He approached the unknown personage, who accosted him with the inquiry, “Are you the steward of this vessel?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Olbinett; “but I have not the honor of—”
“I am the passenger in cabin Number 6.”
“Number 6!” repeated the steward.
“Certainly; and your name, what is it?”
“Olbinett.”
“Well, Olbinett, my friend, we must think of breakfast, and that pretty quickly. It is thirty-six hours since I have had anything to eat, or rather thirty-six hours that I have been asleep—pardonable enough: I was going, without stopping, from Paris to Glasgow. What is the breakfast hour?”
“Nine o’clock,” replied Olbinett, mechanically.
“Ah, well,” said the stranger, “it is only eight o’clock at present. Bring me a glass of sherry and a biscuit while I am waiting.”
The stranger kept on talking incessantly, flying from one subject to another.
“The captain? Isn’t the captain up yet? And the chief officer? What is he doing? Is he asleep still? It is fine weather, fortunately, and the wind is favorable.”
Just at that moment John Mangles appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Here is the captain!” said Olbinett.
“Ah! Delighted, Captain Burton[33], delighted to make your acquaintance,” exclaimed the unknown.
John Mangles stood stupefied, at hearing himself called “Captain Burton.” But the new comer went on. “Allow me to shake hands with you, sir; and if I did not do so yesterday evening, it was only because I did not wish to be troublesome. But today, captain, it gives me great pleasure to begin my intercourse with you.”
John Mangles opened his eyes as wide as possible, and stood staring at Olbinett and the stranger alternately.
Without waiting for a reply, the fellow continued. “Now the introduction is made, my dear captain, we are old friends. Tell me how you like the Scotia?”
“What do you mean by ‘the Scotia’?” put in John Mangles at last.
“By ‘the Scotia’? Why, the ship we’re on, of course—a good ship that has been commended to me, not only for its physical qualities, but also for the moral qualities of its commander, the brave Captain Burton.”
“Sir,” interrupted John. “I am not Captain Burton.”
“Ah, is that so? Is it Mr. Burdness[34], the chief officer, that I am talking to at present?”
“Mr. Burdness!” repeated John Mangles. He asked himself whether the man was mad. He was beginning to explain the case, when Lord Glenarvan and his party came up. The stranger caught sight of them directly, and exclaimed:
“Ah! The passengers, the passengers! I hope you are going to introduce me to them, Mr. Burdness!”
But he could not wait, and going up to them with perfect grace, said, bowing to Miss Grant, “Madame;” then to Lady Helena, with another bow, “Miss;” and to Lord Glenarvan, “Sir.”
Here John Mangles interrupted him, and said, “Lord Glenarvan.”
“My Lord,” continued the unknown, “I beg pardon for presenting myself to you. I hope we shall soon become acquainted with each other, and that the company of these ladies will make our voyage on the Scotia appear as short as agreeable.”
Lady Helena and Miss Grant were too astonished to be able to utter a single word. Lord Glenarvan was more collected, and said, “Sir, to whom have I the honor of speaking?”
“To Jacques Eliacin Francois Marie Paganel[35], Secretary of the Geographical Society of Paris, Corresponding Member[36] of the Societies of Berlin, Bombay, Darmstadt, Leipzig, London, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and New York; Honorary Member[37] of the Royal Geographical and Ethnographical Institute of the East Indies.”
Chapter VII. Jacques Paganel is Undeceived
The Secretary of the Geographical Society was evidently an amiable personage, for all this was said in a most charming manner. His geographical works, his papers on modern discoveries, and his world-wide correspondence, gave him a most distinguished place among the scientists of France. Lord Glenarvan welcomed such a guest, and shook hands cordially.
“And now that our introductions are over,” he added, “you will allow me, Monsieur Paganel, to ask you a question?”
“Twenty, my Lord,” replied Paganel; “it will always be a pleasure to converse with you.”
“Was it last evening that you came on board this vessel?”
“Yes, my Lord, about 8 o’clock. I jumped into the Scotia, where I had booked my cabin before I left Paris. It was a dark night, and I saw no one on board, so I found cabin No. 6, and went to my berth immediately, for I had heard that the best way to prevent sea-sickness is to go to bed as soon as possible. And, moreover, I had been traveling for thirty hours.”
Paganel’s listeners understood the whole mystery, now, of his presence on the Duncan. The French traveler had mistaken his vessel. All was explained.
“So you wanted to travel to Calcutta, M. Paganel, right?”
“Yes, my Lord, to see India has been a purpose of my life. It will be the realization of my dreams, to find myself in the country of elephants!”
“Monsieur Jacques Paganel,” said Lord Glenarvan, after a brief pause, “I must tell you that you must give up the pleasure of a visit to India.”
“Give it up? And why? What! Captain Burton!”
“I am not Captain Burton,” said John Mangles.
“But the Scotia.”
“This vessel is not the Scotia.”
It would be impossible to depict the astonishment of Paganel. John Mangles could not suppress a smile. At last the poor fellow shrugged his shoulders, pushed down his spectacles over his nose and said:
“You are joking.”
But just at that very moment his eye fell on the wheel of the ship, and he saw the two words on it: Duncan. Glasgow.
“The Duncan! The Duncan!” he exclaimed, with a cry of despair, and rushed down the stairs, and away to his cabin.
“However,” said Lord Glenarvan, “I am not much astonished at it in Paganel. He is quite famous for such misadventures. One day he published a celebrated map of America, and put Japan in it! But for all that[38], he is one of the best geographers in France.”
“But what shall we do with the poor gentleman?” said Lady Helena; “we can’t take him with us to Patagonia.”
“Why not?” replied McNabbs, gravely. “We are not responsible for his mistakes.”
“Well, if he likes; he can disembark at the first place where we touch.”
While they were talking, Paganel came up again on the poop, looking very woebegone and crestfallen. He kept repeating incessantly the unlucky words, “The Duncan! The Duncan!”
He could find no others in his vocabulary. He gazed inquiringly over the wide ocean, at the far horizon. At length[39] he accosted Lord Glenarvan once more, and said—
“And this Duncan—where is it going?”
“To America, Monsieur Paganel,” was the reply.
“And to what particular part?”
“To Concepcion.”
“To Chili! To Chili!” cried the unfortunate geographer.
“Come, Monsieur Paganel, don’t despair. It can all be managed. We shall soon put in at Madeira, and you will get a ship there to take you back to Europe.”
“Thanks, my Lord. But people will say it is a most extraordinary adventure, and it is only to me such things happen… But the Duncan is a pleasure yacht, is it not?” began Paganel again, after a fresh examination of the vessel.