________________________________________________
_ I RUSHED UP onto the platform. Yes, open sea! Barely a few
sparse floes, some moving
icebergs; a sea stretching into the distance; hosts of birds
in the air and myriads of fish under the waters, which varied
from intense blue to olive green depending on the depth.
The thermometer marked 3 degrees centigrade. It was as if a
comparative springtime had been locked up behind that Ice Bank,
whose distant masses were outlined on the northern horizon.
"Are we at the pole?" I asked the captain, my heart pounding.
"I've no idea," he answered me. "At noon we'll fix our position."
"But will the sun show through this mist?" I said, staring at
the grayish sky.
"No matter how faintly it shines, it will be enough for me,"
the captain replied.
To the south, ten miles from the Nautilus, a solitary islet rose
to a height of 200 meters. We proceeded toward it, but cautiously,
because this sea could have been strewn with reefs.
In an hour we had reached the islet. Two hours later we had completed a
full circle around it. It measured four to five miles in circumference.
A narrow channel separated it from a considerable shore,
perhaps a continent whose limits we couldn't see. The existence
of this shore seemed to bear out Commander Maury's hypotheses.
In essence, this ingenious American has noted that between
the South Pole and the 60th parallel, the sea is covered
with floating ice of dimensions much greater than any found
in the north Atlantic. From this fact he drew the conclusion
that the Antarctic Circle must contain considerable shores,
since icebergs can't form on the high seas but only along coastlines.
According to his calculations, this frozen mass enclosing the southernmost
pole forms a vast ice cap whose width must reach 4,000 kilometers.
Meanwhile, to avoid running aground, the Nautilus halted three
cable lengths from a strand crowned by superb piles of rocks.
The skiff was launched to sea. Two crewmen carrying instruments,
the captain, Conseil, and I were on board. It was ten o'clock
in the morning. I hadn't seen Ned Land. No doubt, in the presence
of the South Pole, the Canadian hated having to eat his words.
A few strokes of the oar brought the skiff to the sand,
where it ran aground. Just as Conseil was about to jump ashore,
I held him back.
"Sir," I told Captain Nemo, "to you belongs the honor of first
setting foot on this shore."
"Yes, sir," the captain replied, "and if I have no hesitation
in treading this polar soil, it's because no human being until
now has left a footprint here."
So saying, he leaped lightly onto the sand. His heart must
have been throbbing with intense excitement. He scaled an
overhanging rock that ended in a small promontory and there,
mute and motionless, with crossed arms and blazing eyes,
he seemed to be laying claim to these southernmost regions.
After spending five minutes in this trance, he turned to us.
"Whenever you're ready, sir," he called to me.
I got out, Conseil at my heels, leaving the two men in the skiff.
Over an extensive area, the soil consisted of that igneous gravel
called "tuff," reddish in color as if made from crushed bricks.
The ground was covered with slag, lava flows, and pumice stones.
Its volcanic origin was unmistakable. In certain localities thin smoke
holes gave off a sulfurous odor, showing that the inner fires still kept
their wide-ranging power. Nevertheless, when I scaled a high escarpment,
I could see no volcanoes within a radius of several miles.
In these Antarctic districts, as is well known, Sir James Clark Ross
had found the craters of Mt. Erebus and Mt. Terror in fully active
condition on the 167th meridian at latitude 77 degrees 32'.
The vegetation on this desolate continent struck me as quite limited.
A few lichens of the species Usnea melanoxanthra sprawled over
the black rocks. The whole meager flora of this region consisted
of certain microscopic buds, rudimentary diatoms made up of a type
of cell positioned between two quartz-rich shells, plus long purple
and crimson fucus plants, buoyed by small air bladders and washed
up on the coast by the surf.
The beach was strewn with mollusks: small mussels, limpets, smooth
heart-shaped cockles, and especially some sea butterflies with oblong,
membrane-filled bodies whose heads are formed from two rounded lobes.
I also saw myriads of those northernmost sea butterflies three
centimeters long, which a baleen whale can swallow by the thousands
in one gulp. The open waters at the shoreline were alive with
these delightful pteropods, true butterflies of the sea.
Among other zoophytes present in these shallows, there were
a few coral tree forms that, according to Sir James Clark Ross,
live in these Antarctic seas at depths as great as 1,000 meters;
then small alcyon coral belonging to the species Procellaria pelagica,
also a large number of starfish unique to these climes, plus some
feather stars spangling the sand.
But it was in the air that life was superabundant.
There various species of birds flew and fluttered by the thousands,
deafening us with their calls. Crowding the rocks, other fowl watched
without fear as we passed and pressed familiarly against our feet.
These were auks, as agile and supple in water, where they are sometimes
mistaken for fast bonito, as they are clumsy and heavy on land.
They uttered outlandish calls and participated in numerous public
assemblies that featured much noise but little action.
Among other fowl I noted some sheathbills from the wading-bird family,
the size of pigeons, white in color, the beak short and conical, the eyes
framed by red circles. Conseil laid in a supply of them, because when
they're properly cooked, these winged creatures make a pleasant dish.
In the air there passed sooty albatross with four-meter wingspans,
birds aptly dubbed "vultures of the ocean," also gigantic petrels
including several with arching wings, enthusiastic eaters of seal
that are known as quebrantahuesos,* and cape pigeons, a sort
of small duck, the tops of their bodies black and white--in short,
a whole series of petrels, some whitish with wings trimmed in brown,
others blue and exclusive to these Antarctic seas, the former "so oily,"
I told Conseil, "that inhabitants of the Faroe Islands simply fit
the bird with a wick, then light it up."
*Spanish: "ospreys." Ed.
"With that minor addition," Conseil replied, "these fowl would make
perfect lamps! After this, we should insist that nature equip them
with wicks in advance!"
Half a mile farther on, the ground was completely riddled with
penguin nests, egg-laying burrows from which numerous birds emerged.
Later Captain Nemo had hundreds of them hunted because their
black flesh is highly edible. They brayed like donkeys.
The size of a goose with slate-colored bodies, white undersides,
and lemon-colored neck bands, these animals let themselves be stoned
to death without making any effort to get away.
Meanwhile the mists didn't clear, and by eleven o'clock the sun
still hadn't made an appearance. Its absence disturbed me.
Without it, no sights were possible. Then how could we tell whether
we had reached the pole?
When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him leaning silently against
a piece of rock and staring at the sky. He seemed impatient, baffled.
But what could we do? This daring and powerful man couldn't control
the sun as he did the sea.
Noon arrived without the orb of day appearing for a single instant.
You couldn't even find its hiding place behind the curtain of mist.
And soon this mist began to condense into snow.
"Until tomorrow," the captain said simply; and we went back
to the Nautilus, amid flurries in the air.
During our absence the nets had been spread, and I observed with
fascination the fish just hauled on board. The Antarctic seas
serve as a refuge for an extremely large number of migratory fish
that flee from storms in the subpolar zones, in truth only to slide
down the gullets of porpoises and seals. I noted some one-decimeter
southern bullhead, a species of whitish cartilaginous fish overrun
with bluish gray stripes and armed with stings, then some Antarctic
rabbitfish three feet long, the body very slender, the skin a smooth
silver white, the head rounded, the topside furnished with three fins,
the snout ending in a trunk that curved back toward the mouth.
I sampled its flesh but found it tasteless, despite Conseil's views,
which were largely approving.
The blizzard lasted until the next day. It was impossible to stay
on the platform. From the lounge, where I was writing up the incidents
of this excursion to the polar continent, I could hear the calls
of petrel and albatross cavorting in the midst of the turmoil.
The Nautilus didn't stay idle, and cruising along the coast,
it advanced some ten miles farther south amid the half light left
by the sun as it skimmed the edge of the horizon.
The next day, March 20, it stopped snowing. The cold was a little
more brisk. The thermometer marked -2 degrees centigrade.
The mist had cleared, and on that day I hoped our noon sights
could be accomplished.
Since Captain Nemo hadn't yet appeared, only Conseil and I
were taken ashore by the skiff. The soil's nature was still
the same: volcanic. Traces of lava, slag, and basaltic rock
were everywhere, but I couldn't find the crater that had vomited
them up. There as yonder, myriads of birds enlivened this part
of the polar continent. But they had to share their dominion with
huge herds of marine mammals that looked at us with gentle eyes.
These were seals of various species, some stretched out on the ground,
others lying on drifting ice floes, several leaving or reentering
the sea. Having never dealt with man, they didn't run off at
our approach, and I counted enough of them thereabouts to provision
a couple hundred ships.
"Ye gods," Conseil said, "it's fortunate that Ned Land didn't
come with us!"
"Why so, Conseil?"
"Because that madcap hunter would kill every animal here."
"Every animal may be overstating it, but in truth I doubt we could keep
our Canadian friend from harpooning some of these magnificent cetaceans.
Which would be an affront to Captain Nemo, since he hates to slay
harmless beasts needlessly."
"He's right."
"Certainly, Conseil. But tell me, haven't you finished classifying
these superb specimens of marine fauna?"
"Master is well aware," Conseil replied, "that I'm not seasoned in
practical application. When master has told me these animals' names . . ."
"They're seals and walruses."
"Two genera," our scholarly Conseil hastened to say, "that belong
to the family Pinnipedia, order Carnivora, group Unguiculata,
subclass Monodelphia, class Mammalia, branch Vertebrata."
"Very nice, Conseil," I replied, "but these two genera of seals
and walruses are each divided into species, and if I'm not mistaken,
we now have a chance to actually look at them. Let's."
It was eight o'clock in the morning. We had four hours
to ourselves before the sun could be productively observed.
I guided our steps toward a huge bay that made a crescent-shaped
incision in the granite cliffs along the beach.
There, all about us, I swear that the shores and ice floes
were crowded with marine mammals as far as the eye could see,
and I involuntarily looked around for old Proteus, that mythological
shepherd who guarded King Neptune's immense flocks. To be specific,
these were seals. They formed distinct male-and-female groups,
the father watching over his family, the mother suckling her
little ones, the stronger youngsters emancipated a few paces away.
When these mammals wanted to relocate, they moved in little jumps made
by contracting their bodies, clumsily helped by their imperfectly
developed flippers, which, as with their manatee relatives,
form actual forearms. In the water, their ideal element, I must say
these animals swim wonderfully thanks to their flexible backbones,
narrow pelvises, close-cropped hair, and webbed feet.
Resting on shore, they assumed extremely graceful positions.
Consequently, their gentle features, their sensitive expressions
equal to those of the loveliest women, their soft, limpid eyes,
their charming poses, led the ancients to glorify them by metamorphosing
the males into sea gods and the females into mermaids.
I drew Conseil's attention to the considerable growth
of the cerebral lobes found in these intelligent cetaceans.
No mammal except man has more abundant cerebral matter.
Accordingly, seals are quite capable of being educated;
they make good pets, and together with certain other naturalists,
I think these animals can be properly trained to perform yeoman
service as hunting dogs for fishermen.
Most of these seals were sleeping on the rocks or the sand.
Among those properly termed seals--which have no external ears,
unlike sea lions whose ears protrude--I observed several varieties
of the species stenorhynchus, three meters long, with white hair,
bulldog heads, and armed with ten teeth in each jaw: four incisors
in both the upper and lower, plus two big canines shaped like the
fleur-de-lis. Among them slithered some sea elephants, a type of seal
with a short, flexible trunk; these are the giants of the species,
with a circumference of twenty feet and a length of ten meters.
They didn't move as we approached.
"Are these animals dangerous?" Conseil asked me.
"Only if they're attacked," I replied. "But when these giant seals
defend their little ones, their fury is dreadful, and it isn't rare
for them to smash a fisherman's longboat to bits."
"They're within their rights," Conseil answered.
"I don't say nay."
Two miles farther on, we were stopped by a promontory that screened
the bay from southerly winds. It dropped straight down to the sea,
and surf foamed against it. From beyond this ridge there came
fearsome bellows, such as a herd of cattle might produce.
"Gracious," Conseil put in, "a choir of bulls?"
"No," I said, "a choir of walruses."
"Are they fighting with each other?"
"Either fighting or playing."
"With all due respect to master, this we must see."
"Then see it we must, Conseil."
And there we were, climbing these blackish rocks amid sudden landslides
and over stones slippery with ice. More than once I took a tumble
at the expense of my backside. Conseil, more cautious or more stable,
barely faltered and would help me up, saying:
"If master's legs would kindly adopt a wider stance, master will
keep his balance."
Arriving at the topmost ridge of this promontory, I could see vast
white plains covered with walruses. These animals were playing
among themselves. They were howling not in anger but in glee.
Walruses resemble seals in the shape of their bodies and the arrangement
of their limbs. But their lower jaws lack canines and incisors, and as
for their upper canines, they consist of two tusks eighty centimeters
long with a circumference of thirty-three centimeters at the socket.
Made of solid ivory, without striations, harder than elephant tusks,
and less prone to yellowing, these teeth are in great demand.
Accordingly, walruses are the victims of a mindless hunting that
soon will destroy them all, since their hunters indiscriminately
slaughter pregnant females and youngsters, and over 4,000 individuals
are destroyed annually.
Passing near these unusual animals, I could examine them at my
leisure since they didn't stir. Their hides were rough and heavy,
a tan color leaning toward a reddish brown; their coats were
short and less than abundant. Some were four meters long.
More tranquil and less fearful than their northern relatives,
they posted no sentinels on guard duty at the approaches
to their campsite.
After examining this community of walruses, I decided to return in
my tracks. It was eleven o'clock, and if Captain Nemo found conditions
favorable for taking his sights, I wanted to be present at the operation.
But I held no hopes that the sun would make an appearance that day.
It was hidden from our eyes by clouds squeezed together on the horizon.
Apparently the jealous orb didn't want to reveal this inaccessible
spot on the globe to any human being.
Yet I decided to return to the Nautilus. We went along a steep,
narrow path that ran over the cliff's summit. By 11:30 we had arrived
at our landing place. The beached skiff had brought the captain ashore.
I spotted him standing on a chunk of basalt. His instruments
were beside him. His eyes were focused on the northern horizon,
along which the sun was sweeping in its extended arc.
I found a place near him and waited without speaking. Noon arrived,
and just as on the day before, the sun didn't put in an appearance.
It was sheer bad luck. Our noon sights were still lacking.
If we couldn't obtain them tomorrow, we would finally have to give
up any hope of fixing our position.
In essence, it was precisely March 20. Tomorrow, the 21st,
was the day of the equinox; the sun would disappear below the horizon
for six months not counting refraction, and after its disappearance
the long polar night would begin. Following the September equinox,
the sun had emerged above the northerly horizon, rising in long
spirals until December 21. At that time, the summer solstice
of these southernmost districts, the sun had started back down,
and tomorrow it would cast its last rays.
I shared my thoughts and fears with Captain Nemo.
"You're right, Professor Aronnax," he told me. "If I can't take the sun's
altitude tomorrow, I won't be able to try again for another six months.
But precisely because sailors' luck has led me into these seas
on March 21, it will be easy to get our bearings if the noonday
sun does appear before our eyes."
"Why easy, captain?"
"Because when the orb of day sweeps in such long spirals,
it's difficult to measure its exact altitude above the horizon,
and our instruments are open to committing serious errors."
"Then what can you do?"
"I use only my chronometer," Captain Nemo answered me.
"At noon tomorrow, March 21, if, after accounting for refraction,
the sun's disk is cut exactly in half by the northern horizon,
that will mean I'm at the South Pole."
"Right," I said. "Nevertheless, it isn't mathematically exact proof,
because the equinox needn't fall precisely at noon."
"No doubt, sir, but the error will be under 100 meters, and that's
close enough for us. Until tomorrow then."
Captain Nemo went back on board. Conseil and I stayed behind
until five o'clock, surveying the beach, observing and studying.
The only unusual object I picked up was an auk's egg of remarkable size,
for which a collector would have paid more than 1,000 francs.
Its cream-colored tint, plus the streaks and markings that
decorated it like so many hieroglyphics, made it a rare trinket.
I placed it in Conseil's hands, and holding it like precious
porcelain from China, that cautious, sure-footed lad got it back
to the Nautilus in one piece.
There I put this rare egg inside one of the glass cases in the museum.
I ate supper, feasting with appetite on an excellent piece of seal
liver whose flavor reminded me of pork. Then I went to bed;
but not without praying, like a good Hindu, for the favors of
the radiant orb.
The next day, March 21, bright and early at five o'clock in the morning,
I climbed onto the platform. I found Captain Nemo there.
"The weather is clearing a bit," he told me. "I have high hopes.
After breakfast we'll make our way ashore and choose an observation post."
This issue settled, I went to find Ned Land. I wanted to take him
with me. The obstinate Canadian refused, and I could clearly see
that his tight-lipped mood and his bad temper were growing by the day.
Under the circumstances I ultimately wasn't sorry that he refused.
In truth, there were too many seals ashore, and it would never do
to expose this impulsive fisherman to such temptations.
Breakfast over, I made my way ashore. The Nautilus had gone a few
more miles during the night. It lay well out, a good league from
the coast, which was crowned by a sharp peak 400 to 500 meters high.
In addition to me, the skiff carried Captain Nemo, two crewmen,
and the instruments--in other words, a chronometer, a spyglass,
and a barometer.
During our crossing I saw numerous baleen whales belonging to the
three species unique to these southernmost seas: the bowhead whale
(or "right whale," according to the English), which has no dorsal fin;
the humpback whale from the genus Balaenoptera (in other words,
"winged whales"), beasts with wrinkled bellies and huge whitish
fins that, genus name regardless, do not yet form wings;
and the finback whale, yellowish brown, the swiftest of all cetaceans.
This powerful animal is audible from far away when it sends up
towering spouts of air and steam that resemble swirls of smoke.
Herds of these different mammals were playing about in the
tranquil waters, and I could easily see that this Antarctic polar
basin now served as a refuge for those cetaceans too relentlessly
pursued by hunters.
I also noted long, whitish strings of salps, a type of mollusk
found in clusters, and some jellyfish of large size that swayed
in the eddies of the billows.
By nine o'clock we had pulled up to shore. The sky was growing brighter.
Clouds were fleeing to the south. Mists were rising from
the cold surface of the water. Captain Nemo headed toward
the peak, which he no doubt planned to make his observatory.
It was an arduous climb over sharp lava and pumice stones in the midst
of air often reeking with sulfurous fumes from the smoke holes.
For a man out of practice at treading land, the captain scaled
the steepest slopes with a supple agility I couldn't equal,
and which would have been envied by hunters of Pyrenees mountain goats.
It took us two hours to reach the summit of this half-crystal,
half-basalt peak. From there our eyes scanned a vast sea, which scrawled
its boundary line firmly against the background of the northern sky.
At our feet: dazzling tracts of white. Over our heads:
a pale azure, clear of mists. North of us: the sun's disk,
like a ball of fire already cut into by the edge of the horizon.
From the heart of the waters: jets of liquid rising like hundreds
of magnificent bouquets. Far off, like a sleeping cetacean:
the Nautilus. Behind us to the south and east: an immense shore,
a chaotic heap of rocks and ice whose limits we couldn't see.
Arriving at the summit of this peak, Captain Nemo carefully determined
its elevation by means of his barometer, since he had to take this
factor into account in his noon sights.
At 11:45 the sun, by then seen only by refraction, looked like a
golden disk, dispersing its last rays over this deserted continent
and down to these seas not yet plowed by the ships of man.
Captain Nemo had brought a spyglass with a reticular eyepiece,
which corrected the sun's refraction by means of a mirror,
and he used it to observe the orb sinking little by little
along a very extended diagonal that reached below the horizon.
I held the chronometer. My heart was pounding mightily.
If the lower half of the sun's disk disappeared just as the chronometer
said noon, we were right at the pole.
"Noon!" I called.
"The South Pole!" Captain Nemo replied in a solemn voice,
handing me the spyglass, which showed the orb of day cut into two
exactly equal parts by the horizon.
I stared at the last rays wreathing this peak, while shadows were
gradually climbing its gradients.
Just then, resting his hand on my shoulder, Captain Nemo said to me:
"In 1600, sir, the Dutchman Gheritk was swept by storms
and currents, reaching latitude 64 degrees south and discovering
the South Shetland Islands. On January 17, 1773, the famous Captain Cook
went along the 38th meridian, arriving at latitude 67 degrees 30';
and on January 30, 1774, along the 109th meridian, he reached
latitude 71 degrees 15'. In 1819 the Russian Bellinghausen lay on
the 69th parallel, and in 1821 on the 66th at longitude 111 degrees west.
In 1820 the Englishman Bransfield stopped at 65 degrees.
That same year the American Morrel, whose reports are dubious,
went along the 42nd meridian, finding open sea at latitude 70 degrees
14'. In 1825 the Englishman Powell was unable to get beyond 62 degrees.
That same year a humble seal fisherman, the Englishman Weddell,
went as far as latitude 72 degrees 14' on the 35th meridian, and as
far as 74 degrees 15' on the 36th. In 1829 the Englishman Forster,
commander of the Chanticleer, laid claim to the Antarctic continent
in latitude 63 degrees 26' and longitude 66 degrees 26'. On February 1,
1831, the Englishman Biscoe discovered Enderby Land at latitude 68
degrees 50', Adelaide Land at latitude 67 degrees on February 5,
1832, and Graham Land at latitude 64 degrees 45' on February 21.
In 1838 the Frenchman Dumont d'Urville stopped at the Ice Bank
in latitude 62 degrees 57', sighting the Louis-Philippe Peninsula;
on January 21 two years later, at a new southerly position of 66
degrees 30', he named the Adélie Coast and eight days later,
the Clarie Coast at 64 degrees 40'. In 1838 the American Wilkes
advanced as far as the 69th parallel on the 100th meridian.
In 1839 the Englishman Balleny discovered the Sabrina Coast at the edge
of the polar circle. Lastly, on January 12, 1842, with his ships,
the Erebus and the Terror, the Englishman Sir James Clark Ross found
Victoria Land in latitude 70 degrees 56' and longitude 171 degrees 7'
east; on the 23rd of that same month, he reached the 74th parallel,
a position denoting the Farthest South attained until then;
on the 27th he lay at 76 degrees 8'; on the 28th at 77 degrees 32';
on February 2 at 78 degrees 4'; and late in 1842 he returned to 71
degrees but couldn't get beyond it. Well now! In 1868, on this 21st
day of March, I myself, Captain Nemo, have reached the South Pole
at 90 degrees, and I hereby claim this entire part of the globe,
equal to one-sixth of the known continents."
"In the name of which sovereign, captain?"
"In my own name, sir!"
So saying, Captain Nemo unfurled a black flag bearing a gold "N"
on its quartered bunting. Then, turning toward the orb of day,
whose last rays were licking at the sea's horizon:
"Farewell, O sun!" he called. "Disappear, O radiant orb!
Retire beneath this open sea, and let six months of night spread
their shadows over my new domains!" _
Read next: SECOND PART: Chapter 15. Accident or Incident?
Read previous: SECOND PART: Chapter 13. The Ice Bank
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