Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Seas

by Jules Verne

  The day I expounded this theory to Captain Nemo, he coldly replied: ‘It is not new lands that the earth needs, but new men!’

  The chances of its navigation had brought the Nautilus towards Reao, discovered in 1822 by Captain Bellingshausen of the Mirny,* and one of the most curious of the group. I was thus able to study the system of madrepores which built up the islands in this ocean.

  Madrepores must not be confused with corals, for they are covered in a limestone crust; the changes in their structure led M. Milne-Edwards, my illustrious mentor, to classify them in five categories. The billions of tiny animalculae which secrete this polypary live inside their cells. The limestone they deposit creates rocks, reefs, islets, and islands. Sometimes they form a circular ring, or lagoon, round a small inland lake, with gaps communicating with the open sea. Sometimes they produce barrier reefs like those off the coasts of New Caledonia and many of the islands of the Tuamotus. In other cases, like Réunion and Mauritius, they form fringed reefs with high straight walls, where the ocean drops off very steeply.

  While we worked our way along the shores of Reao at a distance of only a few cables, I admired the gigantic task completed by these microscopic workers. The walls were mainly the work of the madrepores known as millepores, porites, astrea, and meandrines. These polyps develop particularly in the rough waters near the surface, and consequently they start their foundations at the top, which then gradually sink down together with the remains of the secretions holding them together. Such at least is the theory of Mr Darwin,* who explains in this way the formation of atolls — a better theory, in my view, than positing that the madrepores build on the summits of volcanoes or mountains submerged a few feet below sea level.

  I was able to observe these strange walls very closely, for directly beside them our sound gave 300 metres’ depth, and our electric flux made this brilliant limestone sparkle.

  Replying to Conseil, who had asked how long these colossal barriers took to grow, I astonished him greatly when I told him that scientists had calculated their growth as an eighth of an inch per century.

  ‘So to produce these walls, it must have taken . . .?’

  ‘A hundred and ninety-two thousand years,* my good Conseil, thus uncommonly lengthening the biblical days. In any case the formation of coal — that is the mineralization of forests swamped by floods — required an even greater period. But I will add that the “days” of the Bible are simply eras and not the time between two sunrises for, according to the Bible itself, the sun does not date from the first day of creation.’

  When the Nautilus came back to the surface, I could make out the whole of Reao, a low and wooded island. Its madreporian rocks had clearly been fertilized by storms and cyclones. One day a seed, carried by a hurricane from neighbouring land, fell on the limestone strata, covered with vegetable humus from the decomposed remains of fish and marine plants. A coconut, pushed by the waves, arrived on the new coast. The seed took root. The tree grew bigger and captured the water vapour. A stream was born. Vegetation began to grow. A few animalculae, worms, and insects came ashore on tree-trunks brought over from other islands by the wind. Turtles came to lay their eggs. Birds nested in the young trees. In this way animal life developed and, drawn by the greenness and fertility, man appeared. Thus were formed these islands, the gigantic work of microscopic animals.

  Towards evening, Reao melted into the distance and the Nautilus changed course noticeably. After cutting the tropic of Capricorn on the 135th degree of longitude, it headed west-north-west, across the Tropics. Although the summer sun was generous with rays, we did not suffer from the heat, for at 30 to 40 metres down the temperature never rose beyond 10° or 12°.

  On 15 December we passed to the west of the captivating archipelago of the Society Islands, including gracious Tahiti, the queen of the Pacific. In the morning I saw the tall summits of this island a few miles to leeward. Its waters provided the ship’s tables with excellent fish: mackerel, bonitos, albacores, and varieties of a sea snake called muraenophis.

  The Nautilus had now covered 8,100 miles. The log indicated 9,720 miles when it passed through the archipelago of Tonga — the final resting-place for the crews of the Argo, the Port-au-Prince, and the Duke of Portland — and Samoa, where Captain de Langle, La Pérouse’s friend, was killed.* Then the Fijian archipelago was sighted, where the savages massacred Captain Bureau from Nantes, the commander of the Aimable Josephine, as well as sailors from the Union.

  This archipelago, which extends 100 leagues north to south and 90 east to west, lies between 6° and 2° S and 174° and 179° W. It consists of a number of islands, islets, and reefs, notable amongst which are the islands of Viti Levu, Vanua Levu, and Kadavu.

  It was Tasman who discovered the group in 1643, the same year that Torricelli* invented the barometer and Louis XIV ascended the throne. I leave to the reader to decide which of these events was the most useful to mankind. Next came Cook in 1774, d’Entrecasteaux in 1793, and finally Dumont d’Urville* resolved the geographical chaos of this archipelago in 1827. The Nautilus approached Vaileka Bay, where terrible adventures befell Captain Dillon, the first man to throw light on the mystery of La Pérouse’s shipwreck.*

  The bay was dredged several times, and provided us with excellent oysters in profusion. We ate immoderately, opening them at the table itself following Seneca’s precept.* These molluscs belonged to the species known as Ostrea lamellosa, very common in Corsica. The bed at Vaileka was clearly very large; without multiple causes of destruction, the molluscs would end up filling the bays they live in, since as many as two million eggs have been found inside a single individual.

  If on this occasion Master Ned had no reason to regret his gluttony, it was because the oyster is the only food which never causes indigestion. No less than sixteen dozen of these acephalous molluscs are needed to provide the 315 grams of nitrogen-based food necessary for the daily sustenance of a single man.

  On 25 December the Nautilus was sailing through the archipelago of Vanuatu, which Quiros* discovered in 1606, Bougainville explored in 1768, and which Cook named the New Hebrides in 1773. The group is made up of nine main islands, forming a strip 120 leagues long from north-north-west to south-south-east, between 15° and 2° S, and 164° and 168° E. We passed quite close to the island of Aru; when we carried out our noon-day observations, it appeared as a mass of green forest surmounted by a very high peak.

  It was Christmas Day, and it seemed to me that Land was sorely missing the Anglo-Saxon Christmas, the big family festival which the Protestants are fanatical about.

  I hadn’t seen Captain Nemo for about a week, when on the morning of the 27th he came into the salon, again just like a man who has left you five minutes before. I was busy tracing the route of the Nautilus on the planisphere. The captain approached, put a finger on a point on the map, and said a single word:

  ‘Vanikoro.’*

  The name was magical. It was the name of the small islands where La Pérouse’s vessels were wrecked. I stood up quickly.

  ‘The Nautilus is taking us to Vanikoro?’

  ‘Yes indeed.’

  ‘And I will be able to visit those famous islands where the Boussole and the Astrolabe came to grief?’

  ‘If that is your wish, monsieur.’

  ‘When will we be in Vanikoro?’

  ‘We are there now.’

  With Captain Nemo following, I went up on to the platform and my eyes avidly scoured the horizon.

  To the north-east emerged two volcanic islands of unequal size, surrounded by a coral reef some 40 miles in circumference. We were near the island of Vanikoro itself, to which Dumont d’Urville gave the name of Île de la Recherche, and more precisely, at the little haven of Vanu, situated at 16° 4´ S, 164° 32´ E. The island was covered with green vegetation, from the beach to the peaks of the interior, dominated by the 476-fathom Mount Kapogo.

  Once the Nautilus had slipped through a narrow pass in the outer ring of rocks, it
was protected from the breakers, in waters of 30 to 40 fathoms. Under the verdant shade of the mangroves, I spotted a few savages who showed extreme surprise at our approach. And did they not see some formidable cetacean in this long blackish body, advancing almost submerged, apt to strike fear in their hearts?

  Captain Nemo asked me what I knew about La Pérouse’s shipwreck.

  ‘Only what everyone knows, captain.’

  ‘And could you please tell me what everyone knows?’ he asked in a slightly ironic tone.

  ‘Certainly.’

  I recounted what Dumont d’Urville had concluded in his last research, of which the following is a very brief summary:

  In 1785 La Pérouse and his first officer Captain de Langle were sent by Louis XVI to circumnavigate the globe. They sailed off on the corvettes the Boussole and the Astrolabe — but never came back.

  In 1791, the French government, understandably concerned about the fate of the two corvettes, armed two cargo ships, the Recherche and the Espérance,* which left Brest on 28 September under the command of Bruni d’Entrecasteaux. Two months later, it was stated in the declaration of a certain Bowen, captain of the Albemarle, that debris from wrecked ships had been seen on the coasts of New Georgia Island.* But d’Entrecasteaux, not aware of this information — which was slightly suspect in any case — headed for the Admiralty Islands, indicated as where La Pérouse was shipwrecked in a report by Captain Hunter.*

  His searches were in vain. The Esperance and the Recherche even went right past Vanikoro without stopping, and this voyage was generally ill-starred, for d’Entrecasteaux lost his life, as did two of his officers and several sailors.

  It was an old Pacific hand, Captain Dillon, who was the first to find incontrovertible traces of the shipwrecked men. On 15 May 1826 his ship, the St Patrick, passed near the island of Tikopia in Vanuatu.* There a lascar accosted him in a dugout canoe and sold him a silver sword-handle with characters engraved on it with a burin. This individual claimed that six years before, while staying on Vanikoro, he had seen two Europeans who had come from ships that had run aground on the island’s reefs many years before.

  Dillon conjectured that these were La Pérouse’s ships, whose disappearance had agitated the whole world. He tried to sail to Vanikoro, where his informant said numerous remains from the shipwreck were still to be found, but was prevented by the winds and currents.

  Dillon went back to Calcutta. There he was able to interest the Royal Asiatic Society and the East India Company in his discovery. A ship, which he baptized the Research, was put at his disposal, and he left again on 23 January 1827, with a French agent on board.

  Having put into port at several points of the Pacific, the Research anchored off Vanikoro on 7 July 1827, in the harbour of Vanu where the Nautilus was now floating.

  There he collected numerous remains from the shipwreck: metal implements, anchors, strops from pulleys, swivel guns, an 18-pound cannonball, the remains of astronomical instruments, a piece of taffrail, and a bronze bell with the inscription, ‘Bazin m’a fait’, the hallmark of the foundry of Brest Arsenal in about 1785. Doubt was no longer possible.

  Dillon remained on the spot of the tragedy gathering extra information until October. Then he left Vanikoro, headed for New Zealand, anchored in Calcutta on 7 April 1828, and finally returned to France, where he was very warmly received by Charles X.

  But meanwhile Dumont d’Urville, not aware of the results of Dillon’s work, had already left to seek the shipwreck elsewhere. The reason was that a whaling vessel had reported that medals and a St Louis cross had been found in the hands of savages in the Louisiades and New Caledonia.

  Dumont d’Urville and his Astrolabe* had therefore put to sea, anchoring at Hobart two months after Dillon left Vanikoro. There he learned of Dillon’s findings, and also that a certain James Hobbs, first officer of the Union of Calcutta, had landed on an island at 8° 18´ S, 156° 30´ E and noticed iron bars and some red material being used by the natives of those shores.

  Dumont d’Urville was quite perplexed, not knowing whether to believe such tales reported by rather unreliable newspapers; so in the end he decided to pursue Dillon’s traces instead.

  On 10 February 1828 the Astrolabe arrived at Tikopia, took as guide and interpreter a deserter living on the island, headed for Vanikoro, sighted it on 12 February, skirted its reefs until the 14th, and finally on the 20th anchored within the barrier, in the harbour of Vanu.

  On the 23rd several officers travelled round the island, and brought back a few scraps of wreckage. The natives, adopting a system of denials and red herrings, refused to take them to the place where the accident happened. Such suspicious behaviour implied that they had mistreated the shipwrecked men and, indeed, they seemed afraid that Dumont d’Urville had come to revenge La Pérouse and his unfortunate companions.

  However, on the 26th, won over by presents and realizing that they had no reprisals to fear, they led the first officer, M. Jacquinot,* to the scene of the shipwreck.

  At three or four fathoms deep, between the reefs of Pacu and Vanu, lay anchors, cannons, and iron and lead bars covered with limestone sediment. The dinghy and whaling-boat of the Astrolabe were sent to the spot and with considerable effort, the crew were able to raise an 1,800-pound anchor, a cast-iron eight-pound cannon, a lead bar, and two copper swivel guns. Questioning the natives, Dumont d’Urville learned that La Pérouse had lost his two ships on the reefs of the island, had built a smaller vessel, but had finally foundered a second time. Where? No one knew.

  The captain of the Astrolabe then built a memorial to the celebrated navigator and his companions under a clump of mangrove trees. It was a simple square pyramid on a coral base, built without any ironwork that might tempt the natives’ light fingers.

  Dumont d’Urville wanted to leave; but his crew were greatly weakened by the fevers of these unhealthy shores and, very ill himself, he was unable to sail until 17 March.

  Meanwhile the French government, fearing that Dumont d’Urville was unaware of Dillon’s work, had sent a corvette stationed on the west coast of America to Vanikoro. The Bayonnaise, commanded by Le Goarant de Tromelin,* anchored off Vanikoro a few months after the Astrolabe had left, found no new evidence, but observed that the savages had respected the memorial to La Pérouse.

  That was the essence of the tale I recounted to Captain Nemo.

  ‘So’, he said, ‘no one yet knows the last resting place of the third vessel constructed by the shipwrecked sailors on the island of Vanikoro?’

  ‘No one knows.’

  Captain Nemo said nothing, but motioned to follow him into the salon. The Nautilus sank a few metres below the waves and the panels opened.

  I rushed towards the window, and saw a coral reef covered with fungus coral, Siphulina, halcyons, and Caryophylli. Through the myriads of charming fish, rainbow wrasses, Glyphisidon, pempheridae, Diacope, and soldierfish, I recognized pieces of wreckage that the grappling hooks had been unable to lift. There were iron stirrups, anchors, cannons, cannonballs, part of a capstan, a prow — all objects from the wrecked ships, now carpeted with living flowers.

  And whilst I was contemplating this sad wreckage, Captain Nemo said in a grave voice:

  ‘Captain La Pérouse left with his ships the Boussole and Astrolabe on 7 December 1785. He anchored first at Botany Bay, then visited Tonga and New Caledonia, headed for Santa Cruz, and put in at Nomuka in the Haapai group. Then his ships arrived at the unknown reefs of Vanikoro. The Boussole was sailing in front, and hit the southern coast.

  The Astrolabe came to its help but also grounded. The first ship was destroyed almost immediately. Stranded to leeward, the second survived for a few days. The natives gave a relatively warm welcome to the shipwrecked sailors; and they settled on the island to build a smaller vessel from the remains of the larger ones. A few sailors voluntarily remained on Vanikoro. The others, weak and ill, left with La Pérouse. They headed for the Solomon Islands and perished with
all hands on the western coast of the main island of that group, between Capes Deception and Satisfaction.’*

  ‘But how do you know?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘This is what I found at the site of that last shipwreck.’

  Captain Nemo showed me a tin box stamped with the arms of France, utterly corroded by salt water. As he opened it, I saw a bundle of papers, yellowed but still legible.

  These were the instructions from the Minister for the Navy to Captain La Pérouse, with marginal annotations by Louis XVI!

  ‘Ah, what a fine death for a sailor!’ said Captain Nemo. ‘A coral tomb provides a peaceful resting-place and may Heaven grant none other to my companions and me!’

  20

  Torres Strait

  During the night of 27–8 December the Nautilus left the shores of Vanikoro at extraordinary speed. It headed south-west and within three days covered the 750 leagues from La Pérouse Island* to the south-eastern tip of New Guinea.

  Very early on 1 January 1868, Conseil joined me on the platform.

  ‘With monsieur’s permission,’ said the good fellow, ‘I would like to wish him a Happy New Year.’

  ‘What, Conseil, exactly as if I were in Paris in my office at the Jardin des Plantes? But I accept your wishes with thanks. I only ask what you mean by “a Happy New Year” in our present circumstances? Will this year bring an end to our imprisonment, or will it see our strange voyage continue?’