Part One.: Chapter 4: Ned Land

by Jules Verne

　　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 questionof the monster there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not allowthe 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 CaptainFarragut 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 variouschances 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 wascrowded with sailors, whose feet were burnt to such an extent bythe heat of the deck as to render it unbearable; still the AbrahamLincoln had not yet breasted the suspected waters of the Pacific.As to the ship's company, they desired nothing better than to meetthe 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 shareof daily observations. The frigate might have been called the Argus,for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to protestby 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 hisship with every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean.No whaler had ever been better armed. We possessed everyknown engine, from the harpoon thrown by the hand to the barbedarrows 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 easea conical projectile of nine pounds to a mean distanceof ten miles.

　　Thus the Abraham Lincoln wanted for no means of destruction; and, what wasbetter still she had on board Ned Land, the prince of harpooners.

　　Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who knewno equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity, and cunninghe possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning whale to escapethe 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 boldnessof his look, which gave a singular expression to his face.

　　Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little communicativeas 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 himto talk, and for me to hear, that old language of Rabelais, which is stillin use in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner's family was originallyfrom Quebec, and was already a tribe of hardy fishermen when this townbelonged to France.

　　Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and Iloved to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas.He related his fishing, and his combats, with natural poetryof expression; his recital took the form of an epic poem,and I seemed to be listening to a Canadian Homer singing the Iliadof 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 friendshipwhich 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 moretime 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 wasthe only one on board who did not share that universal conviction.He even avoided the subject, which I one day thought it my dutyto press upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th July (that isto say, three weeks after our departure), the frigate was abreastof Cape Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia.We had crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellanopened less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eightdays were over the Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the watersof the Pacific.

　　Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thingand another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose greatdepths had up to this time been inaccessible to the eye of man.I naturally led up the conversation to the giant unicorn, and examinedthe 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 convincedof 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 momentsbefore 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 allthe great marine mammalia--you ought to be the last to doubtunder 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 mayhave been, neither their tails nor their weapons would have beenable even to scratch the iron plates of a steamer."

　　"But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhalhave 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 producethe 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 tothe 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 manwho would not be convinced.

　　"Notice one thing, my worthy Canadian," I resumed."If such an animal is in existence, if it inhabits the depthsof the ocean, if it frequents the strata lying miles belowthe surface of the water, it must necessarily possess anorganisation the strength of which would defy all comparison."

　　"And why this powerful organisation?" demanded Ned.

　　"Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one's selfin these strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me.Let us admit that the pressure of the atmosphere is representedby the weight of a column of water thirty-two feet high.In reality the column of water would be shorter, as we arespeaking of sea water, the density of which is greater thanthat of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as manytimes 32 feet of water as there are above you, so many timesdoes 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 equalsthat 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 thisdepth in the ocean, each square three-eighths of an inchof 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 onthe 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 pressureof 97,500 lb."

　　"Without my perceiving it?"

　　"Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed bysuch a pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interiorof your body with equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibriumbetween the interior and exterior pressure, which thus neutraliseeach 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 wouldundergo 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 ofa hydraulic machine!"

　　"The devil!" exclaimed Ned.

　　"Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundredyards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such depths--of those whose surface is represented by millions of square inches, that isby 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 plateseight 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 mustnecessarily be as strong as you say."

　　"But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explainthe accident to the Scotia?"