by Marie Sexton
I understood this manoeuvre. It was too late to take action. The Nautilus wasn’t going to strike the double-decker where it was clad in impenetrable iron armour, but below its waterline, where the metal carapace no longer protected its planking.
We were prisoners once more, unwilling spectators at the performance of this gruesome drama. But we barely had time to think. Taking refuge in my stateroom, we stared at each other without pronouncing a word. My mind was in a total daze. My mental processes came to a dead stop. I hovered in that painful state that predominates during the period of anticipation before some frightful explosion. I waited, I listened, I lived only through my sense of hearing.
Meanwhile the Nautilus’s speed had increased appreciably. So it was gathering momentum. Its entire hull was vibrating.
Suddenly I let out a yell. There had been a collision, but it was comparatively mild. I could feel the penetrating force of the steel spur. I could hear scratchings and scrapings.
Carried away with its driving power, the Nautilus had passed through the vessel’s mass like a sailmaker’s needle through canvas.
I couldn’t hold still. Frantic, going insane, I leapt out of my stateroom and rushed into the lounge.
Captain Nemo was there. Mute, gloomy, implacable, he was staring through the port panel.
An enormous mass was sinking beneath the waters, and the Nautilus, missing none of its death throes, was descending into the depths with it. Ten metres away, I could see its gaping hull, into which water was rushing with a sound of thunder, then its double rows of cannons and railings. Its deck was covered with dark, quivering shadows.
The water was rising. Those poor men leapt up into the shrouds, clung to the masts, writhed beneath the waters. It was a human anthill that an invading sea had caught by surprise.
Paralysed, rigid with anguish, my hair standing on end, my eyes popping out of my head, short of breath, suffocating, speechless, I stared—I too. I was glued to the window by an irresistible allure.
The enormous vessel settled slowly. Following it down, the Nautilus kept watch on its every movement. Suddenly there was an eruption. The air compressed inside the craft sent its decks flying, as if the powder stores had been ignited. The thrust of the waters was so great, the Nautilus swerved away.
The poor ship then sank more swiftly. Its mastheads appeared, laden with victims, then its crosstrees bending under clusters of men, finally the peak of its mainmast. Then the dark mass disappeared, and with it a crew of corpses dragged under by fearsome eddies…
I turned to Captain Nemo. This dreadful executioner, this true archangel of hate, was still staring. When it was all over, Captain Nemo headed to the door of his stateroom, opened it, and entered. I followed him with my eyes.
On the rear panelling, beneath the portraits of his heroes, I saw the portrait of a still-youthful woman with two little children. Captain Nemo stared at them for a few moments, stretched out his arms to them, sank to his knees, and melted into sobs.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Last Words of Captain Nemo
The panels closed over this frightful view, but the lights didn’t go on in the lounge.
Inside the Nautilus all was gloom and silence. It left this place of devastation with prodigious speed, one-hundred feet beneath the waters. Where was it going? North or south? Where would the man flee after this horrible act of revenge?
I re-entered my stateroom, where Ned and Conseil were waiting silently. Captain Nemo filled me with insurmountable horror. Whatever he had once suffered at the hands of humanity, he had no right to mete out such punishment. He had made me, if not an accomplice, at least an eyewitness to his vengeance. Even this was intolerable.
At eleven o’clock the electric lights came back on. I went into the lounge. It was deserted. I consulted the various instruments. The Nautilus was fleeing northward at a speed of twenty-five miles per hour, sometimes on the surface of the sea, sometimes thirty feet beneath it.
After our position had been marked on the chart, I saw that we were passing into the mouth of the English Channel, that our heading would take us to the northernmost seas with incomparable speed.
I could barely glimpse the swift passing of longnose sharks, hammerhead sharks, spotted dogfish that frequent these waters, big eagle rays, swarms of seahorse looking like knights on a chessboard, eels quivering like fireworks serpents, armies of crab that fled obliquely by crossing their pincers over their carapaces, finally schools of porpoise that held contests of speed with the Nautilus. But by this point observing, studying, and classifying were out of the question.
By evening we had cleared two-hundred leagues up the Atlantic. Shadows gathered and gloom overran the sea until the moon came up.
I repaired to my stateroom. I couldn’t sleep. I was assaulted by nightmares. That horrible scene of destruction kept repeating in my mind’s eye.
From that day forward, who knows where the Nautilus took us in the north Atlantic basin? Always at incalculable speed. Always amid the High Arctic mists. Did it call at the capes of Spitzbergen or the shores of Novaya Zemlya? Did it visit such uncharted seas as the White Sea, the Kara Sea, the Gulf of Ob, the Lyakhov Islands, or those unknown beaches on the Siberian coast? I’m unable to say. I lost track of the passing hours. Time was in abeyance on the ship’s clocks. As happens in the polar regions, it seemed that night and day no longer followed their normal sequence. I felt myself being drawn into that strange domain where the overwrought imagination of Edgar Allan Poe was at home. Like his fabled Arthur Gordon Pym, I expected any moment to see that “shrouded human figure, very far larger in its proportions than any dweller among men,” thrown across the cataract that protects the outskirts of the pole.
I estimate—but perhaps I’m mistaken—that the Nautilus’s haphazard course continued for fifteen or twenty days, and I’m not sure how long this would have gone on without the catastrophe that ended our voyage. As for Captain Nemo, he was no longer in the picture. As for his chief officer, the same applied. Not one crewman was visible for a single instant. The Nautilus cruised beneath the waters almost continuously. When it rose briefly to the surface to renew our air, the hatches opened and closed as if automated. No more positions were reported on the world map. I didn’t know where we were.
I’ll also mention that my beloved Canadian was at the end of his strength and patience.
Even I could barely coax a single word out of him and I sometimes feared that, in a fit of delirium while under the sway of a ghastly homesickness, Ned would kill himself. So Conseil and I kept a devoted watch on our friend every instant.
You can appreciate that under these conditions, our situation had become untenable.
One morning—whose date I’m unable to specify—I was slumbering near the first hours of daylight, a painful, sickly slumber. Waking up, I saw Ned Land leaning over me, and I heard him tell me in a low voice, “We’re going to escape.”
I sat up.
“When?” I asked.
“Tonight. There doesn’t seem to be any supervision left on the Nautilus. You’d think a total daze was reigning on board. Will you be ready, sir?”
“Yes. Where are we?”
“In sight of land. I saw it through the mists just this morning, twenty miles to the east.”
“What land is it?”
“I’ve no idea, but whatever it is, there we’ll take refuge.”
“Yes, Ned. We’ll escape tonight even if the sea swallows us up.”
“The sea’s rough, the wind’s blowing hard, but a twenty-mile run in the Nautilus’s nimble longboat doesn’t scare me. Unknown to the crew, I’ve stowed some food and flasks of water inside.” He held me close, looking into my eyes as he had that day on the deck. “Tell me again that you’re with me. I need to know.”
I kissed him. “I’m with you.”
“Are you sure?”
My mind was made up. “Without a single doubt.”
“No more turning back, Professor. If they catch me, I’ll defen
d myself. I’ll fight to the death.”
I reached up to touch his cheek. “Then we’ll die together, Ned my love.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But not before I make love to you one last time.”
I undressed him as he kissed me, and soon we were skin to skin. He pushed me back onto the bed. His rough hands moved over me, caressing my back and shoulders.
“Will you ever forgive me for my childish behaviour?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, so long as you love me still.”
“More than ever.”
He kissed me again, and it felt like coming home. The salty taste of him, and the softness of his lips. His musky smell, and the way his unshaven chin scraped against mine. I loved the comfortable weight of him, and the feel of his thick hair in my hands. It was all wonderfully familiar, and yet, it was different too. There was a timidity in him that was new, touching me softly as if he feared I’d break, yet holding me tight as if I might otherwise vanish from his arms. His touch, usually so strong and sure, was suddenly clumsy. His hands shook. I knew in my heart it was because he feared this would be our last night alive, the last chance we’d ever have to make love. He wanted it to be perfect, and yet his fear made him unsure.
“Listen to me, Ned.”
He did. He stopped kissing me. He pulled back enough to look down into my eyes. The despair I saw there nearly broke my heart—not fear that he would die, but that I would.
I reached up to run my fingers along his jaw. I brushed my thumb over his lips. “You are the strongest, bravest man I’ve ever met,” I assured him. “You will not fail.”
He let out a deep shuddering breath and lay his head upon my chest. “We will not fail,”
he said, but my words had served their intended purpose. His uncertaintly suddenly fell away, disappearing like the fog on the coast, burned away by the blazing heat of the sun. “I love you, Pierre. I swear to you, I will get you to land. And Conseil, too.”
“I know you will.”
He kissed me again, this time as strong and sure as he always was. His rough hands caressed me. He parted my thighs to wedge between them, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He greased himself well and slid into me, slow and gentle, deep and long. It was a beautiful thing, our bodies locked together, our breath mingling, our hearts in sync. Sharing our flesh and the knowledge that whatever happened tonight, we would be one, now and forever. We moved against each other, him inside me, me wrapped around him. We danced to the rhythm of the sea, rocking, kissing, nearly crying. Whispering our love to each other over and over again until the end. I loved him and he loved me, and at that moment, nothing else mattered. I had complete faith in him, and in the future we would make for ourselves when we were free.
Afterward, he lay a while in my arms, but I could sense his anxiety and his impatience.
“Go,” I urged, for I knew he had preparations to make if we were to succeed. “I’ll be ready.”
He dressed quickly, then gave me one last lingering kiss. “I love you,” he said again.
He didn’t give me time to reply. It didn’t matter. I would have plenty of time to tell him, once we were safely ashore.
I went out on the platform, where I could barely stand upright against the jolts of the billows. The skies were threatening, but land lay inside those dense mists, and we had to escape. Not a single day, or even a single hour, could we afford to lose.
I returned to the lounge, dreading yet desiring an encounter with Captain Nemo, wanting yet not wanting to see him. What would I say to him? How could I hide the involuntary horror he inspired in me? No. It was best not to meet him face to face. Best to try and forget him. And yet….
How long that day seemed, the last I would spend aboard the Nautilus. I was left to myself. Ned Land and Conseil avoided speaking to me, afraid they would give themselves away.
At six o’clock I ate supper, but I had no appetite. Despite my revulsion, I forced it down, wanting to keep my strength up.
At 6:30 Ned Land entered my stateroom. He told me, “We won’t see each other again before we go. At ten o’clock the moon won’t be up yet. We’ll take advantage of the darkness.
Come to the skiff. Conseil and I will be inside waiting for you.”
“I’ll be there.”
He kissed me quickly. “I love you.” The Canadian left without giving me time to answer him. Nerves and excitement, joy and fear all threatened to overwhelm me.
I wanted to verify the Nautilus’s heading. I made my way to the lounge. We were racing north-northeast with frightful speed, fifty metres down.
I took one last look at the natural wonders and artistic treasures amassed in the museum, this unrivalled collection doomed to perish someday in the depths of the seas, together with its curator. I wanted to establish one supreme impression in my mind. I stayed there an hour, basking in the aura of the ceiling lights, passing in review the treasures shining in their glass cases. Then I returned to my stateroom.
There I dressed in sturdy seafaring clothes. I gathered my notes and packed them tenderly about my person. My heart was pounding mightily. I couldn’t curb its pulsations.
My anxiety and agitation would certainly have given me away if Captain Nemo had seen me.
What was he doing just then? I listened at the door to his stateroom. I heard the sound of footsteps. Captain Nemo was inside. He hadn’t gone to bed. With his every movement I imagined he would appear and ask me why I wanted to escape. I felt in a perpetual state of alarm. My imagination magnified this sensation. The feeling became so acute, I wondered whether it wouldn’t be better to enter the captain’s stateroom, dare him face to face, brave it out with word and deed.
It was an insane idea. Fortunately I controlled myself and stretched out on the bed to soothe my bodily agitation. My nerves calmed a little, but with my brain so aroused, I did a swift review of my whole existence aboard the Nautilus, every pleasant or unpleasant incident that had crossed my path since I went overboard from the Abraham Lincoln—the underwater hunting trip, the Torres Strait, our running aground, the savages of Papua, the coral cemetery, the Suez passageway, the island of Santorini, the Cretan diver, the Bay of Vigo, Atlantis, the Ice Bank, the South Pole, our imprisonment in the ice, the battle with the devilfish, the storm in the Gulf Stream, the Avenger, and that horrible scene of the vessel sinking with its crew…. And through it all, my love for Ned. All these events passed before my eyes like backdrops unrolling upstage in a theatre. In this strange setting Captain Nemo then grew fantastically. His features were accentuated, taking on superhuman proportions.
He was no longer my equal, he was the Man of the Waters, the Spirit of the Seas.
By then it was 9:30. I held my head in both hands to keep it from bursting. I closed my eyes. I no longer wanted to think. A half hour still to wait. A half hour of nightmares that could drive me insane.
Just then I heard indistinct chords from the organ, melancholy harmonies from some indefinable hymn, actual pleadings from a soul trying to sever its earthly ties. I listened with all my senses at once, barely breathing, immersed like Captain Nemo in this musical trance that was drawing him beyond the bounds of this world.
Then a sudden thought terrified me. Captain Nemo had left his stateroom. He was in the same lounge I had to cross in order to escape. There I would encounter him one last time.
He would see me, perhaps speak to me. One gesture from him could obliterate me, a single word shackle me to his vessel.
Even so, ten o’clock was about to strike. It was time to leave my stateroom and rejoin my companions.
I dared not hesitate, even if Captain Nemo stood before me. I opened the door cautiously, but as it swung on its hinges, it seemed to make a frightful noise. This noise existed, perhaps, only in my imagination.
I crept forward through the Nautilus’s dark gangways, pausing after each step to curb the pounding of my heart.
I arrived at the corner door of the lounge. I opened it gently. The lounge
was plunged in profound darkness. Chords from the organ were reverberating faintly. Captain Nemo was there. He didn’t see me. Even in broad daylight I doubt that he would have noticed me, so completely was he immersed in his trance.
I inched over the carpet, avoiding the tiniest bump whose noise might give me away. It took me five minutes to reach the door at the far end, which led into the library.
I was about to open it when a gasp from Captain Nemo nailed me to the spot. I realised that he was standing up. I even got a glimpse of him because some rays of light from the library had filtered into the lounge. He was coming towards me, arms crossed, silent, not walking but gliding like a ghost. His chest was heaving, swelling with sobs. And I heard him murmur these words, the last of his to reach my ears, “O almighty God. Enough. Enough!”
Was it a vow of repentance that had just escaped from this man’s conscience…?
Frantic, I rushed into the library. I climbed the central companionway, and going along the upper gangway, I arrived at the skiff. I went through the opening that had already given access to my two companions.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” I exclaimed.
“Right away,” the Canadian replied.
First, Ned Land closed and bolted the opening cut into the Nautilus’s sheet iron, using the monkey wrench he had with him. After likewise closing the opening in the skiff, the Canadian began to unscrew the nuts still bolting us to the underwater boat.
Suddenly a noise from the ship’s interior became audible. Voices were answering each other hurriedly. What was it? Had they spotted our escape? I felt Ned Land sliding a dagger into my hand.
“Yes,” I muttered, “we know how to die.”
The Canadian paused in his work. But one word twenty times repeated, one dreadful word, told me the reason for the agitation spreading aboard the Nautilus. We weren’t the cause of the crew’s concern.
“Maelstrom! Maelstrom!” they were shouting.
The Maelstrom. Could a more frightening name have rung in our ears under more frightening circumstances? Were we lying in the dangerous waterways off the Norwegian coast? Was the Nautilus being dragged into this whirlpool just as the skiff was about to detach from its plating?
