20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

Chapter 2 The Pros and Cons

Chapter 2

The Pros and ConsDURING THE PERIOD in which these developments were occurring, I

had returned from a scientific undertaking organized to explore the

Nebraska badlands in the United States. In my capacity as Assistant

Professor at the Paris Museum of Natural History, I had been

attached to this expedition by the French government. After

spending six months in Nebraska, I arrived in New York laden with

valuable collections near the end of March. My departure for France

was set for early May. In the meantime, then, I was busy

classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and zoological treasures

when that incident took place with the Scotia.

I was perfectly abreast of this question, which was the big news

of the day, and how could I not have been? I had read and reread

every American and European newspaper without being any farther

along. This mystery puzzled me. Finding it impossible to form any

views, I drifted from one extreme to the other. Something was out

there, that much was certain, and any doubting Thomas was invited

to place his finger on the Scotia's wound.

When I arrived in New York, the question was at the boiling

point. The hypothesis of a drifting islet or an elusive reef, put

forward by people not quite in their right minds, was completely

eliminated. And indeed, unless this reef had an engine in its

belly, how could it move about with such prodigious speed?

Also discredited was the idea of a floating hull or some other

enormous wreckage, and again because of this speed of movement.

So only two possible solutions to the question were left,

creating two very distinct groups of supporters: on one side, those

favoring a monster of colossal strength; on the other, those

favoring an "underwater boat" of tremendous motor power.

Now then, although the latter hypothesis was completely

admissible, it couldn't stand up to inquiries conducted in both the

New World and the Old. That a private individual had such a

mechanism at his disposal was less than probable. Where and when

had he built it, and how could he have built it in secret?

Only some government could own such an engine of destruction,

and in these disaster-filled times, when men tax their ingenuity to

build increasingly powerful aggressive weapons, it was possible

that, unknown to the rest of the world, some nation could have been

testing such a fearsome machine. The Chassepot rifle led to the

torpedo, and the torpedo has led to this underwater battering ram,

which in turn will lead to the world putting its foot down. At

least I hope it will.

But this hypothesis of a war machine collapsed in the face of

formal denials from the various governments. Since the public

interest was at stake and transoceanic travel was suffering, the

sincerity of these governments could not be doubted. Besides, how

could the assembly of this underwater boat have escaped public

notice? Keeping a secret under such circumstances would be

difficult enough for an individual, and certainly impossible for a

nation whose every move is under constant surveillance by rival

powers.

So, after inquiries conducted in England, France, Russia,

Prussia, Spain, Italy, America, and even Turkey, the hypothesis of

an underwater Monitor was ultimately rejected.

And so the monster surfaced again, despite the endless

witticisms heaped on it by the popular press, and the human

imagination soon got caught up in the most ridiculous

ichthyological fantasies.

After I arrived in New York, several people did me the honor of

consulting me on the phenomenon in question. In France I had

published a two-volume work, in quarto, entitled The Mysteries of

the Great Ocean Depths. Well received in scholarly circles, this

book had established me as a specialist in this pretty obscure

field of natural history. My views were in demand. As long as I

could deny the reality of the business, I confined myself to a flat

"no comment." But soon, pinned to the wall, I had to explain myself

straight out. And in this vein, "the honorable Pierre Aronnax,

Professor at the Paris Museum," was summoned by The New York Herald

to formulate his views no matter what.

I complied. Since I could no longer hold my tongue, I let it

wag. I discussed the question in its every aspect, both political

and scientific, and this is an excerpt from the well-padded article

I published in the issue of April 30.

"Therefore," I wrote, "after examining these different

hypotheses one by one, we are forced, every other supposition

having been refuted, to accept the existence of an extremely

powerful marine animal.

"The deepest parts of the ocean are totally unknown to us. No

soundings have been able to reach them. What goes on in those

distant depths? What creatures inhabit, or could inhabit, those

regions twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the water?

What is the constitution of these animals? It's almost beyond

conjecture.

"However, the solution to this problem submitted to me can take

the form of a choice between two alternatives.

"Either we know every variety of creature populating our planet,

or we do not.

"If we do not know every one of them, if nature still keeps

ichthyological secrets from us, nothing is more admissible than to

accept the existence of fish or cetaceans of new species or even

new genera, animals with a basically 'cast-iron' constitution that

inhabit strata beyond the reach of our soundings, and which some

development or other, an urge or a whim if you prefer, can bring to

the upper level of the ocean for long intervals.

"If, on the other hand, we do know every living species, we must

look for the animal in question among those marine creatures

already cataloged, and in this event I would be inclined to accept

the existence of a giant narwhale.

"The common narwhale, or sea unicorn, often reaches a length of

sixty feet. Increase its dimensions fivefold or even tenfold, then

give this cetacean a strength in proportion to its size while

enlarging its offensive weapons, and you have the animal we're

looking for. It would have the proportions determined by the

officers of the Shannon, the instrument needed to perforate the

Scotia, and the power to pierce a steamer's hull.

"In essence, the narwhale is armed with a sort of ivory sword,

or lance, as certain naturalists have expressed it. It's a

king-sized tooth as hard as steel. Some of these teeth have been

found buried in the bodies of baleen whales, which the narwhale

attacks with invariable success. Others have been wrenched, not

without difficulty, from the undersides of vessels that narwhales

have pierced clean through, as a gimlet pierces a wine barrel. The

museum at the Faculty of Medicine in Paris owns one of these tusks

with a length of 2.25 meters and a width at its base of forty-eight

centimeters!

"All right then! Imagine this weapon to be ten times stronger

and the animal ten times more powerful, launch it at a speed of

twenty miles per hour, multiply its mass times its velocity, and

you get just the collision we need to cause the specified

catastrophe.

"So, until information becomes more abundant, I plump for a sea

unicorn of colossal dimensions, no longer armed with a mere lance

but with an actual spur, like ironclad frigates or those warships

called 'rams,' whose mass and motor power it would possess

simultaneously.

"This inexplicable phenomenon is thus explained away—unless it's

something else entirely, which, despite everything that has been

sighted, studied, explored and experienced, is still possible!"

These last words were cowardly of me; but as far as I could, I

wanted to protect my professorial dignity and not lay myself open

to laughter from the Americans, who when they do laugh, laugh

raucously. I had left myself a loophole. Yet deep down, I had

accepted the existence of "the monster."

My article was hotly debated, causing a fine old uproar. It

rallied a number of supporters. Moreover, the solution it proposed

allowed for free play of the imagination. The human mind enjoys

impressive visions of unearthly creatures. Now then, the sea is

precisely their best medium, the only setting suitable for the

breeding and growing of such giants—next to which such land animals

as elephants or rhinoceroses are mere dwarves. The liquid masses

support the largest known species of mammals and perhaps conceal

mollusks of incomparable size or crustaceans too frightful to

contemplate, such as 100-meter lobsters or crabs weighing 200

metric tons! Why not? Formerly, in prehistoric days, land animals

(quadrupeds, apes, reptiles, birds) were built on a gigantic scale.

Our Creator cast them using a colossal mold that time has gradually

made smaller. With its untold depths, couldn't the sea keep alive

such huge specimens of life from another age, this sea that never

changes while the land masses undergo almost continuous alteration?

Couldn't the heart of the ocean hide the last-remaining varieties

of these titanic species, for whom years are centuries and

centuries millennia?

But I mustn't let these fantasies run away with me! Enough of

these fairy tales that time has changed for me into harsh

realities. I repeat: opinion had crystallized as to the nature of

this phenomenon, and the public accepted without argument the

existence of a prodigious creature that had nothing in common with

the fabled sea serpent.

Yet if some saw it purely as a scientific problem to be solved,

more practical people, especially in America and England, were

determined to purge the ocean of this daunting monster, to insure

the safety of transoceanic travel. The industrial and commercial

newspapers dealt with the question chiefly from this viewpoint. The

Shipping & Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd's List, France's

Packetboat and Maritime & Colonial Review, all the rags devoted

to insurance companies—who threatened to raise their premium rates—

were unanimous on this point.

Public opinion being pronounced, the States of the Union were

the first in the field. In New York preparations were under way for

an expedition designed to chase this narwhale. A high-speed

frigate, the Abraham Lincoln, was fitted out for putting to sea as

soon as possible. The naval arsenals were unlocked for Commander

Farragut, who pressed energetically forward with the arming of his

frigate.

But, as it always happens, just when a decision had been made to

chase the monster, the monster put in no further appearances. For

two months nobody heard a word about it. Not a single ship

encountered it. Apparently the unicorn had gotten wise to these

plots being woven around it. People were constantly babbling about

the creature, even via the Atlantic Cable! Accordingly, the wags

claimed that this slippery rascal had waylaid some passing telegram

and was making the most of it.

So the frigate was equipped for a far-off voyage and armed with

fearsome fishing gear, but nobody knew where to steer it. And

impatience grew until, on June 2, word came that the Tampico, a

steamer on the San Francisco line sailing from California to

Shanghai, had sighted the animal again, three weeks before in the

northerly seas of the Pacific.

This news caused intense excitement. Not even a 24-hour breather

was granted to Commander Farragut. His provisions were loaded on

board. His coal bunkers were overflowing. Not a crewman was missing

from his post. To cast off, he needed only to fire and stoke his

furnaces! Half a day's delay would have been unforgivable! But

Commander Farragut wanted nothing more than to go forth.

I received a letter three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left

its Brooklyn pier;[3] the letter

read as follows:

Pierre Aronnax

Professor at the Paris Museum

Fifth Avenue Hotel

New York

Sir:

If you would like to join the expedition on the Abraham Lincoln,

the government of the Union will be pleased to regard you as

France's representative in this undertaking. Commander Farragut has

a cabin at your disposal.

Very cordially yours,

J. B. HOBSON,

Secretary of the Navy.