An Antarctic Mystery | Page 9

on your
part."

"I repeat that I have thought over it, and I add that the Halbrane shall
proceed direct to Tristan d'Acunha. That will suit you, I suppose?"
"To perfection, captain. To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, I shall
be on board."
"Your cabin is prepared."
"The cost of the voyage--"
"We can settle that another time," answered the captain, "and to your
satisfaction. Until to-morrow, then--"
"Until to-morrow."
I stretched out my arm, to shake hands with him upon our bargain.
Perhaps he did not perceive my movement in the darkness, at all events
he made no response to it, but walked rapidly away and got into his
boat.
I was greatly surprised, and so was Arkins, when I found him in the
eating-room of the Green Cormorant and told him what had occurred.
His comment upon it was characteristic.
"This queer captain," he said, "is as full of whims as a spoilt child! It is
to be hoped he will not change his mind again at the last moment."
The next morning at daybreak I bade adieu to the Green Cormorant,
and went down to the port, with my kind-hearted host, who insisted on
accompanying me to the ship, partly in order to make his mind easy
respecting the sincerity of the captain's repentance, and partly that he
might take leave of him, and also of Hurliguerly. A boat was waiting at
the quay, and we reached the ship in a few minutes.
The first person whom I met on the deck was Hurliguerly; he gave me a
look of triumph, which said as plainly as speech: "Ha! you see now.
Our hard-to-manage captain has given in at last. And to whom do you
owe this, but to the good boatswain who did his best for you, and did

not boast overmuch of his influence?"
Was this the truth? I had strong reasons for doubting it. After all, what
did it matter?
Captain Len Guy came on deck immediately after my arrival; this was
not surprising, except for the fact that he did not appear to remark my
presence.
Atkins then approached the captain and said in a pleasant tone,--
"We shall meet next year!"
"If it please God, Atkins."
They shook hands. Then the boatswain took a hearty leave of the
innkeeper, and was rowed back to the quay.
Before dark the white summits of Table Mount and Havergal, which
rise, the former to two, the other to three thousand feet above the level
of the sea, had disappeared from our view.
Chapter IV
From the Kerguelen Isles to Prince Edward Island
Never did a voyage begin more prosperously, or a passenger start in
better spirits. The interior of the Halbrane corresponded with its
exterior. Nothing could exceed the perfect order, the Dutch cleanliness
of the vessel. The captain's cabin, and that of the lieutenant, one on the
port, the other on the starboard side, were fitted up with a narrow berth,
a cupboard anything but capacious, an arm-chair, a fixed table, a lamp
hung from the ceiling, various nautical instruments, a barometer, a
thermometer, a chronometer, and a sextant in its oaken box. One of the
two other cabins was prepared to receive me. It was eight feet in length,
five in breadth. I was accustomed to the exigencies of sea life, and
could do with its narrow proportions, also with its furniture--a table, a
cupboard, a cane-bottomed arm-chair, a washingstand on an iron

pedestal, and a berth to which a less accommodating passenger would
doubtless have objected. The passage would be a short one, however,
so I took possession of that cabin, which I was to occupy for only four,
or at the worst five weeks, with entire content.
The eight men who composed the crew were named respectively
Martin Holt, sailing-master; Hardy, Rogers, Drap, Francis, Gratian,
Burg, and Stern--sailors all betweet twenty-five and thirty-five years
old--all Englishmen, well trained, and remarkably well disciplined by a
hand of iron.
Let me set it down here at the beginning, the exceptionally able man
whom they all obeyed at a word, a gesture, was not the captain of the
Halbrane; that man was the second officer, James West, who was then
thirty-two years of age.
James West was born on the sea, and had passed his childhood on
board a lighter belonging to his father, and on which the whole family
lived. Ail his life he had breathed the salt air of the English Channel,
the Atlantic, or the Pacific. He never went ashore except for the needs
of his service, whether of the State or of trade. If he had to leave one
ship for another he merely shifted his canvas bag to the latter, from
which he stirred no more. When he was not sailing in reality he