by Jules Verne
As for the articulates, Conseil’s notes very accurately put them into six classes, of which three belong to the marine world. These are the crustaceans, cirripeds, and annelids.
The crustaceans are further divided into nine orders, of which the first includes the decapods — that is creatures with heads and thoraxes usually welded together, mouth mechanisms composed of several pairs of jaws, and four, five, or six pairs of thoracic and ambulatory limbs. Conseil had followed the method of our master Milne-Edwards, who divides the decapods into three sections: the Brachyura, the Macrura, and the Anomura. The names are somewhat barbaric, but accurate and useful. Amongst the Brachyura, Conseil cites the Amathia whose foreheads have two large divergent lumps, the scorpion Inachus crabs, which for some strange reason symbolized wisdom for the Greeks, amber massenes, amber spinimanes which had probably strayed into this reef since they normally live at great depths, Xanthidae, Pilumnus, rhombuses, granular Calappa — very easy to digest, according to Conseil — toothless Corystes, Ebalia, cymopolias, woolly dorippes, etc. Amongst the Macrura — subdivided into five families: the armour-plated, the fossorials, the Astacidae, the prawns, and the Ocypodidae — Conseil cites common crayfish, the flesh of the female being very highly valued, scyllarian bears or sea cicadas, riparian decapods, and all sorts of other edible species; but he does not mention the subdivision of the Astacidae containing the lobsters, for the crayfish are the only lobsters found in the Mediterranean. Finally amongst the Anomura, he saw some common drocinas sheltering in some of those abandoned shells they take over, Homolidae with spiny foreheads, hermit crabs, hairy porcelain crabs, and so on.
Here, however, the work of Conseil stopped. There had been no time to conclude the class of shellfish by examining the Stomapoda, the Amphipoda, the homopods, the isopods, the Trilobita, the Branchiopoda, the Ostracoda, and the Entomostraca. Also, to end the study of the marine articulates properly, he should have cited the class of cirropods which contains the cyclops, and the arguluses, as well as the class of annelids that he would automatically have divided into the tubicolous and the dorsibranchiates. But the Nautilus had got past the shallow bottom of the Sicilian Channel, and resumed its normal speed in the deeper waters. Hence no more molluscs, no more articulates, no more zoophytes. Just a few large fish passing like shadows.
During the night of 16 to 17 February we entered the second Mediterranean basin, whose greatest depths reach 3,000 metres. Under the thrust of its propeller and sliding down on its inclined planes, the Nautilus plunged to the furthest parts of that sea.
There, although lacking in natural wonders, the mass of waters offered my eyes many moving and terrible scenes. We were crossing that part of the Mediterranean which is so rich in wrecks. From the Algerian coast to the shores of Provence, how many ships have been wrecked, how many vessels lost! The Mediterranean is a mere lake compared to the vast liquid plains of the Pacific, but it is a capricious lake with changeable waves, today propitious and caressing for the frail tartan floating between the twin ultramarine of water and sky, tomorrow in a rage, tormented, dislocated by winds, beating the strongest ships with its short waves and so breaking them with hurried blows.
In this swift excursion through the lower strata, how many wrecks I spotted lying on the sea-floor, some already coated by coral, others covered only with a layer of rust; together with anchors, cannons, cannonballs, iron fittings, propeller blades, pieces of machinery, broken cylinders, stoved-in boilers; and finally in midwater, hulls floating suspended, some of them still upright and others upside down.
Some had perished in collisions, others by hitting a granite reef. I saw ships that had sunk straight down, with their masts erect and their sails stiffened by the water. They looked as if anchored in an enormous open roadstead, waiting for the moment to depart. When the Nautilus passed amongst them and enveloped them with its electric beams it seemed these ships were going to greet it with their colours and send their registration numbers! But no, nothing but silence and death on the field of such disasters!
I observed that the Mediterranean floor became more crowded with sinister wrecks as the Nautilus approached the Strait of Gibraltar. As the coasts of Africa and Europe drew closer, encounters in this narrow space were more frequent. I saw numerous iron carinas, fantastic ruins of steamers, some keeling over, others upright like fierce animals. One of the boats presented a terrifying sight, with its sides open, funnel bent, and only the frames of its paddlewheels remaining, its helm separated from the stern post but still attached by an iron chain, and the rear nameboard eaten away by marine salt! How many lives broken by these shipwrecks! How many victims carried down beneath the waves! Had some sailor on board survived to tell the tale of the terrifying disaster, or did the waves still keep the secret of the accident? I do not know why the thought came to me that this boat lying buried under the sea could be the Atlas, which had disappeared with all hands twenty years before,* never to be heard of again! Ah, what a sinister history could be written from the Mediterranean floor, that vast bone cemetery, where so many treasures have been lost, where so many men have found death! Meanwhile the Nautilus, fleet and indifferent, was moving through the ruins on full propeller. On 18 February, at about three in the morning, it arrived at the entrance to the Strait of Gibraltar.*
There are two currents here: an upper current, known for a long time, which brings the waters from the ocean into the Mediterranean basin; and a lower counter-current, whose existence has been demonstrated by hypothesis. The sum of the waters of the Mediterranean, constantly increased by the current from the Atlantic and the rivers flowing into it, should raise its level each year, for the rate of evaporation is insufficient to re-establish equilibrium. But nothing of the sort occurs, and so the existence has had to be posited of a lower current pouring the surplus through the Strait of Gibraltar into the Atlantic basin.
True indeed. It was this counter-current that the Nautilus was using to sail quickly through the narrow pass. For a moment I was able to glimpse the admirable ruins of the temple of Hercules, sunk, according to Pliny and Avienus,* together with the low island on which it stood, and then a few minutes later we were floating on the waves of the Atlantic.
8
Vigo Bay
The Atlantic! that vast area of water covering 25 million square miles, 9,000 miles long by 2,700 miles wide on average. An important sea, almost unknown to the ancients except perhaps to the Carthaginians, those Dutchmen of antiquity, who travelled down the west coast of Europe and Africa looking for trade. An ocean whose parallel winding shores form an immense circumference channelling the world’s largest rivers: the St Lawrence, the Mississippi, the Amazon, the Plata, the Orinoco, the Niger, the Senegal, the Elbe, the Loire, and the Rhine, bringing in waters from the most civilized countries and the most savage! A magnificent plain, continuously ploughed by ships of all nations, protected by the flags of the whole world, and terminating in those two terrible points so feared by sailors, Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope!
The Nautilus was slicing the waters with its ram, having covered nearly 10,000 leagues in three-and-a-half months, a distance longer than two lines of longitude. Where would we go next, and what lay in store for us?
Having left the Strait of Gibraltar, the Nautilus made for the open sea. As it had surfaced we could once again enjoy our daily promenade on the platform.
I immediately went up, accompanied by Ned Land and Conseil. Cape St Vincent, the south-western point of the Iberian Peninsula, appeared indistinctly 12 miles away. A southerly wind was blowing strongly. The sea was agitated and heaving, and was imparting a strong rolling motion to the Nautilus. It was almost impossible to stand up on the platform, continuously slammed by the huge sea. We went down again after drawing a few mouthfuls of air.
I returned to my room. Conseil went to his cabin; but the Canadian, looking rather preoccupied, came with me. Our swift journey through the Mediterranean had not allowed him to execute his plans and he did no
t hide his disappointment.
Once the door of my room was closed, he sat down and looked at me in silence.
‘Ned, my friend,’ I said to him, ‘I understand how you feel, but there is nothing you could have done. It would have been madness to leave from the Nautilus moving as it was.’
Land did not reply. His pursed lips and frowning brow showed the violent obsession of a fixed idea at work in him.
‘Look, we don’t need to give up yet. We’re moving up the coast of Portugal. Not far off are France and Britain where we could easily find refuge. Ah! if the Nautilus had sailed south after the Strait of Gibraltar, if it had carried us off into regions where there is no land, I would share your worries too. But we now know that Captain Nemo is not fleeing civilized seas, and I believe that in a few days you will be able to act with some degree of safety.’
Ned stared at me even more fixedly than before, and finally loosened his lips enough to say:
‘It’s for tonight.’
I stood up quickly. I admit I was not prepared for this. I would have liked to reply to the Canadian, but words failed me.
‘We agreed to wait for an opportunity,’ continued Ned Land. ‘We now have that opportunity: this evening, while we are a few miles off the Spanish coast. The night will be dark with the wind blowing from the open sea. I have your word, Dr Aronnax, and I am counting on you.’
As I still did not utter a word, the Canadian got up, came up to me, and said:
‘Tonight at nine o’clock. I have told Conseil. At that time Captain Nemo will be shut in his room, probably asleep. Neither the engineers nor the crewmen will be able to see us. Conseil and I will head for the central staircase. You, Dr Aronnax, will remain in the library a few feet from us, waiting for my signal. The oars, the mast, and the sail are in the dinghy. I’ve even managed to put in a few supplies. I’ve got hold of an adjustable spanner to undo the bolts holding the dinghy to the Nautilus’s hull. So everything’s ready. See you tonight.’
‘The sea is quite rough.’
‘Admittedly,’ replied the Canadian, ‘but we have to risk that. Freedom is worth paying for. In any case, it’s a tough boat so a few miles with a following wind will not be much of a problem. Who knows if by tomorrow the submarine won’t be 100 leagues out to sea? So let’s rely on luck, and by ten or eleven o’clock we’ll either be on dry land or dead. So in God we trust, and till tonight!’
The Canadian withdrew, leaving me dumbfounded. I had imagined that, given the right circumstances, I would have time to think and discuss the situation. My opinionated companion did not allow me this. But in any case what could I have said to him? Ned Land was 100 per cent right. It was a reasonable chance, and he was making the most of it. Could I now go back on my word and take responsibility for risking my companions’ futures for completely selfish reasons? Might Captain Nemo not carry us off tomorrow into the open seas far from any land?
At this point, a loud hissing sound told me that the tanks were being filled; and the Nautilus dived under the waves of the Atlantic.
I remained in my room. I wished to avoid the captain so that he could not see the emotion overwhelming me. So it was a sad day I spent, between my wish to regain freedom and my regret at saying goodbye to the marvellous Nautilus and leaving my underwater studies unfinished! To quit this ocean, ‘my Atlantic’ as I liked to call it, without observing her every stratum and without uncovering her secrets, as the Indian and Pacific oceans had been revealed to me! My novel was falling from my hand half-way through,* my dream was interrupted at the vital moment! What terrible hours I spent, now seeing myself safe on land with my companions, now wishing, despite my rational side, that some unforeseen circumstance would prevent Ned’s plans from unfolding.
Twice I went into the salon. I wanted to consult the compass. I wanted to see whether or not the Nautilus was really taking us towards the coast. The Nautilus was still in Portuguese waters. It was heading northwards following the coastline.
So I had to come to terms with my situation and get ready for an escape. My luggage was not heavy. My notes, nothing else.
As for Captain Nemo, I wondered what he would think of our escape, what anxiety, what anguish it might cause him, and what he would do if our plans got out or if we did not succeed! Doubtless I had no reason to complain. Indeed, never had hospitality been more open than his. But I could not be accused of ingratitude for leaving him. No oath tied us to him: he counted only on the force of circumstances, and not on our word, to bind us to his company for ever. Moreover, all our attempts were justified because of his freely admitted claim to keep us prisoner on board his ship in perpetuity.*
I hadn’t seen the captain since our visit to Santorini Island. Would chance make me meet him before our departure? I wanted and feared it at one and the same time. I listened out for him pacing in the room next to mine. No sound reached my ears. His bedroom was probably empty.
I wondered if this strange character was even still on board. Since that night when the dinghy had left the Nautilus on a mysterious errand, my ideas about him had changed a little. I believed that whatever Captain Nemo said, he must maintain relations of some sort with dry land. Did he ever leave the Nautilus? Entire weeks had often gone by without my seeing him at all. What did he do during this time? Whilst I had believed him to be in the grip of spells of misanthropy, could he not have been far away carrying out some secret mission of which I had no inkling?
All these ideas and a thousand others assailed me at the same time. Room for conjecture had to be infinite in the strange situation where we found ourselves. I felt an unbearable malaise. That day of waiting seemed to go on for ever. The hours chimed too slowly for my impatience.
Dinner was served in my room as usual. I ate badly as I was so preoccupied. I left the table at seven o’clock. A hundred and twenty minutes — I was counting them — still stretched out before I was to meet Land. My agitation grew twice as great. My pulse started throbbing violently. I was unable to stay in one place. I paced up and down, hoping to calm my troubled mind by moving around. The idea of perishing in our bold enterprise was the least of my worries; my heart beat much more wildly at the thought of our plan being discovered before we had left the Nautilus, of being taken to an angry Captain Nemo or, worse, one saddened by my abandonment.
I wished to see the salon one last time. I went along the gangway to that museum where I had spent so many agreeable and useful hours. I looked at all the riches, all the treasures, as if on the eve of an eternal exile, a departure without any hope of return. I was going to renounce for ever the wonders of nature and masterpieces of art amongst which I had been living for so long. I would have liked to examine the waters of the Atlantic through the windows of the salon; but the panels were tightly closed and a cloak of metal separated me from that still-unfamiliar ocean.
While working my way round the salon, I arrived at the door in the triangular section which opened on to the captain’s bedroom. To my great surprise, it was slightly ajar. I involuntarily stepped back. If Captain Nemo was in his room, he might see me. Hearing no sound, however, I went closer. The room was empty. I pushed the door. I stepped inside. The same severe atmosphere, monk-like.
My attention was caught by a few etchings on the walls that I had not noticed on my first visit. They were portraits of those great men of history whose lives were entirely devoted to a grandiose human idea: Kosciusko, the hero who fell with the cry Finis Poloniae, Botsaris, the Leonidas of modern Greece, O’Connell, the defender of Ireland, Washington, the founder of the American Union, Manin, the Italian patriot, Lincoln, who fell shot by a supporter of slavery, and finally John Brown,* that martyr to the freeing of the black race, hanging from his gallows, as so terribly depicted by Victor Hugo.
What link existed between these heroic souls and the soul of Captain Nemo? Could I finally solve the mystery of his existence from this collection of portraits? Was he a champion of downtrodden peoples, a liberator of enslaved races? Had he tak
en part in the recent political and social upheavals that had marked the century? Had he been one of the heroes of that terrible American Civil War, that frightful but for ever glorious battle . . .?
Suddenly the clock struck eight. The first blow of the hammer tore me from my dreams. I trembled as if an invisible eye had penetrated my innermost thoughts, and rushed out of the room.
There my eyes stopped at the compass. We were still heading north. The logline indicated a moderate speed, the pressure-gauge a depth of about 60 feet. Circumstances were favouring the Canadian’s plans.
I returned to my room. I dressed warmly in sea-boots, sea-otter cap, and byssus jacket lined with sealskin. I was ready. I waited. Only the shuddering vibrations of the propeller broke the deep silence reigning on board. I listened out, ears wide open. Would some ruckus suddenly tell me that Ned Land had been caught in his preparations for escape? A deadly fear took hold of me. I tried in vain to calm my nerves.
