Chapter 2
CHAPTER II. 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 re-read 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 Shaspa 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. Could this hypothesis of a war machine collapse 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 Corteau 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 Aranax, 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 and its every aspect, both political and scientific, and this is an excerpt from the well-padded article I published in the issue of April 30th. 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 catalogued, and in this event I would be inclined to accept the existence of a giant narwhal.
The common narwhal, or sea unicorn, often reaches a length of 60 feet. Increase its dimensions fivefold or even tenfold, then give the 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 narwhal is armed with the sword 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
narwhal attacks with invariable success. Others have been wrenched, not without difficulty, from the underside of vessels that narwhals 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 48 centimeters.
Alright then, imagine this weapon to be ten times stronger and the animal ten times more powerful. Launch it at a speed of 20 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 iron-clad 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 cited, 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 professional 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 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, will 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 ensure the safety of transoceanic travel. The industrial and commercial newspapers dealt with the question chiefly from this viewpoint. The shipping and mercantile gazette, the Lloyd's List, France's Packet Book, and Maritime and Colonial Review, all the rags devoted to insurance companies who threatened to raise their premium rates, were unanimous on this point.
With public opinion being pronounced, the states of the Union were the first in the field. In New York, preparations were underway for an expedition designed to chase this narwhal. 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. When impatience grew until on June 2nd, 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. Author's note.
A pier is a type of wharf expressly set aside for an individual vessel. End author's note. The letter read as follows. Sarah Aranax, 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.
End of chapter two.
