by Jules Verne
Ten of his companions did likewise. Ten suffered the same fate.*
Conseil was in ecstasy. Land, carried away by his violent instincts, rushed on to the staircase, but the moment he touched the handrail, he too was thrown back.
‘My God!’ he cried. ‘I’ve been struck by lightning!’
This explained everything. It was no longer a handrail, but a metal conductor fully charged with electricity from the vessel and culminating in the platform. Whoever touched it received a powerful shock, and this shock would have been fatal if the captain had put the entire current from his apparatus into the conductor! Between his assailants and him, Nemo had extended an electric circuit that none could cross with impunity.*
The terrified Papuans had meanwhile retreated, crazed with terror. Half laughing, we massaged and consoled poor Ned, swearing like a madman.
Just then the Nautilus, raised by the last ripples of the tide, left its coral bed at that precise fortieth minute predicted by the captain. Its screw started beating the waters with majestic slowness. Its speed gradually increased, and sailing safe and sound on the ocean’s surface, it left behind the dangerous passes of Torres Strait.*
23
Ægri Somnia*
The next day, 10 January, the Nautilus continued its progress underwater, but at a remarkable speed that I cannot estimate as less than 35 knots. The speed of its screw was such that I could not follow its revolutions, let alone count them.*
When I thought that the marvellous electrical agent not only gave movement, heat, and light, but also protected the Nautilus from external attacks, transforming it into a holy ark* which no desecrator could transgress without being smitten by lightning, my admiration knew no limits; and this went from being directed to the machine back to the engineer who had built it.
We were heading due west, and on 11 January we rounded Cape Wessel, which lies at longitude 135° and latitude 10° N, forming the eastern point of the Gulf of Carpentaria. There were still quite a number of reefs, but now more spread out and pinpointed on the chart with great precision. The Nautilus thus easily avoided the breakers of Money Reef to port and Victoria Reefs to starboard, situated at longitude 130° on the 10th parallel which we were following without deviation.
On 13 January Captain Nemo, having arrived in the Timor Sea, sighted the island of the same name at longitude 122°. With an area of 1,625 square leagues, this island is governed by rajahs. These princes profess to be sons of crocodiles, that is, issued from the highest origin to which human beings can lay claim. Accordingly, these scaly ancestors abound in the island’s rivers, and are the subject of a particular veneration. They are protected, they are spoilt, they are adulated, they are nourished, they are offered young maidens as fodder — and cursed be the foreigner who lays a hand on the sacred lizards.*
But the Nautilus did not have to deal with these ugly animals. Timor was visible for a mere moment at noon, while the first officer was determining our position. In the same way, I caught only a glimpse of the little island of Roti, part of the same group, whose women have a firmly established reputation for beauty on the Malaysian markets.
Starting from that point, the direction of the Nautilus, which of course could go where it wished, switched to the south-west. It headed for the Indian Ocean. Where were Captain Nemo’s caprices going to take us? Would he head back to the coasts of Asia? Would he approach the shores of Europe? Such decisions seemed highly unlikely on the part of a man who fled from inhabited lands. Would he go then even further south? Would he round the Cape of Good Hope, then Cape Horn, and head for the South Pole? Would he finally come back to the waters of the Pacific, where his Nautilus could find easy and independent seafaring? Time would tell.
Having passed the last attempts of the solid element to withstand the liquid element, namely the reefs of Cartier, Hibernia, Seringapatam, and Scott, we were far from all land on 14 January. The speed of the Nautilus had dropped markedly, and it was moving very capriciously, sometimes navigating underwater, sometimes floating on the surface.
During this stretch of the voyage, Captain Nemo carried out interesting experiments on the temperature of the water at different depths. Ordinarily, these measurements are obtained using quite complicated instruments, whose results are dubious at best, either thermometric sounds whose glasses often break under the water pressure or devices based on the change in the resistance of metal to electric currents. The results obtained in this way cannot be properly verified. In contrast, Captain Nemo was going to measure the temperatures of the sea depths using his own observations, for his thermometer, in direct contact with the various parts of the water, gave him the temperatures immediately and reliably.
By filling its tanks or descending obliquely with its planes inclined, the Nautilus successively reached depths of 3,000, 4,000, 5,000, 7,000, 9,000, and 10,000 metres. The final conclusion of the experiments was that the sea enjoyed a constant temperature of 4½° at a depth of 1,000 metres, whatever the latitude.
I followed these experiments with inordinate interest. Captain Nemo showed a true passion for them. I often wondered why he made these observations. Was it to benefit his fellow beings? This seemed improbable, for sooner or later his studies were destined to perish with him in some unknown sea. Unless he was intending the results of his experiments for me. But that would mean he accepted that my strange voyage might come to an end, and this end I could not yet envision.
Whatever the reasons, Captain Nemo also told me of the various figures he had obtained, which established the relative densities of water in the main seas of the globe. From this information I drew a personal lesson which had nothing to do with science.
It was on the morning of 15 January. The captain, with whom I was strolling on the platform, asked me if I knew what the different densities of the oceans were. I replied that I did not, and that science lacked rigorous observations on the subject.
‘I have carried out such observations, and I can vouch for their accuracy.’
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘But the Nautilus is a world apart and its scientists’ secrets do not reach dry land.’
‘You are quite right, sir,’ he said after a moment’s silence. ‘It is a world apart, as foreign to terra firma as the planets accompanying this globe round the sun, and we will never benefit from the studies of Saturn’s or Jupiter’s scientists. However, since chance has linked our two lives, I can communicate the results of my observations to you.’
‘I am all ears, captain.’
‘As you know, sea water is denser than fresh, but not uniformly. If I take the density of fresh water as 1.000, I find 1.028 for the waters of the Atlantic, 1.026 for the Pacific, 1.030 for the Mediterranean . . .’
‘Aha!’ I thought. ‘So he does venture into the Mediterranean.’
‘. . . 1.018 for the Ionian Sea,* and 1.029 for the Adriatic.’
Decidedly the Nautilus did not avoid the frequented waters of Europe, and I deduced from this that it would bring us back towards more civilized lands, perhaps quite soon. I thought that Ned Land would be pleased to hear the news.
For a few days our time was spent entirely on all sorts of experiments concerning the salt content of water at different depths, its electric charge, colour, and clearness; and in all these circumstances Captain Nemo displayed an ingenuity which was equal only to his good disposition towards me. Then I did not see him again for a few days, and remained as though quarantined on board his ship.
On 16 January, the Nautilus seemed to fall asleep only a few metres below the surface of the waves. Its electrical machines were no longer operating, and its motionless screw meant it wandered at the whim of the currents. I supposed that the crew must be busy with internal repairs, made necessary by the vigour of the mechanical movements of the engine.
My companions and I were then witness to a strange scene. The panels of the salon were open, and as the searchlight of the Nautilus was not on, a dim darkness reigned amidst the waters. The stormy sky, covered
with thick clouds, gave only the top parts of the ocean an insufficient light.
I observed the state of the sea in conditions where the largest fish appeared merely as faintly sketched shadows, when the Nautilus was suddenly bathed in full light. At first I thought the searchlight had been switched on and that it was projecting its electric brilliance through the liquid mass. I was wrong, as I realized at a glance.
The Nautilus was floating in a phosphorescent stratum, which was becoming dazzling in this darkness. The light was produced by myriads of glowing animalculae, whose brightness increased as they slid over the metallic hull. I then noticed sparks in these luminous waters, as if produced by streams of molten lead in a fiery furnace or metallic bodies heated to red or white heat; as a result of the contrast, certain radiant parts appeared as shadows in this burning situation, from which, however, all shades should logically have been banished. For this was no longer the even illumination of our normal lighting! A very unusual vigour and movement were present. This light felt as if alive.
There was indeed an infinite agglomeration of pelagic infusoria and miliary noctilucents, globules of diaphanous jelly with threadlike tentacles, of which 25,000 have been counted in 30 cubic centimetres of water. Their light was further increased by the distinctive gleams of jellyfish, starfish, Aurelia, piddocks, and other phosphorescent zoophytes, steeped in the fertilizer from organic materials decomposed by the sea, and perhaps also in mucus secreted by fish.
For several hours the Nautilus floated amongst these brilliant billows, with our admiration growing when we saw large marine animals playing there like salamanders. In the midst of that fire which did not burn, I saw swift, elegant porpoises, the tireless clowns of the seas, as well as three-metre sail-fish, the intelligent forecasters of hurricanes, whose formidable swords sometimes struck the window of the salon. Small fish also appeared, a variety of triggerfish, jumping scombroids, wolf-unicorns, and a hundred others, streaking the luminous atmosphere as they swam.
The dazzling sight was an enchantment. Perhaps the effect of the phenomenon was being increased by some state of the atmosphere? Did perhaps a storm rage above the surface of the waves? But at a few metres’ depth the Nautilus did not feel any fury as it swayed peacefully in the midst of the tranquil waters.
We continued on our way, constantly charmed by some new marvel. Conseil observed and classified the zoophytes, articulates, molluscs, and fish. The days went by quickly, and I no longer counted them. As was his wont, Ned attempted to vary the diet on board. Like true snails, we had got used to our shells — I maintain that it is very easy to be a perfect snail.
This existence seemed easy and natural to us, and we could no longer imagine a different life on the terrestrial globe — when an event occurred to remind us of the strangeness of our situation.
On 18 January, the Nautilus was at longitude 105° and latitude 15° S. The weather was threatening, the sea hard and squally. There blew a strong easterly wind. The barometer, which had been falling for several days, announced an approaching battle of the elements.
I went up to the platform while the first officer was taking his measurements of the hour angles. I waited for the sentence to be pronounced, following the daily custom, but that day it was replaced by another phrase, no less incomprehensible. I saw Captain Nemo appear almost immediately and his eye, equipped with a telescope, focus on the horizon.
For a minute or so the captain remained motionless, concentrating on the point captured in his field of vision. Then he lowered his telescope and exchanged about ten words with his first officer. The latter seemed to be in the sway of an emotion that he was trying in vain to control. Captain Nemo, more master of himself, remained cool. He seemed in any case to be raising objections, to which the first officer was replying with formal assurances. At least that is what I understood from the difference in their tones and gestures.
As for myself, I had carefully scrutinized the direction in question, but without spotting anything. The sky and the water melted together in a horizontal line of perfect clarity.
Captain Nemo had started walking from one end of the platform to the other, without looking at me, perhaps without seeing me. His pace was assured, but less regular than usual. He stopped sometimes and examined the sea, arms crossed on chest. What could he be looking for in that immense space? The Nautilus was lying a few hundred miles from the nearest coast!
The first officer had picked up his telescope again, and was obstinately scouring the horizon, coming and going, stamping his feet, his nervous agitation in contrast to the commander’s calm.
In any case the mystery was inevitably going to be solved; for after a while, on an order from Captain Nemo, the engine increased its propulsive power and the screw turned faster.
Now the first officer again drew his chief’s attention to something. The captain stopped pacing, and directed his telescope at the point indicated. He examined it for a long time. For my part, fascinated, I went down to the salon to fetch the excellent telescope I normally used. Then, leaning on the framework of the searchlight projecting near the front of the platform,* I prepared to study the whole line of sea and sky.
But my eye had not yet been applied to the glass, when the instrument was suddenly torn from my hands.
I turned round. Captain Nemo was before me, but I hardly recognized him. His face was transfigured. His eyes, burning with a dark fire, stood out under a frowning brow. His teeth were half bared. His stiff body, clenched fists, and head hunched on his shoulders betrayed the violent hatred filling his whole being. He did not move. My telescope, dropping from his hand, rolled at his feet.
Had I inadvertently provoked this angry attitude? Did this bewildering individual imagine that I had surprised some secret forbidden to the guests of the Nautilus? No! I was not the object of the hatred, for he was not looking at me: his eyes remained implacably fixed on the invisible point of the horizon.*
At long last, Captain Nemo regained his self-control. His face, which had been so deeply altered, recovered its usual calm. He said a few words in the foreign tongue to his first officer, and then he turned to me.
‘Dr Aronnax,’ he said, in rather an imperious tone, ‘I want you to observe one of the engagements which bind you to me.’
‘Yes, captain?’
‘You must allow your companions and you to be locked up, until such time as I consider it appropriate to restore your liberty.’
‘You are the master,’ I replied, gaping at him, ‘but may I ask you a question?’
‘You may not, sir.’
I could no longer question this, but merely obey, since any resistance would have been impossible.
I went down to the cabin Ned and Conseil occupied, and told them of the captain’s decision. I leave it to the imagination how the news was greeted by the Canadian. But in any case there was no time for further explanation. Four crewmen were waiting at the door, and they led us to the cell where we had spent our first night on board.
Ned Land tried to protest, but the only reply was the door closing in his face.
‘Could monsieur tell me what this means?’ enquired Conseil.
I told my companions what had happened. They were as astonished as I was, and understood as little.
I fell into a deep reflection; the strange apprehension on Captain Nemo’s face would not leave my mind. I felt incapable of putting two logical ideas together, and was losing myself in the most absurd hypotheses, when my concentration was interrupted by these words from Land:
‘Look, lunch is served.’
The table was indeed ready. It was clear that Captain Nemo had arranged it at the same time as increasing the speed of the Nautilus.
‘Would monsieur allow me to make a suggestion?’
‘Yes, my good fellow.’
‘Well, monsieur should have lunch. It would only be sensible, because we do not know what might happen later.’
‘You’re right, Conseil.’
‘Unfortun
ately’, said Ned, ‘we’ve only been given the normal menu on board.’
‘Dear Ned,’ said Conseil, ‘what would you have said had there been no food at all?’
This reasoning cut short the harpooner’s complaints.
We sat down. The meal was rather quiet. I did not eat much. Conseil ‘forced himself’ through prudence, and Ned Land did not waste a mouthful, whatever his feelings. Then, lunch finished, each of us rested in his corner.
Suddenly, the luminous globe went out, leaving the cell in total darkness. Ned Land soon went to sleep, and Conseil also allowed himself to fall into a heavy slumber, which astonished me. I was wondering what had caused his imperious need for sleep, when I felt my own brain being permeated by a thick torpor. My eyes, which I tried to keep open, kept closing despite my best efforts. I was prey to unhappy hallucinations. Sleeping tablets had clearly been added to the food we had eaten. Prison was not enough to hide Captain Nemo’s activities from us, he also needed to employ sleep!
I heard the hatches closing. The rocking of the sea, which caused a slight rolling movement, stopped. Had the Nautilus left the surface? Had it gone back down into the motionless depths?
I tried to resist drowsiness. It was impossible. My breathing grew weaker. I felt a mortal cold numbing my arms and legs, as heavy as if paralysed. My eyelids, like leaden skull-caps, fell over my eyes. I could not raise them again. An unhealthy sleep, full of nightmares, took hold of my entire being. Then the visions disappeared, and left me completely prostrate.
24
The Coral Kingdom
The following day I woke up with a remarkably clear head. To my great surprise I was in my room. My companions had undoubtedly also been put back in their cabin, without them realizing any more than myself. Their ignorance of what had happened during the night would equal mine, and I could only count on chances in the future to solve the mystery.
