Читать книгу Into the Frozen South онлайн

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Bathing off the ship was vetoed on account of rumoured sharks, which did not appear to trouble the natives overly; but it was permissible closer inshore, and we only too gladly took full advantage of this opportunity. It was a delightful experience, for the water was so balmy as to be like a continued caress.

At night a farewell dinner was given to Mr. Lysaght, who was to leave us here and return to England, home and beauty. Throughout the journey he had quitted himself in most manly fashion, refusing to succumb when hardier men than himself went down, bearing part and lot in all that happened with the greatest good cheer. His principal wish seemed to be to continue aboard the Quest, indifferent to the call of home and comfort; but this was not to be. The ship did herself well that night: giving of her very best in food and drink, and the occasion was one to remember.

Next morning I dressed myself decently and went ashore in company with the geologist and the naturalist, Mr. Wilkins. At sea, I may mention, we dressed as convenient and studied our personal appearance very little, so that we often looked like a gang of scarecrows. The nigger population of St. Vincent turned out to greet us—not out of admiration for our noble selves, but with an honest—or dishonest—desire for gain. They literally mobbed us as we set foot ashore: snatching at our bags, thrusting diminutive donkeys under our noses, clamouring to be permitted to show us the sights, and generally buzzing about like gigantic flies. What they lacked in reserve they made up in enthusiasm; but we considered ourselves quite able to look after ourselves. We collected various tiny donkeys, and I found myself very greatly at sea when I boarded my noble mount. Steering the Quest was child’s play as compared with navigating that ass at first, but one got the hang of it after a while and contrived to make some progress ahead instead of sideways.