A lot of sugar-cane grows in Madeira, and the sight of the groves is very pleasant. And all amongst the soft green of the young canes you see those marvellous splashes of colour from the poinsettias and the hibiscus, so that your brain, refusing to take in the full effect, perceives only a blur. They told us that the roads and paths between the groves were constructed by Portuguese convicts, and we believed them. Honest men could never have made such fiendish roads!
In the evening we were invited as guests to the mess of the Western Telegraph Company, who have a cable station here and who publish the only newspaper in English on the island. Our hosts were very cordial and did us nobly; they apologized for the general atmosphere of poverty that characterizes the island by saying that the Lisbon Government taxes everyone so heavily for Portugal’s good, that when the taxes are paid there’s nothing left for home improvements.
Next day we hove up anchor and started off for Cape Verde. You’d hardly think a small ship so full of men could feel lonely, but the _Quest_ seemed to me to miss our late shipmates. We still carried our passenger, however—Mr. Lysaght, who had intended to leave us at Madeira, but who was so well liked aboard that he was persuaded to stay on a little longer. Immediately on leaving Madeira we picked up the fine north-east trades, and with every stitch of canvas we could carry, bowled along nobly toward the South.
No doubt many interesting things happened aboard that never came under my immediate notice, though you might think it was impossible for anything to transpire within such narrow confines as those of the _Quest_ without all hands immediately securing the fullest information; but other better qualified pens than mine have dealt with them. I am trying to give my own impression of this astonishing voyage as it appealed to me: a raw landlubber and a somewhat young one. And I suppose that to a mole, its own burrow is of much more importance than even a European war.
What chiefly concerned me about this time was the cook’s mishap. Prior to leaving Funchal, Green had run a fishbone into his hand, causing him considerable pain, and rendering him useless during the rest of the day; but with true pertinacity he stuck it out until the morrow found his hand in a much worse condition; whereupon Mr. Douglas, our geologist, volunteered to replace him in the galley. For, although all hands had specific duties allotted to them as regards the expedition proper—that is: one was meteorologist, another geologist, another flying-man, and so on, when not actually engaged in scientific duties, all took part and lot with the general crew. There was a good deal of the Drake spirit about our leader: “I should not care to see the gentleman who would refuse to hale and draw with the mariners” was one of his mottoes, and so—the geologist became acting “Doctor,” and celebrated his appointment by heaving the disabled cook from his sanctum sanctorum, as, being a new broom, he wanted to make a clean sweep. Let’s say Green’s hand recovered rapidly; we won’t blame the breakfast; but at all events, Green returned to duty after that meal was served, and so a possible mutiny was averted!