Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Seas

by Jules Verne

  1 A broad‑bladed knife that an American always carries with him. [JV]

  1 An assistant on board a ship. [JV]

  9

  Ned Land’s Fits of Anger

  How long we slept I do not know, but it must have been a considerable period, for we awoke completely refreshed. I was the first to stir. My companions had not yet moved, stretched out in their corners like inert masses.

  Scarcely had I got up from my rather hard bed, when I realized that my head was clear and my mind invigorated. I began to examine the cell attentively.

  Its layout had not changed at all. The jail was still a jail, the prisoners still imprisoned. But the steward had cleared the table while we slept. There was no sign of any change in our situation and I seriously wondered whether our fate might be to live in this cell indefinitely.

  This prospect was made more unpleasant by a great weight on my chest, although my brain was free of the obsessions of the day before. I could breathe only with difficulty. The heavy air was no longer sufficient for my lungs to function. Although the cell was very large, it was evident that we had consumed most of the oxygen in it. In an hour a man uses up the oxygen in 100 litres of air, and this air, filled with an almost identical quantity of carbon dioxide, becomes unbreathable.

  It was therefore urgent for the air in our prison to be replenished, and presumably in the rest of the submarine craft as well.

  This was a question that taxed my mind. How did the captain of such a floating habitation proceed? Did he obtain air by chemical means, using heat to free the oxygen contained in potassium chlorate, and absorbing the carbon dioxide with caustic potash? In that case he would still have to maintain contact with dry land to obtain the necessary chemicals. Did he store air in high-pressure tanks, and then decompress it as the crew needed? Possibly. Or, using a method that was much more natural, economical, and therefore probable, did he simply come up to the surface to breathe like a whale, and thus renew his supply of air for another twenty-four hours? Whatever the case, however he did it, it seemed sensible to act as soon as possible.

  I was already needing to breathe more quickly to extract what little oxygen was left in the cell — when I was suddenly refreshed by a draught of pure air, full of a salty fragrance. It was a real sea breeze, invigorating and overflowing with iodine! I opened wide my mouth, and drenched my lungs with the fresh molecules. Meanwhile I was aware of a rocking or rolling motion that, although slight, was clearly perceptible. The boat, the metal monster, had obviously just come up to the surface to breathe, exactly as whales do. How the ship was ventilated was now perfectly clear.

  When I had filled my lungs with the pure air, I looked for the method by which it had come in, the ‘aerifery’ which allowed this life-giving discharge to get to us; and I did not take long to discover it. Over the door was an opening through which the fresh air entered and renewed the air in our cell.

  I had got thus far in my observation when Ned and Conseil woke up under the influence of the invigorating air, almost at the same time. After rubbing their eyes and stretching their arms, they were soon on their feet.

  ‘Did monsieur sleep well?’ enquired Conseil with his usual politeness.

  ‘Like a log,’ I replied. ‘And you, Master Land?’

  ‘Very soundly. But — it can’t be true? — I seem to be breathing a sea breeze!’

  A sailor couldn’t be wrong, and I told the Canadian what had happened while he was asleep.

  ‘That explains the roarings we heard when the so-called narwhal was near the Abraham Lincoln.’

  ‘Quite so, Master Land, that was its breathing.’

  ‘Dr Aronnax, I have no idea what time it is — unless it’s dinner-time?’

  ‘Dinner-time, my good harpooner? More likely breakfast, for it is certainly the day after yesterday.’

  ‘Which would mean’, said Conseil, ‘that we had slept round the clock!’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I won’t argue,’ said Ned Land. ‘But I’d be glad to see the steward again, whether for dinner or breakfast.’

  ‘Both,’ said Conseil.

  ‘Good point. We’re entitled to two meals, and I can easily manage both.’

  ‘Well, Ned, let’s wait,’ said I. ‘These people are obviously not planning to let us die of starvation, as otherwise yesterday’s meal would have been wasted.’

  ‘Unless they wanted to fatten us up a bit.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. We have not fallen into the hands of cannibals.’

  ‘They might make an exception,’ replied the Canadian in all seriousness. ‘Maybe these people have been starved of fresh meat for ages? And in that case, three healthy and well-built individuals like monsieur, his manservant, and me . . .’

  ‘Banish all such thoughts, Master Land, and above all do not use them as an excuse to get angry with our hosts. It would only make matters worse.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Ned, ‘I could eat a couple of horses. Dinner or breakfast, where is it?’

  ‘We must fit in with the ship’s routine,’ I replied. ‘I imagine that our appetites have run ahead of the chef’s bell.’

  ‘So we’ll simply have to reset them to the correct time,’ said Conseil calmly.

  ‘That’s just like you, my friend Conseil,’ retorted the impetuous Canadian. ‘You don’t ever worry or fuss, you’re always calm. You’re the kind to give thanks for what you have yet to receive, and starve to death rather than complain!’

  ‘But what would be the point?’

  ‘The point would be to complain! That would already help. And if these pirates — I use the word advisedly, to avoid upsetting the professor who won’t let us call them cannibals — if these pirates imagine that they’re going to keep me prisoner in this suffocating cell without learning what swear words spice up my anger, then they’re making a serious mistake. Look here, Dr Aronnax, and tell me straight out: how long do you think we’ll be in this iron crate?’

  ‘To tell the truth, I do not know any more than you, Land, my friend.’

  ‘But what do you think?’

  ‘I think that chance has made us privy to an important secret. Now if it is in the submarine crew’s interest to keep the secret, and if this interest is more important than the lives of three men, then I believe we are in great danger. But if not, the monster that has swallowed us up will return us to the world of our fellow men at the first opportunity.’

  ‘Unless it impresses us as crew,’ said Conseil, ‘and keeps us that way.’

  ‘Until a frigate faster or cleverer than the Abraham Lincoln beats this den of thieves, and hangs us all from the yardarm.’

  ‘A good point, Master Land,’ said I, ‘but it seems to me nobody has yet made us such a proposition. It is therefore pointless to discuss what to do in that case. I repeat, let’s wait and make our decisions according to circumstances: let’s do nothing, because there is nothing to be done.’

  ‘No, sir,’ retorted the harpooner, who would not give in; ‘we must do something.’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Escape!’

  ‘To escape from jail is difficult enough on land, but to get out of a submarine prison appears quite impossible.’

  ‘Now, Ned, my friend,’ said Conseil, ‘what do you say to monsieur’s argument? I cannot believe that an American is ever at a loss for words.’

  The harpooner, visibly put out, said nothing. Given the hand fate had dealt us, leaving was absolutely not on the cards. But a Canadian is half French, as Master Land soon showed.

  ‘So, Dr Aronnax,’ he said after a moment’s consideration, ‘don’t you know what people do when they can’t escape from prison?’

  ‘No, my friend.’

  ‘It’s very simple: they get used to staying . . .’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Conseil, ‘we are better off inside than above or below!’

  ‘. . . after throwing out the jailers, turnkeys, and watchmen!’

  ‘What, Ned, ar
e you seriously contemplating taking over the vessel?’

  ‘Very seriously.’

  ‘Impossible!’

  ‘Why? We may easily get the chance; and I don’t see what should stop us taking it. If there are only about twenty men on board, how much chance do they stand against two Frenchmen and a Canadian?’

  It was wiser to concur with such a view than to discuss it, so I merely said:

  ‘Let’s wait and see what events throw up. But until then please control your temper. We can only act by ruse, and you will not produce favourable opportunities by getting angry. So promise me you will take things as they come, without getting too annoyed.’

  ‘I promise,’ replied Ned, in a not very reassuring tone. ‘I shall not say or do a single nasty thing, even if the table isn’t served with the required punctuality.’

  ‘I have your word, Ned.’ Our conversation ended here, and we each began to think our own thoughts. For my part, I must confess that I had few illusions, despite the harpooner’s pledge. I didn’t believe in a favourable opportunity like Ned. To run such a tight submarine ship needed a large crew, and if push came to shove we would be overwhelmed. Besides we would need to be at liberty, which was not the case. I couldn’t even see a way of escaping from this hermetically sealed cell of metal plates. And if the vessel’s strange commander had any sort of secret to maintain — which was highly probable — he would not allow us to act freely on board. Might he not eliminate us by violent means, or one day cast us off on some remote piece of land? There was no way of telling. But all these conjectures appeared extremely plausible, and I thought that you had to be a harpooner to hope to escape again.

  I understood, moreover, that Ned’s thoughts were becoming gloomier as he considered matters. I heard oaths beginning to growl from the depths of his throat, and I could see his movements becoming threatening again. He got up and started to pace around like a wild beast in a cage, and to hit and kick the walls. As time went by, hunger began to seriously distress us, and this time the steward failed to appear. Our situation as castaways had been forgotten about for too long if they really did have good intentions towards us.

  Ned Land, tormented by the gnawing pains of his capacious stomach, got more and more wound up; and I was afraid that there really would be an explosion if the crew arrived, whatever promises he had made.

  For two more hours Ned’s anger grew. He shouted and screamed, but in vain. The metal walls were deaf. I could not hear a single sound from the boat, which was as if dead. It was not moving, for I would have felt the trembling of the hull from the throbbing of the screw. It was probably plunged into the depths of the waters, far removed from the earth. The deathly silence felt terrifying.

  As for our abandonment, our isolation in this cell, I dared not guess how long it might continue. The hopes I had entertained during our meeting with the commander faded by degrees. The kind expression of the person, the generosity of his physiognomy, the nobility of his bearing, all disappeared from my mind. I saw the enigmatic individual as essentially pitiless and cruel, as he had to be. I sensed him to be beyond the pale of humanity, insensible to feelings of pity, the remorseless enemy of his fellow beings, against whom he must have sworn an undying hatred!

  But was this man simply going to let us die of hunger, locked up in a cramped prison, exposed to those terrible temptations that assail men under the influence of extreme hunger? This fearful thought took on terrible strength in my brain, and with my imagination at work, I felt myself becoming the prey of mad terror. Conseil remained quite calm. Ned was raging.

  At this point in my thoughts a sound came outside, and footsteps resounded on the metal plates; the bolts shot back, the door opened, and the steward appeared.

  Before I could block or prevent him, the Canadian had flung himself on to the wretch, thrown him to the ground, and gripped his throat. The steward was being strangled in a powerful grasp.

  Conseil was already attempting to loosen the harpooner’s deadly hold on his half-suffocated victim, and I was just about to help, when I was suddenly transfixed by these words:

  ‘Calmez-vous, maître Land, et vous, monsieur le professeur, veuillez m’écouter!’*

  10

  The Man of the Sea

  It was the commander of the vessel.

  Land got up quickly. The steward, almost strangled, staggered out on a sign from his master; but such was the captain’s authority on board, that the man betrayed no indication of what was surely his resentment against the Canadian. Conseil was interested in spite of himself, and I, astonished: we awaited the denouement of the scene without speaking.

  The commander, leaning on the corner of the table, his arms crossed, regarded us with very great attention. Was he hesitating before speaking, or did he regret addressing us in French? That might easily be the case. After a few moments’ silence, which none of us dreamed of breaking: ‘Gentlemen,’ he said in a calm and penetrating voice, ‘I can speak French, English, German, and Latin with equal ease. I would have been able to reply to you at our first meeting, but I wished to learn about you first and then reflect. Your fourfold account agreed in every particular, and assured me of your identity. I now know that fate has brought me Dr Pierre Aronnax, lecturer in natural history at the Museum of Paris, on an overseas scientific mission; Conseil, his manservant; and Ned, a Canadian by birth, harpooner on the frigate Abraham Lincoln of the United States navy.’

  I nodded to indicate my acquiescence. The captain had not asked me a question, so no reply was necessary. He expressed himself with perfect ease, without an accent. His sentences were well phrased, his words well chosen, his fluency remarkable. Nevertheless, I had the impression he was not French.

  He continued as follows:

  ‘You doubtless thought that I took a long time to pay you a second visit. This was because, once your identity had been established, I wished to consider carefully how to treat you. I hesitated for a long time. The most unfortunate circumstances have brought you into contact with a man who has broken with humanity. You have come to disturb my existence . . .’

  ‘Unintentionally,’ I put in.

  ‘Indeed?’ repeated the stranger, raising his voice. ‘Was it unintentionally that the Abraham Lincoln searched for me on every ocean? Was it unintentionally that you embarked on that ship? Was it unintentionally that your shells ricocheted off the hull of my vessel? Was it unintentionally that Master Ned Land here struck me with his harpoon?’*

  I perceived a controlled irritation in these words. But to all such recriminations I had a perfectly natural answer to give, and I gave it.

  ‘Monsieur,’ said I, ‘you are not aware of the discussions about you which have taken place in Europe and America. You do not know that the various accidents you have caused by the collisions with your submarine machine have disturbed public opinion on both sides of the Atlantic. I spare you the countless hypotheses which have been erected to explain the inexplicable phenomenon of which you alone possessed the secret. But you must realize that in pursuing you even to the heart of the Pacific, the Abraham Lincoln’s crew were under the impression that they were pursuing some powerful marine monster, which it was necessary to rid the ocean of at any cost.’

  A half smile parted the lips of the captain; then in a calmer voice:

  ‘Dr Aronnax, dare you affirm that your frigate would not have followed and fired balls at a submarine vessel rather than a monster?’

  This question caused me some embarrassment, for Captain Farragut would not have hesitated a single moment. He would have considered it his duty to destroy a device of that kind as much as a giant narwhal.

  ‘So you appreciate, monsieur,’ continued the stranger, ‘that I have the right to treat you as enemies.’

  I did not reply, and with good reason. What was the point of debating such a proposition, when force could vanquish the strongest of arguments?

  ‘I hesitated for a long time,’ repeated the captain. ‘Nothing obliged me to offer
you hospitality. Had I wished to part company with you, I would not have desired to meet again. I could have returned you to the platform of this ship on which you took refuge. I could have dived beneath the surface and forgotten that you ever existed. Did I not have this right?’

  ‘Perhaps the right of a savage, but not that of a civilized person.’

  ‘Dr Aronnax,’ answered the captain sharply, ‘I am not what you call a civilized person! I have broken with society for reasons which I alone have the right to appreciate. So I do not obey its rules, and I ask you never to invoke them in my presence again!’

  This was clearly articulated. A flash of anger and disdain had lit up the stranger’s eyes, and I caught a glimpse of a frightening past in his life. Not only had he placed himself outside humanity’s laws, but he had made himself independent, free in the strictest sense of the word, out of all reach! Who would dare pursue him to the bottom of the seas, given that he could foil any attempts on the surface? What ship could resist a collision with his submarine monitor? What iron cladding, however thick, could resist an attack from his ram? No man alive could demand from him an account of his works. God, if he believed in Him, and his conscience, if he had one, were the only judges before whom he could appear.

  These thoughts flashed through my mind, while the strange individual was silent, absorbed as if withdrawn into himself. I regarded him with an apprehension mixed with curiosity, in the same way as Oedipus must have looked at the Sphinx.*

  After a fairly long silence the commander spoke again.

  ‘So I hesitated, but I thought that my own interest might coincide with that natural pity* to which every human being has an intrinsic right. You will remain on board, since fate has cast the three of you here. You will be free, and in exchange for this freedom, admittedly quite limited in scope, I will impose only one condition. Your word of honour that you accept will suffice.’