CHAPTER I A SHIFTING REEF

CHAPTER II PRO AND CON

CHAPTER III I FORM MY RESOLUTION

CHAPTER IV NED LAND

CHAPTER V AT A VENTURE

CHAPTER VI AT FULL STEAM

CHAPTER VII AN UNKNOWN SPECIES OF WHALE

CHAPTER VIII MOBILIS IN MOBILI

CHAPTER IX NED LAND’S TEMPERS

CHAPTER X THE MAN OF THE SEAS

CHAPTER XI ALL BY ELECTRICITY

CHAPTER XII SOME FIGURES

CHAPTER XIII THE BLACK RIVER

CHAPTER XIV A NOTE OF INVITATION

CHAPTER XV A WALK ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA

CHAPTER XVI A SUBMARINE FOREST

CHAPTER XVII FOUR THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE PACIFIC

CHAPTER XVIII VANIKORO

CHAPTER XIX TORRES STRAITS

CHAPTER XX A FEW DAYS ON LAND

CHAPTER XXI CAPTAIN NEMO’S THUNDERBOLT

CHAPTER XXII “ÆGRI SOMNIA”

CHAPTER XXIII THE CORAL KINGDOM

PART II

CHAPTER I THE INDIAN OCEAN

CHAPTER II A NOVEL PROPOSAL OF CAPTAIN NEMO’S

CHAPTER III A PEARL OF TEN MILLIONS

CHAPTER IV THE RED SEA

CHAPTER V THE ARABIAN TUNNEL

CHAPTER VI THE GRECIAN ARCHIPELAGO

CHAPTER VII THE MEDITERRANEAN IN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS

CHAPTER VIII VIGO BAY

CHAPTER IX A VANISHED CONTINENT

CHAPTER X THE SUBMARINE COAL-MINES

CHAPTER XI THE SARGASSO SEA

CHAPTER XII CACHALOTS AND WHALES

CHAPTER XIII THE ICEBERG

CHAPTER XIV THE SOUTH POLE

CHAPTER XV ACCIDENT OR INCIDENT?

CHAPTER XVI WANT OF AIR

CHAPTER XVII FROM CAPE HORN TO THE AMAZON

CHAPTER XVIII THE POULPS

CHAPTER XIX THE GULF STREAM

CHAPTER XX FROM LATITUDE 47° 24′ TO LONGITUDE 17° 28′

CHAPTER XXI A HECATOMB

CHAPTER XXII THE LAST WORDS OF CAPTAIN NEMO

CHAPTER XXIII CONCLUSION

List of Illustrations

An old grey-bearded gunner . . . .

Captain Nemo’s state-room

Captain Nemo took the Sun’s altitude

I was ready to set out

Conseil seized his gun

All fell on their knees in an attitude of prayer

A terrible combat began

“A man! A shipwrecked sailor!” I cried

The _Nautilus_ was floating near a mountain

The _Nautilus_ was blocked up

One of these long arms glided through the opening

The unfortunate vessel sank more rapidly

PART ONE

CHAPTER I

A SHIFTING REEF

The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and

puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to

mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the

public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were

particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels,

skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries,

and the Governments of several states on the two continents, were

deeply interested in the matter.

For some time past, vessels had been met by “an enormous thing,” a long

object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely

larger and more rapid in its movements than a whale.

The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books)

agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in

question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power

of locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If

it was a cetacean, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified

in science. Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at

divers times,—rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to

this object a length of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated

opinions which set it down as a mile in width and three in length,—we

might fairly conclude that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all

dimensions admitted by the ichthyologists of the day, if it existed at

all. And that it _did_ exist was an undeniable fact; and, with that

tendency which disposes the human mind in favour of the marvellous, we

can understand the excitement produced in the entire world by this

supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the list of fables, the

idea was out of the question.

On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer _Governor Higginson_, of the

Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass

five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at

first that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even

prepared to determine its exact position, when two columns of water,

projected by the inexplicable object, shot with a hissing noise a

hundred and fifty feet up into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had

been submitted to the intermittent eruption of a geyser, the _Governor

Higginson_ had to do neither more nor less than with an aquatic mammal,

unknown till then, which threw up from its blow-holes columns of water

mixed with air and vapour.

Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in

the Pacific Ocean, by the _Columbus_, of the West India and Pacific

Steam Navigation Company. But this extraordinary cetaceous creature

could transport itself from one place to another with surprising

velocity; as, in an interval of three days, the _Governor Higginson_

and the _Columbus_ had observed it at two different points of the

chart, separated by a distance of more than seven hundred nautical

leagues.

Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the _Helvetia_, of

the Compagnie-Nationale, and the _Shannon_, of the Royal Mail Steamship

Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying

between the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the

monster to each other in 42° 15′ N. lat. and 60° 35′ W. long. In these

simultaneous observations they thought themselves justified in

estimating the minimum length of the mammal at more than three hundred

and fifty feet, as the _Shannon_ and _Helvetia_ were of smaller

dimensions than it, though they measured three hundred feet over all.

Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea

round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich islands, have never

exceeded the length of sixty yards, if they attain that.

These reports arriving one after the other, with fresh observations

made on board the transatlantic ship _Pereire_, a collision which

occurred between the _Etna_ of the Inman line and the monster, a

_procès verbal_ directed by the officers of the French frigate

_Normandie_, a very accurate survey made by the staff of Commodore

Fitz-James on board the _Lord Clyde_, greatly influenced public

opinion. Light-thinking people jested upon the phenomenon, but grave

practical countries, such as England, America, and Germany, treated the

matter more seriously.

In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion. They sang

of it in the cafés, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on

the stage. All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it. There

appeared in the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary

creature, from the white whale, the terrible “Moby Dick” of hyperborean

regions, to the immense kraken whose tentacles could entangle a ship of

five hundred tons, and hurry it into the abyss of the ocean. The

legends of ancient times were even resuscitated, and the opinions of

Aristotle and Pliny revived, who admitted the existence of these

monsters, as well as the Norwegian tales of Bishop Pontoppidan, the

accounts of Paul Heggede, and, last of all, the reports of Mr.

Harrington (whose good faith no one could suspect), who affirmed that,

being on board the _Castillan_, in 1857, he had seen this enormous

serpent, which had never until that time frequented any other seas but

those of the ancient “_Constitutionnel_.”

Then burst forth the interminable controversy between the credulous and

the incredulous in the societies of savants and the scientific

journals. “The question of the monster” inflamed all minds. Editors of

scientific journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural,

spilled seas of ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing

blood; for, from the sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.

For six months war was waged with various fortune in the leading

articles of the Geographical Institution of Brazil, the Royal Academy

of Science of Berlin, the British Association, the Smithsonian

Institution of Washington, in the discussions of the “Indian

Archipelago,” of the Cosmos of the Abbé Moigno, in the Mittheilungen of

Petermann, in the scientific chronicles of the great journals of France

and other countries. The cheaper journals replied keenly and with

inexhaustible zest. These satirical writers parodied a remark of

Linnæus, quoted by the adversaries of the monster, maintaining “that

nature did not make fools,” and adjured their contemporaries not to

give the lie to nature, by admitting the existence of krakens,

sea-serpents, “Moby Dicks,” and other lucubrations of delirious

sailors. At length an article in a well-known satirical journal by a

favourite contributor, the chief of the staff, settled the monster,

like Hippolytus, giving it the death-blow amidst an universal burst of

laughter. Wit had conquered science.

During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried,

never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public. It was

then no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger

seriously to be avoided. The question took quite another shape. The

monster became a small island, a rock, a reef, but a reef of indefinite

and shifting proportions.

On the 5th of March, 1867, the _Moravian_, of the Montreal Ocean

Company, finding herself during the night in 27° 30′ lat. and 72° 15′

long., struck on her starboard quarter a rock, marked in no chart for

that part of the sea. Under the combined efforts of the wind and its

four hundred horse-power, it was going at the rate of thirteen knots.

Had it not been for the superior strength of the hull of the

_Moravian_, she would have been broken by the shock and gone down with

the 237 passengers she was bringing home from Canada.

The accident happened about five o’clock in the morning, as the day was

breaking. The officers of the quarter-deck hurried to the after-part of

the vessel. They examined the sea with the most scrupulous attention.

They saw nothing but a strong eddy about three cables’ length distant,

as if the surface had been violently agitated. The bearings of the

place were taken exactly, and the _Moravian_ continued its route

without apparent damage. Had it struck on a submerged rock, or on an

enormous wreck? they could not tell; but on examination of the ship’s

bottom when undergoing repairs, it was found that part of her keel was

broken.

This fact, so grave in itself, might perhaps have been forgotten like

many others if, three weeks after, it had not been re-enacted under

similar circumstances. But, thanks to the nationality of the victim of

the shock, thanks to the reputation of the company to which the vessel

belonged, the circumstance became extensively circulated.

The 13th of April, 1867, the sea being beautiful, the breeze

favourable, the _Scotia_, of the Cunard Company’s line, found herself

in 15° 12′ long. and 45° 37′ lat. She was going at the speed of

thirteen knots and a half.

At seventeen minutes past four in the afternoon, whilst the passengers

were assembled at lunch in the great saloon, a slight shock was felt on

the hull of the _Scotia_, on her quarter, a little aft of the

port-paddle.

The _Scotia_ had not struck, but she had been struck, and seemingly by

something rather sharp and penetrating than blunt. The shock had been

so slight that no one had been alarmed, had it not been for the shouts

of the carpenter’s watch, who rushed on to the bridge, exclaiming, “We

are sinking! we are sinking!” At first the passengers were much

frightened, but Captain Anderson hastened to reassure them. The danger

could not be imminent. The _Scotia_, divided into seven compartments by

strong partitions, could brave with impunity any leak. Captain Anderson

went down immediately into the hold. He found that the sea was pouring

into the fifth compartment; and the rapidity of the influx proved that

the force of the water was considerable. Fortunately this compartment

did not hold the boilers, or the fires would have been immediately

extinguished. Captain Anderson ordered the engines to be stopped at

once, and one of the men went down to ascertain the extent of the

injury. Some minutes afterwards they discovered the existence of a

large hole, of two yards in diameter, in the ship’s bottom. Such a leak

could not be stopped; and the _Scotia_, her paddles half submerged, was

obliged to continue her course. She was then three hundred miles from

Cape Clear, and after three days’ delay, which caused great uneasiness

in Liverpool, she entered the basin of the company.

The engineers visited the _Scotia_, which was put in dry dock. They

could scarcely believe it possible; at two yards and a half below

water-mark was a regular rent, in the form of an isosceles triangle.

The broken place in the iron plates was so perfectly defined that it

could not have been more neatly done by a punch. It was clear, then,

that the instrument producing the perforation was not of a common

stamp; and after having been driven with prodigious strength, and

piercing an iron plate 1-3/8 inches thick, had withdrawn itself by a

retrograde motion truly inexplicable.

Such was the last fact, which resulted in exciting once more the

torrent of public opinion. From this moment all unlucky casualties

which could not be otherwise accounted for were put down to the

monster. Upon this imaginary creature rested the responsibility of all

these shipwrecks, which unfortunately were considerable; for of three

thousand ships whose loss was annually recorded at Lloyd’s, the number

of sailing and steam ships supposed to be totally lost, from the

absence of all news, amounted to not less than two hundred!

Now, it was the “monster” who, justly or unjustly, was accused of their

disappearance, and, thanks to it, communication between the different

continents became more and more dangerous. The public demanded

peremptorily that the seas should at any price be relieved from this

formidable cetacean.

CHAPTER II

PRO AND CON

At the period when these events took place, I had just returned from a

scientific research in the disagreeable territory of Nebraska, in the

United States. In virtue of my office as Assistant Professor in the

Museum of Natural History in Paris, the French Government had attached

me to that expedition. After six months in Nebraska, I arrived in New

York towards the end of March, laden with a precious collection. My

departure for France was fixed for the first days in May. Meanwhile, I

was occupying myself in classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and

zoological riches, when the accident happened to the _Scotia_.

I was perfectly up in the subject which was the question of the day.

How could I be otherwise? I had read and re-read all the American and

European papers without being any nearer a conclusion. This mystery

puzzled me. Under the impossibility of forming an opinion, I jumped

from one extreme to the other. That there really was something could

not be doubted, and the incredulous were invited to put their finger on

the wound of the _Scotia_.

On my arrival at New York the question was at its height. The

hypothesis of the floating island, and the unapproachable sandbank,

supported by minds little competent to form a judgment, was abandoned.

And, indeed, unless this shoal had a machine in its stomach, how could

it change its position with such astonishing rapidity?

From the same cause, the idea of a floating hull of an enormous wreck

was given up.

There remained then only two possible solutions of the question, which

created two distinct parties: on one side, those who were for a monster

of colossal strength; on the other, those who were for a submarine

vessel of enormous motive power.

But this last hypothesis, plausible as it was, could not stand against

inquiries made in both worlds. That a private gentleman should have

such a machine at his command was not likely. Where, when, and how was

it built? and how could its construction have been kept secret?

Certainly a Government might possess such a destructive machine. And in

these disastrous times, when the ingenuity of man has multiplied the

power of weapons of war, it was possible that, without the knowledge of

others, a state might try to work such a formidable engine. After the

chassepots came the torpedoes, after the torpedoes the submarine rams,

then—the reaction. At least, I hope so.

But the hypothesis of a war machine fell before the declaration of

Governments. As public interest was in question, and transatlantic

communications suffered, their veracity could not be doubted. But, how

admit that the construction of this submarine boat had escaped the

public eye? For a private gentleman to keep the secret under such

circumstances would be very difficult, and for a state whose every act

is persistently watched by powerful rivals, certainly impossible.

After inquiries made in England, France, Russia, Prussia, Spain, Italy,

and America, even in Turkey, the hypothesis of a submarine monitor was

definitely rejected.

Upon my arrival in New York several persons did me the honour of

consulting me on the phenomenon in question. I had published in France

a work in quarto, in two volumes, entitled “Mysteries of the Great

Submarine Grounds.” This book, highly approved of in the learned world,

gained for me a special reputation in this rather obscure branch of

Natural History. My advice was asked. As long as I could deny the

reality of the fact, I confined myself to a decided negative. But soon,

finding myself driven into a corner, I was obliged to explain myself

categorically. And even “the Honourable Pierre Aronnax, Professor in

the Museum of Paris,” was called upon by the _New York Herald_ to

express a definite opinion of some sort. I did something. I spoke, for

want of power to hold my tongue. I discussed the question in all its

forms, politically and scientifically; and I give here an extract from

a carefully-studied article which I published in the number of the 30th

of April. It ran as follows:—

“After examining one by one the different hypotheses, rejecting all

other suggestions, it becomes necessary to admit the existence of a

marine animal of enormous power.

“The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us. Soundings

cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths—what beings live,

or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the

waters—what is the organisation of these animals, we can scarcely

conjecture. However, the solution of the problem submitted to me may

modify the form of the dilemma. Either we do know all the varieties of

beings which people our planet, or we do not. If we do _not_ know them

all—if Nature has still secrets in ichthyology for us, nothing is more

conformable to reason than to admit the existence of fishes, or

cetaceans of other kinds, or even of new species, of an organisation

formed to inhabit the strata inaccessible to soundings, and which an

accident of some sort, either fatastical or capricious, has brought at

long intervals to the upper level of the ocean.

“If, on the contrary, we _do_ know all living kinds, we must

necessarily seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings

already classed; and, in that case, I should be disposed to admit the

existence of a gigantic narwhal.

“The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, often attains a length of

sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength

proportionate to its size, lengthen its destructive weapons, and you

obtain the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by

the officers of the _Shannon_, the instrument required by the

perforation of the _Scotia_, and the power necessary to pierce the hull

of the steamer.

“Indeed, the narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd,

according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk

has the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried

in the bodies of whales, which the unicorn always attacks with success.

Others have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of

ships, which they had pierced through and through, as a gimlet pierces

a barrel. The Museum of the Faculty of Medicine of Paris possesses one

of these defensive weapons, two yards and a quarter in length, and

fifteen inches in diameter at the base.

“Very well! suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the animal

ten times more powerful; launch it at the rate of twenty miles an hour,

and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required.

Until further information, therefore, I shall maintain it to be a

sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with

a real spur, as the armoured frigates, or the ‘rams’ of war, whose

massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time. Thus

may this puzzling phenomenon be explained, unless there be something

over and above all that one has ever conjectured, seen, perceived, or

experienced; which is just within the bounds of possibility.”

These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point,

I wished to shelter my dignity as Professor, and not give too much

cause for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well when they do laugh.

I reserved for myself a way of escape. In effect, however, I admitted

the existence of the “monster.” My article was warmly discussed, which

procured it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of

partisans. The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the

imagination. The human mind delights in grand conceptions of

supernatural beings. And the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the

only medium through which these giants (against which terrestrial

animals, such as elephants or rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be

produced or developed.

The industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from

this point of view. The _Shipping and Mercantile Gazette_, the _Lloyd’s

List_, the _Packet-Boat_, and the _Maritime and Colonial Review_, all

papers devoted to insurance companies which threatened to raise their

rates of premium, were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been

pronounced. The United States were the first in the field; and in New

York they made preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this

narwhal. A frigate of great speed, the _Abraham Lincoln_, was put in

commission as soon as possible. The arsenals were opened to Commander

Farragut, who hastened the arming of his frigate; but, as it always

happens, the moment it was decided to pursue the monster, the monster

did not appear. For two months no one heard it spoken of. No ship met

with it. It seemed as if this unicorn knew of the plots weaving around

it. It had been so much talked of, even through the Atlantic cable,

that jesters pretended that this slender fly had stopped a telegram on

its passage and was making the most of it.

So when the frigate had been armed for a long campaign, and provided

with formidable fishing apparatus, no one could tell what course to

pursue. Impatience grew apace, when, on the 2nd of July, they learned

that a steamer of the line of San Francisco, from California to

Shanghai, had seen the animal three weeks before in the North Pacific

Ocean. The excitement caused by this news was extreme. The ship was

revictualled and well stocked with coal.

Three hours before the _Abraham Lincoln_ left Brooklyn pier, I received

a letter worded as follows:—

“To M. ARONNAX, Professor in the Museum of Paris, Fifth Avenue Hotel,

New York.

“SIR,—If you will consent to join the _Abraham Lincoln_ in this

expedition, the Government of the United States will with pleasure see

France represented in the enterprise. Commander Farragut has a cabin at

your disposal.

“Very cordially yours,

“J.B. HOBSON,

“Secretary of Marine.”

CHAPTER III

I FORM MY RESOLUTION

Three seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson’s letter, I no more

thought of pursuing the unicorn than of attempting the passage of the

North Sea. Three seconds after reading the letter of the honourable

Secretary of Marine, I felt that my true vocation, the sole end of my

life, was to chase this disturbing monster, and purge it from the

world.

But I had just returned from a fatiguing journey, weary and longing for

repose. I aspired to nothing more than again seeing my country, my

friends, my little lodging by the Jardin des Plantes, my dear and

precious collections. But nothing could keep me back! I forgot

all—fatigue, friends and collections—and accepted without hesitation

the offer of the American Government.

“Besides,” thought I, “all roads lead back to Europe (for my particular

benefit), and I will not hurry me towards the coast of France. This

worthy animal may allow itself to be caught in the seas of Europe (for

my particular benefit), and I will not bring back less than half a yard

of his ivory halberd to the Museum of Natural History.” But in the

meanwhile I must seek this narwhal in the North Pacific Ocean, which,

to return to France, was taking the road to the antipodes.

“Conseil,” I called in an impatient voice.

Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had

accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the

liking well. He was phlegmatic by nature, regular from principle,

zealous from habit, evincing little disturbance at the different

surprises of life, very quick with his hands, and apt at any service

required of him; and, despite his name, never giving advice—even when

asked for it.

Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led.

Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never

make an objection to pack his portmanteau for whatever country it might

be, or however far away, whether China or Congo. Besides all this, he

had good health, which defied all sickness, and solid muscles, but no

nerves; good morals are understood. This boy was thirty years old, and

his age to that of his master as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused

for saying that I was forty years old?

But Conseil had one fault: he was ceremonious to a degree, and would

never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes

provoking.

“Conseil,” said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make

preparations for my departure.

Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him

if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but

this time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the

enterprise might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of

sinking a frigate as easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for

reflection even to the most impassive man in the world. What would

Conseil say?

“Conseil,” I called a third time.

Conseil appeared.

“Did you call, sir?” said he, entering.

“Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in

two hours.”

“As you please, sir,” replied Conseil, quietly.

“Not an instant to lose;—lock in my trunk all travelling utensils,

coats, shirts, and stockings—without counting, as many as you can, and

make haste.”

“And your collections, sir?” observed Conseil.

“We will think of them by and by.”

“What! the archiotherium, the hyracotherium, the oreodons, the

cheropotamus, and the other skins?”

“They will keep them at the hotel.”

“And your live Babiroussa, sir?”

“They will feed it during our absence; besides, I will give orders to

forward our menagerie to France.”

“We are not returning to Paris, then?” said Conseil.

“Oh! certainly,” I answered, evasively, “by making a curve.”

“Will the curve please you, sir?”

“Oh! it will be nothing; not quite so direct a road, that is all. We

take our passage in the _Abraham Lincoln_.”

“As you think proper, sir,” coolly replied Conseil.

“You see, my friend, it has to do with the monster—the famous narwhal.

We are going to purge it from the seas. The author of a work in quarto

in two volumes, on the ‘Mysteries of the Great Submarine Grounds’

cannot forbear embarking with Commander Farragut. A glorious mission,

but a dangerous one! We cannot tell where we may go; these animals can

be very capricious. But we will go whether or no; we have got a captain

who is pretty wide-awake.”

I opened a credit account for Babiroussa, and, Conseil following, I

jumped into a cab. Our luggage was transported to the deck of the

frigate immediately. I hastened on board and asked for Commander

Farragut. One of the sailors conducted me to the poop, where I found

myself in the presence of a good-looking officer, who held out his hand

to me.

“Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?” said he.

“Himself,” replied I; “Commander Farragut?”

“You are welcome, Professor; your cabin is ready for you.”

I bowed, and desired to be conducted to the cabin destined for me.

The _Abraham Lincoln_ had been well chosen and equipped for her new

destination. She was a frigate of great speed, fitted with

high-pressure engines which admitted a pressure of seven atmospheres.

Under this the _Abraham Lincoln_ attained the mean speed of nearly

eighteen knots and a third an hour—a considerable speed, but,

nevertheless, insufficient to grapple with this gigantic cetacean.

The interior arrangements of the frigate corresponded to its nautical

qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was in the after

part, opening upon the gunroom.

“We shall be well off here,” said I to Conseil.

“As well, by your honour’s leave, as a hermit-crab in the shell of a

whelk,” said Conseil.

I left Conseil to stow our trunks conveniently away, and remounted the

poop in order to survey the preparations for departure.

At that moment Commander Farragut was ordering the last moorings to be

cast loose which held the _Abraham Lincoln_ to the pier of Brooklyn. So

in a quarter of an hour, perhaps less, the frigate would have sailed

without me. I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and

incredible expedition, the recital of which may well meet with some

scepticism.

But Commander Farragut would not lose a day nor an hour in scouring the

seas in which the animal had been sighted. He sent for the engineer.

“Is the steam full on?” asked he.

“Yes, sir,” replied the engineer.

“Go ahead,” cried Commander Farragut.

The quay of Brooklyn, and all that part of New York bordering on the

East River, was crowded with spectators. Three cheers burst

successively from five hundred thousand throats; thousands of

handkerchiefs were waved above the heads of the compact mass, saluting

the _Abraham Lincoln_, until she reached the waters of the Hudson, at

the point of that elongated peninsula which forms the town of New York.

Then the frigate, following the coast of New Jersey along the right

bank of the beautiful river, covered with villas, passed between the

forts, which saluted her with their heaviest guns. The _Abraham

Lincoln_ answered by hoisting the American colours three times, whose

thirty-nine stars shone resplendent from the mizzen-peak; then

modifying its speed to take the narrow channel marked by buoys placed

in the inner bay formed by Sandy Hook Point, it coasted the long sandy

beach, where some thousands of spectators gave it one final cheer. The

escort of boats and tenders still followed the frigate, and did not

leave her until they came abreast of the lightship, whose two lights

marked the entrance of New York Channel.

Six bells struck, the pilot got into his boat, and rejoined the little

schooner which was waiting under our lee, the fires were made up, the

screw beat the waves more rapidly, the frigate skirted the low yellow

coast of Long Island; and at eight bells, after having lost sight in

the north-west of the lights of Fire Island, she ran at full steam on

to the dark waters of the Atlantic.

CHAPTER IV

NED LAND

Captain Farragut was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he commanded.

His vessel and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the question of

the cetacean there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not allow the

existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in it, as

certain good women believe in the leviathan—by faith, not by reason.

The monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it. He was a

kind of Knight of Rhodes, a second Dieudonné de Gozon, going to meet

the serpent which desolated the island. Either Captain Farragut would

kill the narwhal, or the narwhal would kill the captain. There was no

third course.

The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were ever

chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances of a meeting,

watching narrowly the vast surface of the ocean. More than one took up

his quarters voluntarily in the cross-trees, who would have cursed such

a berth under any other circumstances. As long as the sun described its

daily course, the rigging was crowded with sailors, whose feet were

burnt to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render it

unbearable; still the _Abraham Lincoln_ had not yet breasted the

suspected waters of the Pacific. As to the ship’s company, they desired

nothing better than to meet the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist it on

board, and despatch it. They watched the sea with eager attention.

Besides, Captain Farragut had spoken of a certain sum of two thousand

dollars, set apart for whoever should first sight the monster, were he

cabin-boy, common seaman, or officer.

I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the _Abraham Lincoln_.

For my own part I was not behind the others, and left to no one my

share of daily observations. The frigate might have been called the

_Argus_, for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to

protest by his indifference against the question which so interested us

all, and seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on

board.

I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with

every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever

been better armed. We possessed every known engine, from the harpoon

thrown by the hand to the barbed arrows of the blunderbuss, and the

explosive balls of the duck-gun. On the forecastle lay the perfection

of a breech-loading gun, very thick at the breech, and very narrow in

the bore, the model of which had been in the Exhibition of 1867. This

precious weapon of American origin could throw with ease a conical

projectile of nine pounds to a mean distance of ten miles.

Thus the _Abraham Lincoln_ wanted for no means of destruction; and,

what was better still, she had on board Ned Land, the prince of

harpooners.

Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who

knew no equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity,

and cunning he possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning

whale or a singularly “cute” cachalot to escape the stroke of his

harpoon.

Ned Land was about forty years of age; he was a tall man (more than six

feet high), strongly built, grave and taciturn, occasionally violent,

and very passionate when contradicted. His person attracted attention,

but above all the boldness of his look, which gave a singular

expression to his face.

Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little

communicative as Ned Land was, I must admit that he took a certain

liking for me. My nationality drew him to me, no doubt. It was an

opportunity for him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of

Rabelais, which is still in use in some Canadian provinces. The

harpooner’s family was originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe

of hardy fishermen when this town belonged to France.

Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved

to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related his

fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his

recital took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to

a Canadian Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.

I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old

friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and

cemented amidst extreme dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to

live a hundred years longer, that I may have more time to dwell the

longer on your memory.

Now, what was Ned Land’s opinion upon the question of the marine

monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was

the only one on board who did not share that universal conviction. He

even avoided the subject, which I one day thought it my duty to press

upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th of July—that is to say,

three weeks after our departure—the frigate was abreast of Cape Blanc,

thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia. We had crossed the

tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan opened less than seven

hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were over the _Abraham

Lincoln_ would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.

Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and

another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up

to this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up

the conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various chances

of success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let

me speak without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.

“Well, Ned,” said I, “is it possible that you are not convinced of the

existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any

particular reason for being so incredulous?”

The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering,

struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to

collect himself, and said at last, “Perhaps I have, M. Aronnax.”

“But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the great

marine mammalia—you, whose imagination might easily accept the

hypothesis of enormous cetaceans, _you_ ought to be the last to doubt

under such circumstances!”

“That is just what deceives you, Professor,” replied Ned. “That the

vulgar should believe in extraordinary comets traversing space, and in

the existence of antediluvian monsters in the heart of the globe, may

well be; but neither astronomer nor geologist believes in such

chimeras. As a whaler I have followed many a cetacean, harpooned a

great number, and killed several; but, however strong or well-armed

they may have been, neither their tails nor their weapons would have

been able even to scratch the iron plates of a steamer.”

“But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhal have

pierced through and through.”

“Wooden ships—that is possible,” replied the Canadian, “but I have

never seen it done; and, until further proof, I deny that whales,

cetaceans, or sea-unicorns could ever produce the effect you describe.”

“Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction resting on the logic of

facts. I believe in the existence of a mammal powerfully organised,

belonging to the branch of vertebrata, like the whales, the cachalots,

or the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defence of great

penetrating power.”

“Hum!” said the harpooner, shaking his head with the air of a man who

would not be convinced.

“Notice one thing, my worthy Canadian,” I resumed. “If such an animal

is in existence, if it inhabits the depths of the ocean, if it

frequents the strata lying miles below the surface of the water, it

must necessarily possess an organisation the strength of which would

defy all comparison.”

“And why this powerful organisation?” demanded Ned.

“Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one’s self in these

strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me. Let us admit that the

pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of

water thirty-two feet high. In reality the column of water would be

shorter, as we are speaking of sea water, the density of which is

greater than that of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as

many times thirty-two feet of water as there are above you, so many

times does your body bear a pressure equal to that of the atmosphere,

that is to say, 15 lbs. for each square inch of its surface. It

follows, then, that at 320 feet this pressure = that of 10 atmospheres,

of 100 atmospheres at 3200 feet, and of 1000 atmospheres at 32,000

feet, that is, about 6 miles; which is equivalent to saying that if you

could attain this depth in the ocean, each square three-eighths of an

inch of the surface of your body would bear a pressure of 5600 lbs. Ah!

my brave Ned, do you know how many square inches you carry on the

surface of your body?”

“I have no idea, M. Aronnax.”

“About 6500; and, as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15

lbs. to the square inch, your 6500 square inches bear at this moment a

pressure of 97,500 lbs.”

“Without my perceiving it?”

“Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed by such a

pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interior of your body

with equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibrium between the interior and

exterior pressure, which thus neutralise each other, and which allows

you to bear it without inconvenience. But in the water it is another

thing.”

“Yes, I understand,” replied Ned, becoming more attentive; “because the

water surrounds me, but does not penetrate.”

“Precisely, Ned: so that at 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea you

would undergo a pressure of 97,500 lbs.; at 320 feet, ten times that

pressure; at 3200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at

32,000 feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000

lbs.—that is to say, that you would be flattened as if you had been

drawn from the plates of a hydraulic machine!”

“The devil!” exclaimed Ned.

“Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundred

yards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such

depths—of those whose surface is represented by millions of square

inches, that is by tens of millions of pounds, we must estimate the

pressure they undergo. Consider, then, what must be the resistance of

their bony structure, and the strength of their organisation to

withstand such pressure!”

“Why!” exclaimed Ned Land, “they must be made of iron plates eight

inches thick, like the armoured frigates.”

“As you say, Ned. And think what destruction such a mass would cause,

if hurled with the speed of an express train against the hull of a

vessel.”

“Yes—certainly—perhaps,” replied the Canadian, shaken by these figures,

but not yet willing to give in.

“Well, have I convinced you?”

“You have convinced me of one thing, sir, which is that, if such

animals do exist at the bottom of the seas, they must necessarily be as

strong as you say.”

“But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explain the

accident to the _Scotia?_”

CHAPTER V

AT A VENTURE

The voyage of the _Abraham Lincoln_ was for a long time marked by no

special incident. But one circumstance happened which showed the

wonderful dexterity of Ned Land, and proved what confidence we might

place in him.

The 30th of June, the frigate spoke some American whalers, from whom we

learned that they knew nothing about the narwhal. But one of them, the

captain of the _Monroe_, knowing that Ned Land had shipped on board the

_Abraham Lincoln_, begged for his help in chasing a whale they had in

sight. Commander Farragut, desirous of seeing Ned Land at work, gave

him permission to go on board the _Monroe_. And fate served our

Canadian so well that, instead of one whale, he harpooned two with a

double blow, striking one straight to the heart, and catching the other

after some minutes’ pursuit.

Decidedly, if the monster ever had to do with Ned Land’s harpoon, I

would not bet in its favour.

The frigate skirted the south-east coast of America with great

rapidity. The 3rd of July we were at the opening of the Straits of

Magellan, level with Cape Vierges. But Commander Farragut would not

take a tortuous passage, but doubled Cape Horn.

The ship’s crew agreed with him. And certainly it was possible that

they might meet the narwhal in this narrow pass. Many of the sailors

affirmed that the monster could not pass there, “that he was too big

for that!”

The 6th of July, about three o’clock in the afternoon, the _Abraham

Lincoln_, at fifteen miles to the south, doubled the solitary island,

this lost rock at the extremity of the American continent, to which

some Dutch sailors gave the name of their native town, Cape Horn. The

course was taken towards the north-west, and the next day the screw of

the frigate was at last beating the waters of the Pacific.

“Keep your eyes open!” called out the sailors.

And they were opened widely. Both eyes and glasses, a little dazzled,

it is true, by the prospect of two thousand dollars, had not an

instant’s repose. Day and night they watched the surface of the ocean,

and even nyctalopes, whose faculty of seeing in the darkness multiplies

their chances a hundredfold, would have had enough to do to gain the

prize.

I myself, for whom money had no charms, was not the least attentive on

board. Giving but few minutes to my meals, but a few hours to sleep,

indifferent to either rain or sunshine, I did not leave the poop of the

vessel. Now leaning on the netting of the forecastle, now on the

taffrail, I devoured with eagerness the soft foam which whitened the

sea as far as the eye could reach; and how often have I shared the

emotion of the majority of the crew, when some capricious whale raised

its black back above the waves! The poop of the vessel was crowded in a

moment. The cabins poured forth a torrent of sailors and officers, each

with heaving breast and troubled eye watching the course of the

cetacean. I looked and looked, till I was nearly blind, whilst Conseil,

always phlegmatic, kept repeating in a calm voice:

“If, sir, you would not squint so much, you would see better!”

But vain excitement! The _Abraham Lincoln_ checked its speed and made

for the animal signalled, a simple whale, or common cachalot, which

soon disappeared amidst a storm of execration.

But the weather was good. The voyage was being accomplished under the

most favourable auspices. It was then the bad season in Australia, the

July of that zone corresponding to our January in Europe, but the sea

was beautiful and easily scanned round a vast circumference.

The 20th of July, the tropic of Capricorn was cut by 105° of longitude,

and the 27th of the same month we crossed the equator on the 110th

meridian. This passed, the frigate took a more decided westerly

direction, and scoured the central waters of the Pacific. Commander

Farragut thought, and with reason, that it was better to remain in deep

water, and keep clear of continents or islands, which the beast itself

seemed to shun (perhaps because there was not enough water for him!

suggested the greater part of the crew). The frigate passed at some

distance from the Marquesas and the Sandwich Islands, crossed the

tropic of Cancer, and made for the China Seas. We were on the theatre

of the last diversions of the monster: and, to say truth, we no longer

_lived_ on board. Hearts palpitated, fearfully preparing themselves for

future incurable aneurism. The entire ship’s crew were undergoing a

nervous excitement, of which I can give no idea: they could not eat,

they could not sleep—twenty times a day, a misconception or an optical

illusion of some sailor seated on the taffrail, would cause dreadful

perspirations, and these emotions, twenty times repeated, kept us in a

state of excitement so violent that a reaction was unavoidable.

And truly, reaction soon showed itself. For three months, during which

a day seemed an age, the _Abraham Lincoln_ furrowed all the waters of

the Northern Pacific, running at whales, making sharp deviations from

her course, veering suddenly from one tack to another, stopping

suddenly, putting on steam, and backing ever and anon at the risk of

deranging her machinery, and not one point of the Japanese or American

coast was left unexplored.

The warmest partisans of the enterprise now became its most ardent

detractors. Reaction mounted from the crew to the captain himself, and

certainly, had it not been for resolute determination on the part of

Captain Farragut, the frigate would have headed due southward. This

useless search could not last much longer. The _Abraham Lincoln_ had

nothing to reproach herself with, she had done her best to succeed.

Never had an American ship’s crew shown more zeal or patience; its

failure could not be placed to their charge—there remained nothing but

to return.

This was represented to the commander. The sailors could not hide their

discontent, and the service suffered. I will not say there was a mutiny

on board, but after a reasonable period of obstinacy, Captain Farragut

(as Columbus did) asked for three days’ patience. If in three days the

monster did not appear, the man at the helm should give three turns of

the wheel, and the _Abraham Lincoln_ would make for the European seas.

This promise was made on the 2nd of November. It had the effect of

rallying the ship’s crew. The ocean was watched with renewed attention.

Each one wished for a last glance in which to sum up his remembrance.

Glasses were used with feverish activity. It was a grand defiance given

to the giant narwhal, and he could scarcely fail to answer the summons

and “appear.”

Two days passed, the steam was at half pressure; a thousand schemes

were tried to attract the attention and stimulate the apathy of the

animal in case it should be met in those parts. Large quantities of

bacon were trailed in the wake of the ship, to the great satisfaction

(I must say) of the sharks. Small craft radiated in all directions

round the _Abraham Lincoln_ as she lay to, and did not leave a spot of

the sea unexplored. But the night of the 4th of November arrived

without the unveiling of this submarine mystery.

The next day, the 5th of November, at twelve, the delay would (morally

speaking) expire; after that time, Commander Farragut, faithful to his

promise, was to turn the course to the south-east and abandon for ever

the northern regions of the Pacific.

The frigate was then in 31° 15′ north latitude and 136° 42′ east

longitude. The coast of Japan still remained less than two hundred

miles to leeward. Night was approaching. They had just struck eight

bells; large clouds veiled the face of the moon, then in its first

quarter. The sea undulated peaceably under the stern of the vessel.

At that moment I was leaning forward on the starboard netting. Conseil,

standing near me, was looking straight before him. The crew, perched in

the ratlines, examined the horizon, which contracted and darkened by

degrees. Officers with their night glasses scoured the growing

darkness; sometimes the ocean sparkled under the rays of the moon,

which darted between two clouds, then all trace of light was lost in

the darkness.

In looking at Conseil, I could see he was undergoing a little of the

general influence. At least I thought so. Perhaps for the first time

his nerves vibrated to a sentiment of curiosity.

“Come, Conseil,” said I, “this is the last chance of pocketing the two

thousand dollars.”

“May I be permitted to say, sir,” replied Conseil, “that I never

reckoned on getting the prize; and, had the government of the Union

offered a hundred thousand dollars, it would have been none the

poorer.”

“You are right, Conseil. It is a foolish affair after all, and one upon

which we entered too lightly. What time lost, what useless emotions! We

should have been back in France six months ago.”

“In your little room, sir,” replied Conseil, “and in your museum, sir,

and I should have already classed all your fossils, sir. And the

Babiroussa would have been installed in its cage in the Jardin des

Plantes, and have drawn all the curious people of the capital!”

“As you say, Conseil. I fancy we shall run a fair chance of being

laughed at for our pains.”

“That’s tolerably certain,” replied Conseil, quietly; “I think they

will make fun of you, sir. And, must I say it?”

“Go on, my good friend.”

“Well, sir, you will only get your deserts.”

“Indeed!”

“When one has the honour of being a savant as you are, sir, one should

not expose one’s self to——”

Conseil had not time to finish his compliment. In the midst of general

silence a voice had just been heard. It was the voice of Ned Land

shouting—

“Look out there! The very thing we are looking for—on our weather

beam!”

CHAPTER VI

AT FULL STEAM

At this cry the whole ship’s crew hurried towards the

harpooner,—commander, officers, masters, sailors, cabin boys; even the

engineers left their engines, and the stokers their furnaces.

The order to stop her had been given, and the frigate now simply went

on by her own momentum. The darkness was then profound, and however

good the Canadian’s eyes were, I asked myself how he had managed to

see, and what he had been able to see. My heart beat as if it would

break. But Ned Land was not mistaken, and we all perceived the object

he pointed to. At two cables’ length from the _Abraham Lincoln_, on the

starboard quarter, the sea seemed to be illuminated all over. It was

not a mere phosphoric phenomenon. The monster emerged some fathoms from

the water, and then threw out that very intense but inexplicable light

mentioned in the report of several captains. This magnificent

irradiation must have been produced by an agent of great _shining_

power. The luminous part traced on the sea an immense oval, much

elongated, the centre of which condensed a burning heat, whose

overpowering brilliancy died out by successive gradations.

“It is only an agglomeration of phosphoric particles,” cried one of the

officers.

“No, sir, certainly not,” I replied. “Never did pholades or salpæ

produce such a powerful light. That brightness is of an essentially

electrical nature. Besides, see, see! it moves; it is moving forwards,

backwards; it is darting towards us!”

A general cry rose from the frigate.

“Silence!” said the Captain; “up with the helm, reverse the engines.”

The steam was shut off, and the _Abraham Lincoln_, beating to port,

described a semicircle.

“Right the helm, go ahead,” cried the Captain.

These orders were executed, and the frigate moved rapidly from the

burning light.

I was mistaken. She tried to sheer off, but the supernatural animal

approached with a velocity double her own.

We gasped for breath. Stupefaction more than fear made us dumb and

motionless. The animal gained on us, sporting with the waves. It made

the round of the frigate, which was then making fourteen knots, and

enveloped it with its electric rings like luminous dust. Then it moved

away two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent track, like those

volumes of steam that the express trains leave behind. All at once from

the dark line of the horizon whither it retired to gain its momentum,

the monster rushed suddenly towards the _Abraham Lincoln_ with alarming

rapidity, stopped suddenly about twenty feet from the hull, and died

out,—not diving under the water, for its brilliancy did not abate,—but

suddenly, and as if the source of this brilliant emanation was

exhausted. Then it reappeared on the other side of the vessel, as if it

had turned and slid under the hull. Any moment a collision might have

occurred which would have been fatal to us. However, I was astonished

at the manœuvres of the frigate. She fled and did not attack.

On the captain’s face, generally so impassive, was an expression of

unaccountable astonishment.

“M. Aronnax,” he said, “I do not know with what formidable being I

have to deal, and I will not imprudently risk my frigate in the midst

of this darkness. Besides, how attack this unknown thing, how defend

one’s self from it? Wait for daylight, and the scene will change.”

“You have no further doubt, captain, of the nature of the animal?”

“No, sir; it is evidently a gigantic narwhal, and an electric one.”

“Perhaps,” added I, “one can only approach it with a gymnotus or a

torpedo.”

“Undoubtedly,” replied the captain, “if it possesses such dreadful

power, it is the most terrible animal that ever was created. That is

why, sir, I must be on my guard.”

The crew were on their feet all night. No one thought of sleep. The

_Abraham Lincoln_, not being able to struggle with such velocity, had

moderated its pace, and sailed at half speed. For its part, the

narwhal, imitating the frigate, let the waves rock it at will, and

seemed decided not to leave the scene of the struggle. Towards

midnight, however, it disappeared, or, to use a more appropriate term,

it “died out” like a large glow-worm. Had it fled? One could only fear,

not hope. But at seven minutes to one o’clock in the morning a

deafening whistling was heard, like that produced by a body of water

rushing with great violence.

The captain, Ned Land, and I, were then on the poop, eagerly peering

through the profound darkness.

“Ned Land,” asked the commander, “you have often heard the roaring of

whales?”

“Often, sir; but never such whales the sight of which brought me in two

thousand dollars. If I can only approach within four harpoon lengths of

it!”

“But to approach it,” said the commander, “I ought to put a whaler at

your disposal?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“That will be trifling with the lives of my men.”

“And mine too,” simply said the harpooner.

Towards two o’clock in the morning, the burning light reappeared, not

less intense, about five miles to windward of the _Abraham Lincoln_.

Notwithstanding the distance, and the noise of the wind and sea, one

heard distinctly the loud strokes of the animal’s tail, and even its

panting breath. It seemed that, at the moment that the enormous narwhal

had come to take breath at the surface of the water, the air was

engulfed in its lungs, like the steam in the vast cylinders of a

machine of two thousand horse-power.

“Hum!” thought I, “a whale with the strength of a cavalry regiment

would be a pretty whale!”

We were on the _qui vive_ till daylight, and prepared for the combat.

The fishing implements were laid along the hammock nettings. The second

lieutenant loaded the blunderbusses, which could throw harpoons to the

distance of a mile, and long duck-guns, with explosive bullets, which

inflicted mortal wounds even to the most terrible animals. Ned Land

contented himself with sharpening his harpoon—a terrible weapon in his

hands.

At six o’clock day began to break; and, with the first glimmer of

light, the electric light of the narwhal disappeared. At seven o’clock

the day was sufficiently advanced, but a very thick sea fog obscured

our view, and the best spy-glasses could not pierce it. That caused

disappointment and anger.

I climbed the mizzen-mast. Some officers were already perched on the

mast heads. At eight o’clock the fog lay heavily on the waves, and its

thick scrolls rose little by little. The horizon grew wider and clearer

at the same time. Suddenly, just as on the day before, Ned Land’s voice

was heard:

“The thing itself on the port quarter!” cried the harpooner.

Every eye was turned towards the point indicated. There, a mile and a

half from the frigate, a long blackish body emerged a yard above the

waves. Its tail, violently agitated, produced a considerable eddy.

Never did a caudal appendage beat the sea with such violence. An

immense track, of dazzling whiteness, marked the passage of the animal,

and described a long curve.

The frigate approached the cetacean. I examined it thoroughly.

The reports of the _Shannon_ and of the _Helvetia_ had rather

exaggerated its size, and I estimated its length at only two hundred

and fifty feet. As to its dimensions, I could only conjecture them to

be admirably proportioned. While I watched this phenomenon, two jets of

steam and water were ejected from its vents, and rose to the height of

120 feet; thus I ascertained its way of breathing. I concluded

definitely that it belonged to the vertebrate branch, class mammalia.

The crew waited impatiently for their chief’s orders. The latter, after

having observed the animal attentively, called the engineer. The

engineer ran to him.

“Sir,” said the commander, “you have steam up?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the engineer.

“Well, make up your fires and put on all steam.”

Three hurrahs greeted this order. The time for the struggle had

arrived. Some moments after, the two funnels of the frigate vomited

torrents of black smoke, and the bridge quaked under the trembling of

the boilers.

The _Abraham Lincoln_, propelled by her wonderful screw, went straight

at the animal. The latter allowed it to come within half a cable’s

length; then, as if disdaining to dive, it took a little turn, and

stopped a short distance off.

This pursuit lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour, without the

frigate gaining two yards on the cetacean. It was quite evident that at

that rate we should never come up with it.

“Well, Mr. Land,” asked the captain, “do you advise me to put the boats

out to sea?”

“No, sir,” replied Ned Land; “because we shall not take that beast

easily.”

“What shall we do then?”

“Put on more steam if you can, sir. With your leave, I mean to post

myself under the bowsprit, and if we get within harpooning distance, I

shall throw my harpoon.”

“Go, Ned,” said the captain. “Engineer, put on more pressure.”

Ned Land went to his post. The fires were increased, the screw revolved

forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the valves. We

heaved the log, and calculated that the _Abraham Lincoln_ was going at

the rate of 18½ miles an hour.

But the accursed animal swam too at the rate of 18½ miles an hour.

For a whole hour, the frigate kept up this pace, without gaining six

feet. It was humiliating for one of the swiftest sailers in the

American navy. A stubborn anger seized the crew; the sailors abused the

monster, who, as before, disdained to answer them; the captain no

longer contented himself with twisting his beard—he gnawed it.

The engineer was again called.

“You have turned full steam in?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the engineer.

The speed of the _Abraham Lincoln_ increased. Its masts trembled down

to their stepping holes, and the clouds of smoke could hardly find way

out of the narrow funnels.

They heaved the log a second time.

“Well?” asked the captain of the man at the wheel.

“Nineteen miles and three-tenths, sir.”

“Clap on more steam.”

The engineer obeyed. The manometer showed ten degrees. But the cetacean

grew warm itself, no doubt; for without straining itself, it made

19-3/10 miles.

What a pursuit! No, I cannot describe the emotion that vibrated through

me. Ned Land kept his post, harpoon in hand. Several times the animal

let us gain upon it.—“We shall catch it! we shall catch it!” cried the

Canadian. But just as he was going to strike, the cetacean stole away

with a rapidity that could not be estimated at less than thirty miles

an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied the frigate,

going round and round it. A cry of fury broke from everyone!

At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o’clock in the

morning.

The captain then decided to take more direct means.

“Ah!” said he, “that animal goes quicker than the _Abraham Lincoln_.

Very well! we will see whether it will escape these conical bullets.

Send your men to the forecastle, sir.”

The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and slewed round. But the

shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.

“Another, more to the right,” cried the commander, “and five dollars to

whoever will hit that infernal beast.”

An old gunner with a grey beard—that I can see now—with steady eye and

grave face, went up to the gun and took a long aim. A loud report was

heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew.

[Illustration] An old grey-bearded gunner . . . .

The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, but not fatally, and

sliding off the rounded surface, was lost in two miles depth of sea.

The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said—

“I will pursue that beast till my frigate bursts up.”

“Yes,” answered I; “and you will be quite right to do it.”

I wished the beast would exhaust itself, and not be insensible to

fatigue like a steam engine! But it was of no use. Hours passed,

without its showing any signs of exhaustion.

However, it must be said in praise of the _Abraham Lincoln_, that she

struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance she made under

three hundred miles during this unlucky day, November the 6th. But

night came on, and overshadowed the rough ocean.

Now I thought our expedition was at an end, and that we should never

again see the extraordinary animal. I was mistaken. At ten minutes to

eleven in the evening, the electric light reappeared three miles to

windward of the frigate, as pure, as intense as during the preceding

night.

The narwhal seemed motionless; perhaps, tired with its day’s work, it

slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. Now was a

chance of which the captain resolved to take advantage.

He gave his orders. The _Abraham Lincoln_ kept up half steam, and

advanced cautiously so as not to awake its adversary. It is no rare

thing to meet in the middle of the ocean whales so sound asleep that

they can be successfully attacked, and Ned Land had harpooned more than

one during its sleep. The Canadian went to take his place again under

the bowsprit.

The frigate approached noiselessly, stopped at two cables’ lengths from

the animal, and following its track. No one breathed; a deep silence

reigned on the bridge. We were not a hundred feet from the burning

focus, the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.

At this moment, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw below me Ned

Land grappling the martingale in one hand, brandishing his terrible

harpoon in the other, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal.

Suddenly his arm straightened, and the harpoon was thrown; I heard the

sonorous stroke of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body.

The electric light went out suddenly, and two enormous waterspouts

broke over the bridge of the frigate, rushing like a torrent from stem

to stern, overthrowing men, and breaking the lashings of the spars. A

fearful shock followed, and, thrown over the rail without having time

to stop myself, I fell into the sea.

CHAPTER VII

AN UNKNOWN SPECIES OF WHALE

This unexpected fall so stunned me that I have no clear recollection of

my sensations at the time. I was at first drawn down to a depth of

about twenty feet. I am a good swimmer (though without pretending to

rival Byron or Edgar Poe, who were masters of the art), and in that

plunge I did not lose my presence of mind. Two vigorous strokes brought

me to the surface of the water. My first care was to look for the

frigate. Had the crew seen me disappear? Had the _Abraham Lincoln_

veered round? Would the captain put out a boat? Might I hope to be

saved?

The darkness was intense. I caught a glimpse of a black mass

disappearing in the east, its beacon lights dying out in the distance.

It was the frigate! I was lost.

“Help, help!” I shouted, swimming towards the _Abraham Lincoln_ in

desperation.

My clothes encumbered me; they seemed glued to my body, and paralysed

my movements.

I was sinking! I was suffocating!

“Help!”

This was my last cry. My mouth filled with water; I struggled against

being drawn down the abyss. Suddenly my clothes were seized by a strong

hand, and I felt myself quickly drawn up to the surface of the sea; and

I heard, yes, I heard these words pronounced in my ear—

“If master would be so good as to lean on my shoulder, master would

swim with much greater ease.”

I seized with one hand my faithful Conseil’s arm.

“Is it you?” said I, “you?”

“Myself,” answered Conseil; “and waiting master’s orders.”

“That shock threw you as well as me into the sea?”

“No; but being in my master’s service, I followed him.”

The worthy fellow thought that was but natural.

“And the frigate?” I asked.

“The frigate?” replied Conseil, turning on his back; “I think that

master had better not count too much on her.”

“You think so?”

“I say that, at the time I threw myself into the sea, I heard the men

at the wheel say, ‘The screw and the rudder are broken.’”

“Broken?”

“Yes, broken by the monster’s teeth. It is the only injury the _Abraham

Lincoln_ has sustained. But it is a bad look out for us—she no longer

answers her helm.”

“Then we are lost!”

“Perhaps so,” calmly answered Conseil. “However, we have still several

hours before us, and one can do a good deal in some hours.”

Conseil’s imperturbable coolness set me up again. I swam more

vigorously; but, cramped by my clothes, which stuck to me like a leaden

weight, I felt great difficulty in bearing up. Conseil saw this.

“Will master let me make a slit?” said he; and, slipping an open knife

under my clothes, he ripped them up from top to bottom very rapidly.

Then he cleverly slipped them off me, while I swam for both of us.

Then I did the same for Conseil, and we continued to swim near to each

other.

Nevertheless, our situation was no less terrible. Perhaps our

disappearance had not been noticed; and if it had been, the frigate

could not tack, being without its helm. Conseil argued on this

supposition, and laid his plans accordingly. This phlegmatic boy was

perfectly self-possessed. We then decided that, as our only chance of

safety was being picked up by the _Abraham Lincoln’s_ boats, we ought

to manage so as to wait for them as long as possible. I resolved then

to husband our strength, so that both should not be exhausted at the

same time; and this is how we managed: while one of us lay on our back,

quite still, with arms crossed, and legs stretched out, the other would

swim and push the other on in front. This towing business did not last

more than ten minutes each; and relieving each other thus, we could

swim on for some hours, perhaps till daybreak. Poor chance! but hope is

so firmly rooted in the heart of man! Moreover, there were two of us.

Indeed I declare (though it may seem improbable) if I sought to destroy

all hope,—if I wished to despair, I could not.

The collision of the frigate with the cetacean had occurred about

eleven o’clock the evening before. I reckoned then we should have eight

hours to swim before sunrise, an operation quite practicable if we

relieved each other. The sea, very calm, was in our favour. Sometimes I

tried to pierce the intense darkness that was only dispelled by the

phosphorescence caused by our movements. I watched the luminous waves

that broke over my hand, whose mirror-like surface was spotted with

silvery rings. One might have said that we were in a bath of

quicksilver.

Near one o’clock in the morning, I was seized with dreadful fatigue. My

limbs stiffened under the strain of violent cramp. Conseil was obliged

to keep me up, and our preservation devolved on him alone. I heard the

poor boy pant; his breathing became short and hurried. I found that he

could not keep up much longer.

“Leave me! leave me!” I said to him.

“Leave my master? Never!” replied he. “I would drown first.”

Just then the moon appeared through the fringes of a thick cloud that

the wind was driving to the east. The surface of the sea glittered with

its rays. This kindly light reanimated us. My head got better again. I

looked at all points of the horizon. I saw the frigate! She was five

miles from us, and looked like a dark mass, hardly discernible. But no

boats!

I would have cried out. But what good would it have been at such a

distance! My swollen lips could utter no sounds. Conseil could

articulate some words, and I heard him repeat at intervals, “Help!

help!”

Our movements were suspended for an instant; we listened. It might be

only a singing in the ear, but it seemed to me as if a cry answered the

cry from Conseil.

“Did you hear?” I murmured.

“Yes! Yes!”

And Conseil gave one more despairing call.

This time there was no mistake! A human voice responded to ours! Was it

the voice of another unfortunate creature, abandoned in the middle of

the ocean, some other victim of the shock sustained by the vessel? Or

rather was it a boat from the frigate, that was hailing us in the

darkness?

Conseil made a last effort, and, leaning on my shoulder, while I struck

out in a despairing effort, he raised himself half out of the water,

then fell back exhausted.

“What did you see?”

“I saw”—murmured he; “I saw—but do not talk—reserve all your strength!”

What had he seen? Then, I know not why, the thought of the monster came

into my head for the first time! But that voice! The time is past for

Jonahs to take refuge in whales’ bellies! However, Conseil was towing

me again. He raised his head sometimes, looked before us, and uttered a

cry of recognition, which was responded to by a voice that came nearer

and nearer. I scarcely heard it. My strength was exhausted; my fingers

stiffened; my hand afforded me support no longer; my mouth,

convulsively opening, filled with salt water. Cold crept over me. I

raised my head for the last time, then I sank.

At this moment a hard body struck me. I clung to it: then I felt that I

was being drawn up, that I was brought to the surface of the water,

that my chest collapsed:—I fainted.

It is certain that I soon came to, thanks to the vigorous rubbings that

I received. I half opened my eyes.

“Conseil!” I murmured.

“Does master call me?” asked Conseil.

Just then, by the waning light of the moon which was sinking down to

the horizon, I saw a face which was not Conseil’s and which I

immediately recognised.

“Ned!” I cried.

“The same, sir, who is seeking his prize!” replied the Canadian.

“Were you thrown into the sea by the shock to the frigate?”

“Yes, Professor; but more fortunate than you, I was able to find a

footing almost directly upon a floating island.”

“An island?”

“Or, more correctly speaking, on our gigantic narwhal.”

“Explain yourself, Ned!”

“Only I soon found out why my harpoon had not entered its skin and was

blunted.”

“Why, Ned, why?”

“Because, Professor, that beast is made of sheet iron.”

The Canadian’s last words produced a sudden revolution in my brain. I

wriggled myself quickly to the top of the being, or object, half out of

the water, which served us for a refuge. I kicked it. It was evidently

a hard impenetrable body, and not the soft substance that forms the

bodies of the great marine mammalia. But this hard body might be a bony

carapace, like that of the antediluvian animals; and I should be free

to class this monster among amphibious reptiles, such as tortoises or

alligators.

Well, no! the blackish back that supported me was smooth, polished,

without scales. The blow produced a metallic sound; and incredible

though it may be, it seemed, I might say, as if it was made of riveted

plates.

There was no doubt about it! This monster, this natural phenomenon that

had puzzled the learned world, and overthrown and misled the

imagination of seamen of both hemispheres, it must be owned, a still

more astonishing phenomenon, inasmuch as it was a simply human

construction.

We had no time to lose, however. We were lying upon the back of a sort

of submarine boat, which appeared (as far as I could judge) like a huge

fish of steel. Ned Land’s mind was made up on this point. Conseil and I

could only agree with him.

Just then a bubbling began at the back of this strange thing (which was

evidently propelled by a screw), and it began to move. We had only just

time to seize hold of the upper part, which rose about seven feet out

of the water, and happily its speed was not great.

“As long as it sails horizontally,” muttered Ned Land, “I do not mind;

but if it takes a fancy to dive, I would not give two straws for my

life.”

The Canadian might have said still less. It became really necessary to

communicate with the beings, whatever they were, shut up inside the

machine. I searched all over the outside for an aperture, a panel, or a

man-hole, to use a technical expression; but the lines of the iron

rivets, solidly driven into the joints of the iron plates, were clear

and uniform. Besides, the moon disappeared then, and left us in total

darkness.

At last this long night passed. My indistinct remembrance prevents my

describing all the impressions it made. I can only recall one

circumstance. During some lulls of the wind and sea, I fancied I heard

several times vague sounds, a sort of fugitive harmony produced by

words of command. What was then the mystery of this submarine craft, of

which the whole world vainly sought an explanation? What kind of beings

existed in this strange boat? What mechanical agent caused its

prodigious speed?

Daybreak appeared. The morning mists surrounded us, but they soon

cleared off. I was about to examine the hull, which formed on deck a

kind of horizontal platform, when I felt it gradually sinking.

“Oh! confound it!” cried Ned Land, kicking the resounding plate. “Open,

you inhospitable rascals!”

Happily the sinking movement ceased. Suddenly a noise, like iron works

violently pushed aside, came from the interior of the boat. One iron

plate was moved, a man appeared, uttered an odd cry, and disappeared

immediately.

Some moments after, eight strong men, with masked faces, appeared

noiselessly, and drew us down into their formidable machine.

CHAPTER VIII

MOBILIS IN MOBILI

This forcible abduction, so roughly carried out, was accomplished with

the rapidity of lightning. I shivered all over. Whom had we to deal

with? No doubt some new sort of pirates, who explored the sea in their

own way.

Hardly had the narrow panel closed upon me, when I was enveloped in

darkness. My eyes, dazzled with the outer light, could distinguish

nothing. I felt my naked feet cling to the rungs of an iron ladder. Ned

Land and Conseil, firmly seized, followed me. At the bottom of the

ladder, a door opened, and shut after us immediately with a bang.

We were alone. Where, I could not say, hardly imagine. All was black,

and such a dense black that, after some minutes, my eyes had not been

able to discern even the faintest glimmer.

Meanwhile, Ned Land, furious at these proceedings, gave free vent to

his indignation.

“Confound it!” cried he, “here are people who come up to the Scotch for

hospitality. They only just miss being cannibals. I should not be

surprised at it, but I declare that they shall not eat me without my

protesting.”

“Calm yourself, friend Ned, calm yourself,” replied Conseil, quietly.

“Do not cry out before you are hurt. We are not quite done for yet.”

“Not quite,” sharply replied the Canadian, “but pretty near, at all

events. Things look black. Happily, my bowie knife I have still, and I

can always see well enough to use it. The first of these pirates who

lays a hand on me——”

“Do not excite yourself, Ned,” I said to the harpooner, “and do not

compromise us by useless violence. Who knows that they will not listen

to us? Let us rather try to find out where we are.”

I groped about. In five steps I came to an iron wall, made of plates

bolted together. Then turning back I struck against a wooden table,

near which were ranged several stools. The boards of this prison were

concealed under a thick mat of phormium, which deadened the noise of

the feet. The bare walls revealed no trace of window or door. Conseil,

going round the reverse way, met me, and we went back to the middle of

the cabin, which measured about twenty feet by ten. As to its height,

Ned Land, in spite of his own great height, could not measure it.

Half an hour had already passed without our situation being bettered,

when the dense darkness suddenly gave way to extreme light. Our prison

was suddenly lighted—that is to say, it became filled with a luminous

matter, so strong that I could not bear it at first. In its whiteness

and intensity I recognised that electric light which played round the

submarine boat like a magnificent phenomenon of phosphorescence. After

shutting my eyes involuntarily, I opened them, and saw that this

luminous agent came from a half globe, unpolished, placed in the roof

of the cabin.

“At last one can see,” cried Ned Land, who, knife in hand, stood on the

defensive.

“Yes,” said I; “but we are still in the dark about ourselves.”

“Let master have patience,” said the imperturbable Conseil.

The sudden lighting of the cabin enabled me to examine it minutely. It

only contained a table and five stools. The invisible door might be

hermetically sealed. No noise was heard. All seemed dead in the

interior of this boat. Did it move, did it float on the surface of the

ocean, or did it dive into its depths? I could not guess.

A noise of bolts was now heard, the door opened, and two men appeared.

One was short, very muscular, broad-shouldered, with robust limbs,

strong head, an abundance of black hair, thick moustache, a quick

penetrating look, and the vivacity which characterises the population

of Southern France.

The second stranger merits a more detailed description. A disciple of

Gratiolet or Engel would have read his face like an open book. I made

out his prevailing qualities directly:—self-confidence,—because his

head was well set on his shoulders, and his black eyes looked around

with cold assurance; calmness,—for his skin, rather pale, showed his

coolness of blood; energy,—evinced by the rapid contraction of his

lofty brows; and courage,—because his deep breathing denoted great

power of lungs.

Whether this person was thirty-five or fifty years of age, I could not

say. He was tall, had a large forehead, straight nose, a clearly cut

mouth, beautiful teeth, with fine taper hands, indicative of a highly

nervous temperament. This man was certainly the most admirable specimen

I had ever met. One particular feature was his eyes, rather far from

each other, and which could take in nearly a quarter of the horizon at

once.

This faculty—(I verified it later)—gave him a range of vision far

superior to Ned Land’s. When this stranger fixed upon an object, his

eyebrows met, his large eyelids closed around so as to contract the

range of his vision, and he looked as if he magnified the objects

lessened by distance, as if he pierced those sheets of water so opaque

to our eyes, and as if he read the very depths of the seas.

The two strangers, with caps made from the fur of the sea otter, and

shod with sea boots of seal’s skin, were dressed in clothes of a

particular texture, which allowed free movement of the limbs. The

taller of the two, evidently the chief on board, examined us with great

attention, without saying a word; then turning to his companion, talked

with him in an unknown tongue. It was a sonorous, harmonious, and

flexible dialect, the vowels seeming to admit of very varied

accentuation.

The other replied by a shake of the head, and added two or three

perfectly incomprehensible words. Then he seemed to question me by a

look.

I replied in good French that I did not know his language; but he

seemed not to understand me, and my situation became more embarrassing.

“If master were to tell our story,” said Conseil, “perhaps these

gentlemen may understand some words.”

I began to tell our adventures, articulating each syllable clearly, and

without omitting one single detail. I announced our names and rank,

introducing in person Professor Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and

master Ned Land, the harpooner.

The man with the soft calm eyes listened to me quietly, even politely,

and with extreme attention; but nothing in his countenance indicated

that he had understood my story. When I finished, he said not a word.

There remained one resource, to speak English. Perhaps they would know

this almost universal language. I knew it, as well as the German

language,—well enough to read it fluently, but not to speak it

correctly. But, anyhow, we must make ourselves understood.

“Go on in your turn,” I said to the harpooner; “speak your best

Anglo-Saxon, and try to do better than I.”

Ned did not beg off, and recommenced our story.

To his great disgust, the harpooner did not seem to have made himself

more intelligible than I had. Our visitors did not stir. They evidently

understood neither the language of Arago nor of Faraday.

Very much embarrassed, after having vainly exhausted our speaking

resources, I knew not what part to take, when Conseil said—

“If master will permit me, I will relate it in German.”

But in spite of the elegant terms and good accent of the narrator, the

German language had no success. At last, nonplussed, I tried to

remember my first lessons, and to narrate our adventures in Latin, but

with no better success. This last attempt being of no avail, the two

strangers exchanged some words in their unknown language, and retired.

The door shut.

“It is an infamous shame,” cried Ned Land, who broke out for the

twentieth time. “We speak to those rogues in French, English, German,

and Latin, and not one of them has the politeness to answer!”

“Calm yourself,” I said to the impetuous Ned, “anger will do no good.”

“But do you see, Professor,” replied our irascible companion, “that we

shall absolutely die of hunger in this iron cage?”

“Bah!” said Conseil, philosophically; “we can hold out some time yet.”

“My friends,” I said, “we must not despair. We have been worse off than

this. Do me the favour to wait a little before forming an opinion upon

the commander and crew of this boat.”

“My opinion is formed,” replied Ned Land, sharply. “They are rascals.”

“Good! and from what country?”

“From the land of rogues!”

“My brave Ned, that country is not clearly indicated on the map of the

world; but I admit that the nationality of the two strangers is hard to

determine. Neither English, French, nor German, that is quite certain.

However, I am inclined to think that the commander and his companion

were born in low latitudes. There is southern blood in them. But I

cannot decide by their appearance whether they are Spaniards, Turks,

Arabians, or Indians. As to their language, it is quite

incomprehensible.”

“There is the disadvantage of not knowing all languages,” said Conseil,

“or the disadvantage of not having one universal language.”

As he said these words, the door opened. A steward entered. He brought

us clothes, coats and trousers, made of a stuff I did not know. I

hastened to dress myself, and my companions followed my example. During

that time, the steward—dumb, perhaps deaf—had arranged the table, and

laid three plates.

“This is something like,” said Conseil.

“Bah!” said the rancorous harpooner, “what do you suppose they eat

here? Tortoise liver, filleted shark, and beefsteaks from sea-dogs.”

“We shall see,” said Conseil.

The dishes, of bell metal, were placed on the table, and we took our

places. Undoubtedly we had to do with civilised people, and, had it not

been for the electric light which flooded us, I could have fancied I

was in the dining-room of the Adelphi Hotel at Liverpool, or at the

Grand Hotel in Paris. I must say, however, that there was neither bread

nor wine. The water was fresh and clear, but it was water, and did not

suit Ned Land’s taste. Amongst the dishes which were brought to us, I

recognised several fish delicately dressed; but of some, although

excellent, I could give no opinion, neither could I tell to what

kingdom they belonged, whether animal or vegetable. As to the dinner

service, it was elegant, and in perfect taste. Each utensil, spoon,

fork, knife, plate, had a letter engraved on it, with a motto above it,

of which this is an exact facsimile:—

MOBILIS IN MOBILI

N.

The letter N was no doubt the initial of the name of the enigmatical

person, who commanded at the bottom of the sea.

Ned and Conseil did not reflect much. They devoured the food, and I did

likewise. I was, besides, reassured as to our fate; and it seemed

evident that our hosts would not let us die of want.

However, everything has an end, everything passes away, even the hunger

of people who have not eaten for fifteen hours. Our appetites

satisfied, we felt overcome with sleep.

“Faith! I shall sleep well,” said Conseil.

“So shall I,” replied Ned Land.

My two companions stretched themselves on the cabin carpet, and were

soon sound asleep. For my own part, too many thoughts crowded my brain,

too many insoluble questions pressed upon me, too many fancies kept my

eyes half open. Where were we? What strange power carried us on? I

felt—or rather fancied I felt—the machine sinking down to the lowest

beds of the sea. Dreadful nightmares beset me; I saw in these

mysterious asylums a world of unknown animals, amongst which this

submarine boat seemed to be of the same kind, living, moving, and

formidable as they. Then my brain grew calmer, my imagination wandered

into vague unconsciousness, and I soon fell into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER IX

NED LAND’S TEMPERS

How long we slept I do not know; but our sleep must have lasted long,

for it rested us completely from our fatigues. I woke first. My

companions had not moved, and were still stretched in their corner.

Hardly roused from my somewhat hard couch, I felt my brain freed, my

mind clear. I then began an attentive examination of our cell. Nothing

was changed inside. The prison was still a prison,—the prisoners,

prisoners. However, the steward, during our sleep, had cleared the

table. I breathed with difficulty. The heavy air seemed to oppress my

lungs. Although the cell was large, we had evidently consumed a great

part of the oxygen that it contained. Indeed, each man consumes, in one

hour, the oxygen contained in more than 176 pints of air, and this air,

charged (as then) with a nearly equal quantity of carbonic acid,

becomes unbreathable.

It became necessary to renew the atmosphere of our prison, and no doubt

the whole in the submarine boat. That gave rise to a question in my

mind. How would the commander of this floating dwelling-place proceed?

Would he obtain air by chemical means, in getting by heat the oxygen

contained in chlorate of potash, and in absorbing carbonic acid by

caustic potash? Or, a more convenient, economical, and consequently

more probable alternative, would he be satisfied to rise and take

breath at the surface of the water, like a cetacean, and so renew for

twenty-four hours the atmospheric provision?

In fact, I was already obliged to increase my respirations to eke out

of this cell the little oxygen it contained, when suddenly I was

refreshed by a current of pure air, and perfumed with saline

emanations. It was an invigorating sea breeze, charged with iodine. I

opened my mouth wide, and my lungs saturated themselves with fresh

particles.

At the same time I felt the boat rolling. The iron-plated monster had

evidently just risen to the surface of the ocean to breathe, after the

fashion of whales. I found out from that the mode of ventilating the

boat.

When I had inhaled this air freely, I sought the conduit-pipe, which

conveyed to us the beneficial whiff, and I was not long in finding it.

Above the door was a ventilator, through which volumes of fresh air

renewed the impoverished atmosphere of the cell.

I was making my observations, when Ned and Conseil awoke almost at the

same time, under the influence of this reviving air. They rubbed their

eyes, stretched themselves, and were on their feet in an instant.

“Did master sleep well?” asked Conseil, with his usual politeness.

“Very well, my brave boy. And you, Mr. Land?”

“Soundly, Professor. But I don’t know if I am right or not; there seems

to be a sea breeze!”

A seaman could not be mistaken, and I told the Canadian all that had

passed during his sleep.

“Good!” said he; “that accounts for those roarings we heard, when the

supposed narwhal sighted the _Abraham Lincoln_.”

“Quite so, Master Land; it was taking breath.”

“Only, M. Aronnax, I have no idea what o’clock it is, unless it is

dinner-time.”

“Dinner-time! my good fellow? Say rather breakfast-time, for we

certainly have begun another day.”

“So,” said Conseil, “we have slept twenty-four hours?”

“That is my opinion.”

“I will not contradict you,” replied Ned Land. “But dinner or

breakfast, the steward will be welcome, whichever he brings.”

“Master Land, we must conform to the rules on board, and I suppose our

appetites are in advance of the dinner hour.”

“That is just like you, friend Conseil,” said Ned, impatiently. “You

are never out of temper, always calm; you would return thanks before

grace, and die of hunger rather than complain!”

Time was getting on, and we were fearfully hungry; and this time the

steward did not appear. It was rather too long to leave us, if they

really had good intentions towards us. Ned Land, tormented by the

cravings of hunger, got still more angry; and, notwithstanding his

promise, I dreaded an explosion when he found himself with one of the

crew.

For two hours more Ned Land’s temper increased; he cried, he shouted,

but in vain. The walls were deaf. There was no sound to be heard in the

boat: all was still as death. It did not move, for I should have felt

the trembling motion of the hull under the influence of the screw.

Plunged in the depths of the waters, it belonged no longer to

earth:—this silence was dreadful.

I felt terrified, Conseil was calm, Ned Land roared.

Just then a noise was heard outside. Steps sounded on the metal flags.

The locks were turned, the door opened, and the steward appeared.

Before I could rush forward to stop him, the Canadian had thrown him

down, and held him by the throat. The steward was choking under the

grip of his powerful hand.

Conseil was already trying to unclasp the harpooner’s hand from his

half-suffocated victim, and I was going to fly to the rescue, when

suddenly I was nailed to the spot by hearing these words in French—

“Be quiet, Master Land; and you, Professor, will you be so good as to

listen to me?”

CHAPTER X

THE MAN OF THE SEAS

It was the commander of the vessel who thus spoke.

At these words, Ned Land rose suddenly. The steward, nearly strangled,

tottered out on a sign from his master; but such was the power of the

commander on board, that not a gesture betrayed the resentment which

this man must have felt towards the Canadian. Conseil, interested in

spite of himself, I stupefied, awaited in silence the result of this

scene.

The commander, leaning against the corner of a table with his arms

folded, scanned us with profound attention. Did he hesitate to speak?

Did he regret the words which he had just spoken in French? One might

almost think so.

After some moments of silence, which not one of us dreamed of breaking,

“Gentlemen,” said he, in a calm and penetrating voice, “I speak French,

English, German, and Latin equally well. I could, therefore, have

answered you at our first interview, but I wished to know you first,

then to reflect. The story told by each one, entirely agreeing in the

main points, convinced me of your identity. I know now that chance has

brought before me M. Pierre Aronnax, Professor of Natural History at

the Museum of Paris, entrusted with a scientific mission abroad,

Conseil, his servant, and Ned Land, of Canadian origin, harpooner on

board the frigate _Abraham Lincoln_ of the navy of the United States of

America.”

I bowed assent. It was not a question that the commander put to me.

Therefore there was no answer to be made. This man expressed himself

with perfect ease, without any accent. His sentences were well turned,

his words clear, and his fluency of speech remarkable. Yet, I did not

recognise in him a fellow-countryman.

He continued the conversation in these terms:

“You have doubtless thought, sir, that I have delayed long in paying

you this second visit. The reason is that, your identity recognised, I

wished to weigh maturely what part to act towards you. I have hesitated

much. Most annoying circumstances have brought you into the presence of

a man who has broken all the ties of humanity. You have come to trouble

my existence.”

“Unintentionally!” said I.

“Unintentionally?” replied the stranger, raising his voice a little;

“was it unintentionally that the _Abraham Lincoln_ pursued me all over

the seas? Was it unintentionally that you took passage in this frigate?

Was it unintentionally that your cannon balls rebounded off the plating

of my vessel? Was it unintentionally that Mr. Ned Land struck me with

his harpoon?”

I detected a restrained irritation in these words. But to these

recriminations I had a very natural answer to make and I made it.

“Sir,” said I, “no doubt you are ignorant of the discussions which have

taken place concerning you in America and Europe. You do not know that

divers accidents, caused by collisions with your submarine machine,

have excited public feeling in the two continents. I omit the

hypotheses without number by which it was sought to explain the

inexplicable phenomenon of which you alone possess the secret. But you

must understand that, in pursuing you over the high seas of the

Pacific, the _Abraham Lincoln_ believed itself to be chasing some

powerful sea-monster, of which it was necessary to rid the ocean at any

price.”

A half-smile curled the lips of the commander: then, in a calmer tone—

“M. Aronnax,” he replied, “dare you affirm that your frigate would not

as soon have pursued and cannonaded a submarine boat as a monster?”

This question embarrassed me, for certainly Captain Farragut might not

have hesitated. He might have thought it his duty to destroy a

contrivance of this kind, as he would a gigantic narwhal.

“You understand then, sir,” continued the stranger, “that I have the

right to treat you as enemies?”

I answered nothing, purposely. For what good would it be to discuss

such a proposition, when force could destroy the best arguments?

“I have hesitated some time,” continued the commander; “nothing obliged

me to show you hospitality. If I chose to separate myself from you, I

should have no interest in seeing you again; I could place you upon the

deck of this vessel which has served you as a refuge, I could sink

beneath the waters, and forget that you had ever existed. Would not

that be my right?”

“It might be the right of a savage,” I answered, “but not that of a

civilised man.”

“Professor,” replied the commander, quickly, “I am not what you call a

civilised man! I have done with society entirely, for reasons which I

alone have the right of appreciating. I do not therefore obey its laws,

and I desire you never to allude to them before me again!”

This was said plainly. A flash of anger and disdain kindled in the eyes

of the Unknown, and I had a glimpse of a terrible past in the life of

this man. Not only had he put himself beyond the pale of human laws,

but he had made himself independent of them, free in the strictest

acceptation of the word, quite beyond their reach! Who then would dare

to pursue him at the bottom of the sea, when, on its surface, he defied

all attempts made against him? What vessel could resist the shock of

his submarine monitor? What cuirass, however thick, could withstand the

blows of his spur? No man could demand from him an account of his

actions; God, if he believed in one—his conscience, if he had one—were

the sole judges to whom he was answerable.

These reflections crossed my mind rapidly, whilst the stranger

personage was silent, absorbed, and as if wrapped up in himself. I

regarded him with fear mingled with interest, as doubtless, Œdipus

regarded the Sphinx.

After rather a long silence, the commander resumed the conversation.

“I have hesitated,” said he, “but I have thought that my interest might

be reconciled with that pity to which every human being has a right.

You will remain on board my vessel, since fate has cast you there. You

will be free; and, in exchange for this liberty, I shall only impose

one single condition. Your word of honour to submit to it will

suffice.”

“Speak, sir,” I answered. “I suppose this condition is one which a man

of honour may accept?”

“Yes, sir; it is this. It is possible that certain events, unforeseen,

may oblige me to consign you to your cabins for some hours or some

days, as the case may be. As I desire never to use violence, I expect

from you, more than all the others, a passive obedience. In thus

acting, I take all the responsibility: I acquit you entirely, for I

make it an impossibility for you to see what ought not to be seen. Do

you accept this condition?”

Then things took place on board which, to say the least, were singular,

and which ought not to be seen by people who were not placed beyond the

pale of social laws. Amongst the surprises which the future was

preparing for me, this might not be the least.

“We accept,” I answered; “only I will ask your permission, sir, to

address one question to you—one only.”

“Speak, sir.”

“You said that we should be free on board.”

“Entirely.”

“I ask you, then, what you mean by this liberty?”

“Just the liberty to go, to come, to see, to observe even all that

passes here,—save under rare circumstances,—the liberty, in short,

which we enjoy ourselves, my companions and I.”

It was evident that we did not understand one another.

“Pardon me, sir,” I resumed, “but this liberty is only what every

prisoner has of pacing his prison. It cannot suffice us.”

“It must suffice you, however.”

“What! we must renounce for ever seeing our country, our friends, our

relations again?”

“Yes, sir. But to renounce that unendurable worldly yoke which men

believe to be liberty, is not perhaps so painful as you think.”

“Well,” exclaimed Ned Land, “never will I give my word of honour not to

try to escape.”

“I did not ask you for your word of honour, Master Land,” answered the

commander, coldly.

“Sir,” I replied, beginning to get angry in spite of myself, “you abuse

your situation towards us; it is cruelty.”

“No, sir, it is clemency. You are my prisoners of war. I keep you, when

I could, by a word, plunge you into the depths of the ocean. You

attacked me. You came to surprise a secret which no man in the world

must penetrate,—the secret of my whole existence. And you think that I

am going to send you back to that world which must know me no more?

Never! In retaining you, it is not you whom I guard—it is myself.”

These words indicated a resolution taken on the part of the commander,

against which no arguments would prevail.

“So, sir,” I rejoined, “you give us simply the choice between life and

death?”

“Simply.”

“My friends,” said I, “to a question thus put, there is nothing to

answer. But no word of honour binds us to the master of this vessel.”

“None, sir,” answered the Unknown.

Then, in a gentler tone, he continued—

“Now, permit me to finish what I have to say to you. I know you, M.

Aronnax. You and your companions will not, perhaps, have so much to

complain of in the chance which has bound you to my fate. You will find

amongst the books which are my favourite study the work which you have

published on ‘the depths of the sea.’ I have often read it. You have

carried out your work as far as terrestrial science permitted you. But

you do not know all—you have not seen all. Let me tell you then,

Professor, that you will not regret the time passed on board my vessel.

You are going to visit the land of marvels.”

These words of the commander had a great effect upon me. I cannot deny

it. My weak point was touched; and I forgot, for a moment, that the

contemplation of these sublime subjects was not worth the loss of

liberty. Besides, I trusted to the future to decide this grave

question. So I contented myself with saying—

“By what name ought I to address you?”

“Sir,” replied the commander, “I am nothing to you but Captain Nemo;

and you and your companions are nothing to me but the passengers of the

_Nautilus_.”

Captain Nemo called. A steward appeared. The captain gave him his

orders in that strange language which I did not understand. Then,

turning towards the Canadian and Conseil—

“A repast awaits you in your cabin,” said he. “Be so good as to follow

this man.

“And now, M. Aronnax, our breakfast is ready. Permit me to lead the

way.”

“I am at your service, Captain.”

I followed Captain Nemo; and as soon as I had passed through the door,

I found myself in a kind of passage lighted by electricity, similar to

the waist of a ship. After we had proceeded a dozen yards, a second

door opened before me.

I then entered a dining-room, decorated and furnished in severe taste.

High oaken sideboards, inlaid with ebony, stood at the two extremities

of the room, and upon their shelves glittered china, porcelain, and

glass of inestimable value. The plate on the table sparkled in the rays

which the luminous ceiling shed around, while the light was tempered

and softened by exquisite paintings.

In the centre of the room was a table richly laid out. Captain Nemo

indicated the place I was to occupy.

The breakfast consisted of a certain number of dishes, the contents of

which were furnished by the sea alone; and I was ignorant of the nature

and mode of preparation of some of them. I acknowledged that they were

good, but they had a peculiar flavour, which I easily became accustomed

to. These different aliments appeared to me to be rich in phosphorus,

and I thought they must have a marine origin.

Captain Nemo looked at me. I asked him no questions, but he guessed my

thoughts, and answered of his own accord the questions which I was

burning to address to him.

“The greater part of these dishes are unknown to you,” he said to me.

“However, you may partake of them without fear. They are wholesome and

nourishing. For a long time I have renounced the food of the earth, and

am never ill now. My crew, who are healthy, are fed on the same food.”

“So,” said I, “all these eatables are the produce of the sea?”

“Yes, Professor, the sea supplies all my wants. Sometimes I cast my

nets in tow, and I draw them in ready to break. Sometimes I hunt in the

midst of this element, which appears to be inaccessible to man, and

quarry the game which dwells in my submarine forests. My flocks, like

those of Neptune’s old shepherds, graze fearlessly in the immense

prairies of the ocean. I have a vast property there, which I cultivate

myself, and which is always sown by the hand of the Creator of all

things.”

“I can understand perfectly, sir, that your nets furnish excellent fish

for your table; I can understand also that you hunt aquatic game in

your submarine forests; but I cannot understand at all how a particle

of meat, no matter how small, can figure in your bill of fare.”

“This, which you believe to be meat, Professor, is nothing else than

fillet of turtle. Here are also some dolphins’ livers, which you take

to be ragout of pork. My cook is a clever fellow, who excels in

dressing these various products of the ocean. Taste all these dishes.

Here is a preserve of holothuria, which a Malay would declare to be

unrivalled in the world; here is a cream, of which the milk has been

furnished by the cetacea, and the sugar by the great fucus of the North

Sea; and lastly, permit me to offer you some preserve of anemones,

which is equal to that of the most delicious fruits.”

I tasted, more from curiosity than as a connoisseur, whilst Captain

Nemo enchanted me with his extraordinary stories.

“You like the sea, Captain?”

“Yes; I love it! The sea is everything. It covers seven-tenths of the

terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense

desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all

sides. The sea is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful

existence. It is nothing but love and emotion; it is the ‘Living

Infinite,’ as one of your poets has said. In fact, Professor, Nature

manifests herself in it by her three kingdoms, mineral, vegetable, and

animal. The sea is the vast reservoir of Nature. The globe began with

sea, so to speak; and who knows if it will not end with it? In it is

supreme tranquillity. The sea does not belong to despots. Upon its

surface men can still exercise unjust laws, fight, tear one another to

pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial horrors. But at thirty

feet below its level, their reign ceases, their influence is quenched,

and their power disappears. Ah! sir, live—live in the bosom of the

waters! There only is independence! There I recognise no masters! There

I am free!”

Captain Nemo suddenly became silent in the midst of this enthusiasm, by

which he was quite carried away. For a few moments he paced up and

down, much agitated. Then he became more calm, regained his accustomed

coldness of expression, and turning towards me—

“Now, Professor,” said he, “if you wish to go over the _Nautilus_, I am

at your service.”

Captain Nemo rose. I followed him. A double door, contrived at the back

of the dining-room, opened, and I entered a room equal in dimensions to

that which I had just quitted.

It was a library. High pieces of furniture, of black violet ebony

inlaid with brass, supported upon their wide shelves a great number of

books uniformly bound. They followed the shape of the room, terminating

at the lower part in huge divans, covered with brown leather, which

were curved, to afford the greatest comfort. Light movable desks, made

to slide in and out at will, allowed one to rest one’s book while

reading. In the centre stood an immense table, covered with pamphlets,

amongst which were some newspapers, already of old date. The electric

light flooded everything; it was shed from four unpolished globes half

sunk in the volutes of the ceiling. I looked with real admiration at

this room, so ingeniously fitted up, and I could scarcely believe my

eyes.

“Captain Nemo,” said I to my host, who had just thrown himself on one

of the divans, “this is a library which would do honour to more than

one of the continental palaces, and I am absolutely astounded when I

consider that it can follow you to the bottom of the seas.”

“Where could one find greater solitude or silence, Professor?” replied

Captain Nemo. “Did your study in the Museum afford you such perfect

quiet?”

“No, sir; and I must confess that it is a very poor one after yours.

You must have six or seven thousand volumes here.”

“Twelve thousand, M. Aronnax. These are the only ties which bind me to

the earth. But I had done with the world on the day when my _Nautilus_

plunged for the first time beneath the waters. That day I bought my

last volumes, my last pamphlets, my last papers, and from that time I

wish to think that men no longer think or write. These books,

Professor, are at your service besides, and you can make use of them

freely.”

I thanked Captain Nemo, and went up to the shelves of the library.

Works on science, morals, and literature abounded in every language;

but I did not see one single work on political economy; that subject

appeared to be strictly proscribed. Strange to say, all these books

were irregularly arranged, in whatever language they were written; and

this medley proved that the Captain of the _Nautilus_ must have read

indiscriminately the books which he took up by chance.

“Sir,” said I to the Captain, “I thank you for having placed this

library at my disposal. It contains treasures of science, and I shall

profit by them.”

“This room is not only a library,” said Captain Nemo, “it is also a

smoking-room.”

“A smoking-room!” I cried. “Then one may smoke on board?”

“Certainly.”

“Then, sir, I am forced to believe that you have kept up a

communication with Havannah.”

“Not any,” answered the Captain. “Accept this cigar, M. Aronnax; and,

though it does not come from Havannah, you will be pleased with it, if

you are a connoisseur.”

I took the cigar which was offered me; its shape recalled the London

ones, but it seemed to be made of leaves of gold. I lighted it at a

little brazier, which was supported upon an elegant bronze stem, and

drew the first whiffs with the delight of a lover of smoking who has

not smoked for two days.

“It is excellent, but it is not tobacco.”

“No!” answered the Captain, “this tobacco comes neither from Havannah

nor from the East. It is a kind of sea-weed, rich in nicotine, with

which the sea provides me, but somewhat sparingly.”

At that moment Captain Nemo opened a door which stood opposite to that

by which I had entered the library, and I passed into an immense

drawing-room splendidly lighted.

It was a vast four-sided room, thirty feet long, eighteen wide, and

fifteen high. A luminous ceiling, decorated with light arabesques, shed

a soft clear light over all the marvels accumulated in this museum. For

it was in fact a museum, in which an intelligent and prodigal hand had

gathered all the treasures of nature and art, with the artistic

confusion which distinguishes a painter’s studio.

Thirty first-rate pictures, uniformly framed, separated by bright

drapery, ornamented the walls, which were hung with tapestry of severe

design. I saw works of great value, the greater part of which I had

admired in the special collections of Europe, and in the exhibitions of

paintings. The several schools of the old masters were represented by a

Madonna of Raphael, a Virgin of Leonardo da Vinci, a nymph of Corregio,

a woman of Titan, an Adoration of Veronese, an Assumption of Murillo, a

portrait of Holbein, a monk of Velasquez, a martyr of Ribera, a fair of

Rubens, two Flemish landscapes of Teniers, three little “genre”

pictures of Gerard Dow, Metsu, and Paul Potter, two specimens of

Géricault and Prudhon, and some sea-pieces of Backhuysen and Vernet.

Amongst the works of modern painters were pictures with the signatures

of Delacroix, Ingres, Decamps, Troyon, Meissonier, Daubigny, etc.; and

some admirable statues in marble and bronze, after the finest antique

models, stood upon pedestals in the corners of this magnificent museum.

Amazement, as the Captain of the _Nautilus_ had predicted, had already

begun to take possession of me.

“Professor,” said this strange man, “you must excuse the unceremonious

way in which I receive you, and the disorder of this room.”

“Sir,” I answered, “without seeking to know who you are, I recognise in

you an artist.”

“An amateur, nothing more, sir. Formerly I loved to collect these

beautiful works created by the hand of man. I sought them greedily, and

ferreted them out indefatigably, and I have been able to bring together

some objects of great value. These are my last souvenirs of that world

which is dead to me. In my eyes, your modern artists are already old;

they have two or three thousand years of existence; I confound them in

my own mind. Masters have no age.”

“And these musicians?” said I, pointing out some works of Weber,

Rossini, Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, Meyerbeer, Hérold, Wagner, Auber,

Gounod, and a number of others, scattered over a large model

piano-organ which occupied one of the panels of the drawing-room.

“These musicians,” replied Captain Nemo, “are the contemporaries of

Orpheus; for in the memory of the dead all chronological differences

are effaced; and I am dead, Professor; as much dead as those of your

friends who are sleeping six feet under the earth!”

Captain Nemo was silent, and seemed lost in a profound reverie. I

contemplated him with deep interest, analysing in silence the strange

expression of his countenance. Leaning on his elbow against an angle of

a costly mosaic table, he no longer saw me,—he had forgotten my

presence.

I did not disturb this reverie, and continued my observation of the

curiosities which enriched this drawing-room.

Under elegant glass cases, fixed by copper rivets, were classed and

labelled the most precious productions of the sea which had ever been

presented to the eye of a naturalist. My delight as a professor may be

conceived.

The division containing the zoophytes presented the most curious

specimens of the two groups of polypi and echinodermes. In the first

group, the tubipores, were gorgones arranged like a fan, soft sponges

of Syria, ises of the Moluccas, pennatules, an admirable virgularia of

the Norwegian seas, variegated unbellulairæ, alcyonariæ, a whole series

of madrepores, which my master Milne Edwards has so cleverly

classified, amongst which I remarked some wonderful flabellinæ oculinæ

of the Island of Bourbon, the “Neptune’s car” of the Antilles, superb

varieties of corals—in short, every species of those curious polypi of

which entire islands are formed, which will one day become continents.

Of the echinodermes, remarkable for their coating of spines, asteri,

sea-stars, pantacrinæ, comatules, astérophons, echini, holothuri, etc.,

represented individually a complete collection of this group.

A somewhat nervous conchyliologist would certainly have fainted before

other more numerous cases, in which were classified the specimens of

molluscs. It was a collection of inestimable value, which time fails me

to describe minutely. Amongst these specimens I will quote from memory

only the elegant royal hammer-fish of the Indian Ocean, whose regular

white spots stood out brightly on a red and brown ground, an imperial

spondyle, bright-coloured, bristling with spines, a rare specimen in

the European museums—(I estimated its value at not less than £1000); a

common hammer-fish of the seas of New Holland, which is only procured

with difficulty; exotic buccardia of Senegal; fragile white bivalve

shells, which a breath might shatter like a soap-bubble; several

varieties of the aspirgillum of Java, a kind of calcareous tube, edged

with leafy folds, and much debated by amateurs; a whole series of

trochi, some a greenish-yellow, found in the American seas, others a

reddish-brown, natives of Australian waters; others from the Gulf of

Mexico, remarkable for their imbricated shell; stellari found in the

Southern Seas; and last, the rarest of all, the magnificent spur of New

Zealand; and every description of delicate and fragile shells to which

science has given appropriate names.

Apart, in separate compartments, were spread out chaplets of pearls of

the greatest beauty, which reflected the electric light in little

sparks of fire; pink pearls, torn from the pinna-marina of the Red Sea;

green pearls of the haliotyde iris; yellow, blue and black pearls, the

curious productions of the divers molluscs of every ocean, and certain

mussels of the water-courses of the North; lastly, several specimens of

inestimable value which had been gathered from the rarest pintadines.

Some of these pearls were larger than a pigeon’s egg, and were worth as

much, and more than that which the traveller Tavernier sold to the Shah

of Persia for three millions, and surpassed the one in the possession

of the Imaum of Muscat, which I had believed to be unrivalled in the

world.

Therefore, to estimate the value of this collection was simply

impossible. Captain Nemo must have expended millions in the acquirement

of these various specimens, and I was thinking what source he could

have drawn from, to have been able thus to gratify his fancy for

collecting, when I was interrupted by these words—

“You are examining my shells, Professor? Unquestionably they must be

interesting to a naturalist; but for me they have a far greater charm,

for I have collected them all with my own hand, and there is not a sea

on the face of the globe which has escaped my researches.”

“I can understand, Captain, the delight of wandering about in the midst

of such riches. You are one of those who have collected their treasures

themselves. No museum in Europe possesses such a collection of the

produce of the ocean. But if I exhaust all my admiration upon it, I

shall have none left for the vessel which carries it. I do not wish to

pry into your secrets; but I must confess that this _Nautilus_, with

the motive power which is confined in it, the contrivances which enable

it to be worked, the powerful agent which propels it, all excite my

curiosity to the highest pitch. I see suspended on the walls of this

room instruments of whose use I am ignorant.”

“You will find these same instruments in my own room, Professor, where

I shall have much pleasure in explaining their use to you. But first

come and inspect the cabin which is set apart for your own use. You

must see how you will be accommodated on board the _Nautilus_.”

I followed Captain Nemo, who, by one of the doors opening from each

panel of the drawing-room, regained the waist. He conducted me towards

the bow, and there I found, not a cabin, but an elegant room, with a

bed, dressing-table, and several other pieces of furniture.

I could only thank my host.

“Your room adjoins mine,” said he, opening a door, “and mine opens into

the drawing-room that we have just quitted.”

I entered the Captain’s room: it had a severe, almost a monkish,

aspect. A small iron bedstead, a table, some articles for the toilet;

the whole lighted by a skylight. No comforts, the strictest necessaries

only.

Captain Nemo pointed to a seat.

“Be so good as to sit down,” he said. I seated myself, and he began

thus:

[Illustration] Captain Nemo’s state-room

CHAPTER XI

ALL BY ELECTRICITY

“Sir,” said Captain Nemo, showing me the instruments hanging on the

walls of his room, “here are the contrivances required for the

navigation of the _Nautilus_. Here, as in the drawing-room, I have them

always under my eyes, and they indicate my position and exact direction

in the middle of the ocean. Some are known to you, such as the

thermometer, which gives the internal temperature of the _Nautilus;_

the barometer, which indicates the weight of the air and foretells the

changes of the weather; the hygrometer, which marks the dryness of the

atmosphere; the storm-glass, the contents of which, by decomposing,

announce the approach of tempests; the compass, which guides my course;

the sextant, which shows the latitude by the altitude of the sun;

chronometers, by which I calculate the longitude; and glasses for day

and night, which I use to examine the points of the horizon, when the

_Nautilus_ rises to the surface of the waves.”

“These are the usual nautical instruments,” I replied, “and I know the

use of them. But these others, no doubt, answer to the particular

requirements of the _Nautilus_. This dial with the movable needle is a

manometer, is it not?”

“It is actually a manometer. But by communication with the water, whose

external pressure it indicates, it gives our depth at the same time.”

“And these other instruments, the use of which I cannot guess?”

“Here, Professor, I ought to give you some explanations. Will you be

kind enough to listen to me?”

He was silent for a few moments, then he said—

“There is a powerful agent, obedient, rapid, easy, which conforms to

every use, and reigns supreme on board my vessel. Everything is done by

means of it. It lights it, warms it, and is the soul of my mechanical

apparatus. This agent is electricity.”

“Electricity?” I cried in surprise.

“Yes, sir.”

“Nevertheless, Captain, you possess an extreme rapidity of movement,

which does not agree with the power of electricity. Until now, its

dynamic force has remained under restraint, and has only been able to

produce a small amount of power.”

“Professor,” said Captain Nemo, “my electricity is not everybody’s. You

know what sea-water is composed of. In a thousand grammes are found 96½

per cent. of water, and about 2-2/3 per cent. of chloride of sodium;

then, in a smaller quantity, chlorides of magnesium and of potassium,

bromide of magnesium, sulphate of magnesia, sulphate and carbonate of

lime. You see, then, that chloride of sodium forms a large part of it.

So it is this sodium that I extract from sea-water, and of which I

compose my ingredients. I owe all to the ocean; it produces

electricity, and electricity gives heat, light, motion, and, in a word,

life to the _Nautilus_.”

“But not the air you breathe?”

“Oh! I could manufacture the air necessary for my consumption, but it

is useless, because I go up to the surface of the water when I please.

However, if electricity does not furnish me with air to breathe, it

works at least the powerful pumps that are stored in spacious

reservoirs, and which enable me to prolong at need, and as long as I

will, my stay in the depths of the sea. It gives a uniform and

unintermittent light, which the sun does not. Now look at this clock;

it is electrical, and goes with a regularity that defies the best

chronometers. I have divided it into twenty-four hours, like the

Italian clocks, because for me there is neither night nor day, sun nor

moon, but only that factitious light that I take with me to the bottom

of the sea. Look! just now, it is ten o’clock in the morning.”

“Exactly.”

“Another application of electricity. This dial hanging in front of us

indicates the speed of the _Nautilus_. An electric thread puts it in

communication with the screw, and the needle indicates the real speed.

Look! now we are spinning along with a uniform speed of fifteen miles

an hour.”

“It is marvelous! And I see, Captain, you were right to make use of

this agent that takes the place of wind, water, and steam.”

“We have not finished, M. Aronnax,” said Captain Nemo, rising. “If you

will follow me, we will examine the stern of the _Nautilus_.”

Really, I knew already the anterior part of this submarine boat, of

which this is the exact division, starting from the ship’s head:—the

dining-room, five yards long, separated from the library by a

water-tight partition; the library, five yards long; the large

drawing-room, ten yards long, separated from the Captain’s room by a

second water-tight partition; the said room, five yards in length;

mine, two and a half yards; and, lastly a reservoir of air, seven and a

half yards, that extended to the bows. Total length thirty-five yards,

or one hundred and five feet. The partitions had doors that were shut

hermetically by means of india-rubber instruments, and they ensured the

safety of the _Nautilus_ in case of a leak.

I followed Captain Nemo through the waist, and arrived at the centre of

the boat. There was a sort of well that opened between two partitions.

An iron ladder, fastened with an iron hook to the partition, led to the

upper end. I asked the Captain what the ladder was used for.

“It leads to the small boat,” he said.

“What! have you a boat?” I exclaimed, in surprise.

“Of course; an excellent vessel, light and insubmersible, that serves

either as a fishing or as a pleasure boat.”

“But then, when you wish to embark, you are obliged to come to the

surface of the water?”

“Not at all. This boat is attached to the upper part of the hull of the

_Nautilus_, and occupies a cavity made for it. It is decked, quite

water-tight, and held together by solid bolts. This ladder leads to a

man-hole made in the hull of the _Nautilus_, that corresponds with a

similar hole made in the side of the boat. By this double opening I get

into the small vessel. They shut the one belonging to the _Nautilus;_ I

shut the other by means of screw pressure. I undo the bolts, and the

little boat goes up to the surface of the sea with prodigious rapidity.

I then open the panel of the bridge, carefully shut till then; I mast

it, hoist my sail, take my oars, and I’m off.”

“But how do you get back on board?”

“I do not come back, M. Aronnax; the _Nautilus_ comes to me.”

“By your orders?”

“By my orders. An electric thread connects us. I telegraph to it, and

that is enough.”

“Really,” I said, astonished at these marvels, “nothing can be more

simple.”

After having passed by the cage of the staircase that led to the

platform, I saw a cabin six feet long, in which Conseil and Ned Land,

enchanted with their repast, were devouring it with avidity. Then a

door opened into a kitchen nine feet long, situated between the large

storerooms. There electricity, better than gas itself, did all the

cooking. The streams under the furnaces gave out to the sponges of

platina a heat which was regularly kept up and distributed. They also

heated a distilling apparatus, which, by evaporation, furnished

excellent drinkable water. Near this kitchen was a bathroom comfortably

furnished, with hot and cold water taps.

Next to the kitchen was the berthroom of the vessel, sixteen feet long.

But the door was shut, and I could not see the management of it, which

might have given me an idea of the number of men employed on board the

_Nautilus_.

At the bottom was a fourth partition that separated this office from

the engine-room. A door opened, and I found myself in the compartment

where Captain Nemo—certainly an engineer of a very high order—had

arranged his locomotive machinery. This engine-room, clearly lighted,

did not measure less than sixty-five feet in length. It was divided

into two parts; the first contained the materials for producing

electricity, and the second the machinery that connected it with the

screw. I examined it with great interest, in order to understand the

machinery of the _Nautilus_.

“You see,” said the Captain, “I use Bunsen’s contrivances, not

Ruhmkorff’s. Those would not have been powerful enough. Bunsen’s are

fewer in number, but strong and large, which experience proves to be

the best. The electricity produced passes forward, where it works, by

electro-magnets of great size, on a system of levers and cog-wheels

that transmit the movement to the axle of the screw. This one, the

diameter of which is nineteen feet, and the thread twenty-three feet,

performs about a hundred and twenty revolutions in a second.”

“And you get then?”

“A speed of fifty miles an hour.”

“I have seen the _Nautilus_ manœuvre before the _Abraham Lincoln_, and

I have my own ideas as to its speed. But this is not enough. We must

see where we go. We must be able to direct it to the right, to the

left, above, below. How do you get to the great depths, where you find

an increasing resistance, which is rated by hundreds of atmospheres?

How do you return to the surface of the ocean? And how do you maintain

yourselves in the requisite medium? Am I asking too much?”

“Not at all, Professor,” replied the Captain, with some hesitation;

“since you may never leave this submarine boat. Come into the saloon,

it is our usual study, and there you will learn all you want to know

about the _Nautilus_.”

CHAPTER XII

SOME FIGURES

A moment after we were seated on a divan in the saloon smoking. The

Captain showed me a sketch that gave the plan, section, and elevation

of the _Nautilus_. Then he began his description in these words:—

“Here, M. Aronnax, are the several dimensions of the boat you are in.

It is an elongated cylinder with conical ends. It is very like a cigar

in shape, a shape already adopted in London in several constructions of

the same sort. The length of this cylinder, from stem to stern, is

exactly 232 feet, and its maximum breadth is twenty-six feet. It is not

built quite like your long-voyage steamers, but its lines are

sufficiently long, and its curves prolonged enough, to allow the water

to slide off easily, and oppose no obstacle to its passage. These two

dimensions enable you to obtain by a simple calculation the surface and

cubic contents of the _Nautilus_. Its area measures 6032 feet; and its

contents about 1500 cubic yards—that is to say, when completely

immersed it displaces 50,000 feet of water, or weighs 1500 tons.

“When I made the plans for this submarine vessel, I meant that

nine-tenths should be submerged: consequently, it ought only to

displace nine-tenths of its bulk—that is to say, only to weigh that

number of tons. I ought not, therefore, to have exceeded that weight,

constructing it on the aforesaid dimensions.

“The _Nautilus_ is composed of two hulls, one inside, the other

outside, joined by T-shaped irons, which render it very strong. Indeed,

owing to this cellular arrangement it resists like a block, as if it

were solid. Its sides cannot yield; it coheres spontaneously, and not

by the closeness of its rivets; and the homogenity of its construction,

due to the perfect union of the materials, enables it to defy the

roughest seas.

“These two hulls are composed of steel plates, whose density is from .7

to .8 that of water. The first is not less than two inches and a half

thick and weighs 394 tons. The second envelope, the keel, twenty inches

high and ten thick, weighs alone sixty-two tons. The engine, the

ballast, the several accessories and apparatus appendages, the

partitions and bulkheads, weigh 961.62 tons. Do you follow all this?”

“I do.”

“Then, when the _Nautilus_ is afloat under these circumstances,

one-tenth is out of the water. Now, if I have made reservoirs of a size

equal to this tenth, or capable of holding 150 tons, and if I fill them

with water, the boat, weighing then 1507 tons, will be completely

immersed. That would happen, Professor. These reservoirs are in the

lower parts of the _Nautilus_. I turn on taps and they fill, and the

vessel sinks that had just been level with the surface.”

“Well, Captain, but now we come to the real difficulty. I can

understand your rising to the surface; but diving below the surface,

does not your submarine contrivance encounter a pressure, and

consequently undergo an upward thrust of one atmosphere for every

thirty feet of water, just about fifteen pounds per square inch?”

“Just so, sir.”

“Then, unless you quite fill the _Nautilus_, I do not see how you can

draw it down to those depths.”

“Professor, you must not confound statics with dynamics or you will be

exposed to grave errors. There is very little labour spent in attaining

the lower regions of the ocean, for all bodies have a tendency to sink.

When I wanted to find out the necessary increase of weight required to

sink the _Nautilus_, I had only to calculate the reduction of volume

that sea-water acquires according to the depth.”

“That is evident.”

“Now, if water is not absolutely incompressible, it is at least capable

of very slight compression. Indeed, after the most recent calculations

this reduction is only .000436 of an atmosphere for each thirty feet of

depth. If we want to sink 3000 feet, I should keep account of the

reduction of bulk under a pressure equal to that of a column of water

of a thousand feet. The calculation is easily verified. Now, I have

supplementary reservoirs capable of holding a hundred tons. Therefore I

can sink to a considerable depth. When I wish to rise to the level of

the sea, I only let off the water, and empty all the reservoirs if I

want the _Nautilus_ to emerge from the tenth part of her total

capacity.”

I had nothing to object to these reasonings.

“I admit your calculations, Captain,” I replied; “I should be wrong to

dispute them since daily experience confirms them; but I foresee a real

difficulty in the way.”

“What, sir?”

“When you are about 1000 feet deep, the walls of the _Nautilus_ bear a

pressure of 100 atmospheres. If, then, just now you were to empty the

supplementary reservoirs, to lighten the vessel, and to go up to the

surface, the pumps must overcome the pressure of 100 atmospheres, which

is 1500 pounds per square inch. From that a power——”

“That electricity alone can give,” said the Captain, hastily. “I

repeat, sir, that the dynamic power of my engines is almost infinite.

The pumps of the _Nautilus_ have an enormous power, as you must have

observed when their jets of water burst like a torrent upon the

_Abraham Lincoln_. Besides I use subsidiary reservoirs only to attain a

mean depth of 750 to 1000 fathoms, and that with a view of managing my

machines. Also, when I have a mind to visit the depths of the ocean

five or six miles below the surface, I make use of slower but not less

infallible means.”

“What are they, Captain?”

“That involves my telling you how the _Nautilus_ is worked.”

“I am impatient to learn.”

“To steer this boat to starboard or port, to turn—in a word, following

a horizontal plan, I use an ordinary rudder fixed on the back of the

stern-post, and with one wheel and some tackle to steer by. But I can

also make the _Nautilus_ rise and sink, and sink and rise, by a

vertical movement by means of two inclined planes fastened to its

sides, opposite the centre of flotation, planes that move in every

direction, and that are worked by powerful levers from the interior. If

the planes are kept parallel with the boat, it moves horizontally. If

slanted, the _Nautilus_, according to this inclination, and under the

influence of the screw, either sinks diagonally or rises diagonally as

it suits me. And even if I wish to rise more quickly to the surface, I

ship the screw, and the pressure of the water causes the _Nautilus_ to

rise vertically like a balloon filled with hydrogen.”

“Bravo, Captain! But how can the steersman follow the route in the

middle of the waters?”

“The steersman is placed in a glazed box, that is raised about the hull

of the _Nautilus_, and furnished with lenses.”

“Are these lenses capable of resisting such pressure?”

“Perfectly. Glass, which breaks at a blow, is, nevertheless, capable of

offering considerable resistance. During some experiments of fishing by

electric light in 1864 in the Northern Seas, we saw plates less than a

third of an inch thick resist a pressure of sixteen atmospheres. Now,

the glass that I use is not less than thirty times thicker.”

“Granted. But, after all, in order to see, the light must exceed the

darkness, and in the midst of the darkness in the water, how can you

see?”

“Behind the steersman’s cage is placed a powerful electric reflector,

the rays from which light up the sea for half a mile in front.”

“Ah! bravo, bravo, Captain! Now I can account for this phosphorescence

in the supposed narwhal that puzzled us so. I now ask you if the

boarding of the _Nautilus_ and of the _Scotia_, that has made such a

noise, has been the result of a chance rencontre?”

“Quite accidental, sir. I was sailing only one fathom below the surface

of the water, when the shock came. It had no bad result.”

“None, sir. But now, about your rencontre with the _Abraham Lincoln?_”

“Professor, I am sorry for one of the best vessels in the American

navy; but they attacked me, and I was bound to defend myself. I

contented myself, however, with putting the frigate _hors de combat;_

she will not have any difficulty in getting repaired at the next port.”

“Ah, Commander! your _Nautilus_ is certainly a marvellous boat.”

“Yes, Professor; and I love it as if it were part of myself. If danger

threatens one of your vessels on the ocean, the first impression is the

feeling of an abyss above and below. On the _Nautilus_ men’s hearts

never fail them. No defects to be afraid of, for the double shell is as

firm as iron; no rigging to attend to; no sails for the wind to carry

away; no boilers to burst; no fire to fear, for the vessel is made of

iron, not of wood; no coal to run short, for electricity is the only

mechanical agent; no collision to fear, for it alone swims in deep

water; no tempest to brave, for when it dives below the water, it

reaches absolute tranquillity. There, sir! that is the perfection of

vessels! And if it is true that the engineer has more confidence in the

vessel than the builder, and the builder than the captain himself, you

understand the trust I repose in my _Nautilus;_ for I am at once

captain, builder, and engineer.”

“But how could you construct this wonderful _Nautilus_ in secret?”

“Each separate portion, M. Aronnax, was brought from different parts of

the globe. The keel was forged at Creusot, the shaft of the screw at

Penn & Co.’s, London, the iron plates of the hull at Laird’s of

Liverpool, the screw itself at Scott’s at Glasgow. The reservoirs were

made by Cail & Co. at Paris, the engine by Krupp in Prussia, its beak

in Motala’s workshop in Sweden, its mathematical instruments by Hart

Brothers, of New York, etc.; and each of these people had my orders

under different names.”

“But these parts had to be put together and arranged?”

“Professor, I had set up my workshops upon a desert island in the

ocean. There my workmen, that is to say, the brave men that I

instructed and educated, and myself have put together our _Nautilus_.

Then when the work was finished, fire destroyed all trace of our

proceedings on this island, that I could have jumped over if I had

liked.”

“Then the cost of this vessel is great?”

“M. Aronnax, an iron vessel costs £45 per ton. Now the _Nautilus_

weighed 1500. It came therefore to £67,500, and £80,000 more for

fitting it up, and about £200,000 with the works of art and the

collections it contains.”

“One last question, Captain Nemo.”

“Ask it, Professor.”

“You are rich?”

“Immensely rich, sir; and I could, without missing it, pay the national

debt of France.”

I stared at the singular person who spoke thus. Was he playing upon my

credulity? The future would decide that.

CHAPTER XIII

THE BLACK RIVER

The portion of the terrestrial globe which is covered by water is

estimated at upwards of eighty millions of acres. This fluid mass

comprises two billions two hundred and fifty millions of cubic miles,

forming a spherical body of a diameter of sixty leagues, the weight of

which would be three quintillions of tons. To comprehend the meaning of

these figures, it is necessary to observe that a quintillion is to a

billion as a billion is to unity; in other words, there are as many

billions in a quintillion as there are units in a billion. This mass of

fluid is equal to about the quantity of water which would be discharged

by all the rivers of the earth in forty thousand years.

During the geological epochs, the igneous period succeeded to the

aqeous. The ocean originally prevailed everywhere. Then by degrees, in

the silurian period, the tops of the mountains began to appear, the

islands emerged, then disappeared in partial deluges, reappeared,

became settled, formed continents, till at length the earth became

geographically arranged, as we see in the present day. The solid had

wrested from the liquid thirty-seven million six hundred and

fifty-seven square miles, equal to twelve billion nine hundred and

sixty millions of acres.

The shape of continents allows us to divide the waters into five great

portions: the Arctic or Frozen Ocean, the Antarctic or Frozen Ocean,

the Indian, the Atlantic, and the Pacific Oceans.

The Pacific Ocean extends from north to south between the two polar

circles, and from east to west between Asia and America, over an extent

of 145 degrees of longitude. It is the quietest of seas; its currents

are broad and slow, it has medium tides, and abundant rain. Such was

the ocean that my fate destined me first to travel over under these

strange conditions.

“Sir,” said Captain Nemo, “we will, if you please, take our bearings

and fix the starting-point of this voyage. It is a quarter to twelve; I

will go up again to the surface.”

The Captain pressed an electric clock three times. The pumps began to

drive the water from the tanks; the needle of the manometer marked by a

different pressure the ascent of the _Nautilus_, then it stopped.

“We have arrived,” said the Captain.

I went to the central staircase which opened on to the platform,

clambered up the iron steps, and found myself on the upper part of the

_Nautilus_.

The platform was only three feet out of water. The front and back of

the _Nautilus_ was of that spindle-shape which caused it justly to be

compared to a cigar. I noticed that its iron plates, slightly

overlaying each other, resembled the shell which clothes the bodies of

our large terrestrial reptiles. It explained to me how natural it was,

in spite of all glasses, that this boat should have been taken for a

marine animal.

Toward the middle of the platform the long-boat, half buried in the

hull of the vessel, formed a slight excrescence. Fore and aft rose two

cages of medium height with inclined sides, and partly closed by thick

lenticular glasses; one destined for the steersman who directed the

_Nautilus_, the other containing a brilliant lantern to give light on

the road.

The sea was beautiful, the sky pure. Scarcely could the long vehicle

feel the broad undulations of the ocean. A light breeze from the east

rippled the surface of the waters. The horizon, free from fog, made

observation easy. Nothing was in sight. Not a quicksand, not an island.

A vast desert.

Captain Nemo, by the help of his sextant, took the altitude of the sun,

which ought also to give the latitude. He waited for some moments till

its disc touched the horizon. Whilst taking observations not a muscle

moved, the instrument could not have been more motionless in a hand of

marble.

[Illustration] Captain Nemo took the Sun’s altitude

“Twelve o’clock, sir,” said he. “When you like——”

I cast a last look upon the sea, slightly yellowed by the Japanese

coast, and descended to the saloon.

“And now, sir, I leave you to your studies,” added the Captain; “our

course is E.N.E., our depth is twenty-six fathoms. Here are maps on a

large scale by which you may follow it. The saloon is at your disposal,

and with your permission, I will retire.” Captain Nemo bowed, and I

remained alone, lost in thoughts all bearing on the commander of the

_Nautilus_.

For a whole hour was I deep in these reflections, seeking to pierce

this mystery so interesting to me. Then my eyes fell upon the vast

planisphere spread upon the table, and I placed my finger on the very

spot where the given latitude and longitude crossed.

The sea has its large rivers like the continents. They are special

currents known by their temperature and their colour. The most

remarkable of these is known by the name of the Gulf Stream. Science

has decided on the globe the direction of five principal currents: one

in the North Atlantic, a second in the South, a third in the North

Pacific, a fourth in the South, and a fifth in the Southern Indian

Ocean. It is even probable that a sixth current existed at one time or

another in the Northern Indian Ocean, when the Caspian and Aral Seas

formed but one vast sheet of water.

At this point indicated on the planisphere one of these currents was

rolling, the Kuro-Scivo of the Japanese, the Black River, which,

leaving the Gulf of Bengal, where it is warmed by the perpendicular

rays of a tropical sun, crosses the Straits of Malacca along the coast

of Asia, turns into the North Pacific to the Aleutian Islands, carrying

with it trunks of camphor-trees and other indigenous productions, and

edging the waves of the ocean with the pure indigo of its warm water.

It was this current that the _Nautilus_ was to follow. I followed it

with my eye; saw it lose itself in the vastness of the Pacific, and

felt myself drawn with it, when Ned Land and Conseil appeared at the

door of the saloon.

My two brave companions remained petrified at the sight of the wonders

spread before them.

“Where are we, where are we?” exclaimed the Canadian. “In the museum at

Quebec?”

“My friends,” I answered, making a sign for them to enter, “you are not

in Canada, but on board the _Nautilus_, fifty yards below the level of

the sea.”

“But, M. Aronnax,” said Ned Land, “can you tell me how many men there

are on board? Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred?”

“I cannot answer you, Mr. Land; it is better to abandon for a time all

idea of seizing the _Nautilus_ or escaping from it. This ship is a

masterpiece of modern industry, and I should be sorry not to have seen

it. Many people would accept the situation forced upon us, if only to

move amongst such wonders. So be quiet and let us try and see what

passes around us.”

“See!” exclaimed the harpooner, “but we can see nothing in this iron

prison! We are walking—we are sailing—blindly.”

Ned Land had scarcely pronounced these words when all was suddenly

darkness. The luminous ceiling was gone, and so rapidly that my eyes

received a painful impression.

We remained mute, not stirring, and not knowing what surprise awaited

us, whether agreeable or disagreeable. A sliding noise was heard: one

would have said that panels were working at the sides of the

_Nautilus_.

“It is the end of the end!” said Ned Land.

Suddenly light broke at each side of the saloon, through two oblong

openings. The liquid mass appeared vividly lit up by the electric

gleam. Two crystal plates separated us from the sea. At first I

trembled at the thought that this frail partition might break, but

strong bands of copper bound them, giving an almost infinite power of

resistance.

The sea was distinctly visible for a mile all round the _Nautilus_.

What a spectacle! What pen can describe it? Who could paint the effects

of the light through those transparent sheets of water, and the

softness of the successive graduations from the lower to the superior

strata of the ocean?

We know the transparency of the sea and that its clearness is far

beyond that of rock-water. The mineral and organic substances which it

holds in suspension heightens its transparency. In certain parts of the

ocean at the Antilles, under seventy-five fathoms of water, can be seen

with surprising clearness a bed of sand. The penetrating power of the

solar rays does not seem to cease for a depth of one hundred and fifty

fathoms. But in this middle fluid travelled over by the _Nautilus_, the

electric brightness was produced even in the bosom of the waves. It was

no longer luminous water, but liquid light.

On each side a window opened into this unexplored abyss. The obscurity

of the saloon showed to advantage the brightness outside, and we looked

out as if this pure crystal had been the glass of an immense aquarium.

“You wished to see, friend Ned; well, you see now.”

“Curious! curious!” muttered the Canadian, who, forgetting his

ill-temper, seemed to submit to some irresistible attraction; “and one

would come further than this to admire such a sight!”

“Ah!” thought I to myself, “I understand the life of this man; he has

made a world apart for himself, in which he treasures all his greatest

wonders.”

For two whole hours an aquatic army escorted the _Nautilus_. During

their games, their bounds, while rivalling each other in beauty,

brightness, and velocity, I distinguished the green labre; the banded

mullet, marked by a double line of black; the round-tailed goby, of a

white colour, with violet spots on the back; the Japanese scombrus, a

beautiful mackerel of those seas, with a blue body and silvery head;

the brilliant azurors, whose name alone defies description; some banded

spares, with variegated fins of blue and yellow; the woodcocks of the

seas, some specimens of which attain a yard in length; Japanese

salamanders, spider lampreys, serpents six feet long, with eyes small

and lively, and a huge mouth bristling with teeth; with many other

species.

Our imagination was kept at its height, interjections followed quickly

on each other. Ned named the fish, and Conseil classed them. I was in

ecstasies with the vivacity of their movements and the beauty of their

forms. Never had it been given to me to surprise these animals, alive

and at liberty, in their natural element. I will not mention all the

varieties which passed before my dazzled eyes, all the collection of

the seas of China and Japan. These fish, more numerous than the birds

of the air, came, attracted, no doubt, by the brilliant focus of the

electric light.

Suddenly there was daylight in the saloon, the iron panels closed

again, and the enchanting vision disappeared. But for a long time I

dreamt on till my eyes fell on the instruments hanging on the

partition. The compass still showed the course to be N.N.E., the

manometer indicated a pressure of five atmospheres, equivalent to a

depth of twenty-five fathoms, and the electric log gave a speed of

fifteen miles an hour. I expected Captain Nemo, but he did not appear.

The clock marked the hour of five.

Ned Land and Conseil returned to their cabin, and I retired to my

chamber. My dinner was ready. It was composed of turtle soup made of

the most delicate hawksbills, of a surmullet served with puff paste

(the liver of which, prepared by itself, was most delicious), and

fillets of the emperor-holocanthus, the savour of which seemed to me

superior even to salmon.

I passed the evening reading, writing, and thinking. Then sleep

overpowered me, and I stretched myself on my couch of zostera, and

slept profoundly, whilst the _Nautilus_ was gliding rapidly through the

current of the Black River.

CHAPTER XIV

A NOTE OF INVITATION

The next day was the 9th of November. I awoke after a long sleep of

twelve hours. Conseil came, according to custom, to know “how I had

passed the night,” and to offer his services. He had left his friend

the Canadian sleeping like a man who had never done anything else all

his life. I let the worthy fellow chatter as he pleased, without caring

to answer him. I was pre-occupied by the absence of the Captain during

our sitting of the day before, and hoping to see him to-day.

As soon as I was dressed I went into the saloon. It was deserted.

I plunged into the study of the shell treasures hidden behind the

glasses. I revelled also in great herbals filled with the rarest marine

plants, which, although dried up, retained their lovely colours.

Amongst these precious hydrophytes I remarked some vorticellæ,

pavonariæ, delicate ceramies with scarlet tints, some fan-shaped agari,

and some natabuli like flat mushrooms, which at one time used to be

classed as zoophytes; in short, a perfect series of algæ.

The whole day passed without my being honoured by a visit from Captain

Nemo. The panels of the saloon did not open. Perhaps they did not wish

us to tire of these beautiful things.

The course of the _Nautilus_ was E.N.E., her speed twelve knots, the

depth below the surface between twenty-five and thirty fathoms.

The next day, 10th of November, the same desertion, the same solitude.

I did not see one of the ship’s crew: Ned and Conseil spent the greater

part of the day with me. They were astonished at the inexplicable

absence of the Captain. Was this singular man ill?—had he altered his

intentions with regard to us?

After all, as Conseil said, we enjoyed perfect liberty, we were

delicately and abundantly fed. Our host kept to his terms of the

treaty. We could not complain, and, indeed, the singularity of our fate

reserved such wonderful compensation for us, that we had no right to

accuse it as yet.

That day I commenced the journal of these adventures which has enabled

me to relate them with more scrupulous exactitude and minute detail. I

wrote it on paper made from the zostera marina.

11th November, early in the morning. The fresh air spreading over the

interior of the _Nautilus_ told me that we had come to the surface of

the ocean to renew our supply of oxygen. I directed my steps to the

central staircase, and mounted the platform.

It was six o’clock, the weather was cloudy, the sea grey but calm.

Scarcely a billow. Captain Nemo, whom I hoped to meet, would he be

there? I saw no one but the steersman imprisoned in his glass cage.

Seated upon the projection formed by the hull of the pinnace, I inhaled

the salt breeze with delight.

By degrees the fog disappeared under the action of the sun’s rays, the

radiant orb rose from behind the eastern horizon. The sea flamed under

its glance like a train of gunpowder. The clouds scattered in the

heights were coloured with lively tints of beautiful shades, and

numerous “mare’s tails,” which betokened wind for that day. But what

was wind to this _Nautilus_ which tempests could not frighten!

I was admiring this joyous rising of the sun, so gay, and so

lifegiving, when I heard steps approaching the platform. I was prepared

to salute Captain Nemo, but it was his second (whom I had already seen

on the Captain’s first visit) who appeared. He advanced on the

platform, not seeming to see me. With his powerful glass to his eye he

scanned every point of the horizon with great attention. This

examination over, he approached the panel and pronounced a sentence in

exactly these terms. I have remembered it, for every morning it was

repeated under exactly the same conditions. It was thus worded—

“Nautron respoc lorni virch.”

What it meant I could not say.

These words pronounced, the second descended. I thought that the

_Nautilus_ was about to return to its submarine navigation. I regained

the panel and returned to my chamber.

Five days sped thus, without any change in our situation. Every morning

I mounted the platform. The same phrase was pronounced by the same

individual. But Captain Nemo did not appear.

I had made up my mind that I should never see him again, when, on the

16th November, on returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found

upon my table a note addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was

written in a bold, clear hand, the characters rather pointed, recalling

the German type. The note was worded as follows—

16th of _November_, 1867.

TO PROFESSOR ARONNAX, On board the _Nautilus_.

Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting-party, which will

take place to-morrow morning in the forests of the island of Crespo. He

hopes that nothing will prevent the Professor from being present, and

he will with pleasure see him joined by his companions.

CAPTAIN NEMO, Commander of the _Nautilus_.

“A hunt!” exclaimed Ned.

“And in the forests of the island of Crespo!” added Conseil.

“Oh! then the gentleman is going on _terra firma?_” replied Ned Land.

“That seems to me to be clearly indicated,” said I, reading the letter

once more.

“Well, we must accept,” said the Canadian. “But once more on dry

ground, we shall know what to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a

piece of fresh venison.”

Without seeking to reconcile what was contradictory between Captain

Nemo’s manifest aversion to islands and continents, and his invitation

to hunt in a forest, I contented myself with replying—

“Let us first see where the island of Crespo is.”

I consulted the planisphere, and in 32° 40′ north lat. and 157° 50′

west long., I found a small island, recognised in 1801 by Captain

Crespo, and marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la Plata,

the meaning of which is “The Silver Rock.” We were then about eighteen

hundred miles from our starting-point, and the course of the

_Nautilus_, a little changed, was bringing it back towards the

south-east.

I showed this little rock lost in the midst of the North Pacific to my

companions.

“If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground,” said I, “he at least

chooses desert islands.”

Ned Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he

left me.

After supper, which was served by the steward mute and impassive, I

went to bed, not without some anxiety.

The next morning, the 17th of November, on awakening, I felt that the

_Nautilus_ was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the

saloon.

Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and asked me if

it was convenient for me to accompany him. As he made no allusion to

his absence during the last eight days, I did not mention it, and

simply answered that my companions and myself were ready to follow him.

We entered the dining-room, where breakfast was served.

“M. Aronnax,” said the Captain, “pray, share my breakfast without

ceremony; we will chat as we eat. For though I promised you a walk in

the forest, I did not undertake to find hotels there. So breakfast as a

man who will most likely not have his dinner till very late.”

I did honour to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish,

and slices of holothuridæ (excellent zoophytes), and different sorts of

sea-weed. Our drink consisted of pure water, to which the Captain added

some drops of a fermented liquor, extracted by the Kamschatcha method

from a sea-weed known under the name of _Rhodomenia palmata_. Captain

Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began—

“Sir, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of Crespo,

you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge lightly of

any man.”

“But Captain, believe me——”

“Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any

cause to accuse me of folly and contradiction.”

“I listen.”

“You know as well as I do, Professor, that man can live under water,

providing he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In

submarine works, the workman, clad in an impervious dress, with his

head in a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of forcing

pumps and regulators.”

“That is a diving apparatus,” said I.

“Just so, but under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is

attached to the pump which sends him air through an india-rubber tube,

and if we were obliged to be thus held to the _Nautilus_, we could not

go far.”

“And the means of getting free?” I asked.

“It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own

countrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use, and

which will allow you to risk yourself under these new physiological

conditions without any organ whatever suffering. It consists of a

reservoir of thick iron plates, in which I store the air under a

pressure of fifty atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on the back by

means of braces, like a soldier’s knapsack. Its upper part forms a box

in which the air is kept by means of a bellows, and therefore cannot

escape unless at its normal tension. In the Rouquayrol apparatus such

as we use, two india-rubber pipes leave this box and join a sort of

tent which holds the nose and mouth; one is to introduce fresh air, the

other to let out the foul, and the tongue closes one or the other

according to the wants of the respirator. But I, in encountering great

pressures at the bottom of the sea, was obliged to shut my head, like

that of a diver in a ball of copper; and it is to this ball of copper

that the two pipes, the inspirator and the expirator, open.”

“Perfectly, Captain Nemo; but the air that you carry with you must soon

be used; when it only contains fifteen per cent. of oxygen it is no

longer fit to breathe.”

“Right! but I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the _Nautilus_

allow me to store the air under considerable pressure, and on these

conditions the reservoir of the apparatus can furnish breathable air

for nine or ten hours.”

“I have no further objections to make,” I answered; “I will only ask

you one thing, Captain—how can you light your road at the bottom of the

sea?”

“With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax; one is carried on the back,

the other is fastened to the waist. It is composed of a Bunsen pile,

which I do not work with bichromate of potash, but with sodium. A wire

is introduced which collects the electricity produced, and directs it

towards a particularly made lantern. In this lantern is a spiral glass

which contains a small quantity of carbonic gas. When the apparatus is

at work this gas becomes luminous, giving out a white and continuous

light. Thus provided, I can breathe and I can see.”

“Captain Nemo, to all my objections you make such crushing answers,

that I dare no longer doubt. But if I am forced to admit the Rouquayrol

and Ruhmkorff apparatus, I must be allowed some reservations with

regard to the gun I am to carry.”

“But it is not a gun for powder,” answered the Captain.

“Then it is an air-gun.”

“Doubtless! How would you have me manufacture gunpowder on board,

without either saltpetre, sulphur, or charcoal?”

“Besides,” I added, “to fire under water in a medium eight hundred and

fifty-five times denser than the air, we must conquer very considerable

resistance.”

“That would be no difficulty. There exist guns, according to Fulton,

perfected in England by Philip Coles and Burley, in France by Furcy,

and in Italy by Landi, which are furnished with a peculiar system of

closing, which can fire under these conditions. But I repeat, having no

powder, I use air under great pressure, which the pumps of the

_Nautilus_ furnish abundantly.”

“But this air must be rapidly used?”

“Well, have I not my Rouquayrol reservoir, which can furnish it at

need? A tap is all that is required. Besides, M. Aronnax, you must see

yourself that, during our submarine hunt, we can spend but little air

and but few balls.”

“But it seems to me that in this twilight, and in the midst of this

fluid, which is very dense compared with the atmosphere, shots could

not go far, nor easily prove mortal.”

“Sir, on the contrary, with this gun every blow is mortal; and however

lightly the animal is touched, it falls as if struck by a thunderbolt.”

“Why?”

“Because the balls sent by this gun are not ordinary balls, but little

cases of glass (invented by Leniebroek, an Austrian chemist), of which

I have a large supply. These glass cases are covered with a case of

steel, and weighted with a pellet of lead; they are real Leyden

bottles, into which the electricity is forced to a very high tension.

With the slightest shock they are discharged, and the animal, however

strong it may be, falls dead. I must tell you that these cases are size

number four, and that the charge for an ordinary gun would be ten.”

“I will argue no longer,” I replied, rising from the table; “I have

nothing left me but to take my gun. At all events, I will go where you

go.”

Captain Nemo then led me aft; and in passing before Ned’s and Conseil’s

cabin, I called my two companions, who followed immediately. We then

came to a kind of cell near the machinery-room, in which we were to put

on our walking-dress.

CHAPTER XV

A WALK ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA

This cell was, to speak correctly, the arsenal and wardrobe of the

_Nautilus_. A dozen diving apparatuses hung from the partition, waiting

our use.

Ned Land, on seeing them, showed evident repugnance to dress himself in

one.

“But, my worthy Ned, the forests of the Island of Crespo are nothing

but submarine forests.”

“Good!” said the disappointed harpooner, who saw his dreams of fresh

meat fade away. “And you, M. Aronnax, are you going to dress yourself

in those clothes?”

“There is no alternative, Master Ned.”

“As you please, sir,” replied the harpooner, shrugging his shoulders;

“but as for me, unless I am forced, I will never get into one.”

“No one will force you, Master Ned,” said Captain Nemo.

“Is Conseil going to risk it?” asked Ned.

“I follow my master wherever he goes,” replied Conseil.

At the Captain’s call two of the ship’s crew came to help us to dress

in these heavy and impervious clothes, made of india-rubber without

seam, and constructed expressly to resist considerable pressure. One

would have thought it a suit of armour, both supple and resisting. This

suit formed trousers and waistcoat. The trousers were finished off with

thick boots, weighted with heavy leaden soles. The texture of the

waistcoat was held together by bands of copper, which crossed the

chest, protecting it from the great pressure of the water, and leaving

the lungs free to act; the sleeves ended in gloves, which in no way

restrained the movement of the hands. There was a vast difference

noticeable between these consummate apparatuses and the old cork

breastplates, jackets, and other contrivances in vogue during the

eighteenth century.

Captain Nemo and one of his companions (a sort of Hercules, who must

have possessed great strength), Conseil, and myself, were soon

enveloped in the dresses. There remained nothing more to be done but to

enclose our heads in the metal box. But before proceeding to this

operation, I asked the Captain’s permission to examine the guns we were

to carry.

One of the _Nautilus_ men gave me a simple gun, the butt end of which,

made of steel, hollow in the centre, was rather large. It served as a

reservoir for compressed air, which a valve, worked by a spring,

allowed to escape into a metal tube. A box of projectiles, in a groove

in the thickness of the butt end, contained about twenty of these

electric balls, which, by means of a spring, were forced into the

barrel of the gun. As soon as one shot was fired, another was ready.

“Captain Nemo,” said I, “this arm is perfect, and easily handled: I

only ask to be allowed to try it. But how shall we gain the bottom of

the sea?”

“At this moment, Professor, the _Nautilus_ is stranded in five fathoms,

and we have nothing to do but to start.”

“But how shall we get off?”

“You shall see.”

Captain Nemo thrust his head into the helmet, Conseil and I did the

same, not without hearing an ironical “Good sport!” from the Canadian.

The upper part of our dress terminated in a copper collar upon which

was screwed the metal helmet. Three holes, protected by thick glass,

allowed us to see in all directions, by simply turning our head in the

interior of the head-dress. As soon as it was in position, the

Rouquayrol apparatus on our backs began to act; and, for my part, I

could breathe with ease.

With the Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, and the gun in my hand, I

was ready to set out. But to speak the truth, imprisoned in these heavy

garments, and glued to the deck by my leaden soles, it was impossible

for me to take a step.

[Illustration] I was ready to set out

But this state of things was provided for. I felt myself being pushed

into a little room contiguous to the wardrobe-room. My companions

followed, towed along in the same way. I heard a water-tight door,

furnished with stopper-plates, close upon us, and we were wrapped in

profound darkness.

After some minutes, a loud hissing was heard. I felt the cold mount

from my feet to my chest. Evidently from some part of the vessel they

had, by means of a tap, given entrance to the water, which was invading

us, and with which the room was soon filled. A second door cut in the

side of the _Nautilus_ then opened. We saw a faint light. In another

instant our feet trod the bottom of the sea.

And now, how can I retrace the impression left upon me by that walk

under the waters? Words are impotent to relate such wonders! Captain

Nemo walked in front, his companion followed some steps behind. Conseil

and I remained near each other, as if an exchange of words had been

possible through our metallic cases. I no longer felt the weight of my

clothing, or of my shoes, of my reservoir of air, or my thick helmet,

in the midst of which my head rattled like an almond in its shell.

The light, which lit the soil thirty feet below the surface of the

ocean, astonished me by its power. The solar rays shone through the

watery mass easily, and dissipated all colour, and I clearly

distinguished objects at a distance of a hundred and fifty yards.

Beyond that the tints darkened into fine gradations of ultramarine, and

faded into vague obscurity. Truly this water which surrounded me was

but another air denser than the terrestrial atmosphere, but almost as

transparent. Above me was the calm surface of the sea.

We were walking on fine, even sand, not wrinkled, as on a flat shore,

which retains the impression of the billows. This dazzling carpet,

really a reflector, repelled the rays of the sun with wonderful

intensity, which accounted for the vibration which penetrated every

atom of liquid. Shall I be believed when I say that, at the depth of

thirty feet, I could see as if I was in broad daylight?

For a quarter of an hour I trod on this sand, sown with the impalpable

dust of shells. The hull of the _Nautilus_, resembling a long shoal,

disappeared by degrees; but its lantern, when darkness should overtake

us in the waters, would help to guide us on board by its distinct rays.

Soon forms of objects outlined in the distance were discernible. I

recognised magnificent rocks, hung with a tapestry of zoophytes of the

most beautiful kind, and I was at first struck by the peculiar effect

of this medium.

It was then ten in the morning; the rays of the sun struck the surface

of the waves at rather an oblique angle, and at the touch of their

light, decomposed by refraction as through a prism, flowers, rocks,

plants, shells, and polypi were shaded at the edges by the seven solar

colours. It was marvellous, a feast for the eyes, this complication of

coloured tints, a perfect kaleidoscope of green, yellow, orange,

violet, indigo, and blue; in one word, the whole palette of an

enthusiastic colourist! Why could I not communicate to Conseil the

lively sensations which were mounting to my brain, and rival him in

expressions of admiration? For aught I knew, Captain Nemo and his

companion might be able to exchange thoughts by means of signs

previously agreed upon. So, for want of better, I talked to myself; I

declaimed in the copper box which covered my head, thereby expending

more air in vain words than was perhaps expedient.

Various kinds of isis, clusters of pure tuft-coral, prickly fungi, and

anemones formed a brilliant garden of flowers, enamelled with porphitæ,

decked with their collarettes of blue tentacles, sea-stars studding the

sandy bottom, together with asterophytons like fine lace embroidered by

the hands of naïads, whose festoons were waved by the gentle

undulations caused by our walk. It was a real grief to me to crush

under my feet the brilliant specimens of molluscs which strewed the

ground by thousands, of hammer-heads, donaciae (veritable bounding

shells), of staircases, and red helmet-shells, angel-wings, and many

others produced by this inexhaustible ocean. But we were bound to walk,

so we went on, whilst above our heads waved shoals of physalides

leaving their tentacles to float in their train, medusæ whose umbrellas

of opal or rose-pink, escalloped with a band of blue, sheltered us from

the rays of the sun and fiery pelagiæ, which, in the darkness, would

have strewn our path with phosphorescent light.

All these wonders I saw in the space of a quarter of a mile, scarcely

stopping, and following Captain Nemo, who beckoned me on by signs. Soon

the nature of the soil changed; to the sandy plain succeeded an extent

of slimy mud, which the Americans call “ooze,” composed of equal parts

of silicious and calcareous shells. We then travelled over a plain of

sea-weed of wild and luxuriant vegetation. This sward was of close

texture, and soft to the feet, and rivalled the softest carpet woven by

the hand of man. But whilst verdure was spread at our feet, it did not

abandon our heads. A light network of marine plants, of that

inexhaustible family of sea-weeds of which more than two thousand kinds

are known, grew on the surface of the water. I saw long ribbons of

fucus floating, some globular, others tuberous; laurenciæ and

cladostephi of most delicate foliage, and some rhodomeniæ palmatæ,

resembling the fan of a cactus. I noticed that the green plants kept

nearer the top of the sea, whilst the red were at a greater depth,

leaving to the black or brown hydrophytes the care of forming gardens

and parterres in the remote beds of the ocean.

We had quitted the _Nautilus_ about an hour and a half. It was near

noon; I knew by the perpendicularity of the sun’s rays, which were no

longer refracted. The magical colours disappeared by degrees, and the

shades of emerald and sapphire were effaced. We walked with a regular

step, which rang upon the ground with astonishing intensity; the

slightest noise was transmitted with a quickness to which the ear is

unaccustomed on the earth; indeed, water is a better conductor of sound

than air, in the ratio of four to one. At this period the earth sloped

downwards; the light took a uniform tint. We were at a depth of a

hundred and five yards and twenty inches, undergoing a pressure of six

atmospheres.

At this depth I could still see the rays of the sun, though feebly; to

their intense brilliancy had succeeded a reddish twilight, the lowest

state between day and night; but we could still see well enough; it was

not necessary to resort to the Ruhmkorff apparatus as yet. At this

moment Captain Nemo stopped; he waited till I joined him, and then

pointed to an obscure mass, looming in the shadow, at a short distance.

“It is the forest of the Island of Crespo,” thought I;—and I was not

mistaken.

CHAPTER XVI

A SUBMARINE FOREST

We had at last arrived on the borders of this forest, doubtless one of

the finest of Captain Nemo’s immense domains. He looked upon it as his

own, and considered he had the same right over it that the first men

had in the first days of the world. And, indeed, who would have

disputed with him the possession of this submarine property? What other

hardier pioneer would come, hatchet in hand, to cut down the dark

copses?

This forest was composed of large tree-plants; and the moment we

penetrated under its vast arcades, I was struck by the singular

position of their branches—a position I had not yet observed.

Not a herb which carpeted the ground, not a branch which clothed the

trees, was either broken or bent, nor did they extend horizontally; all

stretched up to the surface of the ocean. Not a filament, not a ribbon,

however thin they might be, but kept as straight as a rod of iron. The

fuci and llianas grew in rigid perpendicular lines, due to the density

of the element which had produced them. Motionless, yet when bent to

one side by the hand, they directly resumed their former position.

Truly it was the region of perpendicularity!

I soon accustomed myself to this fantastic position, as well as to the

comparative darkness which surrounded us. The soil of the forest seemed

covered with sharp blocks, difficult to avoid. The submarine flora

struck me as being very perfect, and richer even than it would have

been in the arctic or tropical zones, where these productions are not

so plentiful. But for some minutes I involuntarily confounded the

genera, taking zoophytes for hydrophytes, animals for plants; and who

would not have been mistaken? The fauna and the flora are too closely

allied in this submarine world.

These plants are self-propagated, and the principle of their existence

is in the water, which upholds and nourishes them. The greater number,

instead of leaves, shot forth blades of capricious shapes, comprised

within a scale of colours,—pink, carmine, green, olive, fawn, and

brown. I saw there (but not dried up, as our specimens of the

_Nautilus_ are) pavonari spread like a fan, as if to catch the breeze;

scarlet ceramies, whose laminaries extended their edible shoots of

fern-shaped nereocysti, which grow to a height of fifteen feet;

clusters of acetabuli, whose stems increase in size upwards; and

numbers of other marine plants, all devoid of flowers!

“Curious anomaly, fantastic element!” said an ingenious naturalist, “in

which the animal kingdom blossoms, and the vegetable does not!”

Under these numerous shrubs (as large as trees of the temperate zone),

and under their damp shadow, were massed together real bushes of living

flowers, hedges of zoophytes, on which blossomed some zebrameandrines,

with crooked grooves, some yellow caryophylliæ; and, to complete the

allusion, the fish-flies flew from branch to branch like a swarm of

humming-birds, whilst yellow lepisacomthi, with bristling jaws,

dactylopteri, and monocentrides rose at our feet like a flight of

snipes.

In about an hour Captain Nemo gave the signal to halt. I, for my part,

was not sorry, and we stretched ourselves under an arbour of alariæ,

the long thin blades of which stood up like arrows.

This short rest seemed delicious to me; there was nothing wanting but

the charm of conversation; but, impossible to speak, impossible to

answer, I only put my great copper head to Conseil’s. I saw the worthy

fellow’s eyes glistening with delight, and to show his satisfaction, he

shook himself in his breastplate of air in the most comical way in the

world.

After four hours of this walking I was surprised not to find myself

dreadfully hungry. How to account for this state of the stomach I could

not tell. But instead I felt an insurmountable desire to sleep, which

happens to all divers. And my eyes soon closed behind the thick

glasses, and I fell into a heavy slumber, which the movement alone had

prevented before. Captain Nemo and his robust companion, stretched in

the clear crystal, set us the example.

How long I remained buried in this drowsiness I cannot judge; but, when

I woke, the sun seemed sinking towards the horizon. Captain Nemo had

already risen, and I was beginning to stretch my limbs, when an

unexpected apparition brought me briskly to my feet.

A few steps off, a monstrous sea-spider, about thirty-eight inches

high, was watching me with squinting eyes, ready to spring upon me.

Though my diver’s dress was thick enough to defend me from the bite of

this animal, I could not help shuddering with horror. Conseil and the

sailor of the _Nautilus_ awoke at this moment. Captain Nemo pointed out

the hideous crustacean, which a blow from the butt end of the gun

knocked over, and I saw the horrible claws of the monster writhe in

terrible convulsions. This accident reminded me that other animals more

to be feared might haunt these obscure depths, against whose attacks my

diving-dress would not protect me. I had never thought of it before,

but I now resolved to be upon my guard. Indeed, I thought that this

halt would mark the termination of our walk; but I was mistaken, for,

instead of returning to the _Nautilus_, Captain Nemo continued his bold

excursion. The ground was still on the incline, its declivity seemed to

be getting greater, and to be leading us to greater depths. It must

have been about three o’clock when we reached a narrow valley, between

high perpendicular walls, situated about seventy-five fathoms deep.

Thanks to the perfection of our apparatus, we were forty-five fathoms

below the limit which nature seems to have imposed on man as to his

submarine excursions.

I say seventy-five fathoms, though I had no instrument by which to

judge the distance. But I knew that even in the clearest waters the

solar rays could not penetrate further. And accordingly the darkness

deepened. At ten paces not an object was visible. I was groping my way,

when I suddenly saw a brilliant white light. Captain Nemo had just put

his electric apparatus into use; his companion did the same, and

Conseil and I followed their example. By turning a screw I established

a communication between the wire and the spiral glass, and the sea, lit

by our four lanterns, was illuminated for a circle of thirty-six yards.

Captain Nemo was still plunging into the dark depths of the forest,

whose trees were getting scarcer at every step. I noticed that

vegetable life disappeared sooner than animal life. The medusæ had

already abandoned the arid soil, from which a great number of animals,

zoophytes, articulata, molluscs, and fishes, still obtained sustenance.

As we walked, I thought the light of our Ruhmkorff apparatus could not

fail to draw some inhabitant from its dark couch. But if they did

approach us, they at least kept at a respectful distance from the

hunters. Several times I saw Captain Nemo stop, put his gun to his

shoulder, and after some moments drop it and walk on. At last, after

about four hours, this marvellous excursion came to an end. A wall of

superb rocks, in an imposing mass, rose before us, a heap of gigantic

blocks, an enormous, steep granite shore, forming dark grottos, but

which presented no practicable slope; it was the prop of the Island of

Crespo. It was the earth! Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. A gesture of

his brought us all to a halt, and, however desirous I might be to scale

the wall, I was obliged to stop. Here ended Captain Nemo’s domains. And

he would not go beyond them. Further on was a portion of the globe he

might not trample upon.

The return began. Captain Nemo had returned to the head of his little

band, directing their course without hesitation. I thought we were not

following the same road to return to the _Nautilus_. The new road was

very steep, and consequently very painful. We approached the surface of

the sea rapidly. But this return to the upper strata was not so sudden

as to cause relief from the pressure too rapidly, which might have

produced serious disorder in our organisation, and brought on internal

lesions, so fatal to divers. Very soon light reappeared and grew, and

the sun being low on the horizon, the refraction edged the different

objects with a spectral ring. At ten yards and a half deep, we walked

amidst a shoal of little fishes of all kinds, more numerous than the

birds of the air, and also more agile; but no aquatic game worthy of a

shot had as yet met our gaze, when at that moment I saw the Captain

shoulder his gun quickly, and follow a moving object into the shrubs.

He fired;—I heard a slight hissing, and a creature fell stunned at some

distance from us. It was a magnificent sea-otter, an enhydrus, the only

exclusively marine quadruped. This otter was five feet long, and must

have been very valuable. Its skin, chestnut-brown above and silvery

underneath, would have made one of those beautiful furs so sought after

in the Russian and Chinese markets; the fineness and the lustre of its

coat would certainly fetch £80. I admired this curious mammal, with its

rounded head ornamented with short ears, its round eyes, and white

whiskers like those of a cat, with webbed feet and nails, and tufted

tail. This precious animal, hunted and tracked by fishermen, has now

become very rare, and taken refuge chiefly in the northern parts of the

Pacific, or probably its race would soon become extinct.

Captain Nemo’s companion took the beast, threw it over his shoulder,

and we continued our journey. For one hour a plain of sand lay

stretched before us. Sometimes it rose to within two yards and some

inches of the surface of the water. I then saw our image clearly

reflected, drawn inversely, and above us appeared an identical group

reflecting our movements and our actions; in a word, like us in every

point, except that they walked with their heads downward and their feet

in the air.

Another effect I noticed, which was the passage of thick clouds which

formed and vanished rapidly; but on reflection I understood that these

seeming clouds were due to the varying thickness of the reeds at the

bottom, and I could even see the fleecy foam which their broken tops

multiplied on the water, and the shadows of large birds passing above

our heads, whose rapid flight I could discern on the surface of the

sea.

On this occasion, I was witness to one of the finest gun-shots which

ever made the nerves of a hunter thrill. A large bird of great breadth

of wing, clearly visible, approached, hovering over us. Captain Nemo’s

companion shouldered his gun and fired, when it was only a few yards

above the waves. The creature fell stunned, and the force of its fall

brought it within the reach of the dexterous hunter’s grasp. It was an

albatross of the finest kind.

Our march had not been interrupted by this incident. For two hours we

followed these sandy plains, then fields of algæ very disagreeable to

cross. Candidly, I could do no more when I saw a glimmer of light,

which, for a half mile, broke the darkness of the waters. It was the

lantern of the _Nautilus_. Before twenty minutes were over we should be

on board, and I should be able to breathe with ease, for it seemed that

my reservoir supplied air very deficient in oxygen. But I did not

reckon on an accidental meeting, which delayed our arrival for some

time.

I had remained some steps behind, when I presently saw Captain Nemo

coming hurriedly towards me. With his strong hand he bent me to the

ground, his companion doing the same to Conseil. At first I knew not

what to think of this sudden attack, but I was soon reassured by seeing

the Captain lie down beside me, and remain immovable.

I was stretched on the ground, just under the shelter of a bush of

algæ, when, raising my head, I saw some enormous mass, casting

phosphorescent gleams, pass blusteringly by.

My blood froze in my veins as I recognised two formidable sharks which

threatened us. It was a couple of tintoreas, terrible creatures, with

enormous tails and a dull glassy stare, the phosphorescent matter

ejected from holes pierced around the muzzle. Monstrous brutes! which

would crush a whole man in their iron jaws. I did not know whether

Conseil stopped to classify them; for my part, I noticed their silver

bellies, and their huge mouths bristling with teeth, from a very

unscientific point of view, and more as a possible victim than as a

naturalist.

Happily the voracious creatures do not see well. They passed without

seeing us, brushing us with their brownish fins, and we escaped by a

miracle from a danger certainly greater than meeting a tiger full-face

in the forest. Half an hour after, guided by the electric light, we

reached the _Nautilus_. The outside door had been left open, and

Captain Nemo closed it as soon as we had entered the first cell. He

then pressed a knob. I heard the pumps working in the midst of the

vessel, I felt the water sinking from around me, and in a few moments

the cell was entirely empty. The inside door then opened, and we

entered the vestry.

There our diving-dress was taken off, not without some trouble; and,

fairly worn out from want of food and sleep. I returned to my room, in

great wonder at this surprising excursion at the bottom of the sea.

CHAPTER XVII

FOUR THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE PACIFIC

The next morning, the 18th of November, I had quite recovered from my

fatigues of the day before, and I went up on to the platform, just as

the second lieutenant was uttering his daily phrase.

I was admiring the magnificent aspect of the ocean when Captain Nemo

appeared. He did not seem to be aware of my presence, and began a

series of astronomical observations. Then, when he had finished, he

went and leant on the cage of the watch-light, and gazed abstractedly

on the ocean. In the meantime, a number of the sailors of the

_Nautilus_, all strong and healthy men, had come up onto the platform.

They came to draw up the nets that had been laid all night. These

sailors were evidently of different nations, although the European type

was visible in all of them. I recognised some unmistakable Irishmen,

Frenchmen, some Sclaves, and a Greek, or a Candiote. They were civil,

and only used that odd language among themselves, the origin of which I

could not guess, neither could I question them.

The nets were hauled in. They were a large kind of “chaluts,” like

those on the Normandy coasts, great pockets that the waves and a chain

fixed in the smaller meshes kept open. These pockets, drawn by iron

poles, swept through the water, and gathered in everything in their

way. That day they brought up curious specimens from those productive

coasts.

I reckoned that the haul had brought in more than nine hundredweight of

fish. It was a fine haul, but not to be wondered at. Indeed, the nets

are let down for several hours, and enclose in their meshes an infinite

variety. We had no lack of excellent food, and the rapidity of the

_Nautilus_ and the attraction of the electric light could always renew

our supply. These several productions of the sea were immediately

lowered through the panel to the steward’s room, some to be eaten

fresh, and others pickled.

The fishing ended, the provision of air renewed, I thought that the

_Nautilus_ was about to continue its submarine excursion, and was

preparing to return to my room, when, without further preamble, the

Captain turned to me, saying:

“Professor, is not this ocean gifted with real life? It has its tempers

and its gentle moods. Yesterday it slept as we did, and now it has woke

after a quiet night. Look!” he continued, “it wakes under the caresses

of the sun. It is going to renew its diurnal existence. It is an

interesting study to watch the play of its organisation. It has a

pulse, arteries, spasms; and I agree with the learned Maury, who

discovered in it a circulation as real as the circulation of blood in

animals.

“Yes, the ocean has indeed circulation, and to promote it, the Creator

has caused things to multiply in it—caloric, salt, and animalculae.”

When Captain Nemo spoke thus, he seemed altogether changed, and aroused

an extraordinary emotion in me.

“Also,” he added, “true existence is there; and I can imagine the

foundations of nautical towns, clusters of submarine houses, which,

like the _Nautilus_, would ascend every morning to breathe at the

surface of the water, free towns, independent cities. Yet who knows

whether some despot——”

Captain Nemo finished his sentence with a violent gesture. Then,

addressing me as if to chase away some sorrowful thought:

“M. Aronnax,” he asked, “do you know the depth of the ocean?”

“I only know, Captain, what the principal soundings have taught us.”

“Could you tell me them, so that I can suit them to my purpose?”

“These are some,” I replied, “that I remember. If I am not mistaken, a

depth of 8,000 yards has been found in the North Atlantic, and 2,500

yards in the Mediterranean. The most remarkable soundings have been

made in the South Atlantic, near the thirty-fifth parallel, and they

gave 12,000 yards, 14,000 yards, and 15,000 yards. To sum up all, it is

reckoned that if the bottom of the sea were levelled, its mean depth

would be about one and three-quarter leagues.”

“Well, Professor,” replied the Captain, “we shall show you better than

that I hope. As to the mean depth of this part of the Pacific, I tell

you it is only 4,000 yards.”

Having said this, Captain Nemo went towards the panel, and disappeared

down the ladder. I followed him, and went into the large drawing-room.

The screw was immediately put in motion, and the log gave twenty miles

an hour.

During the days and weeks that passed, Captain Nemo was very sparing of

his visits. I seldom saw him. The lieutenant pricked the ship’s course

regularly on the chart, so I could always tell exactly the route of the

_Nautilus_.

Nearly every day, for some time, the panels of the drawing-room were

opened, and we were never tired of penetrating the mysteries of the

submarine world.

The general direction of the _Nautilus_ was south-east, and it kept

between 100 and 150 yards of depth. One day, however, I do not know

why, being drawn diagonally by means of the inclined planes, it touched

the bed of the sea. The thermometer indicated a temperature of 4.25

(cent.): a temperature that at this depth seemed common to all

latitudes.

At three o’clock in the morning of the 26th of November the _Nautilus_

crossed the tropic of Cancer at 172° long. On 27th instant it sighted

the Sandwich Islands, where Cook died, February 14, 1779. We had then

gone 4,860 leagues from our starting-point. In the morning, when I went

on the platform, I saw two miles to windward, Hawaii, the largest of

the seven islands that form the group. I saw clearly the cultivated

ranges, and the several mountain-chains that run parallel with the

side, and the volcanoes that overtop Mouna-Rea, which rise 5,000 yards

above the level of the sea. Besides other things the nets brought up,

were several flabellariae and graceful polypi, that are peculiar to

that part of the ocean. The direction of the _Nautilus_ was still to

the south-east. It crossed the equator December 1, in 142° long.; and

on the 4th of the same month, after crossing rapidly and without

anything in particular occurring, we sighted the Marquesas group. I

saw, three miles off, Martin’s peak in Nouka-Hiva, the largest of the

group that belongs to France. I only saw the woody mountains against

the horizon, because Captain Nemo did not wish to bring the ship to the

wind. There the nets brought up beautiful specimens of fish: some with

azure fins and tails like gold, the flesh of which is unrivalled; some

nearly destitute of scales, but of exquisite flavour; others, with bony

jaws, and yellow-tinged gills, as good as bonitos; all fish that would

be of use to us. After leaving these charming islands protected by the

French flag, from the 4th to the 11th of December the _Nautilus_ sailed

over about 2,000 miles.

During the daytime of the 11th of December I was busy reading in the

large drawing-room. Ned Land and Conseil watched the luminous water

through the half-open panels. The _Nautilus_ was immovable. While its

reservoirs were filled, it kept at a depth of 1,000 yards, a region

rarely visited in the ocean, and in which large fish were seldom seen.

I was then reading a charming book by Jean Mace, The Slaves of the

Stomach, and I was learning some valuable lessons from it, when Conseil

interrupted me.

“Will master come here a moment?” he said, in a curious voice.

“What is the matter, Conseil?”

“I want master to look.”

I rose, went, and leaned on my elbows before the panes and watched.

In a full electric light, an enormous black mass, quite immovable, was

suspended in the midst of the waters. I watched it attentively, seeking

to find out the nature of this gigantic cetacean. But a sudden thought

crossed my mind. “A vessel!” I said, half aloud.

“Yes,” replied the Canadian, “a disabled ship that has sunk

perpendicularly.”

Ned Land was right; we were close to a vessel of which the tattered

shrouds still hung from their chains. The keel seemed to be in good

order, and it had been wrecked at most some few hours. Three stumps of

masts, broken off about two feet above the bridge, showed that the

vessel had had to sacrifice its masts. But, lying on its side, it had

filled, and it was heeling over to port. This skeleton of what it had

once been was a sad spectacle as it lay lost under the waves, but

sadder still was the sight of the bridge, where some corpses, bound

with ropes, were still lying. I counted five—four men, one of whom was

standing at the helm, and a woman standing by the poop, holding an

infant in her arms. She was quite young. I could distinguish her

features, which the water had not decomposed, by the brilliant light

from the _Nautilus_. In one despairing effort, she had raised her

infant above her head—poor little thing!—whose arms encircled its

mother’s neck. The attitude of the four sailors was frightful,

distorted as they were by their convulsive movements, whilst making a

last effort to free themselves from the cords that bound them to the

vessel. The steersman alone, calm, with a grave, clear face, his grey

hair glued to his forehead, and his hand clutching the wheel of the

helm, seemed even then to be guiding the three broken masts through the

depths of the ocean.

What a scene! We were dumb; our hearts beat fast before this shipwreck,

taken as it were from life and photographed in its last moments. And I

saw already, coming towards it with hungry eyes, enormous sharks,

attracted by the human flesh.

However, the _Nautilus_, turning, went round the submerged vessel, and

in one instant I read on the stern—“The Florida, Sunderland.”

CHAPTER XVIII

VANIKORO

This terrible spectacle was the forerunner of the series of maritime

catastrophes that the _Nautilus_ was destined to meet with in its

route. As long as it went through more frequented waters, we often saw

the hulls of shipwrecked vessels that were rotting in the depths, and

deeper down cannons, bullets, anchors, chains, and a thousand other

iron materials eaten up by rust. However, on the 11th of December we

sighted the Pomotou Islands, the old “dangerous group” of Bougainville,

that extend over a space of 500 leagues at E.S.E. to W.N.W., from the

Island Ducie to that of Lazareff. This group covers an area of 370

square leagues, and it is formed of sixty groups of islands, among

which the Gambier group is remarkable, over which France exercises

sway. These are coral islands, slowly raised, but continuous, created

by the daily work of polypi. Then this new island will be joined later

on to the neighboring groups, and a fifth continent will stretch from

New Zealand and New Caledonia, and from thence to the Marquesas.

One day, when I was suggesting this theory to Captain Nemo, he replied

coldly:

“The earth does not want new continents, but new men.”

Chance had conducted the _Nautilus_ towards the Island of

Clermont-Tonnere, one of the most curious of the group, that was

discovered in 1822 by Captain Bell of the Minerva. I could study now

the madreporal system, to which are due the islands in this ocean.

Madrepores (which must not be mistaken for corals) have a tissue lined

with a calcareous crust, and the modifications of its structure have

induced M. Milne Edwards, my worthy master, to class them into five

sections. The animalcule that the marine polypus secretes live by

millions at the bottom of their cells. Their calcareous deposits become

rocks, reefs, and large and small islands. Here they form a ring,

surrounding a little inland lake, that communicates with the sea by

means of gaps. There they make barriers of reefs like those on the

coasts of New Caledonia and the various Pomoton islands. In other

places, like those at Reunion and at Maurice, they raise fringed reefs,

high, straight walls, near which the depth of the ocean is

considerable.

Some cable-lengths off the shores of the Island of Clermont I admired

the gigantic work accomplished by these microscopical workers. These

walls are specially the work of those madrepores known as milleporas,

porites, madrepores, and astraeas. These polypi are found particularly

in the rough beds of the sea, near the surface; and consequently it is

from the upper part that they begin their operations, in which they

bury themselves by degrees with the debris of the secretions that

support them. Such is, at least, Darwin’s theory, who thus explains the

formation of the _atolls_, a superior theory (to my mind) to that given

of the foundation of the madreporical works, summits of mountains or

volcanoes, that are submerged some feet below the level of the sea.

I could observe closely these curious walls, for perpendicularly they

were more than 300 yards deep, and our electric sheets lighted up this

calcareous matter brilliantly. Replying to a question Conseil asked me

as to the time these colossal barriers took to be raised, I astonished

him much by telling him that learned men reckoned it about the eighth

of an inch in a hundred years.

Towards evening Clermont-Tonnerre was lost in the distance, and the

route of the _Nautilus_ was sensibly changed. After having crossed the

tropic of Capricorn in 135° longitude, it sailed W.N.W., making again

for the tropical zone. Although the summer sun was very strong, we did

not suffer from heat, for at fifteen or twenty fathoms below the

surface, the temperature did not rise above from ten to twelve degrees.

On 15th of December, we left to the east the bewitching group of the

Societies and the graceful Tahiti, queen of the Pacific. I saw in the

morning, some miles to the windward, the elevated summits of the

island. These waters furnished our table with excellent fish, mackerel,

bonitos, and some varieties of a sea-serpent.

On the 25th of December the _Nautilus_ sailed into the midst of the New

Hebrides, discovered by Quiros in 1606, and that Bougainville explored

in 1768, and to which Cook gave its present name in 1773. This group is

composed principally of nine large islands, that form a band of 120

leagues N.N.W. to S.S.E., between 15° and 2° S. lat., and 164 deg. and

168° long. We passed tolerably near to the Island of Aurou, that at

noon looked like a mass of green woods, surmounted by a peak of great

height.

That day being Christmas Day, Ned Land seemed to regret sorely the

non-celebration of “Christmas,” the family fete of which Protestants

are so fond. I had not seen Captain Nemo for a week, when, on the

morning of the 27th, he came into the large drawing-room, always

seeming as if he had seen you five minutes before. I was busily tracing

the route of the _Nautilus_ on the planisphere. The Captain came up to

me, put his finger on one spot on the chart, and said this single word.

“Vanikoro.”

The effect was magical! It was the name of the islands on which La

Perouse had been lost! I rose suddenly.

“The _Nautilus_ has brought us to Vanikoro?” I asked.

“Yes, Professor,” said the Captain.

“And I can visit the celebrated islands where the Boussole and the

Astrolabe struck?”

“If you like, Professor.”

“When shall we be there?”

“We are there now.”

Followed by Captain Nemo, I went up on to the platform, and greedily

scanned the horizon.

To the N.E. two volcanic islands emerged of unequal size, surrounded by

a coral reef that measured forty miles in circumference. We were close

to Vanikoro, really the one to which Dumont d’Urville gave the name of

Isle de la Recherche, and exactly facing the little harbour of Vanou,

situated in 16° 4′ S. lat., and 164° 32′ E. long. The earth seemed

covered with verdure from the shore to the summits in the interior,

that were crowned by Mount Kapogo, 476 feet high. The _Nautilus_,

having passed the outer belt of rocks by a narrow strait, found itself

among breakers where the sea was from thirty to forty fathoms deep.

Under the verdant shade of some mangroves I perceived some savages, who

appeared greatly surprised at our approach. In the long black body,

moving between wind and water, did they not see some formidable

cetacean that they regarded with suspicion?

Just then Captain Nemo asked me what I knew about the wreck of La

Perouse.

“Only what everyone knows, Captain,” I replied.

“And could you tell me what everyone knows about it?” he inquired,

ironically.

“Easily.”

I related to him all that the last works of Dumont d’Urville had made

known—works from which the following is a brief account.

La Perouse, and his second, Captain de Langle, were sent by Louis XVI,

in 1785, on a voyage of circumnavigation. They embarked in the

corvettes Boussole and the Astrolabe, neither of which were again heard

of. In 1791, the French Government, justly uneasy as to the fate of

these two sloops, manned two large merchantmen, the Recherche and the

Esperance, which left Brest the 28th of September under the command of

Bruni d’Entrecasteaux.

Two months after, they learned from Bowen, commander of the Albemarle,

that the debris of shipwrecked vessels had been seen on the coasts of

New Georgia. But D’Entrecasteaux, ignoring this communication—rather

uncertain, besides—directed his course towards the Admiralty Islands,

mentioned in a report of Captain Hunter’s as being the place where La

Perouse was wrecked.

They sought in vain. The Esperance and the Recherche passed before

Vanikoro without stopping there, and, in fact, this voyage was most

disastrous, as it cost D’Entrecasteaux his life, and those of two of

his lieutenants, besides several of his crew.

Captain Dillon, a shrewd old Pacific sailor, was the first to find

unmistakable traces of the wrecks. On the 15th of May, 1824, his

vessel, the St. Patrick, passed close to Tikopia, one of the New

Hebrides. There a Lascar came alongside in a canoe, sold him the handle

of a sword in silver that bore the print of characters engraved on the

hilt. The Lascar pretended that six years before, during a stay at

Vanikoro, he had seen two Europeans that belonged to some vessels that

had run aground on the reefs some years ago.

Dillon guessed that he meant La Perouse, whose disappearance had

troubled the whole world. He tried to get on to Vanikoro, where,

according to the Lascar, he would find numerous debris of the wreck,

but winds and tides prevented him.

Dillon returned to Calcutta. There he interested the Asiatic Society

and the Indian Company in his discovery. A vessel, to which was given

the name of the Recherche, was put at his disposal, and he set out,

23rd January, 1827, accompanied by a French agent.

The Recherche, after touching at several points in the Pacific, cast

anchor before Vanikoro, 7th July, 1827, in that same harbour of Vanou

where the _Nautilus_ was at this time.

There it collected numerous relics of the wreck—iron utensils, anchors,

pulley-strops, swivel-guns, an 18 lb.-shot, fragments of astronomical

instruments, a piece of crown work, and a bronze clock, bearing this

inscription—“Bazin m’a fait,” the mark of the foundry of the arsenal at

Brest about 1785. There could be no further doubt.

Dillon, having made all inquiries, stayed in the unlucky place till

October. Then he quitted Vanikoro, and directed his course towards New

Zealand; put into Calcutta, 7th April, 1828, and returned to France,

where he was warmly welcomed by Charles X.

But at the same time, without knowing Dillon’s movements, Dumont

d’Urville had already set out to find the scene of the wreck. And they

had learned from a whaler that some medals and a cross of St. Louis had

been found in the hands of some savages of Louisiade and New Caledonia.

Dumont d’Urville, commander of the Astrolabe, had then sailed, and two

months after Dillon had left Vanikoro he put into Hobart Town. There he

learned the results of Dillon’s inquiries, and found that a certain

James Hobbs, second lieutenant of the Union of Calcutta, after landing

on an island situated 8° 18′ S. lat., and 156° 30′ E. long., had seen

some iron bars and red stuffs used by the natives of these parts.

Dumont d’Urville, much perplexed, and not knowing how to credit the

reports of low-class journals, decided to follow Dillon’s track.

On the 10th of February, 1828, the Astrolabe appeared off Tikopia, and

took as guide and interpreter a deserter found on the island; made his

way to Vanikoro, sighted it on the 12th inst., lay among the reefs

until the 14th, and not until the 20th did he cast anchor within the

barrier in the harbour of Vanou.

On the 23rd, several officers went round the island and brought back

some unimportant trifles. The natives, adopting a system of denials and

evasions, refused to take them to the unlucky place. This ambiguous

conduct led them to believe that the natives had ill-treated the

castaways, and indeed they seemed to fear that Dumont d’Urville had

come to avenge La Perouse and his unfortunate crew.

However, on the 26th, appeased by some presents, and understanding that

they had no reprisals to fear, they led M. Jacquireot to the scene of

the wreck.

There, in three or four fathoms of water, between the reefs of Pacou

and Vanou, lay anchors, cannons, pigs of lead and iron, embedded in the

limy concretions. The large boat and the whaler belonging to the

Astrolabe were sent to this place, and, not without some difficulty,

their crews hauled up an anchor weighing 1,800 lbs., a brass gun, some

pigs of iron, and two copper swivel-guns.

Dumont d’Urville, questioning the natives, learned too that La Perouse,

after losing both his vessels on the reefs of this island, had

constructed a smaller boat, only to be lost a second time. Where, no

one knew.

But the French Government, fearing that Dumont d’Urville was not

acquainted with Dillon’s movements, had sent the sloop Bayonnaise,

commanded by Legoarant de Tromelin, to Vanikoro, which had been

stationed on the west coast of America. The Bayonnaise cast her anchor

before Vanikoro some months after the departure of the Astrolabe, but

found no new document; but stated that the savages had respected the

monument to La Perouse. That is the substance of what I told Captain

Nemo.

“So,” he said, “no one knows now where the third vessel perished that

was constructed by the castaways on the island of Vanikoro?”

“No one knows.”

Captain Nemo said nothing, but signed to me to follow him into the

large saloon. The _Nautilus_ sank several yards below the waves, and

the panels were opened.

I hastened to the aperture, and under the crustations of coral, covered

with fungi, syphonules, alcyons, madrepores, through myriads of

charming fish—girelles, glyphisidri, pompherides, diacopes, and

holocentres—I recognised certain debris that the drags had not been

able to tear up—iron stirrups, anchors, cannons, bullets, capstan

fittings, the stem of a ship, all objects clearly proving the wreck of

some vessel, and now carpeted with living flowers. While I was looking

on this desolate scene, Captain Nemo said, in a sad voice:

“Commander La Perouse set out 7th December, 1785, with his vessels La

Boussole and the Astrolabe. He first cast anchor at Botany Bay, visited

the Friendly Isles, New Caledonia, then directed his course towards

Santa Cruz, and put into Namouka, one of the Hapai group. Then his

vessels struck on the unknown reefs of Vanikoro. The Boussole, which

went first, ran aground on the southerly coast. The Astrolabe went to

its help, and ran aground too. The first vessel was destroyed almost

immediately. The second, stranded under the wind, resisted some days.

The natives made the castaways welcome. They installed themselves in

the island, and constructed a smaller boat with the debris of the two

large ones. Some sailors stayed willingly at Vanikoro; the others, weak

and ill, set out with La Perouse. They directed their course towards

the Solomon Islands, and there perished, with everything, on the

westerly coast of the chief island of the group, between Capes

Deception and Satisfaction.”

“How do you know that?”

“By this, that I found on the spot where was the last wreck.”

Captain Nemo showed me a tin-plate box, stamped with the French arms,

and corroded by the salt water. He opened it, and I saw a bundle of

papers, yellow but still readable.

They were the instructions of the naval minister to Commander La

Perouse, annotated in the margin in Louis XVI’s handwriting.

“Ah! it is a fine death for a sailor!” said Captain Nemo, at last. “A

coral tomb makes a quiet grave; and I trust that I and my comrades will

find no other.”

CHAPTER XIX

TORRES STRAITS

During the night of the 27th or 28th of December, the _Nautilus_ left

the shores of Vanikoro with great speed. Her course was south-westerly,

and in three days she had gone over the 750 leagues that separated it

from La Perouse’s group and the south-east point of Papua.

Early on the 1st of January, 1863, Conseil joined me on the platform.

“Master, will you permit me to wish you a happy New Year?”

“What! Conseil; exactly as if I was at Paris in my study at the Jardin

des Plantes? Well, I accept your good wishes, and thank you for them.

Only, I will ask you what you mean by a ‘Happy New Year’ under our

circumstances? Do you mean the year that will bring us to the end of

our imprisonment, or the year that sees us continue this strange

voyage?”

“Really, I do not know how to answer, master. We are sure to see

curious things, and for the last two months we have not had time for

dullness. The last marvel is always the most astonishing; and, if we

continue this progression, I do not know how it will end. It is my

opinion that we shall never again see the like. I think then, with no

offence to master, that a happy year would be one in which we could see

everything.”

On 2nd January we had made 11,340 miles, or 5,250 French leagues, since

our starting-point in the Japan Seas. Before the ship’s head stretched

the dangerous shores of the coral sea, on the north-east coast of

Australia. Our boat lay along some miles from the redoubtable bank on

which Cook’s vessel was lost, 10th June, 1770. The boat in which Cook

was struck on a rock, and, if it did not sink, it was owing to a piece

of coral that was broken by the shock, and fixed itself in the broken

keel.

I had wished to visit the reef, 360 leagues long, against which the

sea, always rough, broke with great violence, with a noise like

thunder. But just then the inclined planes drew the _Nautilus_ down to

a great depth, and I could see nothing of the high coral walls. I had

to content myself with the different specimens of fish brought up by

the nets. I remarked, among others, some germons, a species of mackerel

as large as a tunny, with bluish sides, and striped with transverse

bands, that disappear with the animal’s life.

These fish followed us in shoals, and furnished us with very delicate

food. We took also a large number of gilt-heads, about one and a half

inches long, tasting like dorys; and flying pyrapeds like submarine

swallows, which, in dark nights, light alternately the air and water

with their phosphorescent light. Among the molluscs and zoophytes, I

found in the meshes of the net several species of alcyonarians, echini,

hammers, spurs, dials, cerites, and hyalleae. The flora was represented

by beautiful floating seaweeds, laminariae, and macrocystes,

impregnated with the mucilage that transudes through their pores; and

among which I gathered an admirable Nemastoma Geliniarois, that was

classed among the natural curiosities of the museum.

Two days after crossing the coral sea, 4th January, we sighted the

Papuan coasts. On this occasion, Captain Nemo informed me that his

intention was to get into the Indian Ocean by the Strait of Torres. His

communication ended there.

The Torres Straits are nearly thirty-four leagues wide; but they are

obstructed by an innumerable quantity of islands, islets, breakers, and

rocks, that make its navigation almost impracticable; so that Captain

Nemo took all needful precautions to cross them. The _Nautilus_,

floating betwixt wind and water, went at a moderate pace. Her screw,

like a cetacean’s tail, beat the waves slowly.

Profiting by this, I and my two companions went up on to the deserted

platform. Before us was the steersman’s cage, and I expected that

Captain Nemo was there directing the course of the _Nautilus_. I had

before me the excellent charts of the Straits of Torres, and I

consulted them attentively. Round the _Nautilus_ the sea dashed

furiously. The course of the waves, that went from south-east to

north-west at the rate of two and a half miles, broke on the coral that

showed itself here and there.

“This is a bad sea!” remarked Ned Land.

“Detestable indeed, and one that does not suit a boat like the

_Nautilus_.”

“The Captain must be very sure of his route, for I see there pieces of

coral that would do for its keel if it only touched them slightly.”

Indeed the situation was dangerous, but the _Nautilus_ seemed to slide

like magic off these rocks. It did not follow the routes of the

Astrolabe and the Zelee exactly, for they proved fatal to Dumont

d’Urville. It bore more northwards, coasted the Islands of Murray, and

came back to the south-west towards Cumberland Passage. I thought it

was going to pass it by, when, going back to north-west, it went

through a large quantity of islands and islets little known, towards

the Island Sound and Canal Mauvais.

I wondered if Captain Nemo, foolishly imprudent, would steer his vessel

into that pass where Dumont d’Urville’s two corvettes touched; when,

swerving again, and cutting straight through to the west, he steered

for the Island of Gilboa.

It was then three in the afternoon. The tide began to recede, being

quite full. The _Nautilus_ approached the island, that I still saw,

with its remarkable border of screw-pines. He stood off it at about two

miles distant. Suddenly a shock overthrew me. The _Nautilus_ just

touched a rock, and stayed immovable, laying lightly to port side.

When I rose, I perceived Captain Nemo and his lieutenant on the

platform. They were examining the situation of the vessel, and

exchanging words in their incomprehensible dialect.

She was situated thus: Two miles, on the starboard side, appeared

Gilboa, stretching from north to west like an immense arm. Towards the

south and east some coral showed itself, left by the ebb. We had run

aground, and in one of those seas where the tides are middling—a sorry

matter for the floating of the _Nautilus_. However, the vessel had not

suffered, for her keel was solidly joined. But, if she could neither

glide off nor move, she ran the risk of being for ever fastened to

these rocks, and then Captain Nemo’s submarine vessel would be done

for.

I was reflecting thus, when the Captain, cool and calm, always master

of himself, approached me.

“An accident?” I asked.

“No; an incident.”

“But an incident that will oblige you perhaps to become an inhabitant

of this land from which you flee?”

Captain Nemo looked at me curiously, and made a negative gesture, as

much as to say that nothing would force him to set foot on terra firma

again. Then he said:

“Besides, M. Aronnax, the _Nautilus_ is not lost; it will carry you yet

into the midst of the marvels of the ocean. Our voyage is only begun,

and I do not wish to be deprived so soon of the honour of your

company.”

“However, Captain Nemo,” I replied, without noticing the ironical turn

of his phrase, “the _Nautilus_ ran aground in open sea. Now the tides

are not strong in the Pacific; and, if you cannot lighten the

_Nautilus_, I do not see how it will be reinflated.”

“The tides are not strong in the Pacific: you are right there,

Professor; but in Torres Straits one finds still a difference of a yard

and a half between the level of high and low seas. To-day is 4th

January, and in five days the moon will be full. Now, I shall be very

much astonished if that satellite does not raise these masses of water

sufficiently, and render me a service that I should be indebted to her

for.”

Having said this, Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant, re-descended

to the interior of the _Nautilus_. As to the vessel, it moved not, and

was immovable, as if the coralline polypi had already walled it up with

their indestructible cement.

“Well, sir?” said Ned Land, who came up to me after the departure of

the Captain.

“Well, friend Ned, we will wait patiently for the tide on the 9th

instant; for it appears that the moon will have the goodness to put it

off again.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And this Captain is not going to cast anchor at all since the tide

will suffice?” said Conseil, simply.

The Canadian looked at Conseil, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Sir, you may believe me when I tell you that this piece of iron will

navigate neither on nor under the sea again; it is only fit to be sold

for its weight. I think, therefore, that the time has come to part

company with Captain Nemo.”

“Friend Ned, I do not despair of this stout _Nautilus_, as you do; and

in four days we shall know what to hold to on the Pacific tides.

Besides, flight might be possible if we were in sight of the English or

Provencal coast; but on the Papuan shores, it is another thing; and it

will be time enough to come to that extremity if the _Nautilus_ does

not recover itself again, which I look upon as a grave event.”

“But do they know, at least, how to act circumspectly? There is an

island; on that island there are trees; under those trees, terrestrial

animals, bearers of cutlets and roast beef, to which I would willingly

give a trial.”

“In this, friend Ned is right,” said Conseil, “and I agree with him.

Could not master obtain permission from his friend Captain Nemo to put

us on land, if only so as not to lose the habit of treading on the

solid parts of our planet?”

“I can ask him, but he will refuse.”

“Will master risk it?” asked Conseil, “and we shall know how to rely

upon the Captain’s amiability.”

To my great surprise, Captain Nemo gave me the permission I asked for,

and he gave it very agreeably, without even exacting from me a promise

to return to the vessel; but flight across New Guinea might be very

perilous, and I should not have counselled Ned Land to attempt it.

Better to be a prisoner on board the _Nautilus_ than to fall into the

hands of the natives.

At eight o’clock, armed with guns and hatchets, we got off the

_Nautilus_. The sea was pretty calm; a slight breeze blew on land.

Conseil and I rowing, we sped along quickly, and Ned steered in the

straight passage that the breakers left between them. The boat was well

handled, and moved rapidly.

Ned Land could not restrain his joy. He was like a prisoner that had

escaped from prison, and knew not that it was necessary to re-enter it.

“Meat! We are going to eat some meat; and what meat!” he replied. “Real

game! no, bread, indeed.”

“I do not say that fish is not good; we must not abuse it; but a piece

of fresh venison, grilled on live coals, will agreeably vary our

ordinary course.”

“Glutton!” said Conseil, “he makes my mouth water.”

“It remains to be seen,” I said, “if these forests are full of game,

and if the game is not such as will hunt the hunter himself.”

“Well said, M. Aronnax,” replied the Canadian, whose teeth seemed

sharpened like the edge of a hatchet; “but I will eat tiger—loin of

tiger—if there is no other quadruped on this island.”

“Friend Ned is uneasy about it,” said Conseil.

“Whatever it may be,” continued Ned Land, “every animal with four paws

without feathers, or with two paws without feathers, will be saluted by

my first shot.”

“Very well! Master Land’s imprudences are beginning.”

“Never fear, M. Aronnax,” replied the Canadian; “I do not want

twenty-five minutes to offer you a dish, of my sort.”

At half-past eight the _Nautilus_ boat ran softly aground on a heavy

sand, after having happily passed the coral reef that surrounds the

Island of Gilboa.

CHAPTER XX

A FEW DAYS ON LAND

I was much impressed on touching land. Ned Land tried the soil with his

feet, as if to take possession of it. However, it was only two months

before that we had become, according to Captain Nemo, “passengers on

board the _Nautilus_,” but, in reality, prisoners of its commander.

In a few minutes we were within musket-shot of the coast. The whole

horizon was hidden behind a beautiful curtain of forests. Enormous

trees, the trunks of which attained a height of 200 feet, were tied to

each other by garlands of bindweed, real natural hammocks, which a

light breeze rocked. They were mimosas, figs, hibisci, and palm trees,

mingled together in profusion; and under the shelter of their verdant

vault grew orchids, leguminous plants, and ferns.

But, without noticing all these beautiful specimens of Papuan flora,

the Canadian abandoned the agreeable for the useful. He discovered a

coco-tree, beat down some of the fruit, broke them, and we drunk the

milk and ate the nut with a satisfaction that protested against the

ordinary food on the _Nautilus_.

“Excellent!” said Ned Land.

“Exquisite!” replied Conseil.

“And I do not think,” said the Canadian, “that he would object to our

introducing a cargo of coco-nuts on board.”

“I do not think he would, but he would not taste them.”

“So much the worse for him,” said Conseil.

“And so much the better for us,” replied Ned Land. “There will be more

for us.”

“One word only, Master Land,” I said to the harpooner, who was

beginning to ravage another coco-nut tree. “Coco-nuts are good things,

but before filling the canoe with them it would be wise to reconnoitre

and see if the island does not produce some substance not less useful.

Fresh vegetables would be welcome on board the _Nautilus_.”

“Master is right,” replied Conseil; “and I propose to reserve three

places in our vessel, one for fruits, the other for vegetables, and the

third for the venison, of which I have not yet seen the smallest

specimen.”

“Conseil, we must not despair,” said the Canadian.

“Let us continue,” I returned, “and lie in wait. Although the island

seems uninhabited, it might still contain some individuals that would

be less hard than we on the nature of game.”

“Ho! ho!” said Ned Land, moving his jaws significantly.

“Well, Ned!” said Conseil.

“My word!” returned the Canadian, “I begin to understand the charms of

anthropophagy.”

“Ned! Ned! what are you saying? You, a man-eater? I should not feel

safe with you, especially as I share your cabin. I might perhaps wake

one day to find myself half devoured.”

“Friend Conseil, I like you much, but not enough to eat you

unnecessarily.”

“I would not trust you,” replied Conseil. “But enough. We must

absolutely bring down some game to satisfy this cannibal, or else one

of these fine mornings, master will find only pieces of his servant to

serve him.”

While we were talking thus, we were penetrating the sombre arches of

the forest, and for two hours we surveyed it in all directions.

Chance rewarded our search for eatable vegetables, and one of the most

useful products of the tropical zones furnished us with precious food

that we missed on board. I would speak of the bread-fruit tree, very

abundant in the island of Gilboa; and I remarked chiefly the variety

destitute of seeds, which bears in Malaya the name of “rima.”

Ned Land knew these fruits well. He had already eaten many during his

numerous voyages, and he knew how to prepare the eatable substance.

Moreover, the sight of them excited him, and he could contain himself

no longer.

“Master,” he said, “I shall die if I do not taste a little of this

bread-fruit pie.”

“Taste it, friend Ned—taste it as you want. We are here to make

experiments—make them.”

“It won’t take long,” said the Canadian.

And, provided with a lentil, he lighted a fire of dead wood that

crackled joyously. During this time, Conseil and I chose the best

fruits of the bread-fruit. Some had not then attained a sufficient

degree of maturity; and their thick skin covered a white but rather

fibrous pulp. Others, the greater number yellow and gelatinous, waited

only to be picked.

These fruits enclosed no kernel. Conseil brought a dozen to Ned Land,

who placed them on a coal fire, after having cut them in thick slices,

and while doing this repeating:

“You will see, master, how good this bread is. More so when one has

been deprived of it so long. It is not even bread,” added he, “but a

delicate pastry. You have eaten none, master?”

“No, Ned.”

“Very well, prepare yourself for a juicy thing. If you do not come for

more, I am no longer the king of harpooners.”

After some minutes, the part of the fruits that was exposed to the fire

was completely roasted. The interior looked like a white pasty, a sort

of soft crumb, the flavour of which was like that of an artichoke.

It must be confessed this bread was excellent, and I ate of it with

great relish.

“What time is it now?” asked the Canadian.

“Two o’clock at least,” replied Conseil.

“How time flies on firm ground!” sighed Ned Land.

“Let us be off,” replied Conseil.

We returned through the forest, and completed our collection by a raid

upon the cabbage-palms, that we gathered from the tops of the trees,

little beans that I recognised as the “abrou” of the Malays, and yams

of a superior quality.

We were loaded when we reached the boat. But Ned Land did not find his

provisions sufficient. Fate, however, favoured us. Just as we were

pushing off, he perceived several trees, from twenty-five to thirty

feet high, a species of palm-tree.

At last, at five o’clock in the evening, loaded with our riches, we

quitted the shore, and half an hour after we hailed the _Nautilus_. No

one appeared on our arrival. The enormous iron-plated cylinder seemed

deserted. The provisions embarked, I descended to my chamber, and after

supper slept soundly.

The next day, 6th January, nothing new on board. Not a sound inside,

not a sign of life. The boat rested along the edge, in the same place

in which we had left it. We resolved to return to the island. Ned Land

hoped to be more fortunate than on the day before with regard to the

hunt, and wished to visit another part of the forest.

At dawn we set off. The boat, carried on by the waves that flowed to

shore, reached the island in a few minutes.

We landed, and, thinking that it was better to give in to the Canadian,

we followed Ned Land, whose long limbs threatened to distance us. He

wound up the coast towards the west: then, fording some torrents, he

gained the high plain that was bordered with admirable forests. Some

kingfishers were rambling along the water-courses, but they would not

let themselves be approached. Their circumspection proved to me that

these birds knew what to expect from bipeds of our species, and I

concluded that, if the island was not inhabited, at least human beings

occasionally frequented it.

After crossing a rather large prairie, we arrived at the skirts of a

little wood that was enlivened by the songs and flight of a large

number of birds.

“There are only birds,” said Conseil.

“But they are eatable,” replied the harpooner.

“I do not agree with you, friend Ned, for I see only parrots there.”

“Friend Conseil,” said Ned, gravely, “the parrot is like pheasant to

those who have nothing else.”

“And,” I added, “this bird, suitably prepared, is worth knife and

fork.”

Indeed, under the thick foliage of this wood, a world of parrots were

flying from branch to branch, only needing a careful education to speak

the human language. For the moment, they were chattering with parrots

of all colours, and grave cockatoos, who seemed to meditate upon some

philosophical problem, whilst brilliant red lories passed like a piece

of bunting carried away by the breeze, papuans, with the finest azure

colours, and in all a variety of winged things most charming to behold,

but few eatable.

However, a bird peculiar to these lands, and which has never passed the

limits of the Arrow and Papuan islands, was wanting in this collection.

But fortune reserved it for me before long.

After passing through a moderately thick copse, we found a plain

obstructed with bushes. I saw then those magnificent birds, the

disposition of whose long feathers obliges them to fly against the

wind. Their undulating flight, graceful aerial curves, and the shading

of their colours, attracted and charmed one’s looks. I had no trouble

in recognising them.

“Birds of paradise!” I exclaimed.

The Malays, who carry on a great trade in these birds with the Chinese,

have several means that we could not employ for taking them. Sometimes

they put snares on the top of high trees that the birds of paradise

prefer to frequent. Sometimes they catch them with a viscous birdlime

that paralyses their movements. They even go so far as to poison the

fountains that the birds generally drink from. But we were obliged to

fire at them during flight, which gave us few chances to bring them

down; and, indeed, we vainly exhausted one half our ammunition.

About eleven o’clock in the morning, the first range of mountains that

form the centre of the island was traversed, and we had killed nothing.

Hunger drove us on. The hunters had relied on the products of the

chase, and they were wrong. Happily Conseil, to his great surprise,

made a double shot and secured breakfast. He brought down a white

pigeon and a wood-pigeon, which, cleverly plucked and suspended from a

skewer, was roasted before a red fire of dead wood. While these

interesting birds were cooking, Ned prepared the fruit of the

bread-tree. Then the wood-pigeons were devoured to the bones, and

declared excellent. The nutmeg, with which they are in the habit of

stuffing their crops, flavours their flesh and renders it delicious

eating.

“Now, Ned, what do you miss now?”

“Some four-footed game, M. Aronnax. All these pigeons are only

side-dishes and trifles; and until I have killed an animal with cutlets

I shall not be content.”

“Nor I, Ned, if I do not catch a bird of paradise.”

“Let us continue hunting,” replied Conseil. “Let us go towards the sea.

We have arrived at the first declivities of the mountains, and I think

we had better regain the region of forests.”

That was sensible advice, and was followed out. After walking for one

hour we had attained a forest of sago-trees. Some inoffensive serpents

glided away from us. The birds of paradise fled at our approach, and

truly I despaired of getting near one when Conseil, who was walking in

front, suddenly bent down, uttered a triumphal cry, and came back to me

bringing a magnificent specimen.

“Ah! bravo, Conseil!”

“Master is very good.”

“No, my boy; you have made an excellent stroke. Take one of these

living birds, and carry it in your hand.”

“If master will examine it, he will see that I have not deserved great

merit.”

“Why, Conseil?”

“Because this bird is as drunk as a quail.”

“Drunk!”

“Yes, sir; drunk with the nutmegs that it devoured under the

nutmeg-tree, under which I found it. See, friend Ned, see the monstrous

effects of intemperance!”

“By Jove!” exclaimed the Canadian, “because I have drunk gin for two

months, you must needs reproach me!”

However, I examined the curious bird. Conseil was right. The bird,

drunk with the juice, was quite powerless. It could not fly; it could

hardly walk.

This bird belonged to the most beautiful of the eight species that are

found in Papua and in the neighbouring islands. It was the “large

emerald bird, the most rare kind.” It measured three feet in length.

Its head was comparatively small, its eyes placed near the opening of

the beak, and also small. But the shades of colour were beautiful,

having a yellow beak, brown feet and claws, nut-coloured wings with

purple tips, pale yellow at the back of the neck and head, and emerald

colour at the throat, chestnut on the breast and belly. Two horned,

downy nets rose from below the tail, that prolonged the long light

feathers of admirable fineness, and they completed the whole of this

marvellous bird, that the natives have poetically named the “bird of

the sun.”

But if my wishes were satisfied by the possession of the bird of

paradise, the Canadian’s were not yet. Happily, about two o’clock, Ned

Land brought down a magnificent hog; from the brood of those the

natives call “bari-outang.” The animal came in time for us to procure

real quadruped meat, and he was well received. Ned Land was very proud

of his shot. The hog, hit by the electric ball, fell stone dead. The

Canadian skinned and cleaned it properly, after having taken half a

dozen cutlets, destined to furnish us with a grilled repast in the

evening. Then the hunt was resumed, which was still more marked by Ned

and Conseil’s exploits.

Indeed, the two friends, beating the bushes, roused a herd of kangaroos

that fled and bounded along on their elastic paws. But these animals

did not take to flight so rapidly but what the electric capsule could

stop their course.

“Ah, Professor!” cried Ned Land, who was carried away by the delights

of the chase, “what excellent game, and stewed, too! What a supply for

the _Nautilus!_ Two! three! five down! And to think that we shall eat

that flesh, and that the idiots on board shall not have a crumb!”

I think that, in the excess of his joy, the Canadian, if he had not

talked so much, would have killed them all. But he contented himself

with a single dozen of these interesting marsupians. These animals were

small. They were a species of those “kangaroo rabbitss” that live

habitually in the hollows of trees, and whose speed is extreme; but

they are moderately fat, and furnish, at least, estimable food. We were

very satisfied with the results of the hunt. Happy Ned proposed to

return to this enchanting island the next day, for he wished to

depopulate it of all the eatable quadrupeds. But he had reckoned

without his host.

At six o’clock in the evening we had regained the shore; our boat was

moored to the usual place. The _Nautilus_, like a long rock, emerged

from the waves two miles from the beach. Ned Land, without waiting,

occupied himself about the important dinner business. He understood all

about cooking well. The “bari-outang,” grilled on the coals, soon

scented the air with a delicious odour.

Indeed, the dinner was excellent. Two wood-pigeons completed this

extraordinary menu. The sago pasty, the artocarpus bread, some mangoes,

half a dozen pineapples, and the liquor fermented from some coco-nuts,

overjoyed us. I even think that my worthy companions’ ideas had not all

the plainness desirable.

“Suppose we do not return to the _Nautilus_ this evening?” said

Conseil.

“Suppose we never return?” added Ned Land.

Just then a stone fell at our feet and cut short the harpooner’s

proposition.

CHAPTER XXI

CAPTAIN NEMO’S THUNDERBOLT

We looked at the edge of the forest without rising, my hand stopping in

the action of putting it to my mouth, Ned Land’s completing its office.

“Stones do not fall from the sky,” remarked Conseil, “or they would

merit the name aerolites.”

A second stone, carefully aimed, that made a savoury pigeon’s leg fall

from Conseil’s hand, gave still more weight to his observation. We all

three arose, shouldered our guns, and were ready to reply to any

attack.

“Are they apes?” cried Ned Land.

“Very nearly—they are savages.”

“To the boat!” I said, hurrying to the sea.

It was indeed necessary to beat a retreat, for about twenty natives

armed with bows and slings appeared on the skirts of a copse that

masked the horizon to the right, hardly a hundred steps from us.

Our boat was moored about sixty feet from us. The savages approached

us, not running, but making hostile demonstrations. Stones and arrows

fell thickly.

Ned Land had not wished to leave his provisions; and, in spite of his

imminent danger, his pig on one side and kangaroos on the other, he

went tolerably fast. In two minutes we were on the shore. To load the

boat with provisions and arms, to push it out to sea, and ship the

oars, was the work of an instant. We had not gone two cable-lengths,

when a hundred savages, howling and gesticulating, entered the water up

to their waists. I watched to see if their apparition would attract

some men from the _Nautilus_ on to the platform. But no. The enormous

machine, lying off, was absolutely deserted.

Twenty minutes later we were on board. The panels were open. After

making the boat fast, we entered into the interior of the _Nautilus_.

I descended to the drawing-room, from whence I heard some chords.

Captain Nemo was there, bending over his organ, and plunged in a

musical ecstasy.

“Captain!”

He did not hear me.

“Captain!” I said, touching his hand.

He shuddered, and, turning round, said, “Ah! it is you, Professor?

Well, have you had a good hunt, have you botanised successfully?”

“Yes Captain; but we have unfortunately brought a troop of bipeds,

whose vicinity troubles me.”

“What bipeds?”

“Savages.”

“Savages!” he echoed, ironically. “So you are astonished, Professor, at

having set foot on a strange land and finding savages? Savages! where

are there not any? Besides, are they worse than others, these whom you

call savages?”

“But Captain——”

“How many have you counted?”

“A hundred at least.”

“M. Aronnax,” replied Captain Nemo, placing his fingers on the organ

stops, “when all the natives of Papua are assembled on this shore, the

_Nautilus_ will have nothing to fear from their attacks.”

The Captain’s fingers were then running over the keys of the

instrument, and I remarked that he touched only the black keys, which

gave his melodies an essentially Scotch character. Soon he had

forgotten my presence, and had plunged into a reverie that I did not

disturb. I went up again on to the platform: night had already fallen;

for, in this low latitude, the sun sets rapidly and without twilight. I

could only see the island indistinctly; but the numerous fires, lighted

on the beach, showed that the natives did not think of leaving it. I

was alone for several hours, sometimes thinking of the natives—but

without any dread of them, for the imperturbable confidence of the

Captain was catching—sometimes forgetting them to admire the splendours

of the night in the tropics. My remembrances went to France in the

train of those zodiacal stars that would shine in some hours’ time. The

moon shone in the midst of the constellations of the zenith.

The night slipped away without any mischance, the islanders frightened

no doubt at the sight of a monster aground in the bay. The panels were

open, and would have offered an easy access to the interior of the

_Nautilus_.

At six o’clock in the morning of the 8th January I went up on to the

platform. The dawn was breaking. The island soon showed itself through

the dissipating fogs, first the shore, then the summits.

The natives were there, more numerous than on the day before—five or

six hundred perhaps—some of them, profiting by the low water, had come

on to the coral, at less than two cable-lengths from the _Nautilus_. I

distinguished them easily; they were true Papuans, with athletic

figures, men of good race, large high foreheads, large, but not broad

and flat, and white teeth. Their woolly hair, with a reddish tinge,

showed off on their black shining bodies like those of the Nubians.

From the lobes of their ears, cut and distended, hung chaplets of

bones. Most of these savages were naked. Amongst them, I remarked some

women, dressed from the hips to knees in quite a crinoline of herbs,

that sustained a vegetable waistband. Some chiefs had ornamented their

necks with a crescent and collars of glass beads, red and white; nearly

all were armed with bows, arrows, and shields and carried on their

shoulders a sort of net containing those round stones which they cast

from their slings with great skill. One of these chiefs, rather near to

the _Nautilus_, examined it attentively. He was, perhaps, a “mado” of

high rank, for he was draped in a mat of banana-leaves, notched round

the edges, and set off with brilliant colours.

I could easily have knocked down this native, who was within a short

length; but I thought that it was better to wait for real hostile

demonstrations. Between Europeans and savages, it is proper for the

Europeans to parry sharply, not to attack.

During low water the natives roamed about near the _Nautilus_, but were

not troublesome; I heard them frequently repeat the word “Assai,” and

by their gestures I understood that they invited me to go on land, an

invitation that I declined.

So that, on that day, the boat did not push off, to the great

displeasure of Master Land, who could not complete his provisions.

This adroit Canadian employed his time in preparing the viands and meat

that he had brought off the island. As for the savages, they returned

to the shore about eleven o’clock in the morning, as soon as the coral

tops began to disappear under the rising tide; but I saw their numbers

had increased considerably on the shore. Probably they came from the

neighbouring islands, or very likely from Papua. However, I had not

seen a single native canoe. Having nothing better to do, I thought of

dragging these beautiful limpid waters, under which I saw a profusion

of shells, zoophytes, and marine plants. Moreover, it was the last day

that the _Nautilus_ would pass in these parts, if it float in open sea

the next day, according to Captain Nemo’s promise.

I therefore called Conseil, who brought me a little light drag, very

like those for the oyster fishery. Now to work! For two hours we fished

unceasingly, but without bringing up any rarities. The drag was filled

with midas-ears, harps, melames, and particularly the most beautiful

hammers I have ever seen. We also brought up some sea-slugs,

pearl-oysters, and a dozen little turtles that were reserved for the

pantry on board.

But just when I expected it least, I put my hand on a wonder, I might

say a natural deformity, very rarely met with. Conseil was just

dragging, and his net came up filled with divers ordinary shells, when,

all at once, he saw me plunge my arm quickly into the net, to draw out

a shell, and heard me utter a cry.

“What is the matter, sir?” he asked in surprise. “Has master been

bitten?”

“No, my boy; but I would willingly have given a finger for my

discovery.”

“What discovery?”

“This shell,” I said, holding up the object of my triumph.

“It is simply an olive porphyry, genus olive, order of the

pectinibranchidæ, class of gasteropods, sub-class mollusca.”

“Yes, Conseil; but, instead of being rolled from right to left, this

olive turns from left to right.”

“Is it possible?”

“Yes, my boy; it is a left shell.”

Shells are all right-handed, with rare exceptions; and, when by chance

their spiral is left, amateurs are ready to pay their weight in gold.

Conseil and I were absorbed in the contemplation of our treasure, and I

was promising myself to enrich the museum with it, when a stone

unfortunately thrown by a native struck against, and broke, the

precious object in Conseil’s hand. I uttered a cry of despair! Conseil

took up his gun, and aimed at a savage who was poising his sling at ten

yards from him. I would have stopped him, but his blow took effect and

broke the bracelet of amulets which encircled the arm of the savage.

[Illustration] Conseil seized his gun

“Conseil!” cried I. “Conseil!”

“Well, sir! do you not see that the cannibal has commenced the attack?”

“A shell is not worth the life of a man,” said I.

“Ah! the scoundrel!” cried Conseil; “I would rather he had broken my

shoulder!”

Conseil was in earnest, but I was not of his opinion. However, the

situation had changed some minutes before, and we had not perceived. A

score of canoes surrounded the _Nautilus_. These canoes, scooped out of

the trunk of a tree, long, narrow, well adapted for speed, were

balanced by means of a long bamboo pole, which floated on the water.

They were managed by skilful, half-naked paddlers, and I watched their

advance with some uneasiness. It was evident that these Papuans had

already had dealings with the Europeans and knew their ships. But this

long iron cylinder anchored in the bay, without masts or chimneys, what

could they think of it? Nothing good, for at first they kept at a

respectful distance. However, seeing it motionless, by degrees they

took courage, and sought to familiarise themselves with it. Now this

familiarity was precisely what it was necessary to avoid. Our arms,

which were noiseless, could only produce a moderate effect on the

savages, who have little respect for aught but blustering things. The

thunderbolt without the reverberations of thunder would frighten man

but little, though the danger lies in the lightning, not in the noise.

At this moment the canoes approached the _Nautilus_, and a shower of

arrows alighted on her.

I went down to the saloon, but found no one there. I ventured to knock

at the door that opened into the Captain’s room. “Come in,” was the

answer.

I entered, and found Captain Nemo deep in algebraical calculations of

_x_ and other quantities.

“I am disturbing you,” said I, for courtesy’s sake.

“That is true, M. Aronnax,” replied the Captain; “but I think you have

serious reasons for wishing to see me?”

“Very grave ones; the natives are surrounding us in their canoes, and

in a few minutes we shall certainly be attacked by many hundreds of

savages.”

“Ah!” said Captain Nemo quietly, “they are come with their canoes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, sir, we must close the hatches.”

“Exactly, and I came to say to you——”

“Nothing can be more simple,” said Captain Nemo. And, pressing an

electric button, he transmitted an order to the ship’s crew.

“It is all done, sir,” said he, after some moments. “The pinnace is

ready, and the hatches are closed. You do not fear, I imagine, that

these gentlemen could stave in walls on which the balls of your frigate

have had no effect?”

“No, Captain; but a danger still exists.”

“What is that, sir?”

“It is that to-morrow, at about this hour, we must open the hatches to

renew the air of the _Nautilus_. Now, if, at this moment, the Papuans

should occupy the platform, I do not see how you could prevent them

from entering.”

“Then, sir, you suppose that they will board us?”

“I am certain of it.”

“Well, sir, let them come. I see no reason for hindering them. After

all, these Papuans are poor creatures, and I am unwilling that my visit

to the island should cost the life of a single one of these wretches.”

Upon that I was going away; But Captain Nemo detained me, and asked me

to sit down by him. He questioned me with interest about our excursions

on shore, and our hunting; and seemed not to understand the craving for

meat that possessed the Canadian. Then the conversation turned on

various subjects, and, without being more communicative, Captain Nemo

showed himself more amiable.

Amongst other things, we happened to speak of the situation of the

_Nautilus_, run aground in exactly the same spot in this strait where

Dumont d’Urville was nearly lost. Apropos of this:

“This D’Urville was one of your great sailors,” said the Captain to me,

“one of your most intelligent navigators. He is the Captain Cook of you

Frenchmen. Unfortunate man of science, after having braved the icebergs

of the South Pole, the coral reefs of Oceania, the cannibals of the

Pacific, to perish miserably in a railway train! If this energetic man

could have reflected during the last moments of his life, what must

have been uppermost in his last thoughts, do you suppose?”

So speaking, Captain Nemo seemed moved, and his emotion gave me a

better opinion of him. Then, chart in hand, we reviewed the travels of

the French navigator, his voyages of circumnavigation, his double

detention at the South Pole, which led to the discovery of Adelaide and

Louis Philippe, and fixing the hydrographical bearings of the principal

islands of Oceania.

“That which your D’Urville has done on the surface of the seas,” said

Captain Nemo, “that have I done under them, and more easily, more

completely than he. The Astrolabe and the Zelee, incessantly tossed

about by the hurricane, could not be worth the _Nautilus_, quiet

repository of labour that she is, truly motionless in the midst of the

waters.

“To-morrow,” added the Captain, rising, “to-morrow, at twenty minutes

to three p.m., the _Nautilus_ shall float, and leave the Strait of

Torres uninjured.”

Having curtly pronounced these words, Captain Nemo bowed slightly. This

was to dismiss me, and I went back to my room.

There I found Conseil, who wished to know the result of my interview

with the Captain.

“My boy,” said I, “when I feigned to believe that his _Nautilus_ was

threatened by the natives of Papua, the Captain answered me very

sarcastically. I have but one thing to say to you: Have confidence in

him, and go to sleep in peace.”

“Have you no need of my services, sir?”

“No, my friend. What is Ned Land doing?”

“If you will excuse me, sir,” answered Conseil, “friend Ned is busy

making a kangaroo-pie which will be a marvel.”

I remained alone and went to bed, but slept indifferently. I heard the

noise of the savages, who stamped on the platform, uttering deafening

cries. The night passed thus, without disturbing the ordinary repose of

the crew. The presence of these cannibals affected them no more than

the soldiers of a masked battery care for the ants that crawl over its

front.

At six in the morning I rose. The hatches had not been opened. The

inner air was not renewed, but the reservoirs, filled ready for any

emergency, were now resorted to, and discharged several cubic feet of

oxygen into the exhausted atmosphere of the _Nautilus_.

I worked in my room till noon, without having seen Captain Nemo, even

for an instant. On board no preparations for departure were visible.

I waited still some time, then went into the large saloon. The clock

marked half-past two. In ten minutes it would be high-tide: and, if

Captain Nemo had not made a rash promise, the _Nautilus_ would be

immediately detached. If not, many months would pass ere she could

leave her bed of coral.

However, some warning vibrations began to be felt in the vessel. I

heard the keel grating against the rough calcareous bottom of the coral

reef.

At five-and-twenty minutes to three, Captain Nemo appeared in the

saloon.

“We are going to start,” said he.

“Ah!” replied I.

“I have given the order to open the hatches.”

“And the Papuans?”

“The Papuans?” answered Captain Nemo, slightly shrugging his shoulders.

“Will they not come inside the _Nautilus?_”

“How?”

“Only by leaping over the hatches you have opened.”

“M. Aronnax,” quietly answered Captain Nemo, “they will not enter the

hatches of the _Nautilus_ in that way, even if they were open.”

I looked at the Captain.

“You do not understand?” said he.

“Hardly.”

“Well, come and you will see.”

I directed my steps towards the central staircase. There Ned Land and

Conseil were slyly watching some of the ship’s crew, who were opening

the hatches, while cries of rage and fearful vociferations resounded

outside.

The port lids were pulled down outside. Twenty horrible faces appeared.

But the first native who placed his hand on the stair-rail, struck from

behind by some invisible force, I know not what, fled, uttering the

most fearful cries and making the wildest contortions.

Ten of his companions followed him. They met with the same fate.

Conseil was in ecstasy. Ned Land, carried away by his violent

instincts, rushed on to the staircase. But the moment he seized the

rail with both hands, he, in his turn, was overthrown.

“I am struck by a thunderbolt,” cried he, with an oath.

This explained all. It was no rail; but a metallic cable charged with

electricity from the deck communicating with the platform. Whoever

touched it felt a powerful shock—and this shock would have been mortal

if Captain Nemo had discharged into the conductor the whole force of

the current. It might truly be said that between his assailants and

himself he had stretched a network of electricity which none could pass

with impunity.

Meanwhile, the exasperated Papuans had beaten a retreat paralysed with

terror. As for us, half laughing, we consoled and rubbed the

unfortunate Ned Land, who swore like one possessed.

But at this moment the _Nautilus_, raised by the last waves of the

tide, quitted her coral bed exactly at the fortieth minute fixed by the

Captain. Her screw swept the waters slowly and majestically. Her speed

increased gradually, and, sailing on the surface of the ocean, she

quitted safe and sound the dangerous passes of the Straits of Torres.

CHAPTER XXII

“ÆGRI SOMNIA”

The following day 10th January, the _Nautilus_ continued her course

between two seas, but with such remarkable speed that I could not

estimate it at less than thirty-five miles an hour. The rapidity of her

screw was such that I could neither follow nor count its revolutions.

When I reflected that this marvellous electric agent, after having

afforded motion, heat, and light to the _Nautilus_, still protected her

from outward attack, and transformed her into an ark of safety which no

profane hand might touch without being thunderstricken, my admiration

was unbounded, and from the structure it extended to the engineer who

had called it into existence.

Our course was directed to the west, and on the 11th of January we

doubled Cape Wessel, situation in 135° long. and 10° north lat., which

forms the east point of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The reefs were still

numerous, but more equalised, and marked on the chart with extreme

precision. The _Nautilus_ easily avoided the breakers of Money to port

and the Victoria reefs to starboard, placed at 130° long. and on the

10th parallel, which we strictly followed.

On the 13th of January, Captain Nemo arrived in the Sea of Timor, and

recognised the island of that name in 122° long.

From this point the direction of the _Nautilus_ inclined towards the

south-west. Her head was set for the Indian Ocean. Where would the

fancy of Captain Nemo carry us next? Would he return to the coast of

Asia or would he approach again the shores of Europe? Improbable

conjectures both, to a man who fled from inhabited continents. Then

would he descend to the south? Was he going to double the Cape of Good

Hope, then Cape Horn, and finally go as far as the Antarctic pole?

Would he come back at last to the Pacific, where his _Nautilus_ could

sail free and independently? Time would show.

After having skirted the sands of Cartier, of Hibernia, Seringapatam,

and Scott, last efforts of the solid against the liquid element, on the

14th of January we lost sight of land altogether. The speed of the

_Nautilus_ was considerably abated, and with irregular course she

sometimes swam in the bosom of the waters, sometimes floated on their

surface.

During this period of the voyage, Captain Nemo made some interesting

experiments on the varied temperature of the sea, in different beds.

Under ordinary conditions these observations are made by means of

rather complicated instruments, and with somewhat doubtful results, by

means of thermometrical sounding-leads, the glasses often breaking

under the pressure of the water, or an apparatus grounded on the

variations of the resistance of metals to the electric currents.

Results so obtained could not be correctly calculated. On the contrary,

Captain Nemo went himself to test the temperature in the depths of the

sea, and his thermometer, placed in communication with the different

sheets of water, gave him the required degree immediately and

accurately.

It was thus that, either by overloading her reservoirs or by descending

obliquely by means of her inclined planes, the _Nautilus_ successively

attained the depth of three, four, five, seven, nine, and ten thousand

yards, and the definite result of this experience was that the sea

preserved an average temperature of four degrees and a half at a depth

of five thousand fathoms under all latitudes.

On the 16th of January, the _Nautilus_ seemed becalmed only a few yards

beneath the surface of the waves. Her electric apparatus remained

inactive and her motionless screw left her to drift at the mercy of the

currents. I supposed that the crew was occupied with interior repairs,

rendered necessary by the violence of the mechanical movements of the

machine.

My companions and I then witnessed a curious spectacle. The hatches of

the saloon were open, and, as the beacon light of the _Nautilus_ was

not in action, a dim obscurity reigned in the midst of the waters. I

observed the state of the sea, under these conditions, and the largest

fish appeared to me no more than scarcely defined shadows, when the

_Nautilus_ found herself suddenly transported into full light. I

thought at first that the beacon had been lighted, and was casting its

electric radiance into the liquid mass. I was mistaken, and after a

rapid survey perceived my error.

The _Nautilus_ floated in the midst of a phosphorescent bed which, in

this obscurity, became quite dazzling. It was produced by myriads of

luminous animalculae, whose brilliancy was increased as they glided

over the metallic hull of the vessel. I was surprised by lightning in

the midst of these luminous sheets, as though they had been rivulets of

lead melted in an ardent furnace or metallic masses brought to a white

heat, so that, by force of contrast, certain portions of light appeared

to cast a shade in the midst of the general ignition, from which all

shade seemed banished. No; this was not the calm irradiation of our

ordinary lightning. There was unusual life and vigour: this was truly

living light!

In reality, it was an infinite agglomeration of coloured infusoria, of

veritable globules of jelly, provided with a threadlike tentacle, and

of which as many as twenty-five thousand have been counted in less than

two cubic half-inches of water.

During several hours the _Nautilus_ floated in these brilliant waves,

and our admiration increased as we watched the marine monsters

disporting themselves like salamanders. I saw there in the midst of

this fire that burns not the swift and elegant porpoise (the

indefatigable clown of the ocean), and some swordfish ten feet long,

those prophetic heralds of the hurricane whose formidable sword would

now and then strike the glass of the saloon. Then appeared the smaller

fish, the balista, the leaping mackerel, wolf-thorn-tails, and a

hundred others which striped the luminous atmosphere as they swam. This

dazzling spectacle was enchanting! Perhaps some atmospheric condition

increased the intensity of this phenomenon. Perhaps some storm agitated

the surface of the waves. But at this depth of some yards, the

_Nautilus_ was unmoved by its fury and reposed peacefully in still

water.

So we progressed, incessantly charmed by some new marvel. The days

passed rapidly away, and I took no account of them. Ned, according to

habit, tried to vary the diet on board. Like snails, we were fixed to

our shells, and I declare it is easy to lead a snail’s life.

Thus this life seemed easy and natural, and we thought no longer of the

life we led on land; but something happened to recall us to the

strangeness of our situation.

On the 18th of January, the _Nautilus_ was in 105° long. and 15° S.

lat. The weather was threatening, the sea rough and rolling. There was

a strong east wind. The barometer, which had been going down for some

days, foreboded a coming storm. I went up on to the platform just as

the second lieutenant was taking the measure of the horary angles, and

waited, according to habit till the daily phrase was said. But on this

day it was exchanged for another phrase not less incomprehensible.

Almost directly, I saw Captain Nemo appear with a glass, looking

towards the horizon.

For some minutes he was immovable, without taking his eye off the point

of observation. Then he lowered his glass and exchanged a few words

with his lieutenant. The latter seemed to be a victim to some emotion

that he tried in vain to repress. Captain Nemo, having more command

over himself, was cool. He seemed, too, to be making some objections to

which the lieutenant replied by formal assurances. At least I concluded

so by the difference of their tones and gestures. For myself, I had

looked carefully in the direction indicated without seeing anything.

The sky and water were lost in the clear line of the horizon.

However, Captain Nemo walked from one end of the platform to the other,

without looking at me, perhaps without seeing me. His step was firm,

but less regular than usual. He stopped sometimes, crossed his arms,

and observed the sea. What could he be looking for on that immense

expanse?

The _Nautilus_ was then some hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.

The lieutenant had taken up the glass and examined the horizon

steadfastly, going and coming, stamping his foot and showing more

nervous agitation than his superior officer. Besides, this mystery must

necessarily be solved, and before long; for, upon an order from Captain

Nemo, the engine, increasing its propelling power, made the screw turn

more rapidly.

Just then the lieutenant drew the Captain’s attention again. The latter

stopped walking and directed his glass towards the place indicated. He

looked long. I felt very much puzzled, and descended to the

drawing-room, and took out an excellent telescope that I generally

used. Then, leaning on the cage of the watch-light that jutted out from

the front of the platform, set myself to look over all the line of the

sky and sea.

But my eye was no sooner applied to the glass than it was quickly

snatched out of my hands.

I turned round. Captain Nemo was before me, but I did not know him. His

face was transfigured. His eyes flashed sullenly; his teeth were set;

his stiff body, clenched fists, and head shrunk between his shoulders,

betrayed the violent agitation that pervaded his whole frame. He did

not move. My glass, fallen from his hands, had rolled at his feet.

Had I unwittingly provoked this fit of anger? Did this incomprehensible

person imagine that I had discovered some forbidden secret? No; I was

not the object of this hatred, for he was not looking at me; his eye

was steadily fixed upon the impenetrable point of the horizon. At last

Captain Nemo recovered himself. His agitation subsided. He addressed

some words in a foreign language to his lieutenant, then turned to me.

“M. Aronnax,” he said, in rather an imperious tone, “I require you to

keep one of the conditions that bind you to me.”

“What is it, Captain?”

“You must be confined, with your companions, until I think fit to

release you.”

“You are the master,” I replied, looking steadily at him. “But may I

ask you one question?”

“None, sir.”

There was no resisting this imperious command, it would have been

useless. I went down to the cabin occupied by Ned Land and Conseil, and

told them the Captain’s determination. You may judge how this

communication was received by the Canadian.

But there was not time for altercation. Four of the crew waited at the

door, and conducted us to that cell where we had passed our first night

on board the _Nautilus_.

Ned Land would have remonstrated, but the door was shut upon him.

“Will master tell me what this means?” asked Conseil.

I told my companions what had passed. They were as much astonished as

I, and equally at a loss how to account for it.

Meanwhile, I was absorbed in my own reflections, and could think of

nothing but the strange fear depicted in the Captain’s countenance. I

was utterly at a loss to account for it, when my cogitations were

disturbed by these words from Ned Land:

“Hallo! breakfast is ready.”

And indeed the table was laid. Evidently Captain Nemo had given this

order at the same time that he had hastened the speed of the

_Nautilus_.

“Will master permit me to make a recommendation?” asked Conseil.

“Yes, my boy.”

“Well, it is that master breakfasts. It is prudent, for we do not know

what may happen.”

“You are right, Conseil.”

“Unfortunately,” said Ned Land, “they have only given us the ship’s

fare.”

“Friend Ned,” asked Conseil, “what would you have said if the breakfast

had been entirely forgotten?”

This argument cut short the harpooner’s recriminations.

We sat down to table. The meal was eaten in silence.

Just then the luminous globe that lighted the cell went out, and left

us in total darkness. Ned Land was soon asleep, and what astonished me

was that Conseil went off into a heavy slumber. I was thinking what

could have caused his irresistible drowsiness, when I felt my brain

becoming stupefied. In spite of my efforts to keep my eyes open, they

would close. A painful suspicion seized me. Evidently soporific

substances had been mixed with the food we had just taken. Imprisonment

was not enough to conceal Captain Nemo’s projects from us, sleep was

more necessary. I then heard the panels shut. The undulations of the

sea, which caused a slight rolling motion, ceased. Had the _Nautilus_

quitted the surface of the ocean? Had it gone back to the motionless

bed of water? I tried to resist sleep. It was impossible. My breathing

grew weak. I felt a mortal cold freeze my stiffened and half-paralysed

limbs. My eyelids, like leaden caps, fell over my eyes. I could not

raise them; a morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, bereft me of my

being. Then the visions disappeared, and left me in complete

insensibility.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE CORAL KINGDOM

The next day I woke with my head singularly clear. To my great

surprise, I was in my own room. My companions, no doubt, had been

reinstated in their cabin, without having perceived it any more than I.

Of what had passed during the night they were as ignorant as I was, and

to penetrate this mystery I only reckoned upon the chances of the

future.

I then thought of quitting my room. Was I free again or a prisoner?

Quite free. I opened the door, went to the half-deck, went up the

central stairs. The panels, shut the evening before, were open. I went

on to the platform.

Ned Land and Conseil waited there for me. I questioned them; they knew

nothing. Lost in a heavy sleep in which they had been totally

unconscious, they had been astonished at finding themselves in their

cabin.

As for the _Nautilus_, it seemed quiet and mysterious as ever. It

floated on the surface of the waves at a moderate pace. Nothing seemed

changed on board.

The second lieutenant then came on to the platform, and gave the usual

order below.

As for Captain Nemo, he did not appear.

Of the people on board, I only saw the impassive steward, who served me

with his usual dumb regularity.

About two o’clock, I was in the drawing-room, busied in arranging my

notes, when the Captain opened the door and appeared. I bowed. He made

a slight inclination in return, without speaking. I resumed my work,

hoping that he would perhaps give me some explanation of the events of

the preceding night. He made none. I looked at him. He seemed fatigued;

his heavy eyes had not been refreshed by sleep; his face looked very

sorrowful. He walked to and fro, sat down and got up again, took a

chance book, put it down, consulted his instruments without taking his

habitual notes, and seemed restless and uneasy. At last, he came up to

me, and said:

“Are you a doctor, M. Aronnax?”

I so little expected such a question that I stared some time at him

without answering.

“Are you a doctor?” he repeated. “Several of your colleagues have

studied medicine.”

“Well,” said I, “I am a doctor and resident surgeon to the hospital. I

practised several years before entering the museum.”

“Very well, sir.”

My answer had evidently satisfied the Captain. But, not knowing what he

would say next, I waited for other questions, reserving my answers

according to circumstances.

“M. Aronnax, will you consent to prescribe for one of my men?” he

asked.

“Is he ill?”

“Yes.”

“I am ready to follow you.”

“Come, then.”

I own my heart beat, I do not know why. I saw certain connection

between the illness of one of the crew and the events of the day

before; and this mystery interested me at least as much as the sick

man.

Captain Nemo conducted me to the poop of the _Nautilus_, and took me

into a cabin situated near the sailors’ quarters.

There, on a bed, lay a man about forty years of age, with a resolute

expression of countenance, a true type of an Anglo-Saxon.

I leant over him. He was not only ill, he was wounded. His head,

swathed in bandages covered with blood, lay on a pillow. I undid the

bandages, and the wounded man looked at me with his large eyes and gave

no sign of pain as I did it. It was a horrible wound. The skull,

shattered by some deadly weapon, left the brain exposed, which was much

injured. Clots of blood had formed in the bruised and broken mass, in

colour like the dregs of wine.

There was both contusion and suffusion of the brain. His breathing was

slow, and some spasmodic movements of the muscles agitated his face. I

felt his pulse. It was intermittent. The extremities of the body were

growing cold already, and I saw death must inevitably ensue. After

dressing the unfortunate man’s wounds, I readjusted the bandages on his

head, and turned to Captain Nemo.

“What caused this wound?” I asked.

“What does it signify?” he replied, evasively. “A shock has broken one

of the levers of the engine, which struck myself. But your opinion as

to his state?”

I hesitated before giving it.

“You may speak,” said the Captain. “This man does not understand

French.”

I gave a last look at the wounded man.

“He will be dead in two hours.”

“Can nothing save him?”

“Nothing.”

Captain Nemo’s hand contracted, and some tears glistened in his eyes,

which I thought incapable of shedding any.

For some moments I still watched the dying man, whose life ebbed

slowly. His pallor increased under the electric light that was shed

over his death-bed. I looked at his intelligent forehead, furrowed with

premature wrinkles, produced probably by misfortune and sorrow. I tried

to learn the secret of his life from the last words that escaped his

lips.

“You can go now, M. Aronnax,” said the Captain.

I left him in the dying man’s cabin, and returned to my room much

affected by this scene. During the whole day, I was haunted by

uncomfortable suspicions, and at night I slept badly, and between my

broken dreams I fancied I heard distant sighs like the notes of a

funeral psalm. Were they the prayers of the dead, murmured in that

language that I could not understand?

The next morning I went on to the bridge. Captain Nemo was there before

me. As soon as he perceived me he came to me.

“Professor, will it be convenient to you to make a submarine excursion

to-day?”

“With my companions?” I asked.

“If they like.”

“We obey your orders, Captain.”

“Will you be so good then as to put on your cork jackets?”

It was not a question of dead or dying. I rejoined Ned Land and

Conseil, and told them of Captain Nemo’s proposition. Conseil hastened

to accept it, and this time the Canadian seemed quite willing to follow

our example.

It was eight o’clock in the morning. At half-past eight we were

equipped for this new excursion, and provided with two contrivances for

light and breathing. The double door was open; and, accompanied by

Captain Nemo, who was followed by a dozen of the crew, we set foot, at

a depth of about thirty feet, on the solid bottom on which the

_Nautilus_ rested.

A slight declivity ended in an uneven bottom, at fifteen fathoms depth.

This bottom differed entirely from the one I had visited on my first

excursion under the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Here, there was no

fine sand, no submarine prairies, no sea-forest. I immediately

recognised that marvellous region in which, on that day, the Captain

did the honours to us. It was the coral kingdom.

The light produced a thousand charming varieties, playing in the midst

of the branches that were so vividly coloured. I seemed to see the

membraneous and cylindrical tubes tremble beneath the undulation of the

waters. I was tempted to gather their fresh petals, ornamented with

delicate tentacles, some just blown, the others budding, while a small

fish, swimming swiftly, touched them slightly, like flights of birds.

But if my hand approached these living flowers, these animated,

sensitive plants, the whole colony took alarm. The white petals

re-entered their red cases, the flowers faded as I looked, and the bush

changed into a block of stony knobs.

Chance had thrown me just by the most precious specimens of the

zoophyte. This coral was more valuable than that found in the

Mediterranean, on the coasts of France, Italy and Barbary. Its tints

justified the poetical names of “Flower of Blood,” and “Froth of

Blood,” that trade has given to its most beautiful productions. Coral

is sold for £20 per ounce; and in this place the watery beds would make

the fortunes of a company of coral-divers. This precious matter, often

confused with other polypi, formed then the inextricable plots called

“macciota,” and on which I noticed several beautiful specimens of pink

coral.

But soon the bushes contract, and the arborisations increase. Real

petrified thickets, long joists of fantastic architecture, were

disclosed before us. Captain Nemo placed himself under a dark gallery,

where by a slight declivity we reached a depth of a hundred yards. The

light from our lamps produced sometimes magical effects, following the

rough outlines of the natural arches and pendants disposed like

lustres, that were tipped with points of fire.

At last, after walking two hours, we had attained a depth of about

three hundred yards, that is to say, the extreme limit on which coral

begins to form. But there was no isolated bush, nor modest brushwood,

at the bottom of lofty trees. It was an immense forest of large mineral

vegetations, enormous petrified trees, united by garlands of elegant

sea-bindweed, all adorned with clouds and reflections. We passed freely

under their high branches, lost in the shade of the waves.

Captain Nemo had stopped. I and my companions halted, and, turning

round, I saw his men were forming a semi-circle round their chief.

Watching attentively, I observed that four of them carried on their

shoulders an object of an oblong shape.

We occupied, in this place, the centre of a vast glade surrounded by

the lofty foliage of the submarine forest. Our lamps threw over this

place a sort of clear twilight that singularly elongated the shadows on

the ground. At the end of the glade the darkness increased, and was

only relieved by little sparks reflected by the points of coral.

Ned Land and Conseil were near me. We watched, and I thought I was

going to witness a strange scene. On observing the ground, I saw that

it was raised in certain places by slight excrescences encrusted with

limy deposits, and disposed with a regularity that betrayed the hand of

man.

In the midst of the glade, on a pedestal of rocks roughly piled up,

stood a cross of coral that extended its long arms that one might have

thought were made of petrified blood. Upon a sign from Captain Nemo one

of the men advanced; and at some feet from the cross he began to dig a

hole with a pickaxe that he took from his belt. I understood all! This

glade was a cemetery, this hole a tomb, this oblong object the body of

the man who had died in the night! The Captain and his men had come to

bury their companion in this general resting-place, at the bottom of

this inaccessible ocean!

The grave was being dug slowly; the fish fled on all sides while their

retreat was being thus disturbed; I heard the strokes of the pickaxe,

which sparkled when it hit upon some flint lost at the bottom of the

waters. The hole was soon large and deep enough to receive the body.

Then the bearers approached; the body, enveloped in a tissue of white

linen, was lowered into the damp grave. Captain Nemo, with his arms

crossed on his breast, and all the friends of him who had loved them,

knelt in prayer.

[Illustration] All fell on their knees in an attitude of prayer

The grave was then filled in with the rubbish taken from the ground,

which formed a slight mound. When this was done, Captain Nemo and his

men rose; then, approaching the grave, they knelt again, and all

extended their hands in sign of a last adieu. Then the funeral

procession returned to the _Nautilus_, passing under the arches of the

forest, in the midst of thickets, along the coral bushes, and still on

the ascent. At last the light of the ship appeared, and its luminous

track guided us to the _Nautilus_. At one o’clock we had returned.

As soon as I had changed my clothes I went up on to the platform, and,

a prey to conflicting emotions, I sat down near the binnacle. Captain

Nemo joined me. I rose and said to him:

“So, as I said he would, this man died in the night?”

“Yes, M. Aronnax.”

“And he rests now, near his companions, in the coral cemetery?”

“Yes, forgotten by all else, but not by us. We dug the grave, and the

polypi undertake to seal our dead for eternity.” And, burying his face

quickly in his hands, he tried in vain to suppress a sob. Then he

added: “Our peaceful cemetery is there, some hundred feet below the

surface of the waves.”

“Your dead sleep quietly, at least, Captain, out of the reach of

sharks.”

“Yes, sir, of sharks and men,” gravely replied the Captain.

PART TWO

CHAPTER I

THE INDIAN OCEAN

We now come to the second part of our journey under the sea. The first

ended with the moving scene in the coral cemetery which left such a

deep impression on my mind. Thus, in the midst of this great sea,

Captain Nemo’s life was passing, even to his grave, which he had

prepared in one of its deepest abysses. There, not one of the ocean’s

monsters could trouble the last sleep of the crew of the _Nautilus_, of

those friends riveted to each other in death as in life. “Nor any man,

either,” had added the Captain. Still the same fierce, implacable

defiance towards human society!

I could no longer content myself with the theory which satisfied

Conseil.

That worthy fellow persisted in seeing in the Commander of the

_Nautilus_ one of those unknown _savants_ who return mankind contempt

for indifference. For him, he was a misunderstood genius who, tired of

earth’s deceptions, had taken refuge in this inaccessible medium, where

he might follow his instincts freely. To my mind, this explains but one

side of Captain Nemo’s character. Indeed, the mystery of that last

night during which we had been chained in prison, the sleep, and the

precaution so violently taken by the Captain of snatching from my eyes

the glass I had raised to sweep the horizon, the mortal wound of the

man, due to an unaccountable shock of the _Nautilus_, all put me on a

new track. No; Captain Nemo was not satisfied with shunning man. His

formidable apparatus not only suited his instinct of freedom, but

perhaps also the design of some terrible retaliation.

At this moment nothing is clear to me; I catch but a glimpse of light

amidst all the darkness, and I must confine myself to writing as events

shall dictate.

That day, the 24th of January, 1868, at noon, the second officer came

to take the altitude of the sun. I mounted the platform, lit a cigar,

and watched the operation. It seemed to me that the man did not

understand French; for several times I made remarks in a loud voice,

which must have drawn from him some involuntary sign of attention, if

he had understood them; but he remained undisturbed and dumb.

As he was taking observations with the sextant, one of the sailors of

the _Nautilus_ (the strong man who had accompanied us on our first

submarine excursion to the Island of Crespo) came to clean the glasses

of the lantern. I examined the fittings of the apparatus, the strength

of which was increased a hundredfold by lenticular rings, placed

similar to those in a lighthouse, and which projected their brilliance

in a horizontal plane. The electric lamp was combined in such a way as

to give its most powerful light. Indeed, it was produced in vacuo,

which insured both its steadiness and its intensity. This vacuum

economised the graphite points between which the luminous arc was

developed—an important point of economy for Captain Nemo, who could not

easily have replaced them; and under these conditions their waste was

imperceptible. When the _Nautilus_ was ready to continue its submarine

journey, I went down to the saloon. The panel was closed, and the

course marked direct west.

We were furrowing the waters of the Indian Ocean, a vast liquid plain,

with a surface of 1,200,000,000 of acres, and whose waters are so clear

and transparent that any one leaning over them would turn giddy. The

_Nautilus_ usually floated between fifty and a hundred fathoms deep. We

went on so for some days. To any one but myself, who had a great love

for the sea, the hours would have seemed long and monotonous; but the

daily walks on the platform, when I steeped myself in the reviving air

of the ocean, the sight of the rich waters through the windows of the

saloon, the books in the library, the compiling of my memoirs, took up

all my time, and left me not a moment of ennui or weariness.

For some days we saw a great number of aquatic birds, sea-mews or

gulls. Some were cleverly killed and, prepared in a certain way, made

very acceptable water-game. Amongst large-winged birds, carried a long

distance from all lands and resting upon the waves from the fatigue of

their flight, I saw some magnificent albatrosses, uttering discordant

cries like the braying of an ass, and birds belonging to the family of

the long-wings.

As to the fish, they always provoked our admiration when we surprised

the secrets of their aquatic life through the open panels. I saw many

kinds which I never before had a chance of observing.

I shall notice chiefly ostracions peculiar to the Red Sea, the Indian

Ocean, and that part which washes the coast of tropical America. These

fishes, like the tortoise, the armadillo, the sea-hedgehog, and the

Crustacea, are protected by a breastplate which is neither chalky nor

stony, but real bone. In some it takes the form of a solid triangle, in

others of a solid quadrangle. Amongst the triangular I saw some an inch

and a half in length, with wholesome flesh and a delicious flavour;

they are brown at the tail, and yellow at the fins, and I recommend

their introduction into fresh water, to which a certain number of

sea-fish easily accustom themselves. I would also mention quadrangular

ostracions, having on the back four large tubercles; some dotted over

with white spots on the lower part of the body, and which may be tamed

like birds; trigons provided with spikes formed by the lengthening of

their bony shell, and which, from their strange gruntings, are called

“seapigs”; also dromedaries with large humps in the shape of a cone,

whose flesh is very tough and leathery.

I now borrow from the daily notes of Master Conseil. “Certain fish of

the genus petrodon peculiar to those seas, with red backs and white

chests, which are distinguished by three rows of longitudinal

filaments; and some electrical, seven inches long, decked in the

liveliest colours. Then, as specimens of other kinds, some ovoides,

resembling an egg of a dark brown colour, marked with white bands, and

without tails; diodons, real sea-porcupines, furnished with spikes, and

capable of swelling in such a way as to look like cushions bristling

with darts; hippocampi, common to every ocean; some pegasi with

lengthened snouts, which their pectoral fins, being much elongated and

formed in the shape of wings, allow, if not to fly, at least to shoot

into the air; pigeon spatulae, with tails covered with many rings of

shell; macrognathi with long jaws, an excellent fish, nine inches long,

and bright with most agreeable colours; pale-coloured calliomores, with

rugged heads; and plenty of chaetodons, with long and tubular muzzles,

which kill insects by shooting them, as from an air-gun, with a single

drop of water. These we may call the flycatchers of the seas.

“In the eighty-ninth genus of fishes, classed by Lacepede, belonging to

the second lower class of bony, characterised by opercules and

bronchial membranes, I remarked the scorpaena, the head of which is

furnished with spikes, and which has but one dorsal fin; these

creatures are covered, or not, with little shells, according to the

sub-class to which they belong. The second sub-class gives us specimens

of didactyles fourteen or fifteen inches in length, with yellow rays,

and heads of a most fantastic appearance. As to the first sub-class, it

gives several specimens of that singular looking fish appropriately

called a ‘seafrog,’ with large head, sometimes pierced with holes,

sometimes swollen with protuberances, bristling with spikes, and

covered with tubercles; it has irregular and hideous horns; its body

and tail are covered with callosities; its sting makes a dangerous

wound; it is both repugnant and horrible to look at.”

From the 21st to the 23rd of January the _Nautilus_ went at the rate of

two hundred and fifty leagues in twenty-four hours, being five hundred

and forty miles, or twenty-two miles an hour. If we recognised so many

different varieties of fish, it was because, attracted by the electric

light, they tried to follow us; the greater part, however, were soon

distanced by our speed, though some kept their place in the waters of

the _Nautilus_ for a time. The morning of the 24th, in 12° 5′ S. lat.,

and 94° 33′ long., we observed Keeling Island, a coral formation,

planted with magnificent cocos, and which had been visited by Mr.

Darwin and Captain Fitzroy. The _Nautilus_ skirted the shores of this

desert island for a little distance. Its nets brought up numerous

specimens of polypi and curious shells of mollusca. Some precious

productions of the species of delphinulae enriched the treasures of

Captain Nemo, to which I added an astraea punctifera, a kind of

parasite polypus often found fixed to a shell.

Soon Keeling Island disappeared from the horizon, and our course was

directed to the north-west in the direction of the Indian Peninsula.

From Keeling Island our course was slower and more variable, often

taking us into great depths. Several times they made use of the

inclined planes, which certain internal levers placed obliquely to the

waterline. In that way we went about two miles, but without ever

obtaining the greatest depths of the Indian Sea, which soundings of

seven thousand fathoms have never reached. As to the temperature of the

lower strata, the thermometer invariably indicated 4° above zero. I

only observed that in the upper regions the water was always colder in

the high levels than at the surface of the sea.

On the 25th of January the ocean was entirely deserted; the _Nautilus_

passed the day on the surface, beating the waves with its powerful

screw and making them rebound to a great height. Who under such

circumstances would not have taken it for a gigantic cetacean? Three

parts of this day I spent on the platform. I watched the sea. Nothing

on the horizon, till about four o’clock a steamer running west on our

counter. Her masts were visible for an instant, but she could not see

the _Nautilus_, being too low in the water. I fancied this steamboat

belonged to the P. O. Company, which runs from Ceylon to Sydney,

touching at King George’s Point and Melbourne.

At five o’clock in the evening, before that fleeting twilight which

binds night to day in tropical zones, Conseil and I were astonished by

a curious spectacle.

It was a shoal of argonauts travelling along on the surface of the

ocean. We could count several hundreds. They belonged to the tubercle

kind which are peculiar to the Indian seas.

These graceful molluscs moved backwards by means of their locomotive

tube, through which they propelled the water already drawn in. Of their

eight tentacles, six were elongated, and stretched out floating on the

water, whilst the other two, rolled up flat, were spread to the wing

like a light sail. I saw their spiral-shaped and fluted shells, which

Cuvier justly compares to an elegant skiff. A boat indeed! It bears the

creature which secretes it without its adhering to it.

For nearly an hour the _Nautilus_ floated in the midst of this shoal of

molluscs. Then I know not what sudden fright they took. But as if at a

signal every sail was furled, the arms folded, the body drawn in, the

shells turned over, changing their centre of gravity, and the whole

fleet disappeared under the waves. Never did the ships of a squadron

manœuvre with more unity.

At that moment night fell suddenly, and the reeds, scarcely raised by

the breeze, lay peaceably under the sides of the _Nautilus_.

The next day, 26th of January, we cut the equator at the eighty-second

meridian and entered the northern hemisphere. During the day a

formidable troop of sharks accompanied us, terrible creatures, which

multiply in these seas and make them very dangerous. They were

“cestracio philippi” sharks, with brown backs and whitish bellies,

armed with eleven rows of teeth—eyed sharks—their throat being marked

with a large black spot surrounded with white like an eye. There were

also some Isabella sharks, with rounded snouts marked with dark spots.

These powerful creatures often hurled themselves at the windows of the

saloon with such violence as to make us feel very insecure. At such

times Ned Land was no longer master of himself. He wanted to go to the

surface and harpoon the monsters, particularly certain smooth-hound

sharks, whose mouth is studded with teeth like a mosaic; and large

tiger-sharks nearly six yards long, the last named of which seemed to

excite him more particularly. But the _Nautilus_, accelerating her

speed, easily left the most rapid of them behind.

The 27th of January, at the entrance of the vast Bay of Bengal, we met

repeatedly a forbidding spectacle, dead bodies floating on the surface

of the water. They were the dead of the Indian villages, carried by the

Ganges to the level of the sea, and which the vultures, the only

undertakers of the country, had not been able to devour. But the sharks

did not fail to help them at their funeral work.

About seven o’clock in the evening, the _Nautilus_, half-immersed, was

sailing in a sea of milk. At first sight the ocean seemed lactified.

Was it the effect of the lunar rays? No; for the moon, scarcely two

days old, was still lying hidden under the horizon in the rays of the

sun. The whole sky, though lit by the sidereal rays, seemed black by

contrast with the whiteness of the waters.

Conseil could not believe his eyes, and questioned me as to the cause

of this strange phenomenon. Happily I was able to answer him.

“It is called a milk sea,” I explained. “A large extent of white

wavelets often to be seen on the coasts of Amboyna, and in these parts

of the sea.”

“But, sir,” said Conseil, “can you tell me what causes such an effect?

for I suppose the water is not really turned into milk.”

“No, my boy; and the whiteness which surprises you is caused only by

the presence of myriads of infusoria, a sort of luminous little worm,

gelatinous and without colour, of the thickness of a hair, and whose

length is not more than seven-thousandths of an inch. These insects

adhere to one another sometimes for several leagues.”

“Several leagues!” exclaimed Conseil.

“Yes, my boy; and you need not try to compute the number of these

infusoria. You will not be able, for, if I am not mistaken, ships have

floated on these milk seas for more than forty miles.”

Towards midnight the sea suddenly resumed its usual colour; but behind

us, even to the limits of the horizon, the sky reflected the whitened

waves, and for a long time seemed impregnated with the vague

glimmerings of an aurora borealis.