An Antarctic Mystery | Page 3

island for a few weeks of the fine season, and from thence set out for
Connecticut. Nevertheless, I did not fail to take into due account the
share that belongs to chance in human affairs, for it is wise, as Edgar
Poe has said, always "to reckon with the unforeseen, the unexpected,
the inconceivable, which have a very large share (in those affairs), and
chance ought always to be a matter of strict calculation."
Each day I walked about the port and its neighbourhood. The sun was
growing strong. The rocks were emerging by degrees from their winter
clothing of snow; moss of a wine-like colour was springing up on the
basalt cliffs, strips of seaweed fifty yards long were floating on the sea,
and on the plain the lyella, which is of Andean origin, was pushing up
its little points, and the only leguminous plant of the region, that
gigantic cabbage already mentioned, valuable for its anti-scorbutic
properties, was making its appearance.
I had not come across a single land mammal--sea mammals swarm in
these waters--not even of the batrachian or reptilian kinds. A few
insects only--butterflies or others--and even these did not fly, for before
they could use their wings, the atmospheric currents carried the tiny
bodies away to the surface of the rolling waves.
"And the Halbrane" I used to say to Atkins each morning.
"The Halbrane, Mr. Jeorling," he would reply with complacent
assurance, "will surely come into port to-day, or, if not to-day,
to-morrow."

In my rambles on the shore, I frequently routed a crowd of amphibians,
sending them plunging into the newly released waters. The penguins,
heavy and impassive creatures, did not disappear at my approach; they
took no notice; but the black petrels, the puffins, black and white, the
grebes and others, spread their wings at sight of me.
One day I witnessed the departure of an albatross, saluted by the very
best croaks of the penguins, no doubt as a friend whom they were to see
no more. Those powerful birds can fly for two hundred leagues without
resting for a moment, and with such rapidity that they sweep through
vast spaces in a few hours. The departing albatross sat motionless upon
a high rock, at the end of the bay of Christmas Harbour, looking at the
waves as they dashed violently against the beach.
Suddenly, the bird rose with a great sweep into the air, its claws folded
beneath it, its head stretched out like the prow of a ship, uttering its
shrill cry: a few moments later it was reduced to a black speck in the
vast height and disappeared behind the misty curtain of the south.
Chapter II
The Schooner Halbrane
The Halbrane was a schooner of three hundred tons, and a fast sailer.
On board there was a captain, a mate, or lieutenant, a boatswain, a cook,
and eight sailors; in all twelve men, a sufficient number to work the
ship. Solidly built, copper-bottomed, very manageable, well suited for
navigation between the fortieth and sixtieth parallels of south latitude,
the Halbrane was a credit to the ship-yards of Birkenhead.
All this I learned from Atkins, who adorned his narrative with praise
and admiration of its theme. Captain Len Guy, of Liverpool, was
three-fifths owner of the vessel, which he had commanded for nearly
six years. He traded in the southern seas of Africa and America, going
from one group of islands to another and from continent to continent.
His ship's company was but a dozen men, it is true, but she was used
for the purposes of trade only; he would have required a more
numerous crew, and all the implements, for taking seals and other

amphibia. The Halbrane was not defenceless, however; on the contrary,
she was heavily armed, and this was well, for those southern seas were
not too safe; they were frequented at that period by pirates, and on
approaching the isles the Halbrane was put into a condition to resist
attack. Besides, the men always slept with one eye open.
One morning--it was the 27th of August--I was roused out of my bed
by the rough voice of the innkeeper and the tremendous thumps he
gave my door. "Mr. Jeorling, are you awake?"
"Of course I am, Atkins. How should I be otherwise, with all that noise
going on? What's up?"
"A ship six miles out in the offing, to the nor'east, steering for
Christmas!"
"Will it be the Halbrane?"
"We shall know that in a short time, Mr. Jeorling. At any rate it is the
first boat of the year, and we must give it a welcome."
I dressed hurriedly and joined Atkins on the quay, where I found him in
the midst of a group engaged in eager discussion. Atkins was
indisputably the most