CHAPTER 2

The Pros and Cons

DURING THE PERIOD in which these developments were occurring, I had

returned from a scientific undertaking organized to explore the

Nebraska badlands in the United States. In my capacity as Assistant

Professor at the Paris Museum of Natural History, I had been attached

to this expedition by the French government. After spending six months

in Nebraska, I arrived in New York laden with valuable collections

near the end of March. My departure for France was set for early

May. In the meantime, then, I was busy classifying my mineralogical,

botanical, and zoological treasures when that incident took place with

the Scotia.

I was perfectly abreast of this question, which was the big news of

the day, and how could I not have been? I had read and reread every

American and European newspaper without being any farther along. This

mystery puzzled me. Finding it impossible to form any views, I drifted

from one extreme to the other. Something was out there, that much was

certain, and any doubting Thomas was invited to place his finger on

the Scotia’s wound.

When I arrived in New York, the question was at the boiling point. The

hypothesis of a drifting islet or an elusive reef, put forward by

people not quite in their right minds, was completely eliminated. And

indeed, unless this reef had an engine in its belly, how could it move

about with such prodigious speed?

Also discredited was the idea of a floating hull or some other

enormous wreckage, and again because of this speed of movement.

So only two possible solutions to the question were left, creating two

very distinct groups of supporters: on one side, those favoring a

monster of colossal strength; on the other, those favoring an

“underwater boat” of tremendous motor power.

Now then, although the latter hypothesis was completely admissible, it

couldn’t stand up to inquiries conducted in both the New World and the

Old. That a private individual had such a mechanism at his disposal

was less than probable. Where and when had he built it, and how could

he have built it in secret?

Only some government could own such an engine of destruction, and in

these disaster-filled times, when men tax their ingenuity to build

increasingly powerful aggressive weapons, it was possible that,

unknown to the rest of the world, some nation could have been testing

such a fearsome machine. The Chassepot rifle led to the torpedo, and

the torpedo has led to this underwater battering ram, which in turn

will lead to the world putting its foot down. At least I hope it will.

But this hypothesis of a war machine collapsed in the face of formal

denials from the various governments. Since the public interest was at

stake and transoceanic travel was suffering, the sincerity of these

governments could not be doubted. Besides, how could the assembly of

this underwater boat have escaped public notice? Keeping a secret

under such circumstances would be difficult enough for an individual,

and certainly impossible for a nation whose every move is under

constant surveillance by rival powers.

So, after inquiries conducted in England, France, Russia, Prussia,

Spain, Italy, America, and even Turkey, the hypothesis of an

underwater Monitor was ultimately rejected.

And so the monster surfaced again, despite the endless witticisms

heaped on it by the popular press, and the human imagination soon got

caught up in the most ridiculous ichthyological fantasies.

After I arrived in New York, several people did me the honor of

consulting me on the phenomenon in question. In France I had published

a two-volume work, in quarto, entitled The Mysteries of the Great

Ocean Depths. Well received in scholarly circles, this book had

established me as a specialist in this pretty obscure field of natural

history. My views were in demand. As long as I could deny the reality

of the business, I confined myself to a flat “no comment.” But soon,

pinned to the wall, I had to explain myself straight out. And in this

vein, “the honorable Pierre Aronnax, Professor at the Paris Museum,”

was summoned by The New York Herald to formulate his views no matter

what.

I complied. Since I could no longer hold my tongue, I let it wag. I

discussed the question in its every aspect, both political and

scientific, and this is an excerpt from the well-padded article I

published in the issue of April 30.

“Therefore,” I wrote, “after examining these different hypotheses one

by one, we are forced, every other supposition having been refuted, to

accept the existence of an extremely powerful marine animal.

“The deepest parts of the ocean are totally unknown to us. No

soundings have been able to reach them. What goes on in those distant

depths? What creatures inhabit, or could inhabit, those regions twelve

or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the water? What is the

constitution of these animals? It’s almost beyond conjecture.

“However, the solution to this problem submitted to me can take the

form of a choice between two alternatives.

“Either we know every variety of creature populating our planet, or we

do not.

“If we do not know every one of them, if nature still keeps

ichthyological secrets from us, nothing is more admissible than to

accept the existence of fish or cetaceans of new species or even new

genera, animals with a basically ‘cast-iron’ constitution that inhabit

strata beyond the reach of our soundings, and which some development

or other, an urge or a whim if you prefer, can bring to the upper

level of the ocean for long intervals.

“If, on the other hand, we do know every living species, we must look

for the animal in question among those marine creatures already

cataloged, and in this event I would be inclined to accept the

existence of a giant narwhale.

“The common narwhale, or sea unicorn, often reaches a length of sixty

feet. Increase its dimensions fivefold or even tenfold, then give this

cetacean a strength in proportion to its size while enlarging its

offensive weapons, and you have the animal we’re looking for. It would

have the proportions determined by the officers of the Shannon, the

instrument needed to perforate the Scotia, and the power to pierce a

steamer’s hull.

“In essence, the narwhale is armed with a sort of ivory sword, or

lance, as certain naturalists have expressed it. It’s a king-sized

tooth as hard as steel. Some of these teeth have been found buried in

the bodies of baleen whales, which the narwhale attacks with

invariable success. Others have been wrenched, not without difficulty,

from the undersides of vessels that narwhales have pierced clean

through, as a gimlet pierces a wine barrel. The museum at the Faculty

of Medicine in Paris owns one of these tusks with a length of 2.25

meters and a width at its base of forty-eight centimeters!

“All right then! Imagine this weapon to be ten times stronger and the

animal ten times more powerful, launch it at a speed of twenty miles

per hour, multiply its mass times its velocity, and you get just the

collision we need to cause the specified catastrophe.

“So, until information becomes more abundant, I plump for a sea

unicorn of colossal dimensions, no longer armed with a mere lance but

with an actual spur, like ironclad frigates or those warships called

‘rams,’ whose mass and motor power it would possess simultaneously.

“This inexplicable phenomenon is thus explained away—unless it’s

something else entirely, which, despite everything that has been

sighted, studied, explored and experienced, is still possible!”

These last words were cowardly of me; but as far as I could, I wanted

to protect my professorial dignity and not lay myself open to laughter

from the Americans, who when they do laugh, laugh raucously. I had

left myself a loophole. Yet deep down, I had accepted the existence of

“the monster.”

My article was hotly debated, causing a fine old uproar. It rallied a

number of supporters. Moreover, the solution it proposed allowed for

free play of the imagination. The human mind enjoys impressive visions

of unearthly creatures. Now then, the sea is precisely their best

medium, the only setting suitable for the breeding and growing of such

giants—next to which such land animals as elephants or rhinoceroses

are mere dwarves. The liquid masses support the largest known species

of mammals and perhaps conceal mollusks of incomparable size or

crustaceans too frightful to contemplate, such as 100-meter lobsters

or crabs weighing 200 metric tons! Why not? Formerly, in prehistoric

days, land animals (quadrupeds, apes, reptiles, birds) were built on a

gigantic scale. Our Creator cast them using a colossal mold that time

has gradually made smaller. With its untold depths, couldn’t the sea

keep alive such huge specimens of life from another age, this sea that

never changes while the land masses undergo almost continuous

alteration? Couldn’t the heart of the ocean hide the last-remaining

varieties of these titanic species, for whom years are centuries and

centuries millennia?

But I mustn’t let these fantasies run away with me! Enough of these

fairy tales that time has changed for me into harsh realities. I

repeat: opinion had crystallized as to the nature of this phenomenon,

and the public accepted without argument the existence of a prodigious

creature that had nothing in common with the fabled sea serpent.

Yet if some saw it purely as a scientific problem to be solved, more

practical people, especially in America and England, were determined

to purge the ocean of this daunting monster, to insure the safety of

transoceanic travel. The industrial and commercial newspapers dealt

with the question chiefly from this viewpoint. The Shipping &

Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd’s List, France’s Packetboat and Maritime

& Colonial Review, all the rags devoted to insurance companies—who

threatened to raise their premium rates—were unanimous on this point.

Public opinion being pronounced, the States of the Union were the

first in the field. In New York preparations were under way for an

expedition designed to chase this narwhale. A high-speed frigate, the

Abraham Lincoln, was fitted out for putting to sea as soon as

possible. The naval arsenals were unlocked for Commander Farragut, who

pressed energetically forward with the arming of his frigate.

But, as it always happens, just when a decision had been made to chase

the monster, the monster put in no further appearances. For two months

nobody heard a word about it. Not a single ship encountered

it. Apparently the unicorn had gotten wise to these plots being woven

around it. People were constantly babbling about the creature, even

via the Atlantic Cable! Accordingly, the wags claimed that this

slippery rascal had waylaid some passing telegram and was making the

most of it.

So the frigate was equipped for a far-off voyage and armed with

fearsome fishing gear, but nobody knew where to steer it. And

impatience grew until, on June 2, word came that the Tampico, a

steamer on the San Francisco line sailing from California to Shanghai,

had sighted the animal again, three weeks before in the northerly seas

of the Pacific.

This news caused intense excitement. Not even a 24-hour breather was

granted to Commander Farragut. His provisions were loaded on

board. His coal bunkers were overflowing. Not a crewman was missing

from his post. To cast off, he needed only to fire and stoke his

furnaces! Half a day’s delay would have been unforgivable! But

Commander Farragut wanted nothing more than to go forth.

I received a letter three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left its

Brooklyn pier;* the letter read as follows:

*Author’s Note: A pier is a type of wharf expressly set aside for an

individual vessel.

Pierre Aronnax

Professor at the Paris Museum

Fifth Avenue Hotel

New York

Sir:

If you would like to join the expedition on the Abraham Lincoln, the

government of the Union will be pleased to regard you as France’s

representative in this undertaking. Commander Farragut has a cabin at

your disposal.

Very cordially yours,

J. B. HOBSON,

Secretary of the Navy.