The Survivors of the Chancellor

THE SURVIVORS OF THE CHANCELLOR
was issued in 1875. Shipwrecks occur
in other of Verne's tales; but this is his only
story devoted wholly to such a disaster. In it
the author has gathered all the tragedy, the
mystery, and the suffering possible to the sea. All the various forms of disaster, all the possibilities of horror, the
depths of shame and agony, are heaped upon these unhappy
voyagers. The accumulation is mathematically complete
and emotionally unforgettable. The tale has well been called
the "imperishable epic of shipwreck."

The idea of the book is said to have originated in the celebrated French painting by Gericault, "the Wreck of the
Medusa," now in the Louvre gallery. The Medusa was a
French frigate wrecked off the coast of Africa in 1816.
Some of the survivors, escaping on a raft, were rescued by
a passing ship after many days of torture. Verne, however,
seems also to have drawn upon the terrifying experiences of
the British ship Sarah Sands in 1857, her story being fresh
in the public mind at the time he wrote. The Sarah Sands
caught fire off the African coast while on a voyage to India
carrying British troops. There was gunpowder aboard liable to blow up at any moment. Some of it did indeed explode, tearing a huge hole in the vessel's side. A storm
added to the terror, and the waters entering the breach
caused by the explosion, combated with the fire. After ten
days of desperate struggle, the charred and sinking vessel
reached a port.

The extreme length of life which Verne allows his people
in their starving, thirsting condition is proven possible by
medical science and recent "fasting"' experiments. The
dramatic climax of the tale wherein the castaways find fresh
water in the ocean is based upon a fact, one of those odd
geographical facts of which the author made such frequent,
skillful and instructive use.

"Michael Strogoff" which, through its use as a stage
play, has become one of the best known books of all the
world, was first published in 1876. Its vivid, powerful
story has made it a favorite with every red-blooded reader.
Its two well-drawn female characters, the courageous heroine, and the stern, endurant, yearning mother, show how
well Verne could depict the tenderer sex when he so willed.
Though usually the rapid movement and adventure of his
stories leave women in subordinate parts.

As to the picture drawn in "Michael Strogoff" of Russia
and Siberia, it is at once instructive and sympathetic.
The horrors are not blinked at, yet neither is Russian patriotism ignored. The loyalty of some of the Siberian exiles
to their mother country is a side of life there which is too
often ignored by writers who dwell only on the darker view.

The Czar, in our author's hands, becomes the hero figure
to the erection of which French "hero worship" is ever
prone. The sarcasms thrown occasionally at the British
newspaper correspondent of the story, show the changing
attitude of Verne toward England, and reflect the French
spirit of his day.

CHARLESTON, September 27, 1898. — It is
high tide, and three o'clock in the afternoon
when we leave the Battery quay; the ebb
carries us off shore, and as Captain Huntly
has hoisted both main and top sails, the northerly breeze drives the Chancellor briskly
across the bay. Fort Sumter ere long is doubled, the
sweeping batteries of the mainland on our left are soon
passed, and by four o'clock the rapid current of the ebbing
tide has carried us through the harbor mouth.

But as yet we have not reached the open sea we have still
to thread our way through the narrow channels which the
surge has hollowed out amongst the sand-banks. The
captain takes a southwest course, rounding the lighthouse
at the corner of the fort; the sails are closely trimmed; the
last sandy point is safely coasted, and at length, at seven
o'clock in the evening, we are out free upon the wide Atlantic.

The Chancellor is a fine square-rigged three-master, of
900 tons burden, and belongs to the wealthy Liverpool firm
of Laird Brothers. She is two years old, is sheathed and
secured with copper, her decks being of teak, and the base
of all her masts, except the mizzen, with all their fittings,
being of iron. She is registered first class, A 1, and is now
on her third voyage between Charleston and Liverpool. As
she wended her way through the channels of Charleston
harbor, it was the British flag that was lowered from her
mast-head; but without colors at all, no sailor could have
hesitated for a moment in telling her nationality, — for English she was, and nothing but English from her water-line
upward to the truck of her masts.

I must now relate how it happens that I have taken my
passage on board the Chancellor on her return voyage to
England.

At present there is no direct steamship service between
South Carolina and Great Britain, and all who wish to cross
must go either northward to New York or southward to
New Orleans. It is quite true that if I had chosen a start
from New York I might have found plenty of vessels belonging to English, French, or Hamburg lines, any of which
would have conveyed me by a rapid voyage to my destination; and it is equally true that if I had selected New Orleans for my embarkation I could readily have reached
Europe by one of the vessels of the National Steam Navigation Company, which join the French transatlantic line
of Colon and Aspinwall. But it was fated to be otherwise.

One day, as I was loitering about the Charleston quays,
my eye lighted on this vessel. There was something about
the Chancellor that pleased me, and a kind of involuntary
impulse took me on board, where I found the internal arrangements perfectly comfortable. Yielding to the idea
that a voyage in a sailing vessel had certain charms beyond
the transit in a steamer, and reckoning that with wind and
wave in my favor there would be little material difference
in time; considering, moreover, that in these low latitudes
the weather in early autumn is fine and unbroken, I came
to my decision, and proceeded forthwith to secure my passage by this route to Europe.

Have I done right or wrong? Whether I shall have reason to regret my determination is a problem to be solved in
the future. However, I will begin to record the incidents
of our daily experience, dubious as I feel whether the lines
of my chronicle will ever find a reader.

SEPTEMBER 28. — John Silas Huntly, the captain of the
Chancellor, has the reputation of being a most experienced
navigator of the Atlantic. He is a Scotchman by birth,
a native of Dundee, and is about fifty years of age. He is
of the middle height and slight build, and has a small head,
which he has a habit of holding a little over his left shoulder.
I do not pretend to be much of a physiognomist, but I am
inclined to believe that my few hours' acquaintance with our
captain has given me considerable insight into his character. That he is a good seaman and thoroughly understands
his duties I could not for a moment venture to deny; but
that he is a man of resolute temperament, or that he possesses the amount of courage that would render him, physically or morally, capable of coping with any great emergency, I confess I cannot believe. I observed a certain
heaviness and dejection about his whole carriage. His
wavering glances, the listless motion of his hands, and his
slow, unsteady gait, all seem to me to indicate a weak and
sluggish disposition. He does not appear as though he
could be energetic enough ever to be stubborn; he never
frowns, sets his teeth, or clenches his fists. There is something enigmatical about him; however, I shall study him
closely, and do what I can to understand the man who, as
commander of a vessel, should be to those around him
"second only to God."

Unless I am greatly mistaken there is another man on
board who, if circumstances should require it, would take
the more prominent position — I mean the mate. I have
hitherto, however, had so little opportunity of observing his
character, that I must defer saying more about him at present.