The sea was calm. McNabbs was talking to himself, as was his habit. He stood motionless, watching the track of the yacht. After some minutes of this silent contemplation he turned round, and suddenly found himself face to face with a stranger.
He was a tall, thin man, about forty years of age, and resembled a long nail with a big head. His head was large and massive, his forehead high, his chin very marked. His eyes were concealed by enormous round spectacles, and in his look was that peculiar indecision which is common to nyctalopes[31], or people who have a peculiar construction of the eye, which makes the sight imperfect in the day and better at night. It was evident that he was a lively, intelligent man.
The stranger’s excitement was a strong contrast to the Major’s placidity. He walked round McNabbs, looking at him and questioning him with his eyes.
The mysterious passenger seized his telescope, drew it out to its fullest extent, about four feet, and began gazing at the horizon, standing motionless with his legs wide apart. His examination lasted some few minutes, and then he lowered the glass.
McNabbs never moved a muscle of his face. This was too much for the stranger, and he called out, with an unmistakably foreign accent:
“Steward!”
He waited a minute, but nobody appeared, and he called again, still louder, “Steward!”
Mr. Olbinett[32] was passing that minute on his way from the galley.
“Who is he?” he thought to himself. “He can not possibly be one of Lord Glenarvan’s friends?”
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.”