Ned Land

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 question of the cetacean there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not allow the 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. He was a kind of Knight of Rhodes, a second Dieudonné de Gozon, going to meet the serpent which desolated the island. Either Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal, or the narwhal would kill the captain. There was no third course.

Captain Farragut was a good sailor, worthy of the frigate he commanded. He and his ship were one. He was its soul. He had no doubt about the existence of the cetacean, and he would not allow anyone aboard to dispute it. He believed in it as certain good women believe in the leviathan, by faith rather than reason. The monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it. He was like a Knight of Rhodes, a second Dieudonné de Gozon, going to confront the serpent that ravaged the island. Either Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal, or the narwhal would kill the captain. There was no third possibility.

The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were ever chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances 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 was crowded with sailors, whose feet were burnt to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render it unbearable; still the Abraham Lincoln had not yet breasted the suspected waters of the Pacific. As to the ship’s company, they desired nothing better than to meet the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist it on board, and despatch it. They watched the sea with eager attention.

The officers on board shared their chief’s opinion. They were always chatting, discussing, and calculating their chances of an encounter, while closely watching the vast ocean surface. More than one volunteered to stay up in the cross-trees, though they would have cursed such a berth under other circumstances. All day long, the rigging was crowded with sailors. The heat of the deck burned their feet so badly that they could not bear to stand on it. Even so, the Abraham Lincoln had not yet reached the suspected waters of the Pacific. The crew wanted nothing more than to meet the unicorn, harpoon it, hoist it on board, and kill it. They watched the sea eagerly.

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.

Besides, Captain Farragut had mentioned a $2,000 reward for whoever first spotted the monster. It could go to a cabin boy, a sailor, or an officer.

I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the Abraham Lincoln.

I leave you to imagine how closely everyone watched aboard the Abraham Lincoln.

For my own part I was not behind the others, and left to no one my share of daily observations. The frigate might have been called the Argus, for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to protest by his indifference against the question which so interested us all, and seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on board.

I was as eager as the others, and I did my share of the daily watching myself. The frigate might have been called the Argus for a hundred reasons. Only Conseil seemed indifferent to the question that interested us all. His indifference seemed like a protest against it and out of place amid the enthusiasm on board.

I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever been better armed. We possessed every known engine, from the harpoon thrown by the hand to the barbed arrows 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 ease a conical projectile of nine pounds to a mean distance of ten miles.

I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully equipped his ship with every device for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaling ship had ever been better armed. We had every known weapon, from hand-thrown harpoons to the barbed arrows of a blunderbuss and the explosive balls of a duck gun. On the forecastle lay a perfected breech-loading gun, very thick at the breech and very narrow in the bore. A model of the gun had been displayed at the Exhibition of 1867. This precious American weapon could easily fire a nine-pound conical projectile an average distance of ten miles.

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

So the Abraham Lincoln had plenty of weapons. Better still, she had Ned Land aboard, the prince of harpooners.

Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who knew no equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity, and cunning he possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning whale or a singularly “cute” cachalot to escape the stroke of his harpoon.

Ned Land was a Canadian with exceptionally quick hands. He had no equal in his dangerous occupation. He was remarkably skilled, calm, bold, and cunning. A whale had to be cunning, or a sperm whale exceptionally “clever”, to escape 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 boldness of his look, which gave a singular expression to his face.

Ned Land was about forty years old. He was tall, over six feet, and strongly built. He was serious and quiet, sometimes violent, and became very passionate when contradicted. His appearance attracted attention, but especially his bold gaze, which gave his face a distinctive expression.

Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little communicative as 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 him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of Rabelais, which is still in use in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner’s family was originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe of hardy fishermen when this town belonged to France.

Anyone who calls himself Canadian calls himself French. And although Ned Land was not very talkative, I must admit that he took a liking to me. No doubt my nationality drew him to me. It gave him a chance to speak, and me a chance to hear, the old language of Rabelais. That language is still spoken in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner’s family originally came from Quebec. They were already a clan of hardy fishermen when the town belonged to France.

Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related his fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his recital took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to a Canadian Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.

Gradually, Ned Land grew to enjoy chatting, and I loved hearing about his adventures in the polar seas. He spoke of his fishing and his battles with natural poetic flair. His stories became an epic poem. I felt as if I were listening to a Canadian Homer singing the Iliad of the northern regions.

I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which 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 more time to dwell the longer on your memory.

I am describing this tough companion as I really knew him. We are old friends now, bound by the lasting friendship that grows and deepens through extreme danger. Ah, brave Ned! I ask only to live another hundred years, so I can spend more time remembering you.

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 was the only one on board who did not share that universal conviction. He even avoided the subject, which I one day thought it my duty to press upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th of July—that is to say, three weeks after our departure—the frigate was abreast of Cape Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia. We had crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan opened less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were over the Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.

What did Ned Land think about the marine monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn. He was the only person on board who did not share the universal conviction that it existed. He even avoided the subject. One day, I thought it was my duty to press him about it. It was a magnificent evening on July 30, three weeks after our departure. The frigate was level with Cape Blanc, thirty miles downwind from the coast of Patagonia. We had crossed the Tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan lay less than seven hundred miles to the south. Within eight days, the Abraham Lincoln would be sailing through the waters of the Pacific.

Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up to this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up the conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the 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.

Ned Land and I sat on the rear deck, chatting about one thing and another. We looked out at the mysterious sea, whose great depths had never before been seen by human eyes. Naturally, I brought up the giant unicorn and considered the expedition’s chances of success or failure. But Ned Land let me talk without saying much himself, so I pressed him further.

“Well, Ned,” said I, “is it possible that you are not convinced of the existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any particular reason for being so incredulous?”

“Well, Ned,” I said, “can it be that you still don't believe the cetacean we're following exists? Do you have any particular reason for doubting it?”

The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering, struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to collect himself, and said at last, “Perhaps I have, M. Aronnax.”

The harpooner stared at me for a few moments before answering. He struck his broad forehead with his hand, as he often did, as if to gather his thoughts. At last, he said, “Perhaps I have, M. Aronnax.”

“But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the great marine mammalia—you, whose imagination might easily accept the hypothesis of enormous cetaceans, you ought to be the last to doubt under such circumstances!”

“But, Ned, you are a professional whaler, familiar with all the great marine mammals. You could easily imagine enormous whales existing. Under these circumstances, you ought to be the last to doubt it!”

“That is just what deceives you, Professor,” replied Ned. “That the vulgar should believe in extraordinary comets traversing space, and in the existence of antediluvian monsters in the heart of the globe, may well be; but neither astronomer nor geologist believes in such chimeras. As a whaler I have followed many a cetacean, harpooned a great number, and killed several; but, however strong or well-armed they may have been, neither their tails nor their weapons would have been able even to scratch the iron plates of a steamer.”

“That is exactly where you are mistaken, Professor,” Ned replied. “Ordinary people may well believe in extraordinary comets crossing space and prehistoric monsters deep inside the earth. But no astronomer or geologist believes in such fantasies. As a whaler, I have chased many whales, harpooned a great number, and killed several. But however strong or well-armed they were, their tails and weapons could not even scratch a steamer’s iron plates.”

“But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhal have pierced through and through.”

“But, Ned, people tell of ships that narwhal teeth have pierced all the way 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 produce the effect you describe.”

“Wooden ships are possible,” replied the Canadian, “but I have never seen it done. Until there is more proof, I deny that whales, cetaceans, or sea-unicorns could ever cause the 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 powerfully organised, belonging to the branch of vertebrata, like the whales, the cachalots, or the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defence of great penetrating power.”

“Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction based on the logic of the facts. I believe a powerfully built mammal exists. It is a vertebrate, like whales, sperm whales, or dolphins. It has a defensive horn that can pierce with great force.”

“Hum!” said the harpooner, shaking his head with the air of a man who would not be convinced.

“Hmm!” said the harpooner, shaking his head as if he would not be convinced.

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

“Consider one thing, my worthy Canadian,” I continued. “If such an animal exists and lives in the ocean depths, miles below the surface, its body must be incomparably strong.”

“And why this powerful organisation?” demanded Ned.

“And why this powerful organization?” Ned demanded.

“Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one’s self in these strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me. Let us admit that the pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of water thirty-two feet high. In reality the column of water would be shorter, as we are speaking of sea water, the density of which is greater than that of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as many times thirty-two feet of water as there are above you, so many times does your body bear a pressure equal to that of the atmosphere, that is to say, 15 lbs. for each square inch of its surface. It follows, then, that at 320 feet this pressure = that of 10 atmospheres, of 100 atmospheres at 3200 feet, and of 1000 atmospheres at 32,000 feet, that is, about 6 miles; which is equivalent to saying that if you could attain this depth in the ocean, each square three-eighths of an inch of the surface of your body would bear a pressure of 5600 lbs. Ah! my brave Ned, do you know how many square inches you carry on the surface of your body?”

“Because it takes immense strength to stay at those depths and withstand the pressure. Listen to me. Let us say that atmospheric pressure equals the weight of a column of water 32 feet high. In fact, the column would be shorter because seawater is denser than fresh water. Now, Ned, every 32 feet of water above you adds pressure equal to that of the atmosphere. That is 15 pounds per square inch of your body’s surface. So at 320 feet, the pressure equals 10 atmospheres. At 3,200 feet, it equals 100 atmospheres. At 32,000 feet, or about 6 miles, it equals 1,000 atmospheres. In other words, if you could reach that depth, every three-eighths of a square inch of your body’s surface would bear 5,600 pounds of pressure. Ah, my brave Ned, do you know how many square inches of surface your body has?”

“I have no idea, M. Aronnax.”

“I have no idea, M. Aronnax.”

“About 6500; and, as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15 lbs. to the square inch, your 6500 square inches bear at this moment a pressure of 97,500 lbs.”

“About 6,500. Atmospheric pressure is actually about 15 pounds per square inch. So your 6,500 square inches are under 97,500 pounds of pressure right now.”

“Without my perceiving it?”

“Without my noticing it?”

“Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed by such a pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interior of your body with equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibrium between the interior and exterior pressure, which thus neutralise each other, and which allows you to bear it without inconvenience. But in the water it is another thing.”

“Without you noticing it. You are not crushed by the pressure because air enters your body at the same pressure. The pressure inside and outside your body is perfectly balanced, so the two cancel each other out. This lets you bear the pressure without discomfort. But in water, it is different.”

“Yes, I understand,” replied Ned, becoming more attentive; “because the water surrounds me, but does not penetrate.”

“Yes, I understand,” Ned replied, paying closer attention. “The water surrounds me, but it doesn't get inside.”

“Precisely, Ned: so that at 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea you would undergo a pressure of 97,500 lbs.; at 320 feet, ten times that pressure; at 3200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at 32,000 feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000 lbs.—that is to say, that you would be flattened as if you had been drawn from the plates of a hydraulic machine!”

“Exactly, Ned. At 32 feet below the sea’s surface, you would be under 97,500 pounds of pressure. At 320 feet, the pressure would be ten times as great. At 3,200 feet, it would be a hundred times as great. Finally, at 32,000 feet, it would be a thousand times as great, or 97,500,000 pounds. You would be flattened as if you had been pulled from between the plates of a hydraulic press!”

“The devil!” exclaimed Ned.

“Damn!” Ned exclaimed.

“Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundred yards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such depths—of those whose surface is represented by millions of square inches, that is by 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!”

“Very well, my good harpooner. Suppose a vertebrate several hundred yards long and proportionately large can survive at such depths. To estimate the pressure on it, we must consider its surface area. That area would amount to millions of square inches, and the pressure to tens of millions of pounds. Just think how strong its bones and body must be to withstand such pressure!”

“Why!” exclaimed Ned Land, “they must be made of iron plates eight inches thick, like the armoured frigates.”

“Why!” exclaimed Ned Land. “They must be made of iron plates eight inches thick, like armored warships.”

“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.”

“As you say, Ned. And think how much damage such a mass would cause if it hit a ship’s hull at the speed of an express train.”

“Yes—certainly—perhaps,” replied the Canadian, shaken by these figures, but not yet willing to give in.

“Yes, certainly, perhaps,” replied the Canadian. The figures had shaken him, but he was not yet willing to give in.

“Well, have I convinced you?”

“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 must necessarily be as strong as you say.”

“You have convinced me of one thing, sir. If such animals exist at the bottom of the sea, they must be as strong as you say.”

“But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explain the accident to the Scotia?”

“But if they do not exist, my stubborn harpooner, how do you explain the accident to the Scotia?”