DURING the first day’s voyage the sea was quite rough, and the wind freshened towards evening. The Duncan rolled considerably, so that the ladies did not appear on deck, but very wisely remained in their cabins. The next day the wind changed a point, and the captain set the main-, fore-, and foretop-sails, thus causing less perception of the rolling and pitching motion.
Lady Helena and Mary Grant were able before daybreak to join Lord Glenarvan, the major, and the captain, on deck. The sunrise was magnificent. The orb of day, like a gilded metal disk, rose from the ocean, as from an immense and silvery basin. The ship glided in the midst of a splendid iridescence, and you would truly have thought that her sails expanded under the influence of the sun’s rays, whilst even the crew of the yacht silently admired this reappearance of the orb of day.
“What a magnificent spectacle!” said Lady Helena, at last. “This is the beginning of a beautiful day. May the wind not prove contrary, but favor the progress of the Duncan!”
“No better weather could be desired, my dear Helena,” replied Lord Glenarvan; “we have no reason to complain of the commencement of the voyage.”
“Will it be a long one, my dear Edward?”
“That is for the captain to answer,” said he. “Are we progressing well? Are you satisfied with your vessel, captain?”
“Very well indeed,” was the answer. “She is a marvelous craft, and a sailor likes to feel her under his feet. Never were hull and engine more in unison. See how smooth her wake is, and how easily she rides the waves. We are moving at the rate of seventeen knots an hour. If this continues, we shall cross the line in ten days, and in five weeks shall double Cape Horn.”
“You hear, Mary,” said Lady Helena: “in five weeks!”
“Yes,” replied the young girl, “I hear; and my heart beat quickly at the words of the captain.”
“And how do you bear this voyage, Miss Mary?” inquired Lord Glenarvan.
“Very well, my lord; I do not experience very many discomforts. Besides, I shall soon be accustomed to it.”
“And young Robert?”
“Oh, Robert!” replied Captain Mangles: “when he is not engaged with the engine he is perched at mast-head. I tell you he is a boy who mocks sea-sickness. Only look at him!”
At a gesture of the captain, all eyes were turned towards the mainmast, and every one could perceive Robert, suspended by the stays of the foretop-gallant sail, a hundred feet aloft. Mary could not restrain a motion of fear.
“Oh, be easy, miss!” said Captain Mangles. “I will answer for him, and promise you I will present, in a short time, a famous sailor to Captain Grant; for we shall find that worthy captain.”
“May Heaven hear you, sir!” replied the young girl.
“My dear child,” said Lord Glenarvan, “there is in all this something providential, which ought to give us hope. We are not merely going, we are led; we are not seeking blindly, we are guided. And then see all these brave people enrolled in the service of so good a cause. Not only shall we succeed in our enterprise, but it will be accomplished without difficulty. I have promised Lady Helena a pleasure voyage; and, if I am not mistaken, I shall keep my word.”
“Edward,” said Lady Glenarvan, “you are the best of men.”
“Not so; but I have the best of crews, on the best of ships. Do you not wonder at our Duncan, Miss Mary?”
“On the contrary, my lord,” answered the young girl, “I don’t so much wonder as admire; for I am well acquainted with ships.”
“Ah! indeed!”
“When a mere child, I played on my father’s ships. He ought to have made a sailor of me. If it were necessary, perhaps I should not now be embarrassed in taking a reef or twisting a gasket.”
“What is that you’re saying, miss?” exclaimed the captain.
“If you talk so,” continued Lord Glenarvan, “you will make a great friend of Captain John; for he thinks nothing in the world can equal the life of a sailor. He sees no other, even for a woman. Is it not so, John?”
“Undoubtedly, your lordship,” replied the young captain; “and yet, I confess, Miss Grant is better in her place on deck, than taking a reef in the top-sail. But still I am very much flattered to hear her speak so.”
“And especially when she admires the Duncan!” added Glenarvan.
“Right, my lord; for she deserves it.”
“Upon my word,” said Lady Helena, “since you are so proud of your yacht, you make me anxious to examine her to the very hold, and see how our brave sailors are quartered between-decks.”
“Admirably,” replied the captain; “they are quite at home there.”
“Indeed they are, my dear Helena,” said Lord Glenarvan. “This yacht is a part of our old Caledonia,—a detached portion of the county of Dumbarton, traveling by special favor, so that we have not left our country. The Duncan is Malcolm Castle, and the ocean is Loch Lomond.”
“Well, then, my dear Edward, do the honors of the castle,” said Lady Helena.
“I am at your disposal, madam,” answered her husband; “but first let me inform Olbinett.”
The steward of the yacht was an excellent manager, a Scotchman, who deserved to have been a Frenchman from his self-importance, and, moreover, fulfilled his duties with zeal and intelligence. He was at once ready for his master’s commands.
“Olbinett, we are going to make a tour of the vessel before breakfast,” said Glenarvan, as if a journey to Tarbet or Loch Katrine was in question. “I hope we shall find the table ready on our return.”
Olbinett bowed gravely.
“Do you accompany us, major?” asked Lady Helena.
“If you order it,” replied MacNabb.
“Oh!” said Lord Glenarvan, “the major is absorbed in the smoke of his cigar; we must not disturb him, for I assure you he is an inveterate smoker, Miss Mary; he smokes all the time, even in his sleep.”
The major made a sign of assent, and the passengers descended between-decks.
MacNabb remained alone, talking to himself, according to his custom, but never contradicting himself. Enveloped in a dense cloud of smoke, he stood motionless, gazing back at the wake of the yacht. After a few moments of contemplation, he turned and found himself face to face with a new character. If anything. could have surprised him, it must have been this meeting, for the passenger was absolutely unknown to him.
This man, tall, lank, and shriveled, might have been forty years old. He resembled a long, broad-headed nail, for his head was large and thick, his forehead high, his nose prominent, his mouth wide, and his chin blunt. As for his eyes, they were hidden behind enormous eye-glasses, and his look seemed to have that indecision peculiar to nyctalops. His countenance indicated an intelligent and lively person, while it had not the crabbed air of those stern people who from principle never laugh, and whose stupidity is hidden beneath a serious guise. The nonchalance and amiable freedom of this unknown nonentity clearly proved that he knew how to take men and things at their best advantage. Even without his speaking you felt that he was a talker; but he was abstracted, after the manner of those who do not see what they are looking at or hear what they are listening to. He wore a traveling cap, stout yellow buskins and leather gaiters, pantaloons of maroon velvet, and a jacket of the same material, whose innumerable pockets seemed stuffed with note-books, memoranda, scraps, portfolios, and a thousand articles as inconvenient as they were useless, not to speak of a telescope which he carried in a sling.
The curiosity of this unknown being was a singular contrast to the calmness of the major. He walked around MacNabb, and gazed at him questioningly, whilst the latter did not trouble himself whence the stranger came, whither he was going, or why he was on board the Duncan.
When this enigmatical character saw his approaches mocked by the indifference of the major, he seized his telescope, which at its full length measured four feet; and motionless, with legs straddled, like a sign-post on a highway, he pointed his instrument to the line where sky and water met. After a few moments of examination, he lowered it, and resting it on the deck, leaned upon it as upon a cane. But immediately the joints of the instrument closed, and the newly discovered passenger, whose point of support suddenly failed, was stretched at the foot of the mainmast.
Any one else in the major’s place would at least have smiled, but he did not even wink. The unknown then assumed his rôle.
“Steward!” he cried, with an accent that betokened a foreigner.
He waited. No one appeared.
“Steward!” he repeated, in a louder tone.
Mr. Olbinett was passing just then on his way to the kitchen under the forecastle. What was his astonishment to hear himself thus addressed by this tall individual, who was utterly unknown to him!
“Where did this person come from?” said he to himself. “A friend of Lord Glenarvan? It is impossible.”
However, he came on deck, and approached the stranger.
“Are you the steward of the vessel?” the latter asked him.
“Yes, sir,” replied Olbinett; “but I have not the honor——”
“I am the passenger of cabin number six.”
“Number six?” repeated the steward.
“Certainly; and your name is——?”
“Olbinett.”
“Well, Olbinett, my friend,” answered the stranger of cabin number six, “I must think of dinner, and acutely, too. For thirty-six hours I have eaten nothing, or, rather, have slept, which is pardonable in a man come all the way from Paris to Glasgow. What hour do you dine, if you please?”
“At nine o’clock,” answered Olbinett, mechanically.
The stranger attempted to consult his watch; but this took some time, for he did not find it till he came to his ninth pocket.
“Well,” said he, “it is not yet eight o’clock; therefore, Olbinett, a biscuit and a glass of sherry for the present; for I am fainting with hunger.”
Olbinett listened without understanding. Moreover, the unknown kept talking, and passed from one subject to another with extreme volubility.
“Well,” said he, “has not the captain risen yet? And the mate? What is he doing? Is he asleep, too? Fortunately, the weather is beautiful, the wind favorable, and the ship goes on quite by herself——”
Just as he said this, Captain Mangles appeared at the companion-way.
“Here is the captain,” said Olbinett.
“Ah, I am delighted,” cried the stranger, “delighted to make your acquaintance, Captain Burton!”
If any one was ever astounded, John Mangles certainly was, not less at hearing himself called “Captain Burton,” than at seeing this stranger on board his vessel.
The latter continued, with more animation:
“Permit me to shake hands with you, and if I did not do so day before yesterday, it was that no one might be embarrassed at the moment of departure. But to-day, captain, I am truly happy to meet you.”
Captain Mangles opened his eyes in measureless astonishment, looking first at Olbinett, and then at the new comer.
“Now,” continued the latter, “the introduction is over, and we are old friends. Let us have a talk; and tell me, are you satisfied with the Scotia?”
“What do you mean by the Scotia?” asked the captain, at last.
“Why, the Scotia that carries us: a good ship, whose commander, the brave Captain Burton, I have heard praised no less for his physical than his moral qualities. Are you the father of the great African traveler of that name? If so, my compliments!”
“Sir,” replied Captain Mangles, “not only am I not the father of the traveler Burton, but I am not even Captain Burton.”
“Ah!” said the unknown, “it is the mate of the Scotia then, Mr. Burdness, whom I am addressing at this moment?”
“Mr. Burdness?” replied Captain Mangles, who began to suspect the truth. But was he talking to a fool, or a rogue? This was a question in his mind, and he was about to explain himself intelligibly, when Lord Glenarvan, his wife, and Miss Grant came on deck.
The stranger perceived them, and cried,—
“Ah! passengers! passengers! excellent! I hope, Mr. Burdness, you are going to introduce me——”
And advancing with perfect ease, without waiting for the captain,—
“Madam” said he to Miss Grant, “Miss” to Lady Helena, “Sir” he added, addressing Lord Glenarvan.
“Lord Glenarvan,” said Captain Mangles.
“My lord,” continued the unknown, “I beg your pardon for introducing myself, but at sea we must relax a little from etiquette. I hope we shall soon be acquainted, and that, in the society of these ladies, the passage of the Scotia will seem as short to us as agreeable.”
Lady Helena and Miss Grant could not find a word to answer. They were completely bewildered by the presence of this intruder.
“Sir,” said Glenarvan, at length, “whom have I the honor of addressing?”
“Jacques Eliacim François Marie Paganel, secretary of the Geographical Society of Paris; corresponding member of the societies of Berlin, Bombay, Darmstadt, Leipsic, London, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and New York; honorary member of the Royal Geographical and Ethnographical Institute of the East Indies, who, after passing twenty years of his life in studying geography, designs now to enter upon a roving life, and is directing his course to India to continue there the labors of the great travelers.”