I rushed onto the platform.
What I saw before me was unbelievable.
The open sea stretched out in every direction. Only a few scattered pieces of ice and drifting icebergs floated on the water. A vast ocean had appeared before us, filled with birds flying through the air and countless fish swimming beneath the surface. The color of the sea changed from deep blue to olive green depending on what lay below.
The thermometer showed three degrees above zero.
Compared with the frozen world we had just crossed, it felt almost like spring. We were protected behind the enormous iceberg, whose long shadow could still be seen far away on the northern horizon.
“Are we at the South Pole?” I asked Captain Nemo, my heart pounding.
“I do not know yet,” he answered calmly. “At noon, I will calculate our position.”
“But will the sun appear through this heavy fog?” I asked, looking up at the gray sky.
“Even if it shows itself for only a moment, that will be enough,” said the Captain.
About ten miles south of us stood a lonely island rising about one hundred meters above the sea.
We headed toward it carefully, because hidden ice fields might be waiting beneath the water.
An hour later, we reached the island.
Two hours after that, we had completely sailed around it.
Its coastline was only four or five miles long. A narrow channel separated it from a much larger stretch of land. Perhaps it was even part of a continent, because we could not see where it ended.
This discovery seemed to support the theory of the American oceanographer Matthew Fontaine Maury.
He had suggested that the waters between the South Pole and the sixtieth parallel were surrounded by enormous floating ice masses unlike those found in the North Atlantic. From this, he believed that large continents must exist inside the Antarctic Circle, because icebergs could not form in the middle of the ocean. They could only be created when ice broke away from coastal land.
According to his calculations, the ice surrounding the South Pole formed a giant frozen cap with a circumference of at least 2,500 miles.
However, the Nautilus stopped about three cable lengths from the shore because Captain Nemo feared running aground. Before us stood a magnificent pile of rocks rising from the coast.
The small boat was lowered into the water.
Captain Nemo, two crew members carrying instruments, Conseil, and I entered it.
It was ten o’clock in the morning.
I noticed that Ned Land was not with us.
The stubborn Canadian probably refused to accept the idea that we had reached the South Pole.
After a few strokes of the oars, we reached the shore and pulled the boat onto the sand.
Conseil was about to jump onto land, but I stopped him.
“Captain Nemo,” I said, “this honor belongs to you. You should be the first person to step onto this land.”
“Yes, Monsieur Aronnax,” Captain Nemo replied. “And I do not hesitate to walk upon this South Pole because, until this moment, no human being has ever left a footprint here.”
With those words, he jumped lightly onto the shore.
His heart seemed filled with emotion.
He climbed a rock that sloped toward a small point of land. There he stood silently, his arms crossed, staring intensely at the southern world before him.
He looked as though he had taken possession of this unknown territory.
After five minutes of silence, he turned toward us.
“When you are ready, sir.”
I stepped onto the land, followed by Conseil, while the two sailors remained with the boat.
For a long distance, the ground was made of reddish sandy rock, resembling crushed brick. There were volcanic ashes, streams of hardened lava, and pieces of pumice everywhere.
There was no doubt.
This land was born from volcanoes.
In some places, thin curls of smoke rose from cracks in the ground, carrying the smell of sulfur. The hidden fires beneath the earth were still powerful.
Yet even after climbing a high slope, I could not see any volcano within several miles.
We already knew that in these Antarctic regions, James Ross had discovered two active volcanoes, Erebus and Terror, at latitude 77°32′ south.
The vegetation of this frozen continent was extremely limited.
A few lichens clung to the black rocks.
Tiny microscopic plants called diatoms existed between delicate shells of quartz.
Long purple and scarlet seaweeds floated near the shore, supported by small air-filled bladders that carried them with the waves.
That was the poor plant life of this lonely land.
The beach was covered with shells, small mussels, and limpets.
I also saw countless northern clios, tiny creatures only about three centimeters long. A whale could swallow thousands of them in a single mouthful.
There were also beautiful sea butterflies, filling the waters near the shore with movement.
On the deeper parts of the seabed, I noticed small coral formations. According to James Ross, similar corals could survive in Antarctic waters more than a thousand yards below the surface.
There were also tiny king crabs and starfish scattered across the ground.
But the greatest display of life was above us.
Thousands of birds filled the sky.
They flew everywhere, screaming so loudly that we could barely hear each other.
Others crowded the rocks, watching us without fear. Some even walked close to our feet as if we were ordinary visitors.
There were penguins.
In the water they moved with amazing speed, but on land they looked heavy and awkward. They gathered together in large groups, making strange noises. Their bodies were serious and dignified, but their voices created endless chaos.
Large albatrosses crossed the sky.
Their wings stretched nearly five yards wide, making them true giants of the ocean.
There were also huge petrels and damiers, small duck-like birds with black and white undersides.
Then came many kinds of petrels.
Some were pale with brown-edged wings.
Others were blue, a species unique to Antarctic waters.
They contained so much oil that, as I explained to Conseil, people from the Faroe Islands could almost use them as lamps simply by adding a wick.
“A little more,” Conseil joked, “and Nature would have saved them the trouble by giving them their own wicks!”
“Perhaps,” I replied, “but Nature seems to have stopped just before making them completely useful.”
About half a mile farther away, the ground was filled with nests belonging to a bird called the ruff.
It was a huge breeding area, and birds constantly flew out from beneath our feet.
Captain Nemo ordered several hundred of them to be captured.
They made a sound like donkeys braying.
They were about the size of geese, with gray bodies, white undersides, and yellow lines around their throats.
They were so unafraid that they allowed themselves to be killed with stones without even trying to escape.
But the fog refused to disappear.
At eleven o’clock, the sun still had not appeared.
I became increasingly anxious.
Without sunlight, we could not make our observations.
Without those measurements, how could we know whether we had truly reached the South Pole?
When I returned to Captain Nemo, I found him leaning against a rock, silently watching the sky.
He looked frustrated.
But what could he do?
Even a man who controlled the sea could not command the sun.
Noon arrived.
The sun did not appear even for a second.
We could not even determine where it was hidden behind the thick fog.
Soon, the fog changed into snow.
“Until tomorrow,” Captain Nemo said quietly.
We returned to the Nautilus through the worsening weather.
The snowstorm continued throughout the following day.
Going onto the platform was impossible.
From the saloon, where I recorded everything that had happened during our journey onto the polar continent, I could hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses fighting against the violent storm.
The Nautilus did not stay still.
It moved along the coast, traveling another ten miles south during the weak daylight that remained near the horizon.
The next day, March 20th, the snow finally stopped.
The cold became slightly stronger.
The thermometer showed two degrees below zero.
The fog began to rise, and I hoped we would finally be able to complete our observations.
Captain Nemo had not yet appeared, so the boat carried Conseil and me back to shore.
The land remained volcanic.
Everywhere we saw lava, volcanic ash, and black basalt.
But the volcano that had created them remained hidden.
As before, thousands of birds covered the continent.
But now they shared this land with large groups of sea mammals.
They watched us with calm, gentle eyes.
Several kinds of seals rested on the ground and on pieces of ice. Others moved constantly between land and water.
They did not run away.
They had never met humans before.
I estimated that this place contained enough food supplies for hundreds of ships.
“Sir,” Conseil asked, “what are these animals called?”
“They are seals and walruses,” I answered.
It was eight in the morning.
We still had four hours before the sun could be properly observed.
I led our way toward a huge bay surrounded by steep granite cliffs.
There I saw something extraordinary.
The earth and ice seemed to disappear beneath the enormous number of sea mammals covering them.
I almost imagined myself seeing old Proteus, the mythical shepherd who guarded Neptune’s countless herds.
Seals were everywhere.
They formed separate groups.
The males watched over their families.
The mothers fed their young.
Some of the babies were already strong enough to walk a few steps.
When they wanted to move, they pushed their bodies forward with small jumps. Their weak flippers helped them awkwardly, almost like arms.
But in the water, these creatures were completely different.
Their flexible bodies, smooth skin, and webbed feet allowed them to swim with incredible skill.
On land, they rested in surprisingly elegant positions.
The ancient world had seen their gentle eyes and graceful movements and transformed them into legends.
The males became tritons.
The females became mermaids.
I pointed out to Conseil the remarkable size of their brains.
Among mammals, only humans possess a greater amount of brain development.
Seals can learn.
They can be trained.
Like many naturalists, I believed they might one day serve humans as fishing companions if properly educated.
Most of them were sleeping peacefully on the rocks and sand.
Among these true seals, which have no external ears, I noticed several varieties nearly three yards long.
They had white fur, powerful heads, and teeth in both jaws.
They possessed four upper incisors, four lower incisors, and two large canine teeth shaped almost like a flower.
Among them moved sea elephants, enormous seals with short flexible trunks.
The largest reached nearly twenty feet around and more than ten yards long.
Yet they did not move when we approached.
“Are these animals dangerous?” Conseil asked.
“Not unless you attack them,” I replied. “But when they defend their young, they become terrifying. They have been known to destroy fishing boats.”
“They cannot be blamed for protecting their families,” Conseil said.
“I agree,” I answered.
Two miles farther on, we reached a point of land that protected the bay from southern winds.
Beyond it, we heard powerful roaring sounds.
“Wonderful!” Conseil said. “A concert of bulls!”
“No,” I replied. “A concert of walruses.”
“They are fighting!”
“Perhaps fighting. Perhaps playing.”
We climbed the dark rocks carefully.
The ice had made the stones dangerously slippery.
Several times I fell and hurt myself.
Conseil, being more careful, never slipped.
He helped me up each time.
“Sir,” he said politely, “if you took larger steps, you might keep your balance better.”
When we reached the top of the rocky point, I saw a huge white plain covered completely with walruses.
They were not fighting.
They were playing.
Their loud sounds were cries of happiness, not anger.
I was able to study these strange creatures closely because they showed no fear.
Their skin was thick and rough, with a yellowish color mixed with red.
Their hair was short and sparse.
Some were more than four yards long.
Unlike their northern relatives, these southern walruses were calmer and less frightened. They did not place guards around their groups.
After examining this enormous gathering of walruses, I decided we should return.
It was already eleven o’clock.
If Captain Nemo found the conditions suitable for observation, I wanted to be there.
We followed a narrow path along the top of the cliffs.
At half past eleven, we reached the place where we had landed.
The boat had returned.
Captain Nemo was there.
He stood on a block of basalt with his instruments beside him, staring toward the northern horizon where the sun was slowly moving.
I stood beside him.
Neither of us spoke.
Noon arrived.
Again, the sun did not appear.
It seemed like fate was against us.
Without tomorrow’s observation, we would have to abandon our attempt.
We were exactly at March 20th.
Tomorrow, March 21st, would be the equinox.
After that, the sun would disappear below the horizon for six months, beginning the long Antarctic night.
Since the September equinox, the sun had risen higher and higher until December 21st, the southern summer solstice.
Then it had slowly begun descending.
Tomorrow would be its final appearance.
I told Captain Nemo my concerns.
“You are right, Monsieur Aronnax,” he said. “If I cannot measure the sun tomorrow, I must wait six months.”
“But because we arrived here precisely on March 21st, our measurement will actually be easier if the sun appears at noon.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because the sun’s path is so low and extended here that measuring its height above the horizon becomes difficult. Instruments can produce serious errors.”
“What will you do then?”
“I will use only my chronometer,” Captain Nemo answered.
“If tomorrow, March 21st, the sun’s disk touches the northern horizon exactly at noon, after correcting for refraction, it will prove that we are standing at the South Pole.”
“That makes sense,” I replied. “Although the equinox does not always begin exactly at noon.”
“True,” said Captain Nemo. “But the error will not exceed one hundred yards. That is accurate enough.”
“Until tomorrow, then.”
Captain Nemo returned to the Nautilus.
Conseil and I stayed behind, studying the shore until five o’clock.
That night, before sleeping, I silently prayed like an ancient traveler asking the gods for the favor of the sun.
The next morning, March 21st, at five o’clock, I climbed onto the platform.
Captain Nemo was already there.
“The weather is improving slightly,” he said. “I have hope. After breakfast, we will go ashore and choose our observation point.”
I searched for Ned Land.
I wanted him to come with us.
But the stubborn Canadian refused.
His silence and bad temper had grown worse every day.
Under these circumstances, I was almost relieved.
There were too many seals on the shore.
It would have been dangerous to place such temptation before an impulsive hunter.
After breakfast, we went ashore.
During the night, the Nautilus had moved several miles farther.
It now rested a whole league from the coast.
Above the shore rose a sharp peak about five hundred yards high.
The boat carried Captain Nemo, two sailors, myself, and the instruments:
a chronometer,
a telescope,
and a barometer.
During the crossing, I saw many whales.
They belonged to three species found in southern waters.
There was the right whale, without a dorsal fin.
There was the humpback whale, with enormous pale fins.
And there was the fin whale, yellow-brown in color and the fastest of all.
This powerful creature could be heard from far away when it released huge columns of air and vapor that looked like smoke rising from the sea.
These whales moved peacefully through the Antarctic waters.
I realized that this hidden ocean was a refuge for creatures hunted elsewhere.
I also saw enormous jellyfish floating between the seaweed.
At nine o’clock, we reached land.
The sky was clearing.
The clouds moved southward.
The fog slowly disappeared from the freezing sea.
Captain Nemo headed toward the mountain peak.
It was clearly the place he had chosen as his observation point.
The climb was difficult.
The sharp lava rocks and pumice stones made every step dangerous.
The air often smelled of sulfur from cracks still releasing smoke.
Yet Captain Nemo, a man not used to walking on land, climbed the steep slopes with incredible speed and skill.
Even the best hunter would have admired his ability.
After two hours, we reached the summit.
The mountain was made partly of porphyry and partly of basalt.
From there, we looked over a vast ocean stretching northward until it met the sky.
Below us were endless fields of brilliant white ice.
Above us was a clear pale-blue sky.
To the north, the sun appeared like a ball of fire, already cut by the horizon.
Hundreds of water jets rose from the sea.
Far away, the Nautilus rested on the water like a sleeping whale.
Behind us, to the south and east, stretched an enormous land of rocks and ice whose limits disappeared into the distance.
Captain Nemo carefully measured the average height shown by the barometer.
He needed this information for his calculations.
At fifteen minutes before noon, the sun appeared only through refraction.
It looked like a golden disk sending its final rays over a continent and ocean that no human being had ever explored.
Captain Nemo used a special glass with a mirror to correct the effects of refraction.
He watched the sun slowly sink below the horizon.
I held the chronometer.
My heart was beating faster and faster.
If the moment when half of the sun disappeared matched exactly with twelve o’clock, then we would be standing at the South Pole itself.
“Twelve!” I shouted.
“The South Pole!” Captain Nemo answered in a serious voice.
He handed me the glass.
Through it, I saw the sun divided perfectly in half by the horizon.
I watched the final rays of sunlight touch the mountain peak while shadows slowly climbed the slopes.
Then Captain Nemo placed his hand on my shoulder.
“I, Captain Nemo, on this twenty-first day of March, 1868, have reached the South Pole, at the ninetieth degree of latitude.”
“I take possession of this part of the world, equal to one-sixth of all known continents.”
“In whose name, Captain?” I asked.
“In my own name, Monsieur Aronnax.”
Then Captain Nemo raised a black flag.
A golden letter “N” appeared on it.
Turning toward the disappearing sun, whose final rays touched the edge of the sea, he spoke:
“Farewell, sun.”
“Disappear, brilliant star.”
“Rest beneath this endless ocean.”
“Let six months of darkness cover my new kingdom.”