Cyrus Harding spoke in a tone of such thorough conviction that no
objection was raised. His remark, besides, was logical. It was quite
possible that an opening, practicable at low water, though hidden now by
the high tide, opened at the foot of the cliff.
There was some time to wait. The colonists remained silently crouching
in a deep hollow. Rain now began to fall in torrents. The thunder was
re-echoed among the rocks with a grand sonorousness.
The colonists’ emotion was great. A thousand strange and extraordinary
ideas crossed their brains, and they expected some grand and superhuman
apparition, which alone could come up to the notion they had formed of
the mysterious genius of the island.
At midnight, Harding carrying the lantern, descended to the beach to
reconnoiter.
The engineer was not mistaken. The beginning of an immense excavation
could be seen under the water. There the wire, bending at a right angle,
entered the yawning gulf.
Cyrus Harding returned to his companions, and said simply,--
“In an hour the opening will be practicable.”
“It is there, then?” said Pencroft.
“Did you doubt it?” returned Harding.
“But this cavern must be filled with water to a certain height,”
observed Herbert.
“Either the cavern will be completely dry,” replied Harding, “and in
that case we can traverse it on foot, or it will not be dry, and some
means of transport will be put at our disposal.”
An hour passed. All climbed down through the rain to the level of the
sea. There was now eight feet of the opening above the water. It was
like the arch of a bridge, under which rushed the foaming water.
Leaning forward, the engineer saw a black object floating on the
water. He drew it towards him. It was a boat, moored to some interior
projection of the cave. This boat was iron-plated. Two oars lay at the
bottom.
“Jump in!” said Harding.
In a moment the settlers were in the boat. Neb and Ayrton took the
oars, Pencroft the rudder. Cyrus Harding in the bows, with the lantern,
lighted the way.
The elliptical roof, under which the boat at first passed, suddenly
rose; but the darkness was too deep, and the light of the lantern too
slight, for either the extent, length, height, or depth of the cave to
be ascertained. Solemn silence reigned in this basaltic cavern. Not a
sound could penetrate into it, even the thunder peals could not pierce
its thick sides.
Such immense caves exist in various parts of the world, natural crypts
dating from the geological epoch of the globe. Some are filled by the
sea; others contain entire lakes in their sides. Such is Fingal’s Cave,
in the island of Staffa, one of the Hebrides; such are the caves of
Morgat, in the bay of Douarnenez, in Brittany, the caves of Bonifacio,
in Corsica, those of Lyse-Fjord, in Norway; such are the immense Mammoth
caverns in Kentucky, 500 feet in height, and more than twenty miles in
length! In many parts of the globe, nature has excavated these caverns,
and preserved them for the admiration of man.
Did the cavern which the settlers were now exploring extend to the
center of the island? For a quarter of an hour the boat had been
advancing, making detours, indicated to Pencroft by the engineer in
short sentences, when all at once,--
“More to the right!” he commanded.
The boat, altering its course, came up alongside the right wall. The
engineer wished to see if the wire still ran along the side.
The wire was there fastened to the rock.
“Forward!” said Harding.
And the two oars, plunging into the dark waters, urged the boat onwards.
On they went for another quarter of an hour, and a distance of
half-a-mile must have been cleared from the mouth of the cave, when
Harding’s voice was again heard.
“Stop!” said he.
The boat stopped, and the colonists perceived a bright light
illuminating the vast cavern, so deeply excavated in the bowels of the
island, of which nothing had ever led them to suspect the existence.
At a height of a hundred feet rose the vaulted roof, supported on basalt
shafts. Irregular arches, strange moldings, appeared on the columns
erected by nature in thousands from the first epochs of the formation of
the globe. The basalt pillars, fitted one into the other, measured
from forty to fifty feet in height, and the water, calm in spite of the
tumult outside, washed their base. The brilliant focus of light, pointed
out by the engineer, touched every point of rocks, and flooded the walls
with light.
By reflection the water reproduced the brilliant sparkles, so that the
boat appeared to be floating between two glittering zones. They could
not be mistaken in the nature of the irradiation thrown from the glowing
nucleus, whose clear rays were shattered by all the angles, all the
projections of the cavern. This light proceeded from an electric source,
and its white color betrayed its origin. It was the sun of this cave,
and it filled it entirely.
At a sign from Cyrus Harding the oars again plunged into the water,
causing a regular shower of gems, and the boat was urged forward towards
the light, which was now not more than half a cable’s length distant.
At this place the breadth of the sheet of water measured nearly 350
feet, and beyond the dazzling center could be seen an enormous basaltic
wall, blocking up any issue on that side. The cavern widened here
considerably, the sea forming a little lake. But the roof, the side
walls, the end cliff, all the prisms, all the peaks, were flooded with
the electric fluid, so that the brilliancy belonged to them, and as if
the light issued from them.
In the center of the lake a long cigar-shaped object floated on the
surface of the water, silent, motionless. The brilliancy which issued
from it escaped from its sides as from two kilns heated to a white heat.
This apparatus, similar in shape to an enormous whale, was about 250
feet long, and rose about ten or twelve above the water.
The boat slowly approached it, Cyrus Harding stood up in the bows. He
gazed, a prey to violent excitement. Then, all at once, seizing the
reporter’s arm,--
“It is he! It can only be he!” he cried, “he!--”
Then, falling back on the seat, he murmured a name which Gideon Spilett
alone could hear.
The reporter evidently knew this name, for it had a wonderful effect
upon him, and he answered in a hoarse voice,--
“He! an outlawed man!”
“He!” said Harding.
At the engineer’s command the boat approached this singular floating
apparatus. The boat touched the left side, from which escaped a ray of
light through a thick glass.
Harding and his companions mounted on the platform. An open hatchway was
there. All darted down the opening.
At the bottom of the ladder was a deck, lighted by electricity. At the
end of this deck was a door, which Harding opened.
A richly-ornamented room, quickly traversed by the colonists, was joined
to a library, over which a luminous ceiling shed a flood of light.
At the end of the library a large door, also shut, was opened by the
engineer.
An immense saloon--a sort of museum, in which were heaped up, with
all the treasures of the mineral world, works of art, marvels of
industry--appeared before the eyes of the colonists, who almost thought
themselves suddenly transported into a land of enchantment.
Stretched on a rich sofa they saw a man, who did not appear to notice
their presence.
Then Harding raised his voice, and to the extreme surprise of his
companions, he uttered these words,--
“Captain Nemo, you asked for us! We are here.--”
Chapter 16
At these words the reclining figure rose, and the electric light fell
upon his countenance; a magnificent head, the forehead high, the glance
commanding, beard white, hair abundant and falling over the shoulders.
His hand rested upon the cushion of the divan from which he had just
risen. He appeared perfectly calm. It was evident that his strength had
been gradually undermined by illness, but his voice seemed yet powerful,
as he said in English, and in a tone which evinced extreme surprise,--
“Sir, I have no name.”
“Nevertheless, I know you!” replied Cyrus Harding.
Captain Nemo fixed his penetrating gaze upon the engineer, as though he
were about to annihilate him.
Then, falling back amid the pillows of the divan,--
“After all, what matters now?” he murmured; “I am dying!”
Cyrus Harding drew near the captain, and Gideon Spilett took his
hand--it was of a feverish heat. Ayrton, Pencroft, Herbert, and Neb
stood respectfully apart in an angle of the magnificent saloon, whose
atmosphere was saturated with the electric fluid.
Meanwhile Captain Nemo withdrew his hand, and motioned the engineer and
the reporter to be seated.
All regarded him with profound emotion. Before them they beheld that
being whom they had styled the “genius of the island,” the powerful
protector whose intervention, in so many circumstances, had been so
efficacious, the benefactor to whom they owed such a debt of gratitude!
Their eyes beheld a man only, and a man at the point of death, where
Pencroft and Neb had expected to find an almost supernatural being!
But how happened it that Cyrus Harding had recognized Captain Nemo? why
had the latter so suddenly risen on hearing this name uttered, a name
which he had believed known to none?--
The captain had resumed his position on the divan, and leaning on his
arm, he regarded the engineer, seated near him.
“You know the name I formerly bore, sir?” he asked.
“I do,” answered Cyrus Harding, “and also that of this wonderful
submarine vessel--”
“The ‘Nautilus’?” said the captain, with a faint smile.
“The ‘Nautilus.’”
“But do you--do you know who I am?”
“I do.”
“It is nevertheless many years since I have held any communication with
the inhabited world; three long years have I passed in the depth of
the sea, the only place where I have found liberty! Who then can have
betrayed my secret?”
“A man who was bound to you by no tie, Captain Nemo, and who,
consequently, cannot be accused of treachery.”
“The Frenchman who was cast on board my vessel by chance sixteen years
since?”
“The same.”
“He and his two companions did not then perish in the maelstrom, in the
midst of which the ‘Nautilus’ was struggling?”
“They escaped, and a book has appeared under the title of ‘Twenty
Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,’ which contains your history.”
“The history of a few months only of my life!” interrupted the captain
impetuously.
“It is true,” answered Cyrus Harding, “but a few months of that strange
life have sufficed to make you known.”
“As a great criminal, doubtless!” said Captain Nemo, a haughty smile
curling his lips. “Yes, a rebel, perhaps an outlaw against humanity!”
The engineer was silent.
“Well, sir?”
“It is not for me to judge you, Captain Nemo,” answered Cyrus Harding,
“at any rate as regards your past life. I am, with the rest of the
world, ignorant of the motives which induced you to adopt this strange
mode of existence, and I cannot judge of effects without knowing their
causes; but what I do know is, that a beneficent hand has constantly
protected us since our arrival on Lincoln Island, that we all owe our
lives to a good, generous, and powerful being, and that this being so
powerful, good and generous, Captain Nemo, is yourself!”
“It is I,” answered the captain simply.
The engineer and the reporter rose. Their companions had drawn near, and
the gratitude with which their hearts were charged was about to express
itself in their gestures and words.
Captain Nemo stopped them by a sign, and in a voice which betrayed more
emotion than he doubtless intended to show.
“Wait till you have heard all,” he said.
And the captain, in a few concise sentences, ran over the events of his
life.
His narrative was short, yet he was obliged to summon up his whole
remaining energy to arrive at the end. He was evidently contending
against extreme weakness. Several times Cyrus Harding entreated him to
repose for a while, but he shook his head as a man to whom the morrow
may never come, and when the reporter offered his assistance,--
“It is useless,” he said; “my hours are numbered.”
Captain Nemo was an Indian, the Prince Dakkar, son of a rajah of the
then independent territory of Bundelkund. His father sent him, when ten
years of age, to Europe, in order that he might receive an education
in all respects complete, and in the hopes that by his talents and
knowledge he might one day take a leading part in raising his long
degraded and heathen country to a level with the nations of Europe.
From the age of ten years to that of thirty Prince Dakkar, endowed by
Nature with her richest gifts of intellect, accumulated knowledge of
every kind, and in science, literature, and art his researches were
extensive and profound.
He traveled over the whole of Europe. His rank and fortune caused him to
be everywhere sought after; but the pleasures of the world had for him
no attractions. Though young and possessed of every personal advantage,
he was ever grave--somber even--devoured by an unquenchable thirst for
knowledge, and cherishing in the recesses of his heart the hope that
he might become a great and powerful ruler of a free and enlightened
people.
Still, for long the love of science triumphed over all other feelings.
He became an artist deeply impressed by the marvels of art, a
philosopher to whom no one of the higher sciences was unknown, a
statesman versed in the policy of European courts. To the eyes of those
who observed him superficially he might have passed for one of those
cosmopolitans, curious of knowledge, but disdaining action; one of those
opulent travelers, haughty and cynical, who move incessantly from place
to place, and are of no country.
The history of Captain Nemo has, in fact, been published under the title
of “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.” Here, therefore, will apply
the observation already made as to the adventures of Ayrton with regard
to the discrepancy of dates. Readers should therefore refer to the note
already published on this point.
This artist, this philosopher, this man was, however, still cherishing
the hope instilled into him from his earliest days.
Prince Dakkar returned to Bundelkund in the year 1849. He married a
noble Indian lady, who was imbued with an ambition not less ardent than
that by which he was inspired. Two children were born to them, whom they
tenderly loved. But domestic happiness did not prevent him from seeking
to carry out the object at which he aimed. He waited an opportunity. At
length, as he vainly fancied, it presented itself.
Instigated by princes equally ambitious and less sagacious and more
unscrupulous than he was, the people of India were persuaded that they
might successfully rise against their English rulers, who had brought
them out of a state of anarchy and constant warfare and misery, and had
established peace and prosperity in their country. Their ignorance and
gross superstition made them the facile tools of their designing chiefs.
In 1857 the great sepoy revolt broke out. Prince Dakkar, under the
belief that he should thereby have the opportunity of attaining the
object of his long-cherished ambition, was easily drawn into it. He
forthwith devoted his talents and wealth to the service of this cause.
He aided it in person; he fought in the front ranks; he risked his life
equally with the humblest of the wretched and misguided fanatics; he was
ten times wounded in twenty engagements, seeking death but finding it
not, but at length the sanguinary rebels were utterly defeated, and the
atrocious mutiny was brought to an end.
Never before had the British power in India been exposed to such danger,
and if, as they had hoped, the sepoys had received assistance from
without, the influence and supremacy in Asia of the United Kingdom would
have been a thing of the past.
The name of Prince Dakkar was at that time well known. He had fought
openly and without concealment. A price was set upon his head, but he
managed to escape from his pursuers.
Civilization never recedes; the law of necessity ever forces it onwards.
The sepoys were vanquished, and the land of the rajahs of old fell again
under the rule of England.
Prince Dakkar, unable to find that death he courted, returned to the
mountain fastnesses of Bundelkund. There, alone in the world, overcome
by disappointment at the destruction of all his vain hopes, a prey
to profound disgust for all human beings, filled with hatred of the
civilized world, he realized the wreck of his fortune, assembled some
score of his most faithful companions, and one day disappeared, leaving
no trace behind.
Where, then, did he seek that liberty denied him upon the inhabited
earth? Under the waves, in the depths of the ocean, where none could
follow.
The warrior became the man of science. Upon a deserted island of the
Pacific he established his dockyard, and there a submarine vessel was
constructed from his designs. By methods which will at some future
day be revealed he had rendered subservient the illimitable forces of
electricity, which, extracted from inexhaustible sources, was employed
for all the requirements of his floating equipage, as a moving,
lighting, and heating agent. The sea, with its countless treasures, its
myriads of fish, its numberless wrecks, its enormous mammalia, and not
only all that nature supplied, but also all that man had lost in its
depths, sufficed for every want of the prince and his crew--and thus was
his most ardent desire accomplished, never again to hold communication
with the earth. He named his submarine vessel the “Nautilus,” called
himself simply Captain Nemo, and disappeared beneath the seas.
During many years this strange being visited every ocean, from pole to
pole. Outcast of the inhabited earth in these unknown worlds he gathered
incalculable treasures. The millions lost in the Bay of Vigo, in 1702,
by the galleons of Spain, furnished him with a mine of inexhaustible
riches which he devoted always, anonymously, in favor of those nations
who fought for the independence of their country.
(This refers to the resurrection of the Candiotes, who were, in
fact, largely assisted by Captain Nemo.)
For long, however, he had held no communication with his
fellow-creatures, when, during the night of the 6th of November, 1866,
three men were cast on board his vessel. They were a French professor,
his servant, and a Canadian fisherman. These three men had been hurled
overboard by a collision which had taken place between the “Nautilus”
and the United States frigate “Abraham Lincoln,” which had chased her.
Captain Nemo learned from this professor that the “Nautilus,” taken now
for a gigantic mammal of the whale species, now for a submarine vessel
carrying a crew of pirates, was sought for in every sea.
He might have returned these three men to the ocean, from whence chance
had brought them in contact with his mysterious existence. Instead of
doing this he kept them prisoners, and during seven months they were
enabled to behold all the wonders of a voyage of twenty thousand leagues
under the sea.
One day, the 22nd of June, 1867, these three men, who knew nothing of
the past history of Captain Nemo, succeeded in escaping in one of the
“Nautilus’s” boats. But as at this time the “Nautilus” was drawn into
the vortex of the maelstrom, off the coast of Norway, the captain
naturally believed that the fugitives, engulfed in that frightful
whirlpool, found their death at the bottom of the abyss. He was unaware
that the Frenchman and his two companions had been miraculously cast
on shore, that the fishermen of the Lofoten Islands had rendered
them assistance, and that the professor, on his return to France, had
published that work in which seven months of the strange and eventful
navigation of the “Nautilus” were narrated and exposed to the curiosity
of the public.
For a long time after this, Captain Nemo continued to live thus,
traversing every sea. But one by one his companions died, and found
their last resting-place in their cemetery of coral, in the bed of the
Pacific. At last Captain Nemo remained the solitary survivor of all
those who had taken refuge with him in the depths of the ocean.
He was now sixty years of age. Although alone, he succeeded in
navigating the “Nautilus” towards one of those submarine caverns which
had sometimes served him as a harbor.
One of these ports was hollowed beneath Lincoln Island, and at this
moment furnished an asylum to the “Nautilus.”
The captain had now remained there six years, navigating the ocean no
longer, but awaiting death, and that moment when he should rejoin his
former companions, when by chance he observed the descent of the balloon
which carried the prisoners of the Confederates. Clad in his diving
dress he was walking beneath the water at a few cables’ length from the
shore of the island, when the engineer had been thrown into the sea.
Moved by a feeling of compassion the captain saved Cyrus Harding.
His first impulse was to fly from the vicinity of the five castaways;
but his harbor refuge was closed, for in consequence of an elevation of
the basalt, produced by the influence of volcanic action, he could
no longer pass through the entrance of the vault. Though there was
sufficient depth of water to allow a light craft to pass the bar,
there was not enough for the “Nautilus,” whose draught of water was
considerable.
Captain Nemo was compelled, therefore, to remain. He observed these men
thrown without resources upon a desert island, but had no wish to be
himself discovered by them. By degrees he became interested in their
efforts when he saw them honest, energetic, and bound to each other by
the ties of friendship. As if despite his wishes, he penetrated all the
secrets of their existence. By means of the diving dress he could easily
reach the well in the interior of Granite House, and climbing by the
projections of rock to its upper orifice he heard the colonists as they
recounted the past, and studied the present and future. He learned from
them the tremendous conflict of America with America itself, for the
abolition of slavery. Yes, these men were worthy to reconcile Captain
Nemo with that humanity which they represented so nobly in the island.
Captain Nemo had saved Cyrus Harding. It was he also who had brought
back the dog to the Chimneys, who rescued Top from the waters of the
lake, who caused to fall at Flotsam Point the case containing so many
things useful to the colonists, who conveyed the canoe back into the
stream of the Mercy, who cast the cord from the top of Granite House at
the time of the attack by the baboons, who made known the presence
of Ayrton upon Tabor Island, by means of the document enclosed in the
bottle, who caused the explosion of the brig by the shock of a torpedo
placed at the bottom of the canal, who saved Herbert from certain death
by bringing the sulphate of quinine; and finally, it was he who had
killed the convicts with the electric balls, of which he possessed the
secret, and which he employed in the chase of submarine creatures. Thus
were explained so many apparently supernatural occurrences, and which
all proved the generosity and power of the captain.
Nevertheless, this noble misanthrope longed to benefit his proteges
still further. There yet remained much useful advice to give them, and,
his heart being softened by the approach of death, he invited, as we are
aware, the colonists of Granite House to visit the “Nautilus,” by means
of a wire which connected it with the corral. Possibly he would not
have done this had he been aware that Cyrus Harding was sufficiently
acquainted with his history to address him by the name of Nemo.
The captain concluded the narrative of his life. Cyrus Harding then
spoke; he recalled all the incidents which had exercised so beneficent
an influence upon the colony, and in the names of his companions and
himself thanked the generous being to whom they owed so much.
But Captain Nemo paid little attention; his mind appeared to be absorbed
by one idea, and without taking the proffered hand of the engineer,--
“Now, sir,” said he, “now that you know my history, your judgment!”
In saying this, the captain evidently alluded to an important incident
witnessed by the three strangers thrown on board his vessel, and which
the French professor had related in his work, causing a profound and
terrible sensation. Some days previous to the flight of the professor
and his two companions, the “Nautilus,” being chased by a frigate in the
north of the Atlantic had hurled herself as a ram upon this frigate, and
sunk her without mercy.
Cyrus Harding understood the captain’s allusion, and was silent.
“It was an enemy’s frigate,” exclaimed Captain Nemo, transformed for
an instant into the Prince Dakkar, “an enemy’s frigate! It was she who
attacked me--I was in a narrow and shallow bay--the frigate barred my
way--and I sank her!”
A few moments of silence ensued; then the captain demanded,--
“What think you of my life, gentlemen?”
Cyrus Harding extended his hand to the ci-devant prince and replied
gravely, “Sir, your error was in supposing that the past can be
resuscitated, and in contending against inevitable progress. It is one
of those errors which some admire, others blame; which God alone can
judge. He who is mistaken in an action which he sincerely believes to be
right may be an enemy, but retains our esteem. Your error is one that
we may admire, and your name has nothing to fear from the judgment of
history, which does not condemn heroic folly, but its results.”
The old man’s breast swelled with emotion, and raising his hand to
heaven,--
“Was I wrong, or in the right?” he murmured.
Cyrus Harding replied, “All great actions return to God, from whom they
are derived. Captain Nemo, we, whom you have succored, shall ever mourn
your loss.”
Herbert, who had drawn near the captain, fell on his knees and kissed
his hand.
A tear glistened in the eyes of the dying man. “My child,” he said, “may
God bless you!”
Chapter 17
Day had returned. No ray of light penetrated into the profundity of the
cavern. It being high-water, the entrance was closed by the sea. But the
artificial light, which escaped in long streams from the skylights of
the “Nautilus” was as vivid as before, and the sheet of water shone
around the floating vessel.
An extreme exhaustion now overcame Captain Nemo, who had fallen back
upon the divan. It was useless to contemplate removing him to Granite
House, for he had expressed his wish to remain in the midst of those
marvels of the “Nautilus” which millions could not have purchased, and
to wait there for that death which was swiftly approaching.
During a long interval of prostration, which rendered him almost
unconscious, Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett attentively observed
the condition of the dying man. It was apparent that his strength was
gradually diminishing. That frame, once so robust, was now but the
fragile tenement of a departing soul. All of life was concentrated in
the heart and head.
The engineer and reporter consulted in whispers. Was it possible to
render any aid to the dying man? Might his life, if not saved, be
prolonged for some days? He himself had said that no remedy could
avail, and he awaited with tranquillity that death which had for him no
terrors.
“We can do nothing,” said Gideon Spilett.
“But of what is he dying?” asked Pencroft.
“Life is simply fading out,” replied the reporter.
“Nevertheless,” said the sailor, “if we move him into the open air, and
the light of the sun, he might perhaps recover.”
“No, Pencroft,” answered the engineer, “it is useless to attempt it.
Besides, Captain Nemo would never consent to leave his vessel. He
has lived for a dozen years on board the ‘Nautilus,’ and on board the
‘Nautilus’ he desires to die.”
Without doubt Captain Nemo heard Cyrus Harding’s reply, for he raised
himself slightly, and in a voice more feeble, but always intelligible,--
“You are right, sir,” he said. “I shall die here--it is my wish; and
therefore I have a request to make of you.”
Cyrus Harding and his companions had drawn near the divan, and now
arranged the cushions in such a manner as to better support the dying
man.
They saw his eyes wander over all the marvels of this saloon, lighted
by the electric rays which fell from the arabesques of the luminous
ceiling. He surveyed, one after the other, the pictures hanging from
the splendid tapestries of the partitions, the chef-d’oeuvres of the
Italian, Flemish, French, and Spanish masters; the statues of marble and
bronze on their pedestals; the magnificent organ, leaning against the
after-partition; the aquarium, in which bloomed the most wonderful
productions of the sea--marine plants, zoophytes, chaplets of pearls
of inestimable value; and, finally, his eyes rested on this device,
inscribed over the pediment of the museum--the motto of the “Nautilus”--
“Mobilis in mobile.”
His glance seemed to rest fondly for the last time on these masterpieces
of art and of nature, to which he had limited his horizon during a
sojourn of so many years in the abysses of the seas.
Cyrus Harding respected the captain’s silence, and waited till he should
speak.
After some minutes, during which, doubtless, he passed in review his
whole life, Captain Nemo turned to the colonists and said,
“You consider yourselves, gentlemen, under some obligations to me?”
“Captain, believe us that we would give our lives to prolong yours.”
“Promise, then,” continued Captain Nemo, “to carry out my last wishes,
and I shall be repaid for all I have done for you.”
“We promise,” said Cyrus Harding.
And by this promise he bound both himself and his companions.
“Gentlemen,” resumed the captain, “to-morrow I shall be dead.”
Herbert was about to utter an exclamation, but a sign from the captain
arrested him.
“To-morrow I shall die, and I desire no other tomb than the ‘Nautilus.’
It is my grave! All my friends repose in the depths of the ocean; their
resting-place shall be mine.”
These words were received with profound silence.
“Pay attention to my wishes,” he continued. “The ‘Nautilus’ is
imprisoned in this grotto, the entrance of which is blocked up; but,
although egress is impossible, the vessel may at least sink in the
abyss, and there bury my remains.”
The colonists listened reverently to the words of the dying man.
“To-morrow, after my death, Mr. Harding,” continued the captain,
“yourself and companions will leave the ‘Nautilus,’ for all the
treasures it contains must perish with me. One token alone will remain
with you of Prince Dakkar, with whose history you are now acquainted.
That coffer yonder contains diamonds of the value of many millions,
most of them mementoes of the time when, husband and father, I thought
happiness possible for me, and a collection of pearls gathered by my
friends and myself in the depths of the ocean. Of this treasure at a
future day, you may make good use. In the hands of such men as yourself
and your comrades, Captain Harding, money will never be a source of
danger. From on high I shall still participate in your enterprises, and
I fear not but that they will prosper.”
After a few moments’ repose, necessitated by his extreme weakness,
Captain Nemo continued,--
“To-morrow you will take the coffer, you will leave the saloon, of which
you will close the door; then you will ascend on to the deck of the
‘Nautilus,’ and you will lower the mainhatch so as entirely to close the
vessel.”
“It shall be done, captain,” answered Cyrus Harding.
“Good. You will then embark in the canoe which brought you hither; but,
before leaving the ‘Nautilus,’ go to the stern and there open two large
stop-cocks which you will find upon the water-line. The water will
penetrate into the reservoirs, and the ‘Nautilus’ will gradually sink
beneath the water to repose at the bottom of the abyss.”
And comprehending a gesture of Cyrus Harding, the captain added,--
“Fear nothing! You will but bury a corpse!”
Neither Cyrus Harding nor his companions ventured to offer any
observation to Captain Nemo. He had expressed his last wishes, and they
had nothing to do but to conform to them.
“I have your promise, gentlemen?” added Captain Nemo.
“You have, captain,” replied the engineer.
The captain thanked the colonists by a sign, and requested them to leave
him for some hours. Gideon Spilett wished to remain near him, in the
event of a crisis coming on, but the dying man refused, saying, “I shall
live until to-morrow, sir.”
All left the saloon, passed through the library and the dining-room, and
arrived forward, in the machine-room where the electrical apparatus was
established, which supplied not only heat and light, but the mechanical
power of the “Nautilus.”
The “Nautilus” was a masterpiece containing masterpieces within itself,
and the engineer was struck with astonishment.
The colonists mounted the platform, which rose seven or eight feet above
the water. There they beheld a thick glass lenticular covering, which
protected a kind of large eye, from which flashed forth light. Behind
this eye was apparently a cabin containing the wheels of the rudder, and
in which was stationed the helmsman, when he navigated the “Nautilus”
over the bed of the ocean, which the electric rays would evidently light
up to a considerable distance.
Cyrus Harding and his companions remained for a time silent, for they
were vividly impressed by what they had just seen and heard, and their
hearts were deeply touched by the thought that he whose arm had so often
aided them, the protector whom they had known but a few hours, was at
the point of death.
Whatever might be the judgment pronounced by posterity upon the events
of this, so to speak, extra-human existence, the character of Prince
Dakkar would ever remain as one of those whose memory time can never
efface.
“What a man!” said Pencroft. “Is it possible that he can have lived at
the bottom of the sea? And it seems to me that perhaps he has not found
peace there any more than elsewhere!”
“The ‘Nautilus,’” observed Ayrton, “might have enabled us to leave
Lincoln Island and reach some inhabited country.”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Pencroft, “I for one would never risk myself
in such a craft. To sail on the seas, good, but under the seas, never!”
“I believe, Pencroft,” answered the reporter, “that the navigation of a
submarine vessel such as the ‘Nautilus’ ought to be very easy, and that
we should soon become accustomed to it. There would be no storms, no
lee-shore to fear. At some feet beneath the surface the waters of the
ocean are as calm as those of a lake.”
“That may be,” replied the sailor, “but I prefer a gale of wind on
board a well-found craft. A vessel is built to sail on the sea, and not
beneath it.”
“My friends,” said the engineer, “it is useless, at any rate as regards
the ‘Nautilus,’ to discuss the question of submarine vessels. The
‘Nautilus’ is not ours, and we have not the right to dispose of it.
Moreover, we could in no case avail ourselves of it. Independently of
the fact that it would be impossible to get it out of this cavern, whose
entrance is now closed by the uprising of the basaltic rocks, Captain
Nemo’s wish is that it shall be buried with him. His wish is our law,
and we will fulfil it.”
After a somewhat prolonged conversation, Cyrus Harding and his
companions again descended to the interior of the “Nautilus.” There they
took some refreshment and returned to the saloon.
Captain Nemo had somewhat rallied from the prostration which had
overcome him, and his eyes shone with their wonted fire. A faint smile
even curled his lips.
The colonists drew around him.
“Gentlemen,” said the captain, “you are brave and honest men. You
have devoted yourselves to the common weal. Often have I observed
your conduct. I have esteemed you--I esteem you still! Your hand, Mr.
Harding.”
Cyrus Harding gave his hand to the captain, who clasped it
affectionately.
“It is well!” he murmured.
He resumed,--
“But enough of myself. I have to speak concerning yourselves, and this
Lincoln Island, upon which you have taken refuge. You now desire to
leave it?”
“To return, captain!” answered Pencroft quickly.
“To return, Pencroft?” said the captain, with a smile. “I know, it is
true, your love for this island. You have helped to make it what it now
is, and it seems to you a paradise!”
“Our project, captain,” interposed Cyrus Harding, “is to annex it to the
United States, and to establish for our shipping a port so fortunately
situated in this part of the Pacific.”
“Your thoughts are with your country, gentlemen,” continued the captain;
“your toils are for her prosperity and glory. You are right. One’s
native land!--there should one live! there die! And I die far from all I
loved!”
“You have some last wish to transmit,” said the engineer with emotion,
“some souvenir to send to those friends you have left in the mountains
of India?”
“No, Captain Harding; no friends remain to me! I am the last of my race,
and to all whom I have known I have long been as are the dead.--But
to return to yourselves. Solitude, isolation, are painful things, and
beyond human endurance. I die of having thought it possible to live
alone! You should, therefore, dare all in the attempt to leave Lincoln
Island, and see once more the land of your birth. I am aware that those
wretches have destroyed the vessel you have built.”
“We propose to construct a vessel,” said Gideon Spilett, “sufficiently
large to convey us to the nearest land; but if we should succeed, sooner
or later we shall return to Lincoln Island. We are attached to it by too
many recollections ever to forget it.”
“It is here that we have known Captain Nemo,” said Cyrus Harding.
“It is here only that we can make our home!” added Herbert.
“And here shall I sleep the sleep of eternity, if--” replied the
captain.
He paused for a moment, and, instead of completing the sentence, said
simply,--
“Mr. Harding, I wish to speak with you--alone!”
The engineer’s companions, respecting the wish, retired.
Cyrus Harding remained but a few minutes alone with Captain Nemo, and
soon recalled his companions; but he said nothing to them of the private
matters which the dying man had confided to him.
Gideon Spilett now watched the captain with extreme care. It was evident
that he was no longer sustained by his moral energy, which had lost the
power of reaction against his physical weakness.
The day closed without change. The colonists did not quit the “Nautilus”
for a moment. Night arrived, although it was impossible to distinguish
it from day in the cavern.
Captain Nemo suffered no pain, but he was visibly sinking. His noble
features, paled by the approach of death, were perfectly calm. Inaudible
words escaped at intervals from his lips, bearing upon various incidents
of his checkered career. Life was evidently ebbing slowly and his
extremities were already cold.
Once or twice more he spoke to the colonists who stood around him, and
smiled on them with that last smile which continues after death.
At length, shortly after midnight, Captain Nemo by a supreme effort
succeeded in folding his arms across his breast, as if wishing in that
attitude to compose himself for death.
By one o’clock his glance alone showed signs of life. A dying light
gleamed in those eyes once so brilliant. Then, murmuring the words, “God
and my country!” he quietly expired.
Cyrus Harding, bending low closed the eyes of him who had once been the
Prince Dakkar, and was now not even Captain Nemo.
Herbert and Pencroft sobbed aloud. Tears fell from Ayrton’s eyes. Neb
was on his knees by the reporter’s side, motionless as a statue.
Then Cyrus Harding, extending his hand over the forehead of the dead,
said solemnly, “May his soul be with God!” Turning to his friends, he
added, “Let us pray for him whom we have lost!”
Some hours later the colonists fulfilled the promise made to the captain
by carrying out his dying wishes.
Cyrus Harding and his companions quitted the “Nautilus,” taking with
them the only memento left them by their benefactor, the coffer which
contained wealth amounting to millions.
The marvelous saloon, still flooded with light, had been carefully
closed. The iron door leading on deck was then securely fastened in
such a manner as to prevent even a drop of water from penetrating to the
interior of the “Nautilus.”
The colonists then descended into the canoe, which was moored to the
side of the submarine vessel.
The canoe was now brought around to the stern. There, at the water-line,
were two large stop-cocks communicating with the reservoirs employed in
the submersion of the vessel.
The stop-cocks were opened, the reservoirs filled, and the “Nautilus,”
slowly sinking, disappeared beneath the surface of the lake.
But the colonists were yet able to follow its descent through the waves.
The powerful light it gave forth lighted up the translucent water, while
the cavern became gradually obscure. At length this vast effusion of
electric light faded away, and soon after the “Nautilus,” now the tomb
of Captain Nemo, reposed in its ocean bed.
Chapter 18
At break of day the colonists regained in silence the entrance of the
cavern, to which they gave the name of “Dakkar Grotto,” in memory of
Captain Nemo. It was now low-water, and they passed without difficulty
under the arcade, washed on the right by the sea.
The canoe was left here, carefully protected from the waves. As
additional precaution, Pencroft, Neb, and Ayrton drew it up on a little
beach which bordered one of the sides of the grotto, in a spot where it
could run no risk of harm.
The storm had ceased during the night. The last low mutterings of the
thunder died away in the west. Rain fell no longer, but the sky was yet
obscured by clouds. On the whole, this month of October, the first of
the southern spring, was not ushered in by satisfactory tokens, and the
wind had a tendency to shift from one point of the compass to another,
which rendered it impossible to count upon settled weather.
Cyrus Harding and his companions, on leaving Dakkar Grotto, had taken
the road to the corral. On their way Neb and Herbert were careful to
preserve the wire which had been laid down by the captain between the
corral and the grotto, and which might at a future time be of service.
The colonists spoke but little on the road. The various incidents of the
night of October 15th had left a profound impression on their minds. The
unknown being whose influence had so effectually protected them, the
man whom their imagination had endowed with supernatural powers, Captain
Nemo, was no more. His “Nautilus” and he were buried in the depths of
the abyss. To each one of them their existence seemed even more isolated
than before. They had been accustomed to count upon the intervention of
that power which existed no longer, and Gideon Spilett, and even Cyrus
Harding, could not escape this impression. Thus they maintained a
profound silence during their journey to the corral.
Towards nine in the morning the colonists arrived at Granite House.
It had been agreed that the construction of the vessel should be
actively pushed forward, and Cyrus Harding more than ever devoted his
time and labor to this object. It was impossible to divine what future
lay before them. Evidently the advantage to the colonists would be great
of having at their disposal a substantial vessel, capable of keeping the
sea even in heavy weather, and large enough to attempt, in case of
need, a voyage of some duration. Even if, when their vessel should be
completed, the colonists should not resolve to leave Lincoln Island as
yet, in order to gain either one of the Polynesian Archipelagoes of the
Pacific or the shores of New Zealand, they might at least, sooner or
later, proceed to Tabor Island, to leave there the notice relating to
Ayrton. This was a precaution rendered indispensable by the possibility
of the Scotch yacht reappearing in those seas, and it was of the highest
importance that nothing should be neglected on this point.
The works were then resumed. Cyrus Harding, Pencroft, and Ayrton,
assisted by Neb, Gideon Spilett, and Herbert, except when unavoidably
called off by other necessary occupations, worked without cessation. It
was important that the new vessel should be ready in five months--that
is to say, by the beginning of March--if they wished to visit Tabor
Island before the equinoctial gales rendered the voyage impracticable.
Therefore the carpenters lost not a moment. Moreover, it was unnecessary
to manufacture rigging, that of the “Speedy” having been saved entire,
so that the hull only of the vessel needed to be constructed.
The end of the year 1868 found them occupied by these important labors,
to the exclusion of almost all others. At the expiration of two months
and a half the ribs had been set up and the first planks adjusted. It
was already evident that the plans made by Cyrus Harding were admirable,
and that the vessel would behave well at sea.
Pencroft brought to the task a devouring energy, and would even grumble
when one or the other abandoned the carpenter’s axe for the gun of the
hunter. It was nevertheless necessary to keep up the stores of Granite
House, in view of the approaching winter. But this did not satisfy
Pencroft. The brave, honest sailor was not content when the workmen were
not at the dockyard. When this happened he grumbled vigorously, and, by
way of venting his feelings, did the work of six men.
The weather was very unfavorable during the whole of the summer season.
For some days the heat was overpowering, and the atmosphere, saturated
with electricity, was only cleared by violent storms. It was rarely that
the distant growling of the thunder could not be heard, like a low but
incessant murmur, such as is produced in the equatorial regions of the
globe.
The 1st of January, 1869, was signalized by a storm of extreme violence,
and the thunder burst several times over the island. Large trees were
struck by the electric fluid and shattered, and among others one of
those gigantic nettle-trees which had shaded the poultry-yard at the
southern extremity of the lake. Had this meteor any relation to the
phenomena going on in the bowels of the earth? Was there any connection
between the commotion of the atmosphere and that of the interior of the
earth? Cyrus Harding was inclined to think that such was the case, for
the development of these storms was attended by the renewal of volcanic
symptoms.
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