MEANTIME the yacht, favored by the currents from the north of Africa,
was making rapid progress toward the equator. On the 30th of August
they sighted the Madeira group of islands, and Glenarvan, true to his
promise, offered to put in there, and land his new guest.
But Paganel said:
“My dear Lord, I won’t stand on ceremony with you. Tell me, did you
intend to stop at Madeira before I came on board?”
“No,” replied Glenarvan.
“Well, then, allow me to profit by my unlucky mistake. Madeira is an
island too well known to be of much interest now to a geographer. Every
thing about this group has been said and written already. Besides, it is
completely going down as far as wine growing is concerned. Just imagine
no vines to speak of being in Madeira! In 1813, 22,000 pipes of wine
were made there, and in 1845 the number fell to 2,669. It is a grievous
spectacle! If it is all the same to you, we might go on to the Canary
Isles instead.”
“Certainly. It will not the least interfere with our route.”
“I know it will not, my dear Lord. In the Canary Islands, you see, there
are three groups to study, besides the Peak of Teneriffe, which I always
wished to visit. This is an opportunity, and I should like to avail
myself of it, and make the ascent of the famous mountain while I am
waiting for a ship to take me back to Europe.”
“As you please, my dear Paganel,” said Lord Glenarvan, though he could
not help smiling; and no wonder, for these islands are scarcely 250
miles from Madeira, a trifling distance for such a quick sailer as the
DUNCAN.
Next day, about 2 P. M., John Mangles and Paganel were walking on
the poop. The Frenchman was assailing his companion with all sorts of
questions about Chili, when all at once the captain interrupted him, and
pointing toward the southern horizon, said:
“Monsieur Paganel?”
“Yes, my dear Captain.”
“Be so good as to look in this direction. Don’t you see anything?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re not looking in the right place. It is not on the horizon, but
above it in the clouds.”
“In the clouds? I might well not see.”
“There, there, by the upper end of the bowsprit.”
“I see nothing.”
“Then you don’t want to see. Anyway, though we are forty miles off,
yet I tell you the Peak of Teneriffe is quite visible yonder above the
horizon.”
But whether Paganel could not or would not see it then, two hours later
he was forced to yield to ocular evidence or own himself blind.
“You do see it at last, then,” said John Mangles.
“Yes, yes, distinctly,” replied Paganel, adding in a disdainful tone,
“and that’s what they call the Peak of Teneriffe!”
“That’s the Peak.”
“It doesn’t look much of a height.”
“It is 11,000 feet, though, above the level of the sea.”
“That is not equal to Mont Blanc.”
“Likely enough, but when you come to ascend it, probably you’ll think it
high enough.”
“Oh, ascend it! ascend it, my dear captain! What would be the good after
Humboldt and Bonplan? That Humboldt was a great genius. He made the
ascent of this mountain, and has given a description of it which leaves
nothing unsaid. He tells us that it comprises five different zones--the
zone of the vines, the zone of the laurels, the zone of the pines, the
zone of the Alpine heaths, and, lastly, the zone of sterility. He set
his foot on the very summit, and found that there was not even room
enough to sit down. The view from the summit was very extensive,
stretching over an area equal to Spain. Then he went right down into the
volcano, and examined the extinct crater. What could I do, I should like
you to tell me, after that great man?”
“Well, certainly, there isn’t much left to glean. That is vexing, too,
for you would find it dull work waiting for a vessel in the Peak of
Teneriffe.”
“But, I say, Mangles, my dear fellow, are there no ports in the Cape
Verde Islands that we might touch at?”
“Oh, yes, nothing would be easier than putting you off at Villa Praya.”
“And then I should have one advantage, which is by no means
inconsiderable--I should find fellow-countrymen at Senegal, and that is
not far away from those islands. I am quite aware that the group is said
to be devoid of much interest, and wild, and unhealthy; but everything
is curious in the eyes of a geographer. Seeing is a science. There are
people who do not know how to use their eyes, and who travel about
with as much intelligence as a shell-fish. But that’s not in my line, I
assure you.”
“Please yourself, Monsieur Paganel. I have no doubt geographical science
will be a gainer by your sojourn in the Cape Verde Islands. We must go
in there anyhow for coal, so your disembarkation will not occasion the
least delay.”
The captain gave immediate orders for the yacht to continue her route,
steering to the west of the Canary group, and leaving Teneriffe on her
larboard. She made rapid progress, and passed the Tropic of Cancer on
the second of September at 5 A. M.
The weather now began to change, and the atmosphere became damp and
heavy. It was the rainy season, “_le tempo das aguas_,” as the Spanish
call it, a trying season to travelers, but useful to the inhabitants of
the African Islands, who lack trees and consequently water. The rough
weather prevented the passengers from going on deck, but did not make
the conversation any less animated in the saloon.
On the 3d of September Paganel began to collect his luggage to go on
shore. The DUNCAN was already steaming among the Islands. She passed
Sal, a complete tomb of sand lying barren and desolate, and went on
among the vast coral reefs and athwart the Isle of St. Jacques, with
its long chain of basaltic mountains, till she entered the port of
Villa Praya and anchored in eight fathoms of water before the town. The
weather was frightful, and the surf excessively violent, though the bay
was sheltered from the sea winds. The rain fell in such torrents that
the town was scarcely visible through it. It rose on a plain in the form
of a terrace, buttressed on volcanic rocks three hundred feet high. The
appearance of the island through the thick veil of rain was mournful in
the extreme.
Lady Helena could not go on shore as she had purposed; indeed, even
coaling was a difficult business, and the passengers had to content
themselves below the poop as best they might. Naturally enough, the main
topic of conversation was the weather. Everybody had something to say
about it except the Major, who surveyed the universal deluge with the
utmost indifference. Paganel walked up and down shaking his head.
“It is clear enough, Paganel,” said Lord Glenarvan, “that the elements
are against you.”
“I’ll be even with them for all that,” replied the Frenchman.
“You could not face rain like that, Monsieur Paganel,” said Lady Helena.
“Oh, quite well, madam, as far as I myself am concerned. It is for my
luggage and instruments that I am afraid. Everything will be ruined.”
“The disembarking is the worst part of the business. Once at Villa Praya
you might manage to find pretty good quarters. They wouldn’t be over
clean, and you might find the monkeys and pigs not always the most
agreeable companions. But travelers are not too particular, and,
moreover, in seven or eight months you would get a ship, I dare say, to
take you back to Europe.”
“Seven or eight months!” exclaimed Paganel.
“At least. The Cape Verde Islands are not much frequented by ships
during the rainy season. But you can employ your time usefully. This
archipelago is still but little known.”
“You can go up the large rivers,” suggested Lady Helena.
“There are none, madam.”
“Well, then, the small ones.”
“There are none, madam.”
“The running brooks, then.”
“There are no brooks, either.”
“You can console yourself with the forests if that’s the case,” put in
the Major.
“You can’t make forests without trees, and there are no trees.”
“A charming country!” said the Major.
“Comfort yourself, my dear Paganel, you’ll have the mountains at any
rate,” said Glenarvan.
“Oh, they are neither lofty nor interesting, my Lord, and, beside, they
have been described already.”
“Already!” said Lord Glenarvan.
“Yes, that is always my luck. At the Canary Islands, I saw myself
anticipated by Humboldt, and here by M. Charles Sainte-Claire Deville, a
geologist.”
“Impossible!”
“It is too true,” replied Paganel, in a doleful voice. “Monsieur Deville
was on board the government corvette, La Decidee, when she touched at
the Cape Verde Islands, and he explored the most interesting of the
group, and went to the top of the volcano in Isle Fogo. What is left for
me to do after him?”
“It is really a great pity,” said Helena. “What will become of you,
Monsieur Paganel?”
Paganel remained silent.
“You would certainly have done much better to have landed at Madeira,
even though there had been no wine,” said Glenarvan.
Still the learned secretary was silent.
“I should wait,” said the Major, just as if he had said, “I should not
wait.”
Paganel spoke again at length, and said:
“My dear Glenarvan, where do you mean to touch next?”
“At Concepcion.”
“Plague it! That is a long way out of the road to India.”
“Not it! From the moment you pass Cape Horn, you are getting nearer to
it.”
“I doubt it much.”
“Beside,” resumed Lord Glenarvan, with perfect gravity, “when people are
going to the Indies it doesn’t matter much whether it is to the East or
West.”
“What! it does not matter much?”
“Without taking into account the fact that the inhabitants of the Pampas
in Patagonia are as much Indians as the natives of the Punjaub.”
“Well done, my Lord. That’s a reason that would never have entered my
head!”
“And then, my dear Paganel, you can gain the gold medal anyway. There is
as much to be done, and sought, and investigated, and discovered in the
Cordilleras as in the mountains of Thibet.”
“But the course of the Yarou-Dzangbo-Tchou--what about that?”
“Go up the Rio Colorado instead. It is a river but little known, and
its course on the map is marked out too much according to the fancy of
geographers.”
“I know it is, my dear Lord; they have made grave mistakes. Oh, I
make no question that the Geographical Society would have sent me
to Patagonia as soon as to India, if I had sent in a request to that
effect. But I never thought of it.”
“Just like you.”
“Come, Monsieur Paganel, will you go with us?” asked Lady Helena, in her
most winning tone.
“Madam, my mission?”
“We shall pass through the Straits of Magellan, I must tell you,” said
Lord Glenarvan.
“My Lord, you are a tempter.”
“Let me add, that we shall visit Port Famine.”
“Port Famine!” exclaimed the Frenchman, besieged on all sides. “That
famous port in French annals!”
“Think, too, Monsieur Paganel, that by taking part in our enterprise,
you will be linking France with Scotland.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“A geographer would be of much use to our expedition, and what can be
nobler than to bring science to the service of humanity?”
“That’s well said, madam.”
“Take my advice, then, and yield to chance, or rather providence. Follow
our example. It was providence that sent us the document, and we set
out in consequence. The same providence brought you on board the DUNCAN.
Don’t leave her.”
“Shall I say yes, my good friends? Come, now, tell me, you want me very
much to stay, don’t you?” said Paganel.
“And you’re dying to stay, now, aren’t you, Paganel?” returned
Glenarvan.
“That’s about it,” confessed the learned geographer; “but I was afraid
it would be inconsiderate.”