Chapter Fifty.
The Doctor will not believe.
It was about a fortnight later, during which time, in deliciously calm weather, the two vessels had been cruising here and there, to the great satisfaction of the doctor, who was in a high state of delight, for he had been harvesting, as he termed it—bottling, Joe Cross said—numberless specimens of the strange creatures that swarm upon the surface of the southern Atlantic. And as they had got out so far, the doctor had been sounding Captain Chubb as to the possibility and advisability of making for that strange volcanic island known as Trinidad—not the richly verdant island of the same name that seems as if it had been once a portion of the north-east shoulder of leg-of-mutton-like South America, but the solitary island right away south-east from Bahia, which stands lonely in the ocean, the remains of the great volcanic eminence swept by the terrific seas and tempests that come up from the South Polar Ocean—an island that is the habitat of strange sea-birds, the haunt of fish, and the home and empire of those most hideous of the crustaceans, the land crabs.
Captain Chubb grunted and said he would think about it and consult the chart. As for the brig, Rodd did not banter Morny upon the subject when he came aboard, as he did pretty well every day when Rodd and his uncle had not visited the brig; but it was a standing joke between the lad and Uncle Paul that King Dagobert had not sighted the sea-serpent as yet.
“And it’s my belief, Pickle, that they are going the wrong way to work.”
“Why, what would you do, then, uncle?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, my boy. He’s a very shy bird, and if he knows you are looking for him he won’t show. If you and I take up the search I tell you what we’ll do; we won’t look for him; we’ll let him look for us.”
“According to that, then, uncle, we are more likely to find him than they are.”