20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

Chapter 6 At Full Steam

Chapter 6 At

Full SteamAT THIS SHOUT the entire crew rushed toward the harpooner—

commander, officers, mates, sailors, cabin boys, down to engineers

leaving their machinery and stokers neglecting their furnaces. The

order was given to stop, and the frigate merely coasted.

By then the darkness was profound, and as good as the Canadian's

eyes were, I still wondered how he could see—and what he had seen.

My heart was pounding fit to burst.

But Ned Land was not mistaken, and we all spotted the object his

hand was indicating.

Two cable lengths off the Abraham Lincoln's starboard quarter,

the sea seemed to be lit up from underneath. This was no mere

phosphorescent phenomenon, that much was unmistakable. Submerged

some fathoms below the surface of the water, the monster gave off

that very intense but inexplicable glow that several captains had

mentioned in their reports. This magnificent radiance had to come

from some force with a great illuminating capacity. The edge of its

light swept over the sea in an immense, highly elongated oval,

condensing at the center into a blazing core whose unbearable glow

diminished by degrees outward.

"It's only a cluster of phosphorescent particles!" exclaimed one

of the officers.

"No, sir," I answered with conviction. "Not even angel-wing

clams or salps have ever given off such a powerful light. That glow

is basically electric in nature. Besides … look, look! It's

shifting! It's moving back and forth! It's darting at us!"

A universal shout went up from the frigate.

"Quiet!" Commander Farragut said. "Helm hard to leeward! Reverse

engines!"

Sailors rushed to the helm, engineers to their machinery. Under

reverse steam immediately, the Abraham Lincoln beat to port,

sweeping in a semicircle.

"Right your helm! Engines forward!" Commander Farragut

called.

These orders were executed, and the frigate swiftly retreated

from this core of light.

My mistake. It wanted to retreat, but the unearthly animal came

at us with a speed double our own.

We gasped. More stunned than afraid, we stood mute and

motionless. The animal caught up with us, played with us. It made a

full circle around the frigate—then doing fourteen knots—and

wrapped us in sheets of electricity that were like luminous dust.

Then it retreated two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent

trail comparable to those swirls of steam that shoot behind the

locomotive of an express train. Suddenly, all the way from the dark

horizon where it had gone to gather momentum, the monster abruptly

dashed toward the Abraham Lincoln with frightening speed, stopped

sharply twenty feet from our side plates, and died out— not by

diving under the water, since its glow did not recede gradually—

but all at once, as if the source of this brilliant emanation had

suddenly dried up. Then it reappeared on the other side of the

ship, either by circling around us or by gliding under our hull. At

any instant a collision could have occurred that would have been

fatal to us.

Meanwhile I was astonished at the frigate's maneuvers. It was

fleeing, not fighting. Built to pursue, it was being pursued, and I

commented on this to Commander Farragut. His face, ordinarily so

emotionless, was stamped with indescribable astonishment.

"Professor Aronnax," he answered me, "I don't know what kind of

fearsome creature I'm up against, and I don't want my frigate

running foolish risks in all this darkness. Besides, how should we

attack this unknown creature, how should we defend ourselves

against it? Let's wait for daylight, and then we'll play a

different role."

"You've no further doubts, commander, as to the nature of this

animal?"

"No, sir, it's apparently a gigantic narwhale, and an electric

one to boot."

"Maybe," I added, "it's no more approachable than an electric

eel or an electric ray!"

"Right," the commander replied. "And if it has their power to

electrocute, it's surely the most dreadful animal ever conceived by

our Creator. That's why I'll keep on my guard, sir."

The whole crew stayed on their feet all night long. No one even

thought of sleeping. Unable to compete with the monster's speed,

the Abraham Lincoln slowed down and stayed at half steam. For its

part, the narwhale mimicked the frigate, simply rode with the

waves, and seemed determined not to forsake the field of

battle.

However, near midnight it disappeared, or to use a more

appropriate expression, "it went out," like a huge glowworm. Had it

fled from us? We were duty bound to fear so rather than hope so.

But at 12:53 in the morning, a deafening hiss became audible,

resembling the sound made by a waterspout expelled with tremendous

intensity.

By then Commander Farragut, Ned Land, and I were on the

afterdeck, peering eagerly into the profound gloom.

"Ned Land," the commander asked, "you've often heard whales

bellowing?"

"Often, sir, but never a whale like this, whose sighting earned

me $2,000.00."

"Correct, the prize is rightfully yours. But tell me, isn't that

the noise cetaceans make when they spurt water from their

blowholes?"

"The very noise, sir, but this one's way louder. So there can be

no mistake. There's definitely a whale lurking in our waters. With

your permission, sir," the harpooner added, "tomorrow at daybreak

we'll have words with it."

"If it's in a mood to listen to you, Mr. Land," I replied in a

tone far from convinced.

"Let me get within four harpoon lengths of it," the Canadian

shot back, "and it had better listen!"

"But to get near it," the commander went on, "I'd have to put a

whaleboat at your disposal?"

"Certainly, sir."

"That would be gambling with the lives of my men."

"And with my own!" the harpooner replied simply.

Near two o'clock in the morning, the core of light reappeared,

no less intense, five miles to windward of the Abraham Lincoln.

Despite the distance, despite the noise of wind and sea, we could

distinctly hear the fearsome thrashings of the animal's tail, and

even its panting breath. Seemingly, the moment this enormous

narwhale came up to breathe at the surface of the ocean, air was

sucked into its lungs like steam into the huge cylinders of a

2,000-horsepower engine.

"Hmm!" I said to myself. "A cetacean as powerful as a whole

cavalry regiment—now that's a whale of a whale!"

We stayed on the alert until daylight, getting ready for action.

Whaling gear was set up along the railings. Our chief officer

loaded the blunderbusses, which can launch harpoons as far as a

mile, and long duck guns with exploding bullets that can mortally

wound even the most powerful animals. Ned Land was content to

sharpen his harpoon, a dreadful weapon in his hands.

At six o'clock day began to break, and with the dawn's early

light, the narwhale's electric glow disappeared. At seven o'clock

the day was well along, but a very dense morning mist shrank the

horizon, and our best spyglasses were unable to pierce it. The

outcome: disappointment and anger.

I hoisted myself up to the crosstrees of the mizzen sail. Some

officers were already perched on the mastheads.

At eight o'clock the mist rolled ponderously over the waves, and

its huge curls were lifting little by little. The horizon grew

wider and clearer all at once.

Suddenly, just as on the previous evening, Ned Land's voice was

audible.

"There's the thing in question, astern to port!" the harpooner

shouted.

Every eye looked toward the point indicated.

There, a mile and a half from the frigate, a long blackish body

emerged a meter above the waves. Quivering violently, its tail was

creating a considerable eddy. Never had caudal equipment thrashed

the sea with such power. An immense wake of glowing whiteness

marked the animal's track, sweeping in a long curve.

Our frigate drew nearer to the cetacean. I examined it with a

completely open mind. Those reports from the Shannon and the

Helvetia had slightly exaggerated its dimensions, and I put its

length at only 250 feet. Its girth was more difficult to judge, but

all in all, the animal seemed to be wonderfully proportioned in all

three dimensions.

While I was observing this phenomenal creature, two jets of

steam and water sprang from its blowholes and rose to an altitude

of forty meters, which settled for me its mode of breathing. From

this I finally concluded that it belonged to the branch Vertebrata,

class Mammalia, subclass Monodelphia, group Pisciforma, order

Cetacea, family … but here I couldn't make up my mind. The

order Cetacea consists of three families, baleen whales, sperm

whales, dolphins, and it's in this last group that narwhales are

placed. Each of these families is divided into several genera, each

genus into species, each species into varieties. So I was still

missing variety, species, genus, and family, but no doubt I would

complete my classifying with the aid of Heaven and Commander

Farragut.

The crew were waiting impatiently for orders from their leader.

The latter, after carefully observing the animal, called for his

engineer. The engineer raced over.

"Sir," the commander said, "are you up to pressure?"

"Aye, sir," the engineer replied.

"Fine. Stoke your furnaces and clap on full steam!"

Three cheers greeted this order. The hour of battle had sounded.

A few moments later, the frigate's two funnels vomited torrents of

black smoke, and its deck quaked from the trembling of its

boilers.

Driven forward by its powerful propeller, the Abraham Lincoln

headed straight for the animal. Unconcerned, the latter let us come

within half a cable length; then, not bothering to dive, it got up

a little speed, retreated, and was content to keep its

distance.

This chase dragged on for about three-quarters of an hour

without the frigate gaining two fathoms on the cetacean. At this

rate, it was obvious that we would never catch up with it.

Infuriated, Commander Farragut kept twisting the thick tuft of

hair that flourished below his chin.

"Ned Land!" he called.

The Canadian reported at once.

"Well, Mr. Land," the commander asked, "do you still advise

putting my longboats to sea?"

"No, sir," Ned Land replied, "because that beast won't be caught

against its will."

"Then what should we do?"

"Stoke up more steam, sir, if you can. As for me, with your

permission I'll go perch on the bobstays under the bowsprit, and if

we can get within a harpoon length, I'll harpoon the brute."

"Go to it, Ned," Commander Farragut replied. "Engineer," he

called, "keep the pressure mounting!"

Ned Land made his way to his post. The furnaces were urged into

greater activity; our propeller did forty-three revolutions per

minute, and steam shot from the valves. Heaving the log, we

verified that the Abraham Lincoln was going at the rate of 18.5

miles per hour.

But that damned animal also did a speed of 18.5.

For the next hour our frigate kept up this pace without gaining

a fathom! This was humiliating for one of the fastest racers in the

American navy. The crew were working up into a blind rage. Sailor

after sailor heaved insults at the monster, which couldn't be

bothered with answering back. Commander Farragut was no longer

content simply to twist his goatee; he chewed on it.

The engineer was summoned once again.

"You're up to maximum pressure?" the commander asked him.

"Aye, sir," the engineer replied.

"And your valves are charged to … ?"

"To six and a half atmospheres."

"Charge them to ten atmospheres."

A typical American order if I ever heard one. It would have

sounded just fine during some Mississippi paddle-wheeler race, to

"outstrip the competition!"

"Conseil," I said to my gallant servant, now at my side, "you

realize that we'll probably blow ourselves skyhigh?"

"As master wishes!" Conseil replied.

All right, I admit it: I did wish to run this risk!

The valves were charged. More coal was swallowed by the

furnaces. Ventilators shot torrents of air over the braziers. The

Abraham Lincoln's speed increased. Its masts trembled down to their

blocks, and swirls of smoke could barely squeeze through the narrow

funnels.

We heaved the log a second time.

"Well, helmsman?" Commander Farragut asked.

"19.3 miles per hour, sir."

"Keep stoking the furnaces."

The engineer did so. The pressure gauge marked ten atmospheres.

But no doubt the cetacean itself had "warmed up," because without

the least trouble, it also did 19.3.

What a chase! No, I can't describe the excitement that shook my

very being. Ned Land stayed at his post, harpoon in hand. Several

times the animal let us approach.

"We're overhauling it!" the Canadian would shout.

Then, just as he was about to strike, the cetacean would steal

off with a swiftness I could estimate at no less than thirty miles

per hour. And even at our maximum speed, it took the liberty of

thumbing its nose at the frigate by running a full circle around

us! A howl of fury burst from every throat!

By noon we were no farther along than at eight o'clock in the

morning.

Commander Farragut then decided to use more direct methods.

"Bah!" he said. "So that animal is faster than the Abraham

Lincoln. All right, we'll see if it can outrun our conical shells!

Mate, man the g*n in the bow!"

Our forecastle cannon was immediately loaded and leveled. The

cannoneer fired a shot, but his shell passed some feet above the

cetacean, which stayed half a mile off.

"Over to somebody with better aim!" the commander shouted. "And

$500.00 to the man who can pierce that infernal beast!"

Calm of eye, cool of feature, an old gray-bearded gunner— I can

see him to this day—approached the cannon, put it in position, and

took aim for a good while. There was a mighty explosion, mingled

with cheers from the crew.

The shell reached its target; it hit the animal, but not in the

usual fashion—it bounced off that rounded surface and vanished into

the sea two miles out.

"Oh drat!" said the old gunner in his anger. "That rascal must

be covered with six-inch armor plate!"

"Curse the beast!" Commander Farragut shouted.

The hunt was on again, and Commander Farragut leaned over to me,

saying:

"I'll chase that animal till my frigate explodes!"

"Yes," I replied, "and nobody would blame you!"

We could still hope that the animal would tire out and not be as

insensitive to exhaustion as our steam engines. But no such luck.

Hour after hour went by without it showing the least sign of

weariness.

However, to the Abraham Lincoln's credit, it must be said that

we struggled on with tireless persistence. I estimate that we

covered a distance of at least 500 kilometers during this ill-fated

day of November 6. But night fell and wrapped the surging ocean in

its shadows.

By then I thought our expedition had come to an end, that we

would never see this fantastic animal again. I was mistaken.

At 10:50 in the evening, that electric light reappeared three

miles to windward of the frigate, just as clear and intense as the

night before.

The narwhale seemed motionless. Was it asleep perhaps, weary

from its workday, just riding with the waves? This was our chance,

and Commander Farragut was determined to take full advantage of

it.

He gave his orders. The Abraham Lincoln stayed at half steam,

advancing cautiously so as not to awaken its adversary. In midocean

it's not unusual to encounter whales so sound asleep they can

successfully be attacked, and Ned Land had harpooned more than one

in its slumber. The Canadian went to resume his post on the

bobstays under the bowsprit.

The frigate approached without making a sound, stopped two cable

lengths from the animal and coasted. Not a soul breathed on board.

A profound silence reigned over the deck. We were not 100 feet from

the blazing core of light, whose glow grew stronger and dazzled the

eyes.

Just then, leaning over the forecastle railing, I saw Ned Land

below me, one hand grasping the martingale, the other brandishing

his dreadful harpoon. Barely twenty feet separated him from the

motionless animal.

All at once his arm shot forward and the harpoon was launched. I

heard the weapon collide resonantly, as if it had hit some hard

substance.

The electric light suddenly went out, and two enormous waterspouts

crashed onto the deck of the frigate, racing like a torrent from

stem to stern, toppling crewmen, breaking spare masts and yardarms

from their lashings.

A hideous collision occurred, and thrown over the rail with no

time to catch hold of it, I was hurled into the sea.