In fact, the doctor was in the right about this bird; he removed skilfully the fat which lies beneath the whole surface of the skin, principally on its thighs, and with it disappeared all the rancid, fishy odor with which this bird can be justly charged. Thus prepared, the bird was called delicious, even by Simpson.
During the recent storm, Richard Shandon had made up his mind about the qualities of his crew; he had tested his men one by one, as every officer should do who wishes to be prepared for future dangers; he knew on whom he could rely.
James Wall, who was warmly attached to Richard, was intelligent and efficient, but he had very little originality; as second officer he was exactly in his place.
Johnson, who was accustomed to the dangers of the sea, and an old sailor in arctic regions, lacked neither coolness nor courage.
Simpson, the harpooner, and Bell, the carpenter, were steady men, obedient and well disciplined. The ice-master, Foker, an experienced sailor, who had sailed in northern waters, promised to be of the greatest service.
Of the other men, Garry and Bolton seemed to be the best; Bolton was a jolly fellow, always laughing and joking; Garry, a man about thirty-five years old, had an energetic, but rather pale and sad face.
The three sailors, Clifton, Gripper, and Pen, seemed to be the least enthusiastic and determined; they were inclined to grumbling. Gripper had even wished to break his engagement when the time came for sailing, and only a feeling of shame prevented him. If things went well, if they encountered no excessive dangers, and their toil was not too severe, these three men could be counted on; but they were hard to please with their food, for they were inclined to gluttony. In spite of their having been forewarned, they were by no means pleased with being teetotalers, and at their meals they used to miss their brandy or gin; but they made up for it with the tea and coffee which were distributed with a lavish hand.
As for the two engineers, Brunton and Plover, and the stoker, Warren, they had been so far well satisfied with having nothing to do.
Shandon knew therefore what to expect from each man.
On the 14th of April, the Forward crossed the Gulf Stream, which, after following the eastern coast of America as far as Newfoundland, turns to the northeast and moves towards the shore of Norway. They were then in latitude 51° 37′, and longitude 22° 58′, two hundred miles from the end of Greenland. The weather grew colder; the thermometer fell to 32°, the freezing-point.
The doctor, without yet putting on his arctic winter dress, was wearing a suit of sea-clothes, like all the officers and sailors; he was an amusing sight in his high boots, in which he could not bend his legs, his huge tarpaulin hat, his trousers and coat of the same material; in heavy rain, or when the brig was shipping seas, the doctor used to look like a sort of sea-monster, a comparison which always flattered him.
For two days the sea was very rough; the wind veered to the northwest, and delayed the Forward. From the 14th to the 16th of April there was still a high sea running; but on Monday there fell a heavy shower which almost immediately had the effect of calming the sea. Shandon called the doctor’s attention to it.
“Well,” said the doctor, “that confirms the curious observations of the whaler Scoresby, who was a member of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, of which I have the honor to be a corresponding member. You see that while the rain is falling the waves are hardly to be noticed, even when the wind is strong. On the other hand, in dry weather the sea would be rougher even with a gentler wind.”
“But what is the explanation of it, Doctor?”
“It’s very simple; there is no explanation.”
At that moment the ice-master, who was on watch in the topmast cross-trees, cried out that there was a floating mass on the starboard quarter, about fifteen miles to windward.
“An iceberg in these latitudes!” cried the doctor.
Shandon turned his glass in that direction, and corroborated the lookout’s words.
“That’s strange,” said the doctor.
“Are you surprised?” asked the commander, laughing. “What! are we lucky enough to find anything that will surprise you?”
“I am surprised without being surprised,” answered the doctor, smiling, “since the brig Ann Poole, of Greenspond, was caught in the ice in the year 1813, in the forty-fourth degree of north latitude, and Dayement, her captain, saw hundreds of icebergs.”
“Good,” said Shandon; “you can still teach us a great deal about them.”
“Oh, not so very much!” answered Clawbonny, modestly, “except that ice has been seen in very much lower latitudes.”
“That I know, my dear Doctor, for when I was a cabin-boy on the sloop-of-war, Fly—”
“In 1818,” continued the doctor, “at the end of March, or it might have been the beginning of April, you passed between two large fields of floating ice, in latitude forty-two.”
“That is too much!” exclaimed Shandon.
“But it’s true; so I have no need to be surprised, now that we are two degrees farther north, at our sighting an iceberg.”
“You are bottled full of information, Doctor,” answered the commander; “one needs only draw the cork.”
“Very well, I shall be exhausted sooner than you think; and now, Shandon, if we can get a nearer view of this phenomenon, I should be the gladdest of doctors.”
“Exactly, Johnson,” said Shandon, summoning the boatswain; “I think the wind is freshening.”
“Yes, Commander,” answered Johnson, “we are making very little headway, and soon we shall feel the currents from Davis Strait.”
“You are right, Johnson, and if we mean to make Cape Farewell by the 20th of April, we must go under steam, or we shall be cast on the coast of Labrador.—Mr. Wall, give the order to light the fires.”
The mate’s orders were