20,000 Leagues Under the Sea | Page 9

apart
for whoever should first sight the monster, were he cabin-boy, common seaman, or
officer.
I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the Abraham Lincoln.
For my own part I was not behind the others, and, left to no one my share of daily
observations. The frigate might have been called the Argus, for a hundred reasons. Only
one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to protest by his indifference against the question which
so interested us all, and seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on
board.
I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with every apparatus for
catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever been better armed. We possessed
every known engine, from the harpoon thrown by the hand to the barbed arrows of the
blunderbuss, and the explosive balls of the duck-gun. On the forecastle lay the perfection
of a breech-loading gun, very thick at the breech, and very narrow in the bore, the model
of which had been in the Exhibition of 1867. This precious weapon of American origin
could throw with ease a conical projectile of nine pounds to a mean distance of ten miles.
Thus the Abraham Lincoln wanted for no means of destruction; and, what was better still
she had on board Ned Land, the prince of harpooners.
Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who knew no
equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity, and cunning he possessed in
a superior degree, and it must be a cunning whale to escape the stroke of his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years of age; he was a tall man (more than six feet high),
strongly built, grave and taciturn, occasionally violent, and very passionate when

contradicted. His person attracted attention, but above all the boldness of his look, which
gave a singular expression to his face.
Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little communicative as Ned Land
was, I must admit that he took a certain liking for me. My nationality drew him to me, no
doubt. It was an opportunity for him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of
Rabelais, which is still in use in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner's family was
originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe of hardy fishermen when this town
belonged to France.
Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved to hear the recital of
his adventures in the polar seas. He related his fishing, and his combats, with natural
poetry of expression; his recital took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be
listening to a Canadian Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.
I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old friends now,
united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and cemented amidst extreme
dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to live a hundred years longer, that I may
have more time to dwell the longer on your memory.
Now, what was Ned Land's opinion upon the question of the marine monster? I must
admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was the only one on board who did not
share that universal conviction. He even avoided the subject, which I one day thought it
my duty to press upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th July (that is to say, three
weeks after our departure), the frigate was abreast of Cape Blanc, thirty miles to leeward
of the coast of Patagonia. We had crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of
Magellan opened less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were over
the Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.
Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and another as we looked
at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up to this time been inaccessible to the eye
of man. I naturally led up the conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various
chances of success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let me speak
without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.
"Well, Ned," said I, "is it possible that you are not convinced of the existence of this
cetacean that we are following? Have you any particular reason for being so
incredulous?"
The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering, struck his
broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to collect himself, and said at last,
"Perhaps I have, Mr. Aronnax."
"But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the great marine