“Oceans o’ odds better. To reach Magellan we’d hev to work out seaward ag’in, an’ back past the ‘Furies,’ whar thar’s all sorts o’ cross-currents to contend wi’. Whereas goin’ east’ard through the Beagle, we’ll hev both wind and tide a’most allers in our favour. ’Sides, there’d be no bother ’bout the coorse. ’Tair jest like steerin’ in a river, an’ along the coast ag’in. I’m wall acquaint’ wi’ every inch o’ ’t.”
That Captain Gancy, an experienced navigator, should be unacquainted with the Beagle Channel may seem strange. But at the time of which we write, this remarkable passage was of recent discovery, and not yet laid down on the charts.
“How about the other matter?” he asks, in half whisper, glancing significantly toward his wife and daughter, who are but a few paces off. “Will the Beagle course be any the safer for that?”
“I can’t say ’twill, sir,” is the answer, in like undertone. “Tho’ it won’t be any worse. Guess the danger’s ’bout equil eytherways.”
“What danger?” questions young Gancy, who has overheard the ugly word.
“O’ the gig gettin’ bilged, Mister Ed’ard,” is the ready, but not truthful, rejoinder. “In coorse thar’s rough seas everywhar through Fireland, an’ wi’ such a mite o’ a boat, we’ll hev to be on the keerful.”
“Then,” says the Captain, his mind made up, after long and minutely examining sea and coast all around through his glass, “then by the Beagle Channel be it. And we may as well set out at once. I can see nothing of the pinnace. If she’d weathered the gale and put in this way, they’d be sure to sail on for the mainland. In that case, they may sight us when we get well out on the open water.”
“Jest so, Capting,” says Seagriff, “an’ as ye perpose, we mout as well make the start now. We kin gain nothin’ by stayin’ hyar.”
“All right, then. Let us be off.”
So saying, the skipper takes a last look through the binocular, with a lingering hope that something may still be seen of the consort boat; then, disappointed, he leads the way down to the landing-place.