by Jules Verne
‘No, and for a very good reason.’
‘Namely?’
‘That the spot where Moses crossed with all his people is so full of sand nowadays that camels can hardly bathe their legs there. My Nautilus would clearly not have enough water for it.’
‘And this place . . .?’
‘It’s situated a little above Suez, in the arm of the sea that formed a deep estuary when the Red Sea stretched as far as the Bitter Lakes. Now whether their crossing was miraculous or not, the Jews did pass through that place on the way to the Promised Land, and the pharaoh’s army did perish on that exact spot. I deduce that excavations in its sands would uncover a great quantity of arms and tools of Egyptian origin.’
‘Yes indeed,’ I replied, ‘and for the archaeologists’ sake one must hope that such excavations will be carried out sooner or later, when new towns are built on this isthmus after the Suez Canal is opened. A canal which is totally useless for a ship like the Nautilus!’
‘Undoubtedly, but useful for the world at large. The ancients understood full well the importance to their commercial affairs of creating a link between the Red Sea and Mediterranean; still they did not dream of digging a direct canal, but used the Nile as an intermediary instead. The canal connecting the Nile to the Red Sea was very probably begun under Sesostris, if tradition is to be believed. What is certain is that in 615 bc, Necho* initiated work on a canal drawing water from the Nile and going across the plains of Egypt opposite Arabia. This canal took four days to navigate, and was wide enough for two triremes to pass abreast. It was continued by Darius, son of Hystaspes, and probably finished by Ptolemy II.* Strabo saw it being used by ships; but the lack of gradient between its starting-point near Bubastis and the Red Sea meant that it was only navigable a few months of the year. This canal served trade until the century of the Antonines; then it was abandoned, silted up with sand, but was later restored on the orders of Caliph Umar.* But in 761 or 762 it was filled in once and for all by Caliph al-Mansur to prevent food reaching Mohammed ben Abdallah, who had rebelled against him.* During his expedition to Egypt, your General Bonaparte* rediscovered the traces of these works in the desert of Suez; but he was caught out by the tide, and almost died a few hours before reaching Hazeroth, the very place where Moses had camped 3,300 years before.’*
‘Well, captain, what the ancients did not dare undertake, namely a link to connect two seas and reduce the distance from Cadiz to the Indies by 9,000 kilometres, M. de Lesseps* has done, and very shortly he will have made Africa into an enormous island.’
‘Yes, Dr Aronnax, and you can justifiably be proud of your compatriot. He does more honour to his nation than the greatest of sea-captains! Like so many others, he began with obstacles and disappointments, but has triumphed because he has the necessary will-power. And it is sad to think that his works, which should have been international, enough to render illustrious an entire reign, succeeded in the end only through the energy of a single man. So all honour to M. de Lesseps!’
‘Yes, all honour to this great citizen,’ I replied, astonished by the intensity with which Captain Nemo had spoken.
‘Unfortunately’, he continued, ‘I cannot take you through the Suez Canal, but you will be able to catch a glimpse of the long breakwaters of Port Said the day after tomorrow, when we are in the Mediterranean.’
‘In the Mediterranean!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes, monsieur. Are you surprised?’
‘What astonishes me is to think we will be there the day after tomorrow.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, captain, although I ought not to be amazed by anything since arriving on board your ship!’
‘But why the surprise?’
‘Because of the frightful speed you will have to sail the Nautilus at in order to reach the Mediterranean the day after tomorrow, having circled Africa and the Cape of Good Hope!’
‘But who says it is going to circle Africa, Dr Aronnax? Who said anything about rounding the Cape of Good Hope?’
‘Nevertheless, unless the Nautilus can cross the isthmus by sailing over dry land . . .’
‘Or under, Dr Aronnax.’
‘Under?’
‘Yes,’ Captain Nemo replied calmly. ‘A long time ago nature made beneath that stretch of land what men are making today on its surface.’
‘What, there is a passage!’
‘Yes, an underground passage that I have called the Arabian Tunnel. It begins under Suez and finishes in the Bay of Pelusium.’
‘But isn’t the isthmus formed of moving sand?’
‘Down to a certain depth. But at 50 metres there is only immovable bedrock.’
‘And did you discover this passage by chance?’ I asked, more and more surprised.
‘By luck and reasoning, but more reasoning than luck.’
‘I am listening, captain, but my ears won’t believe what they can hear.’
‘Ah, monsieur! Aures habent et non audient* is of every age. Not only does this passage exist, but I have been through it several times. Without it, I wouldn’t have ventured into this Red Sea cul-de-sac today.’
‘Would it be indiscreet to enquire how you discovered the tunnel?’
‘Monsieur,’ answered the captain, ‘there can be no secrets between people who are never to part.’
I did not react to the implication but waited for Captain Nemo’s story.
‘It was the simple reasoning of a naturalist that led me to discover the passage which I alone know about. I had noticed that in the Red Sea and the Mediterranean there are a number of fish of absolutely identical species: ophidians, fiatola, rainbow wrasses, perches, horse-mackerel, and flying fish. Given this fact, I wondered if there might not be some link between the two. If it did exist, the underground current had to go from the Red Sea to the Mediterranean because of the difference in the levels. So I caught a large number of fish near Suez, put copper rings on their tails, and threw them back in the water. A few months later, I caught a few of my specimens on the coast of Syria, still with their identification rings. That is how I demonstrated the link between the two seas. I looked for it with my Nautilus, found it, ventured in, and before long, monsieur, you too will have passed through my Arabian Tunnel!’
5
Arabian Tunnel
That same day, I told Conseil and Ned the part of the conversation which directly concerned them. When I informed them that within two days we would be in the waters of the Mediterranean, Conseil clapped his hands but the Canadian simply shrugged his shoulders.
‘An underwater tunnel,’ he cried, ‘a link between two seas! Who ever heard of such a thing?’
‘Ned, my friend,’ replied Conseil, ‘had you ever heard of the Nautilus? No. But it does exist. So do not shrug your shoulders so lightly, and do not reject things just because you have never heard of them.’
‘We shall see!’ retorted Land, shaking his head. ‘After all, I would be only too pleased to believe in the captain’s passage, and may God grant us that it does lead into the Mediterranean.’
That same evening, at 21° 30´ N, the Nautilus neared the Arabian coast, sailing on the surface. I spotted Jeddah, the trading post for Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and India. I could quite clearly make out groups of buildings, ships tied up alongside the quays, and other ships whose draught forced them to anchor in the roads. The sun was quite low on the horizon and struck the houses of the town full on, bringing out their whiteness. Further out, a few reed and wooden huts indicated the Bedouin quarter.
Soon Jeddah faded into the shades of evening, and the Nautilus dived back down through the slightly phosphorescent water.
The following day, 10 February, several ships appeared, sailing on the opposite tack from us. The Nautilus resumed its submarine navigation; but at noon the sea was deserted when we took our bearings, so it remained on its flotation line.
Accompanied by Ned and Conseil, I went to sit on the platform. The coast to the east was a bare outcrop totally blurred by the misty
haze.
Leaning on the side of the dinghy, we were chatting about one thing and another, when Ned Land pointed out to sea, and said:
‘Can you see something there, Dr Aronnax?’
‘No, Ned, but I haven’t got your eyes, you know.’
‘Look carefully,’ said Ned, ‘there, off the starboard bow, at about the same height as the searchlight. Can you see something moving?’
‘Yes,’ I said after careful observation. ‘I can make out something like a long black fish’s body on the surface.’
‘Another Nautilus?’ said Conseil.
‘No,’ answered the Canadian; ‘unless I am gravely mistaken, it’s some sort of marine animal.’
‘Are there whales in the Red Sea?’ asked Conseil.
‘Yes, my good man,’ I replied, ‘they are sometimes encountered.’
‘It isn’t a whale,’ said Ned, not taking his eyes off the object. ‘Whales and I are old friends, and I wouldn’t make a mistake about the way they move.’
‘Let’s wait,’ said Conseil. ‘The Nautilus is heading in that direction, and it won’t be long before we know what we’re up against.’
The blackish object was soon only a mile away. It resembled a large reef stranded in the open sea. What was it? I was still unable to say for sure.
‘Ah! It’s moving! It’s diving!’ cried Ned Land. ‘Good Heavens! What can it be? It hasn’t got a forked tail like a baleen or sperm whale and its fins look like foreshortened limbs.’
‘But then . . .’ I said.
‘Hey,’ said the Canadian, ‘it’s on its back now, raising its breasts in the air!’
‘It’s a mermaid!’ exclaimed Conseil. ‘An authentic mermaid, with all due respect to monsieur.’
Conseil’s term put me on the right track, and I realized that the animal belonged to the order of marine creatures which legend has made into mermaids, half women, half fish.
‘No,’ I said to him, ‘it is not a mermaid, but a strange creature which has almost disappeared from the Red Sea. It is a dugong.’*
‘Order of sirenians, group of pisciforms, sub-class monodelphians, class of mammals, branch of vertebrates,’ replied Conseil.
And when Conseil had spoken, nothing more could be said.
Ned Land was still staring. His eyes burned with cupidity at the sight of the animal. His hand seemed ready for the harpoon. He looked as though he was just waiting for the moment to throw himself into the sea and attack the animal in its element.
‘Oh, monsieur!’ he said in a voice trembling with emotion. ‘I have never killed one of those.’
The whole harpooner was encapsulated in that one word.
Just then, Captain Nemo appeared on the platform and noticed the dugong. He understood the feelings of the Canadian, and addressing him directly:
‘If you were holding a harpoon, Master Land, wouldn’t you be itching to use it?’
‘Quite right, sir.’
‘And wouldn’t you like to follow your trade of fisherman for a day, and add this cetacean to your tally?’
‘Very much.’
‘Well, you can try!’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Ned replied, his eyes blazing.
‘Just one thing,’ added the captain, ‘I warn you not to miss the animal, for your own sake.’
‘Is it dangerous to attack the dugong?’ I asked, in spite of the Canadian’s shrug.
‘Yes, sometimes. The animal comes back on its attackers and capsizes their boat. But with Master Land, there should be no fear. His eye is quick, his arm is sure. I am only saying he shouldn’t miss the dugong because it is considered fine game, and I know that Master Land appreciates the finest cuts.’
‘Oh,’ said the Canadian, ‘so that animal takes pleasure in providing fine fare as well, does it?’
‘Yes, Master Land, its flesh is real meat. It is held in very high esteem, reserved for the tables of princes throughout Malaysia. This excellent animal is so fiercely hunted that, just like its congener, the manatee, it is becoming rarer and rarer.’
‘And so, captain,’ Conseil said seriously, ‘if by chance this were the last of its race, would it not be better to spare it — in the interests of science?’
‘Perhaps,’ responded the Canadian; ‘but in the interests of the table, it is better to hunt it.’
‘So go ahead, Master Land,’ replied Captain Nemo.
Just then seven crewmen, as silent and impassive as always, climbed up to the platform. One was carrying a harpoon and line like those used by whalers. The boat’s cover was removed, and it was taken from its recess and launched. Six oarsmen took their places on the seats as the coxswain held the tiller. Ned, Conseil, and I sat at the back.
‘Aren’t you coming, captain?’ I asked.
‘No, monsieur, but I wish you good hunting.’
The boat shoved off and, carried on by its six oars, headed quickly towards the dugong, floating at a distance of two miles.
Once we were a few cables from the cetacean, the oars were slowed, silently entering the quiet waters. Ned Land, harpoon in hand, went and stood at the front of the boat. The whaling harpoon is normally attached to a very long rope which unwinds quickly when the wounded animal drags it off. But here the rope was only about ten fathoms long, and its end was fastened to a small keg which would float to indicate the underwater position of the dugong.
I had got up and could distinctly see the Canadian’s adversary. The dugong, also called the halicore, closely resembled a manatee. Its long, broad body ended in a greatly elongated caudal fin, and its side-fins in genuine fingers. The difference with the manatee was that its upper jaw was armed with two long, pointed teeth, which formed splayed tusks.*
The dugong Ned Land was getting ready to attack was of colossal dimension, more than seven metres in length. It was not moving and seemed to be sleeping on the surface, making it easier to capture.
The boat carefully approached to within three fathoms of the animal. The oars remained suspended in their rowlocks. I half got up. Ned, his body leaning back a little, was brandishing his harpoon with an experienced hand.
Suddenly, there came a hissing sound and the dugong disappeared. The harpoon, thrown with some strength, had undoubtedly struck only water.
‘Hell!’ exclaimed the furious Canadian. ‘I missed!’
‘No,’ I said, ‘the animal is wounded — look at the blood — but your weapon did not lodge in its body.’
‘My harpoon, my harpoon!’ cried Ned Land.
The sailors started rowing again, as the coxswain steered the boat towards the floating keg. Once the harpoon had been fished out of the water, the boat started pursuing the animal again.
The dugong came back up to the surface to breathe from time to time. Its wound had not unduly weakened it, for it was proceeding at great speed. The boat, rowed by strong arms, was flying along. Several times we got to within a few fathoms, but just as the Canadian got ready to strike, the dugong would suddenly dive, and so escape.
One can imagine the anger filling the impatient Ned Land. He hurled the most vivid swear words in the English language at the unfortunate creature. For my part, I went no further than annoyance at seeing the dugong foil all our tricks.
We had pursued it without stopping for an hour, and I was beginning to believe that it would prove very difficult to catch, when the animal had the unfortunate idea of revenge, which it was to regret. It came back at the boat to attack in its turn.
This trick was not lost on the Canadian.
‘Careful!’ he said.
The coxswain said a few words in his strange language, undoubtedly warning his men to stay on their guard.
The dugong, now only 20 feet from the boat, stopped and brusquely sniffed the air with its huge nostrils, not at the end but on the top of its snout. Then, gathering momentum, it threw itself at us.
The boat could not avoid the collision; half capsized, it took on board one or two tons of water that needed to be bailed; but
thanks to the coxswain’s skill, it was hit at an angle rather than side on, and so did not turn over. Ned held tightly on to the prow and stabbed his harpoon at the gigantic animal; with its teeth enmeshed in the gunwales, it lifted the boat out of the water like a lion seizing a deer. We were thrown on top of one another, and I really do not know how the adventure would have finished, if the Canadian had not continued relentlessly attacking the animal, finally striking it to the heart.
I heard the grinding of teeth on metal as the dugong vanished, taking the harpoon with it. But soon the keg came back up, and moments later the body of the animal appeared, lying on its back. The boat went alongside, and started towing the dugong back to the Nautilus.
Heavy lifting gear was needed to hoist the dugong on to the platform. It weighed 5,000 kilograms. The animal was cut up before the Canadian’s eyes, who considered it essential to follow every detail of the operation. That same day, the steward served me a few slices of the flesh for dinner, skilfully prepared by the ship’s cook. I found it excellent, superior even to veal, if not to beef.
The next day, 11 February, the Nautilus’s pantry was further enhanced with delicate game. A flock of sea-swallows settled down on the Nautilus. They were of a species of Sterna nilotica peculiar to Egypt, with black beaks, grey speckled heads, eyes surrounded with white dots, greyish backs, wings, and tails, white stomachs and throats, and red feet. We also caught a few dozen Nile ducks, wild birds with a gamey taste, whose necks and crowns are white flecked with black.
The Nautilus’s speed was moderate. It ambled along, so to speak. I noticed that the water of the Red Sea was becoming less and less salty as we approached Suez.
At about five in the evening, we sighted the cape of Ras Muhammad to the north. It is this cape which forms the tip of Arabia Petraea, between the Gulf of Suez and the Gulf of Aqaba.
The Nautilus entered the Strait of Jubal, which leads to the Gulf of Suez. I distinctly noticed a high mountain, above Ras Muhammad and between the two gulfs. This was Mount Horeb, the Sinai on whose summit Moses saw God face to face,* and which one imagines constantly crowned with lightning.
