Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea
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 of 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, M. Aronnax.”
“But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the great
marine mammalia—you, whose imagination might easily accept the
hypothesis of enormous cetaceans, _you_ ought to be the last to doubt
under such circumstances!”
“That is just what deceives you, Professor,” replied Ned. “That the
vulgar should believe in extraordinary comets traversing space, and in
the existence of antediluvian monsters in the heart of the globe, may
well be; but neither astronomer nor geologist believes in such
chimeras. 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 powerfully 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 thirty-two 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 lbs. for each square inch of its surface. It
follows, then, that at 320 feet this pressure = that of 10 atmospheres,
of 100 atmospheres at 3200 feet, and of 1000 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 5600 lbs. Ah!
my brave Ned, do you know how many square inches you carry on the
surface of your body?”
“I have no idea, M. Aronnax.”
“About 6500; and, as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15
lbs. to the square inch, your 6500 square inches bear at this moment a
pressure of 97,500 lbs.”
“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 lbs.; at 320 feet, ten times that
pressure; at 3200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at
32,000 feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000
lbs.—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?_”
CHAPTER V
AT A VENTURE
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. Day and night they watched the surface of the ocean,
and even nyctalopes, whose faculty of seeing in the darkness multiplies
their chances a hundredfold, would have had enough to do to gain the
prize.
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 in 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,
always phlegmatic, 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 execration.
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 105° 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