Jules Verne. 20000 leagues under the sea (1868).
Жюль Верн. 20000 лье под водой.
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Date: 18.09.2002
The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and
puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to
mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the
public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were
particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels,
skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries, and
the Governments of several States on the two continents, were deeply
interested in the matter.
For some time past vessels had been met by "an enormous thing," a long
object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely larger
and more rapid in its movements than a whale.
The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books)
agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in
question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power of
locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If it was
a whale, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in science.
Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at divers times-
rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to this object a length
of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated opinions which set it
down as a mile in width and three in length-we might fairly conclude that
this mysterious being surpassed greatly all dimensions admitted by the
learned ones of the day, if it existed at all. And that it DID exist was
an undeniable fact; and, with that tendency which disposes the human mind
in favour of the marvellous, we can understand the excitement produced in
the entire world by this supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the
list of fables, the idea was out of the question.
On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the
Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass
five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at first
that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even prepared to
determine its exact position when two columns of water, projected by the
mysterious object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred and fifty feet up
into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had been submitted to the
intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor Higginson had to do
neither more nor less than with an aquatic mammal, unknown till then,
which threw up from its blow-holes columns of water mixed with air and
vapour.
Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in
the Pacific Ocean, by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam
Navigation Company. But this extraordinary creature could transport itself
from one place to another with surprising velocity; as, in an interval of
three days, the Governor Higginson and the Columbus had observed it at two
different points of the chart, separated by a distance of more than seven
hundred nautical leagues.
Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the Helvetia, of
the Compagnie-Nationale, and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship
Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying between
the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the monster to each
other in 42O 15' N. lat. and 60O 35' W. long. In these simultaneous
observations they thought themselves justified in estimating the minimum
length of the mammal at more than three hundred and fifty feet, as the
Shannon and Helvetia were of smaller dimensions than it, though they
measured three hundred feet over all.
Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea
round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich islands, have never exceeded
the length of sixty yards, if they attain that.
In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion. They sang
of it in the cafes, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on the
stage. All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it. There appeared
in the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary creature, from
the white whale, the terrible "Moby Dick" of sub-arctic regions, to the
immense kraken, whose tentacles could entangle a ship of five hundred tons
and hurry it into the abyss of the ocean. The legends of ancient times
were even revived.
Then burst forth the unending argument between the believers and the
unbelievers in the societies of the wise and the scientific journals. "The
question of the monster" inflamed all minds. Editors of scientific
journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural, spilled seas of
ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing blood; for from the
sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.
During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried,
never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public. It was
then no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger
seriously to be avoided. The question took quite another shape. The
monster became a small island, a rock, a reef, but a reef of indefinite
and shifting proportions.
On the 5th of March, 1867, the Moravian, of the Montreal Ocean Company,
finding herself during the night in 27O 30' lat. and 72O 15' long., struck
on her starboard quarter a rock, marked in no chart for that part of the
sea. Under the combined efforts of the wind and its four hundred horse
power, it was going at the rate of thirteen knots. Had it not been for the
superior strength of the hull of the Moravian, she would have been broken
by the shock and gone down with the 237 passengers she was bringing home
from Canada.
The accident happened about five o'clock in the morning, as the day was
breaking. The officers of the quarter-deck hurried to the after-part of
the vessel. They examined the sea with the most careful attention. They
saw nothing but a strong eddy about three cables' length distant, as if
the surface had been violently agitated. The bearings of the place were
taken exactly, and the Moravian continued its route without apparent
damage. Had it struck on a submerged rock, or on an enormous wreck? They
could not tell; but, on examination of the ship's bottom when undergoing
repairs, it was found that part of her keel was broken.
This fact, so grave in itself, might perhaps have been forgotten like
many others if, three weeks after, it had not been re-enacted under
similar circumstances. But, thanks to the nationality of the victim of the
shock, thanks to the reputation of the company to which the vessel
belonged, the circumstance became extensively circulated.
The 13th of April, 1867, the sea being beautiful, the breeze
favourable, the Scotia, of the Cunard Company's line, found herself in 15O
12' long. and 45O 37' lat. She was going at the speed of thirteen knots
and a half.
At seventeen minutes past four in the afternoon, whilst the passengers
were assembled at lunch in the great saloon, a slight shock was felt on
the hull of the Scotia, on her quarter, a little aft of the port-paddle.
The Scotia had not struck, but she had been struck, and seemingly by
something rather sharp and penetrating than blunt. The shock had been so
slight that no one had been alarmed, had it not been for the shouts of the
carpenter's watch, who rushed on to the bridge, exclaiming, "We are
sinking! we are sinking!" At first the passengers were much frightened,
but Captain Anderson hastened to reassure them. The danger could not be
imminent. The Scotia, divided into seven compartments by strong
partitions, could brave with impunity any leak. Captain Anderson went down
immediately into the hold. He found that the sea was pouring into the
fifth compartment; and the rapidity of the influx proved that the force of
the water was considerable. Fortunately this compartment did not hold the
boilers, or the fires would have been immediately extinguished. Captain
Anderson ordered the engines to be stopped at once, and one of the men
went down to ascertain the extent of the injury. Some minutes afterwards
they discovered the existence of a large hole, two yards in diameter, in
the ship's bottom. Such a leak could not be stopped; and the Scotia, her
paddles half submerged, was obliged to continue her course. She was then
three hundred miles from Cape Clear, and, after three days' delay, which
caused great uneasiness in Liverpool, she entered the basin of the
company.
The engineers visited the Scotia, which was put in dry dock. They could
scarcely believe it possible; at two yards and a half below water-mark was
a regular rent, in the form of an isosceles triangle. The broken place in
the iron plates was so perfectly defined that it could not have been more
neatly done by a punch. It was clear, then, that the instrument producing
the perforation was not of a common stamp and, after having been driven
with prodigious strength, and piercing an iron plate 1 3/8 inches thick,
had withdrawn itself by a backward motion.
Such was the last fact, which resulted in exciting once more the
torrent of public opinion. From this moment all unlucky casualties which
could not be otherwise accounted for were put down to the monster.
Upon this imaginary creature rested the responsibility of all these
shipwrecks, which unfortunately were considerable; for of three thousand
ships whose loss was annually recorded at Lloyd's, the number of sailing
and steam-ships supposed to be totally lost, from the absence of all news,
amounted to not less than two hundred!
Now, it was the "monster" who, justly or unjustly, was accused of their
disappearance, and, thanks to it, communication between the different
continents became more and more dangerous. The public demanded sharply
that the seas should at any price be relieved from this formidable
cetacean. [1]
[1] Member of the whale family.
At the period when these events took place, I had just returned from a
scientific research in the disagreeable territory of Nebraska, in the
United States. In virtue of my office as Assistant Professor in the Museum
of Natural History in Paris, the French Government had attached me to that
expedition. After six months in Nebraska, I arrived in New York towards
the end of March, laden with a precious collection. My departure for
France was fixed for the first days in May. Meanwhile I was occupying
myself in classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and zoological riches,
when the accident happened to the Scotia.
I was perfectly up in the subject which was the question of the day.
How could I be otherwise? I had read and reread all the American and
European papers without being any nearer a conclusion. This mystery
puzzled me. Under the impossibility of forming an opinion, I jumped from
one extreme to the other. That there really was something could not be
doubted, and the incredulous were invited to put their finger on the wound
of the Scotia.
On my arrival at New York the question was at its height. The theory of
the floating island, and the unapproachable sandbank, supported by minds
little competent to form a judgment, was abandoned. And, indeed, unless
this shoal had a machine in its stomach, how could it change its position
with such astonishing rapidity?
From the same cause, the idea of a floating hull of an enormous wreck
was given up.
There remained, then, only two possible solutions of the question,
which created two distinct parties: on one side, those who were for a
monster of colossal strength; on the other, those who were for a submarine
vessel of enormous motive power.
But this last theory, plausible as it was, could not stand against
inquiries made in both worlds. That a private gentleman should have such a
machine at his command was not likely. Where, when, and how was it built?
and how could its construction have been kept secret? Certainly a
Government might possess such a destructive machine. And in these
disastrous times, when the ingenuity of man has multiplied the power of
weapons of war, it was possible that, without the knowledge of others, a
State might try to work such a formidable engine.
But the idea of a war machine fell before the declaration of
Governments. As public interest was in question, and transatlantic
communications suffered, their veracity could not be doubted. But how
admit that the construction of this submarine boat had escaped the public
eye? For a private gentleman to keep the secret under such circumstances
would be very difficult, and for a State whose every act is persistently
watched by powerful rivals, certainly impossible.
Upon my arrival in New York several persons did me the honour of
consulting me on the phenomenon in question. I had published in France a
work in quarto, in two volumes, entitled Mysteries of the Great Submarine
Grounds. This book, highly approved of in the learned world, gained for me
a special reputation in this rather obscure branch of Natural History. My
advice was asked. As long as I could deny the reality of the fact, I
confined myself to a decided negative. But soon, finding myself driven
into a corner, I was obliged to explain myself point by point. I discussed
the question in all its forms, politically and scientifically; and I give
here an extract from a carefully-studied article which I published in the
number of the 30th of April. It ran as follows:
"After examining one by one the different theories, rejecting all other
suggestions, it becomes necessary to admit the existence of a marine
animal of enormous power".
"The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us. Soundings
cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths- what beings live,
or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the
waters-what is the organisation of these animals, we can scarcely
conjecture. However, the solution of the problem submitted to me may
modify the form of the dilemma. Either we do know all the varieties of
beings which people our planet, or we do not. If we do NOT know them
all-if Nature has still secrets in the deeps for us, nothing is more
conformable to reason than to admit the existence of fishes, or cetaceans
of other kinds, or even of new species, of an organisation formed to
inhabit the strata inaccessible to soundings, and which an accident of
some sort has brought at long intervals to the upper level of the ocean.
"If, on the contrary, we DO know all living kinds, we must necessarily
seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings already
classed; and, in that case, I should be disposed to admit the existence of
a gigantic narwhal".
"The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, often attains a length of
sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength
proportionate to its size, lengthen its destructive weapons, and you
obtain the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by the
officers of the Shannon, the instrument required by the perforation of the
Scotia, and the power necessary to pierce the hull of the steamer.
"Indeed, the narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd,
according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk has
the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried in the
bodies of whales, which the unicorn always attacks with success. Others
have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of ships, which
they had pierced through and through, as a gimlet pierces a barrel. The
Museum of the Faculty of Medicine of Paris possesses one of these
defensive weapons, two yards and a quarter in length, and fifteen inches
in diameter at the base.
"Very well! suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the animal
ten times more powerful; launch it at the rate of twenty miles an hour,
and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required.
Until further information, therefore, I shall maintain it to be a
sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with a
real spur, as the armoured frigates, or the `rams' of war, whose
massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time. Thus may
this puzzling phenomenon be explained, unless there be something over and
above all that one has ever conjectured, seen, perceived, or experienced;
which is just within the bounds of possibility."
These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point,
I wished to shelter my dignity as professor, and not give too much cause
for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well when they do laugh. I
reserved for myself a way of escape. In effect, however, I admitted the
existence of the "monster." My article was warmly discussed, which
procured it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of
partisans. The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the
imagination. The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural
beings. And the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the only medium
through which these giants (against which terrestrial animals, such as
elephants or rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be produced or developed.
The industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from
this point of view. The Shipping and Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd's List,
the Packet-Boat, and the Maritime and Colonial Review, all papers devoted
to insurance companies which threatened to raise their rates of premium,
were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been pronounced. The
United States were the first in the field; and in New York they made
preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this narwhal. A frigate
of great speed, the Abraham Lincoln, was put in commission as soon as
possible. The arsenals were opened to Commander Farragut, who hastened the
arming of his frigate; but, as it always happens, the moment it was
decided to pursue the monster, the monster did not appear. For two months
no one heard it spoken of. No ship met with it. It seemed as if this
unicorn knew of the plots weaving around it. It had been so much talked
of, even through the Atlantic cable, that jesters pretended that this
slender fly had stopped a telegram on its passage and was making the most
of it.
So when the frigate had been armed for a long campaign, and provided
with formidable fishing apparatus, no one could tell what course to
pursue. Impatience grew apace, when, on the 2nd of July, they learned that
a steamer of the line of San Francisco, from California to Shanghai, had
seen the animal three weeks before in the North Pacific Ocean. The
excitement caused by this news was extreme. The ship was revictualled and
well stocked with coal.
Three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left Brooklyn pier, I received a
letter worded as follows:
To M. ARONNAX, Professor in the Museum of Paris, Fifth Avenue Hotel,
New York.
SIR,-If you will consent to join the Abraham Lincoln in this
expedition, the Government of the United States will with pleasure see
France represented in the enterprise. Commander Farragut has a cabin at
your disposal.
Very cordially yours, J.B. HOBSON, Secretary of Marine.
Three seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson's letter I no more
thought of pursuing the unicorn than of attempting the passage of the
North Sea. Three seconds after reading the letter of the honourable
Secretary of Marine, I felt that my true vocation, the sole end of my
life, was to chase this disturbing monster and purge it from the world.
But I had just returned from a fatiguing journey, weary and longing for
repose. I aspired to nothing more than again seeing my country, my
friends, my little lodging by the Jardin des Plantes, my dear and precious
collections-but nothing could keep me back! I forgot all-fatigue, friends
and collections-and accepted without hesitation the offer of the American
Government.
"Besides," thought I, "all roads lead back to Europe; and the unicorn
may be amiable enough to hurry me towards the coast of France. This worthy
animal may allow itself to be caught in the seas of Europe (for my
particular benefit), and I will not bring back less than half a yard of
his ivory halberd to the Museum of Natural History." But in the meanwhile
I must seek this narwhal in the North Pacific Ocean, which, to return to
France, was taking the road to the antipodes.
"Conseil," I called in an impatient voice.
Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had
accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the liking
well. He was quiet by nature, regular from principle, zealous from habit,
evincing little disturbance at the different surprises of life, very quick
with his hands, and apt at any service required of him; and, despite his
name, never giving advice-even when asked for it.
Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led.
Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never
make an objection to pack his portmanteau for whatever country it might
be, or however far away, whether China or Congo. Besides all this, he had
good health, which defied all sickness, and solid muscles, but no nerves;
good morals are understood. This boy was thirty years old, and his age to
that of his master as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused for saying that
I was forty years old?
But Conseil had one fault: he was ceremonious to a degree, and would
never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes provoking.
"Conseil," said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make
preparations for my departure.
Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him
if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but this
time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the enterprise
might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of sinking a frigate as
easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for reflection even to the
most impassive man in the world. What would Conseil say?
"Conseil," I called a third time.
Conseil appeared.
"Did you call, sir?" said he, entering.
"Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in
two hours."
"As you please, sir," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Not an instant to lose; lock in my trunk all travelling utensils,
coats, shirts, and stockings-without counting, as many as you can, and
make haste."
"And your collections, sir?" observed Conseil.
"They will keep them at the hotel."
"We are not returning to Paris, then?" said Conseil.
"Oh! certainly," I answered, evasively, "by making a curve."
"Will the curve please you, sir?"
"Oh! it will be nothing; not quite so direct a road, that is all. We
take our passage in the Abraham, Lincoln."
"As you think proper, sir," coolly replied Conseil.
"You see, my friend, it has to do with the monster- the famous narwhal.
We are going to purge it from the seas. A glorious mission, but a
dangerous one! We cannot tell where we may go; these animals can be very
capricious. But we will go whether or no; we have got a captain who is
pretty wide-awake."
Our luggage was transported to the deck of the frigate immediately. I
hastened on board and asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors
conducted me to the poop, where I found myself in the presence of a
good-looking officer, who held out his hand to me.
"Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?" said he.
"Himself," replied I. "Commander Farragut?"
"You are welcome, Professor; your cabin is ready for you."
I bowed, and desired to be conducted to the cabin destined for me.
The Abraham Lincoln had been well chosen and equipped for her new
destination. She was a frigate of great speed, fitted with high-pressure
engines which admitted a pressure of seven atmospheres. Under this the
Abraham Lincoln attained the mean speed of nearly eighteen knots and a
third an hour- a considerable speed, but, nevertheless, insufficient to
grapple with this gigantic cetacean.
The interior arrangements of the frigate corresponded to its nautical
qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was in the after
part, opening upon the gunroom.
"We shall be well off here," said I to Conseil.
"As well, by your honour's leave, as a hermit-crab in the shell of a
whelk," said Conseil.
I left Conseil to stow our trunks conveniently away, and remounted the
poop in order to survey the preparations for departure.
At that moment Commander Farragut was ordering the last moorings to be
cast loose which held the Abraham Lincoln to the pier of Brooklyn. So in a
quarter of an hour, perhaps less, the frigate would have sailed without
me. I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and incredible
expedition, the recital of which may well meet with some suspicion.
But Commander Farragut would not lose a day nor an hour in scouring the
seas in which the animal had been sighted. He sent for the engineer.
"Is the steam full on?" asked he.
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
"Go ahead," cried Commander Farragut.
Captain Farragut was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he commanded.
His vessel and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the question of the
monster there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not allow the
existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in it, as
certain good women believe in the leviathan-by faith, not by reason. The
monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it. Either Captain
Farragut would kill the narwhal, or the narwhal would kill the captain.
There was no third course.
The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were ever
chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances of a meeting,
watching narrowly the vast surface of the ocean. More than one took up his
quarters voluntarily in the cross-trees, who would have cursed such a
berth under any other circumstances. As long as the sun described its
daily course, the rigging was crowded with sailors, whose feet were burnt
to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render it unbearable;
still the Abraham Lincoln had not yet breasted the suspected waters of the
Pacific. As to the ship's company, they desired nothing better than to
meet the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist it on board, and despatch it. They
watched the sea with eager attention.
Besides, Captain Farragut had spoken of a certain sum of two thousand
dollars, set apart for whoever should first sight the monster, were he
cabin-boy, common seaman, or officer.
I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the Abraham Lincoln.
For my own part I was not behind the others, and, left to no one my
share of daily observations. The frigate might have been called the Argus,
for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to protest by
his indifference against the question which so interested us all, and
seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on board.
I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with
every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever
been better armed. We possessed every known engine, from the harpoon
thrown by the hand to the barbed arrows of the blunderbuss, and the
explosive balls of the duck-gun. On the forecastle lay the perfection of a
breech-loading gun, very thick at the breech, and very narrow in the bore,
the model of which had been in the Exhibition of 1867. This precious
weapon of American origin could throw with ease a conical projectile of
nine pounds to a mean distance of ten miles.
Thus the Abraham Lincoln wanted for no means of destruction; and, what
was better still she had on board Ned Land, the prince of harpooners.
Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who
knew no equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity, and
cunning he possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning whale
to escape the stroke of his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years of age; he was a tall man (more than six
feet high), strongly built, grave and taciturn, occasionally violent, and
very passionate when contradicted. His person attracted attention, but
above all the boldness of his look, which gave a singular expression to
his face.
Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little
communicative as Ned Land was, I must admit that he took a certain liking
for me. My nationality drew him to me, no doubt. It was an opportunity for
him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of Rabelais, which is
still in use in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner's family was
originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe of hardy fishermen when
this town belonged to France.
Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved
to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related his
fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his recital
took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to a Canadian
Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.
I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old
friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and
cemented amidst extreme dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to live
a hundred years longer, that I may have more time to dwell the longer on
your memory.
Now, what was Ned Land's opinion upon the question of the marine
monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was the
only one on board who did not share that universal conviction. He even
avoided the subject, which I one day thought it my duty to press upon him.
One magnificent evening, the 30th July (that is to say, three weeks after
our departure), the frigate was abreast of Cape Blanc, thirty miles to
leeward of the coast of Patagonia. We had crossed the tropic of Capricorn,
and the Straits of Magellan opened less than seven hundred miles to the
south. Before eight days were over the Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing
the waters of the Pacific.
Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and
another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up to
this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up the
conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various chances of
success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let me
speak without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.
"Well, Ned," said I, "is it possible that you are not convinced of the
existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any particular
reason for being so incredulous?"
The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering,
struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to collect
himself, and said at last, "Perhaps I have, Mr. Aronnax."
"But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the great
marine mammalia-YOU ought to be the last to doubt under such
circumstances!"
"That is just what deceives you, Professor," replied Ned. "As a whaler
I have followed many a cetacean, harpooned a great number, and killed
several; but, however strong or well-armed they may have been, neither
their tails nor their weapons would have been able even to scratch the
iron plates of a steamer."
"But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhal have
pierced through and through."
"Wooden ships-that is possible," replied the Canadian, "but I have
never seen it done; and, until further proof, I deny that whales,
cetaceans, or sea-unicorns could ever produce the effect you describe."
"Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction resting on the logic of
facts. I believe in the existence of a mammal power fully organised,
belonging to the branch of vertebrata, like the whales, the cachalots, or
the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defence of great penetrating
power."
"Hum!" said the harpooner, shaking his head with the air of a man who
would not be convinced.
"Notice one thing, my worthy Canadian," I resumed. "If such an animal
is in existence, if it inhabits the depths of the ocean, if it frequents
the strata lying miles below the surface of the water, it must necessarily
possess an organisation the strength of which would defy all comparison."
"And why this powerful organisation?" demanded Ned.
"Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one's self in these
strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me. Let us admit that the
pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of
water thirty-two feet high. In reality the column of water would be
shorter, as we are speaking of sea water, the density of which is greater
than that of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as many times 32
feet of water as there are above you, so many times does your body bear a
pressure equal to that of the atmosphere, that is to say, 15 lb. for each
square inch of its surface. It follows, then, that at 320 feet this
pressure equals that of 10 atmospheres, of 100 atmospheres at 3,200 feet,
and of 1,000 atmospheres at 32,000 feet, that is, about 6 miles; which is
equivalent to saying that if you could attain this depth in the ocean,
each square three-eighths of an inch of the surface of your body would
bear a pressure of 5,600 lb. Ah! my brave Ned, do you know how many square
inches you carry on the surface of your body?"
"I have no idea, Mr. Aronnax."
"About 6,500; and as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15
lb. to the square inch, your 6,500 square inches bear at this moment a
pressure of 97,500 lb."
"Without my perceiving it?"
"Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed by such a
pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interior of your body with
equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibrium between the interior and
exterior pressure, which thus neutralise each other, and which allows you
to bear it without inconvenience. But in the water it is another thing."
"Yes, I understand," replied Ned, becoming more attentive; "because the
water surrounds me, but does not penetrate."
"Precisely, Ned: so that at 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea you
would undergo a pressure of 97,500 lb.; at 320 feet, ten times that
pressure; at 3,200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at 32,000
feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000 lb.-that is to
say, that you would be flattened as if you had been drawn from the plates
of a hydraulic machine!"
"The devil!" exclaimed Ned.
"Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundred
yards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such depths-
of those whose surface is represented by millions of square inches, that
is by tens of millions of pounds, we must estimate the pressure they
undergo. Consider, then, what must be the resistance of their bony
structure, and the strength of their organisation to withstand such
pressure!"
"Why!" exclaimed Ned Land, "they must be made of iron plates eight
inches thick, like the armoured frigates."
"As you say, Ned. And think what destruction such a mass would cause,
if hurled with the speed of an express train against the hull of a
vessel."
"Yes-certainly-perhaps," replied the Canadian, shaken by these figures,
but not yet willing to give in.
"Well, have I convinced you?"
"You have convinced me of one thing, sir, which is that, if such
animals do exist at the bottom of the seas, they must necessarily be as
strong as you say."
"But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explain the
accident to the Scotia?"
The voyage of the Abraham Lincoln was for a long time marked by no
special incident. But one circumstance happened which showed the wonderful
dexterity of Ned Land, and proved what confidence we might place in him.
The 30th of June, the frigate spoke some American whalers, from whom we
learned that they knew nothing about the narwhal. But one of them, the
captain of the Monroe, knowing that Ned Land had shipped on board the
Abraham Lincoln, begged for his help in chasing a whale they had in sight.
Commander Farragut, desirous of seeing Ned Land at work, gave him
permission to go on board the Monroe. And fate served our Canadian so well
that, instead of one whale, he harpooned two with a double blow, striking
one straight to the heart, and catching the other after some minutes'
pursuit.
Decidedly, if the monster ever had to do with Ned Land's harpoon, I
would not bet in its favour.
The frigate skirted the south-east coast of America with great
rapidity. The 3rd of July we were at the opening of the Straits of
Magellan, level with Cape Vierges. But Commander Farragut would not take a
tortuous passage, but doubled Cape Horn.
The ship's crew agreed with him. And certainly it was possible that
they might meet the narwhal in this narrow pass. Many of the sailors
affirmed that the monster could not pass there, "that he was too big for
that!"
The 6th of July, about three o'clock in the afternoon, the Abraham
Lincoln, at fifteen miles to the south, doubled the solitary island, this
lost rock at the extremity of the American continent, to which some Dutch
sailors gave the name of their native town, Cape Horn. The course was
taken towards the north-west, and the next day the screw of the frigate
was at last beating the waters of the Pacific.
"Keep your eyes open!" called out the sailors.
And they were opened widely. Both eyes and glasses, a little dazzled,
it is true, by the prospect of two thousand dollars, had not an instant's
repose.
I myself, for whom money had no charms, was not the least attentive on
board. Giving but few minutes to my meals, but a few hours to sleep,
indifferent to either rain or sunshine, I did not leave the poop of the
vessel. Now leaning on the netting of the forecastle, now on the taffrail,
I devoured with eagerness the soft foam which whitened the sea as far as
the eye could reach; and how often have I shared the emotion of the
majority of the crew, when some capricious whale raised its black back
above the waves! The poop of the vessel was crowded on a moment. The
cabins poured forth a torrent of sailors and officers, each with heaving
breast and troubled eye watching the course of the cetacean. I looked and
looked till I was nearly blind, whilst Conseil kept repeating in a calm
voice:
"If, sir, you would not squint so much, you would see better!"
But vain excitement! The Abraham Lincoln checked its speed and made for
the animal signalled, a simple whale, or common cachalot, which soon
disappeared amidst a storm of abuse.
But the weather was good. The voyage was being accomplished under the
most favourable auspices. It was then the bad season in Australia, the
July of that zone corresponding to our January in Europe, but the sea was
beautiful and easily scanned round a vast circumference.
The 20th of July, the tropic of Capricorn was cut by 105d of longitude,
and the 27th of the same month we crossed the Equator on the 110th
meridian. This passed, the frigate took a more decided westerly direction,
and scoured the central waters of the Pacific. Commander Farragut thought,
and with reason, that it was better to remain in deep water, and keep
clear of continents or islands, which the beast itself seemed to shun
(perhaps because there was not enough water for him! suggested the greater
part of the crew). The frigate passed at some distance from the Marquesas
and the Sandwich Islands, crossed the tropic of Cancer, and made for the
China Seas. We were on the theatre of the last diversions of the monster:
and, to say truth, we no longer LIVED on board. The entire ship's crew
were undergoing a nervous excitement, of which I can give no idea: they
could not eat, they could not sleep-twenty times a day, a misconception or
an optical illusion of some sailor seated on the taffrail, would cause
dreadful perspirations, and these emotions, twenty times repeated, kept us
in a state of excitement so violent that a reaction was unavoidable.
And truly, reaction soon showed itself. For three months, during which
a day seemed an age, the Abraham Lincoln furrowed all the waters of the
Northern Pacific, running at whales, making sharp deviations from her
course, veering suddenly from one tack to another, stopping suddenly,
putting on steam, and backing ever and anon at the risk of deranging her
machinery, and not one point of the Japanese or American coast was left
unexplored.
The warmest partisans of the enterprise now became its most ardent
detractors. Reaction mounted from the crew to the captain himself, and
certainly, had it not been for the resolute determination on the part of
Captain Farragut, the frigate would have headed due southward. This
useless search could not last much longer. The Abraham Lincoln had nothing
to reproach herself with, she had done her best to succeed. Never had an
American ship's crew shown more zeal or patience; its failure could not be
placed to their charge-there remained nothing but to return.
This was represented to the commander. The sailors could not hide their
discontent, and the service suffered. I will not say there was a mutiny on
board, but after a reasonable period of obstinacy, Captain Farragut (as
Columbus did) asked for three days' patience. If in three days the monster
did not appear, the man at the helm should give three turns of the wheel,
and the Abraham Lincoln would make for the European seas.
This promise was made on the 2nd of November. It had the effect of
rallying the ship's crew. The ocean was watched with renewed attention.
Each one wished for a last glance in which to sum up his remembrance.
Glasses were used with feverish activity. It was a grand defiance given to
the giant narwhal, and he could scarcely fail to answer the summons and
"appear."
Two days passed, the steam was at half pressure; a thousand schemes
were tried to attract the attention and stimulate the apathy of the animal
in case it should be met in those parts. Large quantities of bacon were
trailed in the wake of the ship, to the great satisfaction (I must say) of
the sharks. Small craft radiated in all directions round the Abraham
Lincoln as she lay to, and did not leave a spot of the sea unexplored. But
the night of the 4th of November arrived without the unveiling of this
submarine mystery.
The next day, the 5th of November, at twelve, the delay would (morally
speaking) expire; after that time, Commander Farragut, faithful to his
promise, was to turn the course to the south-east and abandon for ever the
northern regions of the Pacific.
The frigate was then in 31O 15' N. lat. and 136O 42' E. long. The coast
of Japan still remained less than two hundred miles to leeward. Night was
approaching. They had just struck eight bells; large clouds veiled the
face of the moon, then in its first quarter. The sea undulated peaceably
under the stern of the vessel.
At that moment I was leaning forward on the starboard netting. Conseil,
standing near me, was looking straight before him. The crew, perched in
the ratlines, examined the horizon which contracted and darkened by
degrees. Officers with their night glasses scoured the growing darkness:
sometimes the ocean sparkled under the rays of the moon, which darted
between two clouds, then all trace of light was lost in the darkness.
In looking at Conseil, I could see he was undergoing a little of the
general influence. At least I thought so. Perhaps for the first time his
nerves vibrated to a sentiment of curiosity.
"Come, Conseil," said I, "this is the last chance of pocketing the two
thousand dollars."
"May I be permitted to say, sir," replied Conseil, "that I never
reckoned on getting the prize; and, had the government of the Union
offered a hundred thousand dollars, it would have been none the poorer."