Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Seas

by Jules Verne

  Everyone looked in the direction indicated.

  About a mile and a half from the frigate, a long black body emerged about 3 feet above the waves. Its tail was beating violently and producing a considerable swell. Never had a tail hit the water with such force. An enormous wake of dazzling whiteness marked the course of the animal as it described a long curve.

  The frigate approached the cetacean. I examined it as closely as I wished. The Shannon and Helvetia’s reports had slightly exaggerated its dimensions, for I estimated its length to be only 250 feet. As for its girth, this was difficult to evaluate, but the animal’s dimensions appeared admirably in proportion.

  While I was examining the phenomenal creature, two jets of water and vapour spurted from its blowholes and rose to a height of 120 feet — thus settling its method of respiration. I concluded once and for all that the animal belonged to the vertebrates, class of mammals, sub-class of monodelphians, group of pisciforms, order of cetaceans, family — but here I was unable to make up my mind. The order of Cetaceae comprises three families, whales, cachalots, and dolphins, with narwhals classified in the last category. Each family is in turn divided into several genera, each genus into species, and each species into varieties. I did not yet know the creature’s variety, species, genus, or family, but I felt confident about being able to complete my classification with the help of Heaven and Captain Farragut.

  The crew were waiting impatiently for orders. The captain observed the creature carefully, then called the chief engineer, who quickly ran up.

  ‘Have you plenty of steam?’

  ‘Aye-aye, sir.’

  ‘Good. Fire up; and full steam ahead.’

  Three cheers greeted this order. The time had come to fight. Soon the frigate’s two funnels were belching forth torrents of black smoke and the engines were making the deck shudder and shake.

  Propelled on by its powerful screw, the Abraham Lincoln headed for the animal. The creature allowed the frigate to get quite close, but then moved slightly away, keeping at the same distance but not bothering to dive.

  This pursuit continued for about three-quarters of an hour without the frigate gaining three metres on the cetacean. It became obvious that if we carried on in this way we would never catch up.

  Captain Farragut was angrily twisting the thick clump of hair sprouting from his chin.

  ‘Land!’

  The Canadian arrived.

  ‘Well, Master Land,’ said the captain, ‘do you still think we should launch the boats?’

  ‘No, sir; for the creature will not let you take him unless he wants you to.’

  ‘So what should we do then?’

  ‘Keep maximum pressure, sir. With your permission, I’ll wait under the bowsprit, and if we get within distance I’ll harpoon him.’

  ‘Fine, Ned!’

  And to the engineer: ‘Go ahead faster!’

  Ned Land took up his position. The furnaces were stoked, the propeller turned at 43 revolutions a minute, and the steam roared through the valves. The log was heaved, and showed the frigate’s speed to be 18½ knots.

  But the cursed animal was also moving at 18½ knots.

  For another hour the frigate continued at this pace without gaining a metre. This was rather humiliating for one of the fastest vessels in the United States Navy. A profound anger overwhelmed the ship’s crew. They swore at the monster, which did not, however, condescend to reply. Captain Farragut no longer twisted his goatee, he chewed it.

  The engineer was summoned again.

  ‘Are you at your absolute maximum pressure?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘What pressure?’

  ‘Six-and-a-half atmospheres.’

  ‘Make it ten!’

  This was truly an American order. It couldn’t have been bettered in a Mississippi riverboat race, ‘so as to leave the competition behind’.

  ‘Conseil,’ said I to my faithful servant standing nearby, ‘do you realize that we may easily blow up?’

  ‘Whatever monsieur says.’

  But I had to admit I was glad we were giving it a go.

  The steam-gauge rose. The furnaces overflowed with coal. The fans sent torrents of air on to the flames. The ship moved faster. The very steps of the masts shook, and the funnels seemed hardly big enough to let out the thick vortices of smoke.

  The log was heaved again.

  ‘Well, helmsman?’ enquired the captain.

  ‘Nineteen point three sir.’

  ‘Stoke the fires higher.’

  The engineer obeyed. The steam-gauge showed 10 atmospheres. But the narwhal had ‘fired up’ as well, for it was now also proceeding at 19.3 knots, without effort.

  What a chase! I cannot describe the feelings that moved my whole being. Ned stood at the ready, harpoon in hand. Several times the animal allowed us to get nearer.

  ‘We’re gaining, we are!’ cried the Canadian.

  But just as he was preparing to strike, the cetacean would shoot ahead at a speed I cannot estimate at less than 30 knots. And even at the frigate’s maximum speed, it played with us by going round us! Cries of fury came from every man’s breast.

  At noon we had got no further than at eight o’clock.

  Captain Farragut decided to employ more direct methods.

  ‘So’, he said, ‘the animal can move faster than the Abraham Lincoln. We will see if he can outrun a conical shell. Bosun, man the for’ard gun.’

  The bow gun was immediately loaded and aimed. It went off, but the shot passed several feet above the cetacean, half a mile away.

  ‘Somebody with a better aim!’ shouted the captain. ‘And there’s $500 for the man who puts a shot into the infernal beast.’

  An old gunner with a grey beard — I can still see him — came forward with a determined air and a steady eye. He pointed the gun and took careful aim. A loud detonation was heard amidst the crew’s cheers.

  The shot reached its target and hit the animal, but not at right angles: it glanced off its rounded flank, and fell into the sea two miles away.

  ‘Humph!’ cried the angry old gunner. ‘The cursed thing is armoured in 6-inch iron plate!’

  ‘Damnation!’ shouted Captain Farragut.

  The chase began again. The captain leaned towards me: ‘I shall pursue that animal until my frigate blows up!’

  ‘Good on you, you’re right!’

  Our only hope was that the creature would be more prone to fatigue than a steam-driven engine and would sooner or later exhaust itself. But no such luck. The hours passed and still the animal showed no sign of feeling weary.

  I must say in support of the Abraham Lincoln that it fought with tireless determination. I estimated the distance it covered on that unfortunate 6 November* to be at least 300 miles. But eventually night fell and cloaked the blustery sea in its shadows. I imagined that our expedition was finished, that we had seen the last of the fantastic creature. But I was wrong.

  At 10.50, roughly three miles to windward, the electric light appeared again, as clear and as bright as the night before.

  The narwhal seemed to be motionless. Perhaps it felt tired after the day’s exertions, and was sleeping in the swaying cradle of the billows? This was an opportunity Farragut decided to seize.

  He gave a few orders. The frigate was put on easy steam, and proceeded cautiously so as not to wake its enemy. It is not unusual to meet whales fast asleep in mid-ocean, and they are sometimes attacked with success: Ned Land had frequently harpooned them in this way. He took up position under the bowsprit.

  The frigate moved towards the animal and stopped its engines not far away, quietly drifting on under its momentum. No one dared breathe. A profound silence reigned on deck. We were now less than 100 feet from the bright centre, whose light began to blind us as we got closer.

  I saw Land on the fo’c’sle below, holding the martingale in one hand and brandishing his terrible harpoon in the other. We were scarcely 20 feet from the motionless monster
.

  Suddenly Ned’s arm moved violently, and the harpoon shot forward. I heard the sonorous blow as it hit the prey; it sounded as though it had come into contact with a hard substance.

  The electric light went out abruptly. Two enormous columns of water* crashed over the frigate’s deck, rushed fore and aft like a river, knocked the crew down, and broke the lashings on the spars.

  There was an awesome impact and before I had time to hold on, I was thrown over the bulwark and into the sea.

  7

  An Unknown Species of Whale*

  Although I was surprised by my unexpected fall, I retained nonetheless a clear memory of my sensations.

  At first I was plunged down to a depth of about 20 feet. I am a strong swimmer, although not claiming to be as good as Byron or Poe, who are masters;* and this nosedive did not cause me any panic. Two strong kicks took me back to the surface.

  My first concern was to locate the frigate. Had the crew noticed my disappearance? Had the Abraham Lincoln put about? Was Captain Farragut launching a boat? Could I hope to be rescued?

  It was very dark. I could see a black object disappearing in the east, its position lights dimmed by the distance. It was the frigate. I felt lost.

  ‘Help! Help!’ I shouted, swimming despairingly in the direction of the Abraham Lincoln.

  My clothes got in the way. The water made them stick to my body, greatly hampering my movements. I was sinking; I was suffocating.

  ‘Help!’

  This was the last cry I uttered. My mouth filled with water. I fought as I sank into the depths.

  Suddenly my clothes were seized by a strong hand. I felt myself being pulled roughly back up to the surface, and I heard — yes, heard — words in my ear: ‘If monsieur would have the great kindness to lean on my shoulder, monsieur could swim more easily.’

  I seized the arm of my faithful Conseil.

  ‘Is it you?’ I said. ‘You!’

  ‘In person,’ replied Conseil; ‘at monsieur’s orders.’

  ‘The collision threw you into the sea at the same time?’

  ‘Not at all; but I followed monsieur since I am in monsieur’s service.’

  The worthy fellow could see nothing extraordinary in that!

  ‘And the frigate?’

  ‘The frigate,’ replied Conseil turning on his back; ‘I think monsieur would do better not to rely on it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that as I jumped overboard, I heard the helmsman shout “The screw and rudder are broken!” ’

  ‘Broken?’

  ‘Yes, by the tusk of the monster. It was apparently the only damage to the Abraham Lincoln. But unfortunately for us, it can no longer steer.’

  ‘Then we are lost!’

  ‘Perhaps so,’ replied Conseil calmly. ‘But we still have some hours ahead of us, and a great many things may be accomplished in such a time.’

  The imperturbable equanimity of Conseil gave me new strength. I swam more energetically; but I was hindered by the clothes sticking to me like lead weights, and found it very difficult to stay afloat. Conseil noticed this.

  ‘Will monsieur permit me to make a slight incision?’

  And sliding a naked blade into my clothes, he slit them from top to bottom with a quick slash. Then he smartly took them off, while I swam for us both.

  I rendered him the same favour; and we continued to ‘navigate’ close together.

  But the situation remained alarming. Our disappearance had perhaps not been noticed, and even if it had, the rudderless frigate could not come back for us against the wind. The boats were our only chance.

  Conseil calmly reasoned out this idea, and made plans accordingly. What an amazing character! The phlegmatic fellow was behaving as if at home!

  It was thus concluded that our only chance of being saved constituted being rescued by the frigate’s dinghies and that we needed to arrange matters so as to wait for them as long as possible. I decided that we should divide our energies in order not to exhaust us both; and this was how we managed it. While one lay motionless on his back, with arms folded and legs extended, the other would swim and push him along. The role of tugboat was to last for only ten minutes, and by taking it in turn, we might be able to swim for several hours, possibly even until dawn.

  It was only a small chance, but hope is firmly rooted in the human heart. Also, there were two of us. Although I tried to destroy all hope, indeed to fall into the deepest despair, I declare my inability to do so, however improbable this may seem.

  The collision between the frigate and the cetacean had happened at about 11 p.m. I estimated eight hours’ swimming before sunrise: a perfectly feasible operation if we took it in turns. The sea was smooth, and did not tire us greatly. Sometimes I tried to penetrate the thick darkness, broken only by the phosphorescence from our movements. I looked at the luminous wavelets breaking over my hand, with their gleaming surface covered with paler areas. It was as if we were swimming in a bath of mercury.

  At about one o’clock I suddenly felt very tired. My limbs were seized by violent cramps. Conseil had to support me, and our survival now depended upon his unaided efforts. I soon heard the poor fellow panting. His breathing was coming short and hurried. I realized that he couldn’t go on much longer.

  ‘Let me go!’ I cried. ‘Leave me behind!’

  ‘Abandon monsieur? Never! I intend to drown before he does.’

  Just then the moon broke through the edge of a large cloud running eastwards before the wind. The surface of the sea shone with light. This generous radiance brought back our strength. I raised my head again. I looked round at every point on the horizon. I spotted the frigate. It was about 5 miles away — a black and scarcely identifiable point. And there was no boat!

  I tried to cry out; although what was the point at such a distance? My swollen mouth refused to utter a single sound. Conseil could speak a little, and I heard him shouting several times:

  ‘Help! Help!’

  Temporarily ceasing our swimming, we listened out. Was that buzzing noise coming from congested blood pressure in my ear; or was it an answer to Conseil’s cry?

  ‘Did you hear that?’ I murmured.

  ‘Yes, yes!’

  And Conseil sent another desperate cry into the air.

  This time there could be no mistake. A human voice replied. Was it the voice of some other unfortunate abandoned in the midst of the ocean — some other victim of that collision? Or was it a boat from the frigate hailing us through the darkness?

  Conseil made a supreme effort and, leaning on my shoulder while I resisted in a final paroxysm, he half rose out of the water before falling back exhausted.

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘I saw,’ he murmured, ‘I saw — but let’s not talk, let’s keep our strength up!’

  What had he seen? For some reason, the monster came back to my mind for the first time. But there was the voice. Gone are the days when Jonahs lived in the bellies of whales!*

  Conseil paddled me forward once more. At times he raised his head to look ahead, and uttered a cry of acknowledgement, to which a voice replied, closer each time. I could scarcely hear. My strength was spent; my fingers no longer obeyed me; my hands could no longer keep me up; my mouth, convulsively opening, was filling with salt water; and my limbs were seized by cold. I raised my head one last time, and went under.

  At that moment a hard body struck me. I clung to it. Then I felt someone pulling me upwards, bringing me back up to the surface, and with my chest collapsing, I fainted.

  I must have come to very quickly thanks to the vigorous massage moving up and down my body. I half opened my eyes.

  ‘Conseil!’ I murmured.

  ‘Did monsieur call?’

  At the same time, in the last light of the moon going down towards the horizon, I caught sight of another face, not Conseil’s, which I immediately recognized.

  ‘Ned!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘In
person, sir, looking for his prize money!’

  ‘So you were thrown into the sea by the frigate’s collision?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied; ‘but I was luckier than you were, and managed to set foot on a floating island straightaway.’

  ‘An island?’

  ‘Yes, or rather upon our giant narwhal . . .’

  ‘Explain yourself, Ned.’

  ‘Though I soon realized why my harpoon hadn’t stuck in the creature’s hide and why it was blunted.’

  ‘But why, Ned, why?’

  ‘Because this beast is made of steel plate!’

  I now have to recover my composure, search my memory, and make sure my statements are entirely accurate.

  The Canadian’s last words produced a sea-change in my mind. I pulled myself up to the top of the half-sunken being or object on which we had taken refuge. I kicked it. It was certainly a hard body: impenetrable and not made of the yielding substance of which the larger marine mammals are made.

  But this hard substance might be a bony carapace, like that of certain prehistoric animals; and I might be able to get away with classifying it amongst the amphibious reptiles such as the turtle or alligator.

  But it was not to be! The blackish surface I was standing on was smooth and polished, and had no overlapping sections. It gave a metallic sound when struck and, incredible as it seems, I swear that it appeared to be made of riveted metal plates.

  Doubt was no longer possible. It had to be admitted that the creature, the monster, the natural occurrence which had puzzled the entire scientific world and baffled and distressed the minds of seamen in both hemispheres, constituted a still greater marvel — a man-made phenomenon.

  I would not have been nearly so astonished to find the most fabulous and mythological of creatures. That what is extraordinary could have come from the Creator is easy to believe. But to discover all of a sudden a mysterious human realization of the impossible, to find it before your very eyes, was enough to unhinge your mind.

  Nevertheless there was no excuse for hesitation. Here we were sitting on the back of a species of submarine boat, in the shape of a massive steel fish, in so far as I could judge. Such was Ned’s firm opinion. Conseil and I had no choice but to agree with him.