by Jules Verne
‘Then you still haven’t seen an Antarctic whale. It is the right whale that you have hunted until now, which never ventures into the warm waters around the equator.’
‘Ah, monsieur, what are you trying to tell me?’ replied the Canadian in an incredulous tone.
‘I am telling you the facts.’
‘You can’t be! As I stand here, in ’65, that’s two-and-a-half years ago, I boarded the body of a whale near Greenland which still had the stamped harpoon of a Bering whaling ship in its side. Now I ask you, how could the animal have come and got itself killed east of America, since that was where it was caught, after being wounded west of America, unless it rounded either Cape Horn or the Cape of Good Hope and then crossed the equator?’
‘I agree with Ned, my friend,’ said Conseil, ‘and await monsieur’s reply.’
‘Monsieur will reply by saying, my good friend, that each species of whale is particular to certain seas that it never leaves. And if one of these animals went from the Bering Strait to the Davis Strait, it must be because there is a passage from one to the other, round either the American or Asian coast.’
‘Do we have to believe you?’ asked the Canadian, winking.
‘We have to believe monsieur,’ said Conseil.
‘So, since I have never been whaling in these waters, I don’t know which whales live here?’
‘That’s what I told you, Ned.’
‘All the more reason for getting acquainted with them,’ replied Conseil.
‘Look, look!’ cried the Canadian, emotion in his voice. ‘It’s getting nearer! It’s coming at us! It’s provoking me! It knows I can’t do anything about it.’
Ned was stamping his foot. His hand was trembling as if holding an imaginary harpoon.
‘These cetaceans, are they as big as those of the Arctic seas?’
‘More or less, Ned.’
‘Because I have seen some big ones, monsieur. Whales up to 100 feet long! I’ve even been told that the culammak and the umgullick of the Aleutians sometimes exceed 150 feet.’
‘That seems exaggerated to me,’ I replied. ‘Those animals are only rorquals with dorsal fins, and like sperm whales, they are generally smaller than the right whale.’
‘Ah!’ exclaimed the Canadian, whose eyes did not leave the ocean. ‘It’s getting nearer, it’s coming within reach!’
Then, continuing his conversation:
‘You speak of the sperm whale as a small animal! But gigantic sperm whales have been sighted. They are intelligent creatures. Some of them, it is said, cover themselves with seaweed and wracks. They are taken for small islands. People camp on them, they settle in and make fires . . .’
‘They build houses,’ said Conseil.
‘Yes, joker,’ replied Ned. ‘Then one fine day the animal dives, and takes all its inhabitants to the bottom of the seas.’
‘Like in the voyages of Sinbad the Sailor,’* I replied with a laugh. ‘Ah! Master Land, you seem to like extraordinary stories! How wonderful your sperm whales are! I hope you don’t really believe in them?’
‘Mr Naturalist,’ replied the Canadian seriously, ‘you have to be able to believe anything once whales are involved. Look how this one moves! Look how it swerves! It has been claimed that these animals can travel round the world in a fortnight.’
‘I don’t disagree.’
‘But what you certainly don’t know, Dr Aronnax, is that at the beginning of the world, whales could move still quicker.’
‘Ah really, Ned! And why is that?’
‘Because at that time their tails moved sideways like fish, that is they were vertical, and struck the water from left to right. But the Creator realized that they could move too quickly and so He twisted their tails, and since then they have beaten the waves from top to bottom and cannot move so fast.’
‘Well, Ned,’ I said, adopting one of the Canadian’s expressions, ‘do we have to believe you?’
‘Not too much,’ he replied, ‘and not more than if I told you there are whales 300 feet long weighing 50 tons.’*
‘That’s quite a lot to believe,’ I said. ‘However, it must be agreed that certain cetaceans grow to a considerable size, since it is said they can provide up to 120 barrels of oil.’
‘That I’ve seen,’ said the Canadian.
‘I can easily credit it, Ned, as I can believe that certain whales are the size of a hundred elephants. Think of the effect produced by such a mass travelling at full speed!’
‘Is it true’, asked Conseil, ‘that they can sink ships?’
‘Ships, I don’t think so,’ I replied. ‘But it has been recounted that in 1820, in these same South Seas, a whale threw itself at the Essex and made it move backwards at a speed of four metres per second. Water came in aft, and the Essex sank almost immediately.’*
Ned looked at me sarcastically.
‘For my part,’ he said, ‘I have been hit by a whale’s tail — in my boat, I mean. My companions and I were thrown to a height of six metres. But compared to monsieur’s whale, mine was only a baby.’
‘Do such animals live a long time?’ asked Conseil.
‘A thousand years,’ replied the Canadian without hesitation.
‘And how do you know, Ned?’
‘Because people say so.’
‘And why do people say so?’
‘Because they know.’
‘No, Ned, they do not know, they’ve worked it out. And here is the reasoning on which they base their arguments. Four hundred years ago, when fishermen first hunted whales, the animals were bigger than those caught today. It was therefore quite logically deduced that the smaller size of present-day whales is because they have not had time to reach their full size. This is what led Buffon to conclude that these cetaceans could — indeed had to — live a thousand years. Do you understand?’
Land did not understand. He was no longer listening. The whale was still approaching. He devoured it with his eyes.
‘Ah!’ he cried. ‘It’s not just one whale, it’s ten, it’s twenty — an entire school! And not to be able to do anything! To be here with my hands and feet tied!’
‘But, Ned, my friend,’ said Conseil, ‘why not go and ask Captain Nemo for permission . . .?’
Conseil had not finished, before Ned Land had galloped down the hatch and was running off in search of the captain. A moment later, both men appeared on the platform.
Captain Nemo observed the school of cetaceans playing on the water a mile from the Nautilus.
‘They’re Antarctic whales,’ he said. ‘There are enough here to make the fortune of a whole fleet of whalers.’
‘Well, monsieur!’ asked the Canadian. ‘Would it be all right to hunt them, if only to keep my hand in as harpooner?’
‘What would be the point? Hunting simply to destroy! We have no use for whale oil on board.’
‘Nevertheless, monsieur,’ persisted the Canadian, ‘in the Red Sea you authorized us to chase a dugong!’
‘We needed fresh meat for my crew. Here, it would be killing for killing’s sake. I realize that it is one of man’s privileges, but I cannot condone these murderous pastimes. By destroying the Antarctic whale like the right whale, inoffensive and good creatures as they are, your fellows commit a damnable action, Master Land. They have already emptied the whole of Baffin Bay, and will eventually destroy a class of useful animals. So leave the unfortunate whales in peace. They already have enough problems with their natural enemies,* the sperm whales, the swordfish, and the sawfish, without you interfering.’
I leave to your imagination the expression on the Canadian’s face during this moral lesson. To reason with a hunter like this was to waste one’s words. Ned looked at Captain Nemo and evidently did not understand what he was trying to say. Nevertheless the captain was right. The barbaric and unthinking relentlessness of the hunters will one day eliminate the last whale from the ocean.
Ned whistled Yankee Doodle between his teeth,* thrust his hands into
his pockets, and turned his back on us.
Meanwhile Captain Nemo was observing the school of cetaceans, and addressing me:
‘I was right to claim that, even without man, whales have enough natural enemies. These ones are going to have a battle to fight before long. Can you see those moving dark points eight miles to leeward, Dr Aronnax?’
‘Yes, captain.’
‘They are sperm whales, terrifying animals that I have sometimes encountered in schools of two or three hundred! In their case, it is right to exterminate such cruel and malevolent animals.’
At these words the Canadian quickly turned round.
‘Well, captain,’ I said, ‘there is still time in the interests of the Antarctic whales themselves . . .’
‘No point in taking the risk, monsieur. The Nautilus will suffice to head off the sperm whales. It is armed with a steel ram, which is easily worth Master Land’s harpoon, I think.’
The Canadian did not bother to conceal his shrugs. Bodily attacking cetaceans with a ram! Who had ever heard of such a thing?
‘You’ll see, Dr Aronnax,’ said Captain Nemo. ‘We will show you some hunting you have not yet experienced. No pity for the ferocious cetaceans. They are only mouth and teeth!’
Mouth and teeth! There was no better way to depict the macrocephalous creature, which sometimes exceeds 25 metres in length. The enormous head of this cetacean occupies about a third of its body. Better armed than the baleen whale, whose upper jaw is equipped only with bony plates, it has twenty-five huge teeth:* 20 centimetres long, cylindrical but with conical ends, weighing two pounds each. In the great cavities formed by the cartilage on the upper part of the enormous head are found 300 or 400 kilograms of that precious oil called spermaceti. The sperm whale is a disgraceful animal, more tadpole than fish, as Frédol remarks. It is poorly constructed, being a failure, so to speak, in the whole left-hand part of its framework, and hardly seeing except through its right eye.
Meanwhile the monstrous school was still approaching. They had spotted the baleen whales, and were getting ready to attack them. One could predict in advance that the sperm whales would win, not only because they are better built for attack and their adversaries are inoffensive, but also because they can remain underwater longer without having to come up to breathe.
It was time to go to the baleen whales’ help. The Nautilus dived under the water. Conseil, Ned, and I took our places at the windows in the salon. Captain Nemo went to join the pilot, so as to manoeuvre his vessel, transformed into a destructive engine. Soon I could feel the throb of the propeller accelerating and our speed increasing.
The battle between the sperm whales and the whales had already begun when the Nautilus arrived. It manoeuvred in such a way as to split the school of macrocephalous creatures in two. At first they appeared undisturbed at the sight of the new monster joining the battle, but soon they had to pay attention to its attacks.
What a battle! Ned Land himself quickly became enthusiastic, and ended up clapping. In the captain’s hands, the Nautilus had become a formidable harpoon. It threw itself at the fleshy masses, cutting right through the animals, leaving behind two flailing halves. The Nautilus was insensible to the frightening blows from the tails striking its sides. Nor did our vessel heed the impacts from its own efforts. Once one sperm whale had been killed, it chased after the next one, or turned on the spot so as to find its new prey: manoeuvring back and forth under the direction of the helm, diving when a cetacean plunged into the depths, coming back up when it surfaced, smashing into it head-on or obliquely, cutting or tearing, striking from every direction and at any speed, skewering with the terrifying ram.
What a blood-letting! What a commotion on the surface of the waves! What high-pitched whistlings and distinctive bellowings came from the frightened animals. Their tails produced great surges through the ordinarily peaceful waters.
This Homeric massacre, from which the sperm whales could not escape, continued for an hour. Several times, ten or twelve together tried to crush the Nautilus between their bodies. Through the windows we could see their enormous jaws paved with teeth and their formidable eyes. Land, no longer master of himself, threatened and swore at them. We could feel them seizing hold of our vessel like dogs gripping a young boar’s ears in undergrowth. But the Nautilus, increasing the power of its propeller, would carry them off, drag them down, or take them up to the surface, unaffected by their enormous weight or powerful embrace.
Finally the number of sperm whales began to reduce. The waves became calm once more. I could feel that we were moving up towards the surface. The hatch was opened, and we rushed on to the platform.
The sea was covered with mutilated bodies. A huge explosion could not have divided these fleshy masses or torn them to pieces with more violence. We were floating amongst gigantic bodies: bluish-backed, white-bellied, completely covered with enormous protuberances. A few frightened sperm whales were still fleeing on the horizon. The waves were dyed red for a distance of several miles; the Nautilus was floating on a sea of blood.
Captain Nemo joined us.
‘Well, Master Land?’
‘Well, monsieur,’ replied the Canadian, whose enthusiasm had diminished; ‘it was a terrible sight indeed. But I am not a butcher, I am a hunter, and this was just butchers’ work.’
‘It was a massacre of evil animals,’ said the captain, ‘and the Nautilus is not a butcher’s knife.’
‘I prefer my harpoon.’
‘To each his weapon,’ replied the captain, staring at Ned.
I was afraid that Ned would allow himself to get carried away into some violent act, which would have had deplorable consequences. But his anger was distracted by the view of a baleen whale alongside which the Nautilus was drawing.
The animal had not been able to escape the sperm whales’ teeth. I recognized the Antarctic whale, with a flattened, entirely black head. Anatomically, it is distinguished from the right whale and the North-Caper by its seven cervical vertebrae being joined, and it also has two ribs more than its relatives. The unfortunate cetacean, lying on its side, its stomach perforated with bites, was dead. At the end of its mutilated fin still hung a small baby whale it had not been able to save from the massacre. Its open mouth allowed the water in and out, which murmured like a backwash through its bony plates.
Captain Nemo had brought the Nautilus near the whale’s body. Two of his men climbed on its flank, and I saw with astonishment that they were drawing from its breasts all the milk contained in them, that is two or three barrelfuls.
The captain offered me a cup of the still-warm milk. I could not stop myself showing repugnance at this brew. He assured me that the milk was excellent, and no different from cows’ milk.
I tasted it, and agreed with him. It was in fact a useful reserve for us, since this milk, in the form of salted butter or cheese, would bring pleasant variety to our ordinary fare.
From that day on, I noticed with anxiety that Ned Land’s attitude towards Captain Nemo deteriorated steadily. I resolved to keep as close an eye as possible on the Canadian’s behaviour.
13
The Ice-Cap
The Nautilus had continued its imperturbable route southwards. It was tracing the 50th meridian at considerable speed. Did the Nautilus wish to reach the Pole? I hardly thought so, because all attempts so far had failed to get to that point of the globe. In any case it was already late in the season, since 13 March in the Antarctic corresponds to 13 September in the Arctic, and ushers in the period of the equinox.
On 14 March I noticed pieces of ice floating at 55° S, mere pallid debris 20 to 25 feet long, forming reefs over which the sea broke. The Nautilus stayed on the surface. Ned Land, having already been whaling in the Arctic seas, was familiar with the spectacle of icebergs. Conseil and I admired them for the first time.
Hanging in the air above the southern horizon stretched a dazzling white strip. The British whalers have named it ‘ice-blink’. However thick the clouds are, it ca
n always be seen. It indicates the presence of pack-ice or an ice-shelf.
Larger blocks whose lustre changed depending on the caprices of the haze did in fact soon appear. Some of the masses were streaked with green veins, as if by undulating copper sulphate. Touched as they were with bright limestone reflections, they would have been sufficient to construct a whole town of marble. Others were like enormous amethysts, allowing the light to penetrate and deflecting the sun’s rays from the thousand facets of their crystals.
The further south we went, the more floating islands there were, and the larger they got. Polar birds nested on them in their thousands. There were petrels, black and white gulls, and shearwaters, all deafening us with their cries. Some of them took the Nautilus for the body of a whale, came and rested on it, and pecked at it with resounding metal taps.
During this navigation through the ice, Captain Nemo often stayed on the platform. He carefully scanned those lonely seas. I could see his calm regard sometimes becoming more intense. Was he saying to himself that in these polar seas, forbidden to man, he was at home, master of the uncrossable spaces? Perhaps. But he did not speak. He remained motionless, only interrupting his dreaming when his instinct for action took over again. Then, steering his Nautilus with consummate skill, he would carefully avoid collision with the hulking masses, which occasionally measured several miles long by a height of between 70 and 80 metres. Often the horizon would appear entirely closed. At the 60th degree of latitude, indeed, all passes had vanished. But Captain Nemo studied the situation, and soon found some narrow opening through which he audaciously slipped, although knowing full well that it would close up again behind him.
In this way the Nautilus, guided by his skilful hand, passed through all the ice, which is classified by its form or size with a precision which enchanted Conseil: icebergs, literally meaning mountains; icefields, meaning unified, limitless areas; drift-ice, also called floating ice; and pack-ice, meaning broken pieces and called ‘patches’ when the pieces are round and ‘streams’ when they are longer.*
It was quite cold. Exposed to the outside air, the thermometer read two or three degrees below zero. But we were warmly dressed in furs from seals or marine bears. The interior of the Nautilus, constantly heated by its electrical devices, defied the most intense cold. In any case, it would have only had to dive a few metres below the waters to find a more bearable temperature.
