THE DOG-CAPTAIN.
The 5th of April, the day of departure, came. The fact that the doctor
had joined the expedition gave some comfort to those on board.
Wherever he could go they could follow. Still, most of the sailors
were very uneasy, and Shandon, fearing that their number might be
diminished by desertion, was very anxious to get to sea. The land once
out of sight, the men would soon be resigned.
Dr. Clawbonny's cabin was situated on the poop, occupying the extreme
after-part of the ship. The cabins of the captain and mate opened on
the deck. That of the captain was kept tightly closed, after it had
been provided with various instruments, furniture, clothing, books,
and utensils, all of which had been set down in detail in a letter. As
he had asked, the key was sent to the captain at Lubeck; so he alone
had admission into the cabin.
This fact annoyed Shandon, and diminished his chances of having chief
command. As for his own cabin, he had arranged it suitably for the
presumed voyage, for he knew very well what was necessary for a polar
expedition.
The second mate's cabin was on the lower deck, where the sailors were
domiciled; the crew had very comfortable quarters; they would hardly
have had such accommodations in any other ship. They were treated as
if they were a valuable cargo; a huge stove stood in the middle of
their sleeping-room.
Dr. Clawbonny was very enthusiastic about it; he took possession of
his cabin on the 6th of February, the day after the ship was launched.
"The happiest animal in the world," he used to say, "would be a snail
who could make himself just such a shell as he wanted; I shall try to
be an intelligent snail."
And, in fact, for a shell which he was not going to leave for some
time, his cabin presented a very comfortable appearance; the doctor
took a scientific or childlike pleasure in arranging his scientific
paraphernalia. His books, his specimens, his cases, his instruments,
his physical apparatus, his thermometers, barometers, field-glasses,
compasses, sextants, charts, drawings, phials, powder, and
medicine-bottles, all were classified in a way which would have done
honor to the British Museum. This space of six feet square contained
incalculable wealth; the doctor needed only to stretch out his hand
without rising, to become at once a physician, a mathematician, an
astronomer, a geographer, a botanist, or a conchologist.
[Illustration: "This space of six feet square contained incalculable
wealth."]
To tell the truth, he was proud of his arrangements, and very
contented in his floating sanctum, which three of his thinnest friends
would have completely filled. They used to crowd there in great
numbers, so that even so good-natured a man as the doctor was
occasionally put out; and, like Socrates, he came at last to say,--
"My house is small, but may Heaven grant that it never be filled with
friends!"
To complete our account of the _Forward_, it is only necessary to add
that a kennel for the huge Danish dog was built just beneath the
window of the closed cabin; but he preferred to keep himself between
decks and in the hold; it seemed impossible to tame him; no one ever
conquered his shyness; he could be heard, at night especially, howling
dismally in the ship's hold.
Was it because he missed his master? Had he an instinctive dread of
the dangers of the voyage? Had he a presentiment of the coming perils?
The sailors were sure that he had, and more than one said the same in
jest, who in his heart regarded the dog as a sort of diabolic animal.
Pen, a very brutal man, one day, while trying to kick him, slipped,
and fell on the corner of the capstan in such a way that he cut his
head badly. It is easy to see how the sailors put all the blame upon
the dog.
[Illustration: PEN.]
Clifton, who was the most superstitious man in the crew, made, one
day, the strange observation that the dog, when on the poop, would
always walk on the windward side; and afterwards, when the brig was at
sea and under sail, this singular animal would shift his position to
the other side after every tack, so as to be windward, as the captain
of the _Forward_ would have done.
[Illustration: CLIFTON.]
Dr. Clawbonny, who by his gentleness and caresses would have almost
tamed the heart of a tiger, tried in vain to make friends with the
dog; he met with no success.
The dog, too, did not answer to any of the usual names of his kind. So
the men used to call him "Captain," for he seemed perfectly familiar
with all the ways on shipboard. He had evidently been to sea before.
It is hence easy to understand the boatswain's answer to Clifton's
friend, and how this idea found but few sceptics; more than one would
repeat it jestingly, who was fully prepared to see the dog, some fine
day, take human shape, and with a loud voice assume command.
If Richard Shandon did not share such apprehensions, he was far from
being undisturbed, and on the eve of departing, on the night of April
5th, he was talking on this subject with the doctor, Wall, and
Johnson, in the mess-room.
These four persons were sipping their tenth grog, which was probably
their last, too; for, in accordance with the letter from Aberdeen, all
the crew, from the captain to the stoker, were teetotalers, never
touching beer, wine, nor spirits, except in case of sickness, and by
the advice of the doctor.
For an hour past they had been talking about their departure. If the
captain's instructions were to be completely carried out, Shandon
would the next day receive a letter containing his last orders.
"If that letter," said the mate, "doesn't tell me the captain's name,
it must at least tell us whither we are bound. If not, in what
direction shall we sail?"
"Upon my word," answered the impatient doctor, "if I were in your
place, Shandon, I should set sail even without getting a letter; one
will come after us, you may be sure."
"You have a great deal of faith, Doctor. But, if you please, to what
part of the world would you sail?"
"Towards the North Pole, of course; there can be no doubt about that."
"No doubt indeed!" said Wall. "Why not towards the South Pole?"
"The South Pole! Never!" cried the doctor. "Would the captain ever
have thought of sending a brig across the whole Atlantic Ocean? Just
think for a moment, my dear Wall."
"The doctor has an answer for everything," was his only reply.
"Granted it's northward," resumed Shandon. "But tell me, Doctor, is it
to Spitzbergen, Greenland, or Labrador that we have to sail, or to
Hudson's Bay? If all these routes come to the same end at last,--the
impassable ice,--there is still a great number of them, and I should
find it very hard to choose between them. Have any definite answer to
that, Doctor?"
"No," answered the doctor, annoyed that he had nothing to say; "but if
you get no letter, what shall you do?"
"I shall do nothing; I shall wait."
"You won't set sail!" cried Clawbonny, twirling his glass in his
despair.
"No, certainly not."
"That's the best course," said Johnson, mildly; while the doctor
walked around the table, being unable to sit quiet any longer. "Yes,
that's the best course; and still, too long a delay might have very
disastrous consequences. In the first place, the season is a good one,
and if it's north we are going, we ought to take advantage of the mild
weather to get through Davis Straits; besides, the crew will get more
and more impatient; the friends and companions of the men are urging
them to leave the _Forward_, and they might succeed in playing us a
very bad turn."
[Illustration]
"And then, too," said James Wall, "if any panic should arise among the
men, every one would desert us; and I don't know, Commander, how you
could get together another crew."
"But what is to be done?" cried Shandon.
"What you said," answered the doctor: "wait; but wait till to-morrow
before you despair. The captain's promises have all been fulfilled so
far with such regularity that we may have the best hopes for the
future; there's no reason to think that we shall not be told of our
destination at the proper time. As for me, I don't doubt in the least
that to-morrow we shall be sailing in the Irish Sea. So, my friends, I
propose one last drink to a happy voyage; it begins in a mysterious
way, but, with such sailors as you, there are a thousand chances of
its ending well."
And they all touched their glasses for the last time.
"Now, Commander," resumed Johnson, "I have one piece of advice to give
you, and that is, to make everything ready for sailing. Let the crew
think you are certain of what you are about. To-morrow, whether a
letter comes or not, set sail; don't start your fires; the wind
promises to hold; nothing will be easier than to get off; take a pilot
on board; at the ebb of the tide leave the docks; then anchor beyond
Birkenhead Point; the crew will have no more communication with the
land; and if this devilish letter does come at last, it can find us
there as well as anywhere."
"Well said, Johnson!" exclaimed the doctor, reaching out his hand to
the old sailor.
"That's what we shall do," answered Shandon.
Each one then withdrew to his cabin, and took what sleep he could get
till morning.
The next day the first distribution of letters took place in the city,
but there was none for Commander Richard Shandon.
Nevertheless he made his preparations for departure; the news spread
immediately throughout the city, and, as we have seen, a great
concourse of spectators thronged the piers of the New Prince's Docks.
[Illustration: "The news spread immediately throughout the city, and a
great concourse of spectators thronged the piers."]
A great many people came on board the brig,--some to bid a friend good
by, or to urge him to leave the ship, or to gaze at this strange
vessel; others to ascertain the object of the voyage; and there were
many murmurs at the unusual silence of the commander.
For that he had his reasons.
Ten o'clock struck. Eleven. The tide was to turn at half past twelve.
Shandon, from the upper deck, gazed with anxious eyes at the crowd,
trying in vain to read on some one's face the secret of his fate. But
in vain. The sailors of the _Forward_ obeyed his orders in silence,
keeping their eyes fixed upon him, ever awaiting some information
which he did not give.
Johnson was finishing the preparations for setting sail. The day was
overcast, and the sea, outside of the docks, rather high; a stiff
southwest breeze was blowing, but they could easily leave the Mersey.
At twelve o'clock still nothing. Dr. Clawbonny walked up and down
uneasily, looking about, gesticulating, and "impatient for the sea,"
as he said. In spite of all he could do, he felt excited. Shandon bit
his lips till the blood came.
At this moment Johnson came up to him and said,--
"Commander, if we are going to take this tide, we must lose no time;
it will be a good hour before we can get off from the docks."
Shandon cast one last glance about him, and looked at his watch. It
was after the time of the midday distribution of letters.
"Cast off!" he said to his boatswain.
"All ashore who are going!" cried the latter, ordering the spectators
to leave the deck of the _Forward_.
Thereupon the crowd, began to move toward the gangway and make its way
on to the quay, while the crew began to cast off the last moorings.
At once the inevitable confusion of the crowd, which was pushed about
without much ceremony by the sailors, was increased by the barking of
the dog. He suddenly sprang from the forecastle right through the mass
of visitors, barking sullenly.
All made way for him. He sprang on the poop-deck, and, incredible as
it may seem, yet, as a thousand witnesses can testify, this
dog-captain carried a letter in his mouth.
[Illustration]
"A letter!" cried Shandon; "but is _he_ on board?"
"_He_ was, without doubt, but he's not now," answered Johnson, showing
the deck cleared of the crowd.
"Here, Captain! Captain!" shouted the doctor, trying to take the
letter from the dog, who kept springing away from him. He seemed to
want to give the letter to Shandon himself.
"Here, Captain!" he said.
The dog went up to him; Shandon took the letter without difficulty,
and then Captain barked sharply three times, amid the profound silence
which prevailed on board the ship and along the quay.
Shandon held the letter in his hand, without opening it.
"Read it, read it!" cried the doctor. Shandon looked at it. The
address, without date or place, ran simply,--"Commander Richard
Shandon, on board the brig _Forward_."
Shandon opened the letter and read:--
You will sail towards Cape Farewell. You will reach it April 20. If
the captain does not appear on board, you will pass through Davis
Strait and go up Baffin's Bay as far as Melville Sound.
K. Z.,
_Captain of the Forward_.
Shandon folded carefully this brief letter, put it in his pocket, and
gave the order to cast off. His voice, which arose alone above the
roaring of the wind, sounded very solemn.
Soon the _Forward_ had left the docks, and under the care of a pilot,
whose boat followed at a distance, put out into the stream. The crowd
hastened to the outer quay by the Victoria Docks to get a last look at
the strange vessel. The two topsails, the foresail, and staysail were
soon set, and under this canvas the _Forward_, which well deserved its
name, after rounding Birkenhead Point, sailed away into the Irish Sea.