The next day, March 20, it stopped snowing. The cold was a little more brisk. The thermometer marked -2 degrees centigrade. The mist had cleared, and on that day I hoped our noon sights could be accomplished.
Since Captain Nemo hadn’t yet appeared, only Conseil and I were taken ashore by the skiff. The soil’s nature was still the same: volcanic. Traces of lava, slag, and basaltic rock were everywhere, but I couldn’t find the crater that had vomited them up. There as yonder, myriads of birds enlivened this part of the polar continent. But they had to share their dominion with huge herds of marine mammals that looked at us with gentle eyes. These were seals of various species, some stretched out on the ground, others lying on drifting ice floes, several leaving or reentering the sea. Having never dealt with man, they didn’t run off at our approach, and I counted enough of them thereabouts to provision a couple hundred ships.
“Ye gods,” Conseil said, “it’s fortunate that Ned Land didn’t come with us!”
“Why so, Conseil?”
“Because that madcap hunter would kill every animal here.”
“Every animal may be overstating it, but in truth I doubt we could keep our Canadian friend from harpooning some of these magnificent cetaceans. Which would be an affront to Captain Nemo, since he hates to slay harmless beasts needlessly.”
“He’s right.”
“Certainly, Conseil. But tell me, haven’t you finished classifying these superb specimens of marine fauna?”
“Master is well aware,” Conseil replied, “that I’m not seasoned in practical application. When master has told me these animals’ names . . .”
“They’re seals and walruses.”