Part 2 · Chapter 12Cachalots and Whales

Cachalots and Whales. During the nights of March thirteenth and fourteenth, the Nautilus kept heading south.

I figured that once we passed Cape Horn, the Captain would turn west to explore the Pacific and finish the tour of the world. But he didn't do that - he just kept going further south. Where was he taking us? To the pole?

That was crazy! I started to think the Captain’s recklessness was confirming Ned Land’s worries. For a while, the Canadian hadn't mentioned trying to escape; he was quieter, almost silent. I could tell this long imprisonment was getting to him, and I sensed a lot of anger building up.

When he saw the Captain, his eyes would flash with suppressed frustration, and I was worried his temper would get the best of him. That day, March fourteenth, Conseil and he came to my room. I asked what was up.

"Just a quick question for you, sir," the Canadian said. "Go ahead, Ned."

"How many people are on board the Nautilus, do you think?" "I have no idea, my friend."

"It seems like it wouldn’t need a huge crew, right?"

"Definitely. Under normal circumstances, ten people, tops, should be enough." "So, why more?"

"Why?" I replied, looking directly at Ned Land, whose meaning was pretty clear.

"Because," I added, "if I’m right, and if I’m understanding the Captain correctly, the Nautilus isn't just a ship; it’s also a refuge for people like him, who have cut ties with the rest of the world."

"Maybe," said Conseil; "but even so, the Nautilus can only hold so many people. Couldn't you estimate the maximum, sir?" "How, Conseil?"

"Do the math. We know the size of the vessel, and therefore how much air it holds. We also know how much air each person breathes. Comparing those things, and knowing the Nautilus has to surface every twenty-four hours..."

Conseil hadn’t finished the sentence before I understood where he was going with it.

"I see," I said; "but that calculation, though simple, could be pretty inaccurate."

"Doesn’t matter," Ned Land said urgently.

"Okay, here’s the breakdown," I said.

"Each person uses up the oxygen in twenty gallons of air every hour, so four hundred and eighty gallons in a day. So, we need to figure out how many times four hundred and eighty gallons fits into the total air inside the Nautilus. "Exactly," said Conseil.

"Or," I continued, "the Nautilus is one,five hundred tons, and each ton holds two hundred gallons, so it holds three hundred thousand gallons of air. Dividing that by four hundred and eighty gives a quotient of six hundred and twenty-five. That means, theoretically, the air inside the Nautilus would last for six hundred and twenty-five people for twenty-four hours."

"Six hundred and twenty-five!" repeated Ned.

"But remember, all of us - passengers, sailors, and officers - wouldn’t even be a tenth of that number."

"Still too many for three people," murmured Conseil.

The Canadian shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, and left the room without saying anything.

"Can I add something, sir?" said Conseil.

"Poor Ned is missing everything he can’t have. His old life is always on his mind; he regrets everything we’re not allowed to do. His head is full of memories. And we have to understand him. What’s he doing here?"

"Nothing; he’s not learned like you, sir, and doesn’t have the same appreciation for the beauty of the sea that we do. He’s willing to risk everything just to be able to hang out in a tavern in his own country again."

Being stuck on this boat had to be super boring for the Canadian, especially since he was used to a life of freedom and action. Things rarely happened that got him excited, but that day was different - it reminded him of his days as a harpooner.

Around eleven in the morning, while we were on the surface of the ocean, the Nautilus ran into a bunch of whales - not a huge surprise, considering these creatures, hunted nearly to extinction, had taken refuge in colder waters.

We were chilling on the platform, and the sea was calm. October up there gave us some really nice fall days. It was the Canadian - he just knew - who spotted a whale on the eastern horizon.

If you looked closely, you could see its black back rising and falling with the waves, about five miles from the Nautilus.

"Whoa!" said Ned Land. "If I was on a whaling ship, I’d be stoked about this. That’s a big one. Look at how strong its blowholes shoot columns of air and steam! Seriously, why am I stuck on these steel plates?"

"Still thinking about fishing, huh, Ned?" I asked.

"Can a whale-fisher ever forget his old trade, sir? Can he ever get tired of the rush of a chase like that?"

"You’re not used to fishing in these waters, are you, Ned?"

"Never, sir. Mostly up north - as much in the Bering Sea as in Davis Strait."

"Then the southern whale is still new to you. You’ve only hunted the Greenland whale, and those wouldn't risk going through the warm waters near the equator. Whales tend to stick to certain areas, depending on their kind."

"If one went from the Bering Sea to Davis Strait, it’s because there’s a passage between the two, either on the American or Asiatic side."

"That means I don’t know what kind of whale lives in these waters!" "I already told you."

"Even more reason to get to know them," said Conseil.

"Look! Look!" yelled the Canadian. " They’re coming closer! They’re messing with me! They know I can’t get to them!"

Ned stomped his feet. His hand trembled as he gripped an imaginary harpoon.

"Are these cetaceans as big as the ones in the northern seas?" he asked. "Pretty much, Ned."

"Because I’ve seen some huge whales, sir - whales measuring a hundred feet. I even heard that the ones from Hullamoch and Umgallick, in the Aleutian Islands, can be a hundred and fifty feet long."

"That sounds like a stretch to me. These are just balaeopterons, with dorsal fins, and like cachalots, they're generally much smaller than the Greenland whale."

"Whoa!" exclaimed the Canadian, his eyes never leaving the ocean.

"They’re getting closer; they’re in the same water as the Nautilus."

Then, turning back to the conversation, he said:

"You mentioned the cachalot as a small creature. I’ve heard about some giant ones. They’re smart cetaceans. Some people say they cover themselves with seaweed and fucus, and then look like islands. People even camp on them and build settlements - they light a fire - - "

"And build houses," said Conseil.

"Yeah, seriously," said Ned Land.

"And one day the creature dives, taking all the inhabitants to the bottom of the sea."

"Like something out of Sinbad the Sailor’s travels," I replied, laughing.

"Woah!" suddenly exclaimed Ned Land.

"It’s not one whale; there are ten - there are twenty - it’s a whole group! And I’m just stuck here, helpless!"

"But, Ned," said Conseil, "why don’t you ask Captain Nemo for permission to chase them?"

Before Conseil could finish his sentence, Ned Land had already slid through the panel to find the Captain. A few minutes later, the two of them appeared together on the platform.

Captain Nemo watched the group of cetaceans playing about a mile from the Nautilus.

"They’re southern whales," he said. " That’s the fortune of an entire fleet of whalers going up in smoke."

"Seriously, sir?" asked the Canadian.

"Can’t I at least chase them? Just to remind me of my old job as a harpooner?"

"And why?" replied Captain Nemo.

"Just to destroy? We don’t need the whale oil on board."

"But, sir," continued the Canadian, "in the Red Sea, you let us follow the dugong."

"That was to get fresh meat for my crew," Captain Nemo explained.

"Here, it would just be killing for the heck of it. I know humans think they’re entitled to do that, but I donn't support such a brutal hobby. Destroying these southern whales - just like the Greenland whales, gentle creatures - is a terrible thing, Master Land."

"Your traders have already emptied Baffin’s Bay and are wiping out entire groups of useful animals. Leave those poor cetaceans alone. They’re already dealing with natural enemies like cachalots, swordfish, and sawfish - they don’t need you bothering them."

The Captain was totally right. The greedy, thoughtless behavior of these fishermen will eventually lead to the disappearance of the last whale in the ocean. Ned Land whistled "Yankee-doodle" under his breath, shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned his back on us.

But Captain Nemo kept watching the group of cetaceans, then turned to me and said:

"I was right to say that whales have enough natural enemies without adding humans to the list. They’ll have plenty to deal with soon enough. Do you see, M. Aronnax, about eight miles to the south, those dark moving shapes? "Yeah, Captain," I replied.

"Those are cachalots - scary animals. I’ve seen them in groups of two or three hundred. Those guys are truly cruel and destructive; it would be justified to wipe them out."

The Canadian spun around quickly at the last words.

"Well, Captain," he said, "there’s still time, for the sake of the whales."

"It’s pointless to risk it, Professor. The Nautilus will scatter them. It’s got a steel spur just as effective as Master Land’s harpoon, I’d imagine."

The Canadian didn’t even bother to shrug. Attack cetaceans with a spur? Who ever heard of such a thing?

"Wait, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo.

"We’re going to show you something you’ve never seen before. We have no sympathy for these fierce creatures. They’re just mouth and teeth."

Seriously? Nobody could have described the giant sperm whale better! These guys can grow to be over seventy-five feet long. Their massive head takes up almost a third of their whole body.

Way more equipped than a regular whale - whose upper jaw just has whalebone - these sperm whales have twenty-five huge tusks, about eight inches long, shaped like cones at the top, and each one weighs two pounds.

Inside the head, in big pockets separated by cartilage, you’d find six to eight hundred pounds of that valuable oil called spermaceti. Fredol described them as more like tadpoles than fish - not exactly built right, actually.

The whole left side is kind of a "misfire," and they can only see with their right eye. But a huge group of them was heading our way. They’d spotted the whales and were getting ready to attack.

You could just tell the sperm whales were going to win, not just because they were better for fighting, but also because they could stay underwater way longer than their gentle rivals. We barely had time to help the whales. The Nautilus dove below the surface.

Conseil, Ned Land, and I took our spots by the window in the lounge, and Captain Nemo joined the pilot in his cage to work the controls like a weapon. Soon, I felt the engine speed up, and we were going faster and faster.

The battle between the sperm whales and the whales had already started when the Nautilus arrived. At first, they didn't seem scared by this new monster showing up. But they quickly realized they had to watch out for its attacks. What a fight!

The Nautilus was like a giant harpoon, wielded by the Captain’s hand. It slammed into the whales’ bodies, going right through, leaving behind two wobbly halves. It didn't even feel the powerful blows from their tails, nor the shock it created itself.

One sperm whale down, it went after the next, spinning around to make sure it didn’t miss.

It was responding to the controls, diving when the whale plunged deep, then popping back up when it surfaced, striking from the front or side, slashing and tearing at any angle, piercing them with its crazy spur. What a mess! What a racket on the surface of the waves!

That sharp hissing and snorting - you could only hear that from those raging animals! Their tails churned up huge waves in waters that are usually so calm. This crazy slaughter went on for an hour, and the sperm whales couldn't escape.

Several times, ten or twelve of them tried to crush the Nautilus with their weight. From the window, we could see their enormous mouths, full of tusks, and their intense eyes. Ned Land couldn’t hold back; he yelled and cursed at them.

We could feel them clinging to our vessel like dogs attacking a wild boar in the woods. But the Nautilus, with its engine spinning, pushed them around, sending them up and down the ocean, ignoring their massive weight or the strain on the ship.

Finally, the group of sperm whales scattered, the waves calmed down, and I felt us rising to the surface. The panel opened, and we rushed onto the platform. The sea was covered with torn-up bodies. A huge explosion couldn’t have torn this mass of flesh apart with more force.

We were floating among giant bodies, bluish on their backs and white underneath, covered with huge bumps. A few terrified sperm whales were fleeing towards the horizon. The waves were red for miles, and the Nautilus floated in a sea of blood. Captain Nemo joined us.

"Well, Master Land?" he asked.

"Well, sir," replied the Canadian, whose excitement had died down a bit; "it’s a seriously messed-up sight, no doubt. But I’m not a butcher. I’m a hunter, and I’m calling this a slaughter."

"It’s a massacre of troublemakers," replied the Captain; "and the Nautilus isn’t a butcher’s tool."

"I prefer my harpoon," said the Canadian.

"To each their own," answered the Captain, staring hard at Ned Land.

I was worried he’d do something reckless, which would end badly. But his anger shifted when he saw a whale the Nautilus had just surfaced with. The creature hadn’t quite escaped the sperm whale’s teeth. I recognized it as a southern whale - it had a flat, totally black head.

Anatomically, it’s different from the white whale and the North Cape whale because it has seven neck bones, and two extra ribs. The poor animal was lying on its side, covered in holes from the bites, and totally dead. Hanging from its damaged fin was a young whale it couldn’t save from the slaughter.

Its mouth was open, letting water flow in and out, sounding like waves crashing on the beach. Captain Nemo steered the Nautilus close to the whale’s body. Two of his crew climbed onto its side, and I was surprised to see them taking milk from its breasts - about two or three tons worth.

The Captain offered me a cup of the milk, which was still warm. I couldn’t help but show I was grossed out, but he swore it was amazing and tasted just like cow’s milk. I tried it, and I had to admit he was right.

It was a good backup for us, because we could turn it into butter or cheese, which would be a nice change from our usual food. From that day on, I noticed Ned Land’s dislike for Captain Nemo was getting worse, and I decided to keep a close eye on the Canadian's actions.