CHAPTER II
TRISTAN D'ACUNHA AND THE ISLE OF AMSTERDAM
IF the yacht had followed the line of the equator, the
196 degrees which separate Australia from America, or,
more correctly, Cape Bernouilli from Cape Corrientes,
would have been equal to 11,760 geographical miles; but
along the 37th parallel these same degrees, owing to the
form of the earth, only represent 9,480 miles. From the
American coast to Tristan d'Acunha is reckoned 2,100
miles — a distance which John Mangles hoped to clear in
ten days, if east winds did not retard the motion of the
yacht. But he was not long uneasy on that score, for
toward evening the breeze sensibly lulled and then changed
altogether, giving the Duncan a fair field on a calm sea for
displaying her incomparable qualities as a sailor.
The passengers had fallen back into their ordinary ship
life, and it hardly seemed as if they really could have been
absent a whole month. Instead of the Pacific, the Atlantic
stretched itself out before them, and there was scarcely
a shade of difference in the waves of the two oceans.
The elements, after having handled them so roughly,
seemed now disposed to favor them to the utmost. The
sea was tranquil, and the wind kept in the right quarter,
so that the yacht could spread all her canvas, and lend its
aid, if needed to the indefatigable steam stored up in the
boiler.
Under such conditions, the voyage was safely and
rapidly accomplished. Their confidence increased as they
found themselves nearer the Australian coast. They began to talk of Captain
Grant as if the yacht were going to
take him on board at a given port. His cabin was got
ready, and berths for the men. This cabin was next to the
famous number six, which Paganel had taken possession
of instead of the one he had booked on the Scotia. It had
been till now occupied by M. Olbinett, who vacated it for
the expected guest. Mary took great delight in arranging
it with her own hands, and adorning it for the reception
of the loved inmate.
The learned geographer kept himself closely shut up.
He was working away from morning till night at a work
entitled "Sublime Impressions of a Geographer in the Argentine Pampas," and they
could hear him repeating elegant periods aloud before committing them to the
white
pages of his day-book; and more than once, unfaithful to
Clio, the muse of history, he invoked in his transports the
divine Calliope, the muse of epic poetry.
Paganel made no secret of it either. The chaste
daughters of Apollo willingly left the slopes of Helicon
and Parnassus at his call. Lady Helena paid him sincere
compliments on his mythological visitants, and so did the
Major, though he could not forbear adding:
"But mind no fits of absence of mind, my dear Paganel;
and if you take a fancy to learn Australian, don't go and
study it in a Chinese grammar."
Things went on perfectly smoothly on board. Lady
Helena and Lord Glenarvan found leisure to watch John
Mangles' growing attachment to Mary Grant. There was
nothing to be said against it, and, indeed, since John remained silent, it was
best to take no notice of it.
"What will Captain Grant think?" Lord Glenarvan
asked his wife one day.
"He'll think John is worthy of Mary, my dear Edward,
and he'll think right."
Meanwhile, the yacht was making rapid progress. Five
days after losing sight of Cape Corrientes, on the 16th of
November, they fell in with fine westerly breezes, and the
Duncan might almost have dispensed with her screw altogether, for she
flew over the water like a bird, spreading
all her sails to catch the breeze, as if she were running a
race with the Royal Thames Club yachts.
Next day, the ocean appeared covered with immense seaweeds, looking like
a great pond choked up with the débris
of trees and plants torn off the neighboring continents.
Commander Murray had specially pointed them out to the
attention of navigators. The Duncan appeared to glide
over a long prairie, which Paganel justly compared to the
Pampas, and her speed slackened a little.
Twenty-four hours after, at break of day, the man on
the look-out was heard calling out, "Land ahead!"
"In what direction?" asked Tom Austin, who was on
watch.
"Leeward!" was the reply.
This exciting cry brought everyone speedily on deck.
Soon a telescope made its appearance, followed by Jacques
Paganel. The learned geographer pointed the instrument
in the direction indicated, but could see nothing that resembled land.
"Look in the clouds," said John Mangles.
"Ah, now I do see a sort of peak, but very indistinctly."
"It is Tristan d'Acunha," replied John Mangles.
"Then, if my memory serves me right, we must be
eighty miles from it, for the peak of Tristan, seven thousand feet high, is
visible at that distance."
"That's it, precisely."
Some hours later, the sharp, lofty crags of the group of
islands stood out clearly on the horizon. The conical peak
of Tristan looked black against the bright sky, which
seemed all ablaze with the splendor of the rising sun. Soon
the principal island stood out from the rocky mass, at the
summit of a triangle inclining toward the northeast.
Tristan d'Acunha is situated in 37° 8' of southern lati
tude, and 10° 44' of longitude west of the meridian at
Greenwich. Inaccessible Island is eighteen miles to the
southwest and Nightingale Island is ten miles to the southeast, and this
completes the little solitary group of islets in
the Atlantic Ocean. Toward noon, the two principal landmarks, by which the group
is recognized were sighted, and
at 3 P. M. the
Duncan entered Falmouth Bay in Tristan
d'Acunha.
Several whaling vessels were lying quietly at anchor
there, for the coast abounds in seals and other marine animals.
John Mangle's first care was to find good anchorage, and
then all the passengers, both ladies and gentlemen, got into
the long boat and were rowed ashore. They stepped out
on a beach covered with fine black sand, the impalpable
débris of the calcined rocks of the island.
Tristan d'Acunha is the capital of the group, and consists of a little
village, lying in the heart of the bay, and
watered by a noisy, rapid stream. It contained about fifty
houses, tolerably clean, and disposed with geometrical
regularity. Behind this miniature town there lay 1,500
hectares of meadow land, bounded by an embankment of
lava. Above this embankment, the conical peak rose 7,000
feet high.
Lord Glenarvan was received by a governor supplied
from the English colony at the Cape. He inquired at once
respecting Harry Grant and the Britannia, and found the
names entirely unknown. The Tristan d'Acunha Isles are
out of the route of ships, and consequently little frequented. Since the wreck
of the Blendon Hall in 1821, on
the rocks of Inaccessible Island, two vessels have stranded
on the chief island — the Primanguet in 1845, and the threemast
American, Philadelphia, in 1857. These three events
comprise the whole catalogue of maritime disasters in the
annals of the Acunhas.
Lord Glenarvan did not expect to glean any information, and only asked by
the way of duty. He even sent
the boats to make the circuit of the island, the entire extent of which was not
more than seventeen miles at most.
In the interim the passengers walked about the village.
The population does not exceed 150 inhabitants, and consists of English and
Americans, married to negroes and
Cape Hottentots, who might bear away the palm for ugliness. The children of
these heterogeneous households are
very disagreeable compounds of Saxon stiffness and African blackness.
It was nearly nightfall before the party returned to
the yacht, chattering and admiring the natural riches displayed on all sides,
for even close to the streets of the
capital, fields of wheat and maize were waving, and crops
of vegetables, imported forty years before; and in the environs of the village,
herds of cattle and sheep were feeding.
The boats returned to the Duncan about the same time
as Lord Glenarvan. They had made the circuit of the entire island in a few
hours, but without coming across the
least trace of the Britannia. The only result of this voyage of
circumnavigation was to strike out the name of
Isle Tristan from the program of search.