Richard Shandon was a good sailor; for a long time he had
commanded whalers in the Arctic seas, with a well-deserved reputation
throughout all Lancaster. Such a letter was well calculated
to astonish him; he was astonished, it is true, but with the
calmness of a man who is accustomed to surprises.
He suited all the required conditions; no wife, child, nor relatives. He was as independent as man could be. There being no one whose opinion he needed to consult, he betook himself to Messrs. Marcuart & Co.
“If the money is there,” he said to himself, “the rest is all
right.”
At the banking-house he was received with the respect due to
a man who has sixteen thousand pounds deposited to his credit; having made that point sure, Shandon asked for a sheet of white paper, and in his large sailor's handwriting he sent his acceptance of the plan to the address given above.
That very day he made the necessary arrangements with the
builders at Birkenhead, and within twenty-four hours the keel of
the Forward was laid on the stocks.
Richard Shandon was a man about forty years old, strong, energetic, and fearless, three qualities most necessary for a sailor, for they give him confidence, vigor, and coolness. He was known to be severe and very hard to please; hence he was more feared than loved by his men. But this reputation was not calculated to interfere with his selection of a crew, for he was known to be skilful in avoiding trouble.
Shandon feared that the mysterious nature of the expedition
might stand in his way.
“In that case,” he said, “it's best not to say anything about
it; there will always be plenty of men who will want to know the
why and the wherefore of the whole matter, and, since I don't
know anything about it myself, I should find it hard to answer
them. This K. Z. is certainly an odd stick; but, after all, he
knows me, he depends on me, and that is enough. As for his
ship, it will be a good one, and if it's not going to the Arctic
Ocean, my name is not Richard Shandon. But I shall keep that
fact for myself and my officers.”
Thereupon Shandon began to choose his crew, bearing in mind
the captain's wishes about the independence and health of the
men.
He knew a very capital fellow, and a good sailor, James Wall
by name. Wall might have been about thirty years old, and
had already made some voyages in the northern
seas. Shandon offered him the place of
second mate, and Wall accepted it at once; all he cared for was to be at sea. Shandon confided all the details of the affair to him and to a certain Johnson, whom he took as boatswain.
“All right,” answered James Wall, “that's
as good as anything. Even if it's to seek the
Northwest Passage, some have come back
from that.”
“Not all,” said Johnson, “but that's no reason that we should
not try it.”
“Besides, if our guesses are right,” said Shandon, “it must be
said that we start with a fair chance of success. The Forward
will be a stanch ship and she will carry good engines. She can
go a great distance. We want a crew of only eighteen men.”
“Eighteen men,” answered Johnson; “that's the number the
American, Kane, took with him on his famous voyage towards the
North Pole.”
“It's strange,” said Wall, “that a private person should try to
make his way from Davis Strait to Behring Strait. The expeditions
in search of Sir John Franklin have already cost England
more than seven hundred and sixty thousand pounds, without
producing any practical good. Who in the world wants to throw
away his money for such a purpose?”
“In the first place, James,” answered Shandon, “we are in the
dark about it all. I don't know whether we are going to the
northern or the southern seas. Perhaps there's some new discovery
to be tried. At any rate, some day or other a Dr. Clawbonny
is to come aboard who will probably know more about it
and will be able to tell us. We shall see.”
“Let us wait, then,” said Johnson; “as for me, I'm going to
look after some good men, and I'll answer now for their animal
heat, as the captain calls it. You can depend on me.”