VERNANIA: The Celebrated Works of Jules Verne in One Edition. Жюль Верн

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СКАЧАТЬ regularity, and there’s no reason to believe we shan’t be made acquainted with our destination when the proper time comes. I haven’t the slightest doubt that tomorrow we shall be sailing in the Irish Channel, and I propose we drink a last grog to our pleasant voyage. It begins in an unaccountable fashion, but with sailors like you there are a thousand chances that it will end well.”

      And all four drank to their safe return.

      “Now, commander,” continued Johnson, “if you will allow me to advise you, you will prepare everything to start; the crew must think that you know what you are about. If you don’t get a letter tomorrow, set sail; do not get up the steam, the wind looks like holding out, and it will be easy enough to sail; let the pilot come on board; go out of the docks with the tide, and anchor below Birkenhead; our men won’t be able to communicate with land, and if the devil of a letter comes it will find us as easily there as elsewhere.”

      “By heavens! you are right, Johnson!” cried the doctor, holding out his hand to the old sailor.

      “So be it,” answered Shandon.

      Then each one entered his cabin, and waited in feverish sleep for the rising of the sun. The next day the first distribution of letters took place in the town, and not one bore the address of the commander, Richard Shandon. Nevertheless, he made his preparations for departure, and the news spread at once all over Liverpool, and, as we have already seen, an extraordinary affluence of spectators crowded the wharfs of New Prince’s Docks. Many of them came on board to shake hands for the last time with a comrade, or to try and dissuade a friend, or to take a look at the brig, and to know its destination; they were disappointed at finding the commander more taciturn and reserved than ever. He had his reasons for that.

      Ten o’clock struck. Eleven followed. The tide began to go out that day at about one o’clock in the afternoon. Shandon from the top of the poop was looking at the crowd with uneasy eyes, trying to read the secret of his destiny on one of the faces. But in vain. The sailors of the Forward executed his orders in silence, looking at him all the time, waiting for orders which did not come. Johnson went on preparing for departure. The weather was cloudy and the sea rough; a southeaster blew with violence, but it was easy to get out of the Mersey.

      At twelve o’clock nothing had yet been received. Dr. Clawbonny marched up and down in agitation, looking through his telescope, gesticulating, impatient for the sea, as he said. He felt moved, though he struggled against it. Shandon bit his lips till the blood came. Johnson came up to him and said—

      “Commander, if we want to profit by the tide, there is no time to be lost; we shall not be clear of the docks for at least an hour.”

      Shandon looked round him once more and consulted his watch. The twelve o’clock letters had been distributed. In despair he told Johnson to start. The boatswain ordered the deck to be cleared of spectators, and the crowd made a general movement to regain the wharves while the last moorings were unloosed. Amidst the confusion a dog’s bark was distinctly heard, and all at once the animal broke through the compact mass, jumped on to the poop, and, as a thousand spectators can testify, dropped a letter at Shandon’s feet.

      “A letter!” cried Shandon. “He is on board, then?”

      “He was, that’s certain, but he isn’t now,” said Johnson, pointing to the deserted deck.

      Shandon held the letter without opening it in his astonishment.

      “But read it, read it, I say,” said the doctor.

      Shandon looked at it. The envelope had no postmark or date; it was addressed simply to:

      “RICHARD SHANDON,

      “Commander on board the brig

      “Forward.”

      Shandon opened the letter and read as follows:—

      “Sail for Cape Farewell. You will reach it by the 20th of April. If the captain does not appear on board, cross Davis’s Straits, and sail up Baffin’s Sea to Melville Bay.

      “THE CAPTAIN OF THE ‘FORWARD,’

      “K. Z.”

      Shandon carefully folded this laconic epistle, put it in his pocket, and gave the order for departure. His voice, which rang above the east wind, had something solemn in it.

      Soon the Forward had passed the docks, and directed by a Liverpool pilot whose little cutter followed, went down the Mersey with the current. The crowd precipitated itself on to the exterior wharf along the Victoria Docks in order to get a last glimpse of the strange brig. The two topsails, the foresail and the brigantine sail were rapidly set up, and the Forward, worthy of its name, after having rounded Birkenhead Point, sailed with extraordinary fleetness into the Irish Sea.

CHAPTER V

      OUT AT SEA

      Table of Contents

      The wind was favourable, though it blew in April gales. The Forward cut through the waves, and towards three o’clock crossed the mail steamer between Liverpool and the Isle of Man. The captain hailed from his deck the last adieu that the Forward was destined to hear.

      At five o’clock the pilot left the command in the hands of Richard Shandon, the commander of the brig, and regained his cutter, which, turning round, soon disappeared on the southwest. Towards evening the brig doubled the Calf of Man at the southern extremity of the island. During the night the sea was very rough, but the Forward behaved well, left the point of Ayr to the northwest, and directed its course for the Northern Channel. Johnson was right; once out at sea the maritime instinct of the sailors gained the upper hand. Life on board went on with regularity.

      The doctor breathed in the sea air with delight; he walked about vigorously in the squalls, and for a savant he was not a bad sailor.

      “The sea is splendid,” said he to Johnson, coming up on deck after breakfast. “I have made its acquaintance rather late, but I shall make up for lost time.”

      “You are right, Mr. Clawbonny. I would give all the continents of the world for a corner of the ocean. They pretend that sailors soon get tired of their profession, but I’ve been forty years on the sea and I love it as much as the first day.”

      “It is a great pleasure to feel a good ship under one’s feet, and if I’m not a bad judge the Forward behaves herself well.”

      “You judge rightly, doctor,” answered Shandon, who had joined the talkers; “she is a good ship, and I acknowledge that a vessel destined for navigation amongst ice has never been better equipped. That reminds me that thirty years ago Captain James Ross, sailing for the NorthWest passage–-“

      “In the Victory,” added the doctor quickly, “a brig about the same tonnage as ours, with a steam-engine too.”

      “What! you know about that?”

      “Judge if I do,” answered the doctor. “Machines were then in their infancy, and the Victory’s kept her back; the captain, James Ross, after having vainly repaired it bit by bit, finished by taking it down, and abandoned it at his first winter quarters.” СКАЧАТЬ