Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Seas

by Jules Verne

  ‘To be frank,’ answered Conseil, ‘I do not really know how to reply to monsieur. There can be no doubt that we are witnessing strange things and that in two months we have not had time to become bored. The latest marvel is always the most astonishing and if this progression continues, I do not know how it will all end. My view is that we will never again have such an opportunity.’

  ‘Never again, Conseil.’

  ‘In addition, Mr Nemo lives up to his Latin name, and does not bother us any more than if he did not exist.’

  ‘As you say, Conseil.’

  ‘I believe, therefore, if monsieur pleases, that a happy new year would be one which allowed us to see everything.’

  ‘Everything, Conseil? That might be a very long year. But what does Ned Land think?’

  ‘Ned thinks exactly the opposite. He is a positive spirit with an imperious stomach. Looking at fish and constantly eating them is not enough for him. The lack of wine, bread, and meat does not suit a pure Anglo-Saxon accustomed to steaks, and who appreciates his glass of brandy or gin!’

  ‘For my part, Conseil, that is not what torments me, and I’m managing very well with the diet on board.’

  ‘So am I. I therefore wish to stay as much as Master Land wishes to escape. So if the new year is good for him, it will be bad for me, and vice versa. There will always be someone satisfied. In conclusion, I wish for monsieur whatever pleases monsieur.’

  ‘Thank you, Conseil. I merely ask if you can put off the question of presents, and replace them for the moment with a good handshake. That is all I have on me.’

  ‘Monsieur has never been so generous.’

  And the good fellow left me.

  On 2 January we had covered 11,340 miles, or 5,250 leagues, from our starting-point in the Sea of Japan. Before the Nautilus’s prow stretched the perilous shores of the Coral Sea, off the north-eastern coast of Australia. Our boat kept a few miles from the dangerous reef * where Cook’s ships almost sank on 10 June 1770. His own ship hit a rock, and the only reason it did not go down was that a piece of coral broke off in the collision and stayed wedged in the hole in the hull.

  I very much wanted to visit this 360-league-long reef, against which a permanently squally sea breaks with terrible intensity, like rolls of thunder. But the inclined planes of the Nautilus took us down to a great depth and I could no longer see anything of the high coral walls. I had to be content with the various specimens of fish brought up by our nets. I noted, amongst others, albacores, sorts of scombroid as large as tunas, with bluish flanks and transversal stripes which disappear when it dies. Schools of these fish accompanied us and provided our table with a very delicate flesh. We also caught a large number of 5-centimetre green-and-gold sparids with the taste of sea bream, and some flying pirapeda, genuine submarine swallows, which on dark nights streak their phosphorescent gleams through both the airs and the waters. Among the molluscs and zoophytes in the meshes of the dragnet, I found various species of alcyonarians, sea urchins, hammer-shells, spur-shells, solariums, cerites, and hyales. The flora were represented by lovely floating seaweed: oarweed and Macrocystis soaked in mucilage sweating through their pores, and amongst which I collected an admirable Nemastoma gelinarioides, for placing with the natural curiosities of the ship’s museum.

  Two days after crossing the Coral Sea, on 4 January, we sighted the coast of New Guinea. At this juncture Captain Nemo told me he intended to enter the Indian Ocean via Torres Strait. He provided no other information. Ned was happy that this route was leading us closer to the seas of Europe.

  Torres Strait is considered dangerous because of the reefs with which it abounds, but also because of the savage inhabitants of its coasts. It separates Australia from the main island of New Guinea, also known as Papua.

  New Guinea is 400 leagues long by 130 wide, with an area of 40,000 square leagues. It lies between 0° 19´ and 10° 2´ S and 128° 23´ and 146° 15´ E. At noon when the first officer was determining the elevation of the sun, I noticed the Arfak Mountains, rising in terraces and culminating in sharp peaks.

  The island was discovered by the Portuguese Francisco Serrao in 1511, and successively visited by: Don Jorge de Meneses in 1526, Grijalva in 1527, the Spaniard General Alvaro de Saavedra in 1528, Inigo Ortiz de Retes in 1545, the Dutchman Schouten in 1616, Nicholas Struyck in 1753; by Tasman, Dampier, Funnell, Carteret, Edwards, Bougainville, Cook, Forrest, and McCluer; and by d’Entrecasteaux in 1792, Duperrey in 1823, and Dumont d’Urville in 1827.* According to M. de Rienzi, ‘It is where the dark-skinned peoples who occupy the entire Malay archipelago originally came from’; and I had no doubt that the hazards of our navigation would bring me face to face with the redoubtable Andamanese.*

  The Nautilus was thus heading for the entrance of the most dangerous strait on the globe, the one that the boldest captains hardly dare enter, the strait that Luis Vaez de Torres* braved when he came back from the Pacific to this part of Melanesia, and where in 1840 Dumont d’Urville’s grounded corvettes came close to going down with all hands. The Nautilus, impervious to all the sea’s dangers, was itself going to make acquaintance with the coral reefs.

  Torres Strait is about 34 leagues wide, but is obstructed by an uncountable number of islands, islets, breakers, and rocks, making it virtually impossible to navigate. Consequently, to go through, Captain Nemo took every possible precaution. The Nautilus remained on the surface, advancing at moderate speed. Like a whale’s tail, its screw sluggishly beat the waves.

  Profiting from the situation, my two companions and I had taken up position on the still-deserted platform. In front of us rose the pilot-house and, unless I am gravely mistaken, Captain Nemo must have been there as well, steering the Nautilus himself.

  Before my eyes were the excellent maps of Torres Strait charted and drawn by the hydrographic engineer Vincendon-Dumoulin and Ensign (now Admiral) Coupvent-Desbois,* who were Dumont d’Urville’s officers on his last voyage of circumnavigation. Together with Captain King’s,* these are the maps that make best sense of the confusion of the narrow passage, and I examined them with the closest attention.

  Around the Nautilus the sea boiled furiously. The current, running from south-east to north-west at a rate of 2.5 knots, was breaking over the coral tips that emerged here and there.

  ‘A bad sea!’ said Ned.

  ‘Very bad,’ I answered, ‘and not at all suited to a vessel like the Nautilus.’

  ‘That damned captain’, continued the Canadian, ‘must be very sure of his route, because I can see coral clusters that would shred his hull into a thousand pieces if it just grazed them!’

  The situation was indeed highly dangerous but the Nautilus slid as if by enchantment through the furious reefs. It was not following the exact route of the Astrolabe and the Zélée, so fatal to Dumont d’Urville. It headed further north, hugged Murray Island, and then came back south-westwards heading for the Cumberland Passage. I thought it was going to enter this passage, when it headed north-west again, moving towards Toud Island and the Bad Channel* through a large number of badly charted islands and islets.

  I was already wondering whether Captain Nemo, reckless to the point of madness, intended to engage his ship in the pass where Dumont d’Urville’s two corvettes had hit, when he changed direction for the second time, cut due west, and headed for Gueboroar Island.*

  It was 3 p.m. The current was slowing; it was almost high tide. The Nautilus approached the island, with its remarkable coast of pandanuses, that I can still see today. We were following the shoreline at a distance of less than two miles.

  Suddenly I was knocked over. The Nautilus had hit a reef; it remained motionless, listing slightly to port.

  When I got up I saw that Captain Nemo and his first officer were on the platform. They studied the position of the ship, exchanging a few words in their incomprehensible idiom.

  The situation was as follows. Gueboroar Island was visible two miles to starboard, its coastline stretching round from the north to
the west like an enormous arm. To the south and east a few heads of coral were visible, already uncovered by the ebbing tide. We had gone aground at high tide in a sea where the tides are not large, an unfortunate circumstance for the chances of refloating the Nautilus. So solidly constructed was the ship, however, that its hull was not damaged in any way. But if it could neither sink nor be holed, it ran a high risk of remaining stuck on the reefs indefinitely, in which case Captain Nemo’s submarine vessel was done for.

  These thoughts were running through my mind when the captain, as usual cool and collected and in control of himself, came up, appearing neither upset nor annoyed.

  ‘An accident?’ I asked.

  ‘No, an incident.’

  ‘But an incident which may oblige you to dwell once more on the very land you have fled!’

  Captain Nemo gave me a very strange look and made a negative gesture. This told me quite clearly that nothing could ever force him to set foot again on terra firma. Then:

  ‘Dr Aronnax, the Nautilus is far from finished: it will still carry you through the ocean’s wonders. Our voyage is only just beginning, and I do not wish to deprive myself so quickly of the honour of your company.’

  ‘However, Captain Nemo,’ I said, ignoring the irony of his words, ‘the Nautilus has run aground at high tide. The tides are not very great in the Pacific and if you cannot lighten the Nautilus, which seems probable, I do not see how it can be refloated.’

  ‘The tides are not great in the Pacific, as you say. But in Torres Strait there is still 1½ metres between high and low tide. Today is 4 January and in five days’ time the moon will be full. So I would be very surprised if that kindly satellite did not raise the mass of water sufficiently to grant a favour that I wish to owe only to her.’

  Upon which, Captain Nemo went back inside the Nautilus followed by his first officer. As for the vessel, it was no longer moving and remained as inert as if the coral polyps had already fixed it in their indestructible cement.

  ‘Well, sir?’ said Ned Land, who came over after the captain had left.

  ‘Well, my good Ned, we shall calmly wait for high tide on the 9th, since it appears that the moon will be kind enough to refloat us.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that.’

  ‘And the captain is not going to drop his anchors, attach his engine to the chains, and try his utmost to haul us off?’

  ‘No need, because of the tide,’ said Conseil.

  The Canadian looked at him, then shrugged his shoulders. This was the sailor in him talking.

  ‘Monsieur,’ he said, ‘you can believe me when I tell you that this piece of iron will never sail under or over the seas again. It’s just worth its weight in scrap, so I think the time’s come to take our leave of Captain Nemo.’

  ‘My good Ned,’ I replied, ‘unlike you I have not given up hope for the valiant Nautilus: in five days’ time we will see what the Pacific tides can do. In any case thinking of escape would be appropriate off the coast of England or the South of France, but the shores of New Guinea are different. We will have plenty of time to take such extreme measures if the Nautilus is unable to get free, which I would consider to be a serious situation.’

  ‘But can’t we at least have a feel of this solid ground? It’s an island. On the island are trees. Under the trees, land animals, bearers of chops and steaks which I would very much like to sink my teeth into.’

  ‘Here my friend Ned is right,’ said Conseil; ‘I share his opinion. Could monsieur not ask his friend, Captain Nemo, to put us ashore, if only so that we can remain accustomed to setting foot on the solider parts of the planet?’

  ‘I can ask him but he will refuse.’

  ‘Monsieur should take that risk,’ said Conseil; ‘so that we know where we stand.’

  To my great surprise, Captain Nemo gave his permission, and did so with a great deal of grace and alacrity, without even extracting my promise to return on board. But an escape via New Guinea would have been highly dangerous, and I would not have advised Ned Land to try it. It was better to be a prisoner on board the Nautilus than to fall into the hands of the Papuan natives.

  The dinghy would be put at our disposal the following morning. I did not try to find out if Captain Nemo was going to accompany us. I even felt sure that no crewman would be provided, and that Ned would have sole responsibility for managing the boat. The island was at most two miles away, and it would be mere play for the Canadian to steer the light boat between the lines of reefs, so fatal for larger vessels.

  The following day, 5 January, the dinghy, with its cover off, was taken out of its recess on the platform and launched into the sea. Two men were enough to perform this operation. The oars were in the boat and all we had to do now was to get in.

  At eight o’clock we left the Nautilus, armed with guns and axes. The sea was calm. A light breeze was blowing from the land. Conseil and I rowed vigorously while Ned steered us through the narrow channels between the breakers. The boat was easy to handle and moved quickly.

  Ned Land could hardly contain his joy. He was a prisoner escaped from jail, and he scarcely thought that he had to go back inside again.

  ‘Meat!’ he kept repeating. ‘We’re going to eat meat, and what meat: real game! Not bread, I tell you! I can’t say that fish is exactly bad, but you can have too much of a good thing, and a piece of fresh venison grilled on glowing coals will make a nice change from our usual fare.’

  ‘Glutton,’ replied Conseil, ‘you are making my mouth water!’

  ‘We still need to find out’, I said, ‘if the forests contain game and if the game is not sizeable enough to hunt the hunter.’

  ‘Well,’ said the Canadian, whose teeth seemed as sharp as daggers, ‘I’ll eat tiger — sirloin of tiger — if there are no other four-legged animals on the island.’

  ‘My friend Ned is worrying me,’ said Conseil.

  ‘The first animal with four legs and no feathers, or two legs and feathers,* of whatever kind, will be greeted by my bullet.’

  ‘So!’ I replied. ‘We’re going to see hot-headed Master Land again!’

  ‘Have no fear, Dr Aronnax, and row as hard as you can. I’ll only need twenty-five minutes to offer you a tasty dish.’

  At half past eight, the Nautilus’s boat had successfully negotiated the coral reef around Gueboroar and smoothly landed on a sandy beach.

  21

  A Few Days on Land

  Setting foot on land again made quite an impression on me. Ned Land tested the ground with his foot as if to take possession of it. All the same, it was only two months that we had been what Captain Nemo called ‘the passengers of the Nautilus’: in reality the prisoners of its commander.

  Within a minute or two we were a gun-shot away from the shore. The ground was almost entirely madreporian but some of the beds of the dried-up streams, strewn with pieces of granite, showed that the island had been formed in the primordial era. The horizon was entirely hidden behind a curtain of beautiful forest. The enormous trees, some reaching a height of 200 feet, were linked with garlands of creepers, true natural hammocks swaying in the light breeze. There were mimosas, banyans, casuarinas, teak, hibiscuses, pandanuses, and palm-trees, all mixed up in profusion; and in the shade of their verdant vault, at the feet of their gigantic trunks, grew orchids, leguminous plants, and ferns.

  But without heeding any of these fine specimens of Papuan flora, the Canadian was combining serious business with pleasure. He spotted a coconut tree, knocked a few of its nuts down, and broke them open; we drank their milk and ate their flesh with a satisfaction that protested against the normal fare on board the Nautilus.

  ‘Excellent!’ pronounced Ned.

  ‘Exquisite!’ retorted Conseil.

  ‘And I don’t suppose’, said the Canadian, ‘that your Nemo could object to us bringing a cargo of coconuts back on board?’

  ‘I’m sure not,’ I replied, ‘but he won’t want any!’

 
‘His loss,’ said Conseil.

  ‘And our gain. All the more for us.’

  ‘Just a moment, Master Land,’ I said as the harpooner began to attack another tree. ‘Coconuts are all very well but before filling the boat up with them, it would be as well to see whether the island produces some other substance just as useful. Fresh vegetables would be most welcome on board.’

  ‘Monsieur is right,’ said Conseil, ‘and I propose we divide our boat into three sections, one for fruit, one for vegetables, and one for meat, of which I have not seen the slightest trace so far.’

  ‘You should never give up, Conseil,’ replied the Canadian.

  ‘Let’s continue on our way,’ I said, ‘but with eyes peeled. Even if the island might appear uninhabited, it perhaps contains individuals whose taste in game is less selective than ours.’

  ‘Hey, hey!’ voiced Land, with a meaningful move of his jaws.

  ‘Ned!’ said Conseil.

  ‘Heck,’ riposted the Canadian, ‘I’m beginning to realize what cannibalism’s all about!’

  ‘Ned, Ned, what are you saying?’ said Conseil. ‘You a cannibal? Then I will never be safe since I share your cabin! Am I to wake up one day half-devoured?’

  ‘Dear Conseil, I like you a great deal, but not enough to eat you unless I really have to.’

  ‘I am not so sure,’ said Conseil. ‘But let’s get on with the hunting for we urgently need to shoot some game to satisfy this cannibal, or else one of these mornings monsieur will find only bits and pieces of his manservant to attend to him.’

  During this exchange, we had begun to penetrate the dark vaults of the forest, and for two hours we crisscrossed it in every direction.

  We were very fortunate in our search for edible vegetables, and one of the most useful products of the Tropics was to provide us with precious food lacking on board.

  I am referring to the breadfruit tree, in great supply on Gueboroar Island; I noticed mainly the seedless variety called rima in Malay.*

  It is different from other trees in having a straight trunk, 40 feet long. Its top, which is gracefully rounded and formed of large, multi-lobed leaves, enables a naturalist to identify it as that same Artocarpus which has been so profitably introduced to the Mascarene Islands. Large round fruit stood out from the mass of greenery, 10 centimetres across and with hexagonal protuberances. They provide a valuable example of the plants which nature has bestowed on regions lacking wheat, and though not requiring any cultivation, provide fruit eight months of the year.