The 5th of April, the day of departure, came. The fact that
the doctor had joined the expedition gave some comfort to those
on board. Wherever he could go they could follow. Still, most
of the sailors were very uneasy, and Shandon, fearing that their
number might be diminished by desertion, was very anxious to
get to sea. The land once out of sight, the men would soon be
resigned.
Dr. Clawbonny's cabin was situated on the poop, occupying the
extreme after-part of the ship. The cabins of the captain and
mate opened on the deck. That of the captain was kept tightly
closed, after it had been provided with various instruments, furniture, clothing, books, and utensils, all of which had been set down in detail in a letter. As he had asked, the key was sent to the captain at Lübeck; so he alone had admission into the cabin.
This fact annoyed Shandon, and diminished his chances of having
chief command. As for his own cabin, he had arranged it
suitably for the presumed voyage, for he knew very well what
was necessary for a polar expedition.
The second mate's cabin was on the lower deck, where the
sailors were domiciled; the crew had very comfortable quarters; they would hardly have had such accommodations in any other ship. They were treated as if they were a valuable cargo; a huge stove stood in the middle of their sleeping-room.
Dr. Clawbonny was very enthusiastic about it; he took possession
of his cabin on the 6th of February, the day after the ship
was launched.
“The happiest animal in the world,” he used to say, “would
be a snail who could make himself just such a shell as he
wanted; I shall try to be an intelligent snail.”
And, in fact, for a shell which he was not going to leave for
some time, his cabin presented a very comfortable appearance; the doctor took a scientific or childlike pleasure in arranging his scientific paraphernalia. His books, his specimens, his cases, his instruments, his physical apparatus, his thermometers, barometers, field-glasses, compasses, sextants, charts, drawings, phials, powder, and medicine-bottles, all were classified in a way which would have done honor to the British Museum. This space of six feet square contained incalculable wealth; the doctor needed only to stretch out his hand without rising, to become at once a physician, a mathematician, an astronomer, a geographer, a botanist, or a conchologist.
To tell the truth, he was proud of his arrangements, and very
contented in his floating sanctum, which three of his thinnest friends
would have completely filled. They used to crowd there in great
numbers, so that even so good-natured a man as the doctor was
occasionally put out; and, like Socrates, he came at last to say,—
“My house is small, but may Heaven grant that it never be
filled with friends!”
To complete our account of the Forward, it is only necessary
to add that a kennel for the huge Danish dog was built just
beneath the window of the closed cabin; but he preferred to keep
himself between decks and in the hold; it seemed impossible to
tame him; no one ever conquered his shyness; he could be heard, at night especially, howling dismally in the ship's hold.
Was it because he missed his master? Had he an instinctive
dread of the dangers of the voyage? Had he a presentiment of
the coming perils? The sailors were sure that he had, and more
than one said the same in jest, who in his heart regarded the dog
as a sort of diabolic animal.
Pen, a very brutal man, one day, while trying to kick him, slipped, and fell on the corner of the capstan in such a way that he cut his head badly. It is easy to see how the sailors put all the blame upon the dog.
Clifton, who was the most superstitious
man in the crew, made, one day, the strange
observation that the dog, when on the poop, would always walk on the windward side; and afterwards, when the brig was at sea and under sail, this singular animal would shift his position to the other side after every tack, so as to be windward, as the captain of the Forward would have done.
Dr. Clawbonny, who by his gentleness and
caresses would have almost tamed the heart
of a tiger, tried in vain to make friends with the dog; he met
with no success.
The dog, too, did not answer to any of the usual names of his
kind. So the men used to call him “Captain,” for he seemed perfectly familiar with all the ways on shipboard. He had evidently been to sea before.