20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. Жюль Верн

think, for I will hide nothing from you. It is one of those voyages from which people do not always come back.’

      ‘As monsieur pleases.’

      A quarter of an hour afterwards our trunks were ready. Conseil had packed them by sleight of hand, and I was sure nothing would be missing, for the fellow classified shirts and clothes as well as he did birds or mammals.

      The hotel lift deposited us in the large vestibule of the first floor. I went down the few stairs that led to the ground floor. I paid my bill at the vast counter, always besieged by a considerable crowd. I gave the order to send my cases of stuffed animals and dried plants to Paris. I opened a sufficient credit for the babiroussa, and, Conseil following me, I sprang into a vehicle.

      Our luggage was at once sent on board, and we soon followed it. I asked for Captain Farragut. One of the sailors conducted me to the poop, where I found myself in the presence of a pleasant-looking officer, who held out his hand to me.

      ‘Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?’ he said.

      ‘Himself,’ replied I. ‘Do I see Captain Farragut?’

      ‘In person. You are welcome, professor. Your cabin is ready for you.’

      I bowed, and leaving the commander to his duties, went down to the cabin prepared for me.

      The Abraham Lincoln had been well chosen and equipped for her new destination. She was a frigate of great speed, furnished with overheating apparatus that allowed the tension of the steam to reach seven atmospheres. Under that pressure the Abraham Lincoln reached an average speed of eighteen miles and three-tenths an hour good speed, but not enough to wrestle with the gigantic cetacean.

      The interior arrangements of the frigate were in keeping with her nautical qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was situated aft, and opened on the wardroom.

      ‘We shall be comfortable here,’ said I to Conseil.

      ‘Yes, as comfortable as a hermit crab in a crumpet-shell.’

      I left Conseil to stow our luggage away, and went up on deck in order to see the preparations for departure. Captain Farragut was just ordering the last moorings to be cast loose, so that had I been one quarter of an hour later the frigate would have started without me, and I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and incredible expedition, the true account of which may well be received with some incredulity.

      But Commander Farragut did not wish to lose either a day or an hour before scouring the seas in which the animal had just been signalled. He sent for his engineer.

      ‘Is the steam full on?’ asked the captain.

      ‘Yes, captain,’ replied the engineer.

      ‘Go ahead, then,’ cried Farragut.

      The Abraham Lincoln was soon moving majestically amongst a hundred ferry-boats and tenders loaded with spectators, passed the Brooklyn quay, on which, as well as on all that part of New York bordering on the East River, crowds of spectators were assembled. Thousands of handkerchiefs were waved above the compact mass, and saluted the Abraham Lincoln until she reached the Hudson at the point of that elongated peninsula which forms the town of New York.

      Then the frigate followed the coast of New Jersey, along the right bank of the beautiful river covered with villas, and passed between the forts, which saluted her with their largest guns. The Abraham Lincoln acknowledged the salutation by hoisting the American colours three times, their thirty-nine stars shining resplendent from the mizen peak; then modifying her speed to take the narrow channel marked by buoys and formed by Sandy Hook Point, she coasted the long sandy shore, where several thousand spectators saluted her once more.

      Her escorts of boats and tenders followed her till she reached the light boat, the two lights of which mark the entrance to the New York Channel.

      Three o’clock was then striking. The pilot went down into his boat and rejoined the little schooner which was waiting under lee, the fires were made up, the screw beat the waves more rapidly, and the frigate coasted the low yellow shore of Long Island, and at 8 p.m., after having lost sight in the north-west of the lights on Fire Island, she ran at full steam on to the dark waters of the Atlantic.

       CHAPTER 4 Ned Land

      Captain Farragut was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he was commanding. His ship and he were one. He was the soul of it. No doubt arose in his mind on the question of the cetacean, and he did not allow the existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in it like simple souls believe in the Leviathan – by faith, not by sight. The monster existed, and he had sworn to deliver the seas from it. Either Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal or the narwhal would kill Captain Farragut – there was no middle course.

      The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. It was amusing to hear them talking, arguing, disputing, and calculating the different chances of meeting whilst they kept a sharp look-out over the vast extent of ocean. More than one took up his position on the crosstrees who would have cursed the duty as a nuisance at any other time. Whilst the sun described its diurnal circle the rigging was crowded with sailors who could not keep in place on deck. And nevertheless the Abraham Lincoln was not yet ploughing the suspected waters of the Pacific.

      As to the crew, all they wanted was to meet the unicorn, harpoon it, haul it on board, and cut it up. Captain Farragut had offered a reward of 2000 dollars to the first cabin-boy, sailor, or officer who should signal the animal. I have already said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided all the tackle necessary for taking the gigantic cetacean. A whaler would not have been better furnished. We had every known engine, from the hand harpoon to the barbed arrow of the blunderbuss and the explosive bullets of the deck-gun. On the forecastle lay a perfect breech-loader, very thick at the breech and narrow in the bore, the model of which had been in the Paris Exhibition of 1867. This precious weapon, of American make, could throw with ease a conical projectile, weighing nine pounds, to a mean distance of ten miles. Thus the Abraham Lincoln not only possessed every means of destruction, but, better still, she had on board Ned Land, the king of harpooners.

      Ned Land was a Canadian of uncommon skill, who had no equal in his perilous employment. He possessed ability, sang-froid, audacity, and subtleness to a remarkable degree, and it would have taken a sharp whale or a singularly wily cachalot to escape his harpoon. He was about forty years of age, tall (more than six feet high), strongly built, grave, and taciturn, sometimes violent, and very passionate when put out. His person, and especially the power of his glance, which gave a singular expression to his face, attracted attention.

      I believe that Captain Farragut had done wisely in engaging this man. He was worth all the rest of the ship’s company as far as his eye and arm went. I could not compare him to anything better than a powerful telescope which would be a cannon always ready to fire as well.

      I now depict this brave companion as I knew him afterwards, for we are old friends, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and cemented in mutual danger. Ah, brave Ned, I only hope I may live a hundred years more to remember you longer.

      Now what was Ned Land’s opinion on the subject of this marine monster? I must acknowledge that he hardly believed in the narwhal, and that he was the only one on board who did not share the universal conviction.

      One evening, three weeks after our departure, the frigate was abreast of Cape Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the Patagonian coast. Another week and the Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.

      Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were talking on all sorts of subjects, looking at that mysterious sea whose greatest depths have remained till now inaccessible to the eye of man. I brought the conversation naturally to the subject of the giant unicorn, and discussed the different chances of success in our expedition. Then seeing that Ned Land let me go on talking without saying anything himself, I pressed him more closely.

      ‘Well,