Captain Farragut was an excellent sailor, and his ship was almost a part of himself. He understood every detail of the Abraham Lincoln, and the vessel seemed to move with his own spirit.
When it came to the giant sea creature, he had no doubts at all.
He believed the monster existed, and he refused to let anyone question it.
His determination was absolute.
He was like an ancient knight who had sworn to destroy a terrible beast threatening the world.
Either Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal, or the narwhal would kill him.
There was no other possible ending.
The officers shared their captain’s confidence.
Every day they gathered together, discussing the creature, calculating where it might appear, and watching the endless ocean carefully.
Many sailors volunteered to climb into the ship’s highest rigging, even though they would normally hate such a dangerous and uncomfortable position.
From sunrise to sunset, the masts were filled with men searching the sea.
The hot deck burned their feet, but nobody complained.
The Abraham Lincoln had not yet reached the waters where the monster was believed to be hiding.
The entire crew wanted only one thing: to meet the creature, throw their harpoons, bring it aboard, and destroy it.
They searched the ocean with intense excitement.
Captain Farragut had also announced a reward.
Whoever first spotted the monster would receive two thousand dollars.
It did not matter whether the person was a cabin boy, an ordinary sailor, or an officer.
You can imagine how carefully everyone used their eyes aboard the Abraham Lincoln.
I was no different.
I watched the sea every day and never allowed anyone else to take my share of the observations.
The ship could easily have been called the Argus, the hundred-eyed watcher of ancient stories.
Everyone on board was obsessed with finding the creature.
Everyone except one man.
Conseil seemed completely uninterested in the matter.
His calm attitude was almost strange compared with the excitement around him.
As I mentioned before, Captain Farragut had prepared the ship with every possible weapon for hunting the giant creature.
No whaling ship had ever been better equipped.
We carried every known weapon, from ordinary hand-thrown harpoons to powerful guns firing explosive projectiles.
On the front of the ship stood a remarkable new weapon.
It was a powerful American-made gun with a thick barrel and a narrow opening, designed to fire heavy cone-shaped bullets.
It could launch a nine-pound projectile over a distance of ten miles.
The Abraham Lincoln lacked nothing when it came to destroying the monster.
And, most importantly, we had Ned Land aboard.
He was the greatest harpooner alive.
Ned Land was a Canadian with extraordinary skill.
His hands were unbelievably quick, and no one could match him in his dangerous profession.
He possessed every quality needed for a great hunter.
Skill.
Calmness.
Courage.
Intelligence.
Only a very clever whale—or an unusually dangerous sperm whale—could escape his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years old.
He was tall, more than six feet in height, and had a powerful build.
He was quiet and serious most of the time.
Sometimes he could be fierce, especially when someone argued against him.
His appearance was impressive, but what people noticed most was his fearless expression.
His eyes showed a courage that was impossible to ignore.
Anyone who called himself Canadian could almost be called French.
Although Ned did not talk much, he soon became friendly with me.
Perhaps my French nationality attracted him.
It gave him a chance to speak the old French language of Rabelais, a language still spoken in some parts of Canada.
His family came from Quebec.
They had been fishermen for generations, even back when Quebec still belonged to France.
Slowly, Ned began to enjoy talking with me.
I loved listening to his stories about his adventures in the northern seas.
He described his hunts and battles with such natural power that his words sounded like poetry.
His stories became like heroic songs.
I felt as though I were listening to a Canadian Homer telling the epic tales of the frozen North.
I describe Ned Land exactly as I knew him.
Today, we are old friends.
Our friendship was created and strengthened through extreme danger.
Brave Ned!
I wish I could live another hundred years just to spend more time remembering you.
But what did Ned Land think about the mysterious sea monster?
I must admit that he did not believe in it at all.
He was the only person aboard the ship who rejected the common belief.
He even avoided discussing the subject.
One day, however, I decided to ask him directly.
It was a beautiful evening on July 30th, three weeks after our departure.
The frigate was near Cape Blanc, about thirty miles from the coast of Patagonia.
We had crossed the Tropic of Capricorn, and the Strait of Magellan was less than seven hundred miles away.
Within eight days, the Abraham Lincoln would enter the Pacific Ocean.
Ned Land and I sat on the rear deck, talking while looking out over the mysterious sea.
The deepest parts of this ocean had never been seen by human eyes.
Naturally, I turned the conversation toward the giant narwhal.
I discussed the chances of finding it and the possibility of success or failure.
But Ned only listened quietly.
Seeing that he avoided giving his opinion, I questioned him more directly.
“Tell me, Ned,” I said, “is it really possible that you do not believe this creature exists?”
“Do you have some special reason for doubting it?”
The harpooner stared at me for several moments.
Then he struck his broad forehead with his hand, a habit he had when thinking deeply.
Finally, he answered:
“Perhaps I do, Monsieur Aronnax.”
“But Ned, you are a professional whaler. You know more about giant sea animals than almost anyone. Surely you should be the last person to doubt such a creature.”
“That is exactly why you are mistaken, Professor,” Ned replied.
“Ordinary people may believe in strange comets crossing the sky or ancient monsters hidden inside the earth. But astronomers and geologists do not accept such fantasies.”
“I have hunted many whales. I have thrown my harpoon into countless sea creatures. I have killed many of them.”
“But no matter how large or powerful they were, none of them had tails or horns strong enough to damage the iron plates of a steamship.”
“But Ned, people say that narwhal tusks have pierced ships completely through.”
“Wooden ships, perhaps,” the Canadian answered.
“But I have never seen it happen. Until there is real proof, I refuse to believe that whales, cetaceans, or sea unicorns could do what you describe.”
“Ned, I believe in this creature because the evidence supports it.”
“I believe it is a powerful mammal, related to whales, sperm whales, and dolphins, but equipped with a horn capable of tremendous destruction.”
“Hmm,” Ned said, shaking his head like a man who was not ready to change his mind.
“Think about this, my good Canadian,” I continued.
“If such an animal exists, if it lives deep beneath the ocean, it must have a body structure unlike anything we know.”
“Why would it need such strength?” Ned asked.
“Because it must survive enormous pressure at those depths.”
“Let me explain.”
“The weight of the atmosphere is equal to the pressure created by a column of water about thirty-two feet high.”
“In the ocean, the pressure increases the deeper you go.”
“At a depth of 320 feet, the pressure equals ten atmospheres.”
“At 3,200 feet, it equals one hundred atmospheres.”
“At 32,000 feet, nearly six miles deep, the pressure becomes one thousand atmospheres.”
“At that depth, every small area of your body would feel thousands of pounds of pressure.”
“My brave Ned, do you know how much surface area your body has?”
“I have no idea, Monsieur Aronnax.”
“About 6,500 square inches.”
“And with normal atmospheric pressure, your body already carries nearly 97,500 pounds of pressure.”
“Without feeling it?” Ned asked.
“Without feeling it.”
“The reason you are not crushed is because the air inside your body balances the pressure outside.”
“But water is different.”
“Yes, I understand,” Ned replied, becoming more interested.
“Water surrounds you, but it does not enter your body.”
“Exactly.”
“At only thirty-two feet underwater, your body would experience enormous pressure.”
“At hundreds and thousands of feet, that pressure becomes almost unimaginable.”
“At 32,000 feet, it would be millions of pounds.”
“You would be crushed as if you had been pressed inside a powerful hydraulic machine.”
“Good heavens!” Ned shouted.
“Now imagine a giant creature hundreds of yards long living in those depths.”
“Its body would have to resist pressure measured in millions of pounds.”
“Think about the strength of its bones and muscles.”
“Why,” Ned exclaimed, “it would need to be made of eight-inch-thick iron plates, like an armored warship!”
“Exactly, Ned.”
“Now imagine such a massive creature moving at the speed of an express train and striking a ship.”
“Yes… perhaps,” Ned replied.
The numbers had impressed him, but he still refused to completely surrender.
“Well,” I asked, “have I convinced you?”
“You have convinced me of one thing, sir,” Ned answered.
“If such animals truly exist deep in the ocean, then they must indeed be as powerful as you describe.”
“But if they do not exist, my stubborn harpooner, how do you explain what happened to the Scotia?”