Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38. THE SOUTH POLE I rushed up on to the platform. Yes, open sea. Barely a few sparse flows, some moving icebergs, a sea stretching into the distance, host
of birds in the air and midrids of fish under the waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green depending on the depth. The thermometer marked three degrees Centigrade. It was as if a comparative springtime had been locked up behind the ice bank, whose distant masses were outlined on the northern horizon.
Are we at the pole? I asked the captain, my heart pounding. I have no idea, he answered me. At noon we'll fix our position. But will the sun show through the 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 two hundred meters. We proceeded toward it, but cautiously, because a 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 the considerable shore, perhaps a continent whose limits we couldn't see.
The existence of this shore seemed to bear out Commander Mori's hypothesis. In essence, this ingenious American has noted that between the South Pole and the sixtieth 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 four thousand kilometers. Meanwhile, to avoid running aground, the Nautilus halted three cable links from a strand crowned by superb piles of rocks.
The skiff was launched to sea. Two crewmen carrying instruments, the Captain, Conciel and I, were on board. It was ten o'clock in the morning. I hadn't seen dead land. No doubt in the presence of the South Pole the Canadian hated having to eat his words.
A few strokes of the ore brought the skiff to the sand, where it ran aground. When Francis Conciel 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, Conciel 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 fire 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 has found the equators of Mount Everest and Mount Terror in fully active condition on a 167th meridian at latitude 77 degrees 32 minutes. The vegetation on this desolate continent struck me as quite limited. A few lechens of the species Osnia melanocinatra sprawled over the black rocks.
The whole meter 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, void 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 cackles, and especially some sea butterflies with oblong membrane-filled bodies whose heads are formed
from two round lobes. I also saw midrids of those northernmost sea butterflies, three centimeters long, which a baleen whale can swallow by the thousands in one gulk. The open waters at the shoreline were alive with these delightful petropods, 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, lived in these Antarctic seas at depths as great as one thousand meters, then small alkyon coral belonging to the species Procellaria pelagicia, 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 ox, 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 noticed some sheathbills from the wading bird family, the size of pigeons, white in color, the beaks short and conical, the eyes framed by red circles.
Conciel laid in a supply of them because when they are properly cooked these winged creatures make a pleasant dish. In the air they are past 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 quabranca husos or ospreys, 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 and brown, others blue and exclusive to these Antarctic seas. The former, so oily, I told Conciel, that inhabitants of the Faroe Islands simply fit the bird with a wick and then light it up. With that minor addition, Conciel replied, these fowls would make perfect lamps.
After this we should insist that nature equip them with wicks in advance. Half a mile further 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 braid like donkeys, the size of a goose with slate-colored bodies, white undersides,
and lemon-colored neckbands. These animals let themselves be stoned to death without making any effort to get away. Meanwhile the mist 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 joined 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? A 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 mists, 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 sub-polar 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-grey 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 top side furnished with three fins, the snout ended in a trunk that curved back toward the mouth. I sampled its flesh but found it tasteless, despite Conciel's views, which were very 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 petrol 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 further south, amid the half-light left by the sun as it skimmed the edge of the horizon. The next day, March 20th, it stopped snowing. The cold was a little more brisk, the thermometer marked minus two 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 Conciel and I were taken ashore by the skiff. The soil's nature was still the same, volcanic. Traces of lava, slag, and balsamic rock were everywhere, but I couldn't find the crater that had vomited them up. There as yonder mid-trades of birds enlivened this part of the polar continent, but they
had to share their dominion with huge herds of marine animals that looked at us with gentle eyes. These were seals of various species, some stretched out on the ground, others lying on drifting ice-flows, several leaving or re-entering 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, Conciel said. It's fortunate that Ned Land didn't come with this. Why so, Conciel? Because that madcap hunter would kill every animal here, every animal baby overstating
it. But in truth, I doubt we could keep our Canadian frim from harpooning some of these magnificent cessations, which would be an affront to Captain Nemo since he hates to slay harmless beasts needlessly. He's right.
Certainly, Conciel. But tell me, haven't you finished classifying these superb specimens of marine fauna? Master is well aware, Conciel replied, that I am not seasoned in practical application, when Master has told me these animals' names. They're seals and walruses.
Two genera, our scholarly Conciel hastened to say, that belong to the family Pinapedia order Carnivoria, group Unguclata, subclass Mondelthea, class Mamomelia, branch Virta Bratta. Conciel 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-flows were crowded with marine animals 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 Conciel's attention to the considerable growth of the cerebral lobes found in these intelligent cestations. 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 Stenorhinicus, three meters long,
with white hair, bulldog heads, and armed with ten teeth in each jaw, four in scissors in both the upper and lower, plus two big canines shaped like the fleur-de-lis. Among them slither 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, Conciel 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, Conciel answered. I don't say nay. Two miles further on we were stopped by a promontory that screened the bay from suddenly winds. It dropped straight down to the sea, and surf formed against it.
Beyond this ridge there came fearsome billows such as a herd of cattle might produce. Gracious, Conciel 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, Conciel. And there we were, climbing those blackish rocks amid sudden landslides and over stones slippery with ice. More than once I took a tumble at the expense of my backside.
Conciel, more conscious 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 stirrations, 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 four thousand 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 more-than-relatives.
They posted no synatals 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 summit.
By eleven thirty we had arrived at our landing place. The beach skiff had brought the captain ashore. I stopped him standing on a chunk of balsit. 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 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 could finally have to give up any hope of fixing
our position. In essence it was precisely March 20th. 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 norlily horizon, rising in long spirals until December 21st. 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 Aranax, 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 21st, it will be easier 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 21st, if, after
counting 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 a hundred meters, and that's close enough
for us, until tomorrow then. Captain Nemo went back on board. Conciel and I stayed behind until five o'clock, surveying the beach, observing and studying. The only unusual object I picked up was an ox-egg of a remarkable size, for which a collector would have paid more than one thousand 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 Conciel's hand, and holding it like a precious porcelain from China, that costless, sure-froated 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 21st, right and early at five o'clock in the morning, I climbed
on to 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 could 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 English, which has no dorsal fin, the humpback whale from the genus Balintop pratera, in other words
winged whales, beasts with wrinkled bellies and huge whitish fins, that genus name regardless yet form wings, and the finback whales, yellowish brown, the swiftest of all cessations. This powerful animal is audible from far away when it sends up towering spouts of air and steam. 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 these cessations too relentlessly pursued by hunters. I also noted long whitish strips 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 the shore, the sky was going 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 could not 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-balzut 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 tracks of white, over our heads a pale azure, clear of mist, 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, like a sleeping cessation, 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 those seas not yet plowed by the ships of man.
Captain Nemo had brought a spy-glass 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 a 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 spy-glass which showed the orb of day cut into two exactly equal parts by the horizon.
I stared at the last rays reading this peak while shadows were gradually climbing its gradients. Just then, reaching his hand on my shoulder, Captain Nemo said to me, In 1600, sir, the Dutchman Gertik 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 minutes. And on January 30, 1774, along the 109th meridian, he reached latitude 71 degrees 15 minutes. In 1819, the Russian Bellinghausen lay on the 69th parallel, and in 1821, on the 66th, that longitude 111 degrees west.
In 1820, the Englishman Bransfield stopped at 65 degrees. That same year, the American Morrell, whose reports are dubious, went along the 42nd meridian, finding open sea at latitude 70 degrees 14 minutes. In 1825, the Englishman Powell was unable to get beyond 62 degrees. That same year, a humble sea fisherman, the Englishman Waddell, went as far as latitude
72 degrees 14 minutes on the 35th meridian, and as far as 74 degrees 15 minutes on the 36th. In 1829, the Englishman Forster, commander of the Chanucleer, laid claim to the Antarctic continent in latitude 63 degrees 26 minutes and longitude 66 degrees 26 minutes. On February 1, 1831, the Englishman Biscull discovered Enderby land at latitude 68 degrees
50 minutes. Wadd laid land at latitude 67 degrees on February 5, 1832, and Graham land at latitude 64 degrees 45 minutes on February 21. In 1838, the Frenchman Dumont Duveille stopped at the ice bank in latitude 62 degrees 57 minutes, sighting the Louis Philip Peninsula.
On January 21, two years later, at a new southerly position of 66 degrees 30 minutes, he named the Adadley Coast, and eight days later the Clare Coast at 64 degrees 40 minutes. In 1838, the American Wilkes advanced as far as the 69th parallel on the 100th meridian. In 1839, the Englishman Baloney 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 minutes and longitude 171 degrees 7 minutes east. On the 23rd of that same month, he reached the 74th parallel, a position denoting the farthest south contained until then.
On the 27th, he lay at 76 degrees 8 minutes. On the 28th, at 77 degrees 32 minutes. On February 2, at 78 degrees 4 minutes. 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 sun'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.
