20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

Chapter 7 A Whale of Unknown Species

Chapter 7 A

Whale of Unknown SpeciesALTHOUGH I WAS startled by this unexpected descent, I at least

have a very clear recollection of my sensations during it.

At first I was dragged about twenty feet under. I'm a good

swimmer, without claiming to equal such other authors as Byron and

Edgar Allan Poe, who were master divers, and I didn't lose my head

on the way down. With two vigorous kicks of the heel, I came back

to the surface of the sea.

My first concern was to look for the frigate. Had the crew seen

me go overboard? Was the Abraham Lincoln tacking about? Would

Commander Farragut put a longboat to sea? Could I hope to be

rescued?

The gloom was profound. I glimpsed a black mass disappearing

eastward, where its running lights were fading out in the distance.

It was the frigate. I felt I was done for.

"Help! Help!" I shouted, swimming desperately toward the Abraham

Lincoln.

My clothes were weighing me down. The water glued them to my

body, they were paralyzing my movements. I was sinking! I was

suffocating … !

"Help!"

This was the last shout I gave. My mouth was filling with water.

I struggled against being dragged into the depths… .

Suddenly my clothes were seized by energetic hands, I felt

myself pulled abruptly back to the surface of the sea, and yes, I

heard these words pronounced in my ear:

"If master would oblige me by leaning on my shoulder, master

will swim with much greater ease."

With one hand I seized the arm of my loyal Conseil.

"You!" I said. "You!"

"Myself," Conseil replied, "and at master's command."

"That collision threw you overboard along with me?"

"Not at all. But being in master's employ, I followed

master."

The fine lad thought this only natural!

"What about the frigate?" I asked.

"The frigate?" Conseil replied, rolling over on his back. "I

think master had best not depend on it to any great extent!"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that just as I jumped overboard, I heard the men at

the helm shout, 'Our propeller and rudder are smashed!' "

"Smashed?"

"Yes, smashed by the monster's tusk! I believe it's the sole

injury the Abraham Lincoln has sustained. But most inconveniently

for us, the ship can no longer steer."

"Then we're done for!"

"Perhaps," Conseil replied serenely. "However, we still have a

few hours before us, and in a few hours one can do a great many

things!"

Conseil's unflappable composure cheered me up. I swam more

vigorously, but hampered by clothes that were as restricting as a

cloak made of lead, I was managing with only the greatest

difficulty. Conseil noticed as much.

"Master will allow me to make an incision," he said.

And he slipped an open clasp knife under my clothes, slitting

them from top to bottom with one swift stroke. Then he briskly

undressed me while I swam for us both.

I then did Conseil the same favor, and we continued to

"navigate" side by side.

But our circumstances were no less dreadful. Perhaps they hadn't

seen us go overboard; and even if they had, the frigate—being

undone by its rudder—couldn't return to leeward after us. So we

could count only on its longboats.

Conseil had coolly reasoned out this hypothesis and laid his

plans accordingly. An amazing character, this boy; in midocean,

this stoic lad seemed right at home!

So, having concluded that our sole chance for salvation lay in

being picked up by the Abraham Lincoln's longboats, we had to take

steps to wait for them as long as possible. Consequently, I decided

to divide our energies so we wouldn't both be worn out at the same

time, and this was the arrangement: while one of us lay on his

back, staying motionless with arms crossed and legs outstretched,

the other would swim and propel his partner forward. This towing

role was to last no longer than ten minutes, and by relieving each

other in this way, we could stay afloat for hours, perhaps even

until daybreak.

Slim chance, but hope springs eternal in the human breast!

Besides, there were two of us. Lastly, I can vouch—as improbable as

it seems—that even if I had wanted to destroy all my illusions,

even if I had been willing to "give in to despair," I could not

have done so!

The cetacean had rammed our frigate at about eleven o'clock in

the evening. I therefore calculated on eight hours of swimming

until sunrise. A strenuous task, but feasible, thanks to our

relieving each other. The sea was pretty smooth and barely tired

us. Sometimes I tried to peer through the dense gloom, which was

broken only by the phosphorescent flickers coming from our

movements. I stared at the luminous ripples breaking over my hands,

shimmering sheets spattered with blotches of bluish gray. It seemed

as if we'd plunged into a pool of quicksilver.

Near one o'clock in the morning, I was overcome with tremendous

exhaustion. My limbs stiffened in the grip of intense cramps.

Conseil had to keep me going, and attending to our

self–preservation became his sole responsibility. I soon heard the

poor lad gasping; his breathing became shallow and quick. I didn't

think he could stand such exertions for much longer.

"Go on! Go on!" I told him.

"Leave master behind?" he replied. "Never! I'll drown before he

does!"

Just then, past the fringes of a large cloud that the wind was

driving eastward, the moon appeared. The surface of the sea

glistened under its rays. That kindly light rekindled our strength.

I held up my head again. My eyes darted to every point of the

horizon. I spotted the frigate. It was five miles from us and

formed no more than a dark, barely perceptible mass. But as for

longboats, not a one in sight!

I tried to call out. What was the use at such a distance! My

swollen lips wouldn't let a single sound through. Conseil could

still articulate a few words, and I heard him repeat at

intervals:

"Help! Help!"

Ceasing all movement for an instant, we listened. And it may

have been a ringing in my ear, from this organ filling with impeded

blood, but it seemed to me that Conseil's shout had received an

answer back.

"Did you hear that?" I muttered.

"Yes, yes!"

And Conseil hurled another desperate plea into space.

This time there could be no mistake! A human voice had answered

us! Was it the voice of some poor devil left behind in midocean,

some other victim of that collision suffered by our ship? Or was it

one of the frigate's longboats, hailing us out of the gloom?

Conseil made one final effort, and bracing his hands on my

shoulders, while I offered resistance with one supreme exertion, he

raised himself half out of the water, then fell back exhausted.

"What did you see?"

"I saw … ," he muttered, "I saw … but we mustn't

talk … save our strength … !"

What had he seen? Then, lord knows why, the thought of the

monster came into my head for the first time … ! But

even so, that voice … ? Gone are the days when Jonahs

took refuge in the bellies of whales!

Nevertheless, Conseil kept towing me. Sometimes he looked up,

stared straight ahead, and shouted a request for directions, which

was answered by a voice that was getting closer and closer. I could

barely hear it. I was at the end of my strength; my fingers gave

out; my hands were no help to me; my mouth opened convulsively,

filling with brine; its coldness ran through me; I raised my head

one last time, then I collapsed… .

Just then something hard banged against me. I clung to it. Then

I felt myself being pulled upward, back to the surface of the

water; my chest caved in, and I fainted… .

For certain, I came to quickly, because someone was massaging me

so vigorously it left furrows in my flesh. I half opened my eyes…

.

"Conseil!" I muttered.

"Did master ring for me?" Conseil replied.

Just then, in the last light of a moon settling on the horizon,

I spotted a face that wasn't Conseil's but which I recognized at

once.

"Ned!" I exclaimed.

"In person, sir, and still after his prize!" the Canadian

replied.

"You were thrown overboard after the frigate's collision?"

"Yes, professor, but I was luckier than you, and right away I

was able to set foot on this floating islet."

"Islet?"

"Or in other words, on our gigantic narwhale."

"Explain yourself, Ned."

"It's just that I soon realized why my harpoon got blunted and

couldn't puncture its hide."

"Why, Ned, why?"

"Because, professor, this beast is made of boilerplate

steel!"

At this point in my story, I need to get a grip on myself,

reconstruct exactly what I experienced, and make doubly sure of

everything I write.

The Canadian's last words caused a sudden upheaval in my brain.

I swiftly hoisted myself to the summit of this half–submerged

creature or object that was serving as our refuge. I tested it with

my foot. Obviously it was some hard, impenetrable substance, not

the soft matter that makes up the bodies of our big marine

mammals.

But this hard substance could have been a bony carapace, like

those that covered some prehistoric animals, and I might have left

it at that and classified this monster among such amphibious

reptiles as turtles or alligators.

Well, no. The blackish back supporting me was smooth and

polished with no overlapping scales. On impact, it gave off a

metallic sonority, and as incredible as this sounds, it seemed, I

swear, to be made of riveted plates.

No doubts were possible! This animal, this monster, this natural

phenomenon that had puzzled the whole scientific world, that had

muddled and misled the minds of seamen in both hemispheres, was,

there could be no escaping it, an even more astonishing

phenomenon—a phenomenon made by the hand of man.

Even if I had discovered that some fabulous, mythological

creature really existed, it wouldn't have given me such a terrific

mental jolt. It's easy enough to accept that prodigious things can

come from our Creator. But to find, all at once, right before your

eyes, that the impossible had been mysteriously achieved by man

himself: this staggers the mind!

But there was no question now. We were stretched out on the back

of some kind of underwater boat that, as far as I could judge,

boasted the shape of an immense steel fish. Ned Land had clear

views on the issue. Conseil and I could only line up behind

him.

"But then," I said, "does this contraption contain some sort of

locomotive mechanism, and a crew to run it?"

"Apparently," the harpooner replied. "And yet for the three

hours I've lived on this floating island, it hasn't shown a sign of

life."

"This boat hasn't moved at all?"

"No, Professor Aronnax. It just rides with the waves, but

otherwise it hasn't stirred."

"But we know that it's certainly gifted with great speed. Now

then, since an engine is needed to generate that speed, and a

mechanic to run that engine, I conclude: we're saved."

"Humph!" Ned Land put in, his tone denoting reservations.

Just then, as if to take my side in the argument, a bubbling

began astern of this strange submersible—whose drive mechanism was

obviously a propeller—and the boat started to move. We barely had

time to hang on to its topside, which emerged about eighty

centimeters above water. Fortunately its speed was not

excessive.

"So long as it navigates horizontally," Ned Land muttered, "I've

no complaints. But if it gets the urge to dive, I wouldn't give

$2.00 for my hide!"

The Canadian might have quoted a much lower price. So it was

imperative to make contact with whatever beings were confined

inside the plating of this machine. I searched its surface for an

opening or a hatch, a "manhole," to use the official term; but the

lines of rivets had been firmly driven into the sheet–iron joins

and were straight and uniform.

Moreover, the moon then disappeared and left us in profound

darkness. We had to wait for daylight to find some way of getting

inside this underwater boat.

So our salvation lay totally in the hands of the mysterious

helmsmen steering this submersible, and if it made a dive, we were

done for! But aside from this occurring, I didn't doubt the

possibility of our making contact with them. In fact, if they

didn't produce their own air, they inevitably had to make periodic

visits to the surface of the ocean to replenish their oxygen

supply. Hence the need for some opening that put the boat's

interior in contact with the atmosphere.

As for any hope of being rescued by Commander Farragut, that had

to be renounced completely. We were being swept westward, and I

estimate that our comparatively moderate speed reached twelve miles

per hour. The propeller churned the waves with mathematical

regularity, sometimes emerging above the surface and throwing

phosphorescent spray to great heights.

Near four o'clock in the morning, the submersible picked up

speed. We could barely cope with this dizzying rush, and the waves

battered us at close range. Fortunately Ned's hands came across a

big mooring ring fastened to the topside of this sheet–iron back,

and we all held on for dear life.

Finally this long night was over. My imperfect memories won't

let me recall my every impression of it. A single detail comes back

to me. Several times, during various lulls of wind and sea, I

thought I heard indistinct sounds, a sort of elusive harmony

produced by distant musical chords. What was the secret behind this

underwater navigating, whose explanation the whole world had sought

in vain? What beings lived inside this strange boat? What

mechanical force allowed it to move about with such prodigious

speed?

Daylight appeared. The morning mists surrounded us, but they

soon broke up. I was about to proceed with a careful examination of

the hull, whose topside formed a sort of horizontal platform, when

I felt it sinking little by little.

"Oh, damnation!" Ned Land shouted, stamping his foot on the

resonant sheet iron. "Open up there, you antisocial

navigators!"

But it was difficult to make yourself heard above the deafening

beats of the propeller. Fortunately this submerging movement

stopped.

From inside the boat, there suddenly came noises of iron

fastenings pushed roughly aside. One of the steel plates flew up, a

man appeared, gave a bizarre yell, and instantly disappeared.

A few moments later, eight strapping fellows appeared silently,

their faces like masks, and dragged us down into their fearsome

machine.