The Adventures of Captain Hatteras

to that point, and any word might kindle a blaze of controversy. It happened soon. When the house was finished, the doctor resolved to celebrate the fact by a splendid feast; this was a good idea of Clawbonny’s, who wanted to introduce in this continent the habits and pleasures of European life. Bell had just shot some ptarmigans and a white rabbit, the first harbinger of spring. This feast took place April 14, Low Sunday, on a very pleasant day; the cold could not enter the house, and if it had, the roaring stoves would have soon conquered it. The dinner was good; the fresh meat made an agreeable variety after the pemmican and salt meat; a wonderful pudding, made by the doctor’s own hand, was much admired; everyone asked for another supply; the head cook himself, with an apron about his waist and a knife hanging by his side, would not have disgraced the kitchen of the Lord High Chancellor of England. At dessert, liquors appeared; the American was not a teetotaler; hence there was no reason for his depriving himself of a glass of gin or brandy; the other guests, who were never in any way intemperate, could permit themselves this infraction of their rule; so, by the doctor’s command, each one was able to drain a glass at the end of the merry meal. When a toast was drunk to the United States, Hatteras was simply silent. It was then that the doctor brought forward an interesting subject.

“My friends,” he said, “it is not enough that we have crossed the waters and ice and have come so far; there is one thing left for us to do. Hence I propose that we should give names to this hospitable land where we have found safety and rest; that is the course pursued by all navigators, and there is not one who has neglected it; therefore we ought to carry back with us not only a map of the shores, but also the names of the capes, bays, points, and promontories which we find. That is absolutely necessary.”

“Good!” cried Johnson; “besides, when one can give all these lands their own names, it looks like genuine work, and we can’t consider ourselves as cast away on an unknown shore.”

“Besides,” added Bell, “that simplifies instructions and facilitates the execution of orders; we may be compelled to separate during some expedition or in hunting, and the best way for finding our way back is to know the names of the places.”

“Well,” said the doctor, “since we are all agreed, let us try to settle on some names without forgetting our country and friends.”

“You are right, Doctor,” answered the American, “and you give what you say additional value by your warmth.”

“Well,” continued the doctor, “let us go on in order.”

Hatteras had not taken part in the conversation; he was thinking. Still the eyes of his companions were fastened on him; he rose and said⁠—

“If you are all willing, and I don’t think anyone will dissent,”⁠—at those words Hatteras looked at Altamont⁠—“it seems to me proper to name this house after its skilful architect, and to call it ‘Doctor’s House.’ ”

“That’s true,” said Bell.

“Good!” shouted Johnson; “Doctor’s House!”

“Couldn’t be better,” added Altamont. “Hurrah for Dr. Clawbonny!”

Three cheers were then given, to which Duke added an approving bark.

“So,” resumed Hatteras, “let this house bear that name until some new land is discovered to bear the name of our friend.”

“Ah!” said Johnson, “if the earthly Paradise were to be named over again, the name of Clawbonny would suit it to a miracle!”

The doctor, much moved, wanted to defend himself by modesty, but he was unable. It was then formally agreed that the feast had been eaten in the grand dining-hall of Doctor’s House, after being cooked in the kitchen of Doctor’s House, and that they would go comfortably to bed in the chamber of Doctor’s House.

“Now,” said the doctor, “let us take the more important points of our discoveries.”

“There is,” said Hatteras, “this immense sea which surrounds us, and in which no ship has ever floated.”

“No ship!” interrupted Altamont; “it seems to me the Porpoise should not be forgotten, unless indeed it came by land,” he added jestingly.

“One might think it had,” retorted Hatteras, “to see the rocks on which it is now resting.”

“Indeed, Hatteras,” answered Altamont with some vexation; “but, on the whole, isn’t even that better than blowing up as the Forward did!”

Hatteras was about to make some angry reply, when the doctor interrupted him.

“My friends,” he said, “we are not talking about ships, but about the new sea⁠—”

“It is not new,” interrupted Altamont. “It already bears a name on all the charts of the Pole. It is the Arctic Ocean, and I don’t see any reason for changing its name; if we should find out in the future that it is only a sound or gulf, we can see what is to be done.”

“Very well,” said Hatteras.

“Agreed,” said the doctor, regretting that he had aroused a discussion between rival nationalities.

“Let us come to the land which we are now in,” resumed Hatteras. “I am not aware that it bears any name on the most recent maps.”

At these words he turned to Altamont, who did not lower his eyes, but answered⁠—

“You may be mistaken again, Hatteras.”

“Mistaken! this unknown land, this new country⁠—”

“Has a name already,” answered the American, quietly.

Hatteras was silent. His lips trembled.

“And what is its name?” asked the doctor, a little surprised at the American’s statement.

“My dear Clawbonny,” answered Altamont, “it is the custom, not to say the habit, of every explorer to give a name to the continent which he has discovered. It seems to me that on this occasion it was in my power and that it was my duty to use this indisputable right⁠—”

“Still⁠—” said Johnson, whom Altamont’s coolness annoyed.

“It seems to me hard to pretend,” the American resumed, “that the Porpoise did not discover this coast, and even on the supposition that it came by land,”