In spite of this mortifying reflection, Paganel made the best use of a delay that he could not avoid. He showed himself amiable, and even gay; he enchanted the ladies with his good humor, and before the end of the day he was the friend of everyone. At his request the famous document was shown to him. He studied it carefully, long and minutely. No other interpretation appeared to him possible. Mary Grant and her brother inspired him with the liveliest interest. He gave them good hopes. His way of distinguishing the events, and the undeniable success that he predicted for the Duncan, elicited a smile from the young girl.
As to Lady Helena, when he learned that she was the daughter of William Tuffnel, there was an outburst of surprise and admiration. He had known her father. What a bold discoverer! How many letters they had exchanged when the latter was corresponding member of the Society! He it was who had introduced him to M. Malte-Brun. What a meeting! and how much pleasure to travel with the daughter of such a man! Finally, he asked Lady Helena’s permission to kiss her, to which she consented, although it was perhaps a little “improper.”
VIII
The Geographer’s Resolution
Meanwhile the yacht, favored by the currents, was advancing rapidly towards the equator. In a few days the island of Madeira came in view. Glenarvan, faithful to his promise, offered to land his new guest here.
“My dear lord,” replied Paganel, “I will not be formal with you. Before my arrival on board, did you intend to stop at Madeira?”
“No,” said Glenarvan.
“Well, permit me to profit by the consequences of my unlucky blunder. Madeira is an island too well known. Everything has been said and written about it; and it is, moreover, rapidly declining in point of civilization. If, then, it is all the same to you, let us land at the Canaries.”
“Very well, at the Canaries,” replied Glenarvan. “That will not take us out of our way.”
“I know it, my dear lord. At the Canaries, you see, there are three groups to study, not to speak of the Peak of Teneriffe, which I have always desired to see. This is a fine opportunity. I will profit by it; and, while waiting for a vessel, will attempt the ascent of this celebrated mountain.”
“As you please, my dear Paganel,” replied Glenarvan, who could not help smiling, and with good reason.
The Canaries are only a short distance from Madeira, scarcely two hundred and fifty miles, a mere trifle for so good a vessel as the Duncan.
The same day, at two o’clock in the afternoon, Captain Mangles and Paganel were walking on the deck. The Frenchman pressed his companion with lively questions concerning Chile. All at once the captain interrupted him, and pointing towards the southern horizon, said—
“Mr. Paganel!”
“My dear captain,” replied the geographer.
“Please cast your eyes in that direction. Do you see nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“You are not looking right. It is not on the horizon, but above, in the clouds.”
“In the clouds? I look in vain.”
“Stop, now, just on a line with the end of the bowsprit.”
“I see nothing.”
“You do not wish to see. However that may be, although we are forty miles distant, you understand, the Peak of Teneriffe is visible above the horizon.”
Whether Paganel wished to see or not, he had to yield to the evidence some hours afterwards, or, at least, confess himself blind.
“You perceive it now?” said his companion.
“Yes, yes, perfectly!” replied Paganel. “And that,” added he in a contemptuous tone, “is what you call the Peak of Teneriffe?”
“The same.”
“It appears to be of very moderate height.”
“Yet it is eleven thousand feet above the level of the sea.”
“Not so high as Mont Blanc.”
“Very possibly; but when you come to climb it, you will find it, perhaps, high enough.”
“Oh! climb it, my dear captain? What is the use, I ask you, after Humboldt and Bonpland? What can I do after these great men?”
“Indeed,” replied Captain Mangles, “there is nothing left but to wander about. It is a pity, for you would be very tired waiting for a vessel at Teneriffe. You cannot look for many distractions there.”
“Except my own,” said Paganel, laughing. “But, my dear captain, have not the Cape Verd Islands important landings?”
“Certainly. Nothing is easier than to land at Villa-Praïa.”
“Not to speak of an advantage that is not to be despised,” answered Paganel; “that the Cape Verd Islands are not far from Senegal, where I shall find fellow-countrymen.”
“As you please, Mr. Paganel,” replied Captain Mangles. “I am certain that geographical science will gain by your sojourn in these islands. We must land there to take in coal; you will, therefore, cause us no delay.”
So saying, the captain gave the order to pass to the southeast of the Canaries. The celebrated peak was soon left on the larboard; and the Duncan, continuing her rapid course, cut the Tropic of Cancer the next morning at five o’clock. The weather there changed. The atmosphere had the moisture and oppressiveness of the rainy season, disagreeable to travelers, but beneficial to the inhabitants of the African islands, who have no trees, and consequently need water. The sea was boisterous, and prevented the passengers from remaining on deck; but the conversation in the cabin was not less animated.
The next day Paganel began to collect his baggage preparatory to his approaching departure. In a short time they entered the bay of Villa-Praïa, and anchored opposite the city in eight fathoms of water. The weather was stormy and the surf high, although the bay was sheltered from the winds. The rain fell in torrents so that they could scarcely see the city, which was on an elevated plain in the form of a terrace, resting on volcanic rocks three hundred feet in height. The appearance of the island through this rainy curtain was misty.
Shipping the coal was not accomplished without great difficulty, and the passengers saw themselves confined to the cabin, while sea and sky
