He rattled in his throat, he was stifled, he cried, "Help! help!"
These words, spoken in French, startled me! I had a fellow-countryman
on board, perhaps several! That heart-rending cry! I shall hear it
all my life. The unfortunate man was lost. Who could rescue him from
that powerful pressure? However, Captain Nemo had rushed to the poulp,
and with one blow of the axe had cut through one arm. His lieutenant
struggled furiously against other monsters that crept on the flanks of
the Nautilus. The crew fought with their axes. The Canadian, Conseil,
and I buried our weapons in the fleshy masses; a strong smell of musk
penetrated the atmosphere. It was horrible!
For one instant, I thought the unhappy man, entangled with the poulp,
would be torn from its powerful suction. Seven of the eight arms had
been cut off. One only wriggled in the air, brandishing the victim
like a feather. But just as Captain Nemo and his lieutenant threw
themselves on it, the animal ejected a stream of black liquid. We were
blinded with it. When the cloud dispersed, the cuttlefish had
disappeared, and my unfortunate countryman with it. Ten or twelve
poulps now invaded the platform and sides of the Nautilus. We rolled
pell-mell into the midst of this nest of serpents, that wriggled on the
platform in the waves of blood and ink. It seemed as though these
slimy tentacles sprang up like the hydra's heads. Ned Land's harpoon,
at each stroke, was plunged into the staring eyes of the cuttle fish.
But my bold companion was suddenly overturned by the tentacles of a
monster he had not been able to avoid.
Ah! how my heart beat with emotion and horror! The formidable beak of
a cuttlefish was open over Ned Land. The unhappy man would be cut in
two. I rushed to his succour. But Captain Nemo was before me; his axe
disappeared between the two enormous jaws, and, miraculously saved, the
Canadian, rising, plunged his harpoon deep into the triple heart of the
poulp.
"I owed myself this revenge!" said the Captain to the Canadian.
Ned bowed without replying. The combat had lasted a quarter of an
hour. The monsters, vanquished and mutilated, left us at last, and
disappeared under the waves. Captain Nemo, covered with blood, nearly
exhausted, gazed upon the sea that had swallowed up one of his
companions, and great tears gathered in his eyes.
CHAPTER XIX
THE GULF STREAM
This terrible scene of the 20th of April none of us can ever forget. I
have written it under the influence of violent emotion. Since then I
have revised the recital; I have read it to Conseil and to the
Canadian. They found it exact as to facts, but insufficient as to
effect. To paint such pictures, one must have the pen of the most
illustrious of our poets, the author of The Toilers of the Deep.
I have said that Captain Nemo wept while watching the waves; his grief
was great. It was the second companion he had lost since our arrival
on board, and what a death! That friend, crushed, stifled, bruised by
the dreadful arms of a poulp, pounded by his iron jaws, would not rest
with his comrades in the peaceful coral cemetery! In the midst of the
struggle, it was the despairing cry uttered by the unfortunate man that
had torn my heart. The poor Frenchman, forgetting his conventional
language, had taken to his own mother tongue, to utter a last appeal!
Amongst the crew of the Nautilus, associated with the body and soul of
the Captain, recoiling like him from all contact with men, I had a
fellow-countryman. Did he alone represent France in this mysterious
association, evidently composed of individuals of divers nationalities?
It was one of these insoluble problems that rose up unceasingly before
my mind!
Captain Nemo entered his room, and I saw him no more for some time.
But that he was sad and irresolute I could see by the vessel, of which
he was the soul, and which received all his impressions. The Nautilus
did not keep on in its settled course; it floated about like a corpse
at the will of the waves. It went at random. He could not tear
himself away from the scene of the last struggle, from this sea that
had devoured one of his men. Ten days passed thus. It was not till
the 1st of May that the Nautilus resumed its northerly course, after
having sighted the Bahamas at the mouth of the Bahama Canal. We were
then following the current from the largest river to the sea, that has
its banks, its fish, and its proper temperatures. I mean the Gulf
Stream. It is really a river, that flows freely to the middle of the
Atlantic, and whose waters do not mix with the ocean waters. It is a
salt river, salter than the surrounding sea. Its mean depth is 1,500
fathoms, its mean breadth ten miles. In certain places the current
flows with the speed of two miles and a half an hour. The body of its
waters is more considerable than that of all the rivers in the globe.
It was on this ocean river that the Nautilus then sailed.
I must add that, during the night, the phosphorescent waters of the
Gulf Stream rivalled the electric power of our watch-light, especially
in the stormy weather that threatened us so frequently. May 8th, we
were still crossing Cape Hatteras, at the height of the North Caroline.
The width of the Gulf Stream there is seventy-five miles, and its depth
210 yards. The Nautilus still went at random; all supervision seemed
abandoned. I thought that, under these circumstances, escape would be
possible. Indeed, the inhabited shores offered anywhere an easy
refuge. The sea was incessantly ploughed by the steamers that ply
between New York or Boston and the Gulf of Mexico, and overrun day and
night by the little schooners coasting about the several parts of the
American coast. We could hope to be picked up. It was a favourable
opportunity, notwithstanding the thirty miles that separated the
Nautilus from the coasts of the Union. One unfortunate circumstance
thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was very bad. We were
nearing those shores where tempests are so frequent, that country of
waterspouts and cyclones actually engendered by the current of the Gulf
Stream. To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned
Land owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight
only could cure.
"Master," he said that day to me, "this must come to an end. I must
make a clean breast of it. This Nemo is leaving land and going up to
the north. But I declare to you that I have had enough of the South
Pole, and I will not follow him to the North."
"What is to be done, Ned, since flight is impracticable just now?"
"We must speak to the Captain," said he; "you said nothing when we were
in your native seas. I will speak, now we are in mine. When I think
that before long the Nautilus will be by Nova Scotia, and that there
near New foundland is a large bay, and into that bay the St. Lawrence
empties itself, and that the St. Lawrence is my river, the river by
Quebec, my native town--when I think of this, I feel furious, it makes
my hair stand on end. Sir, I would rather throw myself into the sea!
I will not stay here! I am stifled!"
The Canadian was evidently losing all patience. His vigorous nature
could not stand this prolonged imprisonment. His face altered daily;
his temper became more surly. I knew what he must suffer, for I was
seized with home-sickness myself. Nearly seven months had passed
without our having had any news from land; Captain Nemo's isolation,
his altered spirits, especially since the fight with the poulps, his
taciturnity, all made me view things in a different light.
"Well, sir?" said Ned, seeing I did not reply.
"Well, Ned, do you wish me to ask Captain Nemo his intentions
concerning us?"
"Yes, sir."
"Although he has already made them known?"
"Yes; I wish it settled finally. Speak for me, in my name only, if you
like."
"But I so seldom meet him. He avoids me."
"That is all the more reason for you to go to see him."
I went to my room. From thence I meant to go to Captain Nemo's. It
would not do to let this opportunity of meeting him slip. I knocked at
the door. No answer. I knocked again, then turned the handle. The
door opened, I went in. The Captain was there. Bending over his
work-table, he had not heard me. Resolved not to go without having
spoken, I approached him. He raised his head quickly, frowned, and
said roughly, "You here! What do you want?"
"To speak to you, Captain."
"But I am busy, sir; I am working. I leave you at liberty to shut
yourself up; cannot I be allowed the same?"
This reception was not encouraging; but I was determined to hear and
answer everything.
"Sir," I said coldly, "I have to speak to you on a matter that admits
of no delay."
"What is that, sir?" he replied, ironically. "Have you discovered
something that has escaped me, or has the sea delivered up any new
secrets?"
We were at cross-purposes. But, before I could reply, he showed me an
open manuscript on his table, and said, in a more serious tone, "Here,
M. Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains
the sum of my studies of the sea; and, if it please God, it shall not
perish with me. This manuscript, signed with my name, complete with
the history of my life, will be shut up in a little floating case. The
last survivor of all of us on board the Nautilus will throw this case
into the sea, and it will go whither it is borne by the waves."
This man's name! his history written by himself! His mystery would
then be revealed some day.
"Captain," I said, "I can but approve of the idea that makes you act
thus. The result of your studies must not be lost. But the means you
employ seem to me to be primitive. Who knows where the winds will
carry this case, and in whose hands it will fall? Could you not use
some other means? Could not you, or one of yours----"
"Never, sir!" he said, hastily interrupting me.
"But I and my companions are ready to keep this manuscript in store;
and, if you will put us at liberty----"
"At liberty?" said the Captain, rising.
"Yes, sir; that is the subject on which I wish to question you. For
seven months we have been here on board, and I ask you to-day, in the
name of my companions and in my own, if your intention is to keep us
here always?"
"M. Aronnax, I will answer you to-day as I did seven months ago:
Whoever enters the Nautilus, must never quit it."
"You impose actual slavery upon us!"
"Give it what name you please."
"But everywhere the slave has the right to regain his liberty."
"Who denies you this right? Have I ever tried to chain you with an
oath?"
He looked at me with his arms crossed.
"Sir," I said, "to return a second time to this subject will be neither
to your nor to my taste; but, as we have entered upon it, let us go
through with it. I repeat, it is not only myself whom it concerns.
Study is to me a relief, a diversion, a passion that could make me
forget everything. Like you, I am willing to live obscure, in the
frail hope of bequeathing one day, to future time, the result of my
labours. But it is otherwise with Ned Land. Every man, worthy of the
name, deserves some consideration. Have you thought that love of
liberty, hatred of slavery, can give rise to schemes of revenge in a
nature like the Canadian's; that he could think, attempt, and try----"
I was silenced; Captain Nemo rose.
"Whatever Ned Land thinks of, attempts, or tries, what does it matter
to me? I did not seek him! It is not for my pleasure that I keep him
on board! As for you, M. Aronnax, you are one of those who can
understand everything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to
you. Let this first time you have come to treat of this subject be the
last, for a second time I will not listen to you."
I retired. Our situation was critical. I related my conversation to
my two companions.
"We know now," said Ned, "that we can expect nothing from this man.
The Nautilus is nearing Long Island. We will escape, whatever the
weather may be."
But the sky became more and more threatening. Symptoms of a hurricane
became manifest. The atmosphere was becoming white and misty. On the
horizon fine streaks of cirrhous clouds were succeeded by masses of
cumuli. Other low clouds passed swiftly by. The swollen sea rose in
huge billows. The birds disappeared with the exception of the petrels,
those friends of the storm. The barometer fell sensibly, and indicated
an extreme extension of the vapours. The mixture of the storm glass
was decomposed under the influence of the electricity that pervaded the
atmosphere. The tempest burst on the 18th of May, just as the Nautilus
was floating off Long Island, some miles from the port of New York. I
can describe this strife of the elements! for, instead of fleeing to
the depths of the sea, Captain Nemo, by an unaccountable caprice, would
brave it at the surface. The wind blew from the south-west at first.
Captain Nemo, during the squalls, had taken his place on the platform.
He had made himself fast, to prevent being washed overboard by the
monstrous waves. I had hoisted myself up, and made myself fast also,
dividing my admiration between the tempest and this extraordinary man
who was coping with it. The raging sea was swept by huge cloud-drifts,
which were actually saturated with the waves. The Nautilus, sometimes
lying on its side, sometimes standing up like a mast, rolled and
pitched terribly. About five o'clock a torrent of rain fell, that
lulled neither sea nor wind. The hurri cane blew nearly forty leagues
an hour. It is under these conditions that it overturns houses, breaks
iron gates, displaces twenty-four pounders. However, the Nautilus, in
the midst of the tempest, confirmed the words of a clever engineer,
"There is no well-constructed hull that cannot defy the sea." This was
not a resisting rock; it was a steel spindle, obedient and movable,
without rigging or masts, that braved its fury with impunity. However,
I watched these raging waves attentively. They measured fifteen feet
in height, and 150 to 175 yards long, and their speed of propagation
was thirty feet per second. Their bulk and power increased with the
depth of the water. Such waves as these, at the Hebrides, have
displaced a mass weighing 8,400 lb. They are they which, in the
tempest of December 23rd, 1864, after destroying the town of Yeddo, in
Japan, broke the same day on the shores of America. The intensity of
the tempest increased with the night. The barometer, as in 1860 at
Reunion during a cyclone, fell seven-tenths at the close of day. I saw
a large vessel pass the horizon struggling painfully. She was trying
to lie to under half steam, to keep up above the waves. It was
probably one of the steamers of the line from New York to Liverpool, or
Havre. It soon disappeared in the gloom. At ten o'clock in the
evening the sky was on fire. The atmosphere was streaked with vivid
lightning. I could not bear the brightness of it; while the captain,
looking at it, seemed to envy the spirit of the tempest. A terrible
noise filled the air, a complex noise, made up of the howls of the
crushed waves, the roaring of the wind, and the claps of thunder. The
wind veered suddenly to all points of the horizon; and the cyclone,
rising in the east, returned after passing by the north, west, and
south, in the inverse course pursued by the circular storm of the
southern hemisphere. Ah, that Gulf Stream! It deserves its name of
the King of Tempests. It is that which causes those formidable
cyclones, by the difference of temperature between its air and its
currents. A shower of fire had succeeded the rain. The drops of water
were changed to sharp spikes. One would have thought that Captain Nemo
was courting a death worthy of himself, a death by lightning. As the
Nautilus, pitching dreadfully, raised its steel spur in the air, it
seemed to act as a conductor, and I saw long sparks burst from it.
Crushed and without strength I crawled to the panel, opened it, and
descended to the saloon. The storm was then at its height. It was
impossible to stand upright in the interior of the Nautilus. Captain
Nemo came down about twelve. I heard the reservoirs filling by
degrees, and the Nautilus sank slowly beneath the waves. Through the
open windows in the saloon I saw large fish terrified, passing like
phantoms in the water. Some were struck before my eyes. The Nautilus
was still descending. I thought that at about eight fathoms deep we
should find a calm. But no! the upper beds were too violently agitated
for that. We had to seek repose at more than twenty-five fathoms in
the bowels of the deep. But there, what quiet, what silence, what
peace! Who could have told that such a hurricane had been let loose on
the surface of that ocean?
CHAPTER XX
FROM LATITUDE 47° 24' TO LONGITUDE 17° 28'
In consequence of the storm, we had been thrown eastward once more.
All hope of escape on the shores of New York or St. Lawrence had faded
away; and poor Ned, in despair, had isolated himself like Captain Nemo.
Conseil and I, however, never left each other. I said that the
Nautilus had gone aside to the east. I should have said (to be more
exact) the north-east. For some days, it wandered first on the surface,
and then beneath it, amid those fogs so dreaded by sailors. What
accidents are due to these thick fogs! What shocks upon these reefs
when the wind drowns the breaking of the waves! What collisions
between vessels, in spite of their warning lights, whistles, and alarm
bells! And the bottoms of these seas look like a field of battle,
where still lie all the conquered of the ocean; some old and already
encrusted, others fresh and reflecting from their iron bands and copper
plates the brilliancy of our lantern.
On the 15th of May we were at the extreme south of the Bank of
Newfoundland. This bank consists of alluvia, or large heaps of organic
matter, brought either from the Equator by the Gulf Stream, or from the
North Pole by the counter-current of cold water which skirts the
American coast. There also are heaped up those erratic blocks which
are carried along by the broken ice; and close by, a vast charnel-house
of molluscs, which perish here by millions. The depth of the sea is
not great at Newfoundland--not more than some hundreds of fathoms; but
towards the south is a depression of 1,500 fathoms. There the Gulf
Stream widens. It loses some of its speed and some of its temperature,
but it becomes a sea.
It was on the 17th of May, about 500 miles from Heart's Content, at a
depth of more than 1,400 fathoms, that I saw the electric cable lying
on the bottom. Conseil, to whom I had not mentioned it, thought at
first that it was a gigantic sea-serpent. But I undeceived the worthy
fellow, and by way of consolation related several particulars in the
laying of this cable. The first one was laid in the years 1857 and
1858; but, after transmitting about 400 telegrams, would not act any
longer. In 1863 the engineers constructed an other one, measuring
2,000 miles in length, and weighing 4,500 tons, which was embarked on
the Great Eastern. This attempt also failed.
On the 25th of May the Nautilus, being at a depth of more than 1,918
fathoms, was on the precise spot where the rupture occurred which
ruined the enterprise. It was within 638 miles of the coast of
Ireland; and at half-past two in the afternoon they discovered that
communication with Europe had ceased. The electricians on board
resolved to cut the cable before fishing it up, and at eleven o'clock
at night they had recovered the damaged part. They made another point
and spliced it, and it was once more submerged. But some days after it
broke again, and in the depths of the ocean could not be recaptured.
The Americans, however, were not discouraged. Cyrus Field, the bold
promoter of the enterprise, as he had sunk all his own fortune, set a
new subscription on foot, which was at once answered, and another cable
was constructed on better principles. The bundles of conducting wires
were each enveloped in gutta-percha, and protected by a wadding of
hemp, contained in a metallic covering. The Great Eastern sailed on
the 13th of July, 1866. The operation worked well. But one incident
occurred. Several times in unrolling the cable they observed that
nails had recently been forced into it, evidently with the motive of
destroying it. Captain Anderson, the officers, and engineers consulted
together, and had it posted up that, if the offender was surprised on
board, he would be thrown without further trial into the sea. From
that time the criminal attempt was never repeated.
On the 23rd of July the Great Eastern was not more than 500 miles from
Newfoundland, when they telegraphed from Ireland the news of the
armistice concluded between Prussia and Austria after Sadowa. On the
27th, in the midst of heavy fogs, they reached the port of Heart's
Content. The enterprise was successfully terminated; and for its first
despatch, young America addressed old Europe in these words of wisdom,
so rarely understood: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth
peace, goodwill towards men."
I did not expect to find the electric cable in its primitive state,
such as it was on leaving the manufactory. The long serpent, covered
with the remains of shells, bristling with foraminiferae, was encrusted
with a strong coating which served as a protection against all boring
molluscs. It lay quietly sheltered from the motions of the sea, and
under a favourable pressure for the transmission of the electric spark
which passes from Europe to America in .32 of a second. Doubtless this
cable will last for a great length of time, for they find that the
gutta-percha covering is improved by the sea-water. Besides, on this
level, so well chosen, the cable is never so deeply submerged as to
cause it to break. The Nautilus followed it to the lowest depth, which
was more than 2,212 fathoms, and there it lay without any anchorage;
and then we reached the spot where the accident had taken place in
1863. The bottom of the ocean then formed a valley about 100 miles
broad, in which Mont Blanc might have been placed without its summit
appearing above the waves. This valley is closed at the east by a
perpendicular wall more than 2,000 yards high. We arrived there on the
28th of May, and the Nautilus was then not more than 120 miles from
Ireland.
Was Captain Nemo going to land on the British Isles? No. To my great
surprise he made for the south, once more coming back towards European
seas. In rounding the Emerald Isle, for one instant I caught sight of
Cape Clear, and the light which guides the thousands of vessels leaving
Glasgow or Liverpool. An important question then arose in my mind.
Did the Nautilus dare entangle itself in the Manche? Ned Land, who had
re-appeared since we had been nearing land, did not cease to question
me. How could I answer? Captain Nemo remained invisible. After
having shown the Canadian a glimpse of American shores, was he going to
show me the coast of France?
But the Nautilus was still going southward. On the 30th of May, it
passed in sight of Land's End, between the extreme point of England and
the Scilly Isles, which were left to starboard. If we wished to enter
the Manche, he must go straight to the east. He did not do so.
During the whole of the 31st of May, the Nautilus described a series of
circles on the water, which greatly interested me. It seemed to be
seeking a spot it had some trouble in finding. At noon, Captain Nemo
himself came to work the ship's log. He spoke no word to me, but
seemed gloomier than ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his
proxim ity to European shores? Had he some recollections of his
abandoned country? If not, what did he feel? Remorse or regret? For
a long while this thought haunted my mind, and I had a kind of
presentiment that before long chance would betray the captain's secrets.
The next day, the 1st of June, the Nautilus continued the same process.
It was evidently seeking some particular spot in the ocean. Captain
Nemo took the sun's altitude as he had done the day before. The sea
was beautiful, the sky clear. About eight miles to the east, a large
steam vessel could be discerned on the horizon. No flag fluttered from
its mast, and I could not discover its nationality. Some minutes
before the sun passed the meridian, Captain Nemo took his sextant, and
watched with great attention. The perfect rest of the water greatly
helped the operation. The Nautilus was motionless; it neither rolled
nor pitched.
I was on the platform when the altitude was taken, and the Captain
pronounced these words: "It is here."
He turned and went below. Had he seen the vessel which was changing
its course and seemed to be nearing us? I could not tell. I returned
to the saloon. The panels closed, I heard the hissing of the water in
the reservoirs. The Nautilus began to sink, following a vertical line,
for its screw communicated no motion to it. Some minutes later it
stopped at a depth of more than 420 fathoms, resting on the ground.
The luminous ceiling was darkened, then the panels were opened, and
through the glass I saw the sea brilliantly illuminated by the rays of
our lantern for at least half a mile round us.
I looked to the port side, and saw nothing but an immensity of quiet
waters. But to starboard, on the bottom appeared a large protuberance,
which at once attracted my attention. One would have thought it a ruin
buried under a coating of white shells, much resembling a covering of
snow. Upon examining the mass attentively, I could recognise the
ever-thickening form of a vessel bare of its masts, which must have
sunk. It certainly belonged to past times. This wreck, to be thus
encrusted with the lime of the water, must already be able to count
many years passed at the bottom of the ocean.
What was this vessel? Why did the Nautilus visit its tomb? Could it
have been aught but a shipwreck which had drawn it under the water? I
knew not what to think, when near me in a slow voice I heard Captain
Nemo say:
"At one time this ship was called the Marseillais. It carried
seventy-four guns, and was launched in 1762. In 1778, the 13th of
August, commanded by La Poype-Ver trieux, it fought boldly against the
Preston. In 1779, on the 4th of July, it was at the taking of Grenada,
with the squadron of Admiral Estaing. In 1781, on the 5th of
September, it took part in the battle of Comte de Grasse, in Chesapeake
Bay. In 1794, the French Republic changed its name. On the 16th of
April, in the same year, it joined the squadron of Villaret Joyeuse, at
Brest, being entrusted with the escort of a cargo of corn coming from
America, under the command of Admiral Van Stebel. On the 11th and 12th
Prairal of the second year, this squadron fell in with an English
vessel. Sir, to-day is the 13th Prairal, the first of June, 1868. It
is now seventy-four years ago, day for day on this very spot, in
latitude 47° 24', longitude 17° 28', that this vessel, after
fighting heroically, losing its three masts, with the water in its
hold, and the third of its crew disabled, preferred sinking with its
356 sailors to surrendering; and, nailing its colours to the poop,
disappeared under the waves to the cry of `Long live the Republic!'"
"The Avenger!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir, the Avenger! A good name!" muttered Captain Nemo, crossing
his arms.
CHAPTER XXI
A HECATOMB
The way of describing this unlooked-for scene, the history of the
patriot ship, told at first so coldly, and the emotion with which this
strange man pronounced the last words, the name of the Avenger, the
significance of which could not escape me, all impressed itself deeply
on my mind. My eyes did not leave the Captain, who, with his hand
stretched out to sea, was watching with a glowing eye the glorious
wreck. Perhaps I was never to know who he was, from whence he came, or
where he was going to, but I saw the man move, and apart from the
-savant-. It was no common misanthropy which had shut Captain Nemo and
his companions within the Nautilus, but a hatred, either monstrous or
sublime, which time could never weaken. Did this hatred still seek for
vengeance? The future would soon teach me that. But the Nautilus was
rising slowly to the surface of the sea, and the form of the Avenger
disappeared by degrees from my sight. Soon a slight rolling told me
that we were in the open air. At that moment a dull boom was heard. I
looked at the Captain. He did not move.
"Captain?" said I.
He did not answer. I left him and mounted the platform. Conseil and
the Canadian were already there.
"Where did that sound come from?" I asked.
"It was a gunshot," replied Ned Land.
I looked in the direction of the vessel I had already seen. It was
nearing the Nautilus, and we could see that it was putting on steam.
It was within six miles of us.
"What is that ship, Ned?"
"By its rigging, and the height of its lower masts," said the Canadian,
"I bet she is a ship-of-war. May it reach us; and, if necessary, sink
this cursed Nautilus."
"Friend Ned," replied Conseil, "what harm can it do to the Nautilus?
Can it attack it beneath the waves? Can its cannonade us at the bottom
of the sea?"
"Tell me, Ned," said I, "can you recognise what country she belongs to?"
The Canadian knitted his eyebrows, dropped his eyelids, and screwed up
the corners of his eyes, and for a few moments fixed a piercing look
upon the vessel.
"No, sir," he replied; "I cannot tell what nation she belongs to, for
she shows no colours. But I can declare she is a man-of-war, for a
long pennant flutters from her main mast."
For a quarter of an hour we watched the ship which was steaming towards
us. I could not, however, believe that she could see the Nautilus from
that distance; and still less that she could know what this submarine
engine was. Soon the Canadian informed me that she was a large,
armoured, two-decker ram. A thick black smoke was pouring from her two
funnels. Her closely-furled sails were stopped to her yards. She
hoisted no flag at her mizzen-peak. The distance prevented us from
distinguishing the colours of her pennant, which floated like a thin
ribbon. She advanced rapidly. If Captain Nemo allowed her to
approach, there was a chance of salvation for us.
"Sir," said Ned Land, "if that vessel passes within a mile of us I
shall throw myself into the sea, and I should advise you to do the
same."
I did not reply to the Canadian's suggestion, but continued watching
the ship. Whether English, French, American, or Russian, she would be
sure to take us in if we could only reach her. Presently a white smoke
burst from the fore part of the vessel; some seconds after, the water,
agitated by the fall of a heavy body, splashed the stern of the
Nautilus, and shortly afterwards a loud explosion struck my ear.
"What! they are firing at us!" I exclaimed.
"So please you, sir," said Ned, "they have recognised the unicorn, and
they are firing at us."
"But," I exclaimed, "surely they can see that there are men in the
case?"
"It is, perhaps, because of that," replied Ned Land, looking at me.
A whole flood of light burst upon my mind. Doubtless they knew now how
to believe the stories of the pretended monster. No doubt, on board
the Abraham Lincoln, when the Canadian struck it with the harpoon,
Commander Farragut had recognised in the supposed narwhal a submarine
vessel, more dangerous than a supernatural cetacean. Yes, it must have
been so; and on every sea they were now seeking this engine of
destruction. Terrible indeed! if, as we supposed, Captain Nemo
employed the Nautilus in works of vengeance. On the night when we were
imprisoned in that cell, in the midst of the Indian Ocean, had he not
attacked some vessel? The man buried in the coral cemetery, had he not
been a victim to the shock caused by the Nautilus? Yes, I repeat it,
it must be so. One part of the mysterious existence of Captain Nemo
had been unveiled; and, if his identity had not been recognised, at
least, the nations united against him were no longer hunting a
chimerical creature, but a man who had vowed a deadly hatred against
them. All the formidable past rose before me. Instead of meeting
friends on board the approaching ship, we could only expect pitiless
enemies. But the shot rattled about us. Some of them struck the sea
and ricochetted, losing themselves in the distance. But none touched
the Nautilus. The vessel was not more than three miles from us. In
spite of the serious cannonade, Captain Nemo did not appear on the
platform; but, if one of the conical projectiles had struck the shell
of the Nautilus, it would have been fatal. The Canadian then said,
"Sir, we must do all we can to get out of this dilemma. Let us signal
them. They will then, perhaps, understand that we are honest folks."
Ned Land took his handkerchief to wave in the air; but he had scarcely
displayed it, when he was struck down by an iron hand, and fell, in
spite of his great strength, upon the deck.
"Fool!" exclaimed the Captain, "do you wish to be pierced by the spur
of the Nautilus before it is hurled at this vessel?"
Captain Nemo was terrible to hear; he was still more terrible to see.
His face was deadly pale, with a spasm at his heart. For an instant it
must have ceased to beat. His pupils were fearfully contracted. He
did not speak, he roared, as, with his body thrown forward, he wrung
the Canadian's shoulders. Then, leaving him, and turning to the ship
of war, whose shot was still raining around him, he exclaimed, with a
powerful voice, "Ah, ship of an accursed nation, you know who I am! I
do not want your colours to know you by! Look! and I will show you
mine!"
And on the fore part of the platform Captain Nemo unfurled a black
flag, similar to the one he had placed at the South Pole. At that
moment a shot struck the shell of the Nautilus obliquely, without
piercing it; and, rebounding near the Captain, was lost in the sea. He
shrugged his shoulders; and, addressing me, said shortly, "Go down, you
and your companions, go down!"
"Sir," I cried, "are you going to attack this vessel?"
"Sir, I am going to sink it."
"You will not do that?"
"I shall do it," he replied coldly. "And I advise you not to judge me,
sir. Fate has shown you what you ought not to have seen. The attack
has begun; go down."
"What is this vessel?"
"You do not know? Very well! so much the better! Its nationality to
you, at least, will be a secret. Go down!"
We could but obey. About fifteen of the sailors surrounded the
Captain, looking with implacable hatred at the vessel nearing them.
One could feel that the same desire of vengeance animated every soul.
I went down at the moment another projectile struck the Nautilus, and I
heard the Captain exclaim:
"Strike, mad vessel! Shower your useless shot! And then, you will not
escape the spur of the Nautilus. But it is not here that you shall
perish! I would not have your ruins mingle with those of the Avenger!"
I reached my room. The Captain and his second had remained on the
platform. The screw was set in motion, and the Nautilus, moving with
speed, was soon beyond the reach of the ship's guns. But the pursuit
continued, and Captain Nemo contented himself with keeping his distance.
About four in the afternoon, being no longer able to contain my
impatience, I went to the central staircase. The panel was open, and I
ventured on to the platform. The Captain was still walking up and down
with an agitated step. He was looking at the ship, which was five or
six miles to leeward.
He was going round it like a wild beast, and, drawing it eastward, he
allowed them to pursue. But he did not attack. Perhaps he still
hesitated? I wished to mediate once more. But I had scarcely spoken,
when Captain Nemo imposed silence, saying:
"I am the law, and I am the judge! I am the oppressed, and there is
the oppressor! Through him I have lost all that I loved, cherished,
and venerated--country, wife, children, father, and mother. I saw all
perish! All that I hate is there! Say no more!"
I cast a last look at the man-of-war, which was putting on steam, and
rejoined Ned and Conseil.
"We will fly!" I exclaimed.
"Good!" said Ned. "What is this vessel?"
"I do not know; but, whatever it is, it will be sunk before night. In
any case, it is better to perish with it, than be made accomplices in a
retaliation the justice of which we cannot judge."
"That is my opinion too," said Ned Land, coolly. "Let us wait for
night."
Night arrived. Deep silence reigned on board. The compass showed that
the Nautilus had not altered its course. It was on the surface,
rolling slightly. My companions and I resolved to fly when the vessel
should be near enough either to hear us or to see us; for the moon,
which would be full in two or three days, shone brightly. Once on
board the ship, if we could not prevent the blow which threatened it,
we could, at least we would, do all that circumstances would allow.
Several times I thought the Nautilus was preparing for attack; but
Captain Nemo contented himself with allowing his adversary to approach,
and then fled once more before it.
Part of the night passed without any incident. We watched the
opportunity for action. We spoke little, for we were too much moved.
Ned Land would have thrown himself into the sea, but I forced him to
wait. According to my idea, the Nautilus would attack the ship at her
waterline, and then it would not only be possible, but easy to fly.
At three in the morning, full of uneasiness, I mounted the platform.
Captain Nemo had not left it. He was standing at the fore part near
his flag, which a slight breeze displayed above his head. He did not
take his eyes from the vessel. The intensity of his look seemed to
attract, and fascinate, and draw it onward more surely than if he had
been towing it. The moon was then passing the meridian. Jupiter was
rising in the east. Amid this peaceful scene of nature, sky and ocean
rivalled each other in tranquillity, the sea offering to the orbs of
night the finest mirror they could ever have in which to reflect their
image. As I thought of the deep calm of these elements, compared with
all those passions brooding imperceptibly within the Nautilus, I
shuddered.
The vessel was within two miles of us. It was ever nearing that
phosphorescent light which showed the presence of the Nautilus. I
could see its green and red lights, and its white lantern hanging from
the large foremast. An indistinct vibration quivered through its
rigging, showing that the furnaces were heated to the uttermost.
Sheaves of sparks and red ashes flew from the funnels, shining in the
atmosphere like stars.
I remained thus until six in the morning, without Captain Nemo noticing
me. The ship stood about a mile and a half from us, and with the first
dawn of day the firing began afresh. The moment could not be far off
when, the Nautilus attacking its adversary, my companions and myself
should for ever leave this man. I was preparing to go down to remind
them, when the second mounted the platform, accompanied by several
sailors. Captain Nemo either did not or would not see them. Some
steps were taken which might be called the signal for action. They
were very simple. The iron balustrade around the platform was lowered,
and the lantern and pilot cages were pushed within the shell until they
were flush with the deck. The long surface of the steel cigar no
longer offered a single point to check its manoeuvres. I returned to
the saloon. The Nautilus still floated; some streaks of light were
filtering through the liquid beds. With the undulations of the waves
the windows were brightened by the red streaks of the rising sun, and
this dreadful day of the 2nd of June had dawned.
At five o'clock, the log showed that the speed of the Nautilus was
slackening, and I knew that it was allowing them to draw nearer.
Besides, the reports were heard more distinctly, and the projectiles,
labouring through the ambient water, were extinguished with a strange
hissing noise.
"My friends," said I, "the moment is come. One grasp of the hand, and
may God protect us!"
Ned Land was resolute, Conseil calm, myself so nervous that I knew not
how to contain myself. We all passed into the library; but the moment
I pushed the door opening on to the central staircase, I heard the
upper panel close sharply. The Canadian rushed on to the stairs, but I
stopped him. A well-known hissing noise told me that the water was
running into the reservoirs, and in a few minutes the Nautilus was some
yards beneath the surface of the waves. I understood the manoeuvre.
It was too late to act. The Nautilus did not wish to strike at the
impenetrable cuirass, but below the water-line, where the metallic
covering no longer protected it.
We were again imprisoned, unwilling witnesses of the dreadful drama
that was preparing. We had scarcely time to reflect; taking refuge in
my room, we looked at each other without speaking. A deep stupor had
taken hold of my mind: thought seemed to stand still. I was in that
painful state of expectation preceding a dreadful report. I waited, I
listened, every sense was merged in that of hearing! The speed of the
Nautilus was accelerated. It was preparing to rush. The whole ship
trembled. Suddenly I screamed. I felt the shock, but comparatively
light. I felt the penetrating power of the steel spur. I heard
rattlings and scrapings. But the Nautilus, carried along by its
propelling power, passed through the mass of the vessel like a needle
through sailcloth!
I could stand it no longer. Mad, out of my mind, I rushed from my room
into the saloon. Captain Nemo was there, mute, gloomy, implacable; he
was looking through the port panel. A large mass cast a shadow on the
water; and, that it might lose nothing of her agony, the Nautilus was
going down into the abyss with her. Ten yards from me I saw the open
shell, through which the water was rushing with the noise of thunder,
then the double line of guns and the netting. The bridge was covered
with black, agitated shadows.
The water was rising. The poor creatures were crowding the ratlines,
clinging to the masts, struggling under the water. It was a human
ant-heap overtaken by the sea. Paralysed, stiffened with anguish, my
hair standing on end, with eyes wide open, panting, without breath, and
without voice, I too was watching! An irresistible attraction glued me
to the glass! Suddenly an explosion took place. The compressed air
blew up her decks, as if the magazines had caught fire. Then the
unfortunate vessel sank more rapidly. Her topmast, laden with victims,
now appeared; then her spars, bending under the weight of men; and,
last of all, the top of her mainmast. Then the dark mass disappeared,
and with it the dead crew, drawn down by the strong eddy.
I turned to Captain Nemo. That terrible avenger, a perfect archangel
of hatred, was still looking. When all was over, he turned to his
room, opened the door, and entered. I followed him with my eyes. On
the end wall beneath his heroes, I saw the portrait of a woman, still
young, and two little children. Captain Nemo looked at them for some
moments, stretched his arms towards them, and, kneeling down, burst
into deep sobs.
CHAPTER XXII
THE LAST WORDS OF CAPTAIN NEMO
The panels had closed on this dreadful vision, but light had not
returned to the saloon: all was silence and darkness within the
Nautilus. At wonderful speed, a hundred feet beneath the water, it was
leaving this desolate spot. Whither was it going? To the north or
south? Where was the man flying to after such dreadful retaliation? I
had returned to my room, where Ned and Conseil had remained silent
enough. I felt an insurmountable horror for Captain Nemo. Whatever he
had suffered at the hands of these men, he had no right to punish thus.
He had made me, if not an accomplice, at least a witness of his
vengeance. At eleven the electric light reappeared. I passed into the
saloon. It was deserted. I consulted the different instruments. The
Nautilus was flying northward at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour,
now on the surface, and now thirty feet below it. On taking the
bearings by the chart, I saw that we were passing the mouth of the
Manche, and that our course was hurrying us towards the northern seas
at a frightful speed. That night we had crossed two hundred leagues of
the Atlantic. The shadows fell, and the sea was covered with darkness
until the rising of the moon. I went to my room, but could not sleep.
I was troubled with dreadful nightmare. The horrible scene of
destruction was continually before my eyes. From that day, who could
tell into what part of the North Atlantic basin the Nautilus would take
us? Still with unaccountable speed. Still in the midst of these
northern fogs. Would it touch at Spitzbergen, or on the shores of Nova
Zembla? Should we explore those unknown seas, the White Sea, the Sea
of Kara, the Gulf of Obi, the Archipelago of Liarrov, and the unknown
coast of Asia? I could not say. I could no longer judge of the time
that was passing. The clocks had been stopped on board. It seemed, as
in polar countries, that night and day no longer followed their regular
course. I felt myself being drawn into that strange region where the
foundered imagination of Edgar Poe roamed at will. Like the fabulous
Gordon Pym, at every moment I expected to see "that veiled human
figure, of larger proportions than those of any inhabitant of the
earth, thrown across the cataract which defends the approach to the
pole." I estimated (though, perhaps, I may be mistaken)--I estimated
this adventurous course of the Nautilus to have lasted fifteen or
twenty days. And I know not how much longer it might have lasted, had
it not been for the catastrophe which ended this voyage. Of Captain
Nemo I saw nothing whatever now, nor of his second. Not a man of the
crew was visible for an instant. The Nautilus was almost incessantly
under water. When we came to the surface to renew the air, the panels
opened and shut mechanically. There were no more marks on the
planisphere. I knew not where we were. And the Canadian, too, his
strength and patience at an end, appeared no more. Conseil could not
draw a word from him; and, fearing that, in a dreadful fit of madness,
he might kill himself, watched him with constant devotion. One morning
(what date it was I could not say) I had fallen into a heavy sleep
towards the early hours, a sleep both painful and unhealthy, when I
suddenly awoke. Ned Land was leaning over me, saying, in a low voice,
"We are going to fly." I sat up.
"When shall we go?" I asked.
"To-night. All inspection on board the Nautilus seems to have ceased.
All appear to be stupefied. You will be ready, sir?"
"Yes; where are we?"
"In sight of land. I took the reckoning this morning in the
fog--twenty miles to the east."
"What country is it?"
"I do not know; but, whatever it is, we will take refuge there."
"Yes, Ned, yes. We will fly to-night, even if the sea should swallow
us up."
"The sea is bad, the wind violent, but twenty miles in that light boat
of the Nautilus does not frighten me. Unknown to the crew, I have been
able to procure food and some bottles of water."
"I will follow you."
"But," continued the Canadian, "if I am surprised, I will defend
myself; I will force them to kill me."
"We will die together, friend Ned."
I had made up my mind to all. The Canadian left me. I reached the
platform, on which I could with difficulty support myself against the
shock of the waves. The sky was threatening; but, as land was in those
thick brown shadows, we must fly. I returned to the saloon, fearing
and yet hoping to see Captain Nemo, wishing and yet not wishing to see
him. What could I have said to him? Could I hide the involuntary
horror with which he inspired me? No. It was better that I should not
meet him face to face; better to forget him. And yet---- How long
seemed that day, the last that I should pass in the Nautilus. I
remained alone. Ned Land and Conseil avoided speaking, for fear of
betraying themselves. At six I dined, but I was not hungry; I forced
myself to eat in spite of my disgust, that I might not weaken myself.
At half-past six Ned Land came to my room, saying, "We shall not see
each other again before our departure. At ten the moon will not be
risen. We will profit by the darkness. Come to the boat; Conseil and
I will wait for you."
The Canadian went out without giving me time to answer. Wishing to
verify the course of the Nautilus, I went to the saloon. We were
running N.N.E. at frightful speed, and more than fifty yards deep. I
cast a last look on these wonders of nature, on the riches of art
heaped up in this museum, upon the unrivalled collection destined to
perish at the bottom of the sea, with him who had formed it. I wished
to fix an indelible impression of it in my mind. I remained an hour
thus, bathed in the light of that luminous ceiling, and passing in
review those treasures shining under their glasses. Then I returned to
my room.
I dressed myself in strong sea clothing. I collected my notes, placing
them carefully about me. My heart beat loudly. I could not check its
pulsations. Certainly my trouble and agitation would have betrayed me
to Captain Nemo's eyes. What was he doing at this moment? I listened
at the door of his room. I heard steps. Captain Nemo was there. He
had not gone to rest. At every moment I expected to see him appear,
and ask me why I wished to fly. I was constantly on the alert. My
imagination magnified everything. The impression became at last so
poignant that I asked myself if it would not be better to go to the
Captain's room, see him face to face, and brave him with look and
gesture.
It was the inspiration of a madman; fortunately I resisted the desire,
and stretched myself on my bed to quiet my bodily agitation. My nerves
were somewhat calmer, but in my excited brain I saw over again all my
existence on board the Nautilus; every incident, either happy or
unfortunate, which had happened since my disappearance from the Abraham
Lincoln--the submarine hunt, the Torres Straits, the savages of Papua,
the running ashore, the coral cemetery, the passage of Suez, the Island
of Santorin, the Cretan diver, Vigo Bay, Atlantis, the iceberg, the
South Pole, the imprisonment in the ice, the fight among the poulps,
the storm in the Gulf Stream, the Avenger, and the horrible scene of
the vessel sunk with all her crew. All these events passed before my
eyes like scenes in a drama. Then Captain Nemo seemed to grow
enormously, his features to assume superhuman proportions. He was no
longer my equal, but a man of the waters, the genie of the sea.
It was then half-past nine. I held my head between my hands to keep it
from bursting. I closed my eyes; I would not think any longer. There
was another half-hour to wait, another half-hour of a nightmare, which
might drive me mad.
At that moment I heard the distant strains of the organ, a sad harmony
to an undefinable chant, the wail of a soul longing to break these
earthly bonds. I listened with every sense, scarcely breathing;
plunged, like Captain Nemo, in that musical ecstasy, which was drawing
him in spirit to the end of life.
Then a sudden thought terrified me. Captain Nemo had left his room.
He was in the saloon, which I must cross to fly. There I should meet
him for the last time. He would see me, perhaps speak to me. A
gesture of his might destroy me, a single word chain me on board.
But ten was about to strike. The moment had come for me to leave my
room, and join my companions.
I must not hesitate, even if Captain Nemo himself should rise before
me. I opened my door carefully; and even then, as it turned on its
hinges, it seemed to me to make a dreadful noise. Perhaps it only
existed in my own imagination.
I crept along the dark stairs of the Nautilus, stopping at each step to
check the beating of my heart. I reached the door of the saloon, and
opened it gently. It was plunged in profound darkness. The strains of
the organ sounded faintly. Captain Nemo was there. He did not see me.
In the full light I do not think he would have noticed me, so entirely
was he absorbed in the ecstasy.
I crept along the carpet, avoiding the slightest sound which might
betray my presence. I was at least five minutes reaching the door, at
the opposite side, opening into the library.
I was going to open it, when a sigh from Captain Nemo nailed me to the
spot. I knew that he was rising. I could even see him, for the light
from the library came through to the saloon. He came towards me
silently, with his arms crossed, gliding like a spectre rather than
walking. His breast was swelling with sobs; and I heard him murmur
these words (the last which ever struck my ear):
"Almighty God! enough! enough!"
Was it a confession of remorse which thus escaped from this man's
conscience?
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