Walruses resemble seals in the shape of their bodies and the arrangement of their limbs. But their lower jaws lack canines and incisors, and as for their upper canines, they consist of two tusks eighty centimeters long with a circumference of thirty-three centimeters at the socket. Made of solid ivory, without striations, harder than elephant tusks, and less prone to yellowing, these teeth are in great demand. Accordingly, walruses are the victims of a mindless hunting that soon will destroy them all, since their hunters indiscriminately slaughter pregnant females and youngsters, and over 4,000 individuals are destroyed annually.
Passing near these unusual animals, I could examine them at my leisure since they didn’t stir. Their hides were rough and heavy, a tan color leaning toward a reddish brown; their coats were short and less than abundant. Some were four meters long. More tranquil and less fearful than their northern relatives, they posted no sentinels on guard duty at the approaches to their campsite.
After examining this community of walruses, I decided to return in my tracks. It was eleven o’clock, and if Captain Nemo found conditions favorable for taking his sights, I wanted to be present at the operation. But I held no hopes that the sun would make an appearance that day. It was hidden from our eyes by clouds squeezed together on the horizon. Apparently the jealous orb didn’t want to reveal this inaccessible spot on the globe to any human being.
Yet I decided to return to the Nautilus. We went along a steep, narrow path that ran over the cliff’s summit. By 11:30 we had arrived at our landing place. The beached skiff had brought the captain ashore. I spotted him standing on a chunk of basalt. His instruments were beside him. His eyes were focused on the northern horizon, along which the sun was sweeping in its extended arc.
I found a place near him and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and just as on the day before, the sun didn’t put in an appearance.
It was sheer bad luck. Our noon sights were still lacking. If we couldn’t obtain them tomorrow, we would finally have to give up any hope of fixing our position.
In essence, it was precisely March 20. Tomorrow, the 21st, was the day of the equinox; the sun would disappear below the horizon for six months not counting refraction, and after its disappearance the long polar night would begin. Following the September equinox, the sun had emerged above the northerly horizon, rising in long spirals until December 21. At that time, the summer solstice of these southernmost districts, the sun had started back down, and tomorrow it would cast its last rays.
I shared my thoughts and fears with Captain Nemo.
“You’re right, Professor Aronnax,” he told me. “If I can’t take the sun’s altitude tomorrow, I won’t be able to try again for another six months. But precisely because sailors’ luck has led me into these seas on March 21, it will be easy to get our bearings if the noonday sun does appear before our eyes.”
“Why easy, captain?”