# Works of Jules Verne/Adventures of Captain Hatteras/The English at the North Pole/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III DR. CLAWBONNY
Richard Shandon was a good sailor and a man of established reputation. He had been in command of whalers for years, and was familiar with the Arctic Seas. A letter like the foregoing did not consequently astonish him so much as might have been expected. Astonished he certainly was, but in a cool, composed sort of fashion, like a man who has received similar communications before. He was in a position, too, to meet the required conditions. He had neither wife, nor child, nor relatives; he ​was free, in all respects. So having no one to consult, he went straight off to the bankers, Messrs. Marcuart & Co., for "if the money is there," he said to himself, "the rest is all right."
The money was there sure enough, for Shandon was received by the firm with all respect due to a man who has £16,000 quietly waiting for him in their strong chest; so without loss of time he called for pen and ink, and wrote a letter in a large sailor-like hand, to the address given, signifying his acceptance of the offered trust.
That very same day he put himself in communication with the shipbuilders at Birkenhead, and twenty-four hours after, the keel of the Forward was planted on the stocks in their building-yard.
Richard Shandon was about forty years of age, a robust, brave, energetic fellow—three qualifications necessary to a sailor, for they impart self-reliance, vigor, and sangfroid. He got the character of being jealous and difficult to get on with, one who had made his men fear him, but never gained their love. This did not interfere, however, with his getting a crew, for he was too well known as a skillful leader to have any trouble in finding men to follow him.
Shandon was rather afraid, though, that the mysterious nature of the enterprise would cripple his movements, and determined to noise it abroad as little as possible. "That's my best plan," he said to himself, "for those old ferrets would be down on me, who must know the why and the wherefore of everything, and as I am quite ignorant myself, I should be rather at a loss for an answer. This K. Z. is a queer old fellow, and no mistake, but, after all, what does that matter? He knows me, and reckons on me, and that is enough. As to the ship, she will turn out a beauty, and my name is not Richard Shandon, if she is not meant for the frozen seas. But I'll keep that secret to myself and my officers."
Shandon's next business was to pick out his men in accordance with the rules laid down by the captain. He knew a fine active young fellow, called Wall, who was thirty years of age, a capital sailor, and who had been more than one voyage to the North Seas. He offered him the post of second mate, and James Wall accepted it blindfold, for all he cared for was being on the ocean, and the des​tination mattered little. Shandon told him the whole story, however, from beginning to end, both to him and to a sailor named Johnson, whom he chose as boatswain.
"Not much luck to be had there," said James Wall; "But still perhaps as much there as anywhere else. Even if it is to find the North-West passage, people come back alive, right enough."
"Not always," said Johnson; "but that's no reason for not going."
"Besides, supposing we are right in our conjectures," added Shandon, "we must allow we could hardly make a voyage under more favorable circumstances. The Forward will be a first-rate ship, and her steam-engine will be a great help. All we want is eighteen men."
"Eighteen men?" replied Johnson; "that is the same number the American Dr. Kane had on board when he made his famous journey towards the Pole."
"It is singular enough, certainly," said Wall, "what can induce a private individual to cross the sea again, from Davis's Straits to Behring's Straits. The Franklin Expeditions have cost England more than £760,000, without producing any practical result. Who can be fool enough to throw away his own fortune into the bargain like this?"
"Don't forget, James, though," replied Shandon, "that we are reasoning on a mere supposition. Whether we are actually going to the North or the South Seas, I know no more than you. Perhaps, indeed, it is on some new quest altogether. Moreover, there is a Dr. Clawbonny to make his appearance some of these days, who will no doubt be commissioned to give us fuller information. We shall see all in good time."
"Ay! we must just wait," said Johnson, "And, meantime, I am going to make it my business to look after right men to go with us; and as to their having plenty of animal heat in them, I'll guarantee that before hand. You may safely leave that to me."
This Johnson was a valuable man, well acquainted with the northern latitudes. He had been quartermaster on board the Phoenix, one of the vessels despatched in search of Franklin in 1853. The brave fellow had accompanied Lieutenant Bellot in his journey across the ice, and been ​eye-witness of his death. Johnson knew the whole seafaring population of Liverpool, and set to work immediately to select his crew
He was so effectually aided by Shandon and Wall, that by the beginning of December the number was complete. But the task had not been easy; many had been attracted by the tempting pay offer, but had not courage to risk the unknown expedition, while more than one who had bravely pledged himself to go, came and retracted his word and gave back his advance note, having been dissuaded by his friends from so hazardous an undertaking. All, of course, wished to penetrate the mystery, and so pressed Shandon with questions that he was obliged to refer them to Johnson, who gave the same unvarying answers to each.
"What is it you want me to tell you, old boy?" he would say. "I know no more than you do. Anyhow, you'll be in good company, with jolly fellows who know what they're about. That's something, isn't it? So be quick and make up your mind—take it or leave it!"
Sometimes he would add, "My only difficulty is which to choose, for such high wages as you are offered you will find plenty to jump at them. Not a man among you ever heard of such pay being given before."
"Well, it certainly is a great temptation; we should get enough to live on all the rest of our days," said the sailors.
"I don't conceal from you," continued Johnson, "that the expedition will be a long one, and full of hardship and danger. That is formally told us in our instructions, so let us have a clear understanding, that each man may know what he undertakes; he commits himself, in all probability to attempt all that is, humanly speaking, possible, and perhaps even more. If you haven't a brave heart, then, and an iron constitution, or if you can't look the certainty in the face that there are twenty chances to one against your ever returning, you had better be off, and leave the berth for somebody less chicken-hearted."
"But at least tell us who the captain is," was the rejoinder.
"The captain is Richard Shandon, his friend, till he introduces you another."
​Now, to speak the truth, Richard thought this himself, and quietly indulged the hope that, at the last moment, he would receive definite instructions about the voyage, and have entire command placed in his hands.
Shandon and Johnson had implicity obeyed the injunctions given for choosing the crew. They were all fresh and florid looking, full of energy and pluck, and having caloric enough in them to heat the engine almost; in fact, the very men to stand extreme cold. In outward appearance, certainly, they were not all equally strong; and two or three among them, especially two sailors called Gripper and Garry, and Simpson the harpooner, Shandon almost hesitated to take, for they belonged to "Pharaoh's lean kine," but they were well-built, and their circulation was good, so their names were entered.
The whole crew were Protestants, belonging to the same religious denomination. It was a matter of some importance that the men should think alike, as far as creed was concerned, to prevent party strife; for it has been always found in long voyages that assembling the men for reading the Scriptures and common prayer is a powerful means of promoting harmony, and of cheering them in hours of despondency. Shandon knew by experience the excellent moral effect of such practices, as they are invariably adopted on board all vessels that winter in Arctic regions.
The next business of Shandon and his officers was the provisioning of the ship. In doing this they strictly followed the instructions of the captain—instructions so clear, precise, and minute, that the quantity and quality were given of even the smallest article. Ready money was paid for everything, and a discount of eight per cent, received, which Richard carefully put to the credit of K. Z.
Crew, provisions, and cargo were all ready by January, 1860. The Forward was rapidly assuming proportions, and Shandon never let a day pass without a visit to Birkenhead, to see how things went on. On the 23rd of that same month, he was going across as usual in one of the large steamers that ferry passengers over the Mersey. It was one of those foggy mornings when you can scarcely see your hand before you; but, in spite of the obscurity, Shandon could make out the figure of some stranger advancing ​towards him, and as he got nearer, saw it was a little stout man, with a bright jovial face and kindly eye, who came up, and seizing both his hands, shook them so heartily in his own, in such an impulsive, familiar, free-and-easy style, that a Frenchman would have said he came from the sunny south.
But though the new comer was not a Southerner, he made a narrow escape of it, for he was full of talk and gesticulation, and seemed as if he would explode unless he came out with all he thought. His small intellectual eyes and large mobile mouth were safety-valves to let out the steam, and he talked and talked so incessantly that Shandon was fairly overpowered. He made a shrewd guess, however, who this voluble little man was, and, taking advantage of a momentary pause, managed to say, "Doctor Clawbonny, I presume?"
"Himself in person, my good sir. Here I have been seeking you for a whole quarter of an hour, and asking everybody for you everywhere. Only imagine my impatience! Five minutes more, and I should have lost my wits. It is really then Richard Shandon I see. You actually exist? you're not a myth? Your hand, your hand, that I may grasp it in mine. Yes, it is a genuine flesh and blood hand, and there is a veritable Richard Shandon. Well, come, if there's a chief officer, there must be a brig called the Forward that he commands; and if he commands she is going to sail, and if she's going to sail she will take Dr. Clawbonny on board."
"Yes, Doctor, surely. There is a brig called the Forward, and she is going to sail, and I am Richard Shandon."
"That's logic," said the Doctor, drawing a long breath, "that's logic, and I am overjoyed to hear it, for now I have reached the summit of my ambition. I have waited long, and wished to go a voyage; and now with you to command———"
"Allow me," interrupted Shandon.
But Clawbonny took no notice, and went on, "With you; we are sure of pushing onward, and never yielding an inch of our ground."
"But, sir," began Shandon again.
"You are a tried man, sir; you have seen service. You have a right to be proud."
​"If you will please allow me to———"
"No, I will not allow your skill, and bravery, and hardihood to be underrated even by you. The captain who has chosen you for his chief officer knows his man, I'll be bound."
"But that's not the question," said Shandon, impatiently.
"Well, and what is the question, then? Don't keep me in suspense, pray."
"You won't let me speak. Please to tell me, Doctor, how you came to join in the expedition of the Forward."
"Well, it was through a letter which I have here from the brave captain, a very laconic one, though it says all that is necessary."
And drawing the said letter out of his pocket, he handed it to Shandon, who read as follows:—
Inverness, Jan. 22nd, 1860.
"If Dr. Clawbonny is willing to embark in the brig Forward, let him present himself to the chief officer, Richard Shandon, who has received orders concerning him."
"The Captain of the Forward, K. Z.
"To Dr. Clawbonny, Liverpool."
"The letter came this morning, and here I am ready to go on board."
"But, at any rate," said Shandon, "you know where we are going, I suppose?"
"Not I; but what does it matter to me, so long as I go somewhere? People call me a learned man, but they are much mistaken. I know nothing, and if I happen to have published some few books which sell pretty well, they are not worth anything, and it is very good of the people to buy them. I know nothing, I tell you, except that I am an ignoramus. Now I have a chance of completing, or rather recommencing, my studies in medicine, in surgery, in history, in geography, in botany, in mineralogy, in conchology, in geodesy, in chemistry, in natural philosophy, in mechanics, in hydrography. Well, I accept the offer, and don't need much pressing, I assure you."
"Then you know nothing about the destination of the Forward?" said Richard, in a disappointed tone.
"I know this much, Mr. Shandon, that she is going where there will be much to learn and discover, and much ​to instruct us, for we shall come across other nations with different customs from our own; she is going, in short, where I have never been."
"But you know nothing more definite than that?" exclaimed Shandon.
"I have heard some talk of her going to the North Seas. So much the better if we are bound for the Arctic."
"But don't you know the captain?" asked Shandon again.
"Not at all; but he is a brave fellow, you may be sure."
By this time the steamer had arrived at Birkenhead, and Clawbonny and Shandon landed on the pier, and at once repaired to the shipbuilding-yard. The sight of the brig almost made the little doctor beside himself with joy, and he went subsequently every day to look at her on the stocks.
He made his abode with Shandon, and undertook the arrangement of the medicine-chest, for he was a duly qualified doctor and a clever man, though rather unpractical. At twenty-five years of age he was just an ordinary surgeon, but at forty he was a learned man, well known throughout the whole city, and a leading member of the Literary and Philosophical Institute of Liverpool. He possessed a small private fortune, which enabled him to practice gratuitously in a great many cases, and his extreme amiability made him universally beloved. He never did an injury to a single human being, not even to himself. Lively and rattling as he was, and an incessant talker, he had an open heart and hand for everybody.
As soon as the news of his appointment to the Forward spread through the city, his friends besieged him with solicitations to remain at home. But their arguments and entreaties only made him more determined to go, and when the little man once got a crotchet in his brain no one could turn him from it.
On the 5th of February the Forward was launched, and two months later she was ready to go to sea.
Punctually to the time, on the very day fixed for his coming by the captain's letter, a large Danish dog made his appearance, sent by rail from Edinburgh to Richard Shandon's address. He was an ill-favored, snappish, unsociable animal, with a peculiar expression in his eye. A ​brass collar round his neck bore the name of the ship, and he was installed on board the same day, and a letter despatched to Leghorn to inform the captain of his safe arrival.
The crew of the Forward was now complete, with the exception of the captain. It numbered the following individuals: 1. The Captain, K. Z. 2. The Chief Officer. 3. The Second Officer, James Wall. 4. Doctor Clawbonny. 5. Johnson, the boatswain. 6. Simpson, the harpooner. 7. Bell, the carpenter. 8. Brunton, the chief engineer. 9. Plover, the second engineer. 10. Strong, a colored man, the cook. 11. Foker, the ice-master. 12. Wolsten, the gunsmith. 13. Bolton, sailor. 14. Garry, sailor. 15. Clifton, sailor 16. Gripper, sailor. 17. Pen, sailor. 18. Warren, stoker.
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