MEANWHILE the yacht, favored by the currents, was advancing rapidly towards the equator. In a few days the island of Madeira came in view. Glenarvan, faithful to his promise, offered to land his new guest here.
“My dear lord,” replied Paganel, “I will not be formal with you. Before my arrival on board, did you intend to stop at Madeira?”
“No,” said Glenarvan.
“Well, permit me to profit by the consequences of my unlucky blunder. Madeira is an island too well known. Everything has been said and written about it; and it is, moreover, rapidly declining in point of civilization. If, then, it is all the same to you, let us land at the Canaries.”
“Very well, at the Canaries,” replied Glenarvan. “That will not take us out of our way.”
“I know it, my dear lord. At the Canaries, you see, there are three groups to study, not to speak of the Peak of Teneriffe, which I have always desired to see. This is a fine opportunity. I will profit by it; and, while waiting for a vessel, will attempt the ascent of this celebrated mountain.”
“As you please, my dear Paganel,” replied Glenarvan, who could not help smiling, and with good reason.
The Canaries are only a short distance from Madeira, scarcely two hundred and fifty miles, a mere trifle for so good a vessel as the Duncan.
The same day, at two o’clock in the afternoon, Captain Mangles and Paganel were walking on the deck. The Frenchman pressed his companion with lively questions concerning Chili. All at once the captain interrupted him, and pointing towards the southern horizon, said,—
“Mr. Paganel!”
“My dear captain,” replied the geographer.
“Please cast your eyes in that direction. Do you see nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“You are not looking right. It is not on the horizon, but above, in the clouds.”
“In the clouds? I look in vain.”
“Stop, now, just on a line with the end of the bowsprit.”
“I see nothing.”
“You do not wish to see. However that may be, although we are forty miles distant, you understand, the Peak of Teneriffe is visible above the horizon.”
Whether Paganel wished to see or not, he had to yield to the evidence some hours afterwards, or, at least, confess himself blind.
“You perceive it now?” said his companion.
“Yes, yes, perfectly!” replied Paganel. “And that,” added he in a contemptuous tone, “is what you call the Peak of Teneriffe?”
“The same.”
“It appears to be of very moderate height.”
“Yet it is eleven thousand feet above the level of the sea.”
“Not so high as Mont Blanc.”
“Very possibly; but when you come to climb it, you will find it, perhaps, high enough.”
“Oh! climb it, my dear captain? What is the use, I ask you, after Humboldt and Bonpland? What can I do after these great men?”
“Indeed,” replied Captain Mangles, “there is nothing left but to wander about. It is a pity, for you would be very tired waiting for a vessel at Teneriffe. You cannot look for many distractions there.”
“Except my own,” said Paganel, laughing. “But, my dear captain, have not the Cape Verd Islands important landings?”
“Certainly. Nothing is easier than to land at Villa-Praïa.”
“Not to speak of an advantage that is not to be despised,” answered Paganel; “that the Cape Verd Islands are not far from Senegal, where I shall find fellow-countrymen.”
“As you please, Mr. Paganel,” replied Captain Mangles. “I am certain that geographical science will gain by your sojourn in these islands. We must land there to take in coal; you will, therefore, cause us no delay.”
So saying, the captain gave the order to pass to the southeast of the Canaries. The celebrated peak was soon left on the larboard; and the Duncan, continuing her rapid course, cut the Tropic of Cancer the next morning at five o’clock. The weather there changed. The atmosphere had the moisture and oppressiveness of the rainy season, disagreeable to travelers, but beneficial to the inhabitants of the African islands, who have no trees, and consequently need water. The sea was boisterous, and prevented the passengers from remaining on deck; but the conversation in the cabin was not less animated.
The next day Paganel began to collect his baggage preparatory to his approaching departure. In a short time they entered the bay of Villa-Praïa, and anchored opposite the city in eight fathoms of water. The weather was stormy and the surf high, although the bay was sheltered from the winds. The rain fell in torrents so that they could scarcely see the city, which was on an elevated plain in the form of a terrace, resting on volcanic rocks three hundred feet in height. The appearance of the island through this rainy curtain was misty.
Shipping the coal was not accomplished without great difficulty, and the passengers saw themselves confined to the cabin, while sea and sky mingled their waters in an indescribable tumult. The weather was, therefore, the topic of conversation on board. Each one had his say except the major, who would have witnessed the deluge itself with perfect indifference. Paganel walked to and fro, shaking his head.
“It is an imperative fact,” said he.
“It is certain,” replied Glenarvan, “that the elements declare themselves against you.”
“I will see about that.”
“You cannot face such a storm,” said Lady Helena.
“I, madam? Certainly. I fear only for my baggage and instruments. They will all be lost.”
“Our landing is the only thing doubtful,” resumed Glenarvan. “Once at Villa-Praïa, you will not have very uncomfortable quarters; rather uncleanly, to be sure, in the company of monkeys and swine, whose surroundings are not always agreeable; but a traveler does not regard that so critically. Besides, you can hope in seven or eight months to embark for Europe.”
“Seven or eight months!” exclaimed Paganel.
“At least that. The Cape Verd Islands are very rarely frequented during the rainy season. But you can employ your time profitably. This archipelago is still little known. There is much to do, even now.”
“But,” replied Paganel in a pitiful tone, “what could I do after the investigations of the geologist Deville?”
“That is really a pity,” said Lady Helena. “What will become of you, Monsieur Paganel?”
Paganel was silent for a few moments.
“You had decidedly better have landed at Madeira,” rejoined Glenarvan, “although there is no wine there.”
“My dear Glenarvan,” continued Paganel at last, “where shall you land next?”
“At Concepcion.”
“Alas! but that would bring me directly away from India!”
“No; for when you have passed Cape Horn you approach the Indies.”
“I very much doubt it.”
“Besides,” continued Glenarvan with the greatest gravity, “as long as you are at the Indies, what difference does it make whether they are the East or the West?”
“’What difference does it make’?”
“The inhabitants of the Pampas of Patagonia are Indians as well as the natives of the Punjab.”
“Eh! my lord,” exclaimed Paganel, “that is a reason I should never have imagined!”
“And then, my dear Paganel, you know that you can gain the gold medal in any country whatever. There is something to do, to seek, to discover, everywhere, in the chains of the Cordilleras as well as the mountains of Thibet.”
“But the course of the Yaroo-tsang-bo-tsoo?”
“Certainly. You can replace that by the Rio Colorado. This is a river very little known, and one of those which flow on the map too much according to the fancy of the geographer.”
“I know it, my dear lord; there are errors of several degrees. I do not doubt that at my request the Society would have sent me to Patagonia as well as to India; but I did not think of it.”
“The result of your continual abstraction.”
“Well, Monsieur Paganel, shall you accompany us?” asked Lady Helena in her most persuasive tone.
“And my mission, madam?”
“I inform you that we shall pass through the Strait of Magellan,” continued Glenarvan.
“My lord, you are a tempter.”
“I add that we shall visit Port Famine.”
“Port Famine!” cried the Frenchman, assailed on all sides; “that port so celebrated in geographical fasts!”
“Consider also, Monsieur Paganel,” continued Lady Helena, “that in this enterprise you will have the right to associate the name of France with that of Scotland.”
“Yes; doubtless.”
“A geographer may be very serviceable to our expedition; and what is more noble than for science to enlist in the service of humanity?”
“That is well said, madam.”
“Believe me, try chance, or rather Providence. Imitate us. It has sent us this document; we have started. It has cast you on board the Duncan; do not leave her.”
“And do you, indeed, wish me, my good friends?” replied Paganel. “Well, you desire me to stay very much?”
“And you, Paganel, you are dying to stay,” retorted Glenarvan.
“Truly,” cried the geographer, “but I fear I am very indiscreet.”
Thus far the Duncan had acquitted herself admirably: in every way her powers for steaming or sailing had been sufficiently tested, and her captain and passengers were alike satisfied with her performance and with one another.