The Nautilus Sanction

2

“Professor-”

“Please,” said the thin, elegantly dressed neatly bearded man, smiling in a self-effacing manner and holding up his hand. He spoke in English, but with a French accent. “While I am flattered at having a professorship thus conferred upon me, I do not merit the title. I am trained as an attorney. Besides, I am only thirty-eight years old. Being addressed as Professor makes me feel rather like a hoary academician.”

The reporter from The New York Times smiled. “All right, then. But you did write Mysteries of the Great Submarine Grounds, so let’s not be too modest about your reputation in academic circles.”

“Only in a somewhat obscure branch of natural history,” said the man, with a slight smile. He was all too well aware of how American reporters had a tendency to blow things out of proportion. One small, theoretical work, published in France in two slim volumes in an exceedingly small print run, and they were ready to seize upon it as an excuse to quote him as an expert. He had far too many friends in the scientific community and far too much respect for their accomplishments to want to be cast as a colleague on an equal footing.

“Well, we won’t split hairs,” said the reporter from The New York Times. “The point is you have been invited to represent your country on this expedition and obviously-”

“No, no, please,” said the man, looking pained. “Really, sir, you quite embarrass me. I beg you to communicate the details correctly to your readers, if only to spare me future discomfort when I arrive back home. In point of fact, the kind invitation from Secretary Hobson did mention your government would be pleased to see France represented in this enterprise, however, he was speaking purely as a matter of form, you understand. In truth, it was I who requested permission to sail with Commander Farragut aboard the Abraham Lincoln. I practically begged myself a berth. Your government was merely humoring a somewhat presumptuous novelist who only dabbles in scientific matters.”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Verne,” the reporter persisted, “the very fact your request was granted obviously indicates that your opinion as a ‘dabbler in scientific matters,’ as you say, is valued. In that context, surely you have some theories as to the nature of this phenomenon?”

“Well,” said Jules Verne, “I prefer to keep an open mind. However, I do have some ideas, and I stress that they are merely ideas, theories, you understand. We have, as yet, no empirical evidence to support them, so making any sort of conclusions would be extremely premature.”

“Yes, well, what do you think it might be?” the reporter pressed him, anxious for a good quote.

Somewhat hesitantly, Verne replied. “After examining one by one the different theories, rejecting all nonsensical suggestions, it seems necessary to admit the possibility of the existence of a marine animal of enormous power.”

The reporters on the dock scribbled hastily.

“The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us,” continued Verne. “Soundings cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths-what beings live, or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the waters-is something we can scarcely conjecture. Either we do know all the varieties of beings which exist upon our planet or we do not. If we do not know them all, if Nature still has secrets in the deep for us, nothing is more conformable to reason than to admit the possibility of the existence of fishes or cetaceans or even of new species heretofore unknown inhabiting the regions inaccessible to soundings. It is certainly within the realm of possibility that an accident or an event of some sort has brought such a creature at long intervals to the upper levels of the ocean.”

“So you’re saying a sea monster, then?” said another man, from the Tribune, excitedly.

“No, sir, I said no such thing,” said Verne, carefully. “I merely said the possibility exists that there are creatures on the ocean floor belonging to species which have not as yet been discovered. If, on the other hand, such is not the case, which is also a possibility, we must necessarily seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings already classed. In such a case, I should be disposed to suspect the existence of a gigantic narwhal.”

“What exactly is that, Professor?” one of the other reporters called out.

Verne winced slightly. “The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, is a large mammalian creature which often attains a length of sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength proportionate to its size and you will have the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by the officers of the Shannon.”

“So you’re saying it’s just a big whale and that’s all?” said the man from The New York Times, with some disappointment. “How would you account, then, for the sinking of the Scotia just last week?”

“I do not account for it,” said Verne. “I do not have access to all of the details. True, the last transmission from the Scotia did report the sighting of a ‘monster,’ however, we have no evidence suggesting it was this so-called monster which caused the sinking of the ship.”

“But suppose it was the monster,” the man from the Telegraph called out. “I mean, how could a whale sink a steamship? How do you account for the explosion witnessed by the Moravian from several miles away?”

“Well, so long as we all understand that what we are dealing with here is merely supposition,” Verne said, “we can suppose the narwhal-if it is a narwhal-might have caused the sinking. Such a creature would be more than just a big whale, as you say. The narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd, according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk has the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried in the bodies of whales. Others have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of ships, which they had pierced through and through. The Museum of the Faculty of Medicine in Paris possesses one of these defensive weapons, two yards and a quarter in length and fifteen inches in diameter at the base. Very well.”-He paused for breath-”Suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the animal ten times more powerful. Launch it at the rate of twenty miles an hour and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required. As to the explosion, there is a better explanation for that than to imagine some sort of sea monster capable of breathing fire. Remember the Scotia was a munitions ship. Given an accident, something undoubtedly caused a fire on board, thereby resulting in the powerful explosion which the men of the Moravian saw from their great distance. Until further information, therefore, I shall be predisposed to suspect our phenomenon might be a sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with a real spur, as the armored frigates or the ‘rams’ of war, whose massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time.”

“What about some of the other theories, Mr. Verne?” another reporter called out. “What about this business that it’s a floating island of some sort or maybe even a submarine boat?”

Verne chuckled. “Well, there have been quite a number of theories proposed, true, but I prefer to deal with rational scientific inquiry rather than wild speculation. Islands do not float. Rock and earth cannot float in water. Islands are simply the projecting tips of submerged land masses or mountains, if you will. Someone, as I recall, suggested that we could be confronted with the floating hull of some enormous wreck. While this may sound somewhat plausible upon the surface, this theory collapses under careful scrutiny. What would provide the motive power for this floating hull that would enable it to act in the manner described in the various sightings? Moreover, what would keep this hull afloat, if it were, indeed, a wreck?

“As to the question of a submarine boat, I must admit to being personally quite intrigued by such a possibility. However, keep in mind that a submarine vessel of such enormous power could hardly remain secret against inquiries made both here and abroad. That a private gentleman should have such a machine at his command, while smacking of romance, is certainly quite unlikely. Where, when, and how could it have been constructed? And how could its construction, ambitious an undertaking as it would have to be, be kept a secret? It is possible a government might possess such a destructive machine; however, it is quite unlikely in view of what we know of submarine boats coupled with the technological capabilities we have.

“Not to dismiss your question out of hand, sir,” Verne continued, “consider the history of the so-called submersible boat. Alexander the Great is said to have had himself lowered into the sea while encased in a barrel of glass. Leonardo da Vinci also experimented with the idea of an undersea craft. In the 16th century, an English carpenter named William Bourne designed a submersible boat, but was unable to provide it with any means of propulsion. Drebbel likewise constructed several watertight boats capable of being submerged and propelled by means of oars, with air supplied by tubes reaching to the surface. Not a very practical device. The first real step in the development of submarine boats occurred during your American Revolution, when Colonel David Bushnell built his Turtle, which rather resembled two large turtle shells joined together. Propulsion was achieved by means of a crude hand crank, which turned a propellor. It was quite an ambitious device.

“In order to submerge, the vessel’s lone crewman operated a valve which would let water into a ballast tank. To reverse the procedure, the water was pumped out. A pair of brass tubes admitted fresh air into the vessel and, upon submergence, these tubes were closed with cork valves. That would leave enough air inside to allow for a submerged period of some thirty minutes. The purpose of the vessel was to approach British ships unseen and attach an explosive device to their hulls by means of a screw device. However, the Turtle never succeeded in its task, was slow and crude in the extreme and subject to navigational problems due to the effect of currents. Now this was the first practical submarine boat for which any record exists. The second was also built by an American, your Mr. Robert Fulton, of steamboat fame.

“In 1800, he designed and built the Nautilus, expanding upon the same basic principles developed by Bushnell. He was unable to gain support in the United States, so he came to my country and tried to interest Napoleon in his vessel. He was given some funds, with which he managed to stage a demonstration in which he successfully sank a wreck placed at his disposal. However, Napoleon branded it a dishonorable device and, fearing that Napoleon intended to steal the Nautilus, Fulton destroyed it. He then tried to interest England. He failed there, as well. At that point, he apparently gave up in disgust and returned here to build his famous Clermont.

“The most recent use of submarine vehicles was also in your country, during the recent war among your states. Doubtless, you gentlemen will recall the story of the Hunley, a Confederate craft some forty feet long and four feet in the beam. Its propulsion was provided by eight men, sitting side-by-side and operating a sort of crankshaft which turned a screw propellor. I believe it was on the seventeenth of February, in 1864, that the Hunley managed to sink the Housatonic in Charleston Harbor by means of a gunpowder torpedo on the end of a long pole. Given the nature of the craft, the attack had to be made with the hatch open so visibility would be possible. As a result, the Hunley was swamped when the torpedo exploded and it sank with all hands. To that extent, it is somewhat debatable as to whether or not this was a successful attack and even whether or not it can properly be called a submarine attack.

“Now, gentlemen, the Hunley went down a mere two years ago. Are we to believe it is within the realm of possibility for science to have progressed so far as to enable, in two years, a submarine boat to be constructed which is capable of remaining submerged indefinitely and of attaining the sort of speeds reported in the sightings? Even if we were to accept such an astonishing development, well then, how would this submarine be able to resupply itself? What fantastic method of propulsion could it employ to attain such enormous motive power? How could it hope to attack other ships without risking damage to itself? How could its crew survive such long periods of submersion, even given the ability of storing oxygen in some manner which would enable such submersion, without being poisoned by the gases of their own exhalations? No, gentlemen, glamorous though the idea might be, it is quite ludicrous when examined from a practical standpoint. The technology simply does not exist which would allow for the construction of such a craft. That smacks of the sort of fantasy disreputable novelists such as myself indulge in.” He smiled. “What we are concerned with here is a scientific expedition, not one of my voyages extraordinaire. Although, I must confess, I find the idea of a submarine boat constructed by means of some sort of super science to be quite appealing. I may even write about it someday. However, it’s all nonsense, I assure you.”

They addressed him as Professor once again when they thanked him for his statements and Verne slowly shook his head as he watched them rush off to file their stories.

“Newspapermen,” he mumbled to himself. “Doubtless, they’ll get everything all wrong, as usual, and confer a doctorate upon me to validate their stories.”

He went on board the frigate and one of the sailors conducted him to the presence of the ship’s captain, a tall and handsome officer with ramrod straight posture and a no-nonsense manner.

“Commander Farragut?” said Verne.

“You must be Mr. Verne,” said Farragut.

The author looked surprised. “You know me, sir?”

“I have seen your photograph and I have had the pleasure of reading your Five Weeks in a Balloon. It’s a pleasure to have you aboard, sir. Can it be you are considering turning your talents towards nautical adventure?”

“I have been giving the matter some thought,” said Verne, smiling. “Perhaps this voyage will provide me with some necessary background. I’m afraid I’m liable to make quite a nuisance of myself, pestering everyone with questions. Please do not hesitate to tell me if I begin getting in your way.”

Farragut grinned. “Think nothing of it. You go on ahead and make as much of a nuisance of yourself as you care to. My men know what they’re about. I doubt answering a few questions will get in the way of their performing their duties. They’re all quite looking forward to this venture. It will be something of a pleasure cruise for them.”

“A pleasure cruise? Do I take it, then, you do not believe in this so-called sea monster we are hunting?”

“Quite the contrary. I have been at sea long enough to know that one can never truly know the sea. I think there is something out there, although I doubt it is anything like some creature out of Greek mythology. Whatever it may be, I intend to hunt it down and rid the seas of it.”

“You mean to kill the creature?” Verne said, aghast. “But why? Think of the importance such a find would have to science!”

“With all due respect, Mr. Verne, I strongly suspect your scientific-minded friends would be far happier to have this creature spread out on their dissecting tables rather than have it swimming about on the bottom of the ocean, inaccessible to them,” said Farragut. “As for myself, my first responsibility is to the shipping companies. All this publicity and speculation about a sea monster is causing companies like Lloyd’s to raise their premiums. No one is very happy about the prospect of having to pay more in order to have their ships insured against destruction by some sea monster.”

“Yes, but-but I was under the impression this was to be an expedition of scientific inquiry!” protested Verne.

“And so it is,” said Farragut. “You will find quite a diverse group on board for this voyage. We have sailing with us representatives of the New York Museum of Natural History, the Smithsonian Institution, the Royal Zoological Society and members of the faculties of several universities. I should think you’ll be at no loss for stimulating company. As a matter of fact, if you have not yet had time for dinner, I would suggest you hasten to the wardroom, where our passengers are being served at this very moment. Now if you will excuse me, we shall have to continue this discussion at a future time. I must make preparations for getting under way.”

Verne paused only long enough to check his cabin, which he found he was sharing with someone else judging by the belongings placed there along with his, then proceeded to the wardroom. The other passengers were already sitting down to dinner when he entered. Upon seeing him standing in the doorway, one of the diners stood and beckoned him forward.

“Ah, I see we have a late arrival,” said the man, speaking with a British accent. He was dressed in tweeds and wore thick wire-rimmed glasses. “Please, there is a place beside me here. You are only just in time.”

The other diners started to rise, but Verne quickly waved them back down. “No, no, my friends, please, do not get up on my account.”

He walked over to the seat indicated by the Englishman.

“Permit me to perform the introductions,” said the Britisher. “This is Dr. Samuelson, of the Smithsonian.” He indicated the man to his immediate left, a dapper, distinguished-looking gentleman with thinning gray hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a moustache. “Dr. Vandenburg, of the Museum of Natural History here in New York.” The man he indicated nodded briefly, gazing out at Verne from beneath large, bushy black eyebrows. There were bread crumbs in his walruslike moustache. “Professor Priest of the University of Maine.” Lucas nodded at him with a smile. “Dr. Delaney of the University of Boston and his associate, Professor Cross; Mr. Ned Land-”

“Of the university of hard knocks,” said the brawny Land, with a wide grin, his blue eyes glinting with amusement at being included among such distinguished company.

“And, of course, myself. My name is Devries. Dr. Reginald Fitzhugh Devries, of the Royal Zoological Society.”

“I am pleased to meet you all,” said Verne, taking his seat. “My name is Verne. Jules Verne. And that would be Mister, not Doctor or Professor, please.”

Priest and Delaney exchanged quick glances.

“Ah, yes, the eminent author,” said Samuelson. “I had heard you would be sailing with us. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Verne. Tell me, did those newspapermen outside descend upon you, as well?”

“I am afraid so,” said Verne. “I attempted to reply to their queries to the best of my limited ability, but I was left with the feeling I had not told them quite what they wished to hear.”

“What did you tell them?” Devries said.

Verne sugared his coffee and briefly recapped the interview for their benefit. Samuelson chuckled.

“What do you want to bet tomorrow’s papers carry drawings of behemoth, horned whales with tusks like woolly mammoths beneath the headline, ‘Eminent Author and Scientist Describes Sea Monster’?”

Verne looked wounded.

“Oh, now don’t look that way, Verne. It wasn’t your fault. Newspapermen hear only what they want to hear and they write it up the way they feel their readers will wish to read it.”

“Never talk to ‘em, myself,” growled Vandenburg.

“This is most distressing,” Verne said. “I was most careful to say I was only speaking in terms of theory and supposition-”

“Don’t you worry about it, mate,” said Land. “It’ll all be old news in another week or so and nobody’ll remember it.”

“Well, what did you tell them, Mr. Land?” said Verne.

Land threw back his head and laughed. “What, me? Hell, they didn’t want to talk to me! I’m no scientist fellow like you folks and I’m no famous writer, either. I ain’t important enough for them to bother with.”

“May one inquire, then, what it is you do, Mr. Land?” said Verne, politely.

“Me, I’m a harpooner by trade.”

“A harpooner!”

“That’s right. Best there is, too.” In French, he added, “I’m the one that’s going to catch that fish so these stuffed shirts here can fillet it.”

Lucas, Finn, and Andre smiled, while Devries cleared his throat softly.

“I’m afraid one of the hazards of associating with learned people is they might be multilingual,” Verne said, smiling and giving a sidelong look to Devries. Vandenburg alone seemed to have missed the comment. “You are Canadian?”

“Quebec, born and bred,” said Land, not at all apologetic for his comment. “I come from a long line of whalers. Makes no difference to me whether this whale has tusks or horns or what-have-you. A fish is a fish, far as I’m concerned.”

“Mr. Land, here, does not believe in our aquatic mammal,” said Devries. “It seems only we stuffed shirts are quite so gullible as to give credence to such a theory.”

“Is that so, Mr. Land?” said Verne.

“Just call me Ned,” said Land. “All this Mister this, Professor that, and Doctor whoever makes my head swim.”

“Well, all right, then, Ned. And you must call me Jules.”

“And a fine French name, it is,” said Land. “My grand father was named Jules. But to answer your question, no, I do not.”

“But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiar with all the great marine mammalia, surely you ought to be the last to doubt under such circumstances!”

“That’s just the point, Jules,” Land said. “As a harpooner, I’ve followed many a whale, killed a great number, too. No matter how strong or how large or, like your narwhal, how well armed they may have been, not a one of ‘em would even have been able to scratch the iron plates of a steamer.”

“But, Ned, they tell of ships which the horns of the narwhal have pierced through and through,” said Verne.

“Wooden ships, may be,” said Land. “Me, I’ve never seen it done. Till I see some proof, I deny that whales, cetaceans, sea-unicorns or whatever you want to call ‘em could ever do what you say.”

“Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction resting on the logic of facts,” said Verne, while the others followed the animated exchange. “I believe in the existence of a mammal powerfully organized, belonging to the branch of Vertebrata, like the whales, the chachalots or the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defense of great penetrating power.”

“Humpf!” said Land.

“Keep in mind one thing, my Canadian friend,” said Verne. “If such an animal exists, it inhabits the very depths of the ocean, frequenting the strata lying miles below the surface. It must, therefore, necessarily possess an organization the strength of which would defy all comparison.”

“And why would that be?” Land said.

“Because it would require great strength in order to survive in those depths. Allow me to explain. I am certain our friends here will bring me up short if I am in error. Let us imagine the pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of water 32 feet high. Now, Ned, when you dive, as many times 32 feet of water as there are above you, so many times does your body bear a pressure equal to that of the atmosphere, which is 15 pounds for each square inch of surface.

At 320 feet then, this pressure would equal 10 atmospheres, at 3,200 feet, 100 atmospheres and at 32,000 feet, the pressure would be equal to 1,000 atmospheres. By simple arithmetic, we can determine that if you were able to attain this depth, for every foot you were to go down, your body would be subject to a pressure of approximately half a ton. Now, to a certain degree, this pressure is negligible because the air penetrates the interior of your body with equal pressure. This is why you are able to walk about without perceiving the effects of atmospheric pressure. This is also why you are able to dive down into the water, to a certain depth, and not be crushed. However, the deeper you dive, the more the pressure increases. At 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea, you would undergo a pressure of some 97,500 pounds. And, despite this pressure, pearl divers, for example, are able to survive at such depths. But the pressure increases correspondingly the deeper you go, so that at 32,000 feet, it would be some 97,500,000 pounds — with the result that you would be flattened as if you had been caught between the plates of a hydraulic machine.”

“The devil!” said Land.

“Now,” said Verne, “if some vertebrate, several hundred yards long and large in rough proportion, can survive in such depths, consider then what must be the resistance of its bony structure in order to withstand such amazing pressure.”

“Why,” said Land, “it would have to be as strong as an armored frigate, plated with iron eight inches thick!”

“Exactly,” Verne said. “And think what destruction such a creature would cause if it propelled itself with the speed of a locomotive against the hull of a vessel!”

“Yes, well,” said Land. “Could be. You argue your case most convincingly, mon ami.”

“So have I convinced you?” Verne said.

Recalcitrant to the end, Land shook his head. “I follow your reasoning,” he said, “and you have convinced me that if such creatures exist at the bottom of the sea, then they must needs be as strong as you say. But I will still hold my judgment till I have seen some proof that there are, indeed, such creatures. I’ve spent forty some odd years upon the sea and I have yet to see one.”

Samuelson laughed. “It is quite obvious, Mr. Land, that you will never make a good newspaperman. You are far too pragmatic.”

“And what about you, my friends?” said Verne, turning to the incognito Time Commandos. “You have said nothing. Have you any ideas to contribute to this discussion?”

Lucas cleared his throat. “Well, I am a simple university biology professor. I hesitate to speak in such learned company. However I am of the same opinion as Mr. Land, here. I prefer to reserve judgment until some tangible evidence is at hand. There have certainly been enough curious reports to warrant an investigation, which is why we are all here, but none of us have any idea, really, just what it is we are investigating. I am enthusiastic over the possibility of there being some unique aquatic form of life heretofore unknown, but then the ocean is quite large and for all we know, we may even be searching in the wrong waters. These things take time. Fortunately, I am on sabbatical and this provides a convenient excuse to legitimize a long sea voyage. Perhaps we shall encounter something, perhaps not. I am content to wait and see.”

“A most laudable attitude,” said Devries. “Chances are, indeed, we will encounter nothing of any significance. However, one never knows until one goes and looks, eh?”

“And what about yourself, Dr. Delaney?” Verne said.

Finn shrugged. “If we do not find anything, Professor Cross and I will have wasted our time, so I prefer to remain optimistic. The university expects something for its money. I hope we won’t have to disappoint them.”

“How does Dr. Martinson regard this curious phenomenon?” said Verne.

“Dr. Martinson?” said Finn.

“Yes, surely, being from the University of Boston, you know him?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Finn. “It’s quite a large university, you know.”

Verne frowned. “But Phillip Martinson is the chairman of the Department of Marine Biology!” he said. “How can you not know him? Surely, he must have conferred with you concerning this voyage!”

“Oh, Phillip!” Finn said, quickly. “Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me, I tend to be a bit preoccupied on occasion. Yes, well, we spoke about it briefly and his attitude was much the same as Professor Priest’s. Cautious optimism, you know.”

“I trust his leg is better,” Verne said. “He was having difficulty with it when last I saw him. It must have healed by now.”

“Oh, yes, Phillip is just fine,” Finn said. “He bounds about the campus like an undergraduate.”

Verne smiled. “I’m very pleased to hear that.” The ship gave a lurch. “Well, I perceive we are getting under way. If you gentlemen, and lady, will excuse me, I think I will go up on deck and watch as we leave the harbor.”

“Let’s all go,” said Devries. “It will be a while before we see land again.”

As they filed out of the wardroom, Verne drew Finn aside momentarily, letting the others go before them.

“I just wanted to tell you, Doctor,” he said, “how very pleased I was to hear Phillip Martinson is feeling so much better. Truly, it must have been an astonishing recovery. Doubtless, they’ll be writing it up in the Lancet any day now.”

“Oh?” said Finn, feeling suddenly unsure of his ground.

“Yes, quite,” said Verne, smiling. “You see, Phillip Martinson has been confined to a wheelchair these past four years. He lost both his legs at Shiloh.”