COMMANDER FARRAGUT was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he commanded. His ship and he were one. He was its very soul. On the cetacean question no doubts arose in his mind, and he didn't allow the animal's existence to be disputed aboard his vessel. He believed in it as certain pious women believe in the leviathan from the Book of Job--out of faith, not reason. The monster existed, and he had vowed to rid the seas of it. The man was a sort of Knight of Rhodes, a latter-day Sir Dieudonné of Gozo, on his way to fight an encounter with the dragon devastating the island. Either Commander Farragut would slay the narwhale, or the narwhale would slay Commander Farragut. No middle of the road for these two.
The ship's officers shared the views of their leader. They could be heard chatting, discussing, arguing, calculating the different chances of an encounter, and observing the vast expanse of the ocean. Voluntary watches from the crosstrees of the topgallant sail were self-imposed by more than one who would have cursed such toil under any other circumstances. As often as the sun swept over its daily arc, the masts were populated with sailors whose feet itched and couldn't hold still on the planking of the deck below! And the Abraham Lincoln's stempost hadn't even cut the suspected waters of the Pacific.
As for the crew, they only wanted to encounter the unicorn, harpoon it, haul it on board, and carve it up. They surveyed the sea with scrupulous care. Besides, Commander Farragut had mentioned that a certain sum of $2,000.00 was waiting for the man who first sighted the animal, be he cabin boy or sailor, mate or officer. I'll let the reader decide whether eyes got proper exercise aboard the Abraham Lincoln.
As for me, I didn't lag behind the others and I yielded to no one my share in these daily observations. Our frigate would have had fivescore good reasons for renaming itself the Argus, after that mythological beast with 100 eyes! The lone rebel among us was Conseil, who seemed utterly uninterested in the question exciting us and was out of step with the general enthusiasm on board.
As I said, Commander Farragut had carefully equipped his ship with all the gear needed to fish for a gigantic cetacean. No whaling vessel could have been better armed. We had every known mechanism, from the hand-hurled harpoon, to the blunderbuss firing barbed arrows, to the duck gun with exploding bullets. On the forecastle was mounted the latest model breech-loading cannon, very heavy of barrel and narrow of bore, a weapon that would figure in the Universal Exhibition of 1867. Made in America, this valuable instrument could fire a four-kilogram conical projectile an average distance of sixteen kilometers without the least bother.
So the Abraham Lincoln wasn't lacking in means of destruction. But it had better still. It had Ned Land, the King of Harpooners.
Gifted with uncommon manual ability, Ned Land was a Canadian who had no equal in his dangerous trade. Dexterity, coolness, bravery, and cunning were virtues he possessed to a high degree, and it took a truly crafty baleen whale or an exceptionally astute sperm whale to elude the thrusts of his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years old. A man of great height--over six English feet--he was powerfully built, serious in manner, not very sociable, sometimes headstrong, and quite ill-tempered when crossed. His looks caught the attention, and above all the strength of his gaze, which gave a unique emphasis to his facial appearance.
Commander Farragut, to my thinking, had made a wise move in hiring on this man. With his eye and his throwing arm, he was worth the whole crew all by himself. I can do no better than to compare him with a powerful telescope that could double as a cannon always ready to fire.
To say Canadian is to say French, and as unsociable as Ned Land was, I must admit he took a definite liking to me. No doubt it was my nationality that attracted him. It was an opportunity for him to speak, and for me to hear, that old Rabelaisian dialect still used in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner's family originated in Quebec, and they were already a line of bold fishermen back in the days when this town still belonged to France.
Little by little Ned developed a taste for chatting, and I loved hearing the tales of his adventures in the polar seas. He described his fishing trips and his battles with great natural lyricism. His tales took on the form of an epic poem, and I felt I was hearing some Canadian Homer reciting his Iliad of the High Arctic regions.
I'm writing of this bold companion as I currently know him. Because we've become old friends, united in that permanent comradeship born and cemented during only the most frightful crises! Ah, my gallant Ned! I ask only to live 100 years more, the longer to remember you!
And now, what were Ned Land's views on this question of a marine monster? I must admit that he flatly didn't believe in the unicorn, and alone on board, he didn't share the general conviction. He avoided even dealing with the subject, for which one day I felt compelled to take him to task.
During the magnificent evening of June 25--in other words, three weeks after our departure--the frigate lay abreast of Cabo Blanco, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia. We had crossed the Tropic of Capricorn, and the Strait of Magellan opened less than 700 miles to the south. Before eight days were out, the Abraham Lincoln would plow the waves of the Pacific.
Seated on the afterdeck, Ned Land and I chatted about one thing and another, staring at that mysterious sea whose depths to this day are beyond the reach of human eyes. Quite naturally, I led our conversation around to the giant unicorn, and I weighed our expedition's various chances for success or failure. Then, seeing that Ned just let me talk without saying much himself, I pressed him more closely.
"Ned," I asked him, "how can you still doubt the reality of this cetacean we're after? Do you have any particular reasons for being so skeptical?"
The harpooner stared at me awhile before replying, slapped his broad forehead in one of his standard gestures, closed his eyes as if to collect himself, and finally said:
"Just maybe, Professor Aronnax."
"But Ned, you're a professional whaler, a man familiar with all the great marine mammals--your mind should easily accept this hypothesis of an enormous cetacean, and you ought to be the last one to doubt it under these circumstances!"
"That's just where you're mistaken, professor," Ned replied. "The common man may still believe in fabulous comets crossing outer space, or in prehistoric monsters living at the earth's core, but astronomers and geologists don't swallow such fairy tales. It's the same with whalers. I've chased plenty of cetaceans, I've harpooned a good number, I've killed several. But no matter how powerful and well armed they were, neither their tails or their tusks could puncture the sheet-iron plates of a steamer."
"Even so, Ned, people mention vessels that narwhale tusks have run clean through."
"Wooden ships maybe," the Canadian replied. "But I've never seen the like. So till I have proof to the contrary, I'll deny that baleen whales, sperm whales, or unicorns can do any such thing."
"Listen to me, Ned--"
"No, no, professor. I'll go along with anything you want except that. Some gigantic devilfish maybe . . . ?"
"Even less likely, Ned. The devilfish is merely a mollusk, and even this name hints at its semiliquid flesh, because it's Latin meaning soft one. The devilfish doesn't belong to the vertebrate branch, and even if it were 500 feet long, it would still be utterly harmless to ships like the Scotia or the Abraham Lincoln. Consequently, the feats of krakens or other monsters of that ilk must be relegated to the realm of fiction."
"So, Mr. Naturalist," Ned Land continued in a bantering tone, "you'll just keep on believing in the existence of some enormous cetacean . . . ?"
"Yes, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction backed by factual logic. I believe in the existence of a mammal with a powerful constitution, belonging to the vertebrate branch like baleen whales, sperm whales, or dolphins, and armed with a tusk made of horn that has tremendous penetrating power."
"Humph!" the harpooner put in, shaking his head with the attitude of a man who doesn't want to be convinced.
"Note well, my fine Canadian," I went on, "if such an animal exists, if it lives deep in the ocean, if it frequents the liquid strata located miles beneath the surface of the water, it needs to have a constitution so solid, it defies all comparison."
"And why this powerful constitution?" Ned asked.
"Because it takes incalculable strength just to live in those deep strata and withstand their pressure."
"Oh really?" Ned said, tipping me a wink.
"Oh really, and I can prove it to you with a few simple figures."
"Bosh!" Ned replied. "You can make figures do anything you want!"
"In business, Ned, but not in mathematics. Listen to me. Let's accept that the pressure of one atmosphere is represented by the pressure of a column of water thirty-two feet high. In reality, such a column of water wouldn't be quite so high because here we're dealing with salt water, which is denser than fresh water. Well then, when you dive under the waves, Ned, for every thirty-two feet of water above you, your body is tolerating the pressure of one more atmosphere, in other words, one more kilogram per each square centimeter on your body's surface. So it follows that at 320 feet down, this pressure is equal to ten atmospheres, to 100 atmospheres at 3,200 feet, and to 1,000 atmospheres at 32,000 feet, that is, at about two and a half vertical leagues down. Which is tantamount to saying that if you could reach such a depth in the ocean, each square centimeter on your body's surface would be experiencing 1,000 kilograms of pressure. Now, my gallant Ned, do you know how many square centimeters you have on your bodily surface?"
"I haven't the foggiest notion, Professor Aronnax."
"About 17,000."
"As many as that?"
"Yes, and since the atmosphere's pressure actually weighs slightly more than one kilogram per square centimeter, your 17,000 square centimeters are tolerating 17,568 kilograms at this very moment."
"Without my noticing it?"
"Without your noticing it. And if you aren't crushed by so much pressure, it's because the air penetrates the interior of your body with equal pressure. When the inside and outside pressures are in perfect balance, they neutralize each other and allow you to tolerate them without discomfort. But in the water it's another story."
"Yes, I see," Ned replied, growing more interested. "Because the water surrounds me but doesn't penetrate me."
"Precisely, Ned. So at thirty-two feet beneath the surface of the sea, you'll undergo a pressure of 17,568 kilograms; at 320 feet, or ten times greater pressure, it's 175,680 kilograms; at 3,200 feet, or 100 times greater pressure, it's 1,756,800 kilograms; finally, at 32,000 feet, or 1,000 times greater pressure, it's 17,568,000 kilograms; in other words, you'd be squashed as flat as if you'd just been yanked from between the plates of a hydraulic press!"
"Fire and brimstone!" Ned put in.
"All right then, my fine harpooner, if vertebrates several hundred meters long and proportionate in bulk live at such depths, their surface areas make up millions of square centimeters, and the pressure they undergo must be assessed in billions of kilograms. Calculate, then, how much resistance of bone structure and strength of constitution they'd need in order to withstand such pressures!"
"They'd need to be manufactured," Ned Land replied, "from sheet-iron plates eight inches thick, like ironclad frigates."
"Right, Ned, and then picture the damage such a mass could inflict if it were launched with the speed of an express train against a ship's hull."
"Yes . . . indeed . . . maybe," the Canadian replied, staggered by these figures but still not willing to give in.
"Well, have I convinced you?"
"You've convinced me of one thing, Mr. Naturalist. That deep in the sea, such animals would need to be just as strong as you say-- if they exist."
"But if they don't exist, my stubborn harpooner, how do you explain the accident that happened to the Scotia?"
"It's maybe . . . ," Ned said, hesitating.
"Go on!"
"Because . . . it just couldn't be true!" the Canadian replied, unconsciously echoing a famous catchphrase of the scientist Arago.
But this reply proved nothing, other than how bullheaded the harpooner could be. That day I pressed him no further. The Scotia's accident was undeniable. Its hole was real enough that it had to be plugged up, and I don't think a hole's existence can be more emphatically proven. Now then, this hole didn't make itself, and since it hadn't resulted from underwater rocks or underwater machines, it must have been caused by the perforating tool of some animal.
Now, for all the reasons put forward to this point, I believed that this animal was a member of the branch Vertebrata, class Mammalia, group Pisciforma, and finally, order Cetacea. As for the family in which it would be placed (baleen whale, sperm whale, or dolphin), the genus to which it belonged, and the species in which it would find its proper home, these questions had to be left for later. To answer them called for dissecting this unknown monster; to dissect it called for catching it; to catch it called for harpooning it-- which was Ned Land's business; to harpoon it called for sighting it-- which was the crew's business; and to sight it called for encountering it-- which was a chancy business.
法拉古舰长是一位优秀海员，完全配得上他指挥的这只战舰。他的船跟他融为一体，他是船的灵魂。关于那条鲸鱼类动物的问题，他心中并不存在什么疑问，他不许在船上讨论有无这只动物的问题。他相信这动物的存在就像许多老实妇女相信有海怪一样，完全是出于信仰，而不是由于理智。这怪物是有的，他发誓要把它从海上清除出去。他像罗得岛①的骑士，像杜端尼。德·哥森②去迎击骚扰他海岛的大蛇。不是法拉古舰长杀死独角鲸，就是独角鲸弄死法拉古舰长，没有什么中间路线。船上的海员们都赞同他们长官的意见。他们总是在谈论着，争辩着和估计着碰见怪物的各种机会，他们总是在侦察着辽阔的海面。不止一个海员抢着要到桅顶横木上去值班，要是换了另一种情况，这种苦差事是没有人不咒骂的。只要太阳还在空中的时候，船桅边总是挤满了水手，尽管脚掌踩在船甲板上烫得吃不消，他们仍然站在那里一动也不动。其实，林肯号的船头这时还没有沾上太平洋的海水呢，至于船上的全体人员，大家都希望碰着海麒麟，用鱼叉喇死它，把它拖上船来，宰割它。他们全都十分小心地侦察着大海。何况，法拉古舰长说过，不论练习生成水手，水兵或军官，谁先报告海麒麟的消息，都可以得二千美元的奖金。因此，林肯号船上的眼睛会更忙起来，那是不难想象的。至于我，也不落后，我并不把我每天应做的观察让别人代劳。这只船真有许多理由可以称为“多眼号”，全体人员中间，唯有康塞尔相反，他对于我们共同发生兴趣的问题表示很冷淡，给船上大家的热情浇上一盆冷水。
我前面说过，法拉古舰长这人很细心，他把打巨大鲸鱼类用的各种装备都带在船上。就是一只捕鲸船也不会装备得更完备了。我们船上的武器，应有尽有，从手投的鱼叉。
一直到鸟枪的开花弹和用炮发射的铁箭。在前甲板上装有一门十分完善的后膛炮，炮身很厚，炮口很窄，这种炮的模型曾在1867年的万国博览会中展览过。这门宝贵的大炮：是美国造的，可以发出重四公斤的锥形炮弹，射程是十六公里。
因此，林肯号的歼灭性武器，可以说样样俱全，最妙的是船上还有鱼叉手之王尼德·兰。
尼德。兰是加拿大人，两手非常矫捷，在这种危险的叉鱼职业中，他还没有碰见过敌手。他又灵敏又冷静，又大胆：又机智，本领很高强，要不是一条狡猾的长须鲸，或是特殊聪明的大头鲸，是很难躲过他的鱼叉的。
尼德·兰大约四十岁。他身材魁伟，有六英尺多高，体；格健壮，神气庄严，不大爱说话，性情很暴躁，容易发脾气。
他的风度特别引人注意，尤其是他那双目光炯炯的眼睛，使他面部的表情更显得突出。我认为法拉古舰长把这人请到船上来，是完全正确的。
这个人，单单他一人，从手和眼两点来看，就相当于全体的：船员。我不能有再好的比方，只能说他是一架强度的望远镜，而且是一门随时可以发射的大炮。
说是加拿大人，就几乎可以说是法国人①。尽管尼、德·兰不多跟人接触，但我应当承认，他对我却有一种特别的好感。无疑地，那是由于我的国籍吸引了他.在他；这是一个机会，可以说说加拿大某些省份现在还通行的拉伯雷①的法国话，在我也是一个机会，可以听听这种法国话。
这位鱼叉手的老家是在魁北克，当这城市还属于法国的时候，他家里就已经出了一批大胆的打鱼人了。
尼德，兰渐渐有了谈话的兴趣，我很爱听他谈在北极海中冒险的故事。他常用诗一般的句子有声有色他讲述他打鱼和战斗的故事。他的故事具有史诗的形式，我听他讲，好像是在听一位加拿大的荷马②在朗诵着北极的《伊利亚特》③。
我所以要把我确实知道的这位大胆的鱼叉手描绘出来，那是因为在患难中产生和巩固了的友谊把我们结合在一起了！啊！勇敢的尼德·兰！但愿我再活一百年，可以更长久地想念着你！
目前，尼德·兰对于海怪问题的意见是怎样呢？我承认，他并不相信有什么海麒麟、独角鲸：船上的人，只有他不同意大家的看法。他甚至于避免讨论这件事情。但是，我想这事总有一天会使他谈到的。
7月30日，即我们出发以后三星期，船在黄昏的时候到了离巴塔戈尼亚海岸三十海里，跟白呷同一纬度的地方。
那时我们已经过了南回归线，麦哲伦海峡就在不到七百海里的南方、不用八天，林肯号便要在太平洋的波涛上行驶了.尼德。兰跟我一同坐在尾楼甲板上，一边看着这神秘的大海——它的深处到今天为止人们还无法到达：一边谈谈这个，说说那个，这时候，很自然地，我把话头转到巨大的海麒麟上面了，我又谈到我们这次远征成功或失败的各种可能。后来，我看见尼德.兰一声不响，只让我说，就直截了当地要他发言。
“尼德。兰，”我问他"您怎么能怀疑我们追逐着的鲸鱼类动物的存在呢？您这样怀疑，有什么特别理由吗？”
这位鱼叉手在回答之前，看了我一会儿，照他惯常的姿势，拿手拍拍他宽大的前额，闭闭眼睛，好像在沉思。他说：“阿龙纳斯先生，我有理由。”
“尼德·兰，您是一位职业的捕鲸专家，您很熟悉海中的巨大哺乳类动物，照理您应当容易承认这个巨大的鲸鱼类动物的存在，可是您竟要来做最后一个怀疑这事的人！”
“教授；这是因为您搞错了。"尼德·兰说，“一般的人相信有横过天空的非常特殊的慧星，有住在地球内部的太古时代的侄物，那还可以，但天文学家，地质学家，决不承认有这类荒唐古怪的东西存在。打鲸鱼的人也一样。鲸科动物，我追逐过许多，我用鱼叉叉过很多，我也杀死过好几条，可是，不论那些鲸鱼力量怎样大，怎样凶，它们的尾巴也好·它们的长牙也好，决不能弄坏一艘汽船的钢板。."“尼德·兰，可是，独角鲸的牙齿把船底钻通了的传说并不少。”
“木头船，那是可能的，”加拿大人回答，“不过，就是这样的事我也没有亲眼见过。所以，在没有真凭实据之前，我不能承认长须鲸、大头鲸、独角鲸可以穿透钢板。”
“尼德·兰，您好好听我说……”
“不，教授，什么都可以听您，这个可不能。也许这是一条巨大的章鱼吧?……”
“尼德·兰，那更不对了。章鱼是软体动物，单是这个名字就已经表明它的肌肉一点也不坚强。就是章鱼有五百英尺长，它也不会属于脊推动物这一门，它对于斯各脱亚号或林肯号这类的船，决不至有损害的。所以有关这类海怪或怪物的事迹，都应当看作是荒唐无稽之谈。”
“那么，生物学专家，”尼德。兰带着点讥诮的口气说,“您是坚持有巨大鲸鱼类动物的存在吗？……”
“是的，尼德·兰，我再说一遍，我所以相信，我是有事实根据的。我相信海中有一种哺乳类动物存在，它的躯体组织十分坚实，属于脊椎动物门，像长须鲸、大头鲸或海豚，一样，并且有一个角质的长牙，钻穿的力量十分大。”
“晤！”这位鱼叉手哼了一声，同时摇摇头，一副表示不能相信的神气。
“请您注意，”我又说，“我的诚实的加拿大人，如果有这样的一种动物，如果它是生活在海洋底下，如果它要在离水面几英里深的海底活动，它必然有坚强无比的机体。”
“为什么要这么坚强的机体呢？”尼德·兰问。
“因为要在很深的水中生活，要能抵抗水的压力，那就必须有一种不可估计的巨大力量。”
"真的吗？”尼德·兰挤一挤眼睛，看看我。
“真的，一些数目字很容易给您证明这享。”
“啊!”尼德·兰答，“数目字!人们可以随便拿数目字来证明自己喜欢的事!"“尼德·兰，这是实事求是的，而不是数学上的数目字。请您好好地听我说。我们都承认，一个大气压力等于三十二英尺高的水柱压力。实际上，这水柱的高度是最小的，因为我们现在讲的是海水，海水的密度大于淡水的密度。尼德·兰，好吧，当您潜入水中，在您上面有多少倍三十二英尺的水，您的身体就要顶住同等倍数大气压的压力，即每平方厘米面积上要顶住同等倍数公斤的压力。照这样推算，在三百二十英尺深处的压力是十大气压，在三千二百英尺深处是一百大气压，三万二千英尺深，就是说，约两里半深处，是一千大气压。这就等于说，如果您潜入大洋到这样的深度，您身上每平方厘米的面积上就要受到上千公斤的压力。可是，诚实的尼德·兰，您晓得您身上有多少平方厘米的面积吗?"“当然不少，阿龙纳斯先生。”
“大约有一万七千平方厘米的面积。"“这么多吗？”
“实际上，一大气压比每平方厘米的一公斤重量超过一些，现在，您身上一万七千平方厘米的面积就顶着一万七千五百六十八公斤的压力，”
“我怎么一点都不觉得？”
“您一点不觉得。您所以不被这样大的压力压扁，是因为进人您身体中的空气也有相等的压力。因此，内部压力和外部压力能够达到平衡，内外压力抵消了”，所以您可以顶着：不觉得辛苦。但在水中便不同了。”
“是的，我懂得了，”尼德·兰回答我，也比较注意了,“因为水在我周围，永不进入我身体。”
“对，尼德尸兰。所以，照这样推算.在海底下三十二英尺，您要受到一万七千五百六十八公斤的压力；在海底下三百二十英尺，受到十倍的压力，即十六万五千六百八十公斤的压力；在海底下三千二百英尺，受到百倍的压力，即一百七十五万六千八百公斤的压力；最后，在海底下三万二千英尺，受到千倍的压力，即一千七百五十六万八千公斤的压力；就是说，您要被压成薄片，压成像人们把您从水压机的铁板下拉出来似的！”
尼德·兰喊一声：“好家伙！”
“好，我的诚实的鱼叉手，如果一种脊推动物，身长好几百米，身宽按照身长的比例，它住在这样的海底深处，那么,它们有数百万平方厘米面积的身躯，所受到的压力，就要以千百亿公斤来计算了。现在请您算一算它们的骨架和机体，要顶住这样大的压力所必需的抵抗力吧！”
“那它们的身体要用八英寸厚的钢板造成，跟铁甲战舰那样才行。”尼德·兰回答。
“正像您说的那样，尼德·兰，现在您想想，这样一个巨大的物体，以快车的速度撞在一只船壳上，可能产生的破坏力量是怎样。”
“是……也许……是这样.“加拿大人回答，由于上面的数目字，他心中动摇了，但并不愿意马上认输。“那么，您相信了吗？”
“您使我相信了一件事，生物学专家，就是说，如果海底下有这样的动物，那它们的身体力量必须像您所说的那样强大。”
“可是，固执的鱼叉手、如果海底下没有这样的动物，您怎样说明斯各脱亚号所遭遇到的事故呢？“这或者……”尼德·兰迟疑地说。
“你说下去吧！”
“因为…。这不是真的！”这位加拿大人回答，他无意中背出阿拉哥①的这句有名的对话。
但这个回答不能说明什么，只不过说明了这位鱼叉手的固执罢了.这一天我不再追问他，斯各脱亚号的事故是不可否认的。船底上的洞是实实在在有的，而且这洞非堵住不可，当然我并不认为有一个洞就能说明问题，可是这洞决不是毫无原因就会有的。既然它不是暗礁撞的，那必然是某一种动物的尖利武器钻的了。
那么，把以上所举的理由归纳一下，我认为这个动物是属于脊椎动物门，哺乳动物纲，鱼类，鲸鱼目。它所属的科，是长须鲸、大头鲸、海豚的那一科；至于它应列入的“属”，应归人的“种”，那要等将来才能弄清楚。如果我们想解决这个问题，必须解剖这个神秘的怪物。要解剖它，就得捉住它；要捉住它，就得叉住它（这是尼德·兰的事）。要叉住它，就得看见它（这是全体船员的事）；要看见它，就得碰见它(这是碰运气的事）。