20,000 Leagues Under the Seas (2nd version) | Page 7

sea serpents to the most
offensive personal remarks.
For six months the war seesawed. With inexhaustible zest, the popular
press took potshots at feature articles from the Geographic Institute of
Brazil, the Royal Academy of Science in Berlin, the British Association,
the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., at discussions in The
Indian Archipelago, in Cosmos published by Father Moigno, in
Petermann's Mittheilungen,* and at scientific chronicles in the great
French and foreign newspapers. When the monster's detractors cited a
saying by the botanist Linnaeus that "nature doesn't make leaps," witty
writers in the popular periodicals parodied it, maintaining in essence
that "nature doesn't make lunatics," and ordering their contemporaries
never to give the lie to nature by believing in krakens, sea serpents,
"Moby Dicks," and other all-out efforts from drunken seamen. Finally,
in a much-feared satirical journal, an article by its most popular
columnist finished off the monster for good, spurning it in the style of
Hippolytus repulsing the amorous advances of his stepmother Phaedra,
and giving the creature its quietus amid a universal burst of laughter.
Wit had defeated science.
*German: "Bulletin." Ed.
During the first months of the year 1867, the question seemed to be
buried, and it didn't seem due for resurrection, when new facts were
brought to the public's attention. But now it was no longer an issue of a
scientific problem to be solved, but a quite real and serious danger to be
avoided. The question took an entirely new turn. The monster again

became an islet, rock, or reef, but a runaway reef, unfixed and elusive.
On March 5, 1867, the Moravian from the Montreal Ocean Co., lying
during the night in latitude 27 degrees 30' and longitude 72 degrees 15',
ran its starboard quarter afoul of a rock marked on no charts of these
waterways. Under the combined efforts of wind and 400-horsepower
steam, it was traveling at a speed of thirteen knots. Without the high
quality of its hull, the Moravian would surely have split open from this
collision and gone down together with those 237 passengers it was
bringing back from Canada.
This accident happened around five o'clock in the morning, just as day
was beginning to break. The officers on watch rushed to the craft's
stern. They examined the ocean with the most scrupulous care. They
saw nothing except a strong eddy breaking three cable lengths out, as if
those sheets of water had been violently churned. The site's exact
bearings were taken, and the Moravian continued on course apparently
undamaged. Had it run afoul of an underwater rock or the wreckage of
some enormous derelict ship? They were unable to say. But when they
examined its undersides in the service yard, they discovered that part of
its keel had been smashed.
This occurrence, extremely serious in itself, might perhaps have been
forgotten like so many others, if three weeks later it hadn't been
reenacted under identical conditions. Only, thanks to the nationality of
the ship victimized by this new ramming, and thanks to the reputation
of the company to which this ship belonged, the event caused an
immense uproar.
No one is unaware of the name of that famous English shipowner,
Cunard. In 1840 this shrewd industrialist founded a postal service
between Liverpool and Halifax, featuring three wooden ships with
400-horsepower paddle wheels and a burden of 1,162 metric tons.
Eight years later, the company's assets were increased by four
650-horsepower ships at 1,820 metric tons, and in two more years, by
two other vessels of still greater power and tonnage. In 1853 the
Cunard Co., whose mail-carrying charter had just been renewed,
successively added to its assets the Arabia, the Persia, the China, the

Scotia, the Java, and the Russia, all ships of top speed and, after the
Great Eastern, the biggest ever to plow the seas. So in 1867 this
company owned twelve ships, eight with paddle wheels and four with
propellers.
If I give these highly condensed details, it is so everyone can fully
understand the importance of this maritime transportation company,
known the world over for its shrewd management. No transoceanic
navigational undertaking has been conducted with more ability, no
business dealings have been crowned with greater success. In
twenty-six years Cunard ships have made 2,000 Atlantic crossings
without so much as a voyage canceled, a delay recorded, a man, a craft,
or even a letter lost. Accordingly, despite strong competition from
France, passengers still choose the Cunard line in preference to all
others, as can be seen in a recent survey of official documents. Given
this, no one will be astonished at the uproar provoked by this accident
involving one of its finest steamers.
On April 13, 1867, with a smooth sea and a moderate breeze, the Scotia
lay in longitude 15 degrees 12' and latitude