Arthur Hobson. Edgar Allan Poe: A Critical Biography. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1941. Pbk. ed., 1998.
Voisin, Marcel. “Théophile Gautier: Précurseur de Jules Verne?” In Colloque d’Amiens (1977), vol. 2: Jules Verne: Filiations.Rencontres.Influences. Paris: Lettres Moderne Minard, 1980.
Walter, Frederick Paul. Amazing Journeys: Five Visionary Classics by Jules Verne. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2010.
chapter 1
The end of a wildly applauded speech—introducing Dr. Samuel Fergusson—“Excelsior”—full-length portrait of the doctor—a confirmed fatalist—dinner at the Travelers Club—many toasts to the occasion.
They had a packed house for the Royal Geographical Society’s meeting on January 14, 1862, at 3 Waterloo Place, London. Their president, Sir Francis M——, made a major announcement to his distinguished colleagues during a speech that was frequently interrupted by cheering.
This choice bit of eloquence finally came to a close with several grandiose sentences brimming over with patriotic fervor:
“England has always marched in front of other nations” (because, mind you, nations are always marching on each other’s fronts), “thanks to the valor of her explorers in the realm of geographical discovery. (Much agreement.) Dr. Samuel Fergusson, one of her glorious sons, won’t disgrace his ancestry. (No’s from all directions.) If this endeavor succeeds (It will!) we’ll ultimately fill in the blank spaces on Africa’s map (hearty approval), and if it fails (No, never!) at the very least it will go down as one of the most courageous expressions of the human spirit!” (Frenzied stamping of feet.)
“Hooray! Hooray!” the gathering shouted, galvanized by these rousing words.
“Hooray for Fergusson the fearless!” exclaimed one of the audience’s noisier members.
Enthusiastic yells rang out. Fergusson’s name burst from every mouth, and we have reason to believe that it got an extra oomph from passing through English throats. The meeting room shook.
Yet many in the audience were seasoned travelers, dauntless, weather-beaten oldsters whose restless personalities had led them into the five corners of the globe! Mentally or physically, one way or another, they all had survived shipwrecks, wildfires, Indian tomahawks, the war clubs of savages, burning at the stake, and the bellies of Polynesians! But nothing could quiet their pounding hearts during that speech by Sir Francis M——, which was definitely the grandest oratorical success at London’s Royal Geographical Society within living memory.
But in England enthusiasm is more than a matter of words. It generates money quicker than molds at the Royal Mint.* They voted Dr. Fergusson a performance incentive on the spot, the lofty figure of £2500.1 The significance of the sum was in keeping with the significance of the undertaking.
One of the Society’s members queried the president on the issue of whether or not Dr. Fergusson would be formally introduced.
“The doctor is at the gathering’s disposal,” Sir Francis M——answered.
“Bring him in! Bring him in!” they exclaimed. “A fellow as daring as all that is a sight worth seeing!”
“Maybe,” said a palsied old commodore, “this unbelievable proposal of his is just a prank he’s playing on us.”
“What if there’s no such person as Dr. Fergusson?” a roguish voice exclaimed.
“Then we’d have to invent him!” replied a humorous member of this solemn Society.
“Have Dr. Fergusson come in,” Sir Francis M——merely said.
And the doctor came in to thunderous applause, but not the least bit impressed by any of it.
He was some forty years old, a man of average height and build; his dark-hued complexion hinted at an assertive personality; he had a poker face with regular features and a strong nose, a nose like a ship’s prow for a man predestined to be a discoverer; his eyes were quite gentle, shrewd rather than bold, and lent real charm to his facial expressions; his arms were long, and he planted his feet on the ground with the confidence of somebody who takes everything in stride.
The doctor’s entire person gave off a calm dignity, and you couldn’t imagine him playing even the most innocent prank.
Accordingly, the hoorays and applause didn’t let up until Dr. Fergusson called for silence with a genial wave of the hand. He headed over to the chair set out for his presentation; then, still on his feet, not moving, his eyes resolute, he pointed his right index finger at the sky, opened his mouth, and uttered this single word:
“Excelsior!”2
No surprise motion from Messrs. Bright and Cobden, no plea by Lord Palmerston for more money to fortify England’s coasts, had ever created such a sensation! Sir Francis M——’s speech was left in the dust. At one go the doctor came off as enlightened, masterful, clearheaded, and temperate; he had said the word for the day:
“Excelsior!”
Completely won over by this unusual man, the old commodore moved that Fergusson’s communication be inserted “in its entirety” into the Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society of London.3
So who was this doctor, and what undertaking was he about to embark on?
During Fergusson’s youth his father had been a gallant captain in the Royal Navy, and from his son’s earliest years, he had acquainted the boy with the dangers and risks of his profession. The worthy lad seemed untouched by fear, quickly gave evidence of sharp wits, a questing intelligence, and a remarkable bent for scientific research; what’s more, he revealed uncommon coping skills; nothing was ever awkward for him, not even using a fork for the first time, a test that youngsters generally fail.
Soon he was reading about bold undertakings, exploratory voyages, and they fired his imagination; he got all caught up in the discoveries that marked the first part of the nineteenth century; he daydreamed of the glory earned by Mungo Park, Bruce, Caillié, Levaillant—and even, I suspect, by Selkirk, who equaled them in his eyes. How many well-used hours he spent with that real-life Robinson Crusoe on his Juan Fernández Islands! Often he saw eye to eye with that marooned sailor; sometimes he disagreed with his plans and objectives; he would have acted differently and maybe done better—or, no doubt, at least as well! But one thing he was sure of—he never would have left that blissful island, where Selkirk had been as happy as a king without subjects … no, not even if he were to become First Lord of the Admiralty!
I’ll let you decide if these tendencies blossomed during an adventurous youth that took him to the four corners of the world. His father was an educated man who never missed a chance to sharpen his son’s keen intelligence with in-depth studies in hydrography, physics, and mechanics, plus a smattering of botany, medicine, and astronomy.
When the worthy
