“The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides.”
”
“I can understand perfectly, sir, that your nets furnish excellent fish
for your table; I can understand also that you hunt aquatic game in
your submarine forests; but I cannot understand at all how a particle
of meat, no matter how small, can figure in your bill of fare.”
“This, which you believe to be meat, Professor, is nothing else than
fillet of turtle. Here are also some dolphins’ livers, which you take
to be ragout of pork. My cook is a clever fellow, who excels in
dressing these various products of the ocean. Taste all these dishes.
Here is a preserve of holothuria, which a Malay would declare to be
unrivalled in the world; here is a cream, of which the milk has been
furnished by the cetacea, and the sugar by the great fucus of the North
Sea; and lastly, permit me to offer you some preserve of anemones,
which is equal to that of the most delicious fruits.”
I tasted, more from curiosity than as a connoisseur, whilst Captain
Nemo enchanted me with his extraordinary stories.
“You like the sea, Captain?”
“Yes; I love it! The sea is everything. It covers seven-tenths of the
terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense
desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all
sides. The sea is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful
existence. It is nothing but love and emotion; it is the ‘Living
Infinite,’ as one of your poets has said. In fact, Professor, Nature
manifests herself in it by her three kingdoms, mineral, vegetable, and
animal. The sea is the vast reservoir of Nature. The globe began with
sea, so to speak; and who knows if it will not end with it? In it is
supreme tranquillity. The sea does not belong to despots. Upon its
surface men can still exercise unjust laws, fight, tear one another to
pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial horrors. But at thirty
feet below its level, their reign ceases, their influence is quenched,
and their power disappears. Ah! sir, live—live in the bosom of the
waters! There only is independence! There I recognise no masters! There
I am free!”
Captain Nemo suddenly became silent in the midst of this enthusiasm, by
which he was quite carried away. For a few moments he paced up and
down, much agitated.
“He believed in it, as certain good women believe in the leviathan--by faith, not by reason.”
The _Abraham
Lincoln_ answered by hoisting the American colours three times, whose
thirty-nine stars shone resplendent from the mizzen-peak; then
modifying its speed to take the narrow channel marked by buoys placed
in the inner bay formed by Sandy Hook Point, it coasted the long sandy
beach, where some thousands of spectators gave it one final cheer. The
escort of boats and tenders still followed the frigate, and did not
leave her until they came abreast of the lightship, whose two lights
marked the entrance of New York Channel.
Six bells struck, the pilot got into his boat, and rejoined the little
schooner which was waiting under our lee, the fires were made up, the
screw beat the waves more rapidly, the frigate skirted the low yellow
coast of Long Island; and at eight bells, after having lost sight in
the north-west of the lights of Fire Island, she ran at full steam on
to the dark waters of the Atlantic.
CHAPTER IV
NED LAND
Captain Farragut was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he commanded.
His vessel and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the question of
the cetacean there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not allow the
existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in it, as
certain good women believe in the leviathan—by faith, not by reason.
The monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it. He was a
kind of Knight of Rhodes, a second Dieudonné de Gozon, going to meet
the serpent which desolated the island. Either Captain Farragut would
kill the narwhal, or the narwhal would kill the captain. There was no
third course.
The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were ever
chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances of a meeting,
watching narrowly the vast surface of the ocean. More than one took up
his quarters voluntarily in the cross-trees, who would have cursed such
a berth under any other circumstances. As long as the sun described its
daily course, the rigging was crowded with sailors, whose feet were
burnt to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render it
unbearable; still the _Abraham Lincoln_ had not yet breasted the
suspected waters of the Pacific. As to the ship’s company, they desired
nothing better than to meet the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist it on
board, and despatch it.
“The resolutions passed at the last meeting produced a great effect out of doors. Timid people took fright at the idea of a shot weighing 20,000 pounds being launched into space; they asked what cannon could ever transmit a sufficient velocity to such a mighty mass.”
”
“But still, nine dollars a pound!” replied the major, who was not
willing readily to give in; “even that is an enormous price.”
“Undoubtedly, my dear major; but not beyond our reach.”
“What will the projectile weigh then?” asked Morgan.
“Here is the result of my calculations,” replied Barbicane. “A shot of
108 inches in diameter, and twelve inches in thickness, would weigh, in
cast-iron, 67,440 pounds; cast in aluminum, its weight will be reduced
to 19,250 pounds.”
“Capital!” cried the major; “but do you know that, at nine dollars a
pound, this projectile will cost—”
“One hundred and seventy-three thousand and fifty dollars ($173,050). I
know it quite well. But fear not, my friends; the money will not be
wanting for our enterprise. I will answer for it. Now what say you to
aluminum, gentlemen?”
“Adopted!” replied the three members of the committee. So ended the
first meeting. The question of the projectile was definitely settled.
CHAPTER VIII.
HISTORY OF THE CANNON
The resolutions passed at the last meeting produced a great effect out
of doors. Timid people took fright at the idea of a shot weighing
20,000 pounds being launched into space; they asked what cannon could
ever transmit a sufficient velocity to such a mighty mass. The minutes
of the second meeting were destined triumphantly to answer such
questions. The following evening the discussion was renewed.
“My dear colleagues,” said Barbicane, without further preamble, “the
subject now before us is the construction of the engine, its length,
its composition, and its weight. It is probable that we shall end by
giving it gigantic dimensions; but however great may be the
difficulties in the way, our mechanical genius will readily surmount
them. Be good enough, then, to give me your attention, and do not
hesitate to make objections at the close. I have no fear of them. The
problem before us is how to communicate an initial force of 12,000
yards per second to a shell of 108 inches in diameter, weighing 20,000
pounds. Now when a projectile is launched into space, what happens to
it? It is acted upon by three independent forces: the resistance of the
air, the attraction of the earth, and the force of impulsion with which
it is endowed. Let us examine these three forces.
“We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist natural ones.”
I
thought that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot’s cage. It was best to
wait. We all returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained
thus, trying to hear the slightest noise which might be made on board
the _Nautilus_, when Captain Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his
face, generally so impassive, showed signs of uneasiness. He watched
the compass silently, then the manometer; and, going to the
planisphere, placed his finger on a spot representing the southern
seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some minutes later, when he
turned towards me, I said, using one of his own expressions in the
Torres Straits:
“An incident, Captain?”
“No, sir; an accident this time.”
“Serious?”
“Perhaps.”
“Is the danger immediate?”
“No.”
“The _Nautilus_ has stranded?”
“Yes.”
“And this has happened—how?”
“From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a mistake
has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium from
producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist
natural ones.”
Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this
philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.
“May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?”
“An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over,” he
replied. “When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or
reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing
turns over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell,
struck the _Nautilus_, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with
irresistible force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where
it is lying on its side.”
“But can we not get the _Nautilus_ off by emptying its reservoirs, that
it might regain its equilibrium?”
“That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump
working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the
_Nautilus_ is rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and,
until some obstacle stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be
altered.
“To those who were not familiar with the motions of the moon, they demonstrated that she possesses two distinct motions, the first being that of rotation upon her axis, the second being that of revolution round the earth, accomplishing both together in an equal period of time, that is to say, in twenty-seven and one-third days.”
The papers
revived all the old anecdotes in which the “sun of the wolves” played a
part; they recalled the influences which the ignorance of past ages
ascribed to her; in short, all America was seized with selenomania, or
had become moon-mad.
The scientific journals, for their part, dealt more especially with the
questions which touched upon the enterprise of the Gun Club. The letter
of the Observatory of Cambridge was published by them, and commented
upon with unreserved approval.
Until that time most people had been ignorant of the mode in which the
distance which separates the moon from the earth is calculated. They
took advantage of this fact to explain to them that this distance was
obtained by measuring the parallax of the moon. The term parallax
proving “caviare to the general,” they further explained that it meant
the angle formed by the inclination of two straight lines drawn from
either extremity of the earth’s radius to the moon. On doubts being
expressed as to the correctness of this method, they immediately proved
that not only was the mean distance 234,347 miles, but that astronomers
could not possibly be in error in their estimate by more than seventy
miles either way.
To those who were not familiar with the motions of the moon, they
demonstrated that she possesses two distinct motions, the first being
that of rotation upon her axis, the second being that of revolution
round the earth, accomplishing both together in an equal period of
time, that is to say, in twenty-seven and one-third days.
The motion of rotation is that which produces day and night on the
surface of the moon; save that there is only one day and one night in
the lunar month, each lasting three hundred and fifty-four and
one-third hours. But, happily for her, the face turned toward the
terrestrial globe is illuminated by it with an intensity equal to that
of fourteen moons. As to the other face, always invisible to us, it has
of necessity three hundred and fifty-four hours of absolute night,
tempered only by that “pale glimmer which falls upon it from the
stars.”
Some well-intentioned, but rather obstinate persons, could not at first
comprehend how, if the moon displays invariably the same face to the
earth during her revolution, she can describe one turn round herself.
To such they answered, “Go into your dining-room, and walk round the
table in such a way as to always keep your face turned toward the
center; by the time you will have achieved one complete round you will
have completed one turn around yourself, since your eye will have
traversed successively every point of the room.
“Anything one man can imagine, other men can make real”
“Whatever one man is capable of conceiving, other men will be able to achieve”
“Science, my lad, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth.”
“Ah, pierce me 100 times with your needles fine and I will thank you 100 times, Saint Morphine, you who Aeseulapus has made a God.”
Science, my boy, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth.
It seems wisest to assume the worst from the beginning...and let anything better come as a surprise.
While there is life, there is hope.
So, fatality will play me these terrible tricks. The elements themselves conspire to overwhelm me with mortification. Air, fire, and water combine their united efforts to oppose my passage. Well, they shall see what the earnest will of a determined man can do. I will not yield, I will not retreat even one inch; and we shall see who shall triumph in this great contest - man or nature.
Reality provides us with facts so romantic that imagination itself could add nothing to them.
Still, for long the love of science triumphed over all other feelings. He became an artist deeply impressed by the marvels of art, a philosopher to whom no one of the higher sciences was unknown, a statesman versed in the policy of European courts. To the eyes of those who observed him superficially he might have passed for one of those cosmopolitans, curious of knowledge, but disdaining action; one of those opulent travelers, haughty and cynical, who move incessantly from place to place, and are of no country.
Why, you are a man of heart!Sometimes, replied Phileas Fogg, quietly. When I have the time.
Science, my lad, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth.
[we see that] science is eminently perfectible, and that each theory has constantly to give way to a fresh one.
But in the cause of science men are expected to suffer.
I gazed at these marvels in profound silence. Words were utterly wanting to indicate the sensations of wonder I experienced. I seemed, as I stood upon that mysterious shore, as if I were some wandering inhabitant of a distant planet, present for the first time at the spectacle of some terrestrial phenomena belonging to another existence. To give body and existence to such new sensations would have required the coinage of new words - and here my feeble brain found itself wholly at fault. I looked on, I thought, I reflected, I admired, in a state of stupefaction not altogether unmingled with fear!
