Chapter Chapter 37 · THE SOUTH POLE

ring it more inaccessible than the North, which had not yet been

reached by the boldest navigators—was it not a mad enterprise, one

which only a maniac would have conceived? It then came into my head to

ask Captain Nemo if he had ever discovered that pole which had never

yet been trodden by a human creature?

“No, sir,” he replied; “but we will discover it together. Where others

have failed, I will not fail. I have never yet led my _Nautilus_ so far

into southern seas; but, I repeat, it shall go further yet.”

“I can well believe you, Captain,” said I, in a slightly ironical tone.

“I believe you! Let us go ahead! There are no obstacles for us! Let us

smash this iceberg! Let us blow it up; and, if it resists, let us give

the _Nautilus_ wings to fly over it!”

“Over it, sir!” said Captain Nemo, quietly; “no, not over it, but under

it!”

“Under it!” I exclaimed, a sudden idea of the Captain’s projects

flashing upon my mind. I understood; the wonderful qualities of the

_Nautilus_ were going to serve us in this superhuman enterprise.

“I see we are beginning to understand one another, sir,” said the

Captain, half smiling. “You begin to see the possibility—I should say

the success—of this attempt. That which is impossible for an ordinary

vessel is easy to the _Nautilus_. If a continent lies before the pole,

it must stop before the continent; but if, on the contrary, the pole is

washed by open sea, it will go even to the pole.”

“Certainly,” said I, carried away by the Captain’s reasoning; “if the

surface of the sea is solidified by the ice, the lower depths are free

by the Providential law which has placed the maximum of density of the

waters of the ocean one degree higher than freezing-point; and, if I am

not mistaken, the portion of this iceberg which is above the water is

as one to four to that which is below.”

“Very nearly, sir; for one foot of iceberg above the sea there are

three below it. If these ice mountains are not more than 300 feet above

the surface, they are not more than 900 beneath. And what are 900 feet

to the _Nautilus?_”

“Nothing, sir.”

“It could even seek at greater depths that uniform temperature of

sea-water, and there brave with impunity the thirty or forty degrees of

surface cold.”

“Just so, sir—just so,” I replied, getting animated.

“The only difficulty,” continued Captain Nemo, “is that of remaining

several days without renewing our provision of air.”

“Is that all? The _Nautilus_ has vast reservoirs; we can fill them, and

they will supply us with all the oxygen we want.”

“Well thought of, M. Aronnax,” replied the Captain, smiling. “But, not

wishing you to accuse me of rashness, I will first give you all my

objections.”

“Have you any more to make?”

“Only one. It is possible, if the sea exists at the South Pole, that it

may be covered; and, consequently, we shall be unable to come to the

surface.”

“Good, sir! but do you forget that the _Nautilus_ is armed with a

powerful spur, and could we not send it diagonally against these fields

of ice, which would open at the shocks.”

“Ah! sir, you are full of ideas to-day.”

“Besides, Captain,” I added, enthusiastically, “why should we not find

the sea open at the South Pole as well as at the North? The frozen

poles of the earth do not coincide, either in the southern or in the

northern regions; and, until it is proved to the contrary, we may

suppose either a continent or an ocean free from ice at these two

points of the globe.”

“I think so too, M. Aronnax,” replied Captain Nemo. “I only wish you to

observe that, after having made so many objections to my project, you

are now crushing me with arguments in its favour!”

The preparations for this audacious attempt now began. The powerful

pumps of the _Nautilus_ were working air into the reservoirs and

storing it at high pressure. About four o’clock, Captain Nemo announced

the closing of the panels on the platform. I threw one last look at the

massive iceberg which we were going to cross. The weather was clear,

the atmosphere pure enough, the cold very great, being 12° below zero;

but, the wind having gone down, this temperature was not so unbearable.

About ten men mounted the sides of the _Nautilus_, armed with pickaxes

to break the ice around the vessel, which was soon free. The operation

was quickly performed, for the fresh ice was still very thin. We all

went below. The usual reservoirs were filled with the newly-liberated

water, and the _Nautilus_ soon descended. I had taken my place with

Conseil in the saloon; through the open window we could see the lower

beds of the Southern Ocean. The thermometer went up, the needle of the

compass deviated on the dial. At about 900 feet, as Captain Nemo had

foreseen, we were floating beneath the undulating bottom of the

iceberg. But the _Nautilus_ went lower still—it went to the depth of

four hundred fathoms. The temperature of the water at the surface

showed twelve degrees, it was now only ten; we had gained two. I need

not say the temperature of the _Nautilus_ was raised by its heating

apparatus to a much higher degree; every manœuvre was accomplished with

wonderful precision.

“We shall pass it, if you please, sir,” said Conseil.

“I believe we shall,” I said, in a tone of firm conviction.

In this open sea, the _Nautilus_ had taken its course direct to the

pole, without leaving the fifty-second meridian. From 67° 30′ to 90

deg., twenty-two degrees and a half of latitude remained to travel;

that is, about five hundred leagues. The _Nautilus_ kept up a mean

speed of twenty-six miles an hour—the speed of an express train. If

that was kept up, in forty hours we should reach the pole.

For a part of the night the novelty of the situation kept us at the

window. The sea was lit with the electric lantern; but it was deserted;

fishes did not sojourn in these imprisoned waters; they only found

there a passage to take them from the Antarctic Ocean to the open polar

sea. Our pace was rapid; we could feel it by the quivering of the long

steel body. About two in the morning I took some hours’ repose, and

Conseil did the same. In crossing the waist I did not meet Captain

Nemo: I supposed him to be in the pilot’s cage. The next morning, the

19th of March, I took my post once more in the saloon. The electric log

told me that the speed of the _Nautilus_ had been slackened. It was

then going towards the surface; but prudently emptying its reservoirs

very slowly. My heart beat fast. Were we going to emerge and regain the

open polar atmosphere? No! A shock told me that the _Nautilus_ had

struck the bottom of the iceberg, still very thick, judging from the

deadened sound. We had in deed “struck,” to use a sea expression, but

in an inverse sense, and at a thousand feet deep. This would give three

thousand feet of ice above us; one thousand being above the water-mark.

The iceberg was then higher than at its borders—not a very reassuring

fact. Several times that day the _Nautilus_ tried again, and every time

it struck the wall which lay like a ceiling above it. Sometimes it met

with but 900 yards, only 200 of which rose above the surface. It was

twice the height it was when the _Nautilus_ had gone under the waves. I

carefully noted the different depths, and thus obtained a submarine

profile of the chain as it was developed under the water. That night no

change had taken place in our situation. Still ice between four and

five hundred yards in depth! It was evidently diminishing, but, still,

what a thickness between us and the surface of the ocean! It was then

eight. According to the daily custom on board the _Nautilus_, its air

should have been renewed four hours ago; but I did not suffer much,

although Captain Nemo had not yet made any demand upon his reserve of

oxygen. My sleep was painful that night; hope and fear besieged me by

turns: I rose several times. The groping of the _Nautilus_ continued.

About three in the morning, I noticed that the lower surface of the

iceberg was only about fifty feet deep. One hundred and fifty feet now

separated us from the surface of the waters. The iceberg was by degrees

becoming an ice-field, the mountain a plain. My eyes never left the

manometer. We were still rising diagonally to the surface, which

sparkled under the electric rays. The iceberg was stretching both above

and beneath into lengthening slopes; mile after mile it was getting

thinner. At length, at six in the morning of that memorable day, the

19th of March, the door of the saloon opened, and Captain Nemo

appeared.

“The sea is open!” was all he said.

CHAPTER 37. 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.

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

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

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

the leaden sky.

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

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.

“Sir,” said I to Captain Nemo, “to you belongs the honour of first

setting foot on this land.”

“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.”

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.

“When 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.

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.

“A little more,” said Conseil, “and they would be perfect lamps! After

that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with

wicks!”

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.

“Till to-morrow,” said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the

_Nautilus_ amid these atmospheric disturbances.

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.

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

“They are seals and morses.”

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.

“These creatures are not 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.”

“They are quite right,” said Conseil.

“I do not say they are not.”

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.

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

“No; a concert of morses.”

“They are fighting!”

“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:

“If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would

preserve your equilibrium 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.

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.

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“Just so,” said I. “But this 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!”

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.

“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.”

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.

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.

“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.

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, 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.”

“In whose name, Captain?”

“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:

“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!”

CHAPT