第 三十五 章 · CACHALOTS AND WHALES

LOTS AND WHALES

During the nights of the 13th and 14th of March, the _Nautilus_

returned to its southerly course. I fancied that, when on a level with

Cape Horn, he would turn the helm westward, in order to beat the

Pacific seas, and so complete the tour of the world. He did nothing of

the kind, but continued on his way to the southern regions. Where was

he going to? To the pole? It was madness! I began to think that the

Captain’s temerity justified Ned Land’s fears. For some time past the

Canadian had not spoken to me of his projects of flight; he was less

communicative, almost silent. I could see that this lengthened

imprisonment was weighing upon him, and I felt that rage was burning

within him. When he met the Captain, his eyes lit up with suppressed

anger; and I feared that his natural violence would lead him into some

extreme. That day, the 14th of March, Conseil and he came to me in my

room. I inquired the cause of their visit.

“A simple question to ask you, sir,” replied the Canadian.

“Speak, Ned.”

“How many men are there on board the _Nautilus_, do you think?”

“I cannot tell, my friend.”

“I should say that its working does not require a large crew.”

“Certainly, under existing conditions, ten men, at the most, ought to

be enough.”

“Well, why should there be any more?”

“Why?” I replied, looking fixedly at Ned Land, whose meaning was easy

to guess. “Because,” I added, “if my surmises are correct, and if I

have well understood the Captain’s existence, the _Nautilus_ is not

only a vessel: it is also a place of refuge for those who, like its

commander, have broken every tie upon earth.”

“Perhaps so,” said Conseil; “but, in any case, the _Nautilus_ can only

contain a certain number of men. Could not you, sir, estimate their

maximum?”

“How, Conseil?”

“By calculation; given the size of the vessel, which you know, sir, and

consequently the quantity of air it contains, knowing also how much

each man expends at a breath, and comparing these results with the fact

that the _Nautilus_ is obliged to go to the surface every twenty-four

hours.”

Conseil had not finished the sentence before I saw what he was driving

at.

“I understand,” said I; “but that calculation, though simple enough,

can give but a very uncertain result.”

“Never mind,” said Ned Land urgently.

“Here it is, then,” said I. “In one hour each man consumes the oxygen

contained in twenty gallons of air; and in twenty-four, that contained

in 480 gallons. We must, therefore find how many times 480 gallons of

air the _Nautilus_ contains.”

“Just so,” said Conseil.

“Or,” I continued, “the size of the _Nautilus_ being 1,500 tons; and

one ton holding 200 gallons, it contains 300,000 gallons of air, which,

divided by 480, gives a quotient of 625. Which means to say, strictly

speaking, that the air contained in the _Nautilus_ would suffice for

625 men for twenty-four hours.”

“Six hundred and twenty-five!” repeated Ned.

“But remember that all of us, passengers, sailors, and officers

included, would not form a tenth part of that number.”

“Still too many for three men,” murmured Conseil.

The Canadian shook his head, passed his hand across his forehead, and

left the room without answering.

“Will you allow me to make one observation, sir?” said Conseil. “Poor

Ned is longing for everything that he can not have. His past life is

always present to him; everything that we are forbidden he regrets. His

head is full of old recollections. And we must understand him. What has

he to do here? Nothing; he is not learned like you, sir; and has not

the same taste for the beauties of the sea that we have. He would risk

everything to be able to go once more into a tavern in his own

country.”

Certainly the monotony on board must seem intolerable to the Canadian,

accustomed as he was to a life of liberty and activity. Events were

rare which could rouse him to any show of spirit; but that day an event

did happen which recalled the bright days of the harpooner. About

eleven in the morning, being on the surface of the ocean, the

_Nautilus_ fell in with a troop of whales—an encounter which did not

astonish me, knowing that these creatures, hunted to death, had taken

refuge in high latitudes.

We were seated on the platform, with a quiet sea. The month of October

in those latitudes gave us some lovely autumnal days. It was the

Canadian—he could not be mistaken—who signalled a whale on the eastern

horizon. Looking attentively, one might see its black back rise and

fall with the waves five miles from the _Nautilus_.

“Ah!” exclaimed Ned Land, “if I was on board a whaler, now such a

meeting would give me pleasure. It is one of large size. See with what

strength its blow-holes throw up columns of air an steam! Confound it,

why am I bound to these steel plates?”

“What, Ned,” said I, “you have not forgotten your old ideas of

fishing?”

“Can a whale-fisher ever forget his old trade, sir? Can he ever tire of

the emotions caused by such a chase?”

“You have never fished in these seas, Ned?”

“Never, sir; in the northern only, and as much in Behring as in Davis

Straits.”

“Then the southern whale is still unknown to you. It is the Greenland

whale you have hunted up to this time, and that would not risk passing

through the warm waters of the equator. Whales are localised, according

to their kinds, in certain seas which they never leave. And if one of

these creatures went from Behring to Davis Straits, it must be simply

because there is a passage from one sea to the other, either on the

American or the Asiatic side.”

“In that case, as I have never fished in these seas, I do not know the

kind of whale frequenting them!”

“I have told you, Ned.”

“A greater reason for making their acquaintance,” said Conseil.

“Look! look!” exclaimed the Canadian, “they approach: they aggravate

me; they know that I cannot get at them!”

Ned stamped his feet. His hand trembled, as he grasped an imaginary

harpoon.

“Are these cetaceans as large as those of the northern seas?” asked he.

“Very nearly, Ned.”

“Because I have seen large whales, sir, whales measuring a hundred

feet. I have even been told that those of Hullamoch and Umgallick, of

the Aleutian Islands, are sometimes a hundred and fifty feet long.”

“That seems to me exaggeration. These creatures are only

balaeaopterons, provided with dorsal fins; and, like the cachalots, are

generally much smaller than the Greenland whale.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the Canadian, whose eyes had never left the ocean,

“they are coming nearer; they are in the same water as the _Nautilus_.”

Then, returning to the conversation, he said:

“You spoke of the cachalot as a small creature. I have heard of

gigantic ones. They are intelligent cetacea. It is said of some that

they cover themselves with seaweed and fucus, and then are taken for

islands. People encamp upon them, and settle there; lights a fire——”

“And build houses,” said Conseil.

“Yes, joker,” said Ned Land. “And one fine day the creature plunges,

carrying with it all the inhabitants to the bottom of the sea.”

“Something like the travels of Sinbad the Sailor,” I replied, laughing.

“Ah!” suddenly exclaimed Ned Land, “it is not one whale; there are

ten—there are twenty—it is a whole troop! And I not able to do

anything! hands and feet tied!”

“But, friend Ned,” said Conseil, “why do you not ask Captain Nemo’s

permission to chase them?”

Conseil had not finished his sentence when Ned Land had lowered himself

through the panel to seek the Captain. A few minutes afterwards the two

appeared together on the platform.

Captain Nemo watched the troop of cetacea playing on the waters about a

mile from the _Nautilus_.

“They are southern whales,” said he; “there goes the fortune of a whole

fleet of whalers.”

“Well, sir,” asked the Canadian, “can I not chase them, if only to

remind me of my old trade of harpooner?”

“And to what purpose?” replied Captain Nemo; “only to destroy! We have

nothing to do with the whale-oil on board.”

“But, sir,” continued the Canadian, “in the Red Sea you allowed us to

follow the dugong.”

“Then it was to procure fresh meat for my crew. Here it would be

killing for killing’s sake. I know that is a privilege reserved for

man, but I do not approve of such murderous pastime. In destroying the

southern whale (like the Greenland whale, an inoffensive creature),

your traders do a culpable action, Master Land. They have already

depopulated the whole of Baffin’s Bay, and are annihilating a class of

useful animals. Leave the unfortunate cetacea alone. They have plenty

of natural enemies—cachalots, swordfish, and sawfish—without you

troubling them.”

The Captain was right. The barbarous and inconsiderate greed of these

fishermen will one day cause the disappearance of the last whale in the

ocean. Ned Land whistled “Yankee-doodle” between his teeth, thrust his

hands into his pockets, and turned his back upon us. But Captain Nemo

watched the troop of cetacea, and, addressing me, said:

“I was right in saying that whales had natural enemies enough, without

counting man. These will have plenty to do before long. Do you see, M.

Aronnax, about eight miles to leeward, those blackish moving points?”

“Yes, Captain,” I replied.

“Those are cachalots—terrible animals, which I have met in troops of

two or three hundred. As to those, they are cruel, mischievous

creatures; they would be right in exterminating them.”

The Canadian turned quickly at the last words.

“Well, Captain,” said he, “it is still time, in the interest of the

whales.”

“It is useless to expose one’s self, Professor. The _Nautilus_ will

disperse them. It is armed with a steel spur as good as Master Land’s

harpoon, I imagine.”

The Canadian did not put himself out enough to shrug his shoulders.

Attack cetacea with blows of a spur! Who had ever heard of such a

thing?

“Wait, M. Aronnax,” said Captain Nemo. “We will show you something you

have never yet seen. We have no pity for these ferocious creatures.

They are nothing but mouth and teeth.”

Mouth and teeth! No one could better describe the macrocephalous

cachalot, which is sometimes more than seventy-five feet long. Its

enormous head occupies one-third of its entire body. Better armed than

the whale, whose upper jaw is furnished only with whalebone, it is

supplied with twenty-five large tusks, about eight inches long,

cylindrical and conical at the top, each weighing two pounds. It is in

the upper part of this enormous head, in great cavities divided by

cartilages, that is to be found from six to eight hundred pounds of

that precious oil called spermaceti. The cachalot is a disagreeable

creature, more tadpole than fish, according to Fredol’s description. It

is badly formed, the whole of its left side being (if we may say it), a

“failure,” and being only able to see with its right eye. But the

formidable troop was nearing us. They had seen the whales and were

preparing to attack them. One could judge beforehand that the cachalots

would be victorious, not only because they were better built for attack

than their inoffensive adversaries, but also because they could remain

longer under water without coming to the surface. There was only just

time to go to the help of the whales. The _Nautilus_ went under water.

Conseil, Ned Land, and I took our places before the window in the

saloon, and Captain Nemo joined the pilot in his cage to work his

apparatus as an engine of destruction. Soon I felt the beatings of the

screw quicken, and our speed increased. The battle between the

cachalots and the whales had already begun when the _Nautilus_ arrived.

They did not at first show any fear at the sight of this new monster

joining in the conflict. But they soon had to guard against its blows.

What a battle! The _Nautilus_ was nothing but a formidable harpoon,

brandished by the hand of its Captain. It hurled itself against the

fleshy mass, passing through from one part to the other, leaving behind

it two quivering halves of the animal. It could not feel the formidable

blows from their tails upon its sides, nor the shock which it produced

itself, much more. One cachalot killed, it ran at the next, tacked on

the spot that it might not miss its prey, going forwards and backwards,

answering to its helm, plunging when the cetacean dived into the deep

waters, coming up with it when it returned to the surface, striking it

front or sideways, cutting or tearing in all directions and at any

pace, piercing it with its terrible spur. What carnage! What a noise on

the surface of the waves! What sharp hissing, and what snorting

peculiar to these enraged animals! In the midst of these waters,

generally so peaceful, their tails made perfect billows. For one hour

this wholesale massacre continued, from which the cachalots could not

escape. Several times ten or twelve united tried to crush the

_Nautilus_ by their weight. From the window we could see their enormous

mouths, studded with tusks, and their formidable eyes. Ned Land could

not contain himself; he threatened and swore at them. We could feel

them clinging to our vessel like dogs worrying a wild boar in a copse.

But the _Nautilus_, working its screw, carried them here and there, or

to the upper levels of the ocean, without caring for their enormous

weight, nor the powerful strain on the vessel. At length the mass of

cachalots broke up, the waves became quiet, and I felt that we were

rising to the surface. The panel opened, and we hurried on to the

platform. The sea was covered with mutilated bodies. A formidable

explosion could not have divided and torn this fleshy mass with more

violence. We were floating amid gigantic bodies, bluish on the back and

white underneath, covered with enormous protuberances. Some terrified

cachalots were flying towards the horizon. The waves were dyed red for

several miles, and the _Nautilus_ floated in a sea of blood: Captain

Nemo joined us.

“Well, Master Land?” said he.

“Well, sir,” replied the Canadian, whose enthusiasm had somewhat

calmed; “it is a terrible spectacle, certainly. But I am not a butcher.

I am a hunter, and I call this a butchery.”

“It is a massacre of mischievous creatures,” replied the Captain; “and

the _Nautilus_ is not a butcher’s knife.”

“I like my harpoon better,” said the Canadian.

“Every one to his own,” answered the Captain, looking fixedly at Ned

Land.

I feared he would commit some act of violence, which would end in sad

consequences. But his anger was turned by the sight of a whale which

the _Nautilus_ had just come up with. The creature had not quite

escaped from the cachalot’s teeth. I recognised the southern whale by

its flat head, which is entirely black. Anatomically, it is

distinguished from the white whale and the North Cape whale by the

seven cervical vertebrae, and it has two more ribs than its congeners.

The unfortunate cetacean was lying on its side, riddled with holes from

the bites, and quite dead. From its mutilated fin still hung a young

whale which it could not save from the massacre. Its open mouth let the

water flow in and out, murmuring like the waves breaking on the shore.

Captain Nemo steered close to the corpse of the creature. Two of his

men mounted its side, and I saw, not without surprise, that they were

drawing from its breasts all the milk which they contained, that is to

say, about two or three tons. The Captain offered me a cup of the milk,

which was still warm. I could not help showing my repugnance to the

drink; but he assured me that it was excellent, and not to be

distinguished from cow’s milk. I tasted it, and was of his opinion. It

was a useful reserve to us, for in the shape of salt butter or cheese

it would form an agreeable variety from our ordinary food. From that

day I noticed with uneasiness that Ned Land’s ill-will towards Captain

Nemo increased, and I resolved to watch the Canadian’s gestures

closely.

CHAPT