CHAPTER III
WHATEVER PLEASES MONSIEUR
Three seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson’s letter, I no more thought of pursuing the sea-unicorn than of attempting the Northwest Passage. Three seconds after reading the letter of the honorable Secretary of the Navy, I felt that my true vocation, the sole end of my life, was to chase this disturbing monster, and purge it from the world.
But I had just returned from a fatiguing journey, weary and longing for rest. I aspired to nothing more than again seeing my country, my friends, my little lodging by the Jardin des Plantes, and my dear and precious collections. But nothing could keep me back! I forgot all—fatigue, friends, and collections—and accepted without hesitation the offer of the American Government.
“Besides,” thought I, “all roads lead back to Europe; and the sea-unicorn may be amiable enough to hurry me towards the coast of France! This worthy animal may allow itself to be caught in the seas of Europe—for my personal benefit—and I will not bring back less than half a meter of his ivory halberd to the Museum of Natural History.”
But in the meanwhile I must seek this narwhal in the North Pacific Ocean, which, to return to France, was taking a road via the Antipodes.
“Conseil,” I called, in an impatient voice.
Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the liking well. He was phlegmatic by nature, punctual on principle, zealous from habit, evincing little disturbance at the different surprises of life, very quick with his hands, and apt at any service required of him; and, despite his name, never giving advice—even when asked for it.1
Rubbing shoulders with scientists in our little world of the Jardin des Plantes, Conseil had picked up some odd bits of learning. In him I had a specialist, very well versed in the classification of natural history. With all the agility of an acrobat, he could run up and down the ladder of branches, groups, classes, sub-classes, orders, families, genera, sub-genera, species and varieties. But his science stopped there. Classification was his life, he knew nothing else. Very learned in the theory of classification he was, but in things practical, I do not believe that he could distinguish between a cachalot2 and a baleen whale. But in all, what a fine, dignified fellow!
Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led. Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never did he make an objection to packing his valise for whatever country it might be, or however far away, whether China or the Congo. He would go anywhere without questioning the reason. Besides all this, he had good health, which defied all sickness, solid muscles and no nerves, not even the appearance of nerves; and he was very moral, of course.
This boy was thirty years old, and his age to that of his master was as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused for this roundabout way of admitting that I was forty years old?
But Conseil had one fault: he was formal to a fault, and would never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes provoking.
“Conseil,” said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make preparations for my departure.
Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but this time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the enterprise might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of sinking a frigate as easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for reflection even to the most impassive man in the world. What would Conseil say?
“Conseil,” I called a third time.
Conseil appeared.
“Did monsieur call?” said he, entering.
“Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in two hours.”
“As monsieur pleases,” replied Conseil tranquilly.
“Not an instant to lose;—lock in my trunk all travelling utensils, coats, shirts, and stockings—without counting, as many as you can, and make haste.”
“And monsieur’s collections?” observed Conseil.
“We will think of them by and by.”
“What! the archiotherium, the hyracotherium, the oreodons, the cheropotamus, and monsieur’s other specimens?”
“They will keep them at the hotel.”
“And monsieur’s live babiroussa?”
“They will feed it during our absence; besides, I will give orders to forward our menagerie to France.”
“We are not returning to Paris, then?” asked Conseil.
“Oh! Certainly,” I answered, evasively, “by making a detour.”
“Whatever detour pleases monsieur.”
“Oh! it will be nothing! Not quite so direct a road, that. We take our passage in the Abraham Lincoln.”
“As monsieur thinks proper,” coolly replied Conseil.
“You see, my friend, it has to do with the monster—the famous narwhal.
We are going to purge it from the seas! The author of a work in quarto, in two volumes, on the Mysteries of the Great Ocean Depths cannot forbear embarking with Commander Farragut. A glorious mission, but a dangerous one! We cannot tell where we may go; these animals can be very capricious. But we will go whether or no! We have got a captain who is pretty wide-awake.”
“As monsieur does, I will do,” answered Conseil.
“But 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 cab.
The cab, at twenty francs the course, descended Broadway as far as Union Square, went along Fourth Avenue to its junction with Bowery Street, then along Katrin Street, and stopped at the thirty-fourth pier. There the Katrin ferry-boat transported us, men, horses and vehicle, to Brooklyn, the great annex of New York, situated on the left bank of East River, and in a few minutes we arrived at the quay opposite which the Abraham Lincoln was pouring forth clouds of black smoke from her two funnels.
Our luggage was transported to the deck of the frigate immediately. I hastened on board and asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors conducted me to the poop, where I found myself in the presence of a good-looking officer, who held out his hand to me.
“Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?” said he.
“Himself,” replied I; “Commander Farragut?”
“In person. You are welcome, Professor; your cabin is ready for you.”
I bowed, and desired to be conducted to the cabin destined for me.
The Abraham Lincoln had been well chosen and equipped for her new destination. She was a frigate of great speed, fitted with high-pressure engines which generated a pressure of seven atmospheres. Under this the Abraham Lincoln attained the mean speed of nearly eighteen and a third knots—a considerable speed, but, nevertheless, insufficient to grapple with the gigantic cetacean.
The interior arrangements of the frigate corresponded to its nautical qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was in the after part, opening upon the officers’ quarters.
“We shall be well off here,” said I to Conseil.
“As well, if monsieur will permit me to say so, as a hermit-crab in the shell of a whelk,” said Conseil.
I left Conseil to stow our trunks conveniently away, and remounted the poop in order to survey the preparations for departure.
At that moment Commander Farragut was ordering the last moorings to be cast loose which held the Abraham Lincoln to the Brooklyn pier. So in a quarter of an hour, perhaps less, the frigate would have sailed without me. I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and incredible expedition, the recital of which may well meet with incredulity.
For Commander Farragut would not lose a day nor an hour in scouring the seas in which the animal had been sighted. He sent for the engineer.
“Is the steam full on?” asked he.
“Yes, sir,” replied the engineer.
“Go ahead,” cried Commander Farragut.
At his order, transmitted by means of a compressed-air machine, the engineers put the starting-wheel into motion. Steam hissed through the half-open valves. Long horizontal pistons groaned and pushed the rods and drive-shaft. The blades of the propeller struck the water with increasing rapidity, and the Abraham Lincoln advanced majestically in the midst of a hundred ferryboats and tenders, crowded with spectators, which made a real parade.
The quay of Brooklyn, and all that part of New York bordering on the East River, was crowded with spectators. Three hurrahs burst successively from five hundred thousand throats;
thousands of handkerchiefs were waved above the heads of the crowded mass, saluting the Abraham Lincoln, until she reached the waters of the Hudson, at the point of that elongated peninsula which forms the city of New York. Then the frigate, following the coast of New Jersey along the right bank of the beautiful river, covered with villas, passed between the forts, which saluted her with their heaviest guns. The Abraham Lincoln answered by hoisting the American colors three times, whose thirty-nine stars3 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 Harbor. Three o’clock was signaled, the pilot got into his boat, and rejoined the little schooner which was waiting under our lee, the fires were stoked, the screw beat the waves more rapidly, the frigate skirted the low yellow coast of Long Island; and at eight o’clock, 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.
1. Jacques-Francois Conseil was the inventor of a steam-powered submarine, whom Verne met in about 1865. R.M.
2. Sperm whale—R.M.
3. In 1867 the U.S. flag had only 37 stars. It did not have 39 stars until 1889. R.M.