Jules Verne (2 page)

Finally, his friends loved him for his very feebleness. Mrs. Weldon
regarded him as her child—a large elder brother of her little Jack.

It is proper to add here that Cousin Benedict was, meanwhile, neither
idle nor unoccupied. On the contrary, he was a worker. His only
passion—natural history—absorbed him entirely.

To say "Natural History" is to say a great deal.

We know that the different parts of which this science is composed are
zoology, botany, mineralogy, and geology.

Now Cousin Benedict was, in no sense, a botanist, nor a mineralogist,
nor a geologist.

Was he, then, a zoologist in the entire acceptation of the word, a kind
of Cuvier of the New World, decomposing an animal by analysis, or
putting it together again by synthesis, one of those profound
connoisseurs, versed in the study of the four types to which modern
science refers all animal existence, vertebrates, mollusks,
articulates, and radiates? Of these four divisions, had the artless but
studious savant observed the different classes, and sought the orders,
the families, the tribes, the genera, the species, and the varieties
which distinguish them?

No.

Had Cousin Benedict devoted himself to the study of the vertebrates,
mammals, birds, reptiles, and fishes?

No.

Was it to the mollusks, from the cephalopodes to the bryozoans, that he
had given his preference, and had malacology no more secrets for him?

Not at all.

Then it was on the radiates, echinoderms, acalephes, polypes,
entozoons, sponges, and infusoria, that he had for such a long time
burned the midnight oil?

It must, indeed, be confessed that it was not on the radiates.

Now, in zoology there only remains to be mentioned the division of the
articulates, so it must be that it was on this division that Cousin
Benedict's only passion was expended.

Yes, and still it is necessary to select.

This branch of the articulates counts six classes: insects, myriapodes,
arachnides, crustaceans, cirrhopodes, and annelides.

Now, Cousin Benedict, scientifically speaking, would not know how to
distinguish an earth-worm from a medicinal leech, a sand-fly from a
glans-marinus, a common spider from a false scorpion, a shrimp from a
frog, a gally-worm from a scolopendra.

But, then, what was Cousin Benedict? Simply an entomologist—nothing
more.

To that, doubtless, it may be said that in its etymological
acceptation, entomology is that part of the natural sciences which
includes all the articulates. That is true, in a general way; but it is
the custom to give this word a more restricted sense. It is then only
applied, properly speaking, to the study of insects, that is to say:
"All the articulate animals of which the body, composed of rings placed
end to end, forms three distinct segments, and which possesses three
pairs of legs, which have given them the name of hexapodes."

Now, as Cousin Benedict had confined himself to the study of the
articulates of this class, he was only an entomologist.

But, let us not be mistaken about it. In this class of the insects are
counted not less than ten orders:

1. Orthopterans as grasshoppers, crickets, etc.
2. Neuropters as ant-eaters, dragon-flies or libellula.
3. Hymenopters as bees, wasps, ants.
4. Lepidopters as butterflies, etc.
5. Hemipters as cicada, plant-lice, fleas, etc.
6. Coleopters as cockchafers, fire-flies, etc.
7. Dipters as gnats, musquitoes, flies.
8. Rhipipters as stylops.
9. Parasites as acara, etc.
10. Thysanurans as lepidotus, flying-lice, etc.

Now, in certain of these orders, the coleopters, for example, there are
recognized thirty thousand species, and sixty thousand in the dipters;
so subjects for study are not wanting, and it will be conceded that
there is sufficient in this class alone to occupy a man!

Thus, Cousin Benedict's life was entirely and solely consecrated to
entomology.

To this science he gave all his hours—all, without exception, even the
hours of sleep, because he invariably dreamt "hexapodes." That he
carried pins stuck in his sleeves and in the collar of his coat, in the
bottom of his hat, and in the facings of his vest, need not be
mentioned.

When Cousin Benedict returned from some scientific promenade his
precious head-covering in particular was no more than a box of natural
history, being bristling inside and outside with pierced insects.

And now all will be told about this original when it is stated, that it
was on account of his passion for entomology that he had accompanied
Mr. and Mrs. Weldon to New Zealand. There his collection was enriched
by some rare subjects, and it will be readily understood that he was in
haste to return to classify them in the cases of his cabinet in San
Francisco.

So, as Mrs. Weldon and her child were returning to America by the
"Pilgrim," nothing more natural than for Cousin Benedict to accompany
them during that passage.

But it was not on him that Mrs. Weldon could rely, if she should ever
find herself in any critical situation. Very fortunately, the prospect
was only that of a voyage easily made during the fine season, and on
board of a ship whose captain merited all her confidence.

During the three days that the "Pilgrim" was in port at Waitemata, Mrs.
Weldon made her preparations in great haste, for she did not wish to
delay the departure of the schooner. The native servants whom she
employed in her dwelling in Auckland were dismissed, and, on the 22d
January, she embarked on board the "Pilgrim," bringing only her son
Jack, Cousin Benedict, and Nan, her old negress.

Cousin Benedict carried all his curious collection of insects in a
special box. In this collection figured, among others, some specimens
of those new staphylins, species of carnivorous coleopters, whose eyes
are placed above the head, and which, till then, seemed to be peculiar
to New Caledonia. A certain venomous spider, the "katipo," of the
Maoris, whose bite is often fatal to the natives, had been very highly
recommended to him. But a spider does not belong to the order of
insects properly so called; it is placed in that of the arachnida, and,
consequently, was valueless in Cousin Benedict's eyes. Thus he scorned
it, and the most beautiful jewel of his collection was a remarkable
staphylin from New Zealand.

It is needless to say that Cousin Benedict, by paying a heavy premium,
had insured his cargo, which to him seemed much more precious than all
the freight of oil and bones stowed away in the hold of the "Pilgrim."

Just as the "Pilgrim" was getting under sail, when Mrs. Weldon and her
companion for the voyage found themselves on the deck of the schooner,
Captain Hull approached his passenger:

"It is understood, Mrs. Weldon," he said to her, "that, if you take
passage on board the 'Pilgrim,' it is on your own responsibility."

"Why do you make that observation to me, Mr. Hull?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"Because I have not received an order from your husband in regard to
it, and, all things considered, a schooner cannot offer you the
guarantees of a good passage, like a packet-boat, specially intended to
carry travelers."

"If my husband were here," replied Mrs. Weldon, "do you think, Mr.
Hull, that he would hesitate to embark on the 'Pilgrim,' in company
with his wife and child?"

"No, Mrs. Weldon, he would not hesitate," said Captain Hull; "no,
indeed! no more than I should hesitate myself! The 'Pilgrim' is a good
ship after all, even though she has made but a sad cruise, and I am
sure of her, as much so as a seaman can be of the ship which he has
commanded for several years. The reason I speak, Mrs. Weldon, is to get
rid of personal responsibility, and to repeat that you will not find on
board the comfort to which you have been accustomed."

"As it is only a question of comfort, Mr. Hull," replied Mrs. Weldon,
"that should not stop me. I am not one of those troublesome passengers
who complain incessantly of the narrowness of the cabins, and the
insufficiency of the table."

Then, after looking for a few moments at her little Jack, whom she held
by the hand, Mrs. Weldon said:

"Let us go, Mr. Hull!"

The orders were given to get under way at once, the sails were set, and
the "Pilgrim," working to get out to sea in the shortest time possible,
steered for the American coast.

But, three days after her departure, the schooner, thwarted by strong
breezes from the east, was obliged to tack to larboard to make headway
against the wind. So, at the date of February 2d, Captain Hull still
found himself in a higher latitude than he would have wished, and in
the situation of a sailor who wanted to double Cape Horn rather than
reach the New Continent by the shortest course.

Meanwhile the sea was favorable, and, except the delays, navigation
would be accomplished under very supportable conditions.

Mrs. Weldon had been installed on board the "Pilgrim" as comfortably as
possible.

Neither poop nor "roufle" was at the end of the deck. There was no
stern cabin, then, to receive the passengers. She was obliged to be
contented with Captain Hull's cabin, situated aft, which constituted
his modest sea lodging. And still it had been necessary for the captain
to insist, in order to make her accept it. There, in that narrow
lodging, was installed Mrs. Weldon, with her child and old Nan. She
took her meals there, in company with the captain and Cousin Benedict,
for whom they had fitted up a kind of cabin on board.

As to the commander of the "Pilgrim," he had settled himself in a cabin
belonging to the ship's crew—a cabin which would be occupied by the
second officer, if there were a second one on board. But the
brig-schooner was navigated, we know, under conditions which enabled
her to dispense with the services of a second officer.

The men of the "Pilgrim," good and strong seamen, were very much united
by common ideas and habits. This fishing season was the fourth which
they had passed together. All Americans of the West, they were
acquainted for a long period, and belonged to the same coast of the
State of California.

These brave men showed themselves very thoughtful towards Mrs. Weldon,
the wife of the owner of their ship, for whom they professed boundless
devotion. It must be said that, largely interested in the profits of
the ship, they had navigated till then with great gain. If, by reason
of their small number, they did not spare themselves, it was because
every labor increased their earnings in the settling of accounts at the
end of each season. This time, it is true, the profit would be almost
nothing, and that gave them just cause to curse and swear against those
New Zealand scoundrels.

One man on board, alone among all, was not of American origin.
Portuguese by birth, but speaking English fluently, he was called
Negoro, and filled the humble position of cook on the schooner.

The "Pilgrim's" cook having deserted at Auckland, this Negoro, then out
of employment, offered himself for the place. He was a taciturn man,
not at all communicative, who kept to himself, but did his work
satisfactorily. In engaging him, Captain Hull seemed to be rather
fortunate, and since embarking, the master cook had merited no reproach.

Meanwhile, Captain Hull regretted not having had the time to inform
himself sufficiently about Negoro's antecedents. His face, or rather
his look, was only half in his favor, and when it is necessary to bring
an unknown into the life on board, so confined, so intimate, his
antecedents should be carefully inquired into.

Negoro might be forty years old. Thin, nervous, of medium height, with
very brown hair, skin somewhat swarthy, he ought to be strong. Had he
received any instruction? Yes; that appeared in certain observations
which escaped him sometimes. Besides, he never spoke of his past life,
he said not a word about his family. Whence he came, where he had
lived, no one could tell. What would his future be? No one knew any
more about that. He only announced his intention of going on shore at
Valparaiso. He was certainly a singular man. At all events, he did not
seem to be a sailor. He seemed to be even more strange to marine things
than is usual with a master cook, part of whose existence is passed at
sea.

Meanwhile, as to being incommoded by the rolling and pitching of the
ship, like men who have never navigated, he was not in the least, and
that is something for a cook on board a vessel.

Finally, he was little seen. During the day, he most generally remained
confined in his narrow kitchen, before the stove for melting, which
occupied the greater part of it. When night came and the fire in the
stove was out, Negoro went to the cabin which was assigned to him at
the end of the crew's quarters. Then he went to bed at once and went to
sleep.

It has been already said that the "Pilgrim's" crew was composed of five
sailors and a novice.

This young novice, aged fifteen, was the child of an unknown father and
mother. This poor being, abandoned from his birth, had been received
and brought up by public charity.

Dick Sand—that was his name—must have been originally from the State
of New York, and doubtless from the capital of that State.

If the name of Dick—an abbreviation of Richard—had been given to the
little orphan, it was because it was the name of the charitable
passer-by who had picked him up two or three hours after his birth. As
to the name of Sand, it was attributed to him in remembrance of the
place where he had been found; that is to say, on that point of land
called Sandy-Hook, which forms the entrance of the port of New York, at
the mouth of the Hudson.

Dick Sand, when he should reach his full growth, would not exceed
middle height, but he was well built. One could not doubt that he was
of Anglo-Saxon origin. He was brown, however, with blue eyes, in which
the crystalline sparkled with ardent fire. His seaman's craft had
already prepared him well for the conflicts of life. His intelligent
physiognomy breathed forth energy. It was not that of an audacious
person, it was that of a darer. These three words from an unfinished
verse of Virgil are often cited: