Pilgrim" still seemed to be from the American coast! How many dangers
between her and the firm land, only counting those which might come
from a change in the state of the sea and the sky!
Jack, indifferent like children of his age, had returned to his usual
games, running on the deck, amusing himself with Dingo. He found, of
course, that his friend Dick was less with him than formerly; but his
mother had made him understand that they must leave the young novice
entirely to his occupations. Little Jack had given up to these reasons,
and no longer disturbed "Captain Sand."
So passed life on board. The blacks did their work intelligently, and
each day became more skilful in the sailor's craft. Tom was naturally
the boatswain, and it was he, indeed, whom his companions would have
chosen for that office. He commanded the watch while the novice rested,
and he had with him his son Bat and Austin. Acteon and Hercules formed
the other watch, under Dick Sand's direction. By this means, while one
steered, the others watched at the prow.
Even though these parts were deserted, and no collision was really to
be feared, the novice exacted a rigorous watch during the night. He
never sailed without having his lights in position--a green light on
the starboard, a red light on the larboard--and in that he acted wisely.
All the time, during those nights which Dick Sand passed entirely at
the helm, he occasionally felt an irresistible heaviness over him. His
hand then steered by pure instinct. It was the effect of a fatigue of
which he did not wish to take account.
Now, it happened that during the night of the 13th to the 14th of
February, that Dick Sand was very tired, and was obliged to take a few
hours' rest. He was replaced at the helm by old Tom.
The sky was covered with thick clouds, which had gathered with the
evening, under the influence of the cold air. It was then very dark,
and it was impossible to distinguish the high sails lost in the
darkness. Hercules and Acteon were on watch on the forecastle.
Aft, the light from the binnacle only gave a faint gleam, which the
metallic apparatus of the wheel reflected softly. The ship's lanterns
throwing their lights laterally, left the deck of the vessel in
profound darkness.
Toward three o'clock in the morning, a kind of hypnotic phenomenon took
place, of which old Tom was not even conscious. His eves, which were
fixed too long on a luminous point of the binnacle, suddenly lost the
power of vision, and he fell into a true anæsthetic sleep.
Not only was he incapable of seeing, but if one had touched or pinched
him hard he would probably have felt nothing.
So he did not see a shadow which glided over the deck.
It was Negoro.
Arrived aft, the head cook placed under the binnacle a pretty heavy
object which he held in hand.
Then, after observing for an instant the luminous index of the compass,
he retired without having been seen.
If, the next day, Dick Sand had perceived that object placed by Negoro
under the binnacle, he might have hastened to take it away.
In fact, it was a piece of iron, whose influence had just altered the
indications of the compass. The magnetic needle had been deviated, and
instead of marking the magnetic north, which differs a little from the
north of the world, it marked the northeast. It was then, a deviation
of four points; in other words, of half a right angle.
Tom soon recovered from his drowsiness. His eyes were fixed on the
compass. He believed, he had reason to believe, that the "Pilgrim" was
not in the right direction. He then moved the helm so as to head the
ship to the east--at least, he thought so.
But, with the deviation of the needle, which he could not suspect, that
point, changed by four points, was the southeast.
And thus, while under the action of a favorable wind, the "Pilgrim" was
supposed to follow the direction wished for, she sailed with an error
of forty-five degrees in her route!
CHAPTER XI.
TEMPEST.
During the week which followed that event, from the 14th of February to
the 21st, no incident took place on board. The wind from the northwest
freshened gradually, and the "Pilgrim" sailed rapidly, making on an
average one hundred and sixty miles in twenty-four hours. It was nearly
all that could be asked of a vessel of that size.
Dick Sand thought the schooner must be approaching those parts more
frequented by the merchant vessels which seek to pass from one
hemisphere to the other. The novice was always hoping to encounter one
of those ships, and he clearly intended either to transfer his
passengers, or to borrow some additional sailors, and perhaps an
officer. But, though he watched vigilantly, no ship could be signaled,
and the sea was always deserted.
Dick Sand continued to be somewhat astonished at that. He had crossed
this part of the Pacific several times during his three fishing voyages
to the Southern Seas. Now, in the latitude and longitude where his
reckoning put him, it was seldom that some English or American ship did
not appear, ascending from Cape Horn toward the equator, or coming
toward the extreme point of South America.
But what Dick Sand was ignorant of, what he could not even discover,
was that the "Pilgrim" was already in higher latitude--that is to say,
more to the south than he supposed. That was so for two reasons:
The first was, that the currents of these parts, whose swiftness the
novice could only imperfectly estimate, had contributed--while he could
not possibly keep account of them--to throw the ship out of her route.
The second was, that the compass, made inaccurate by Negoro's guilty
hand, henceforth only gave incorrect bearings--bearings that, since the
loss of the second compass, Dick Sand could not control. So that,
believing, and having reason to believe, that he was sailing eastward,
in reality, he was sailing southeast. The compass, it was always before
his eyes. The log, it was thrown regularly. His two instruments
permitted him, in a certain measure, to direct the "Pilgrim," and to
estimate the number of miles sailed. But, then, was that sufficient?
However, the novice always did his best to reassure Mrs. Weldon, whom
the incidents of this voyage must at times render anxious.
"We shall arrive, we shall arrive!" he repeated. "We shall reach the
American coast, here or there; it matters little, on the whole, but we
cannot fail to land there!"
"I do not doubt it, Dick."
"Of course, Mrs. Weldon, I should be more at ease if you were not on
board--if we had only ourselves to answer for; but----"
"But if I were not on board," replied Mrs. Weldon; "if Cousin Benedict,
Jack, Nan and I, had not taken passage on the 'Pilgrim,' and if, on the
other hand, Tom and his companions had not been picked up at sea, Dick,
there would be only two men here, you and Negoro! What would have
become of you, alone with that wicked man, in whom you cannot have
confidence? Yes, my child, what would have become of you?"
"I should have begun," replied Dick Sand, resolutely, "by putting
Negoro where he could not injure me."
"And you would have worked alone?"
"Yes--alone--with the aid of God!"
The firmness of these words was well calculated to encourage Mrs.
Weldon. But, nevertheless, while thinking of her little Jack, she often
felt uneasy. If the woman would not show what she experienced as a
mother, she did not always succeed in preventing some secret anguish
for him to rend her heart.
Meanwhile, if the young novice was not sufficiently advanced in his
hydrographic studies to make his point, he possessed a true sailor's
scent, when the question was "to tell the weather." The appearance of
the sky, for one thing; on the other hand, the indications of the
barometer, enabled him to be on his guard. Captain Hull, a good
meteorologist, had taught him to consult this instrument, whose
prognostications are remarkably sure.
Here is, in a few words, what the notices relative to the observation
of the barometer contain:
1. When, after a rather long continuance of fine weather, the barometer
begins to fall in a sudden and continuous manner, rain will certainly
fall; but, if the fine weather has had a long duration, the mercury may
fall two or three days in the tube of the barometer before any change
in the state of the atmosphere may be perceived. Then, the longer the
time between the falling of the mercury and the arrival of the rain,
the longer will be the duration of rainy weather.
2. If, on the contrary, during a rainy period which has already had a
long duration, the barometer commences to rise slowly and regularly,
very certainly fine weather will come, and it will last much longer if
a long interval elapses between its arrival and the rising of the
barometer.
3. In the two cases given, if the change of weather follows immediately
the movement of the barometrical column, that change will last only a
very short time.
4. If the barometer rises with slowness and in a continuous manner for
two or three days, or even more, it announces fine weather, even when
the rain will not cease during those three days, and _vice versa;_ but
if the barometer rises two days or more during the rain, then, the fine
weather having come, if it commences to fall again, the fine weather
will last a very short time, and _vice versa_.
5. In the spring and in the autumn, a sudden fall of the barometer
presages wind. In the summer, if the weather is very warm, it announces
a storm. In winter, after a frost of some duration, a rapid falling of
the barometrical column announces a change of wind, accompanied by a
thaw and rain; but a rising which happens during a frost which has
already lasted a certain time, prognosticates snow.
6. Rapid oscillations of the barometer should never be interpreted as
presaging dry or rainy weather of any duration. Those indications are
given exclusively by the rising or the falling which takes place in a
slow and continuous manner.
7. Toward the end of autumn, if after prolonged rainy and windy
weather, the barometer begins to rise, that rising announces the
passage of the wind to the north and the approach of the frost.
Such are the general consequences to draw from the indications of this
precious instrument.
Dick Sand knew all that perfectly well, as he had ascertained for
himself in different circumstances of his sailor's life, which made him
very skilful in putting himself on his guard against all contingencies.
Now, just toward the 20th of February, the oscillations of the
barometrical column began to preoccupy the young novice, who noted them
several times a day with much care. In fact, the barometer began to
fall in a slow and continuous manner, which presages rain; but, this
rain being delayed, Dick Sand concluded from that, that the bad weather
would last. That is what must happen.
But the rain was the wind, and in fact, at that date, the breeze
freshened so much that the air was displaced with a velocity of sixty
feet a second, say thirty-one miles an hour.
Dick Sand was obliged to take some precautions so as not to risk the
"Pilgrim's" masting and sails.
Already he had the royal, the fore-staff, and the flying-jib taken in,
and he resolved to do the same with the top-sail, then take in two
reefs in the top-sail.
This last operation must present certain difficulties with a crew of
little experience. Hesitation would not do, however, and no one
hesitated. Dick Sand, accompanied by Bat and Austin, climbed into the
rigging of the foremast, and succeeded, not without trouble, in taking
in the top-sail. In less threatening weather he would have left the two
yards on the mast, but, foreseeing that he would probably be obliged to
level that mast, and perhaps even to lay it down upon the deck, he
unrigged the two yards and sent them to the deck. In fact, it is
understood that when the wind becomes too strong, not only must the
sails be diminished, but also the masting. That is a great relief to
the ship, which, carrying less weight above, is no longer so much
strained with the rolling and pitching.
This first work accomplished--and it took two hours--Dick Sand and his
companions were busy reducing the surface of the top-sail, by taking in
two reefs. The "Pilgrim" did not carry, like the majority of modern
ships, a double top-sail, which facilitates the operation. It was
necessary, then, to work as formerly--that is to say, to run out on the
foot-ropes, pull toward you a sail beaten by the wind, and lash it
firmly with its reef-lines. It was difficult, long, perilous; but,
finally, the diminished top-sail gave less surface to the wind, and the
schooner was much relieved.
Dick Sand came down again with Bat and Austin. The "Pilgrim" was then
in the sailing condition demanded by that state of the atmosphere which
has been qualified as "very stiff."
During the three days which followed, 20th, 21st and 22d of February,
the force and direction of the wind were not perceptibly changed. All
the time the mercury continued to fall in the barometrical tube, and,
on this last day, the novice noted that it kept continually below
twenty-eight and seven-tenths inches.
Besides, there was no appearance that the barometer would rise for some
time. The aspect of the sky was bad, and extremely windy. Besides,
thick fogs covered it constantly. Their stratum was even so deep that
the sun was no longer seen, and it would have been difficult to
indicate precisely the place of his setting and rising.
Dick Sand began to be anxious. He no longer left the deck; he hardly
slept. However, his moral energy enabled him to drive back his fears to
the bottom of his heart.
The next day, February 22d, the breeze appeared to decrease a little in
the morning, but Dick Sand did not trust in it. He was right, for in
the afternoon the wind freshened again, and the sea became rougher.
Toward four o'clock, Negoro, who was rarely seen, left his post and
came up on the forecastle. Dingo, doubtless, was sleeping in some
corner, for it did not bark as usual.
Negoro, always silent, remained for half an hour observing the horizon.
Long surges succeeded each other without, as yet, being dashed
together. However, they were higher than the force of the wind
accounted for. One must conclude from that, that there was very bad
weather in the west, perhaps at a rather short distance, and that it
would not be long in reaching these parts.
Negoro watched that vast extent of sea, which was greatly troubled,
around the "Pilgrim." Then his eyes, always cold and dry, turned toward
the sky.
The aspect of the sky was disturbing. The vapors moved with very
different velocities. The clouds of the upper zone traveled more
rapidly than those of the low strata of the atmosphere. The case then
must be foreseen, in which those heavy masses would fall, and might
change into a tempest, perhaps a hurricane, what was yet only a very
stiff breeze--that is to say, a displacement of the air at the rate of
forty-three miles an hour.
Whether Negoro was not a man to be frightened, or whether he understood
nothing of the threats of the weather, he did not appear to be
affected. However, an evil smile glided over his lips. One would say,
at the end of his observations, that this state of things was rather
calculated to please him than to displease him. One moment he mounted
on the bowsprit and crawled as far as the ropes, so as to extend his
range of vision, as if he were seeking some indication on the horizon.
Then he descended again, and tranquilly, without having pronounced a
single word, without having made a gesture, he regained the crew's
quarters.
Meanwhile, in the midst of all these fearful conjunctions, there
remained one happy circumstance which each one on board ought to
remember; it was that this wind, violent as it was or might become, was
favorable, and that the "Pilgrim" seemed to be rapidly making the
American coast. If, indeed, the weather did not turn to tempest, this
navigation would continue to be accomplished without great danger, and
the veritable perils would only spring up when the question would be to
land on some badly ascertained point of the coast.
That was indeed what Dick Sand was already asking himself. When he
should once make the land, how should he act, if he did not encounter
some pilot, some one who knew the coast? In case the bad weather should
oblige him to seek a port of refuge, what should he do, because that
coast was to him absolutely unknown? Indeed, he had not yet to trouble
himself with that contingency. However, when the hour should come, he
would be obliged to adopt some plan. Well, Dick Sand adopted one.
During the thirteen days which elapsed, from the 24th of February to
the 9th of March, the state of the atmosphere did not change in any
perceptible manner. The sky was always loaded with heavy fogs. For a
few hours the wind went down, then it began to blow again with the same
force. Two or three times the barometer rose again, but its
oscillation, comprising a dozen lines, was too sudden to announce a
change of weather and a return of more manageable winds. Besides the
barometrical column fell again almost immediately, and nothing could
inspire any hope of the end of that bad weather within a short period.
Terrible storms burst forth also, which very seriously disturbed Dick
Sand. Two or three times the lightning struck the waves only a few
cable-lengths from the ship. Then the rain fell in torrents, and made
those whirlpools of half condensed vapors, which surrounded the
"Pilgrim" with a thick mist.
For entire hours the man at the lookout saw nothing, and the ship
sailed at random.
Even though the ship, although resting firmly on the waves, was
horribly shaken, Mrs. Weldon, fortunately, supported this rolling and
pitching without being incommoded. But her little boy was very much
tried, and she was obliged to give him all her care.
As to Cousin Benedict, he was no more sick than the American
cockroaches which he made his society, and he passed his time in
studying, as if he were quietly settled in his study in San Francisco.
Very fortunately, also, Tom and his companions found themselves little
sensitive to sea-sickness, and they could continue to come to the young
novice's aid--well accustomed, himself, to all those excessive
movements of a ship which flies before the weather.
The "Pilgrim" ran rapidly under this reduced sail, and already Dick
Sand foresaw that he would be obliged to reduce it again. But he wished
to hold out as long as it would be possible to do so without danger.
According to his reckoning, the coast ought to be no longer distant. So
they watched with care. All the time the novice could hardly trust his
companions' eyes to discover the first indications of land. In fact, no
matter what good sight he may have, he who is not accustomed to
interrogating the sea horizons is not skilful in distinguishing the
first contours of a coast, above all in the middle of fogs. So Dick
Sand must watch himself, and he often climbed as far as the spars to
see better. But no sign yet of the American coast.
This astonished him, and Mrs. Weldon, by some words which escaped him,
understood that astonishment.
It was the 9th of March. The novice kept at the prow, sometimes
observing the sea and the sky, sometimes looking at the "Pilgrim's"
masting, which began to strain under the force of the wind.
"You see nothing yet, Dick?" she asked him, at a moment when he had
just left the long lookout.
"Nothing, Mrs. Weldon, nothing," replied the novice; and meanwhile, the
horizon seems to clear a little under this violent wind, which is going
to blow still harder."
"And, according to you, Dick, the American coast ought not to be
distant now."
"It cannot be, Mrs. Weldon, and if anything astonishes me, it is not
having made it yet."
"Meanwhile," continued Mrs. Weldon, "the ship has always followed the
right course."
"Always, since the wind settled in the northwest," replied Dick Sand;
"that is to say, since the day when we lost our unfortunate captain and
his crew. That was the 10th of February. We are now on the 9th of
March. There have been then, twenty-seven since that."
"But at that period what distance were we from the coast?" asked Mrs.
Weldon.
"About four thousand five hundred miles, Mrs. Weldon. If there are
things about which I have more than a doubt, I can at least guarantee
this figure within about twenty miles."
"And what has been the ship's speed?"
"On an average, a hundred and eighty miles a day since the wind
freshened," replied the novice. "So, I am surprised at not being in
sight of land. And, what is still more extraordinary, is that we do not
meet even a single one of those vessels which generally frequent these
parts!"
"Could you not be deceived, Dick," returned Mrs. Weldon, "in estimating
the 'Pilgrim's' speed?"
"No, Mrs. Weldon. On that point I could not be mistaken. The log has
been thrown every half hour, and I have taken its indications very
accurately. Wait, I am going to have it thrown anew, and you will see
that we are sailing at this moment at the rate of ten miles an hour,
which would give us more than two hundred miles a day."
Dick Sand called Tom, and gave him the order to throw the log, an
operation to which the old black was now quite accustomed.
The log, firmly fastened to the end of the line, was brought and sent
out.
Twenty-five fathoms were hardly unrolled, when the rope suddenly
slackened between Tom's hands.
"Ah! Mr. Dick!" cried he.
"Well, Tom?"
"The rope has broken!"
"Broken!" cried Dick Sand. "And the log is lost!"
Old Tom showed the end of the rope which remained in his hand.
It was only too true. It was not the fastening which had failed. The
rope had broken in the middle. And, nevertheless, that rope was of the
first quality. It must have been, then, that the strands of the rope at
the point of rupture were singularly worn! They were, in fact, and Dick
Sand could tell that when he had the end of the rope in his hands! But
had they become so by use? was what the novice, become suspicious,
asked himself.
However that was, the log was now lost, and Dick Sand had no longer any
means of telling exactly the speed of his ship. In the way of
instruments, he only possessed one compass, and he did not know that
its indications were false.
Mrs. Weldon saw him so saddened by this accident, that she did not wish
to insist, and, with a very heavy heart, she retired into her cabin.
But if the "Pilgrim's" speed and consequently the way sailed over could
no longer be estimated, it was easy to tell that the ship's headway was
not diminishing.
In fact, the next day, March 10th, the barometer fell to twenty-eight
and two-tenths inches. It was the announcement of one of those blasts
of wind which travel as much as sixty miles an hour.
It became urgent to change once more the state of the sails, so as not
to risk the security of the vessel.
Dick Sand resolved to bring down his top-gallant mast and his
fore-staff, and to furl his low sails, so as to sail under his
foretop-mast stay-sail and the low reef of his top-sail.
He called Tom and his companions to help him in that difficult
operation, which, unfortunately, could not be executed with rapidity.
And meanwhile time pressed, for the tempest already declared itself
with violence.
Dick Sands, Austin, Acteon, and Bat climbed into the masting, while Tom
remained at the wheel, and Hercules on the deck, so as to slacken the
ropes, as soon as he was commanded.
After numerous efforts, the fore-staff and the top-gallant mast were
gotten down upon the deck, not without these honest men having a
hundred times risked being precipitated into the sea, the rolling shook
the masting to such an extent. Then, the top-sail having been lessened
and the foresail furled, the schooner carried only her foretop-mast
stay-sail and the low reef of the top-sail.
Even though her sails were then extremely reduced, the "Pilgrim"
continued, none the less, to sail with excessive velocity.
The 12th the weather took a still worse appearance. On that day, at
dawn, Dick Sand saw, not without terror, the barometer fall to
twenty-seven and nine-tenths inches. It was a real tempest which was
raging, and such that the "Pilgrim" could not carry even the little
sail she had left.
Dick Sand, seeing that his top-sail was going to be torn, gave the
order to furl. But it was in vain. A more violent gust struck the ship
at that moment, and tore off the sail. Austin, who was on the yard of
the foretop-sail, was struck by the larboard sheet-rope. Wounded, but
rather slightly, he could climb down again to the deck.
Dick Sand, extremely anxious, had but one thought. It was that the
ship, urged with such fury, was going to be dashed to pieces every
moment; for, according to his calculation, the rocks of the coast could
not be distant. He then returned to the prow, but he saw nothing which
had the appearance of land, and then, came back to the wheel.
A moment after Negoro came on deck. There, suddenly, as if in spite of
himself, his arm was extended toward a point of the horizon. One would
say that he recognized some high land in the fogs!
Still, once more he smiled wickedly, and without saying anything of
what he had been able to see, he returned to his post.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XII.
ON THE HORIZON.
At that date the tempest took its most terrible form, that of the
hurricane. The wind had set in from the southwest. The air moved with a
velocity of ninety miles an hour. It was indeed a hurricane, in fact,
one of those terrible windstorms which wrecks all the ships of a
roadstead, and which, even on land, the most solid structures cannot
resist. Such was the one which, on the 25th of July, 1825, devastated
Guadaloupe. When heavy cannons, carrying balls of twenty-four pounds,
are raised from their carriages, one may imagine what would become of a
ship which has no other point of support than an unsteady sea? And
meanwhile, it is to its mobility alone that she may owe her salvation.
She yields to the wind, and, provided she is strongly built, she is in
a condition to brave the most violent surges. That was the case with
the "Pilgrim."
A few minutes after the top-sail had been torn in pieces, the
foretop-mast stay-sail was in its turn torn off. Dick Sand must then
give up the idea of setting even a storm-jib--a small sail of strong
linen, which would make the ship easier to govern.
The "Pilgrim" then ran without canvas, but the wind took effect on her
hull, her masts, her rigging, and nothing more was needed to impart to
her an excessive velocity. Sometimes even she seemed to emerge from the
waves, and it was to be believed that she hardly grazed them. Under
these circumstances, the rolling of the ship, tossed about on the
enormous billows raised by the tempest, was frightful. There was danger
of receiving some monstrous surge aft. Those mountains of water ran
faster than the schooner, threatening to strike her stern if she did
not rise pretty fast. That is extreme danger for every ship which scuds
before the tempest. But what could be done to ward off that
contingency? Greater speed could not be imparted to the "Pilgrim,"
because she would not have kept the smallest piece of canvas. She must
then be managed as much as possible by means of the helm, whose action
was often powerless.
Dick Sand no longer left the helm. He was lashed by the waist, so as
not to be carried away by some surge. Tom and Bat, fastened also, stood
near to help him. Hercules and Acteon, bound to the bitts, watched
forward. As to Mrs. Weldon, to Little Jack, to Cousin Benedict, to Nan,
they remained, by order of the novice, in the aft cabins. Mrs. Weldon
would have preferred to have remained on deck, but Dick Sand was
strongly opposed to it; it would be exposing herself uselessly.
All the scuttles had been hermetically nailed up. It was hoped that
they would resist if some formidable billow should fall on the ship.
If, by any mischance, they should yield under the weight of these
avalanches, the ship might fill and sink. Very fortunately, also, the
stowage had been well attended to, so that, notwithstanding the
terrible tossing of the vessel, her cargo was not moved about.
Dick Sand had again reduced the number of hours which he gave to sleep.
So Mrs. Weldon began to fear that he would take sick. She made him
consent to take some repose.
Now, it was while he was still lying down, during the night of the 13th
to the 14th of March, that a new incident took place.
Tom and Bat were aft, when Negoro, who rarely appeared on that part of
the deck, drew near, and even seemed to wish to enter into conversation
with them; but Tom and his son did not reply to him.
Suddenly, in a violent rolling of the ship, Negoro fell, and he would,
doubtless, have been thrown into the sea if he had not held on to the
binnacle.
Tom gave a cry, fearing the compass would be broken.
Dick Sand, in a moment of wakefulness, heard that cry, and rushing out
of his quarters, he ran aft.
Negoro had already risen, but he held in his hand the piece of iron
which he had just taken from under the binnacle, and he hid it before
Dick Sand could see it.
Was it, then, Negoro's interest for the magnetic needle to return to
its true direction? Yes, for these southwest winds served him now!
"What's the matter?" asked the novice.
"It's that cook of misfortune, who has just fallen on the compass!"
replied Tom.
At those words Dick Sand, in the greatest anxiety, leaned over the
binnacle. It was in good condition; the compass, lighted by two lamps,
rested as usual on its concentric circles.
The young novice was greatly affected. The breaking of the only compass
on board would be an irreparable misfortune.
But what Dick Sand could not observe was that, since the taking away of
the piece of iron, the needle had returned to its normal position, and
indicated exactly the magnetic north as it ought to be under that
meridian.
Meanwhile, if Negoro could not be made responsible for a fall which
seemed to be involuntary, Dick Sand had reason to be astonished that he
was, at that hour, aft in the ship.
"What are you doing there?" he asked him.
"What I please," replied Negoro.
"You say----" cried Dick Sand, who could not restrain his anger.
"I say," replied the head cook, "that there is no rule which forbids
walking aft."
"Well, I make that the rule," replied Dick Sand, "and I forbid you,
remember, to come aft."
"Indeed!" replied Negoro.
That man, so entirely under self-control, then made a menacing gesture.
The novice drew a revolver from his pocket, and pointed it at the head
cook.
"Negoro," said he, "recollect that I am never without this revolver,
and that on the first act of insubordination I shall blow out your
brains!"
At that moment Negoro felt himself irresistibly bent to the deck.
It was Hercules, who had just simply laid his heavy hand on Negoro's
shoulder.
"Captain Sand," said the giant, "do you want me to throw this rascal
overboard? He will regale the fishes, who are not hard to please!"
"Not yet," replied Dick Sand.
Negoro rose as soon as the black's hand no longer weighed upon him.
But, in passing Hercules:
"Accursed negro," murmured he, "I'll pay you back!"
Meanwhile, the wind had just changed; at least, it seemed to have
veered round forty-five degrees. And, notwithstanding, a singular
thing, which struck the novice, nothing in the condition of the sea
indicated that change. The ship headed the same way all the time, but
the wind and the waves, instead of taking her directly aft, now struck
her by the larboard quarter--a very dangerous situation, which exposes
a ship to receive bad surges. So Dick Sand was obliged to veer round
four points to continue to scud before the tempest.
But, on the other hand, his attention was awakened more than ever. He
asked himself if there was not some connection between Negoro's fall
and the breaking of the first compass. What did the head cook intend to
do there? Had he some interest in putting the second compass out of
service also? What could that interest be? There was no explanation of
that. Must not Negoro desire, as they all desired, to land on the
American coast as soon as possible?
When Dick Sand spoke of this incident to Mrs. Weldon, the latter,
though she shared his distrust in a certain measure, could find no
plausible motive for what would be criminal premeditation on the part
of the head cook.
However, as a matter of prudence, Negoro was well watched. Thereafter
he attended to the novice's orders and he did not risk coming aft in
the ship, where his duties never called him. Besides, Dingo having been
installed there permanently, the cook took earn to keep away.
During all that week the tempest did not abate. The barometer fell
again. From the 14th to the 26th of March it was impossible to profit
by a single calm to set a few sails. The "Pilgrim" scudded to the
northeast with a speed which could not be less than two hundred miles
in twenty-four hours, and still the land did not appear!--that land,
America, which is thrown like an immense barrier between the Atlantic
and the Pacific, over an extent of more than a hundred and twenty
degrees!
Dick Sand asked himself if he was not a fool, if he was still in his
right mind, if, for so many days, unknown to him, he was not sailing in
a false direction. No, he could not find fault with himself on that
point. The sun, even though he could not perceive it in the fogs,
always rose before him to set behind him. But, then, that land, had it
disappeared? That America, on which his vessel would go to pieces,
perhaps, where was it, if it was not there? Be it the Southern
Continent or the Northern Continent--for anything way possible in that
chaos--the "Pilgrim" could not miss either one or the other. What had
happened since the beginning of this frightful tempest? What was still
going on, as that coast, whether it should prove salvation or
destruction, did not appear? Must Dick Sand suppose, then, that he was
deceived by his compass, whose indications he could no longer control,
because the second compass was lacking to make that control? Truly, he
had that fear which the absence of all land might justify.
So, when he was at the helm, Dick Sand did not cease to devour the
chart with his eyes. But he interrogated it in vain; it could not give
him the solution of an enigma which, in the situation in which Negoro
had placed him, was incomprehensible for him, as it would have been for
any one else.
On this day, however, the 26th of March, towards eight o'clock in the
morning, an incident of the greatest importance took place.
Hercules, on watch forward, gave this cry:
"Land! land!"
Dick Sand sprang to the forecastle. Hercules could not have eyes like a
seaman. Was he not mistaken?
"Land?" cried Dick Sand.
"There," replied Hercules, showing an almost imperceptible point on the
horizon in the northeast.
They hardly heard each other speak in the midst of the roaring of the
sea and the sky.
"You have seen the land?" said the novice.
"Yes," replied Hercules.
And his hand was still stretched out to larboard forward.
The novice looked. He saw nothing.
At that moment, Mrs. Weldon, who had heard the cry given by Hercules,
came up on deck, notwithstanding her promise not to come there.
"Madam!" cried Dick Sand.
Mrs. Weldon, unable to make herself heard, tried, for herself, to
perceive that land signaled by the black, and she seemed to have
concentrated all her life in her eyes.
It must be believed that Hercules's hand indicated badly the point of
the horizon which he wished to show: neither Mrs. Weldon nor the novice
could see anything.
But, suddenly, Dick Sand in turn stretched out his hand.
"Yes! yes! land!" said he.
A kind of summit had just appeared in an opening in the fog. His
sailor's eyes could not deceive him.
"At last!" cried he; "at last!"
He clang feverishly to the netting. Mrs. Weldon, sustained by Hercules,
continued to watch that land almost despaired of.
The coast, formed by that high summit, rose at a distance of ten miles
to leeward.
The opening being completely made in a breaking of the clouds, they saw
it again more distinctly. Doubtless it was some promontory of the
American continent. The "Pilgrim," without sails, was not in a
condition to head toward it, but it could not fail to make the land
there.
That could be only a question of a few hours. Now, it was eight o'clock
in the morning. Then, very certainly, before noon the "Pilgrim" would
be near the land.
At a sign from Dick Sand, Hercules led Mrs. Weldon aft again, for she
could not bear up against the violence of the pitching.
The novice remained forward for another instant, then he returned to
the helm, near old Tom.
At last, then, he saw that coast, so slowly made, so ardently desired!
but it was now with a feeling of terror.
In fact, in the "Pilgrim's" present condition, that is to say, scudding
before the tempest, land to leeward, was shipwreck with all its
terrible contingencies.
Two hours passed away. The promontory was then seen off from the ship.
At that moment they saw Negoro come on deck. This time he regarded the
coast with extreme attention, shook his head like a man who would know
what to believe, and went down again, after pronouncing a name that
nobody could hear.
Dick Sand himself sought to perceive the coast, which ought to round
off behind the promontory.
Two hours rolled by. The promontory was standing on the larboard stern,
but the coast was not yet to be traced.
Meanwhile the sky cleared at the horizon, and a high coast, like the
American land, bordered by the immense chain of the Andes, should be
visible for more than twenty miles.
Dick Sand took his telescope and moved it slowly over the whole eastern
horizon.
Nothing! He could see nothing!
At two o'clock in the afternoon every trace of land had disappeared
behind the "Pilgrim." Forward, the telescope could not seize any
outline whatsoever of a coast, high or low.
Then a cry escaped Dick Sand. Immediately leaving the deck, he rushed
into the cabin, where Mrs. Weldon was with little Jack, Nan, and Cousin
Benedict.
"An island! That was only an island!" said he.
"An island, Dick! but what?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"The chart will tell us," replied the novice.
And running to his berth, he brought the ship's chart.
"There, Mrs. Weldon, there!" said he. "That land which we have seen, it
can only be this point, lost in the middle of the Pacific! It can only
be the Isle of Paques; there is no other in these parts."
"And we have already left it behind?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"Yes, well to the windward of us."
Mrs. Weldon looked attentively at the Isle of Paques, which only formed
an imperceptible point on the chart.
"And at what distance is it from the American coast?"
"Thirty-five degrees."
"Which makes----"
"About two thousand miles."
"But then the 'Pilgrim' has not sailed, if we are still so far from the
continent?"
"Mrs. Weldon," replied Dick Sand, who passed his hand over his forehead
for a moment, as if to concentrate his ideas, "I do not know--I cannot
explain this incredible delay! No! I cannot--unless the indications of
the compass have been false? But that island can only be the Isle of
Paques, because we have been obliged to scud before the wind to the
northeast, and we must thank Heaven, which has permitted me to mark our
position! Yes, it is still two thousand miles from the coast! I know,
at last, where the tempest has blown us, and, if it abates, we shall be
able to land on the American continent with some chance of safety. Now,
at least, our ship is no longer lost on the immensity of the Pacific!"
This confidence, shown by the young novice, was shared by all those who
heard him speak. Mrs. Weldon, herself, gave way to it. It seemed,
indeed, that these poor people were at the end of their troubles, and
that the "Pilgrim," being to the windward of her port, had only to wait
for the open sea to enter it! The Isle of Paques--by its true name
Vai-Hon--discovered by David in 1686, visited by Cook and Laperouse, is
situated 27° south latitude and 112° east longitude. If the schooner
had been thus led more than fifteen degrees to the north, that was
evidently due to that tempest from the southwest, before which it had
been obliged to scud.
Then the "Pilgrim" was still two thousand miles from the coast.
However, under the impetus of that wind which blew like thunder, it
must, in less than ten days, reach some point of the coast of South
America.
But could they not hope, as the novice had said, that the weather would
become more manageable, and that it would be possible to set some sail,
when they should make the land?
It was still Dick Sand's hope. He said to himself that this hurricane,
which had lasted so many days, would end perhaps by "killing itself."
And now that, thanks to the appearance of the Isle of Paques, he knew
exactly his position, he had reason to believe that, once master of his
vessel again, he would know how to lead her to a safe place.
Yes! to have had knowledge of that isolated point in the middle of the
sea, as by a providential favor, that had restored confidence to Dick
Sand; if he was going all the time at the caprice of a hurricane, which
he could not subdue, at least, he was no longer going quite blindfold.
Besides, the "Pilgrim," well-built and rigged, had suffered little
during those rude attacks of the tempest. Her damages reduced
themselves to the loss of the top-sail and the foretop-mast
stay-sail--a loss which it would be easy to repair. Not a drop of water
had penetrated through the well-stanched seams of the hull and the
deck. The pumps were perfectly free. In this respect there was nothing
to fear.
There was, then, this interminable hurricane, whose fury nothing seemed
able to moderate. If, in a certain measure, Dick Sand could put his
ship in a condition to struggle against the violent storm, he could not
order that wind to moderate, those waves to be still, that sky to
become serene again. On board, if he was "master after God," outside
the ship, God alone commanded the winds and the waves.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XIII.
LAND! LAND!
Meanwhile, that confidence with which Dick Sand's heart filled
instinctively, was going to be partly justified.
The next day, March 27th, the column of mercury rose in the
barometrical tube. The oscillation was neither sudden nor
considerable--a few lines only--but the progression seemed likely to
continue. The tempest was evidently going to enter its decreasing
period, and, if the sea did remain excessively rough, they could tell
that the wind was going down, veering slightly to the west.
Dick Sand could not yet think of using any sail. The smallest sail
would be carried away. However, he hoped that twenty-four hours would
not elapse before it would be possible for him to rig a storm-jib.
During the night, in fact, the wind went down quite noticeably, if they
compared it to what it had been till then, and the ship was less tossed
by those violent rollings which had threatened to break her in pieces.
The passengers began to appear on deck again. They no longer ran the
risk of being carried away by some surge from the sea.
Mrs. Weldon was the first to leave the hatchway where Dick Sand, from
prudent motives, had obliged them to shut themselves up during the
whole duration of that long tempest. She came to talk with the novice,
whom a truly superhuman will had rendered capable of resisting so much
fatigue. Thin, pale under his sunburnt complexion, he might well be
weakened by the loss of that sleep so necessary at his age. No, his
valiant nature resisted everything. Perhaps he would pay dearly some
day for that period of trial. But that was not the moment to allow
himself to be cast down. Dick Sand had said all that to himself. Mrs.
Weldon found him as energetic as he had ever been.
And then he had confidence, that brave Sand, and if confidence does not
command itself, at least it commands.
"Dick, my dear child, my captain," said Mrs. Weldon, holding out her
hand to the young novice.
"Ah! Mrs. Weldon," exclaimed Dick Sand, smiling, "you disobey your
captain. You return on deck, you leave your cabin in spite of
his--prayers."
"Yes, I disobey you," replied Mrs. Weldon; "but I have, as it were, a
presentiment that the tempest is going down or is going to become calm."
"It is becoming calm, in fact, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice. "You
are not mistaken. The barometer has not fallen since yesterday. The
wind has moderated, and I have reason to believe that our hardest
trials are over."
"Heaven hears you, Dick. All! you have suffered much, my poor child!
You have done there----"
"Only my duty, Mrs. Weldon."
"But at last will you be able to take some rest?"
"Rest!" replied the novice; "I have no need of rest, Mrs. Weldon. I am
well, thank God, and it is necessary for me to keep up to the end. You
have called me captain, and I shall remain captain till the moment when
all the 'Pilgrim's' passengers shall be in safety."
"Dick," returned Mrs. Weldon, "my husband and I, we shall never forget
what you have just done."
"God has done all," replied Dick Sand; "all!"
"My child, I repeat it, that by your moral and physical energy, you
have shown yourself a man--a man fit to command, and before long, as
soon as your studies are finished--my husband will not contradict
me--you will command for the house of James W. Weldon!"
"I--I----" exclaimed Dick Sand, whose eyes filled with tears.
"Dick," replied Mrs. Weldon, "you are already our child by adoption,
and now, you are our son, the deliverer of your mother, and of your
little brother Jack. My dear Dick, I embrace you for my husband and for
myself!"
The courageous woman did not wish to give way while clasping the young
novice in her arms, but her heart overflowed. As to Dick Sand's
feelings, what pen could do them justice? He asked himself if he could
not do more than give his life for his benefactors, and he accepted in
advance all the trials which might come upon him in the future.
After this conversation Dick Sand felt stronger. If the wind should
become so moderate that he should be able to hoist some canvas, he did
not doubt being able to steer his ship to a port where all those which
it carried would at last be in safety.
On the 29th, the wind having moderated a little, Dick Sand thought of
setting the foresail and the top-sail, consequently to increase the
speed of the "Pilgrim" while directing her course.
"Come, Tom; come, my friends!" cried he, when he went on deck at
daybreak; "come, I need your arms!"
"We are ready, Captain Sand," replied old Tom.
"Ready for everything," added Hercules. "There was nothing to do during
that tempest, and I begin to grow rusty."
"You should have blown with your big mouth," said little Jack; "I bet
you would have been as strong as the wind!"
"That is an idea, Jack," replied Dick Sand, laughing. "When there is a
calm we shall make Hercules blow on the sails."
"At your service, Mister Dick!" replied the brave black, inflating his
cheeks like a gigantic Boreas.
"Now, my friends," continued the novice, we are to begin by binding a
spare sail to the yard, because our top-sail was carried away in the
hurricane. It will be difficult, perhaps, but it must be done."
"It shall be done!" replied Acteon.
"Can I help you?" asked little Jack, always ready to work.
"Yes, my Jack," replied the novice. "You will take your place at the
wheel, with our friend Bat, and you will help him to steer."
If little Jack was proud of being assistant helmsman on the "Pilgrim,"
it is superfluous to say so.
"Now to work," continued Dick Sand, "and we must expose ourselves as
little as possible."
The blacks, guided by the novice, went to work at once. To fasten a
top-sail to its yard presented some difficulties for Tom and his
companions. First the rolled up sail must be hoisted, then fastened to
the yard.
However, Dick Sand commanded so well, and was so well obeyed, that
after an hour's work the sail was fastened to its yard, the yard
hoisted, and the top-sail properly set with two reefs.
As to the foresail and the second jib, which had been furled before the
tempest, those sails were set without a great deal of trouble, in spite
of the force of the wind.
At last, on that day, at ten o'clock in the morning, the "Pilgrim" was
sailing under her foresail, her top-sail, and her jib.
Dick Sand had not judged it prudent to set more sail. The canvas which
he carried ought to assure him, as long as the wind did not moderate, a
speed of at least two hundred miles in twenty-four hours, and he did
not need any greater to reach the American coast before ten days.
The novice was indeed satisfied when, returning to the wheel, he again
took his post, after thanking Master Jack, assistant helmsman of the
"Pilgrim." He was no longer at the mercy of the waves. He was making
headway. His joy will be understood by all those who are somewhat
familiar with the things of the sea.
The next day the clouds still ran with the same velocity, but they left
large openings between them, through which the rays of the sun made
their way to the surface of the waters. The "Pilgrim" was at times
overspread with them. A good thing is that vivifying light! Sometimes
it was extinguished behind a large mass of vapors which came up in the
east, then it reappeared, to disappear again, but the weather was
becoming fine again.
The scuttles had been opened to ventilate the interior of the ship. A
salubrious air penetrated the hold, the rear hatchway, the crew's
quarters. They put the wet sails to dry, stretching them out in the
sun. The deck was also cleaned. Dick Sand did not wish his ship to
arrive in port without having made a bit of toilet. Without overworking
the crew, a few hours spent each day at that work would bring it to a
good end.
Though the novice could no longer throw the log, he was so accustomed
to estimating the headway of a ship that he could take a close account
of her speed. He had then no doubt of reaching land before seven days,
and he gave that opinion to Mrs. Weldon, after showing her, on the
chart, the probable position of the ship.
"Well, at what point of the coast shall we arrive, my dear Dick?" she
asked him.
"Here, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice, indicating that long coast
line which extends from Peru to Chili. "I do not know how to be more
exact. Here is the Isle of Paques, that we have left behind in the
west, and, by the direction of the wind, which has been constant, I
conclude that we shall reach land in the east. Ports are quite numerous
on that coast, but to name the one we shall have in view when we make
the land is impossible at this moment."
"Well, Dick, whichever it may be, that port will be welcome."
"Yes, Mrs. Weldon, and you will certainly find there the means to
return promptly to San Francisco. The Pacific Navigation Company has a
very well organized service on this coast. Its steamers touch at the
principal points of the coast; nothing will be easier than to take
passage for California."
"Then you do not count on bringing the 'Pilgrim' to San Francisco?"
asked Mrs. Weldon.
"Yes, after having put you on shore, Mrs. Weldon. If we can procure an
officer and a crew, we are going to discharge our cargo at Valparaiso,
as Captain Hull would have done. Then we shall return to our own port.
But that would delay you too much, and, though very sorry to be
separated from you----"
"Well, Dick," replied Mrs. Weldon, "we shall see later what must be
done. Tell me, you seem to fear the dangers which the land presents."
"In fact, they are to be feared," replied the novice, "but I am always
hoping to meet some ship in these parts, and I am even very much
surprised at not seeing any. If only one should pass, we would enter
into communication with her; she would give us our exact situation,
which would greatly facilitate our arrival in sight of land."
"Are there not pilots who do service along this coast?" asked Mrs.
Weldon.
"There ought to be," replied Dick Sand, "but much nearer land. We must
then continue to approach it."
"And if we do not meet a pilot?" asked Mrs. Weldon, who kept on
questioning him in order to know how the young novice would prepare for
all contingencies.
"In that case, Mrs. Weldon, either the weather will be clear, the wind
moderate, and I shall endeavor to sail up the coast sufficiently near
to find a refuge, or the wind will be stronger, and then----"
"Then what will you do, Dick?"
"Then, in the present condition of the 'Pilgrim,'" replied Dick Sand,
"once near the land, it will be very difficult to set off again."
"What will you do?" repeated Mrs. Weldon.
"I shall be forced to run my ship aground," replied the novice, whose
brow darkened for a moment. "Ah! it is a hard extremity. God grant that
we may not be reduced to that. But, I repeat it, Mrs. Weldon, the
appearance of the sky is reassuring, and it is impossible for a vessel
or a pilot-boat not to meet us. Then, good hope. We are headed for the
land, we shall see it before long."
Yes, to run a ship aground is a last extremity, to which the most
energetic sailor does not resort without fear! Thus, Dick Sand did not
wish to foresee it, while he had some chances of escaping it.
For several days there were, in the state of the atmosphere,
alternatives which, anew, made the novice very uneasy. The wind kept in
the condition of a stiff breeze all the time, and certain oscillations
of the barometrical column indicated that it tended to freshen. Dick
Sand then asked himself, not without apprehension, if he would be again
forced to scud without sails. He had so much interest in keeping at
least his top-sail, that he resolved to do so so long as it was not
likely to be carried away. But, to secure the solidity of the masts, he
had the shrouds and backstays hauled taut. Above all, all unnecessary
risk must be avoided, as the situation would become one of the gravest,
if the "Pilgrim" should be disabled by losing her masts.
Once or twice, also, the barometer rising gave reason to fear that the
wind might change point for point; that is to say, that it might pass
to the east. It would then be necessary to sail close to the wind!
A new anxiety for Dick Sand. What should he do with a contrary wind?
Tack about? But if he was obliged to come to that, what new delays and
what risks of being thrown into the offing.
Happily those fears were not realized. The wind, after shifting for
several days, blowing sometimes from the north, sometimes from the
south, settled definitely in the west. But it was always a strong
breeze, almost a gale, which strained the masting.
It was the 5th of April. So, then, more than two months had already
elapsed since the "Pilgrim" had left New Zealand. For twenty days a
contrary wind and long calms had retarded her course. Then she was in a
favorable condition to reach land rapidly. Her speed must even have
been very considerable during the tempest. Dick Sand estimated its
average at not less than two hundred miles a day! How, then, had he not
yet made the coast? Did it flee before the "Pilgrim?" It was absolutely
inexplicable.
And, nevertheless, no land was signaled, though one of the blacks kept
watch constantly in the crossbars.
Dick Sand often ascended there himself. There, with a telescope to his
eyes, he sought to discover some appearance of mountains. The Andes
chain is very high. It was there in the zone of the clouds that he must
seek some peak, emerging from the vapors of the horizon.
Several times Tom and his companions were deceived by false indications
of land. They were only vapors of an odd form, which rose in the
background. It happened sometimes that these honest men were obstinate
in their belief; but, after a certain time, they were forced to
acknowledge that they had been dupes of an optical illusion. The
pretended land, moved away, changed form and finished by disappearing
completely.
On the 6th of April there was no longer any doubt possible.
It was eight o'clock in the morning. Dick Sand had just ascended into
the bars. At that moment the fogs were condensed under the first rays
of the sun, and the horizon was pretty clearly defined.
From Dick Sand's lips escaped at last the so long expected cry:
"Land! land before us!"
At that cry every one ran on deck, little Jack, curious as folks are at
that age, Mrs. Weldon, whose trials were going to cease with the
landing, Tom and his companions, who were at last going to set foot
again on the American continent, Cousin Benedict himself, who had great
hope of picking up quite a rich collection of new insects for himself.
Negoro, alone, did not appear.
Each then saw what Dick Sand had seen, some very distinctly, others
with the eyes of faith. But on the part of the novice, so accustomed to
observe sea horizons, there was no error possible, and an hour after,
it must be allowed he was not deceived.
At a distance of about four miles to the east stretched a rather low
coast, or at least what appeared such. It must be commanded behind by
the high chain of the Andes, but the last zone of clouds did not allow
the summits to be perceived.
The "Pilgrim" sailed directly and rapidly to this coast, which grew
larger to the eye.
Two hours after it was only three miles away.
This part of the coast ended in the northeast by a pretty high cape,
which covered a sort of roadstead protected from land winds. On the
contrary, in the southeast, it lengthened out like a thin peninsula.
A few trees crowned a succession of low cliffs, which were then clearly
defined under the sky. But it was evident, the geographical character
of the country being given, that the high mountain chain of the Andes
formed their background.
Moreover, no habitation in sight, no port, no river mouth, which might
serve as a harbor for a vessel.
At that moment the "Pilgrim" was running right on the land. With the
reduced sail which she carried, the winds driving her to the coast,
Dick Sand would not be able to set off from it.
In front lay a long band of reefs, on which the sea was foaming all
white. They saw the waves unfurl half way up the cliffs. There must be
a monstrous surf there.
Dick Sand, after remaining on the forecastle to observe the coast,
returned aft, and, without saying a word, he took the helm.
The wind was freshening all the time. The schooner was soon only a mile
from the shore.
Dick Sand then perceived a sort of little cove, into which he resolved
to steer; but, before reaching it, he must cross a line of reefs, among
which it would be difficult to follow a channel. The surf indicated
that the water was shallow everywhere.
At that moment Dingo, who was going backwards and forwards on the deck,
dashed forward, and, looking at the land, gave some lamentable barks.
One would say that the dog recognized the coast, and that its instinct
recalled some sad remembrance.
Negoro must have heard it, for an irresistible sentiment led him out of
his cabin; and although he had reason to fear the dog, he came almost
immediately to lean on the netting.
Very fortunately for him Dingo, whose sad barks were all the time being
addressed to that land, did not perceive him.
Negoro looked at that furious surf, and that did not appear to frighten
him. Mrs. Weldon, who was looking at him, thought she saw his face
redden a little, and that for an instant his features were contracted.
Then, did Negoro know this point of the continent where the winds were
driving the "Pilgrim?"
At that moment Dick Sand left the wheel, which he gave back to old Tom.
For a last time he came to look at the cove, which gradually opened.
Then:
"Mrs. Weldon," said he, in a firm voice, "I have no longer any hope of
finding a harbor! Before half an hour, in spite of all my efforts, the
'Pilgrim' will be on the reefs! We must run aground! I shall not bring
the ship into port! I am forced to lose her to save you! But, between
your safety and hers, I do not hesitate!"
"You have done all that depended on you, Dick?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"All," replied the young novice.
And at once he made his preparations for stranding the ship.
First of all, Mrs. Weldon, Jack, Cousin Benedict and Nan, must put on
life-preservers. Dick Sand, Tom and the blacks, good swimmers, also
took measures to gain the coast, in case they should be precipitated
into the sea.
Hercules would take charge of Mrs. Weldon. The novice took little Jack
under his care.
Cousin Benedict, very tranquil, however, reappeared on the deck with
his entomologist box strapped to his shoulder. The novice commended him
to Bat and Austin. As to Negoro, his singular calmness said plainly
enough that he had no need of anybody's aid.
Dick Sand, by a supreme precaution, had also brought on the forecastle
ten barrels of the cargo containing whale's oil.
That oil, properly poured the moment the "Pilgrim" would be in the
surf, ought to calm the sea for an instant, in lubricating, so to say,
the molecules of water, and that operation would perhaps facilitate the
ship's passage between the reefs. Dick Sand did not wish to neglect
anything which might secure the common safety.
All these precautions taken, the novice returned to take his place at
the wheel.
The "Pilgrim" was only two cables' lengths from the coast, that is,
almost touching the reefs, her starboard side already bathed in the
white foam of the surf. Each moment the novice thought that the
vessel's keel was going to strike some rocky bottom.
Suddenly, Dick Sand knew, by a change in the color of the water, that a
channel lengthened out among the reefs. He must enter it bravely
without hesitating, so as to make the coast as near as possible to the
shore.
The novice did not hesitate. A movement of the helm thrust the ship
into the narrow and sinuous channel. In this place the sea was still
more furious, and the waves dashed on the deck.
The blacks were posted forward, near the barrels, waiting for the
novice's orders.
"Pour the oil--pour!" exclaimed Dick Sand.
Under this oil, which was poured on it in quantities, the sea grew
calm, as by enchantment, only to become more terrible again a moment
after.
The "Pilgrim" glided rapidly over those lubricated waters and headed
straight for the shore.
Suddenly a shock took place. The ship, lifted by a formidable wave, had
just stranded, and her masting had fallen without wounding anybody.
The "Pilgrim's" hull, damaged by the collision, was invaded by the
water with extreme violence. But the shore was only half a cable's
length off, and a chain of small blackish rocks enabled it to be
reached quite easily.
So, ten minutes after, all those carried by the "Pilgrim" had landed at
the foot of the cliff.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE BEST TO DO.
So then, after a voyage long delayed by calms, then favored by winds
from the northwest and from the southwest--a voyage which had not
lasted less than seventy-four days--the "Pilgrim" had just run aground!
However, Mrs. Weldon. and her companions thanked Providence, because
they were in safety. In fact, it was on a continent, and not on one of
the fatal isles of Polynesia, that the tempest had thrown them. Their
return to their country, from any point of South America on which they
should land, ought not, it seemed, to present serious difficulties.
As to the "Pilgrim," she was lost. She was only a carcass without
value, of which the surf was going to disperse the _débris_ in a few
hours. It would be impossible to save anything. But if Dick Sand had
not that joy of bringing back a vessel intact to his ship-owner, at
least, thanks to him, those who sailed in her were safe and sound on
some hospitable coast, and among them, the wife and child of James W.
Weldon.
As to the question of knowing on what part of the American coast the
schooner had been wrecked, they might dispute it for a long time. Was
it, as Dick Sand must suppose, on the shore of Peru? Perhaps, for he
knew, even by the bearings of the Isle of Paques, that the "Pilgrim"
had been thrown to the northeast under the action of the winds; and
also, without doubt, under the influence of the currents of the
equatorial zone. From the forty-third degree of latitude, it had,
indeed, been possible to drift to the fifteenth.
It was then important to determine, as soon as possible, the precise
point of the coast where the schooner had just been lost. Granted that
this coast was that of Peru, ports, towns and villages were not
lacking, and consequently it would be easy to gain some inhabited
place. As to this part of the coast, it seemed deserted.
It was a narrow beach, strewed with black rocks, shut off by a cliff of
medium height, very irregularly cut up by large funnels due to the
rupture of the rock. Here and there a few gentle declivities gave
access to its crest.
In the north, at a quarter of a mile from the stranding place, was the
mouth of a little river, which could not have been perceived from the
offing. On its banks hung numerous _rhizomas_, sorts of mangroves,
essentially distinct from their congeners of India.
The crest of the cliff--that was soon discovered--was overhung by a
thick forest, whose verdant masses undulated before the eyes, and
extended as far as the mountains in the background. There, if Cousin
Benedict had been a botanist, how many trees, new to him, would not
have failed to provoke his admiration.
There were high baobabs--to which, however, an extraordinary longevity
has been falsely attributed--the bark of which resembles Egyptian
syenite, Bourbon palms, white pines, tamarind-trees, pepper-plants of a
peculiar species, and a hundred other plants that an American is not
accustomed to see in the northern region of the New Continent.
But, a circumstance rather curious, among those forest productions one
would not meet a single specimen of that numerous family of palm-trees
which counts more than a thousand species, spread in profusion over
almost the whole surface of the globe.
Above the sea-shore a great number of very noisy birds were flying,
which belonged for the greater part to different varieties of swallows,
of black plumage, with a steel-blue shade, but of a light chestnut
color on the upper part of the head. Here and there also rose some
partridges, with necks entirely white, and of a gray color.
Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand observed that these different birds did not
appear to be at all wild. They approached without fearing anything.
Then, had they not yet learned to fear the presence of man, and was
this coast so deserted that the detonation of a firearm had never been
heard there?
At the edge of the rocks were walking some pelicans of the species of
"pelican minor," occupied in filling with little fish the sack which
they carry between the branches of their lower jaw. Some gulls, coming
from the offing, commenced to fly about around the "Pilgrim."
Those birds were the only living creatures that seemed to frequent this
part of the coast, without counting, indeed, numbers of interesting
insects that Cousin Benedict would well know how to discover. But,
however little Jack would have it, one could not ask them the name of
the country; in order to learn it, it would be necessary to address
some native. There were none there, or at least, there was not one to
be seen. No habitation, hut, or cabin, neither in the north, beyond the
little river, nor in the south, nor finally on the upper part of the
cliff, in the midst of the trees of the thick forest. No smoke ascended
into the air, no indication, mark, or imprint indicated that this
portion of the continent was visited by human beings. Dick Sand
continued to be very much surprised.
"Where are we? Where can we be?" he asked himself. "What! nobody to
speak to?"
Nobody, in truth, and surely, if any native had approached, Dingo would
have scented him, and announced him by a bark. The dog went backward
and forward on the strand, his nose to the ground, his tail down,
growling secretly--certainly very singular behavior--but neither
betraying the approach of man nor of any animal whatsoever.
"Dick, look at Dingo!" said Mrs. Weldon.
"Yes, that is very strange," replied the novice. "It seems as if he
were trying to recover a scent."
"Very strange, indeed," murmured Mrs. Weldon; then, continuing, "what
is Negoro doing?" she asked.
"He is doing what Dingo is doing," replied Dick Sand. "He goes, he
comes! After all, he is free here. I have no longer the right to
control him. His service ended with the stranding of the Pilgrim.'"
In fact, Negoro surveyed the strand, turned back, and looked at the
shore and the cliff like a man trying to recall recollections and to
fix them. Did he, then, know this country? He would probably have
refused to reply to that question if it had been asked. The best thing
was still to have nothing to do with that very unsociable personage.
Dick Sand soon saw him walk from the side of the little river, and when
Negoro had disappeared on the other side of the cliff, he ceased to
think of him.
Dingo had indeed barked when the cook had arrived on the steep bank,
but became silent almost immediately.
It was necessary, now, to consider the most pressing wants. Now, the
most pressing was to find a refuge, a shelter of some kind, where they
could install themselves for the time, and partake of some nourishment.
Then they would take counsel, and they would decide what it would be
convenient to do.
As to food, they had not to trouble themselves. Without speaking of the
resources which the country must offer, the ship's store-room had
emptied itself for the benefit of the survivors of the shipwreck. The
surf had thrown here and there among the rocks, then uncovered by the
ebb-tide, a great quantity of objects. Tom and his companions had
already picked up some barrels of biscuit, boxes of alimentary
preserves, cases of dried meat. The water not having yet damaged them,
food for the little troop was secured for more time, doubtless, than
they would require to reach a town or a village. In that respect there
was nothing to fear. These different waifs, already put in a safe
place, could no longer be taken back by a rising sea.
Neither was sweet water lacking. First of all Dick Sand had taken care
to send Hercules to the little river for a few pints. But it was a cask
which the vigorous negro brought back on his shoulder, after having
filled it with water fresh and pure, which the ebb of the tide left
perfectly drinkable.
As to a fire, if it were necessary to light one, dead wood was not
lacking in the neighborhood, and the roots of the old mangroves ought
to furnish all the fuel of which they would have need. Old Tom, an
ardent smoker, was provided with a certain quantity of German tinder,
well preserved in a box hermetically closed, and when they wanted it,
he would only have to strike the tinder-box with the flint of the
strand.
It remained, then, to discover the hole in which the little troop would
lie down, in case they must take one night's rest before setting out.
And, indeed, it was little Jack who found the bedroom in question,
While trotting about at the foot of the cliff, he discovered, behind a
turn of the rock, one of those grottoes well polished, well hollowed
out, which the sea herself digs, when the waves, enlarged by the
tempest, beat the coast.
The young child was delighted. He called his mother with cries of joy,
and triumphantly showed her his discovery.
"Good, my Jack!" replied Mrs. Weldon. "If we were Robinson Crusoes,
destined to live a long time on this shore, we should not forget to
give your name to that grotto!"
The grotto was only from ten to twelve feet long, and as many wide;
but, in little Jack's eyes, it was an enormous cavern. At all events,
it must suffice to contain the shipwrecked ones; and, as Mrs. Weldon
and Nan noted with satisfaction, it was very dry. The moon being then
in her first quarter, they need not fear that those neap-tides would
reach the foot of the cliff, and the grotto in consequence. Then,
nothing more was needed for a few hours' rest.
Ten minutes after everybody was stretched out on a carpet of sea-weed.
Negoro himself thought he must rejoin the little troop and take his
part of the repast, which was going to be made in common. Doubtless he
had not judged it proper to venture alone under the thick forest,
through which the winding river made its way.
It was one o'clock in the afternoon. The preserved meat, the biscuit,
the sweet water, with the addition of a few drops of rum, of which Bat
had saved a quarter cask, made the requisites for this repast. But if
Negoro took part in it, he did not at all mingle in the conversation,
in which were discussed the measures demanded by the situation of the
shipwrecked. All the time, without appearing to do so, he listened to
it, and doubtless profited by what he heard.
During this time Dingo, who had not been forgotten, watched outside the
grotto. They could be at ease. No living being would show himself on
the strand without the faithful animal giving the alarm.
Mrs. Weldon, holding her little Jack, half lying and almost asleep on
her lap, began to speak.
"Dick, my friend," said she, "in the name of all, I thank you for the
devotion that you have shown us till now; but we do not consider you
free yet. You will be our guide on land, as you were our captain at
sea. We place every confidence in you. Speak, then! What must we do?"
Mrs. Weldon, old Nan, Tom and his companions, all had their eyes fixed
on the young novice. Negoro himself looked at him with a singular
persistence. Evidently, what Dick Sand was going to reply interested
him very particularly.
Dick Sand reflected for a few moments. Then:
"Mrs. Weldon," said he, "the important thing is to know, first, where
we are. I believe that our ship can only have made the land on that
portion of the American sea-coast which forms the Peruvian shore. The
winds and currents must have carried her as far as that latitude. But
are we here in some southern province of Peru, that is to say on the
least inhabited part which borders upon the pampas? Maybe so. I would
even willingly believe it, seeing this beach so desolate, and, it must
be, but little frequented. In that case, we might be very far from the
nearest town, which would be unfortunate."
"Well, what is to be done?" repeated Mrs. Weldon.
"My advice," replied Dick Sand, "would be not to leave this shelter
till we know our situation. To-morrow, after a night's rest, two of us
could go to discover it. They would endeavor, without going too far, to
meet some natives, to inform themselves from them, and return to the
grotto. It is not possible that, in a radius of ten or twelve miles, we
find nobody."
"To separate!" said Mrs. Weldon.
"That seems necessary to me," replied the novice. "If no information
can be picked up, if, as is not impossible, the country is absolutely
desolate, well, we shall consider some other way of extricating
ourselves."
"And which of us shall go to explore?" asked Mrs. Weldon, after a
moment's reflection.
"That is yet to be decided," replied Dick Sand. "At all events, I think
that you, Mrs. Weldon, Jack, Mr. Benedict, and Nan, ought not to quit
this grotto. Bat, Hercules, Acteon, and Austin should remain near you,
while Tom and I should go forward. Negoro, doubtless, will prefer to
remain here?" added Dick Sand, looking at the head-cook.
"Probably," replied Negoro, who was not a man to commit himself any
more than that.
"We should take Dingo with us," continued the novice. "He would be
useful to us during our exploration."
Dingo, hearing his name pronounced, reappeared at the entrance of the
grotto, and seemed to approve of Dick Sand's projects by a little bark.
Since the novice had made this proposition, Mrs. Weldon remained
pensive. Her repugnance to the idea of a separation, even short, was
very serious. Might it not happen that the shipwreck of the "Pilgrim"
would soon be known to the Indian tribes who frequented the sea-shore,
either to the north or to the south, and in case some plunderers of the
wrecks thrown on the shore should present themselves, was it not better
for all to be united to repulse them?
That objection, made to the novice's proposition, truly merited a
discussion.
It fell, however, before Dick Sand's arguments, who observed that the
Indians ought not to be confounded with the savages of Africa or
Polynesia, and any aggression on their part was probably not to be
feared. But to entangle themselves in this country without even knowing
to what province of South America it belonged, nor at what distance the
nearest town of that province was situated, was to expose themselves to
many fatigues. Doubtless separation might have its inconveniences, but
far less than marching blindly into the midst of a forest which
appeared to stretch as far as the base of the mountains.
"Besides," repeated Dick Sand, persistently, "I cannot admit that this
separation will be of long duration, and I even affirm that it will not
be so. After two days, at the most, if Tom and I have come across
neither habitation nor inhabitant, we shall return to the grotto. But
that is too improbable, and we shall not have advanced twenty miles
into the interior of the country before we shall evidently be satisfied
about its geographical situation. I may be mistaken in my calculation,
after all, because the means of fixing it astronomically have failed
me, and it is not impossible for us to be in a higher or lower
latitude."
"Yes--you are certainly right, my child," replied Mrs. Weldon, in great
anxiety.
"And you, Mr. Benedict," asked Dick Sand, "what do you think of this
project?"
"I?" replied Cousin Benedict.
"Yes; what is your advice?"
"I have no advice," replied Cousin Benedict. "I find everything
proposed, good, and I shall do everything that you wish. Do you wish to
remain here one day or two? that suits me, and I shall employ my time
in studying this shore from a purely entomological point of view."
"Do, then, according to your wish," said Mrs. Weldon to Dick Sand. "We
shall remain here, and you shall depart with old Tom."
"That is agreed upon," said Cousin Benedict, in the most tranquil
manner in the world. "As for me, I am going to pay a visit to the
insects of the country."
"Do not go far away, Mr. Benedict," said the novice. "We urge you
strongly not to do it."
"Do not be uneasy, my boy."
"And above all, do not bring back too many musquitoes," added old Tom.
A few moments after, the entomologist, his precious tin box strapped to
his shoulders, left the grotto.
Almost at the same time Negoro abandoned it also. It appeared quite
natural to that man to, be always occupied with himself. But, while
Cousin Benedict clambered up the slopes of the cliff to go to explore
the border of the forest, he, turning round toward the river, went away
with slow steps and disappeared, a second time ascending the steep bank.
Jack slept all the time. Mrs. Weldon, leaving him on Nan's knees, then
descended toward the strand. Dick Sand and his companions followed her.
The question was, to see if the state of the sea then would permit them
to go as far as the "Pilgrim's" hull, where there were still many
objects which might be useful to the little troop.
The rocks on which the schooner had been wrecked were now dry. In the
midst of the _débris_ of all kinds stood the ship's carcass, which the
high sea had partly covered again. That astonished Dick Sand, for he
knew that the tides are only very moderate on the American sea-shore of
the Pacific. But, after all, this phenomenon might be explained by the
fury of the wind which beat the coast.
On seeing their ship again, Mrs. Weldon and her companions experienced
a painful impression. It was there that they had lived for long days,
there that they had suffered. The aspect of that poor ship, half
broken, having neither mast nor sails, lying on her side like a being
deprived of life, sadly grieved their hearts. But they must visit this
hull, before the sea should come to finish demolishing it.
Dick Sand and the blacks could easily make their way into the interior,
after having hoisted themselves on deck by means of the ropes which
hung over the "Pilgrim's" side. While Tom, Hercules, Bat, and Austin
employed themselves in taking from the storeroom all that might be
useful, as much eatables as liquids, the novice made his way into the
arsenal. Thanks to God, the water had not invaded this part of the
ship, whose rear had remained out of the water after the stranding.
There Dick Sand found four guns in good condition, excellent Remingtons
from Purdy & Co.'s factory, as well as a hundred cartridges, carefully
shut up in their cartridge-boxes. There was material to arm his little
band, and put it in a state of defense, if, contrary to all
expectation, the Indians attacked him on the way.
The novice did not neglect to take a pocket-lantern; but the ship's
charts, laid in a forward quarter and damaged by the water, were beyond
use.
There were also in the "Pilgrim's" arsenal some of those solid
cutlasses which serve to cut up whales. Dick Sand chose six, destined
to complete the arming of his companions, and he did not forget to
bring an inoffensive child's gun, which belonged to little Jack.
As to the other objects still held by the ship, they had either been
dispersed, or they could no longer be used. Besides, it was useless to
overburden themselves for the few days the journey would last. In food,
in arms, in munitions, they were more than provided for. Meanwhile,
Dick Sand, by Mrs. Weldon's advice, did not neglect to take all the
money which he found on board--about five hundred dollars.
That was a small sum, indeed! Mrs. Weldon had carried a larger amount
herself and she did not find it again.
Who, then, except Negoro, had been able to visit the ship before them
and to lay hands on Captain Hull's and Mrs. Weldon's reserve? No one
but he, surely, could be suspected. However, Dick Sand hesitated a
moment. All that he knew and all that he saw of him was that everything
was to be feared from that concentrated nature, from whom the
misfortunes of others could snatch a smile. Yes, Negoro was an evil
being, but must they conclude from that that he was a criminal? It was
painful to Dick Sand's character to go as far as that. And, meanwhile,
could suspicion rest on any other? No, those honest negroes had not
left the grotto for an instant, while Negoro had wandered over the
beach. He alone must be guilty. Dick Sand then resolved to question
Negoro, and, if necessary, have him searched when he returned. He
wished to know decidedly what to believe.
The sun was then going down to the horizon. At that date he had not yet
crossed the equator to carry heat and light into the northern
hemisphere, but he was approaching it. He fell, then, almost
perpendicularly to that circular line where the sea and the sky meet.
Twilight was short, darkness fell promptly--which confirmed the novice
in the thought that he had landed on a point of the coast situated
between the tropic of Capricorn and the equator.
Mrs. Weldon, Dick Sand, and the blacks then returned to the grotto,
where they must take some hours' rest.
"The night will still be stormy," observed Tom, pointing to the horizon
laden with heavy clouds.
"Yes," replied Dick Sand, "there is a strong breeze blowing up. But
what matter, at present? Our poor ship is lost, and the tempest can no
longer reach us?"
"God's will be done!" said Mrs. Weldon.
It was agreed that during that night, which would be very dark, each of
the blacks would watch turn about at the entrance to the grotto. They
could, besides, count upon Dingo to keep a careful watch.
They then perceived that Cousin Benedict had not returned.
Hercules called him with all the strength of his powerful lungs, and
almost immediately they saw the entomologist coming down the slopes of
the cliff, at the risk of breaking his neck.
Cousin Benedict was literally furious. He had not found a single new
insect in the forest--no, not one--which was fit to figure in his
collection. Scorpions, scolopendras, and other myriapodes, as many as
he could wish, and even more, were discovered. And we know that Cousin
Benedict did not interest himself in myriapodes.
"It was not worth the trouble," added he, "to travel five or six
thousand miles, to have braved the tempest, to be wrecked on the coast,
and not meet one of those American hexapodes, which do honor to an
entomological museum! No; the game was not worth the candle!"
As a conclusion, Cousin Benedict asked to go away. He did not wish to
remain another hour on that detested shore.
Mrs. Weldon calmed her large child. They made him hope that he would be
more fortunate the next day, and all went to lie down in the grotto, to
sleep there till sunrise, when Tom observed that Negoro had not yet
returned, though night had arrived.
"Where can he be?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"What matter!" said Bat.
"On the contrary, it does matter," replied Mrs. Weldon. "I should
prefer having that man still near us."
"Doubtless, Mrs. Weldon," replied Dick Sand; "but if he has forsaken
our company voluntarily, I do not see how we could oblige him to rejoin
us. Who knows but he has his reasons for avoiding us forever?"
And taking Mrs. Weldon aside, Dick Sand confided to her his suspicions.
He was not astonished to find that she had them also. Only they
differed on one point.
"If Negoro reappears," said Mrs. Weldon, "he will have put the product
of his theft in a safe place. Take my advice. What we had better do,
not being able to convict him, will be to hide our suspicions from him,
and let him believe that we are his dupes."
Mrs. Weldon was right. Dick Sand took her advice.
However, Negoro was called several times.
He did not reply. Either he was still too far away to hear, or he did
not wish to return.
The blacks did not regret being rid of his presence; but, as Mrs.
Weldon had just said, perhaps he was still more to be feared afar than
near. And, moreover, how explain that Negoro would venture alone into
that unknown country? Had he then lost his way, and on this dark night
was he vainly seeking the way to the grotto?
Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand did not know what to think. However it was,
they could not, in order to wait for Negoro, deprive themselves of a
repose so necessary to all.
At that moment the dog, which was running on the strand, barked aloud.
"What is the matter with Dingo?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"We must, indeed, find out," replied the novice. "Perhaps it is Negoro
coming back."
At once Hercules, Bat, Austin, and Dick Sand took their way to the
mouth of the river.
But, arrived at the bank, they neither saw nor heard anything. Dingo
now was silent.
Dick Sand and the blacks returned to the grotto.
The going to sleep was organized as well as possible. Each of the
blacks prepared himself to watch in turn outside. But Mrs. Weldon,
uneasy, could not sleep. It seemed to her that this land so ardently
desired did not give her what she had been led to hope for, security
for hers, and rest for herself.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XV.
HARRIS.
The next day, April 7th, Austin, who was on guard at sunrise, saw Dingo
run barking to the little river. Almost immediately Mrs. Weldon, Dick
Sand and the blacks came out of the grotto.
Decidedly there was something there.
"Dingo has scented a living creature, man or beast," said the novice.
"At all events it was not Negoro," observed Tom, "for Dingo would bark
with fury."
"If it is not Negoro, where can he be?" asked Mrs. Weldon, giving Dick
Sand a look which was only understood by him; "and if it is not he,
who, then, is it?"
"We are going to see, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice. Then,
addressing Bat, Austin, and Hercules, "Arm yourselves, my friends, and
come!"
Each of the blacks took a gun and a cutlass, as Dick Sand had done. A
cartridge was slipped into the breech of the Remingtons, and, thus
armed, all four went to the bank of the river.
Mrs. Weldon, Tom, and Acteon remained at the entrance of the grotto,
where little Jack and Nan still rested by themselves.
The sun was then rising. His rays, intercepted by the high mountains in
the east, did not reach the cliff directly; but as far as the western
horizon, the sea sparkled under the first fires of day.
Dick Sand and his companions followed the strand of the shore, the
curve of which joined the mouth of the river.
There Dingo, motionless, and as if on guard, was continually barking.
It was evident that he saw or scented some native.
And, in fact, it was no longer against Negoro, against its enemy on
board the ship, that the dog had a grudge this time.
At that moment a man turned the last plane of the cliff. He advanced
prudently to the strand, and, by his familiar gestures, he sought to
calm Dingo. They saw that he did not care to face the anger of the
vigorous animal.
"It is not Negoro!" said Hercules.
"We cannot lose by the change," replied Bat.
"No," said the novice. "It is probably some native, who will spare us
the _ennui_ of a separation. We are at last going to know exactly where
we are."
And all four, putting their guns back on their shoulders, went rapidly
toward the unknown.
The latter, on seeing them approach, at first gave signs of the
greatest surprise. Very certainly, he did not expect to meet strangers
on that part of the coast. Evidently, also, he had not yet perceived
the remains of the "Pilgrim," otherwise the presence of the shipwrecked
would very naturally be explained to him. Besides, during the night the
surf had finished demolishing the ship's hull; there was nothing left
but the wrecks that floated in the offing.
At the first moment the unknown, seeing four armed men marching toward
him, made a movement as if he would retrace his steps. He carried a gun
in a shoulder-belt, which passed rapidly into his hand, and from his
hand to his shoulder. They felt that he was not reassured.
Dick Sand made a gesture of salutation, which doubtless the unknown
understood, for, after some hesitation, he continued to advance.
Dick Sand could then examine him with attention.
He was a vigorous man, forty years old at the most, his eyes bright,
his hair and beard gray, his skin sunburnt like that of a nomad who has
always lived in the open air, in the forest, or on the plain. A kind of
blouse of tanned skin served him for a close coat, a large hat covered
his head, leather boots came up above his knees, and spurs with large
rowels sounded from their high heels.
What Dick Sand noticed at first--and which was so, in fact--was that he
had before him, not one of those Indians, habitual rovers over the
pampas, but one of those adventurers of foreign blood, often not very
commendable, who are frequently met with in those distant countries.
It also seemed, by his rather familiar attitude, by the reddish color
of a few hairs of his beard, that this unknown must be of Anglo-Saxon
origin. At all events, he was neither an Indian nor a Spaniard.
And that appeared certain, when in answer to Dick Sand, who said to him
in English, "Welcome!" he replied in the same language and without any
accent.
"Welcome yourself, my young friend," said the unknown, advancing toward
the novice, whose hand he pressed.
As to the blacks, he contented himself with making a gesture to them
without speaking to them.
"You are English?" he asked the novice.
"Americans," replied Dick Sand.
"From the South?"
"From the North."
This reply seemed to please the unknown, who shook the novice's hand
more vigorously and this time in very a American manner.
"And may I know, my young friend," he asked, "how you find yourself on
this coast?"
But, at that moment, without waiting till the novice had replied to his
question, the unknown took off his hat and bowed.
Mrs. Weldon had advanced as far as the steep bank, and she then found
herself facing him.
It was she who replied to this question.
"Sir," said she, "we are shipwrecked ones whose ship was broken to
pieces yesterday on these reefs."
An expression of pity spread over the unknown's face, whose eyes sought
the vessel which had been stranded.
"There is nothing left of our ship," added the novice. "The surf has
finished the work of demolishing it during the night."
"And our first question," continued Mrs. Weldon, "will be to ask you
where we are."
"But you are on the sea-coast of South America," replied the unknown,
who appeared surprised at the question. "Can you have any doubt about
that?"
"Yes, sir, for the tempest had been able to make us deviate from our
route," replied Dick Sand. "But I shall ask where we are more exactly.
On the coast of Peru, I think."
"No, my young friend, no! A little more to the south! You are wrecked
on the Bolivian coast."
"Ah!" exclaimed Dick Sand.
"And you are even on that southern part of Bolivia which borders on
Chili."
"Then what is that cape?" asked Dick Sand, pointing to the promontory
on the north.
"I cannot tell you the name," replied the unknown, "for if I know the
country in the interior pretty well from having often traversed it, it
is my first visit to this shore."
Dick Sand reflected on what he had just learned. That only half
astonished him, for his calculation might have, and indeed must have,
deceived him, concerning the currents; but the error was not
considerable. In fact, he believed himself somewhere between the
twenty-seventh and the thirtieth parallel, from the bearings he had
taken from the Isle of Paques, and it was on the twenty-fifth parallel
that he was wrecked. There was no impossibility in the "Pilgrim's"
having deviated by relatively small digression, in such a long passage.
Besides, there was no reason to doubt the unknown's assertions, and, as
that coast was that of lower Bolivia there was nothing astonishing in
its being so deserted.
"Sir," then said Dick Sand, "after your reply I must conclude that we
are at a rather great distance from Lima."
"Oh! Lima is far away--over there--in the north!"
Mrs. Weldon, made suspicious first of all by Negoro's disappearance,
observed the newly-arrived with extreme attention; but she could
discover nothing, either in his attitude or in his manner of expressing
himself which could lead her to suspect his good faith.
"Sir," said she, "without doubt my question is not rash. You do not
seem to be of Peruvian origin?"
"I am American as you are, madam," said the unknown, who waited for an
instant for the American lady to tell him her name.
"Mrs. Weldon," replied the latter.
"I? My name is Harris and I was born in South Carolina. But here it is
twenty years since I left my country for the pampas of Bolivia, and it
gives me pleasure to see compatriots."
"You live in this part of the province, Mr. Harris?" again asked Mrs.
Weldon.
"No, Mrs. Weldon," replied Harris, "I live in the South, on the Chilian
frontier; but at this present moment I am going to Atacama, in the
northeast."
"Are we then on the borders of the desert of that name?" asked Dick
Sand.
"Precisely, my young friend, and this desert extends far beyond the
mountains which shut off the horizon."
"The desert of Atacama?" repeated Dick Sand.
"Yes," replied Harris. "This desert is like a country by itself, in
this vast South America, from which it differs in many respects. It is,
at the same time, the most curious and the least known portion of this
continent."
"And you travel alone?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"Oh, it is not the first time that I have taken this journey!" replied
the American. "There is, two hundred miles from here, an important
farm, the Farm of San Felice, which belongs to one of my brothers, and
it is to his house that I am going for my trade. If you wish to follow
me you will be well received, and the means of transport to gain the
town of Atacama will not fail you. My brother will be happy to furnish,
them."
These offers, made freely, could only prepossess in favor of the
American, who immediately continued, addressing Mrs. Weldon:
"These blacks are your slaves?"
And he pointed to Tom and his companions.
"We have no longer any slaves in the United States," replied Mrs.
Weldon, quickly. "The North abolished slavery long ago, and the South
has been obliged to follow the example of the North!"
"Ah! that is so," replied Harris. "I had forgotten that the war of 1862
had decided that grave question. I ask those honest men's pardon for
it," added Harris, with that delicate irony which a Southerner must put
into his language when speaking to blacks. "But on seeing those
gentlemen in your service, I believed----"
"They are not, and have never been, in my service, sir," replied Mrs.
Weldon, gravely.
"We should be honored in serving you, Mrs. Weldon," then said old Tom.
"But, as Mr. Harris knows, we do not belong to anybody. I have been a
slave myself, it is true, and sold as such in Africa, when I was only
six years old; but my son Bat, here, was born of an enfranchised
father, and, as to our companions, they were born of free parents."
"I can only congratulate you about it," replied Harris, in a tone which
Mrs. Weldon did not find sufficiently serious. "In this land of
Bolivia, also, we have no slaves. Then you have nothing to fear, and
you can go about as freely here as in the New England States."
At that moment little Jack, followed by Nan, came out of the grotto
rubbing his eyes. Then, perceiving his mother, he ran to her. Mrs.
Weldon embraced him tenderly.
"The charming little boy!" said the American, approaching Jack.
"It is my son," replied Mrs. Weldon.
"Oh, Mrs. Weldon, you must have been doubly tried, because your child
has been exposed to so many dangers."
"God has brought him out of them safe and sound, as He has us, Mr.
Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon.
"Will you permit me to kiss him on his pretty cheeks?" asked Harris.
"Willingly," replied Mrs. Weldon.
But Mr. Harris's face, it appeared, did not please little Jack, for he
clung more closely to his mother.
"Hold!" said Harris, "you do not want me to embrace you? You are afraid
of me, my good little man?"
"Excuse him, sir," Mrs. Weldon hastened to say. "It is timidity on his
part."
"Good! we shall become better acquainted," replied Harris. "Once at the
Farm, he will amuse himself mounting a gentle pony, which will tell him
good things of me."
But the offer of the gentle pony did not succeed in cajoling Jack any
more than the proposition to embrace Mr. Harris.
Mrs. Weldon, thus opposed, hastened to change the conversation. They
must not offend a man who had so obligingly offered his services.
During this time Dick Sand was reflecting on the proposition which had
been made to them so opportunely, to gain the Farm of San Felice. It
was, as Harris had said, a journey of over two hundred miles, sometimes
through forests, sometimes through plains--a very fatiguing journey,
certainly, because there were absolutely no means of transport.
The young novice then presented some observations to that effect, and
waited for the reply the American was going to make.
"The journey is a little long, indeed," replied Harris, "but I have
there, a few hundred feet behind the steep bank, a horse which I count
on offering to Mrs. Weldon and her son. For us, there is nothing
difficult, nor even very fatiguing in making the journey on foot.
Besides, when I spoke of two hundred miles, it was by following, as I
have already done, the course of this river. But if we go through the
forest, our distance will be shortened by at least eighty miles. Now,
at the rate of ten miles a day, it seems to me that we shall arrive at
the Farm without too much distress."
Mrs. Weldon thanked the American.
"You cannot thank me better than by accepting," replied Harris. "Though
I have never crossed this forest, I do not believe I shall be
embarrassed in finding the way, being sufficiently accustomed to the
pampas. But there is a graver question--that of food. I have only what
is barely enough for myself while on the way to the Farm of San Felice."
"Mr. Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon, "fortunately we have food in more
than sufficient quantity, and we shall be happy to share with you."
"Well, Mrs. Weldon, it seems to me that all is arranged for the best,
and that we have only to set out."
Harris went toward the steep bank, with the intention of going to take
his horse from the place where he had left it, when Dick Sand stopped
him again, by asking him a question.
To abandon the sea-coast, to force his way into the interior of the
country, under that interminable forest, did not please the young
novice. The sailor reappeared in him, and either to ascend or descend
the coast would be more to his mind.
"Mr. Harris," said he, "instead of traveling for one hundred and twenty
miles in the Desert of Atacama, why not follow the coast? Distance for
distance, would it not be better worth while to seek to reach the
nearest town, either north or south?"
"But my young friend," replied Harris, frowning slightly, "it seems to
me that on this coast, which I know very imperfectly, there is no town
nearer than three or four hundred miles."
"To the north, yes," replied Dick Sand; "but to the south----"
"To the south," replied the American, "we must descend as far as Chili.
Now, the distance is almost as long, and, in your place, I should not
like to pass near the pampas of the Argentine Republic. As to me, to my
great regret, I could not accompany you there."
"The ships which go from Chili to Peru, do they not pass, then, in
sight of this coast?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"No," replied Harris. "They keep much more out at sea, and you ought
not to meet any of them."
"Truly," replied Mrs. Weldon. "Well, Dick, have you still some question
to ask Mr. Harris?"
"A single one, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice, who experienced some
difficulty in giving up. "I shall ask Mr. Harris in what port he thinks
we shall be able to find a ship to bring us back to San Francisco?"
"Faith, my young friend, I could not tell you," replied the American.
"All that I know is, that at the Farm of San Felice we will furnish you
with the means of gaining the town of Atacama, and from there----"
"Mr. Harris," then said Mrs. Weldon, "do not believe that Dick Sand
hesitates to accept your offers."
"No, Mrs. Weldon, no; surely I do not hesitate," replied the young
novice; "but I cannot help regretting not being stranded a few degrees
farther north or farther south. We should have been in proximity to a
port, and that circumstance, in facilitating our return to our country,
would prevent us from taxing Mr. Harris's good will."
"Do not fear imposing upon me, Mrs. Weldon," returned Harris. "I repeat
to you that too rarely have I occasion to find myself again in the
presence of my compatriots. For me it is a real pleasure to oblige you."
"We accept your offer, Mr. Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon; "but I should
not wish, however, to deprive you of your horse. I am a good walker----"
"And I am a very good walker," replied Harris, bowing. "Accustomed to
long journeys across the pampas, it is not I who will keep back our
caravan. No, Mrs. Weldon, you and your little Jack will use this horse.
Besides, it is possible that we may meet some of the farm servants on
the way, and, as they will be mounted--well, they will yield their
horses to us."
Dick Sand saw well that in making new objections he would oppose Mrs.
Weldon.
"Mr. Harris," said he, "when do we set out?"
"Even to-day, my young friend," replied Harris. "The bad season
commences with the month of April, and it is of the utmost importance
for you to reach the farm of San Felice first. Finally, the way across
the forest is the shortest, and perhaps the safest. It is less exposed
than the coast to the incursions of wandering Indians, who are
indefatigable robbers."
"Tom, my friends," replied Dick Sand, turning to the blacks, "it only
remains for us to make preparations for departure. Let us select, then,
from among the provisions on hand, those which can be most easily
transported, and let us make packs, of which each will take his share."
"Mr. Dick," said Hercules, "if you wish, I shall carry the whole load
very well."
"No, my brave Hercules," replied the novice; "it will be better for us
all to share the burden."
"You are a strong companion, Hercules," then said Harris, who looked at
the negro as if the latter were for sale. "In the markets of Africa you
would be worth a good price."
"I am worth what I am worth," replied Hercules, laughing, "and the
buyers will only have to run well, if they wish to catch me."
All was agreed upon, and to hasten the departure, each went to work.
However, they had only to think of feeding the little troop for the
journey from the sea-coast to the farm, that is to say, for a march of
ten days.
"But, before setting out, Mr. Harris," said Mrs. Weldon, "before
accepting your hospitality, I beg you to accept ours. We offer it to
you with our best wishes."
"I accept, Mrs. Weldon; I accept with eagerness," replied Harris, gayly.
"In a few minutes our breakfast will be ready."
"Good, Mrs. Weldon. I am going to profit by those ten minutes to go and
get my horse and bring it here. He will have breakfasted, he will."
"Do you want me to go with you, sir?" asked Dick Sand.
"As you please, my young friend," replied Harris. "Come; I shall make
you acquainted with the lower course of this river."
Both set out.
During this time, Hercules was sent in search of the entomologist.
Faith, Cousin Benedict was very uneasy indeed about what was passing
around him.
He was then wandering on the summit of the cliff in quest of an
"unfindable" insect, which, however, he did not find.
Hercules brought him back against his will. Mrs. Weldon informed him
that departure was decided upon, and that, for ten days, they must
travel to the interior of the country.
Cousin Benedict replied that he was ready to set out, and that he would
not ask better than to cross America entirely, provided they would let
him "collect" on the way.
Mrs. Weldon then occupied herself, with Nan's assistance, in preparing
a comfortable repast--a good precaution before setting out.
During this time, Harris, accompanied by Dick Sand, had turned the
angle of the cliff. Both followed the high bank, over a space of three
hundred steps. There, a horse, tied to a tree, gave joyous neighing at
the approach of his master.
It was a vigorous beast, of a species that Dick Sand could not
recognize. Neck and shoulders long, loins short, and hindquarters
stretched out, shoulders flat, forehead almost pointed. This horse
offered, however, distinctive signs of those races to which we
attribute an Arabian origin.
"You see, my young friend," said Harris, "that it is a strong animal,
and you may count on it not failing you on the route."
Harris detached his horse, took it by the bridle, and descended the
steep bank again, preceding Dick Sand. The latter had thrown a rapid
glance, as well over the river as toward the forest which shut up its
two banks. But he saw nothing of a nature to make him uneasy.
However, when he had rejoined the American, he suddenly gave him the
following question, which the latter could little expect:
"Mr. Harris," he asked, "you have not met a Portuguese, named Negoro,
in the night?"
"Negoro?" replied Harris, in the tone of a man who does not understand
what is said. "Who is this Negoro?"
"He was the cook on board," replied Dick Sand, "and he has disappeared."
"Drowned, perhaps," said Harris.
"No, no," replied Dick Sand. "Yesterday evening he was still with us,
but during the night he has left us, and he has probably ascended the
steep bank of this river. So I asked you, who have come from that side,
if you had not met him."
"I have met nobody," replied the American; "and if your cook has
ventured alone into the forest, he runs a great risk of going astray.
Perhaps we shall overtake him on the way."
"Yes; perhaps!" replied Dick Sand.
When the two returned to the grotto, breakfast was ready. It was
composed, like the supper of the evening before, of alimentary
conserves, of corned beef and of biscuit. Harris did honor to it, like
a man whom nature had endowed with a great appetite.
"Let us go," said he; "I see that we shall not die of hunger on the
way! I shall not say as much for that poor devil of a Portuguese, of
whom our young friend has spoken."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Weldon, "Dick Sand has told you that we have not seen
Negoro again?"
"Yes, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice. "I desired to know if Mr.
Harris had not met him."
"No," replied Harris; "so let us leave that deserter where he is, and
think of our departure--whenever you are ready, Mrs. Weldon."
Each took the pack which was intended for him. Mrs. Weldon, assisted by
Hercules, placed herself on the horse, and the ungrateful little Jack,
with his gun strapped on his back, straddled the animal without even
thinking of thanking him who had put that excellent beast at his
disposal. Jack, placed before his mother, then said to her that he
would know how to lead the gentleman's horse very well.
They then gave him the bridle to hold, and he did not doubt that he was
the veritable head of the caravan.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XVI.
ON THE WAY.
It was not without a certain apprehension--nothing seemed to justify
it, however--that Dick Sand, three hundred steps from the steep bank of
the river, penetrated into the thick forest, the difficult paths of
which he and his companions were going to follow for ten days. On the
contrary, Mrs. Weldon herself, a woman and a mother, whom the perils
would make doubly anxious, had every confidence. Two very serious
motives had contributed to reassure her; first, because this region of
the pampas was neither very formidable on account of the natives, nor
on account of the animals which were found there; next, because, under
the direction of Harris, of a guide so sure of himself as the American
appeared to be, they could not be afraid of going astray.
Here is the order of proceeding, which, as far as possible, would be
observed during the journey:
Dick Sand and Harris, both armed, one with his long gun, the other with
a Remington, kept at the head of the little troop.
Then came Bat and Austin, also armed, each with a gun and a cutlass.
Behind them followed Mrs. Weldon and little Jack, on horseback; then
Nan and Tom.
In the rear, Acteon, armed with the fourth Remington, and Hercules,
with a hatchet in his belt, closed the march.
Dingo went backwards and forwards, and, as Dick Sand remarked, always
like an uneasy dog seeking a scent. The dog's ways had visibly changed
since the "Pilgrim's" shipwreck had cast it on this sea-coast. It
seemed agitated, and almost incessantly it kept up a dull grumbling,
rather lamentable than furious. That was remarked by all, though no one
could explain it.
As to Cousin Benedict, it had been as impossible to assign him an order
of marching as Dingo. Unless he had been held by a string, he would not
have kept it. His tin box strapped to his shoulder, his net in his
hand, his large magnifying glass suspended to his neck, sometimes
behind, sometimes in front, he scampered away among the high herbs,
watching for orthopters or any other insect in "pter," at the risk of
being bit by some venomous serpent.
During the first hour Mrs. Weldon, uneasy, called him back twenty
times. It was no use.
"Cousin Benedict," she finished by saying to him, "I beg you very
seriously not to go far away, and I urge you for the last time to pay
attention to my entreaties."
"Meanwhile, cousin," replied the intractable entomologist, "when I
perceive an insect?"
"When you perceive an insect," replied Mrs. Weldon, "you would do well
to let it go in peace, or you will put me under the necessity of taking
your box away from you."
"Take away my box!" cried Cousin Benedict, as if it were a question of
snatching away his heart.
"Your box and your net," added Mrs. Weldon, pitilessly.
"My net, cousin! And why not my glasses? You will not dare! No; you
will not dare!"
"Even, your glasses, which I forgot. I thank you, Cousin Benedict, for
reminding me that I have that means of making you blind, and, in that
way, forcing you to be wise."
This triple menace had the effect of making him keep quiet--this
unsubmissive cousin--for about an hour. Then he began to go away again,
and, as he would do the same, even without net, without box, and
without glasses, they were obliged to let him do as he pleased. But
Hercules undertook to watch him closely--which quite naturally became
one of his duties--and it was agreed that he would act with Cousin
Benedict as the latter would with an insect; that is, that he would
catch him, if necessary, and bring him back as delicately as the other
would with the rarest of the lepidopters.
That rule made, they troubled themselves no more about Cousin Benedict.
The little troop, it has been seen, was well armed, and guarded itself
carefully. But, as Harris repeated, there was no encounter to fear
except with wandering Indians, and they would probably see none.
At all events, the precautions taken would suffice to keep them
respectful.
The paths which wound across the thick forest did not merit that name.
They were rather the tracks of animals than the tracks of men. They
could only be followed with difficulty. So, in fixing the average
distance that the little troop would make in a march of twelve hours at
only five or six miles, Harris had calculated wisely.
The weather, however, was very fine. The sun mounted toward the zenith,
spreading in waves his almost perpendicular rays. On the plain this
heat would be unbearable, Harris took care to remark; but, under those
impenetrable branches, they bore it easily and with impunity.
The greater part of the trees of this forest were unknown, as well to
Mrs. Weldon as to her companions, black or white.
However, an expert would remark that they were more remarkable for
their quality than for their height. Here, it was the "banhinia," or
iron wood; there, the "molompi," identical with the "pterocarpe," a
solid and light wood, fit for making the spoons used in sugar
manufactories or oars, from the trunk of which exuded an abundant
resin; further on, "fusticks," or yellow wood, well supplied with
coloring materials, and lignum-vitæs, measuring as much as twelve feet
in diameter, but inferior in quality to the ordinary lignum-vitæs.
While walking, Dick Sand asked Harris the name of these different trees.
"Then you have never been on the coast of South America?" Harris asked
him before replying to his question.
"Never," replied the novice; "never, during my voyages, have I had
occasion to visit these coasts, and to say the truth, I do not believe
that anybody who knew about them has ever spoken to me of them."
"But have you at least explored the coasts of Colombia, those of Chili,
or of Patagonia?"
"No, never."
"But perhaps Mrs. Weldon has visited this part of the new continent?"
asked Harris. "Americans do not fear voyages, and doubtless----"
"No, Mr. Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon. "The commercial interests of my
husband have never called him except to New Zealand, and I have not had
to accompany him elsewhere. Not one of us, then, knows this portion of
lower Bolivia."
"Well, Mrs. Weldon, you and your companions will see a singular
country, which contrasts strangely with the regions of Peru, of Brazil,
or of the Argentine Republic. Its flora and fauna would astonish a
naturalist. Ah! we may say that you have been shipwrecked at a good
place, and if we may ever thank chance----"
"I wish to believe that it is not chance which has led us here, but
God, Mr. Harris."
"God! Yes! God!" replied Harris, in the tone of a man who takes little
account of providential intervention in the things of this world.
Then, since nobody in the little troop knew either the country or its
productions, Harris took a pleasure in naming pleasantly the most
curious trees of the forest.
In truth, it was a pity that, in Cousin Benedict's case, the
entomologist was not supplemented by the botanist! If, up to this time,
he had hardly found insects either rare or new, he might have made fine
discoveries in botany. There was, in profusion, vegetation of all
heights, the existence of which in the tropical forests of the New
World had not been yet ascertained. Cousin Benedict would certainly
have attached his name to some discovery of this kind. But he did not
like botany--he knew nothing about it. He even, quite naturally, held
flowers in aversion, under the pretext that some of them permit
themselves to imprison the insects in their corollas, and poison them
with their venomous juices.
At times, the forest became marshy. They felt under foot quite a
network of liquid threads, which would feed the affluents of the little
river. Some of the rills, somewhat large, could only be crossed by
choosing fordable places.
On their banks grew tufts of reeds, to which Harris gave the name of
papyrus. He was not mistaken, and those herbaceous plants grew
abundantly below the damp banks.
Then, the marsh passed, thickets of trees again covered the narrow
routes of the forest.
Harris made Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand remark some very fine
ebony-trees, much larger than the common ebony-tree, which furnish a
wood much blacker and much stronger than that of commerce. Then there
were mango-trees, still numerous, though they were rather far from the
sea. A kind of fur of white moss climbed them as far as the branches.
Their thick shade and their delicious fruit made them precious trees,
and meanwhile, according to Harris, not a native would dare to
propagate the species. "Whoever plants a mango-tree dies!" Such is the
superstitious maxim of the country.
During the second half of this first day of the journey, the little
troop, after the midday halt, began to ascend land slightly inclined.
They were not as yet the slopes of the chain of the first plane, but a
sort of undulating plateau which connected the plain with the mountain.
There the trees, a little less compact, sometimes clustered in groups,
would have rendered the march easier, if the soil had not been invaded
by herbaceous plants. One might believe himself in the jungles of
Oriental India. Vegetation appeared to be less luxuriant than in the
lower valley of the little river, but it was still superior to that of
the temperate regions of the Old or of the New World.
Indigo was growing there in profusion, and, according to Harris, this
leguminous plant passed with reason for the most usurping plant of the
country. If a field came to be abandoned, this parasite, as much
despised as the thistle or the nettle, took possession of it
immediately.
One tree seemed lacking in this forest, which ought to be very common
in this part of the new continent; it was the caoutchouc-tree. In fact,
the "ficus primoides," the "castilloa elastica," the "cecropia
peltats," the "collophora utilis," the "cameraria letifolia," and above
all, the "syphonia elastica," which belong to different families,
abound in the provinces of South America. And meanwhile, a rather
singular thing, there was not a single one to be seen.
Now, Dick Sand had particularly promised his friend Jack to show him
some caoutchouc trees. So a great deception for the little boy, who
figured to himself that gourds, speaking babies, articulate
punchinellos, and elastic balloons grew quite naturally on those trees.
He complained.
"Patience, my good little man," replied Harris. "We shall find some of
those caoutchoucs, and by hundreds, in the neighborhood of the farm."
"Handsome ones, very elastic?" asked little Jack.
"The most elastic there are. Hold! while waiting, do you want a good
fruit to take away your thirst?" And, while speaking, Harris went to
gather from a tree some fruits, which seemed to be as pleasant to the
taste as those from the peach-tree.
"Are you very sure, Mr. Harris," asked Mrs. Weldon, "that this fruit
can do no harm?"
"Mrs. Weldon, I am going to convince you," replied the American, who
took a large mouthful of one of those fruits. "It is a mango."
And little Jack, without any more pressing, followed Harris's example,
He declared that it was very good, "those pears," and the tree was at
once put under contribution.
Those mangos belonged to a species whose fruit is ripe in March and
April, others being so only in September, and, consequently, their
mangos were just in time.
"Yes, it is good, good, good!" said little Jack, with his mouth full.
"But my friend Dick has promised me caoutchoucs, if I was very good,
and I want caoutchoucs!"
"You will have them, Jack," replied Mrs. Weldon, "because Mr. Harris
assures you of it."
"But that is not all," went on Jack. "My friend Dick has promised me
some other thing!"
"What then, has friend Dick promised?" asked Harris, smiling.
"Some humming-birds, sir."
"And you shall have some humming-birds, my good little man, but farther
on--farther on," replied Harris.
The fact is that little Jack had a right to claim some of these
charming creatures, for he was now in a country where they should
abound. The Indians, who know how to weave their feathers artistically,
have lavished the most poetical names on those jewels of the flying
race. They call them either the "rays" or the "hairs of the sun." Here,
it is "the little king of the flowers;" there, "the celestial flower
that comes in its flight to caress the terrestrial flower." It is again
"the bouquet of jewels, which sparkles in the fire of the day." It can
be believed that their imagination would know how to furnish a new
poetical appellation for each of the one hundred and fifty species
which constitute this marvelous tribe of humming-birds.
Meanwhile, however numerous these humming-birds might be in the forests
of Bolivia, little Jack was obliged to still content himself with
Harris's promise. According to the American, they were still too close
to the coast, and the humming-birds did not like these deserts so near
the ocean. The presence of man did not frighten them at the "hacienda;"
they heard nothing all day but their cry of "teretere" and the murmur
of their wings, similar to that of a spinning-wheel.
"Ah! how I should like to be there!" cried little Jack.
The surest method of getting there--to the "hacienda" of San
Felice--was not to stop on the road. Mrs. Weldon and her companions
only took the time absolutely necessary for repose.
The aspect of the forest already changed. Between the less crowded
trees large clearings opened here and there. The sun, piercing the
green carpet, then showed its structure of red, syenite granite,
similar to slabs of lapis-lazuli. On some heights the sarsaparilla
abounded, a plant with fleshy tubercles, which formed an inextricable
tangle. The forest, with the narrow paths, was better for them.
Before sunset the little troop were about eight miles from the point of
departure. This journey had been made without accident, and even
without great fatigue. It is true, it was the first journey on the
march, and no doubt the following halting places would be rougher.
By a common consent they decided to make a halt at this place. The
question then was, not to establish a real camp, but to simply organize
a resting-place. One man on guard, relieved every two hours, would
suffice to watch during the night, neither the natives nor the deer
being truly formidable.
They found nothing better for shelter than an enormous mango-tree,
whose large branches, very bushy, formed a kind of natural veranda. If
necessary, they could nestle in the branches.
Only, on the arrival of the little troop, a deafening concert arose
from the top of the tree.
The mango served as a perch for a colony of gray parrots, prattling,
quarrelsome, ferocious birds, which set upon living birds, and those
who would judge them from their congeners which Europe keeps in cages,
would be singularly mistaken.
These parrots jabbered with such a noise that Dick Sand thought of
firing at them to oblige them to be silent, or to put them to flight.
But Harris dissuaded him, under the pretext that in these solitudes it
was better not to disclose his presence by the detonation of a fire-arm.
"Let us pass along without noise," he said, "and we shall pass along
without danger."
Supper was prepared at once, without any need of proceeding to cook
food. It was composed of conserves and biscuit. A little rill, which
wound under the plants, furnished drinkable water, which they did not
drink without improving it with a few drops of rum. As to _dessert_,
the mango was there with its juicy fruit, which the parrots did not
allow to be picked without protesting with their abominable cries.
At the end of the supper it began to be dark. The shade rose slowly
from the ground to the tops of the trees, from which the foliage soon
stood out like a fine tracery on the more luminous background of the
sky. The first stars seemed to be shining flowers, which twinkled at
the end of the last branches. The wind went down with the night, and no
longer trembled in the branches of the trees. The parrots themselves
had become mute. Nature was going to rest, and inviting every living
being to follow her in this deep sleep.
Preparations for retiring had to be of a very primitive character.
"Shall we not light a large fire for the night?" Dick Sand asked the
American.
"What's the good?" replied Harris. "Fortunately the nights are not
cold, and this enormous mango will preserve the soil from all
evaporation. We have neither cold nor dampness to fear. I repeat, my
young friend, what I told you just now. Let us move along incognito. No
more fire than gunshots, if possible."
"I believe, indeed," then said Mrs. Weldon, "that we have nothing to
fear from the Indians--even from those wanderers of the woods, of whom
you have spoken, Mr. Harris. But, are there not other four-footed
wanderers, that the sight of a fire would help to keep at a distance?"
"Mrs. Weldon," replied the American, "you do too much honor to the deer
of this country. Indeed, they fear man more than he fears them."
"We are in a wood," said Jack, "and there is always beasts in the
woods."
"There are woods and woods, my good little man, as there are beasts and
beasts," replied Harris, laughing. "Imagine that you are in the middle
of a large park. Truly, it is not without reason that the Indians say
of this country, 'Es como el pariso!' It is like an earthly paradise!"
"Then there are serpents?" said Jack.
"No, my Jack," replied Mrs. Weldon, "there are no serpents, and you may
sleep tranquilly."
"And lions?" asked Jack.
"Not the ghost of a lion, my good little man," replied Harris.
"Tigers, then?"
"Ask your mama if she has ever heard tell of tigers on this continent."
"Never," replied Mrs. Weldon.
"Good!" said Cousin Benedict, who, by chance, was listening to the
conversation: "if there are neither lions nor tigers in the New World,
which is perfectly true, we at least encounter cougars and jaguars."
"Are they bad?" asked little Jack.
"Phew!" replied Harris; "a native has little fear of attacking those
animals, and we are strong. Stay! Hercules would be strong enough to
crush two jaguars at once, one in each hand!"
"You will watch well, Hercules," then said little Jack, "and if a beast
comes to bite us----"
"It is I who will bite it, Mr. Jack!" replied Hercules, showing his
mouth, armed with superb teeth.
"Yes, you will watch, Hercules," said the novice, "but your companions
and I will relieve you, turn about."
"No, Mr. Dick," replied Acteon, "Hercules, Bat, Austin, and I, we four
will be enough for this labor. You must rest the whole night."
"Thank you, Acteon," replied Dick Sand, "but I ought to----"
"No! let those brave men do it, my dear Dick!" then said Mrs. Weldon.
"I, also; I shall watch!" added little Jack, whose eyelids were already
closing.
"Yes, my Jack, yes, you will watch!" replied his mother, who did not
wish to contradict him.
"But," the little boy said again, "if there are no lions, if there are
no tigers in the forest, there are wolves!"
"Oh! wolves in jest!" replied the American. "They are not even wolves,
but kinds of foxes, or rather of those dogs of the woods which they
call 'guaras.'"
"And those _guaras_, they bite?" asked little Jack.
"Bah! Dingo would make only one mouthful of those beasts!"
"Never mind," replied Jack, with a last yawn; "guaras are wolves,
because they are called wolves!"
And with that Jack fell asleep peaceably in Nan's arms, beside the
trunk of the mango. Mrs. Weldon, lying near her, gave a last kiss to
her little boy, and her tired eyes quickly closed for the night.
A few moments later Hercules brought back to the camp Cousin Benedict,
who had just gone off to commence a chase for pyrophores. They are
"cocuyos," or luminous flies, which the stylish put in their hair, like
so many living gems. These insects which throw a bright and bluish
light from two spots situated at the base of their corselet, are very
numerous in South America. Cousin Benedict then counted on making a
large collection, but Hercules did not leave him time, and, in spite of
his recriminations, the negro brought him to the halting-place. That
was because, when Hercules had orders, he executed them with military
preciseness, which, no doubt, prevented the incarceration of a notable
quantity of luminous flies in the entomologist's tin box.
A few moments after, with the exception of the giant, who was watching,
all were reposing in a profound sleep.
CHAPTER XVII.
A HUNDRED MILES IN TWO DAYS.
Generally, travelers or ramblers in the woods, who have slept in the
forests under the lovely stars, are awakened by howlings as fantastic
as disagreeable. There is everything in this morning concert: clucking,
grunting, croaking, sneering, barking, and almost "speaking," if one
may make use of this word, which completes the series of different
noises.
There are the monkeys who thus salute the daybreak. There we meet the
little "marikina," the marmoset with a speckled mask; the "mono gris,"
the skin of which the Indians use to recover the batteries of their
guns; the "sagous," recognizable from their long bunches of hair, and
many others, specimens of this numerous family.
Of these various four-handed animals, the most remarkable are decidedly
the "gueribas," with curling tails and a face like Beelzebub. When the
sun rises, the oldest of the band, with an imposing and mysterious
voice, sings a monotonous psalm. It is the baritone of the troop. The
young tenors repeat after him the morning symphony. The Indians say
then that the "gueribas" recite their _pater-nosters_.
But, on this day, it seemed that the monkeys did not offer their
prayer, for no one heard them; and, meanwhile, their voice is loud, for
it is produced by the rapid vibration of a kind of bony drum, formed by
a swelling of the hyoides bone in the neck.
In short, for one reason or for another, neither the "gueribas," nor
the "sagous," nor any other four-handed animals of this immense forest,
sang, on this morning, their usual concert.
This would not have satisfied the wandering Indians. Not that these
natives appreciate this kind of strange choral music, but they
willingly give chase to the monkeys, and if they do, it is because the
flesh of this animal is excellent, above all, when it is smoke-dried.
Dick Sand, of course, could not be familiar with the habits of the
"gueribas," neither were his companions, or this not hearing them would
have undoubtedly been a subject of surprise. They awoke then, one after
the other, much refreshed by these few hours of repose, which no alarm
had come to disturb.
Little Jack was not the last to stretch his arms. His first question
was, to ask if Hercules had eaten a wolf during the night. No wolf had
shown himself, and consequently Hercules had not yet breakfasted.
All, besides, were fasting like him, and after the morning prayer, Nan
occupied herself preparing the repast.
The bill of fare was that of the supper of the night before, but with
appetites sharpened by the morning air of the forest, no one dreamed of
being difficult to please. It was necessary, above all, to gather
strength for a good day's march, and they did it. For the first time,
perhaps, Cousin Benedict comprehended that to eat was not an action
indifferent or useless to life; only, he declared that he had not come
to "visit" this country to walk with his hands in his pockets, and
that, if Hercules prevented him from chasing the "cocuyos," and other
luminous flies, Hercules would have some trouble with him.
This threat did not seem to frighten the giant to any great extent.
However, Mrs. Weldon took him aside and told him that, perhaps, he
might allow his big baby to run to the right and left, but on condition
that he did not lose sight of him. It would not do to completely sever
Cousin Benedict from the pleasures so natural to his age.
At seven o'clock in the morning, the little troop took up their journey
toward the east, preserving the order of march that had been adopted
the previous day. It was always the forest. On this virgin soil, where
the heat and the moisture agreed to produce vegetation, it might well
be thought that the reign of growth appeared in all its power. The
parallel of this vast plateau was almost confounded with tropical
latitudes, and, during certain months in summer, the sun, in passing to
the zenith, darted its perpendicular rays there. There was, therefore,
an enormous quantity of imprisoned heat in this earth, of which the
subsoil preserved the damp. Also, nothing could be more magnificent
than this succession of forests, or rather this interminable forest.
Meanwhile, Dick Sand had not failed to observe this--that, according to
Harris, they were in the region of the pampas. Now, pampas is a word
from the "quichna" language, which signifies a plain. Now, if his
recollections did not deceive him, he believed that these plains
presented the following characteristics: Lack of water, absence of
trees, a failure of stones, an almost luxuriant abundance of thistles
during the rainy season, thistles which became almost shrubby with the
warm season, and then formed impenetrable thickets; then, also, dwarf
trees, thorny shrubs, the whole giving to these plains a rather arid
and desolate aspect.
Now, it had not been thus, since the little troop, guided by the
American, had left the coast. The forest had not ceased to spread to
the limits of the horizon. No, this was not the pampas, such as the
young novice had imagined them. Had nature, as Harris had told him,
been able to make a region apart from the plateau of Atacama, of which
he knew nothing, if it did not form one of the most vast deserts of
South America, between the Andes and the Pacific Ocean?
On that day Dick Sand propounded some questions on this subject, and
expressed to the American the surprise he felt at this singular
appearance of the pampas.
But he was quickly undeceived by Harris, who gave him the most exact
details about this part of Bolivia, thus witnessing to his great
knowledge of the country.
"You are right, my young friend," he said to the novice. "The true
pampa is indeed such as the books of travels have depicted it to you,
that is, a plain rather arid, and the crossing of which is often
difficult. It recalls our savannahs of North America--except that these
are a little marshy. Yes, such is indeed the pampa of the Rio Colorado,
such are the "llanos" of the Orinoco and of Venezuela. But here, we are
in a country, the appearance of which even astonishes me. It is true,
it is the first time I have followed this route across the plateau, a
route which has the advantage of shortening our journey. But, if I have
not yet seen it, I know that it presents an extraordinary contrast to
the veritable pampa. As to this one, you would find it again, not
between the Cordilleras of the west and the high chain of the Andes,
but beyond the mountains, over all that eastern part of the continent
which extends as far as the Atlantic."
"Must we then clear the Andes range?" Dick Sand asked, quickly.
"No, my young friend, no," replied the American, smiling. "So I said:
You _would_ find it again, and not: You _will_ find it again. Be
reassured, we shall not leave this plateau, the greatest elevations of
which do not exceed fifteen hundred feet. Ah! if it had been necessary
to cross the Cordilleras with only the means of transport at our
disposal, I should never have drawn you into such an undertaking."
"In fact," replied Dick Sand, "it would be better to ascend or descend
the coast."
"Oh! a hundred times!" replied Harris. "But the Farm of San Felice is
situated on this side of the Cordilleras. So, then, our journey,
neither in its first nor in its second part, will offer any real
difficulty."
"And you do not fear going astray in these forests, which you cross for
the first time?" asked Dick Sand.
"No, my young friend, no," replied Harris. "I know indeed that this
forest is like an immense sea, or rather like the bottom of a sea,
where a sailor himself could not take the latitude nor recognize his
position. But accustomed to traveling in the woods, I know how to find
my route only by the inclination of certain trees, by the direction of
their leaves, by the movement or the composition of the soil, by a
thousand details which escape you! Be sure of it, I will lead you, you
and yours, where you ought to go!"
All these things were said very clearly by Harris. Dick Sand and he, at
the head of the troop, often talked without any one mingling in their
conversation. If the novice felt some doubts that the American did not
always succeed in scattering, he preferred to keep them to himself.
The 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th of April passed in this manner,
without any incident to mark the journey. They did not make more than
eight to nine miles in twelve hours. The times consecrated to eating or
repose came at regular intervals, and though a little fatigue was felt
already, the sanitary condition was still very satisfactory.
Little Jack began to suffer a little from this life in the woods, to
which he was not accustomed, and which was becoming very monotonous for
him. And then all the promises which had been made him had not been
kept. The caoutchouc jumping-jacks, the humming-birds, all those seemed
constantly to recede. There had also been a question of showing him the
most beautiful parrots in the world, and they ought not to be wanting
in these rich forests. Where, then, were the popinjays with green
plumage, almost all originally from these countries, the _aras_, with
naked cheeks, with long pointed tails, with glittering colors, whose
paws never rest on the earth, and the "camindes," which are more
peculiar to tropical countries, and the many-colored she-parrots, with
feathered faces, and finally all those prattling birds which, according
to the Indians, still speak the language of extinct tribes?
Of parrots, little Jack only saw ash-gray jakos, with red tails, which
abounded under the trees. But these jakos were not new to him. They
have transported them into all parts of the world. On the two
continents they fill the houses with their insupportable chattering,
and, of all the family of the "psittacius," they are the ones which
learn to speak most easily.
It must be said, besides, that if Jack was not contented, Cousin
Benedict was no more so. He had been allowed to wander a little to the
right or to the left during the march. However, he had not found any
insect which was fit to enrich his collection. Even the "pyrophores"
obstinately refused to show themselves to him, and attract him by the
phosphorescences of their corselet. Nature seemed truly to mock the
unhappy entomologist, whose temper was becoming cross.
For four days more the march toward the northeast was continued in the
same way. On the 16th of April the distance traversed from the coast
could not be estimated at less than one hundred miles. If Harris had
not gone astray--and he affirmed it without hesitation--the Farm of San
Felice was no more than twenty miles from the halting place of that
day. Before forty-eight hours the little troop then would have a
comfortable shelter where its members could at last repose from their
fatigues.
Meanwhile, though the plateau had been almost entirely crossed in its
middle part, not a native, not a wanderer had been encountered under
the immense forest.
More than once, without saying anything about it, Dick Sand regretted
being unable to go ashore on some other point of the coast. More to the
south, or more to the north, villages, hamlets, or plantations would
not have been lacking, and long before this Mrs. Weldon and her
companions would have found an asylum.
But, if the country seemed to be abandoned by man, animals showed
themselves more frequently during these last days. At times was heard a
kind of long, plaintive cry, that Harris attributed to some of those
large tardi-grades, habitual denizens of those vast wooded regions,
named "ais."
On that day, also, during the midday halt, a hissing passed through the
air, which made Mrs. Weldon very uneasy, because it was so strange.
"What is that?"' she asked, rising hastily.
"A serpent!" cried Dick Sand, who gun, in hand, threw himself before
Mrs. Weldon.
They might fear, in fact, that some reptile would glide among the
plants to the halting place. It would be nothing astonishing if it were
one of those enormous "sucurus," kinds of boas, which sometimes measure
forty feet in length.
But Harris reminded Dick Sand that the blacks were already following,
and he reassured Mrs. Weldon.
According to him, that hissing could not be produced by a "sucuru,"
because that serpent does not hiss; but he indicated the presence of
several inoffensive quadrupeds, rather numerous in that country.
"Be reassured, then," said he, "and make no movement which may frighten
those animals."
"But what are they?" asked Dick Sand, who made it like a law of
conscience to interrogate and make the American speak--who, however,
never required pressing before replying.
"They are antelopes, my young friend," replied Harris.
"Oh! how I should like to see them!" cried Jack.
"That is very difficult, my good little man," replied the American,
"very difficult."
"Perhaps we may try to approach than--those hissing antelopes?"
returned Dick Sand.
"Oh! you will not take three steps," replied the American, shaking his
head, "before the whole band will take flight. I beg of you, then, not
to trouble yourself."
But Dick Sand had his reasons for being curious. He wished to see, and,
gun in hand, he glided among the herbs. Immediately a dozen graceful
gazelles, with small, sharp horns, passed with the rapidity of a
water-spout. Their hair, bright red, looked like a cloud of fire under
the tall underwood of the forest.
"I had warned you," said Harris, when the novice returned to take his
place.
Those antelopes were so light of foot, that it had been truly
impossible to distinguish them; but it was not so with another troop of
animals which was signaled the same day. Those could be
seen--imperfectly, it is true--but their apparition led to a rather
singular discussion between Harris and some of his companions.
The little troop, about four o'clock in the afternoon, had stopped for
a moment near an opening in the woods, when three or four animals of
great height went out of a thicket a hundred steps off, and scampered
away at once with remarkable speed.
In spite of the American's recommendations, this time the novice,
having quickly shouldered his gun, fired at one of these animals. But
at the moment when the charge was going off, the weapon had been
rapidly turned aside by Harris, and Dick Sand, skilful as he was, had
missed his aim.
"No firing; no firing!" said the American.
"Ah, now, but those are giraffes!" cried Dick Sand, without otherwise
replying to Harris's observation.
"Giraffes!" repeated Jack, standing up on the horse's saddle. "Where
are they, the large beasts?"
"Giraffes!" replied Mrs. Weldon. "You are mistaken, my dear Dick. There
are no giraffes in America."
"Indeed," said Harris, who appeared rather surprised, "there cannot be
any giraffes in this country."
"What, then?" said Dick Sand.
"I really do not know what to think," replied Harris. "Have not your
eyes deceived you, my young friend, and are not those animals more
likely to be ostriches?"
"Ostriches!" repeated Dick Sand and Mrs. Weldon, looking at each other
in great surprise.
"Yes, only ostriches," repeated Harris.
"But ostriches are birds," returned Dick Sand, "and consequently they
have only two feet."
"Well," replied Harris, "I indeed thought I saw that those animals,
which have just made off so rapidly, were bipeds."
"Bipeds!" replied the novice.
"Indeed it seemed to me that I saw animals with four legs," then said
Mrs. Weldon.
"I also," added old Tom; then Bat, Acteon, and Austin confirmed those
words.
"Ostriches with four legs!" cried Harris, with a burst of laughter.
"That would be ridiculous!"
"So," returned Dick Sand, "we have believed they were giraffes, and not
ostriches."
"No, my young friend, no," said Harris. "You have certainly seen badly.
That is explained by the rapidity with which those animals have flown
away. Besides, it has happened more than once that hunters have been
deceived like you, and in the best faith in the world."
What the American said was very plausible. Between an ostrich of great
height and a giraffe of medium height, seen at a certain distance, it
is easy to make a mistake. If it were a question of a beak or a nose,
both are none the less joined to the end of a long neck turned
backward, and, strictly speaking, it may be said that an ostrich is
only a half giraffe. It only needs the hind legs. Then, this biped and
this quadruped, passing rapidly, on a sudden may, very properly, be
taken one for the other.
Besides, the best proof that Mrs. Weldon and the others were mistaken
was that there are no giraffes in America.
Dick Sand then made this reflection:
"But I believed that ostriches were not met with in the New World any
more than giraffes."
"Yes, my young friend," replied Harris; "and, indeed, South America
possesses a peculiar species. To this species belongs the 'nandon,'
which you have just seen."
Harris spoke the truth. The "nandon" is a long-legged bird, rather
common in the plains of South America, and its flesh, when it is young,
is good to eat.
This strong animal, whose height sometimes exceeds two meters, has a
straight beak; wings long, and formed of tufted feathers of a bluish
shade; feet formed of three claws, furnished with nails--which
essentially distinguishes it from the ostriches of Africa.
These very exact details were given by Harris, who appeared to be very
strongly posted on the manners of the "nandons."
Mrs. Weldon and her companions were obliged to acknowledge that they
had been deceived.
"Besides," added Harris, "possibly we may encounter another band of
these ostriches. Well, next time look better, and no longer allow
yourselves to takes birds for quadrupeds! But above all, my young
friend, do not forget my recommendations, and do not fire on any animal
whatsoever. We have no need of hunting to procure food, and no
detonation of a fire-arm must announce our presence in this forest."
Meanwhile Dick Sand remained pensive. Once more a doubt had just arisen
on his mind.
The next day, April 17th, the march was continued, and the American
affirmed that twenty-four hours would not pass before the little troop
should be installed at the Farm of San Felice.
"There, Mrs. Weldon," added he, "you will receive all the care
necessary to your position, and a few days' rest will quite restore
you. Perhaps you will not find at this farm the luxury to which you are
accustomed in your residence in San Francisco, but you will see that
our improved lands in the interior do not lack what is comfortable. We
are not absolutely savages."
"Mr. Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon, "if we have only thanks to offer you
for your generous resort, at least we shall offer them to you with all
our hearts. Yes! It is time for us to arrive there!"
"You are very much fatigued, Mrs. Weldon?"
"I, no matter!" replied Mrs. Weldon; "but I perceive that my little
Jack is gradually becoming exhausted! The fever begins to affect him at
certain hours!"
"Yes," replied Harris, "and although the climate of this plateau is
very healthful, it must be acknowledged that in March and April
intermittent fevers reign."
"Doubtless," then said Dick Sand, "but also Nature, who is always and
everywhere provident, has put the remedy near the evil!"
"And how is that, my young friend?" asked Harris, who did not seem to
understand.
"Are we not, then, in the region of the quinquinas?" replied Dick Sand.
"In fact," said Harris, "you are perfectly right. The trees which
furnish, the precious febrifuge bark are native here."
"I am even astonished," added Dick Sand, "that we have not yet seen a
single one."
"Ah! my young friend," replied Harris, "those trees are not easy to
distinguish. Though they are often of great height, though their leaves
are large, their flowers rosy and odoriferous, we do not discover them
easily. It is rarely that they grow in groups. They are rather
scattered through the forests, and the Indians who collect the
quinquina can only recognize them by their foliage, always green."
"Mr. Harris," said Mrs. Weldon, "if you see one of those trees you will
show it to me."
"Certainly, Mrs. Weldon, but at the farm you will find some sulphate of
quinine. That is worth still more to break the fever than the simple
bark of the tree."
Formerly, this bark was only reduced to powder, which bore the name of
"Jesuits' Powder," because, in 1649, the Jesuits of Rome received a
considerable quantity from their mission in America.
This last day of the journey passed without other incident. Evening
came and the halt was organized for the whole night as usual. Till then
it had not rained, but the weather was preparing to change, for a warm
mist rose from the soil and soon found a thick fog.
They were touching, in fact, on the rainy season. Fortunately, the next
day, a comfortable shelter would be hospitably offered to the little
troop. There were only a few hours to elapse.
Though, according to Harris, who could only establish his calculation
by the time which the journey had lasted, they could not be more than
six miles from the farm, the ordinary precautions were taken for the
night. Tom and his companions would watch one after the other. Dick
Sand insisted that nothing should be neglected in that respect. Less
than ever, would he depart from his habitual prudence, for a terrible
suspicion was incrusted in his mind; but he did not wish to say
anything yet.
The retiring to rest had been made at the feet of a group of large
trees. Fatigue aiding, Mrs. Weldon and hers were already asleep, when
they were awakened by a great cry.
"Eh! what's the matter?" asked Dick Sand, quickly, who was on his feet
first of all.
"It is I! it is I who have cried!" replied Cousin Benedict.
"And what is the matter with you?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"I have just been bit!"
"By a serpent?" asked Mrs. Weldon, with alarm.
"No, no! It was not a serpent, but an insect," replied Cousin Benedict.
"Ah! I have it! I have it!"
"Well, crush your insect," said Harris, "and let us sleep, Mr.
Benedict!"
"Crush an insect!" cried Cousin Benedict. "Not so! I must see what it
is!"
"Some mosquito!" said Harris, shrugging his shoulders.
"No! It is a fly," replied Cousin Benedict, "and a fly which ought to
be very curious!"
Dick Sand had lit a little portable lantern, and he approached Cousin
Benedict.
"Divine goodness!" cried the latter. "Behold what consoles me for all
my deceptions! I have, then, at last made a discovery!"
The honest man was raving. He looked at his fly in triumph. He would
willingly kiss it.
"But what is it, then?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"A dipter, cousin, a famous dipter!" And Cousin Benedict showed a fly
smaller than a bee, of a dull color, streaked with yellow on the lower
part of its body.
"And this fly is not venomous?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"No, cousin, no; at least not for man. But for animals, for antelopes,
for buffaloes, even for elephants, it is another thing. Ah! adorable
insect!"
"At last," asked Dick Sand, "will you tell us, Mr. Benedict, what is
this fly?"
"This fly," replied the entomologist, "this fly that I hold between my
fingers, this fly--it is a _tsetse_! It is that famous dipter that is
the honor of a country, and, till now, no one has ever found a _tsetse_
in America!"
Dick Sand did not dare to ask Cousin Benedict in what part of the world
this redoubtable _tsetse_ was only to be met. And when his companions,
after this incident, had returned to their interrupted sleep, Dick
Sand, in spite of the fatigue which overwhelmed him, did not close his
eyes the whole night.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE TERRIBLE WORD.
It was time to arrive. Extreme lassitude made it impossible for Mrs.
Weldon to continue any longer a journey made under such painful
conditions. Her little boy, crimson during the fits of fever, very pale
during the intermissions, was pitiable to see. His mother extremely
anxious, had not been willing to leave Jack even in the care of the
good Nan. She held him, half-lying, in her arms.
Yes, it was time to arrive. But, to trust to the American, on the very
evening of this day which was breaking--the evening of the 18th of
April, the little troop should finally reach the shelter of the
"hacienda" of San Felice.
Twelve days' journey for a woman, twelve nights passed in the open air;
it was enough to overwhelm Mrs. Weldon, energetic as she was. But, for
a child, it was worse, and the sight of little Jack sick, and without
the most ordinary cares, had sufficed to crush her.
Dick Sand, Nan, Tom, and his companions had supported the fatigues of
the journey better.
Their provisions, although they were commencing to get exhausted, had
not become injured, and their condition was satisfactory.
As for Harris, he seemed made for the difficulties of these long
journeys across the forests, and it did not appear that fatigue could
affect him. Only, in proportion as he neared the farm, Dick Sand
observed that he was more preoccupied and less frank in behavior than
before. The contrary would have been more natural. This was, at least,
the opinion of the young novice, who had now become more than
suspicious of the American. And meanwhile, what interest could Harris
have in deceiving them? Dick Sand could not have explained it, but he
watched their guide more closely.
The American probably felt himself suspected by Dick Sand, and, no
doubt, it was this mistrust which made him still more taciturn with
"his young friend."
The march had been resumed.
In the forest, less thick, the trees were scattered in groups, and no
longer formed impenetrable masses. Was it, then, the true pampas of
which Harris had spoken?
During the first hours of the day, no accident happened to aggravate
the anxieties that Dick Sand felt. Only two facts were observed by him.
Perhaps they were not very important, but in these actual junctures, no
detail could be neglected.
It was the behavior of Dingo which, above all, attracted more
especially the young man's attention.
In fact the dog, which, during all this journey, had seemed to be
following a scent, became quite different, and that almost suddenly.
Until then, his nose to the ground, generally smelling the herbs or the
shrubs, he either kept quiet, or he made a sort of sad, barking noise,
like an expression of grief or of regret.
Now, on this day, the barking of the singular animal became like
bursts, sometimes furious, such as they formerly were when Negoro
appeared on the deck of the "Pilgrim." A suspicion crossed suddenly
Dick Sand's mind, and it was confirmed by Tom, who said to him:
"How very singular, Mr. Dick! Dingo no longer smells the ground as he
did yesterday! His nose is in the air, he is agitated, his hair stands
up! One would think he scented in the distance----"
"Negoro, is it not so?" replied Dick Sand, who seized the old black's
arm, and signed to him to speak in a low voice.
"Negoro, Mr. Dick! May it not be that he has followed our steps?"
"Yes, Tom; and that at this moment even he may not be very far from us."
"But why?" said Tom.
"Either Negoro does not know this country," went on Dick Sand, "and
then he would have every interest in not losing sight of us----"
"Or?" said Tom, who anxiously regarded the novice.
"Or," replied Dick Sand, "he does know it, and then he----"
"But how should Negoro know this country? He has never come here!"
"Has he never been here?" murmured Dick Sand.
"It is an incontestable fact that Dingo acts as if this man whom he
detests were near us!"
Then, interrupting himself to call the dog, which, after some
hesitation, came to him:
"Eh!" said he; "Negoro! Negoro!"
A furious barking was Dingo's reply. This name had its usual effect
upon him, and he darted forward, as if Negoro had been hidden behind
some thicket.
Harris had witnessed all this scene. With his lips a little drawn, he
approached the novice.
"What did you ask Dingo then?" said he.
"Oh, not much, Mr. Harris," replied old Tom, jokingly. "We asked him
for news of the ship-companion whom we have lost!"
"Ah!" said the American, "the Portuguese, the ship's cook of whom you
have already spoken to me?"
"Yes." replied Tom. "One would say, to hear Dingo, that Negoro is in
the vicinity."
"How could he get as far as this?" replied Harris.
"He never was in this country that I know of; at least, he concealed it
from us," replied Tom.
"It would be astonishing," said Harris. "But, if you wish, we will beat
these thickets. It is possible that this poor devil has need of help;
that he is in distress."
"It is useless, Mr. Harris," replied Dick Sand. "If Negoro has known
how to come as far as this, he will know how to go farther. He is a man
to keep out of trouble."
"As you please," replied Harris.
"Let us go. Dingo, be quiet," added Dick Sand, briefly, so as to end
the conversation.
The second observation made by the novice was in connection with the
American horse. He did not appear to "feel the stable," as do animals
of his species. He did not suck in the air; he did not hasten his
speed; he did not dilate his nostrils; he uttered none of the neighings
that indicate the end of a journey. To observe him well, he appeared to
be as indifferent as if the farm, to which he had gone several times,
however, and which he ought to know, had been several hundreds of miles
away.
"That is not a horse near home," thought the young novice.
And, meanwhile, according to what Harris had said the evening before,
there only remained six miles to go, and, of these last six miles, at
five o'clock in the evening four had been certainly cleared.
Now, if the horse felt nothing of the stable, of which he should have
great need, nothing besides announced the approaches to a great
clearing, such as the Farm of San Felice must be.
Mrs. Weldon, indifferent as she then was to what did not concern her
child, was struck at seeing the country still so desolate. What! not a
native, not a farm-servant, at such a short distance! Harris must be
wild! No! she repulsed this idea. A new delay would have been the death
of her little Jack!
Meanwhile, Harris always kept in advance, but he seemed to observe the
depths of the wood, and looked to the right and left, like a man who
was not sure of himself--nor of his road.
Mrs. Weldon shut her eyes so as not to see him.
After a plain a mile in extent, the forest, without being as dense as
in the west, had reappeared, and the little troop was again lost under
the great trees.
At six o'clock in the evening they had reached a thicket, which
appeared to have recently given passage to a band of powerful animals.
Dick Sand looked around him very attentively. At a distance winch far
surpassed the human height, the branches were torn off or broken. At
the same time the herbs, roughly scattered, exhibited on the soil, a
little marshy, prints of steps which could not be those of jaguars, or
cougars.
Were these, then, the "ais," or some other tardi-graves, whose feet had
thus marked the soil? But how, then, explain the break in the branches
at such a height?
Elephants might have, without doubt, left such imprints, stamped these
large traces, made a similar hole in the impenetrable underwood. But
elephants are not found in America. These enormous thick-skinned
quadrupeds are not natives of the New World. As yet, they have never
been acclimated there.
The hypothesis that elephants had passed there was absolutely
inadmissible.
However that might be, Dick Sand hardly knew how much this inexplicable
fact gave him to think about. He did not even question the American on
this point. What could he expect from a man who had tried to make him
take giraffes for ostriches? Harris would have given him some
explanation, more or less imaginative, which would not have changed the
situation.
At all events, Dick had formed his opinion of Harris. He felt in him a
traitor! He only awaited an occasion to unmask his disloyalty, to have
the right to do it, and everything told him that this opportunity was
near.
But what could be Harris's secret end? What future, then, awaited the
survivors of the "Pilgrim?" Dick Sand repeated to himself that his
responsibility had not ceased with the shipwreck. It was more than ever
necessary for him to provide for the safety of those whom the waves had
thrown on this coast! This woman, this young child, these blacks--all
his companions in misfortune--it was he alone who must save them! But,
if he could attempt anything on board ship, if he could act on the sea,
here, in the midst of the terrible trials which he foresaw, what part
could he take?
Dick Sand would not shut his eyes before the frightful reality that
each instant made more indisputable. In this juncture he again became
the captain of fifteen years, as he had been on the "Pilgrim." But he
would not say anything which could alarm the poor mother before the
moment for action had arrived.
And he said nothing, not even when, arrived on the bank of a rather
large stream, preceding the little troop about one hundred feet, he
perceived enormous animals, which threw themselves under the large
plants on the brink.
"Hippopotami! hippopotami!" he was going to exclaim.
And they were, indeed, these thick-skinned animals, with a big head, a
large, swollen snout, a mouth armed with teeth which extend a foot
beyond it--animals which are squat on their short limbs, the skin of
which, unprovided with hair, is of a tawny red. Hippopotami in America!
They continued to march during the whole day, but painfully. Fatigue
commenced to retard even the most robust. It was truly time to arrive,
or they would be forced to stop.
Mrs. Weldon, wholly occupied with her little Jack, did not perhaps feel
the fatigue, but her strength was exhausted. All, more or less, were
tired. Dick Sand, resisted by a supreme moral energy, caused by the
sentiment of duty.
Toward four o'clock in the evening, old Tom found, in the grass, an
object which attracted his attention. It was an arm, a kind of knife,
of a particular shape, formed of a large, curved blade, set in a
square, ivory handle, rather roughly ornamented. Tom carried this knife
to Dick Sand, who took it, examined it, and, finally, showed it to the
American, saying:
"No doubt the natives are not very far off."
"That is so," replied Harris, "and meanwhile----"
"Meanwhile?" repeated Dick Sand, who now steadily looked Harris in the
face.
"We should be very near the farm," replied Harris, hesitating, "and I
do not recognize----"
"You are then astray?" quickly asked Dick Sand.
"Astray! no. The farm cannot be more than three miles away, now. But, I
wished to take the shortest road through the forest, and perhaps I have
made a little mistake!"
"Perhaps," replied Dick Sand.
"I would do well, I think, to go in advance," said Harris.
"No, Mr. Harris, we will not separate," replied Dick Sand, in a decided
tone.
"As you will," replied the American. "But, during the night, it will be
difficult for me to guide you."
"Never mind that!" replied Dick Sand. "We are going to halt. Mrs.
Weldon will consent to pass a last night under the trees, and
to-morrow, when it is broad daylight, we will proceed on our journey!
Two or three miles still, that will be an hour's walk!"
"Be it so," replied Harris.
At that moment Dingo commenced to bark furiously.
"Here, Dingo, here!" cried Dick Sand. "You know well that no one is
there, and that we are in the desert!"
This last halt was then decided upon.
Mrs. Weldon let her companions work without saying a word. Her little
Jack was sleeping in her arms, made drowsy by the fever.
They sought the best place to pass the night. This was under a large
bunch of trees, where Dick Sand thought of disposing all for their
rest. But old Tom, who was helping him in these preparations, stopped
suddenly, crying out:
"Mr. Dick! look! look!"
"What is it, old Tom?" asked Dick Sand, in the calm tone of a man who
attends to everything.
"There--there!" cried Tom; "on those trees--blood stains!--and--on the
ground--mutilated limbs!"
Dick Sand rushed toward the spot indicated by old Tom. Then, returning
to him: "Silence, Tom, silence!" said he.
In fact, there on the ground were hands cut off, and above these human
remains were several broken forks, and a chain in pieces!
Happily, Mrs. Weldon had seen nothing of this horrible spectacle.
As for Harris, he kept at a distance, and any one observing him at this
moment would have been struck at the change made in him. His face had
something ferocious in it.
Dingo had rejoined Dick Sand, and before these bloody remains, he
barked with rage.
The novice had hard work to drive him away.
Meanwhile, old Tom, at the sight of these forks, of this broken chain,
had remained motionless, as if his feet were rooted in the soil. His
eyes were wide open, his hands clenched; he stared, murmuring these
incoherent words:
"I have seen--already seen--these forks--when little--I have seen!"
And no doubt the memories of his early infancy returned to him vaguely.
He tried to recall them. He was going to speak.
"Be silent, Tom!" repeated Dick Sand. "For Mrs. Weldon's sake, for all
our sakes, be silent!"
And the novice led the old black away.
Another halting place was chosen, at some distance, and all was
arranged for the night.
The repast was prepared, but they hardly touched it. Fatigue took away
their hunger. All were under an indefinable impression of anxiety which
bordered on terror.
Darkness came gradually: soon it was profound. The sky was covered with
great stormy clouds. Between the trees in the western horizon they saw
some flashes of heat lightning. The wind had fallen; not a leaf moved
on the trees. An absolute silence succeeded the noises of the day, and
it might be believed that the heavy atmosphere, saturated with
electricity, was becoming unfit for the transmission of sounds.
Dick Sand, Austin, and Bat watched together. They tried to see, to
hear, during this very dark night, if any light whatsoever, or any
suspicious noise should strike their eyes or their ears. Nothing
troubled either the calm or the obscurity of the forest.
Torn, not sleepy, but absorbed in his remembrances, his head bent,
remained quiet, as if he had been struck by some sudden blow.
Mrs. Weldon rocked her child in her arms, and only thought of him.
Only Cousin Benedict slept, perhaps, for he alone did not suffer from
the common impression. His faculty for looking forward did not go so
far.
Suddenly, about eleven o'clock, a prolonged and grave roaring was
heard, with which was mingled a sort of sharper shuddering. Tom stood
up and stretched out his hand toward a dense thicket, a mile or more
distant.
Dick Sand seized his arm, but he could not prevent Tom from crying in a
loud voice: "The lion! the lion!"
This roaring, which he had so often heard in his infancy, the old black
had just recognized it.
"The lion!" he repeated.
Dick Sand, incapable of controlling himself longer, rushed, cutlass in
hand, to the place occupied by Harris.
Harris was no longer there, and his horse had disappeared with him.
A sort of revelation took place in Dick Sand's mind. He was not where
he had believed he was!
So it was not on the American coast that the "Pilgrim" had gone ashore!
It was not the Isle of Paques, whose bearing the novice had taken at
sea, but some other island situated exactly to the west of this
continent, as the Isle of Paques is situated to the west of America.
The compass had deceived him during a part of the voyage, we know why!
Led away by the tempest over a false route, he must have doubled Cape
Horn, and from the Pacific Ocean he had passed into the Atlantic! The
speed of his ship, which he could only imperfectly estimate, had been
doubled, unknown to him, by the force of the hurricane!
Behold why the caoutchouc trees, the quinquinas, the products of South
America were missing in this country, which was neither the plateau of
Atacama nor the Bolivian pampa!
Yes, they were giraffes, not ostriches, which had fled away in the
opening! They were elephants that had crossed the thick underwood! They
were hippopotami whose repose Dick Sand had troubled under the large
plants! It was the _tsetse_, that dipter picked up by Benedict, the
formidable _tsetse_ under whose stings the animals of the caravans
perish!
Finally, it was, indeed, the roaring of the lion that had just sounded
through the forest! And those forks, those chains, that knife of
singular form, they were the tools of the slave-trader! Those mutilated
hands, they were the hands of captives!
The Portuguese Negoro, and the American Harris, must be in collusion!
And those terrible words guessed by Dick Sand, finally escaped his lips:
"Africa! Equatorial Africa! Africa of the slave-trade and the slaves!"
End of Part I
_PART II_
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
THE SLAVE TRADE.
The slave trade! Nobody is ignorant of the significance of this
word, which should never have found a place in human language. This
abominable traffic, for a long time practised to the profit of the
European nations which possessed colonies beyond the sea, has been
already forbidden for many years. Meanwhile it is always going on
a large scale, and principally in Central Africa. Even in this
nineteenth century the signature of a few States, calling themselves
Christians, are still missing from the Act for the Abolition of
Slavery.
We might believe that the trade is no longer carried on; that this
buying and this selling of human creatures has ceased: it is not so,
and that is what the reader must know if he wishes to become more
deeply interested in the second part of this history. He must learn
what these men-hunts actually are still, these hunts which threaten
to depopulate a whole continent for the maintenance of a few slave
colonies; where and how these barbarous captures are executed; how
much blood they cost; how they provoke incendiarism and pillage;
finally, for whose profit they are made.
It is in the fifteenth century only that we see the trade in blacks
carried on for the first time. Behold under what circumstances it was
established:
The Mussulmans, after being expelled from Spain, took refuge beyond
the Strait on the coast of Africa. The Portuguese, who then occupied
that part of the coast, pursued them with fury. A certain number of
those fugitives were made prisoners and brought back to Portugal.
Reduced to slavery, they constituted the first nucleus of African
slaves which has been formed in Western Europe since the Christian
Era.
But those Mussulmans belonged, for the most part, to rich families,
who wished to buy them back for gold. The Portuguese refused to accept
a ransom, however large it might be. They had only to make foreign
gold. What they lacked were the arms so indispensable then for the
work of the growing colonies, and, to say it all, the arms of the
slave.
The Mussulman families, being unable to buy back their captive
relatives, then offered to exchange them for a much larger number of
black Africans, whom it was only too easy to carry off. The offer
was accepted by the Portuguese, who found that exchange to their
advantage, and thus the slave trade was founded in Europe.
Toward the end of the sixteenth century this odious traffic was
generally admitted, and it was not repugnant to the still barbarous
manners. All the States protected it so as to colonize more rapidly
and more surely the isles of the New World. In fact, the slaves of
black origin could resist the climate, where the badly acclimated
whites, still unfit to support the heat of intertropical climates,
would have perished by thousands. The transport of negroes to the
American colonies was then carried on regularly by special vessels,
and this branch of transatlantic commerce led to the creation of
important stations on different points of the African coast. The
"merchandise" cost little in the country of production, and the
returns were considerable.
But, necessary as was the foundation of the colonies beyond the sea
from all points of view, it could not justify those markets for human
flesh. Generous voices soon made themselves heard, which protested
against the trade in blacks, and demanded from the European
governments a decree of abolition in the name of the principles of
humanity.
In 1751, the Quakers put themselves at the head of the abolition
movement, even in the heart of that North America where, a hundred
years later, the War of Secession was to burst forth, to which this
question of slavery was not a foreign one. Different States in the
North--Virginia, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania--decreed the
abolition of the slave trade, and freed the slaves brought to their
territories at great expense.
But the campaign commenced by the Quakers did not limit itself to the
northern provinces of the New World. Slaveholders were warmly attacked
beyond the Atlantic. France and England, more particularly, recruited
partisans for this just cause. "Let the colonies perish rather than a
principle!" Such was the generous command which resounded through all
the Old World, and, in spite of the great political and commercial
interests engaged in the question, it was effectively transmitted
through Europe.
The impetus was given. In 1807, England abolished the slave-trade
in her colonies, and France followed her example in 1814. The two
powerful nations exchanged a treaty on this subject--a treaty
confirmed by Napoleon during the Hundred Days.
However, that was as yet only a purely theoretical declaration. The
slave-ships did not cease to cross the seas, and to dispose of their
"ebony cargoes" in colonial ports.
More practical measures must be taken in order to put an end to this
commerce. The United States, in 1820, and England, in 1824, declared
the slave trade an act of piracy, and those who practised it pirates.
As such, they drew on themselves the penalty of death, and they were
pursued to the end. France soon adhered to the new treaty; but the
States of South America, and the Spanish and Portuguese colonies,
did not join in the Act of Abolition. The exportation of blacks
then continued to their profit, notwithstanding the right of search
generally recognized, which was limited to the verification of the
flag of suspicious vessels.
Meanwhile, the new Law of Abolition had not a retroactive effect. No
more new slaves were made, but the old ones had not yet recovered
their liberty.
It was under those circumstances that England set an example. In May,
1833, a general declaration emancipated all the blacks in the colonies
of Great Britain, and in August, 1838, six hundred and seventy
thousand slaves were declared free.
Ten years later, in 1848, the Republic emancipated the slaves of the
French colonies, say about two hundred and sixty thousand blacks. In
1861, the war which broke out between the Federals and Confederates,
of the United States, finishing the work of emancipation, extended it
to all North America.
The three great powers had then accomplished this work of humanity. At
the present hour, the trade is no longer carried on, except for the
benefit of the Spanish and Portuguese colonies, and to satisfy the
wants of the populations of the Orient, Turks, or Arabs. Brazil, if
she has not yet restored her old slaves to liberty, at least no longer
receives new ones, and the children of the blacks are born free there.
It is in the interior of Africa, in the prosecution of those bloody
wars, waged by the African chiefs among themselves for this man-hunt,
that entire tribes are reduced to slavery. Two opposite directions are
then given to the caravans: one to the west, toward the Portuguese
colony of Angola; the other to the east, on the Mozambique. Of these
unfortunate beings, of whom only a small portion arrive at their
destination, some are exported, it may be to Cuba, it may be to
Madagascar; others to the Arab or Turkish provinces of Asia, to Mecca,
or to Muscat. The English and French cruisers can only prevent
this traffic to a small extent, as it is so difficult to obtain an
effective surveillance over such far-extended coasts.
But the figures of these odious exportations, are they still
considerable?
Yes! The number of slaves who arrive at the coast is estimated at
not less than eighty thousand; and this number, it appears, only
represents the tenth of natives massacred.
After these dreadful butcheries the devastated fields are deserted,
the burnt villages are without inhabitants, the rivers carry down dead
bodies, deer occupy the country. Livingstone, the day after one of
these men-hunts, no longer recognized the provinces he had visited
a few months before. All the other travelers--Grant, Speke, Burton,
Cameron, and Stanley--do not speak otherwise of this wooded plateau of
Central Africa, the principal theater of the wars between the chiefs.
In the region of the great lakes, over all that vast country which
feeds the market of Zanzibar, in Bornou and Fezzan, farther south,
on the banks of the Nyassa and the Zambesi, farther west, in the
districts of the upper Zaire, which the daring Stanley has just
crossed, is seen the same spectacle--ruins, massacres, depopulation.
Then will slavery in Africa only end with the disappearance of the
black race; and will it be with this race as it is with the Australian
race, or the race in New Holland?
But the market of the Spanish and Portuguese colonies will close some
day. That outlet will be wanting. Civilized nations can no longer
tolerate the slave trade!
Yes, without doubt; and this year even, 1878, ought to see the
enfranchisement of all the slaves still possessed by Christian States.
However, for long years to come the Mussulman nations will maintain
this traffic, which depopulates the African continent. It is for them,
in fact, that the most important emigration of the blacks is made, as
the number of natives snatched from their provinces and brought to
the eastern coast annually exceeds forty thousand. Long before the
expedition to Egypt the negroes of the Seunaar were sold by thousands
to the negroes of the Darfour, and reciprocally. General Bonaparte was
able to buy a pretty large number of these blacks, of whom he made
organized soldiers, like the Mamelukes. Since then, during this
century, of which four-fifths have now passed away, commerce in slaves
has not diminished in Africa. On the contrary.
And, in fact, Islamism is favorable to the slave trade. The black
slave must replace the white slave of former times, in Turkish
provinces. So contractors of every origin pursue this execrable
traffic on a large scale. They thus carry a supplement of population
to those races, which are dying out and will disappear some day,
because they do not regenerate themselves by labor. These slaves, as
in the time of Bonaparte, often become soldiers. With certain nations
of the upper Niger, they compose the half of the armies of the African
chiefs. Under these circumstances, their fate is not sensibly inferior
to that of free men. Besides, when the slave is not a soldier, he is
money which has circulation; even in Egypt and at Bornou, officers and
functionaries are paid in that money. William Lejean has seen it and
has told of it.
Such is, then, the actual state of the trade.
Must it be added that a number of agents of the great European powers
are not ashamed to show a deplorable indulgence for this commerce.
Nevertheless, nothing is truer; while the cruisers watch the coasts of
the Atlantic and the Indian Oceans, the traffic goes on regularly
in the interior, the caravans walk on under the eyes of certain
functionaries, and massacres, where ten blacks perish to furnish one
slave, take place at stated periods!
So it will now be understood how terrible were those words just
pronounced by Dick Sand.
"Africa! Equatorial Africa! Africa of slave-traders and slaves!"
And he was not deceived; it was Africa with all its dangers, for his
companions and for himself.
But on what part of the African continent had an inexplicable fatality
landed him? Evidently on the western coast, and as an aggravating
circumstance, the young novice was forced to think that the "Pilgrim"
was thrown on precisely that part of the coast of Angola where the
caravans, which clear all that part of Africa, arrive.
In fact it was there. It was that country which Cameron on the south
and Stanley on the north were going to cross a few years later, and at
the price of what efforts! Of this vast territory, which is composed
of three provinces, Benguela, Congo, and Angola, there was but little
known then except the coast. It extends from the Nourse, in the south,
as far as the Zaire in the north, and the two principal towns form two
ports, Benguela and St. Paul' de Loanda, the capital of the colony
which set off from the kingdom of Portugal.
In the interior this country was then almost unknown. Few travelers
had dared to venture there. A pernicious climate, warm and damp lands,
which engender fevers, barbarous natives, some of whom are still
cannibals, a permanent state of war between tribes, the slave-traders'
suspicion of every stranger who seeks to discover the secrets of their
infamous commerce; such are the difficulties to surmount, the dangers
to overcome in this province of Angola, one of the most dangerous of
equatorial Africa.
Tuckey, in 1816, had ascended the Congo beyond the Yellala Falls;
but over an extent of two hundred miles at the most. This simple
halting-place could not give a definite knowledge of the country,
and nevertheless, it had caused the death of the greater part of the
savants and officers who composed the expedition. Thirty-seven years
later, Dr. Livingstone had advanced from the Cape of Good Hope as
far as the upper Zambesi. Thence, in the month of November, with a
hardihood which has never been surpassed, he traversed Africa from the
south to the northwest, cleared the Coango, one of the branches of the
Congo, and on the 31st of May, 1854, arrived at St. Paul de Loanda. It
was the first view in the unknown of the great Portuguese Colony.
Eighteen years after, two daring discoverers crossed Africa from the
east to the west, and arrived, one south, the other north, of Angola,
after unheard-of difficulties.
The first, according to the date, was a lieutenant in the English
navy, Verney-Howet Cameron. In 1872, there was reason to fear that the
expedition of the American, Stanley, was in great danger. It had been
sent to the great lake region in search of Livingstone. Lieutenant
Cameron offered to go over the same road.
The offer was accepted. Cameron, accompanied by Dr. Dillon, Lieutenant
Cecil Murphy and Robert Moffat, a nephew of Livingstone, started from
Zanzibar. After having crossed Ougogo, he met Livingstone's faithful
servants carrying their master's body to the eastern coast. He
continued his route to the west, with the unconquerable desire to pass
from one coast to the other.
He crossed Ounyanyembe, Ougounda, and Kahouele, where he collected
the great traveler's papers. Having passed over Tanganyika, and the
Bambarre mountains, he reached Loualaba, but could not descend its
course. After having visited all the provinces devastated by war and
depopulated by the slave trade, Kilemmba, Ouroua, the sources of the
Lomane, Oulouda, Lovale, and having crossed the Coanza and the
immense forests in which Harris has just entrapped Dick Sand and his
companions, the energetic Cameron finally perceived the Atlantic Ocean
and arrived at Saint Philip of Benguela. This journey of three years
and four months had cost the lives of his two companions, Dr. Dillon
and Robert Moffat.
Henry Moreland Stanley, the American, almost immediately succeeded the
Englishman, Cameron, on the road of discoveries. We know that this
intrepid correspondent of the New York _Herald_, sent in search of
Livingstone, had found him on October 30th, 1871, at Oujiji, on Lake
Tanganyika. Having so happily accomplished his object for the sake of
humanity, Stanley determined to pursue his journey in the interest of
geographical science. His object then was to gain a complete knowledge
of Loualaba, of which he had only had a glimpse.
Cameron was then lost in the provinces of Central Africa, when, in
November, 1874, Stanley quitted Bagamoga, on the eastern coast.
Twenty-one months after, August 24th, 1876, he abandoned Oujiji, which
was decimated by an epidemic of smallpox. In seventy-four days he
effected the passage of the lake at N'yangwe, a great slave market,
which had been already visited by Livingstone and Cameron. Here he
witnessed the most horrible scenes, practised in the Maroungou and
Manyouema countries by the officers of the Sultan of Zanzibar.
Stanley then took measures to explore the course of the Loualaba and
to descend it as far as its mouth. One hundred and forty bearers,
engaged at N'yangwe, and nineteen boats, formed the material and the
force of his expedition.
From the very start he had to fight the cannibals of Ougouson. From
the start, also, he had to attend to the carrying of boats, so as to
pass insuperable cataracts.
Under the equator, at the point where the Loualaba makes a bend to
the northeast, fifty-four boats, manned by several hundred natives,
attacked Stanley's little fleet, which succeeded in putting them to
flight. Then the courageous American, reascending as far as the second
degree of northern latitude, ascertained that the Loualaba was the
upper Zaire, or Congo, and that by following its course he could
descend directly to the sea.
This he did, fighting nearly every day against the tribes that lived
near the river. On June 3d, 1877, at the passage of the cataracts of
Massassa, he lost one of his companions, Francis Pocock. July 18th he
was drawn with his boat into the falls of M'belo, and only escaped
death by a miracle.
Finally, August 6th, Henry Stanley arrived at the village of Ni-Sanda,
four days' journey from the coast.
Two days after, at Banza-M'bouko, he found the provisions sent by two
merchants from Emboma.
He finally rested at this little coast town, aged, at thirty-five
years, by over-fatigue and privations, after an entire passage of the
African continent, which had taken two years and nine months of his
life.
However, the course of the Loualaba was explored as far as the
Atlantic; and if the Nile is the great artery of the North, if the
Zambesi is the great artery of the East, we now know that Africa still
possesses in the West the third of the largest rivers in the world--a
river which, in a course of two thousand, nine hundred miles, under
the names of Loualaba, Zaire, and Congo, unites the lake region with
the Atlantic Ocean.
However, between these two books of travel--Stanley's and
Cameron's--the province of Angola is somewhat better known in this
year than in 1873, at that period when the "Pilgrim" was lost on the
African coast. It was well known that it was the seat of the western
slave-trade, thanks to its important markets of Bihe, Cassange, and
Kazounde.
It was into this country that Dick Sand had been drawn, more than one
hundred miles from the coast, with a woman exhausted by fatigue and
grief, a dying child, and some companions of African descent, the
prey, as everything indicated, to the rapacity of slave merchants.
Yes, it was Africa, and not that America where neither the natives,
nor the deer, nor the climate are very formidable. It was not that
favorable region, situated between the Cordilleras and the coast,
where straggling villages abound, and where missions are hospitably
opened to all travelers.
They were far away, those provinces of Peru and Bolivia, where the
tempest would have surely carried the "Pilgrim," if a criminal hand
had not changed its course, where the shipwrecked ones would have
found so many facilities for returning to their country.
It was the terrible Angola, not even that part of the coast inspected
by the Portuguese authorities, but the interior of the colony, which
is crossed by caravans of slaves under the whip of the driver.
What did Dick Sand know of this country where treason had thrown him?
Very little; what the missionaries of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries had said of it; what the Portuguese merchants, who
frequented the road from St. Paul de Loanda to the Zaïre, by way of
San Salvador, knew of it; what Dr. Livingstone had written about it,
after his journey of 1853, and that would have been sufficient to
overwhelm a soul less strong than his.
Truly, the situation was terrible.