CHAPTER III
CAPE TOWN AND M. VIOT
As John Mangles intended to put in at the Cape of Good
Hope for coals, he was obliged to deviate a little from the
37th parallel, and go two degrees north. In less than six
days he cleared the thirteen hundred miles which separate
the point of Africa from Tristan d'Acunha, and on the
24th of November, at 3 P. M. the Table Mountain was
sighted. At eight o'clock they entered the bay, and cast
anchor in the port of Cape Town. They sailed away next
morning at daybreak.
Between the Cape and Amsterdam Island there is a distance of 2,900 miles,
but with a good sea and favoring
breeze, this was only a ten day's voyage. The elements
were now no longer at war with the travelers, as on their
journey across the Pampas — air and water seemed in
league to help them forward.
"Ah! the sea! the sea!" exclaimed Paganel, "it is the
field par excellence for the exercise of human energies, and
the ship is the true vehicle of civilization. Think, my
friends, if the globe had been only an immense continent,
the thousandth part of it would still be unknown to us,
even in this nineteenth century. See how it is in the interior of great
countries. In the steppes of Siberia, in the
plains of Central Asia, in the deserts of Africa, in the
prairies of America, in the immense wilds of Australia,
in the icy solitudes of the Poles, man scarcely dares to venture; the most
daring shrinks back, the most courageous succumbs. They cannot penetrate them;
the means of transport are insufficient, and the heat and disease, and savage
disposition of the natives, are impassable obstacles. Twenty
miles of desert separate men more than five hundred miles
of ocean."
Paganel spoke with such warmth that even the Major
had nothing to say against this panegyric of the ocean.
Indeed, if the finding of Harry Grant had involved following a parallel across
continents instead of oceans, the
enterprise could not have been attempted; but the sea was
there ready to carry the travelers from one country to another, and on the 6th
of December, at the first streak of
day, they saw a fresh mountain apparently emerging from
the bosom of the waves.
This was Amsterdam Island, situated in 37 degrees 47
minutes latitude and 77 degrees 24 minutes longitude, the
high cone of which in clear weather is visible fifty miles
off. At eight o'clock, its form, indistinct though it still
was, seemed almost a reproduction of Teneriffe.
"And consequently it must resemble Tristan d'Acunha,"
observed Glenarvan.
"A very wise conclusion," said Paganel, "according to
the geometrographic axiom that two islands resembling a
third must have a common likeness. I will only add that,
like Tristan d'Acunha, Amsterdam Island is equally rich
in seals and Robinsons."
"There are Robinsons everywhere, then?" said Lady
Helena.
"Indeed, Madam," replied Paganel, "I know few islands without some tale
of the kind appertaining to them,
and the romance of your immortal countryman, Daniel
Defoe, has been often enough realized before his day."
"Monsieur Paganel," said Mary, "may I ask you a
question?"
"Two if you like, my dear young lady, and I promise
to answer them."
"Well, then, I want to know if you would be very much
frightened at the idea of being cast away alone on a desert
island."
"I?" exclaimed Paganel.
"Come now, my good fellow," said the Major, "don't
go and tell us that it is your most cherished desire."
"I don't pretend it is that, but still, after all, such an
adventure would not be very unpleasant to me. I should
begin a new life; I should hunt and fish; I should choose a
grotto for my domicile in Winter and a tree in Summer.
I should make storehouses for my harvests: in one word,
I should colonize my island."
"All by yourself?"
"All by myself if I was obliged. Besides, are we ever
obliged? Cannot one find friends among the animals, and
choose some tame kid or eloquent parrot or amiable monkey? And if a lucky chance
should send one a companion
like the faithful Friday, what more is needed? Two
friends on a rock, there is happiness. Suppose now, the
Major and I —"
"Thank you," replied the Major, interrupting him; "I
have no inclination in that line, and should make a very
poor Robinson Crusoe."
"My dear Monsieur Paganel," said Lady Helena, "you
are letting your imagination run away with you, as usual.
But the dream is very different from the reality. You are
thinking of an imaginary Robinson's life, thrown on a
picked island and treated like a spoiled child by nature.
You only see the sunny side."
"What, madam! You don't believe a man could be
happy on a desert island?"
"I do not. Man is made for society and not for solitude, and solitude can
only engender despair. It is a question of time. At the outset it is quite
possible that material
wants and the very necessities of existence may engross the
poor shipwrecked fellow, just snatched from the waves;
but afterward, when he feels himself alone, far from his
fellow men, without any hope of seeing country and friends
again, what must he think, what must he suffer? His little island is all his
world. The whole human race is shut
up in himself, and when death comes, which utter loneliness will make terrible,
he will be like the last man on the
last day of the world. Believe me, Monsieur Paganel,
such a man is not to be envied."
Paganel gave in, though regretfully, to the arguments
of Lady Helena, and still kept up a discussion on the advantages and
disadvantages of Isolation, till the very moment the Duncan dropped
anchor about a mile off Amsterdam Island.
This lonely group in the Indian Ocean consists of two
distinct islands, thirty-three miles apart, and situated exactly on the meridian
of the Indian peninsula. To the
north is Amsterdam Island, and to the south St. Paul; but
they have been often confounded by geographers and navigators.
At the time of the Duncan's visit to the island, the population
consisted of three people, a Frenchman and two mulattoes, all three employed by
the merchant proprietor.
Paganel was delighted to shake hands with a countryman
in the person of good old Monsieur Viot. He was far
advanced in years, but did the honors of the place with
much politeness. It was a happy day for him when these
kindly strangers touched at his island, for St. Peter's was
only frequented by seal-fishers, and now and then a whaler,
the crews of which are usually rough, coarse men.
M. Viot presented his subjects, the two mulattoes.
They composed the whole living population of the island,
except a few wild boars in the interior and myriads of penguins. The little
house where the three solitary men lived
was in the heart of a natural bay on the southeast, formed
by the crumbling away of a portion of the mountain.
Twice over in the early part of the century, Amsterdam
Island became the country of deserted sailors, providentially saved from misery
and death; but since these events
no vessel had been lost on its coast. Had any shipwreck
occurred, some fragments must have been thrown on the
sandy shore, and any poor sufferers from it would have
found their way to M. Viot's fishing-huts. The old man
had been long on the island, and had never been called upon
to exercise such hospitality. Of the Britannia and Captain Grant he knew
nothing, but he was certain that the
disaster had not happened on Amsterdam Island, nor on
the islet called St. Paul, for whalers and fishing-vessels
went there constantly, and must have heard of it.
Glenarvan was neither surprised nor vexed at the reply;
indeed, his object in asking was rather to establish the fact
that Captain Grant had not been there than that he had.
This done, they were ready to proceed on their voyage
next day.
They rambled about the island till evening, as its appearance was very
inviting. Its fauna and flora, however,
were poor in the extreme. The only specimens of quadrupeds, birds, fish and
cetacea were a few wild boars, stormy
petrels, albatrosses, perch and seals. Here and there
thermal springs and chalybeate waters escaped from the
black lava, and thin dark vapors rose above the volcanic
soil. Some of these springs were very hot. John Mangles held his thermometer in
one of them, and found the
temperature was 176 degrees Fahrenheit. Fish caught in
the sea a few yards off, cooked in five minutes in these all
but boiling waters, a fact which made Paganel resolve not
to attempt to bathe in them.
Toward evening, after a long promenade, Glenarvan and
his party bade adieu to the good old M. Viot, and returned
to the yacht, wishing him all the happiness possible on his
desert island, and receiving in return the old man's blessing on their
expedition.