Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

by Marie Sexton

  Arriving at the summit of this peak, Captain Nemo carefully determined its elevation by means of his barometer, since he had to take this factor into account in his noon sights.

  At 11:45 the sun, by then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc, dispersing its last rays over this deserted continent and down to these seas not yet ploughed by the ships of man.

  Captain Nemo had brought a spyglass with a reticular eyepiece, which corrected the sun’s refraction by means of a mirror, and he used it to observe the orb sinking little by little along a very extended diagonal that reached below the horizon. I held the chronometer. My heart was pounding mightily. If the lower half of the sun’s disc disappeared just as the chronometer said noon, we were right at the pole.

  “Noon,” I called.

  “The South Pole,” Captain Nemo replied in a solemn voice, handing me the spyglass, which showed the orb of day cut into two exactly equal parts by the horizon.

  I stared at the last rays wreathing this peak, while shadows were gradually climbing its gradients.

  Just then, resting his hand on my shoulder, Captain Nemo said to me, “Well now. In 1868, on this 21st day of March, I myself, Captain Nemo, have reached the South Pole at 90

  degrees, and I hereby claim this entire part of the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents.”

  “In the name of which sovereign, Captain?”

  “In my own name, sir.”

  So saying, Captain Nemo unfurled a black flag bearing a gold “N” on its quartered bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose last rays were licking at the sea’s horizon, “Farewell, O sun,” he called. “Disappear, O radiant orb. Retire beneath this open sea, and let six months of night spread their shadows over my new domains.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Accident or Incident?

  The next day, March 22, at six o’clock in the morning, preparations for departure began.

  The last gleams of twilight were melting into night. The cold was brisk. The constellations were glittering with startling intensity. The wonderful Southern Cross, polar star of the Antarctic regions, twinkled at its zenith.

  The thermometer marked -12 degrees centigrade, and a fresh breeze left a sharp nip in the air. Ice floes were increasing over the open water. The sea was starting to congeal everywhere. Numerous blackish patches were spreading over its surface, announcing the imminent formation of fresh ice. Obviously this southernmost basin froze over during its six-month winter and became utterly inaccessible. What happened to the whales during this period? No doubt they went beneath the Ice Bank to find more feasible seas. As for seals and walruses, they were accustomed to living in the harshest climates and stayed on in these icy waterways. These animals know by instinct how to gouge holes in the ice fields and keep them continually open—they go to these holes to breathe. Once the birds have migrated northward to escape the cold, these marine mammals remain as sole lords of the polar continent.

  Meanwhile the ballast tanks filled with water and the Nautilus sank slowly. At a depth of one-thousand feet, it stopped. Its propeller churned the waves and it headed due north at a speed of fifteen miles per hour. Near the afternoon it was already cruising under the immense frozen carapace of the Ice Bank.

  As a precaution, the panels in the lounge stayed closed, because the Nautilus’s hull could run afoul of some submerged block of ice. So I spent the day putting my notes into final form. My mind was completely wrapped up in my memories of the pole. We had reached that inaccessible spot without facing exhaustion or danger, as if our seagoing passenger carriage had glided there on railroad tracks. And now we had actually started our return journey. Did it still have comparable surprises in store for me? I felt sure it did, so inexhaustible is this series of underwater wonders. As it was, in the five and a half months since fate had brought us on board, we had cleared fourteen-thousand leagues, and over this track longer than the earth’s equator, so many fascinating or frightening incidents had beguiled our voyage—that hunting trip in the Crespo forests, our running aground in the Torres Strait, the coral cemetery, the pearl fisheries of Ceylon, the Arabic tunnel, the fires of Santorini, those millions in the Bay of Vigo, Atlantis, the South Pole. During the night all these memories crossed over from one dream to the next, not giving my brain a moment’s rest.

  At three o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by a violent collision. I sat up in bed, which was regrettably empty save for me. I listened in the darkness, and then was suddenly hurled into the middle of my stateroom. Apparently the Nautilus had gone aground, then heeled over sharply.

  Leaning against the walls, I dragged myself down the gangways to the lounge, whose ceiling lights were on. The furniture had been knocked over. Fortunately the glass cases were solidly secured at the base and had stood fast. Since we were no longer vertical, the starboard pictures were glued to the tapestries, while those to port had their lower edges hanging a foot away from the wall. So the Nautilus was lying on its starboard side, completely stationary to boot.

  In its interior I heard the sound of footsteps and muffled voices. But Captain Nemo didn’t appear. Just as I was about to leave the lounge, Ned Land and Conseil entered.

  “What happened?” I instantly said to them.

  “I came to ask master that,” Conseil replied.

  “Damnation!” the Canadian exclaimed. “I know full well what happened. The Nautilus has gone aground, and judging from the way it’s listing, I don’t think it’ll pull through like that first time in the Torres Strait.”

  “But,” I asked, “are we at least back on the surface of the sea?”

  “We have no idea,” Conseil replied.

  “It’s easy to find out,” I answered.

  I consulted the pressure gauge. Much to my surprise, it indicated a depth of three-hundred and sixty metres.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” I exclaimed.

  “We must confer with Captain Nemo,” Conseil said.

  “But where do we find him?” Ned Land asked.

  “Follow me,” I told my two companions.

  We left the lounge. Nobody in the library. Nobody by the central companionway or the crew’s quarters. I assumed that Captain Nemo was stationed in the pilothouse. Best to wait.

  The three of us returned to the lounge.

  I’ll skip over the Canadian’s complaints. I didn’t want to argue, and I felt he had good grounds for an outburst. I didn’t answer him back, letting him blow off all the steam he wanted.

  We had been left to ourselves for twenty minutes, trying to detect the tiniest noises inside the Nautilus, when Captain Nemo entered. He didn’t seem to see us. His facial features, usually so emotionless, revealed a certain uneasiness. He studied the compass and pressure gauge in silence, then went and put his finger on the world map at a spot in the sector depicting the southernmost seas.

  I hesitated to interrupt him. But some moments later, when he turned to me, I threw back at him a phrase he had used in the Torres Strait, “An incident, Captain?”

  “No, sir,” he replied, “this time an accident.”

  “Serious?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Is there any immediate danger?”

  “No.”

  “The Nautilus has run aground?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this accident came about…?”

  “Through nature’s unpredictability not man’s incapacity. No errors were committed in our manoeuvres. Nevertheless, we can’t prevent a loss of balance from taking its toll. One may defy human laws, but no one can withstand the laws of nature.”

  Captain Nemo had picked an odd time to philosophise. All in all, this reply told me nothing.

  “May I learn, sir,” I asked him, “what caused this accident?”

  “An enormous block of ice, an entire mountain, has toppled over,” he answered me.

  “When an iceberg is eroded at the base by warmer waters or by repeated collisions, its centre of gravity rises.
Then it somersaults, it turns completely upside down. That’s what happened here. When it overturned, one of these blocks hit the Nautilus as it was cruising under the waters. Sliding under our hull, this block then raised us with irresistible power, lifting us into less congested strata where we now lie on our side.”

  “But can’t we float the Nautilus clear by emptying its ballast tanks, to regain our balance?”

  “That, sir, is being done right now. You can hear the pumps working. Look at the needle on the pressure gauge. It indicates that the Nautilus is rising, but this block of ice is rising with us, and until some obstacle halts its upward movement, our position won’t change.”

  Indeed, the Nautilus kept the same heel to starboard. No doubt it would straighten up once the block came to a halt. But before that happened, who knew if we might not hit the underbelly of the Ice Bank and be hideously squeezed between two frozen surfaces?

  I mused on all the consequences of this situation. Captain Nemo didn’t stop studying the pressure gauge. Since the toppling of this iceberg, the Nautilus had risen about one-hundred and fifty feet, but it still stayed at the same angle to the perpendicular.

  Suddenly a slight movement could be felt over the hull. Obviously the Nautilus was straightening a bit. Objects hanging in the lounge were visibly returning to their normal positions. The walls were approaching the vertical. Nobody said a word. Hearts pounding, we could see and feel the ship righting itself. The floor was becoming horizontal beneath our feet. Ten minutes went by.

  “Finally, we’re upright!” I exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Captain Nemo said, heading to the lounge door.

  “But will we float off?” I asked him.

  “Certainly,” he replied, “since the ballast tanks aren’t yet empty, and when they are, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea.”

  The captain went out, and soon I saw that at his orders, the Nautilus had halted its upward movement. In fact, it soon would have hit the underbelly of the Ice Bank, but it had stopped in time and was floating in midwater.

  “That was a close call,” Conseil then said.

  “Yes. We could have been crushed between these masses of ice, or at least imprisoned between them. And then, with no way to renew our air supply… Yes, that was a close call.”

  “If it’s over with,” Ned Land muttered.

  I was unwilling to get into a pointless argument with my lover and didn’t reply.

  Moreover, the panels opened just then, and the outside light burst through the uncovered windows.

  We were fully afloat, as I have said, but on both sides of the Nautilus, about ten metres away, there rose dazzling walls of ice. There also were walls above and below. Above, because the Ice Bank’s underbelly spread over us like an immense ceiling. Below, because the somersaulting block, shifting little by little, had found points of purchase on both side walls and had got jammed between them. The Nautilus was imprisoned in a genuine tunnel of ice about twenty metres wide and filled with quiet water. So the ship could easily exit by going either ahead or astern, sinking a few hundred metres deeper, and then taking an open passageway beneath the Ice Bank.

  The ceiling lights were off, yet the lounge was still brightly lit. This was due to the reflecting power of the walls of ice, which threw the beams of our beacon right back at us.

  Words cannot describe the effects produced by our galvanic rays on these huge, whimsically sculpted blocks, whose every angle, ridge, and facet gave off a different glow depending on the nature of the veins running inside the ice. It was a dazzling mine of gems, in particular sapphires and emeralds, whose jets of blue and green crisscrossed. Here and there, opaline hues of infinite subtlety raced among sparks of light that were like so many fiery diamonds, their brilliance more than any eye could stand. The power of our beacon was increased a hundredfold, like a lamp shining through the biconvex lenses of a world-class lighthouse.

  “How beautiful,” Conseil exclaimed.

  “Yes,” I said, “it’s a wonderful sight, isn’t it, Ned?”

  “Oh damnation, yes,” Ned Land shot back. “It’s superb. I’m furious that I have to admit it. Nobody has ever seen the like. But this sight could cost us dearly. And in all honesty, I think we’re looking at things God never intended for human eyes.”

  Ned was right. It was too beautiful. I had a sudden pang of sympathy for the man. I wanted to reach out to him, but all at once a yell from Conseil made me turn around.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Master must close his eyes. Master mustn’t look!”

  With that, Conseil clapped his hands over his eyes.

  “But what’s wrong, my boy?”

  “I’ve been dazzled, struck blind.”

  Involuntarily my eyes flew to the window, but I couldn’t stand the fire devouring it.

  I realised what had happened. The Nautilus had just started off at great speed. All the tranquil glimmers of the ice walls had then changed into blazing streaks. The sparkles from these myriads of diamonds were merging with each other. Swept along by its propeller, the Nautilus was travelling through a sheath of flashing light.

  Then the panels in the lounge closed. We kept our hands over our eyes, which were utterly saturated with those concentric gleams that swirl before the retina when sunlight strikes it too intensely. It took some time to calm our troubled vision.

  Finally we lowered our hands.

  “Ye gods, I never would have believed it,” Conseil said.

  “And I still don’t believe it,” the Canadian shot back.

  “When we return to shore, jaded from all these natural wonders,” Conseil added,

  “think how we’ll look down on those pitiful land masses, those puny works of man. No, the civilised world won’t be good enough for us.”

  Such words from the lips of this emotionless Flemish boy showed that our enthusiasm was near the boiling point. But the Canadian didn’t fail to throw his dram of cold water over us.

  “The civilised world,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, Conseil my friend, we’re never going back to that world.”

  By this point it was five o’clock in the morning. Just then there was a collision in the Nautilus’s bow. I realised that its spur had just bumped a block of ice. It must have been a faulty manoeuvre because this underwater tunnel was obstructed by such blocks and didn’t make for easy navigating. So I had assumed that Captain Nemo, in adjusting his course, would go around each obstacle or would hug the walls and follow the windings of the tunnel. In either case our forward motion wouldn’t receive an absolute check. Nevertheless, contrary to my expectations, the Nautilus definitely began to move backward.

  “We’re going astern?” Conseil said.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Apparently the tunnel has no way out at this end.”

  “And so…?”

  “So,” I said, “our manoeuvres are quite simple. We’ll return in our tracks and go out the southern opening. That’s all.”

  As I spoke, I tried to sound more confident than I really felt. Meanwhile the Nautilus accelerated its backward movement, and running with propeller in reverse, it swept us along at great speed.

  “This’ll mean a delay,” Ned said.

  “What are a few hours more or less, so long as we get out.”

  “Yes,” Ned Land repeated, “so long as we get out.”

  I strolled for a little while from the lounge into the library. My companions kept their seats and didn’t move. Soon I threw myself down on a couch and picked up a book, which my eyes skimmed mechanically.

  A quarter of an hour later, Conseil approached me, saying, “Is it deeply fascinating, this volume master is reading?”

  “Tremendously fascinating,” I replied.

  “I believe it. Master is reading his own book.”

  “My own book?”

  Indeed, my hands were holding my own work on the great ocean depths. I hadn’t even suspected. I closed the book and resumed my strolling. Ned and
Conseil stood up to leave.

  “Stay here, my friends,” I said, stopping them. “Let’s stay together until we’re out of this blind alley.”

  “As master wishes,” Conseil replied.

  Ned hesitated, obviously torn between his desire to appease me and his anger at our situation. In the end, he sighed. He pulled me into his arms and held me tight.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered in my ear. “I continue to be dreadful, and I fear I’ll spend the rest of our lives apologising to you for my behaviour.”

  “Ned, my love, I don’t blame you. Just tell me you love me still.”

  “Always.” He kissed me on the side of the head before resuming his seat.

  The hours passed. I often studied the instruments hanging on the lounge wall. The pressure gauge indicated that the Nautilus stayed at a constant depth of three-hundred metres, the compass that it kept heading south, the log that it was travelling at a speed of twenty miles per hour, an excessive speed in such a cramped area. But Captain Nemo knew that by this point there was no such thing as too fast, since minutes were now worth centuries.

  At 8:25 a second collision took place. This time astern. I grew pale. My companions came over. I clutched Ned’s hand. Our eyes questioned each other, and more directly than if our thoughts had been translated into words.

  Just then the captain entered the lounge. I went to him.

  “Our path is barred to the south?” I asked him.

  “Yes, sir. When it overturned, that iceberg closed off every exit.”

  “We’re boxed in?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shortage of Air

  Consequently, above, below, and around the Nautilus, there were impenetrable frozen walls. We were the Ice Bank’s prisoners. The Canadian banged a table with his fearsome fist.

  Conseil kept still. I stared at the captain. His face had resumed its usual emotionlessness. He crossed his arms. He pondered. The Nautilus did not stir.