The South Pole

I rushed on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs—a long stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was dimly seen on our northern horizon.

I rushed onto the platform. Yes! There was open sea, with only a few scattered pieces of ice and drifting icebergs. The sea stretched out before us. Countless birds filled the air, and countless fish swam beneath the water. The water ranged from deep blue to olive green, depending on the sea floor. The thermometer read 3°C above zero. It was almost like spring, even though we were still shut in behind the iceberg. Its long mass was faintly visible on the northern horizon.

“Are we at the pole?” I asked the Captain, with a beating heart.

“Are we at the pole?” I asked the Captain, my heart pounding.

“I do not know,” he replied. “At noon I will take our bearings.”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “At noon, I’ll determine our position.”

“But will the sun show himself through this fog?” said I, looking at the leaden sky.

“But will the sun show itself through this fog?” I asked, looking at the gray sky.

“However little it shows, it will be enough,” replied the Captain.

“Even if it barely shows, that will be enough,” the Captain replied.

About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury’s theory. The ingenious American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a vast cap, the circumference of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But the Nautilus, for fear of running aground, had stopped about three cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments, Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the South Pole. A few strokes of the oar brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on to the land, when I held him back.

About ten miles south, a solitary island rose 104 yards above the sea. We headed toward it carefully, because the sea might be full of sandbanks. We reached the island an hour later. Two hours after that, we had sailed all the way around it. It was four or five miles around. A narrow channel separated it from a large stretch of land. Perhaps it was a continent, because we could not see its limits. The existence of this land seemed to lend some support to Maury’s theory. This ingenious American had noted that enormous masses of floating ice cover the sea between the South Pole and the sixtieth parallel. Ice of that size is never found in the North Atlantic. From this, he concluded that the Antarctic Circle contains large continents. Icebergs cannot form in the open sea, he reasoned, but only along coasts. According to his calculations, the ice surrounding the South Pole forms a vast cap. Its circumference must be at least 2,500 miles. But the Nautilus had stopped about three cable lengths from a shore, fearing it might run aground. A magnificent pile of rocks rose above the shore. The boat was launched, and the Captain, two of his men carrying instruments, Conseil, and I got in. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen Ned Land. No doubt the Canadian did not want to admit that we had reached the South Pole. A few strokes of the oars brought us to the sand, where we landed. Conseil was about to jump onto the shore when I held him back.

“Sir,” said I to Captain Nemo, “to you belongs the honour of first setting foot on this land.”

“Sir,” I said to Captain Nemo, “the honor of being the first to set foot on this land belongs to you.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Captain, “and if I do not hesitate to tread this South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace there.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Captain. “I have no hesitation about setting foot on the South Pole because no human being has ever left a trace there.”

Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in this ecstasy, he turned to us.

With those words, he jumped lightly onto the sand. His heart beat with emotion. He climbed a rock that sloped toward a small headland. There he stood with his arms crossed, silent and motionless. With an eager look, he seemed to take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes in this state of ecstasy, he turned to us.

“When you like, sir.”

“Whenever you like, sir.”

I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32′. The vegetation of this desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies, animating the waters on the skirts of the shore.

I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a long stretch, the ground consisted of reddish sandstone, rather like crushed brick, along with volcanic cinders, streams of lava, and pumice stones. Its volcanic origin was unmistakable. In some places, thin curls of smoke gave off a sulfurous smell. This proved that the fires underground had lost none of their expansive power. Yet after climbing a steep rise, I could see no volcano for several miles around. We know that James Ross found two active craters in those Antarctic regions, Erebus and Terror, at the 167th meridian and latitude 77° 32′. The vegetation of this desolate continent seemed very limited to me. Lichens lay on the black rocks, along with microscopic plants called rudimentary diatoms, a kind of cell between two quartz shells. The waves washed long purple and scarlet weeds ashore, held up by small floating bladders. These made up the region’s meager plant life. The shore was strewn with mollusks, small mussels, and limpets. I also saw countless northern clios, one and a quarter inches long. A whale could swallow a whole world of them in one mouthful. I saw some perfect sea butterflies too, bringing life to the waters along the shore.

There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds, deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture, but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting them but to put a wick in.

Coral shrubs appeared on the shallower seabed. According to James Ross, this kind lives in Antarctic seas at depths of more than 1,000 yards. Little kingfishers and starfish dotted the ground. But life was most abundant in the air. Thousands of birds of all kinds fluttered and flew about, deafening us with their cries. Others crowded the rocks, watching us pass without fear and gathering close around our feet. There were penguins, so agile in the water, though heavy and awkward on land. They made up a large gathering, restrained in their movements but wildly noisy, uttering harsh cries. Albatrosses passed overhead, their wings spanning at least four and a half yards. They are rightly called the vultures of the ocean. There were also gigantic petrels and damiers, a kind of small duck with black and white undersides. Then there was a whole range of petrels. Some were whitish, with brown edges on their wings. Others were blue and found only in Antarctic seas. As I told Conseil, these blue petrels are so oily that the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands only needed to put a wick in them before lighting them.

“A little more,” said Conseil, “and they would be perfect lamps! After that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with wicks!”

“A little more,” said Conseil, “and they would be perfect lamps! But we can't expect Nature to have given them wicks too!”

About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs’ nests, a sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass, were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath, with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy. Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow.

About half a mile farther on, the ground was full of ruffs’ nests, a sort of breeding ground. Many birds were coming out of them. Captain Nemo had several hundred hunted. They cried like braying donkeys and were about the size of geese. Their bodies were slate-colored, with white undersides and a yellow line around their throats. They let themselves be killed with stones, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and at eleven the sun still had not appeared. Its absence made me uneasy. Without the sun, we could make no observations. How, then, could we tell whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him leaning against a rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient and annoyed. But what could be done? This bold and powerful man could not command the sun as he commanded the sea. Noon came without the sun appearing for even an instant. We could not even tell where it was behind the curtain of fog. Soon the fog turned to snow.

“Till to-morrow,” said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the Nautilus amid these atmospheric disturbances.

“Until tomorrow,” the Captain said quietly, and we returned to the Nautilus amid the turbulent weather.

The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this violent storm. The Nautilus did not remain motionless, but skirted the coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March, the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing 2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large troops of sea-mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice, many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were provisions there for hundreds of vessels.

The snowstorm continued until the next day. It was impossible to stay on the platform. In the saloon, I was taking notes on the events of our excursion to the polar continent. I could hear petrels and albatrosses crying out as they played in the violent storm. The Nautilus kept moving along the coast, traveling ten miles farther south. The sun skimmed the edge of the horizon, leaving only a dim light. The next day, March 20, the snow had stopped. It was a little colder, with the thermometer showing 2° below zero. The fog was lifting, and I hoped we could take our observations that day. Captain Nemo had not yet appeared, so the boat took Conseil and me ashore. The ground was still volcanic. Everywhere I saw traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt, but I could not see the crater that had thrown them out. Here, as farther north, the continent was alive with countless birds. But now they shared their domain with large groups of sea mammals, which watched us with gentle eyes. There were several kinds of seals. Some lay on the ground, some on sheets of ice, and many moved in and out of the sea. They did not flee as we approached, for they had never encountered humans. I estimated that there were enough provisions there for hundreds of ships.

“Sir,” said Conseil, “will you tell me the names of these creatures?”

“Sir,” said Conseil, “can you tell me the names of these creatures?”

“They are seals and morses.”

“They are seals and walruses.”

It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else, forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins, forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their element—the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close skin and webbed feet—they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions, and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called, which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move as we approached.

It was now eight in the morning. We had four hours before we could observe the sun to good advantage. I led the way toward a vast bay cut into the steep granite shore. There, I can say, sea mammals covered the earth and ice so completely that neither could be seen. I found myself looking for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched over these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else. They formed separate family groups, with each father watching over his family and each mother nursing her young. Some of the young were already strong enough to take a few steps. When the seals wanted to move, they made little jumps by contracting their bodies. They also used their imperfect fins, rather awkwardly, to help them along. As in their cousins, the manatees, each fin forms a complete forearm. In the water, their natural element, these creatures swim admirably. Their spines are flexible, their skin is smooth and close-fitting, and their feet are webbed. When resting on land, they take the most graceful poses. The ancients observed their soft, expressive looks, which even the most beautiful look a woman can give cannot surpass. They also noticed their clear, sensuous eyes, charming poses, and poetic ways. So they transformed the males into tritons and the females into mermaids. I drew Conseil's attention to the remarkably large brain lobes of these interesting cetaceans. No mammal except man has so much brain matter. They can also be taught to some extent and are easily domesticated. Like other naturalists, I think they would be very useful as fishing dogs if properly trained. Most of them slept on the rocks or the sand. True seals have no external ears, unlike the otter, whose ears are prominent. Among these seals, I noticed several varieties about three yards long. They had white coats and bulldog heads, with teeth in both jaws. There were four incisors above and four below, as well as two large canine teeth shaped like a fleur-de-lis. Sea-elephants, a kind of seal with short, flexible trunks, glided among them. The giants of this species measured twenty feet around and ten and a half yards long. But they did not move as we approached.

“These creatures are not dangerous?” asked Conseil.

“These creatures aren't dangerous?” asked Conseil.

“No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the fishing-boats to pieces.”

“No, not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young, they become fiercely angry. They often smash fishing boats to pieces.”

“They are quite right,” said Conseil.

“They’re absolutely right,” said Conseil.

“I do not say they are not.”

“I’m not saying they aren’t.”

Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce.

Two miles farther on, we were stopped by the headland that shelters the bay from southerly winds. Beyond the headland, we heard loud bellows like those of a herd of grazing animals.

“Good!” said Conseil; “a concert of bulls!”

“Great!” said Conseil. “A concert of bulls!”

“No; a concert of morses.”

“No, a concert of walruses.”

“They are fighting!”

“They are fighting!”

“They are either fighting or playing.”

“They are either fighting or playing.”

We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles, and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not stumble, and helped me up, saying:

We began climbing the dark rocks, stumbling unexpectedly over stones made slippery by ice. More than once, I fell and hurt my lower back. Conseil, who was more cautious or steadier, did not stumble. He helped me up, saying:

“If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would preserve your equilibrium better.”

“Sir, if you took wider steps, you would keep your balance better.”

Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger.

When I reached the top of the headland, I saw a vast white plain covered with walruses. They were playing together, and the bellowing we heard was from pleasure, not anger.

As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint, approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of returning. It was eleven o’clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him, and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the equinox; the sun would disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo.

As I passed these curious animals, I could study them at my leisure because they did not move. Their skins were thick and rough, yellowish and almost red. Their hair was short and sparse. Some were four and a quarter yards long. They were calmer and less timid than their northern cousins. Unlike them, they did not post sentinels around the edges of their camp. After examining this city of walruses, I began to think of returning. It was eleven o’clock. If Captain Nemo found conditions favorable for observations, I wanted to be there. We followed a narrow path along the top of the steep shore. At half past eleven, we reached the place where we had landed. The boat had run aground, bringing the Captain ashore. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, with his instruments beside him. His eyes were fixed on the northern horizon, near which the sun was then tracing a long curve. I stood beside him and waited without speaking. Noon came, and once again the sun did not appear. It was a stroke of bad luck. We still needed to make our observations. If we could not make them tomorrow, we would have to give up the idea altogether. It was March 20. Tomorrow, the 21st, would be the equinox. The sun would disappear below the horizon for six months, and the long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox, the sun had risen from the northern horizon in long spirals until December 21. At that time, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it had begun to descend. Tomorrow it would cast its last rays upon them. I told Captain Nemo my fears and observations.

“You are right, M. Aronnax,” said he; “if to-morrow I cannot take the altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March, my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun.”

“You are right, M. Aronnax,” he said. “If I cannot measure the sun’s altitude tomorrow, I will not be able to do it for six months. But chance has brought me to these seas on March 21. So finding my position will be easy, if we can see the sun at noon.”

“Why, Captain?”

“Why, Captain?”

“Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave errors may be made with instruments.”

“Because at that time, the sun followed such long curves that its height above the horizon was hard to measure precisely. So instruments could give seriously inaccurate readings.”

“What will you do then?”

“What will you do then?”

“I shall only use my chronometer,” replied Captain Nemo. “If to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction, is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South Pole.”

“I will only use my chronometer,” replied Captain Nemo. “Tomorrow is March 21. If the northern horizon cuts exactly across the sun’s disk, allowing for refraction, I will know I am at the South Pole.”

“Just so,” said I. “But this statement is not mathematically correct, because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon.”

“Exactly,” I said. “But that statement is not mathematically correct, because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon.”

“Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do not want more. Till to-morrow, then!”

“Very likely, sir. But the error will be less than a hundred yards, and that is close enough for us. Until tomorrow, then!”

Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the shore, observing and studying until five o’clock. Then I went to bed, not, however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb. The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the platform. I found Captain Nemo there.

Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I stayed to observe and study the shore until five o’clock. Then I went to bed, but not before asking for the favor of the radiant sun, as the Indian did. The next day, March 21, I went up to the platform at five in the morning. I found Captain Nemo there.

“The weather is lightening a little,” said he. “I have some hope. After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation.”

“The weather is clearing up a little,” he said. “I have some hope. After breakfast, we will go ashore and choose a place to observe from.”

That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me. But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this unreflecting fisherman’s way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The Nautilus had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English “right whale,” which has no dorsal fin; the “humpback,” with reeved chest and large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters; and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed large medusæ floating between the reeds.

Once that was settled, I looked for Ned Land. I wanted him to come with me. But the stubborn Canadian refused. I could see that he grew quieter and more ill-tempered every day. Under the circumstances, though, I was not sorry he had refused. There were too many seals on shore, and we should not put such temptation in this impulsive fisherman’s way. After breakfast, we went ashore. The Nautilus had traveled several miles farther during the night. It was now a full league from the coast. A sharp peak about five hundred yards high rose above the shore. Captain Nemo, two crewmen, and I took the boat, along with a chronometer, a telescope, and a barometer. During the crossing, I saw many whales belonging to the three kinds found only in the southern seas. There was the whale, or English “right whale,” which has no dorsal fin. There was also the “humpback,” with its ridged chest and large, whitish fins. Despite its name, those fins do not form wings. Finally, there was the yellowish-brown fin-back, the liveliest of all the cetaceans. This powerful creature can be heard from far away when it sends high columns of air and vapor into the air. They look like whirlwinds of smoke. These mammals played in groups in the calm water. I could see that this basin at the Antarctic Pole served as a refuge for cetaceans pursued too closely by hunters. I also noticed large jellyfish floating among the reeds.

At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters. Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak, which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon. From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the distance lay the Nautilus like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us, to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of the sun coincided with twelve o’clock on the chronometer, we were at the pole itself.

At nine we landed. The sky was brightening, the clouds were racing south, and the fog seemed to be lifting from the cold water. Captain Nemo headed toward the peak, which he surely intended to use as his observation point. The climb was difficult over sharp lava and pumice stones. The air often smelled of sulfur from the smoking cracks. Though unaccustomed to walking on land, the Captain climbed the steep slopes with an agility I had never seen equaled. A hunter would have envied him. It took us two hours to reach the summit of the peak, which was half porphyry and half basalt. From there we looked out over a vast sea. To the north, its boundary formed a distinct line against the sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Above us was a pale blue sky, free of fog. To the north, the sun looked like a ball of fire, already partly cut off by the horizon. Hundreds of sprays of water rose from the sea. In the distance, the Nautilus lay like a whale asleep on the water. Behind us, to the south and east, stretched an immense land and a chaotic mass of rocks and ice. We could not see where they ended. On reaching the summit, Captain Nemo carefully measured the average barometer reading. He would need to take it into account in his observations. At a quarter to twelve, the sun was visible only because of refraction. It looked like a golden disc, casting its last rays over this deserted continent and seas no man had yet sailed. Captain Nemo had a lens with a mirror that corrected for refraction. Through it, he watched the sun gradually sink below the horizon along a long diagonal path. I held the chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the remaining half of the sun disappeared at exactly twelve o’clock on the chronometer, we were at the pole itself.

“Twelve!” I exclaimed.

“Twelve!” I exclaimed.

“The South Pole!” replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon.

“The South Pole!” Captain Nemo replied gravely, handing me the glass. Through it, I could see the orb divided into exactly equal halves by the horizon.

I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his hand on my shoulder, said:

I watched the last rays of sunlight crown the peak as shadows slowly climbed its slopes. At that moment, Captain Nemo rested his hand on my shoulder and said:

“I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents.”

“I, Captain Nemo, have reached the South Pole at the ninetieth degree on March 21, 1868. And I claim this part of the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents.”

“In whose name, Captain?”

“Whose name, Captain?”

“In my own, sir!”

“In my own, sir!”

Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an “N” in gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:

After saying this, Captain Nemo unfurled a black flag with a gold “N” on it. Then he turned toward the sun, whose last rays touched the sea’s horizon, and exclaimed:

“Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea, and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!”

“Goodbye, sun! Disappear, radiant sun! Rest beneath this open sea, and let a six-month night cast its shadows over my new domains!”