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Jeorling; we have been going these many years between Australia on the east and America on the west; from Hobart Town to the Kerguelens, to Tristan d’Acunha, to the Falklands, only taking time anywhere to sell our cargo, and sometimes dipping down into the Antarctic Sea.
Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters were well treated on board the English schooner Jane. In a fortnight, having recovered from the effects of their sufferings, they remembered them no more. With alternations of fine and bad weather the Jane sighted Prince Edward’s Island on the 13th of October, then the Crozet Islands, and afterwards the Kerguelens, which I had left eleven days ago.
With so many trumps in our hand we cannot possibly lose the game. The only thing to be regretted is that we shall have to get ashore again in Australia or New Zealand, instead of casting anchor at the Kerguelens, near the quay of Christmas Harbour, in front of the Greea Cormorant.”
It was New Year’s Day, 1840, four months and seventeen days since I had left the Kerguelens and two months and five days since the Halbrahe had sailed from the Falklands.
Under these circumstances, you understand, a passenger might be troublesome, and besides, who would care to embark on the Halbrane? she does not like to flout the breezes, and goes wherever the wind drives her.” “The Halbrane positively leaves the Kerguelens in four days?” “Certainly.” “And this time she will sail westward for Tristan d’Acunha?” “Probably.”
And if the launch of the schooner is not successful, here are we condemned to winter quarters which the polar bears themselves would hardly relish!” I replied only by a shake of my head, which Hurliguerly could not fail to understand. “Do you know, Mr. Jeorling, of what I think oftenest?” “What do you think of, boatswain?” “Of the Kerguelens, whither we are certainly not travelling.
Then, with the instability of the winds in the Kerguelens, the weather became calm before I did. I opened my window, and at the same moment a sailor stepped into one of the boats of the Halbrane and laid hold of a pair of oars, while a second man seated himself in the back, but without taking the tiller ropes. The boat touched the landing, place and Captain Len Guy stepped on shore.
The boatswain and his men did not lose the opportunity of killing several dozens of penguins with their sticks, not from a ruthless instinct of destruction, but from the legitimate desire to procure fresh food. “Their flesh is just as good as chicken, Mr. Jeorling,” said Hurliguerly. “Did you not eat penguin at the Kerguelens?” “Yes, boatswain, but it was cooked by Arkins.”
Your ship may ride securely at single anchor in its waters, while the bay remains free from ice. The Kerguelens possess hundreds of other fjords. Their coasts are notched and ragged, especially in the parts between the north and the south-east, where little islets abound. The soil, of volcanic origin, is composed of quartz, mixed with a bluish stone.
Jeorling, or, if not, it will be because there is no longer a Captain Len Guy; and if there is no longer a Captain Len Guy, it is because the Halbrane has sunk in full sail between the Kerguelens and the Cape of Good Hope.” Thereupon Mr. Atkins walked away, with a scornful gesture, indicating that such an eventuality was out of all probability.
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