20,000 Leagues Under The Sea

CHAPTER 6 With all Steam on

At this cry the entire crew rushed towards the harpooner. Captain, officers, masters, sailors, and cabin-boys, even the engineers left their engines, and the stokers their fires. The order to stop her had been given, and the frigate was only moving by her own momentum. The darkness was then profound, and although I knew the Canadian’s eyes were very good, I asked myself what he could have seen, and how he could have seen it. My heart beat violently.

At two cables’ length from the Abraham Lincoln on her starboard quarter, the sea seemed to be illuminated below the surface. The monster lay some fathoms below the sea, and threw out the very intense but inexplicable light mentioned in the reports of several captains. This light described an immense and much-elongated oval, in the centre of which was condensed a focus the over-powering brilliancy of which died out by successive gradations.

‘It is only an agglomeration of phosphoric particles,’ cried one of the officers.

‘No, sir,’ I replied with conviction. ‘Never did pholas or salpae produce such a light as that. That light is essentially electric. Besides – see! look out! It moves – forward – on to us!’

A general cry rose from the frigate.

‘Silence!’ called out the captain. ‘Up with the helm! Reverse the engines!’

The frigate thus tried to escape, but the supernatural animal approached her with a speed double her own.

Stupefaction, more than fear, kept us mute and motionless. The animal gained upon us. It made the round of the frigate, which was then going at the rate of fourteen knots, and enveloped her with its electric ring like luminous dust. Then it went two or three miles off, leaving a phosphoric trail like the steam of an express locomotive. All at once, from the dark limits of the horizon, where it went to gain its momentum, the monster rushed towards the frigate with frightful rapidity, stopped suddenly at a distance of twenty feet, and then went out, not diving, for its brilliancy did not die out by degrees, but all at once, as if turned off. Then it reappeared on the other side of the ship, either going round her or gliding under her hull. A collision might have occurred at any moment, which might have been fatal to us.

I was astonished at the way the ship was worked. She was being attacked instead of attacking; and I asked Captain Farragut the reason. On the captain’s generally impassive face was an expression of profound astonishment.

‘M. Aronnax,’ he said, ‘I do not know with how formidable a being I have to deal, and I will not imprudently risk my frigate in the darkness. We must wait for daylight, and then we shall change parts.’

‘You have no longer any doubt, captain, of the nature of the animal?’

‘No, sir. It is evidently a gigantic narwhal, and an electric one too.’

‘Perhaps,’ I added, ‘we can no more approach it than we could a gymnotus or a torpedo.’

‘It may possess as great blasting properties, and if it does it is the most terrible animal that ever was created. That is why I must keep on my guard.’

All the crew remained up that night. No one thought of going to sleep. The Abraham Lincoln not being able to compete in speed, was kept under half-steam. On its side the narwhal imitated the frigate, let the waves rock it at will, and seemed determined not to leave the scene of combat.

Towards midnight, however, it disappeared, dying out like a large glowworm. At seven minutes to one in the morning a deafening whistle was heard, like that produced by a column of water driven out with extreme violence.

The captain, Ned Land, and I were then on the poop, peering with eagerness through the profound darkness.

‘Ned Land,’ asked the commander, ‘have you often heard whales roar?’

‘Yes, captain, often; but never such a whale as I earned 2000 dollars by sighting.’

‘True, you have a right to the prize; but tell me, is it the same noise they make?’

‘Yes, sir; but this one is incomparably louder. It is not to be mistaken. It is certainly a cetacean there in our seas. With your permission, sir, we will have a few words with him at daybreak.’

‘If he is in a humour to hear them, Mr Land,’ said I, in an unconvinced tone.

‘Let me get within a length of four harpoons,’ answered the Canadian, ‘and he will be obliged to listen to me.’

‘But in order to approach him,’ continued the captain, ‘I shall have to put a whaler at your disposition.’

‘Certainly sir.’

‘But that will be risking the lives of my men.’

‘And mine too,’ answered the harpooner simply.

About 2 a.m. the luminous focus reappeared, no less intense, about five miles to the windward of the frigate. Notwithstanding the distance and the noise of the wind and sea, the loud strokes of the animal’s tail were distinctly heard, and even its panting breathing. When the enormous narwhal came up to the surface to breathe, it seemed as if the air rushed into its lungs like steam in the vast cylinders of a 2000 horse-power engine.

‘Hum!’ thought I, ‘a whale with the strength of a cavalry regiment would be a pretty whale!’

Until daylight we were all on the qui-vive, and then the fishing tackle was prepared. The first mate loaded the blunderbusses, which throw harpoons the distance of a mile, and long duck-guns with explosive bullets, which inflict mortal wounds even upon the most powerful animals. Ned Land contented himself with sharpening his harpoon – a terrible weapon in his hands.

Day began to break, and with the first glimmer of dawn the electric light of the narwhal disappeared. At 7 a.m. a very thick sea-fog obscured the atmosphere, and the best glasses could not pierce it.

I climbed the mizenmast and found some officers already perched on the mast-heads.

At 8 a.m. the mist began to clear away. Suddenly, like the night before, Ned Land’s voice was heard calling, –

‘The thing in question on the port quarter!’

All eyes were turned towards the point indicated. There, a mile and a half from the frigate, a large black body emerged more than a yard above the waves. Its tail, violently agitated, produced a considerable eddy. Never did caudal appendage beat the sea with such force. An immense track, dazzlingly white, marked the passage of the animal, and described a long curve.

The frigate approached the cetacean, and I could see it well. The accounts of it given by the Shannon and Helvetia had rather exaggerated its dimensions, and I estimated its length at 150 feet only. As to its other dimensions, I could only conceive them to be in proportion.

Whilst I was observing it, two jets of vapour and water sprang from its vent-holes and ascended to a height of fifty yards, thus fixing my opinion as to its way of breathing. I concluded definitely that it belonged to the vertebrate branch of mammalia, order of cetaceans, family…Here I could not decide. The order of cetaceans comprehends three families – whales, cachalots, and dolphins – and it is in the last that narwhals are placed.

The crew were waiting impatiently for their captain’s orders. Farragut, after attentively examining the animal, had the chief engineer called.

‘Is your steam up?’ asked the captain.

‘Yes, captain,’ answered the engineer.

‘Then make up your fires and put on all steam.’

Three cheers greeted this order. The hour of combat had struck. Some minutes afterwards the funnels of the frigate were giving out torrents of black smoke, and the deck shook under the trembling of the boilers.

The Abraham Lincoln, propelled by her powerful screw, went straight at the animal, who let her approach to within half a cable’s length, and then, as if disdaining to dive, made a little attempt at flight, and contented itself with keeping its distance.

This pursuit lasted about three-quarters of an hour, without the frigate gaining four yards on the cetacean. It was quite evident she would never reach it at that rate.

The captain twisted his beard impatiently.

‘Ned Land!’ called the captain, ‘do you think I had better have the boats lowered?’

‘No, sir,’ answered Ned Land, ‘for that animal won’t be caught unless it chooses.’

‘What must be done, then?’

‘Force steam if you can, captain, and I, with your permission, will post myself under the bowsprit, and if we get within a harpoon length I shall hurl one.’

‘Very well,’ said the captain. ‘Engineer, put on more pressure.’

Ned Land went to his post, the fires were increased, the screw revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the valves. The log was heaved, and it was found that the frigate was going eighteen miles and five-tenths an hour. But the animal went eighteen and five-tenths an hour too.

During another hour the frigate kept up that speed without gaining a yard. It was humiliating for one of the quickest vessels in the American navy. The crew began to get very angry. The sailors swore at the animal, who did not deign to answer them. The captain not only twisted his beard, he began to gnaw it too. The engineer was called once more.

‘Have you reached your maximum of pressure?’ asked the captain.

‘Yes sir.’

The captain ordered him to do all he could without absolutely blowing up the vessel, and coal was at once piled up on the fires. The speed of the frigate increased. Her masts shook again. The log was again heaved, and this time she was making nineteen miles and three-tenths.

‘All steam on!’ called out the captain.

The engineer obeyed. The manometer marked ten degrees. But the cetacean did the nineteen miles and three-tenths as easily as the eighteen and five-tenths.

What a chase! I cannot describe the emotion that made my whole being vibrate again. Ned Land kept at his post, harpoon in hand. The animal allowed itself to be approached several times. Sometimes it was so near that the Canadian raised his hand to hurl the harpoon, when the animal rushed away at a speed of at least thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed it bullied the frigate, going round and round it.

A cry of fury burst from all lips. We were not further advanced at twelve o’clock than we had been at eight. Captain Farragut then made up his mind to employ more direct means.

‘Ah!’ said he, ‘so that animal goes faster than my ship! Well, we’ll see if he’ll go faster than a conical bullet. Master, send your men to the forecastle.’

The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and pointed. It was fired, but the ball passed some feet above the cetacean, which kept about half a mile off.

‘Let some one else try!’ called out the captain. ‘Five hundred dollars to whomsoever will hit the beast!’

An old gunner with a gray beard – I think I see now his calm face as he approached the gun – put it into position and took a long aim. A loud report followed and mingled with the cheers of the crew.

The bullet reached its destination; it struck the animal, but, gliding off the rounded surface, fell into the sea two miles off.

‘Malediction!’ cried the captain; ‘that animal must be clad in six-inch iron plates. But I’ll catch it, if I have to blow up my frigate!’

It was to be hoped that the animal would be exhausted, and that it would not be indifferent to fatigue like a steam-engine. But the hours went on, and it showed no signs of exhaustion.

It must be said, in praise of the Abraham Lincoln, that she struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance we made during this unfortunate day at less than 300 miles. But night came on and closed round the heaving ocean.

At that minute, I believed our expedition to be at an end, and that we should see the fantastic animal no more.

I was mistaken, for at 10.50 p.m. the electric light reappeared, three miles windward to the frigate, clear and intense as on the night before.

The narwhal seemed motionless. Perhaps, fatigued with its day’s work, it was sleeping in its billowy cradle. That was a chance by which the captain resolved to profit.

He gave his orders. The Abraham Lincoln was kept up at half-steam, and advanced cautiously so as not to awaken her adversary. It is not rare to meet in open sea with whales fast asleep, and Ned Land had harpooned many a one in that condition. The Canadian went back to his post under the bowsprit.

The frigate noiselessly approached, and stopped at two cables’ length from the animal. No one breathed. A profound silence reigned on deck. We were not 1000 feet from the burning focus, the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.

At that minute, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw Ned Land below me, holding the martingale with one hand and with the other brandishing his terrible harpoon, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal.

All at once he threw the harpoon, and I heard the sonorous stroke of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body.

The electric light suddenly went out, and two enormous waterspouts fell on the deck of the frigate, running like a torrent from fore to aft, upsetting men, and breaking the lashing of the spars.

A frightful shock followed. I was thrown over the rail before I had time to stop myself, and fell into the sea.

CHAPTER 7 A Whale of an Unknown Species

Although I was surprised by my unexpected fall, I still kept a very distinct impression of my sensations. I was at first dragged down to a depth of about twenty feet. I was a good swimmer, and this plunge did not make me lose my presence of mind. Two vigorous kicks brought me back to the surface.

My first care was to look for the frigate. Had the crew seen me disappear? Had the Abraham Lincoln veered round? Would the captain have a boat lowered? Might I hope to be saved?

The darkness was profound. I perceived a black mass disappearing in the east, the beacon lights of which were dying out in the distance. It was the frigate. I gave myself up.

‘Help! help!’ cried I, swimming towards the frigate with desperate strokes.

My clothes embarrassed me. The water glued them to my body. They paralysed my movements. I was sinking.

‘Help!’ rang out again in the darkness.

This was the last cry I uttered. My mouth filled with water. I struggled not to be sucked into the abyss.

Suddenly my clothes were seized by a vigorous hand, and I felt myself brought back violently to the surface of the water, and I heard – yes, I heard these words uttered in my ear, –

‘If monsieur will have the goodness to lean on my shoulder, monsieur will swim much better.’

I seized the arm of my faithful Conseil.

‘You!’ I cried – ‘you!’

‘Myself,’ answered Conseil, ‘at monsieur’s service.’

‘Did the shock throw you into the sea too?’

‘No; but being in the service of monsieur, I followed him.’

The worthy fellow thought that quite natural.

‘What about the frigate?’ I asked.

‘The frigate!’ answered Conseil, turning on his back; ‘I think monsieur will do well not to count upon the frigate.’

‘Why?’

‘Because, as I jumped into the sea, I heard the man at the helm call out, “The screw and the rudder are broken.”’

‘Broken?’

‘Yes, by the monster’s tusk. It is the only damage she has sustained, I think, but without a helm she can’t do anything for us.’

‘Then we are lost!’

‘Perhaps,’ answered Conseil tranquilly. ‘In the mean-time we have still several hours before us, and in several hours many things may happen.’

The sang-froid of Conseil did me good. I swam more vigorously, but encumbered by my garments, which dragged me down like a leaden weight, I found it extremely difficult to keep up. Conseil perceived it.

‘Will monsieur allow me to make a slit?’ said he. And, slipping an open knife under my clothes, he slit them rapidly from top to bottom. Then he quickly helped me off with them whilst I swam for both. I rendered him the same service, and we went on swimming near each other.

In the meantime our situation was none the less terrible. Perhaps our disappearance had not been remarked, and even if it had, the frigate could not tack without her helm. Our only chance of safety was in the event of the boats being lowered.

The collision had happened about 11 p.m. About 1 a.m. I was taken with extreme fatigue, and all my limbs became stiff with cramp. Conseil was obliged to keep me up, and the care of our preservation depended upon him alone. I heard the poor fellow breathing hard, and knew he could not keep up much longer.

‘Let me go! Leave me!’ I cried.

‘Leave monsieur? Never!’ he answered. ‘I shall drown with him.’

Just then the moon appeared through the fringe of a large cloud that the wind was driving eastward. The surface of the sea shone under her rays. I lifted my head and saw the frigate. She was five miles from us, and only looked like a dark mass, scarcely distinguishable. I saw no boats.

I tried to call out, but it was useless at that distance. My swollen lips would not utter a sound. Conseil could still speak, and I heard him call out ‘Help!’ several times.

We suspended our movements for an instant and listened. It might be only a singing in our ears, but it seemed to me that a cry answered Conseil’s.

‘Did you hear?’ I murmured.

‘Yes, yes!’

And Conseil threw another despairing cry into space. This time there could be no mistake. A human voice answered ours. Was it the voice of some other victim of the shock, or a boat hailing us in the darkness? Conseil made a supreme effort, and, leaning on my shoulder whilst I made a last struggle for us both, he raised himself half out of the water, and I heard him shout. Then my strength was exhausted, my fingers slipped, my mouth filled with salt water, I went cold all over, raised my head for the last time, and began to sink.

At that moment I hit against something hard, and I clung to it in desperation. Then I felt myself lifted up out of the water, and I fainted. I soon came to, thanks to the vigorous friction that was being applied to my body, and I half opened my eyes.

‘Conseil!’ I murmured.

‘Did monsieur ring?’ answered Conseil.

Just then, by the light of the moon that was getting lower on the horizon, I perceived a face that was not Conseil’s, but which I immediately recognised.

‘Ned!’ I cried.

‘The same, sir, looking after his prize,’ replied the Canadian.

‘Were you thrown into the sea when the frigate was struck?’

‘Yes, sir, but, luckier than you, I soon got upon a floating island.’

‘An island.’

‘Yes, or if you like better, on our giant narwhal.’

‘What do you mean, Ned?’

‘I mean that I understand now why my harpoon did not stick into the skin, but was blunted.’

‘Why, Ned, why?’

‘Because the beast is made of sheet-iron plates.’

I wriggled myself quickly to the top of the half-submerged being or object on which we had found refuge. I struck my foot against it. It was evidently a hard and impenetrable body, and not the soft substance which forms the mass of great marine mammalia. But this hard body could not be a bony carapace like that of antediluvian animals. I could not even class it amongst amphibious reptiles, such as tortoises and alligators, for the blackish back that supported me was not scaly but smooth and polished.

The blow produced a metallic sound, and, strange as it may appear, seemed caused by being struck on riveted plates. Doubt was no longer possible. The animal, monster, natural phenomenon that had puzzled the entire scientific world, and misled the imagination of sailors in the two hemispheres, was, it must be acknowledged, a still more astonishing phenomenon, a phenomenon of man’s making. The discovery of the existence of the most fabulous and mythological being would not have astonished me in the same degree. It seems quite simple that anything prodigious should come from the hand of the Creator, but to find the impossible realised by the hand of man was enough to confound the imagination.

We were lying upon the top of a sort of submarine boat, which looked to me like an immense steel fish. Ned Land’s mind was made up on that point, and Conseil and I could only agree with him.