In desperation, I rushed through the library, mounted the central
staircase, and, following the upper flight, reached the boat. I crept
through the opening, which had already admitted my two companions.
"Let us go! let us go!" I exclaimed.
"Directly!" replied the Canadian.
The orifice in the plates of the Nautilus was first closed, and
fastened down by means of a false key, with which Ned Land had provided
himself; the opening in the boat was also closed. The Canadian began
to loosen the bolts which still held us to the submarine boat.
Suddenly a noise was heard. Voices were answering each other loudly.
What was the matter? Had they discovered our flight? I felt Ned Land
slipping a dagger into my hand.
"Yes," I murmured, "we know how to die!"
The Canadian had stopped in his work. But one word many times
repeated, a dreadful word, revealed the cause of the agitation
spreading on board the Nautilus. It was not we the crew were looking
after!
"The maelstrom! the maelstrom!" Could a more dreadful word in a more
dreadful situation have sounded in our ears! We were then upon the
dangerous coast of Norway. Was the Nautilus being drawn into this gulf
at the moment our boat was going to leave its sides? We knew that at
the tide the pent-up waters between the islands of Ferroe and Loffoden
rush with irresistible violence, forming a whirlpool from which no
vessel ever escapes. From every point of the horizon enormous waves
were meeting, forming a gulf justly called the "Navel of the Ocean,"
whose power of attraction extends to a distance of twelve miles.
There, not only vessels, but whales are sacrificed, as well as white
bears from the northern regions.
It is thither that the Nautilus, voluntarily or involuntarily, had been
run by the Captain.
It was describing a spiral, the circumference of which was lessening by
degrees, and the boat, which was still fastened to its side, was
carried along with giddy speed. I felt that sickly giddiness which
arises from long-continued whirling round.
We were in dread. Our horror was at its height, circulation had
stopped, all nervous influence was annihilated, and we were covered
with cold sweat, like a sweat of agony! And what noise around our
frail bark! What roarings repeated by the echo miles away! What an
uproar was that of the waters broken on the sharp rocks at the bottom,
where the hardest bodies are crushed, and trees worn away, "with all
the fur rubbed off," according to the Norwegian phrase!
What a situation to be in! We rocked frightfully. The Nautilus
defended itself like a human being. Its steel muscles cracked.
Sometimes it seemed to stand upright, and we with it!
"We must hold on," said Ned, "and look after the bolts. We may still
be saved if we stick to the Nautilus."
He had not finished the words, when we heard a crashing noise, the
bolts gave way, and the boat, torn from its groove, was hurled like a
stone from a sling into the midst of the whirlpool.
My head struck on a piece of iron, and with the violent shock I lost
all consciousness.
CHAPTER XXIII
CONCLUSION
Thus ends the voyage under the seas. What passed during that
night--how the boat escaped from the eddies of the maelstrom--how Ned
Land, Conseil, and myself ever came out of the gulf, I cannot tell.
But when I returned to consciousness, I was lying in a fisherman's hut,
on the Loffoden Isles. My two companions, safe and sound, were near me
holding my hands. We embraced each other heartily.
At that moment we could not think of returning to France. The means of
communication between the north of Norway and the south are rare. And
I am therefore obliged to wait for the steamboat running monthly from
Cape North.
And, among the worthy people who have so kindly received us, I revise
my record of these adventures once more. Not a fact has been omitted,
not a detail exaggerated. It is a faithful narrative of this
incredible expedition in an element inaccessible to man, but to which
Progress will one day open a road.
Shall I be believed? I do not know. And it matters little, after all.
What I now affirm is, that I have a right to speak of these seas, under
which, in less than ten months, I have crossed 20,000 leagues in that
submarine tour of the world, which has revealed so many wonders.
But what has become of the Nautilus? Did it resist the pressure of the
maelstrom? Does Captain Nemo still live? And does he still follow
under the ocean those frightful retaliations? Or, did he stop after
the last hecatomb?
Will the waves one day carry to him this manuscript containing the
history of his life? Shall I ever know the name of this man? Will the
missing vessel tell us by its nationality that of Captain Nemo?
I hope so. And I also hope that his powerful vessel has conquered the
sea at its most terrible gulf, and that the Nautilus has survived where
so many other vessels have been lost! If it be so--if Captain Nemo
still inhabits the ocean, his adopted country, may hatred be appeased
in that savage heart! May the contemplation of so many wonders
extinguish for ever the spirit of vengeance! May the judge disappear,
and the philosopher continue the peaceful exploration of the sea! If
his destiny be strange, it is also sublime. Have I not understood it
myself? Have I not lived ten months of this unnatural life? And to
the question asked by Ecclesiastes three thousand years ago, "That
which is far off and exceeding deep, who can find it out?" two men
alone of all now living have the right to give an answer----
CAPTAIN NEMO AND MYSELF.
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