Chapter 3

A King For A Comrade

At the time I now write of, we must have been something more than
sixty degrees to the west of the Gallipagos. And having attained a
desirable longitude, we were standing northward for our arctic
destination: around us one wide sea.

But due west, though distant a thousand miles, stretched north and
south an almost endless Archipelago, here and there inhabited, but
little known; and mostly unfrequented, even by whalemen, who go
almost every where. Beginning at the southerly termination of this
great chain, it comprises the islands loosely known as Ellice's
group; then, the Kingsmill isles; then, the Radack and Mulgrave
clusters. These islands had been represented to me as mostly of coral
formation, low and fertile, and abounding in a variety of fruits. The
language of the people was said to be very similar to that or the
Navigator's islands, from which, their ancestors are supposed to have
emigrated.

And thus much being said, all has been related that I then knew of
the islands in question. Enough, however, that they existed at all;
and that our path thereto lay over a pleasant sea, and before a
reliable Trade-wind. The distance, though great, was merely an
extension of water; so much blankness to be sailed over; and in a
craft, too, that properly managed has been known to outlive great
ships in a gale. For this much is true of a whale-boat, the
cunningest thing in its way ever fabricated by man.

Upon one of the Kingsmill islands, then, I determined to plant
my foot, come what come would. And I was equally determined that one
of the ship's boats should float me thither. But I had no idea of
being without a companion. It would be a weary watch to keep all by
myself, with naught but the horizon in sight.

Now, among the crew was a fine old seaman, one Jarl; how old, no one
could tell, not even himself. Forecastle chronology is ever vague and
defective. "Man and boy," said honest Jarl, "I have lived ever since
I can remember." And truly, who may call to mind when he was not? To
ourselves, we all seem coeval with creation. Whence it comes, that it
is so hard to die, ere the world itself is departed.

Jarl hailed from the isle of Skye, one of the constellated Hebrides.
Hence, they often called him the Skyeman. And though he was far from
being piratical of soul, he was yet an old Norseman to behold. His
hands were brawny as the paws of a bear; his voice hoarse as a storm
roaring round the old peak of Mull; and his long yellow hair waved
round his head like a sunset. My life for it, Jarl, thy ancestors
were Vikings, who many a time sailed over the salt German sea and the
Baltic; who wedded their Brynhildas in Jutland; and are now quaffing