CHAPTER 14

The South Pole

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!”