Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Seas

by Jules Verne

  At a few minutes to nine, I put my ear against the captain’s door. No sound. I left my room and went back to the salon: it was deserted and plunged into semi-darkness.

  I opened the door communicating with the library. The same lack of light, the same solitude. I went and stood near the door opening on to the well of the central staircase. I waited for Ned’s signal.

  The vibrations of the propeller decreased noticeably, and then stopped altogether. Why the change in the Nautilus’s speed? Whether this halt helped or hindered Ned Land’s plans, I could not say.

  The silence was now broken only by the beating of my heart.

  Suddenly I felt a bump. I realized that the Nautilus had come to rest on the ocean floor. My nervousness grew much worse. There was still no sign of the Canadian’s signal. I wanted to go and find Land and urge him to put off his attempt. I was convinced there had been some change in the conditions of our navigation.

  At this point, the door of the main salon opened, and Captain Nemo appeared. He noticed me, and without further preamble:

  ‘Ah, monsieur,’ he said in a pleasant tone, ‘I was looking for you. Do you know your history of Spain?’

  Even if I had known the history of my own country off by heart, I would not have been able to quote a single detail of it under the circumstances, my mind troubled and my head empty.

  ‘Well?’ said Captain Nemo. ‘Did you hear my question? Do you know the history of Spain?’

  ‘Not at all well,’ I replied.

  ‘That’s scientists for you, they don’t know their history. Do sit down’, he added, ‘and I will relate a strange historical episode.’

  The captain stretched out on a sofa and, mechanically, I took a place in the shadows near him.

  ‘Monsieur,’ he said to me, ‘please listen carefully. This story will appeal to you as it answers a question that you have doubtless never been able to resolve.’

  ‘I am listening, captain,’ I said, not knowing quite where my interlocutor was heading, and wondering whether this incident had any connection with our ideas of escape.

  ‘If you will permit,’ said Captain Nemo, ‘we will go back to 1702. You surely know that at that period your king Louis XIV, believing that a mere gesture from a potentate could make the Pyrenees disappear into the ground, had imposed his grandson, the Duke of Anjou,* on the Spanish throne. This prince, who reigned more or less badly under the name of Philip V, had to deal with strong external opposition.

  ‘In fact, the previous year the royal houses of Holland, Austria, and England had signed a treaty of alliance at the Hague with the aim of removing the crown of Spain from Philip V and placing it on the head of an archduke, whom these countries prematurely called Charles III.

  ‘Spain was obliged to resist this coalition. But she had practically no soldiers or sailors. However, she had plenty of money provided that her galleons, loaded with gold and silver from America, could enter her ports. Now in late 1702, Spain was expecting a rich convoy that France was escorting with a fleet of twenty-three vessels commanded by Admiral de Château-Renaud,* for the navies of the coalition were patrolling the Atlantic together.

  ‘The convoy was to head for Cadiz, but the admiral learned that the English fleet was cruising nearby, and resolved to head for a French port instead.

  ‘The Spanish captains of the convoy protested at the decision. They wanted to be accompanied to a Spanish port, and if it could not be Cadiz, then it had to be Vigo Bay on the north-west coast of Spain, not blockaded at the time.

  ‘Admiral de Chateau-Renaud was weak enough to accept these demands, and the galleons entered Vigo Bay.

  ‘Unfortunately this bay formed an open roadstead which could not be defended. It was therefore necessary to unload the galleons quickly before the coalition fleet arrived: there would have been enough time for the disembarkation, if an unhappy question of rivalry had not suddenly arisen.

  ‘Can you see how the events fit together?’ Captain Nemo asked me.

  ‘Perfectly,’ I said, still not knowing the reason this history lesson was being given.

  ‘I’ll continue then. This is what happened. The merchants of Cadiz had the right to receive all merchandise coming from the New World. Unloading the gold bars from the galleons in Vigo port would have gone against their rights. They therefore complained to Madrid, and persuaded the weak Philip V that the convoy should remain sequestered in the roadstead of Vigo without unloading, until the enemy fleets had gone away again.

  ‘Now while this decision was being taken, the English vessels arrived in Vigo Bay,* on 22 October 1702. Although outnumbered, Admiral de Chateau-Renaud fought courageously. But when he saw that the convoy’s riches were going to fall into the enemy’s hands, he burned and scuppered the galleons and so sank them with their enormous treasure.’

  Captain Nemo had stopped. I admit that I still could not see how his story concerned me.

  ‘Well?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, Dr Aronnax, we are in Vigo Bay, and you are now in a position to penetrate its mysteries.’

  The captain got up and asked me to follow him. I had had time to recover and did as he requested. The salon was dark, but the water sparkled through the clear windows. I looked.

  Around the Nautilus, for a distance of half a mile, the waters appeared impregnated with electric light. The sandy bottom was clear and clean. Some of the crewmen in diving suits were busy salvaging half-rotten barrels and gaping trunks in the midst of still-blackened wrecks. From these trunks and barrels escaped gold and silver bars, as well as cascades of pieces-of-eight and jewellery. The sand was strewn with them. Then, laden with their precious booty, the men were coming back to the Nautilus, depositing their burdens, and going back to continue their inexhaustible harvest of gold and silver.

  I understood. This was the scene of the battle of 22 October 1702. The galleons loaded for the Spanish government had sunk at this very spot. Captain Nemo came here whenever he needed to load up with the millions with which he ballasted his Nautilus. It was for him, and him alone, that America had given up its precious metals. He was the direct and only inheritor of the treasures taken from the Incas and others defeated by Hernando Cortez!*

  ‘Did you know, monsieur,’ he asked, smiling, ‘that the sea contained so many riches?’

  ‘I knew that there are estimated to be 2 million tons of silver held in suspension in the water.’

  ‘Doubtless, but the cost of extracting them would be greater than the profit. Here, in contrast, all I have to do is pick up what others have lost, not only in Vigo Bay but also at a thousand other shipwrecks noted on my submarine charts. Do you understand now why I am a multimillionaire?’

  ‘Yes indeed, captain. Allow me, however, to tell you that in putting Vigo Bay to use, you are merely anticipating the work of a rival company.’*

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘A company which has received the right from the Spanish government to search for sunken galleons. The shareholders are attracted by a potentially enormous profit, for the value of these riches has been estimated to be five hundred million francs.’

  ‘Five hundred million!’ responded Captain Nemo. ‘There used to be, but not any more.’

  ‘So I gather. Accordingly, informing the shareholders would be a kind gesture. But who knows how the news would be received? What gamblers usually regret the most is losing not their money but their mad hopes. In the end, I pity them less than the thousands of wretches who could have benefited from so many riches if properly distributed, whilst now they will not be of any use to them at all!’

  No sooner had I formulated this regret, than I felt it must have hurt Captain Nemo.

  ‘Not be of any use!’ he replied animatedly. ‘What makes you believe, monsieur, that these riches must be considered wasted if I collect them? Do you think that it is for my own benefit that I take the trouble to gather such treasures? Who told you that I do not put them to good use? Do you think I am unaware there are suffering beings and
oppressed races on this planet, wretches to be helped and victims to be avenged? Don’t you understand . . .?’

  Captain Nemo stopped with these last words, perhaps regretting having said too much. But I had understood. Whatever the reasons that had made him seek independence under the seas, he had above all remained a human being! He still felt the sufferings of humanity, and his great generosity extended to subjugated peoples as well as individuals!

  I realized then for whom Captain Nemo’s millions were destined, when the Nautilus was sailing through the waters of rebellious Crete!

  9

  A Lost World

  The following morning, 19 February, the Canadian came into my room. I was expecting his visit. He looked very disappointed.

  ‘Well, monsieur?’ he said to me.

  ‘Well, Ned, luck was against us yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, that damned captain had to stop at the exact moment we were going to escape from his boat!’

  ‘Yes, Ned, he was dealing with his banker.’

  ‘His banker!’

  ‘Or rather his bank. By which I mean this ocean where his riches are safer than in the storerooms of a state.’

  I then recounted the incidents of the day before, in the secret hope of bringing Ned round to the idea of not leaving the captain; but the only effect of my tale was that Ned expressed strong regrets at being unable to visit the site of the Battle of Vigo Bay.

  ‘But in fact’, he said, ‘it’s not over yet. It’s just a harpoon-throw that went wide! We’ll win next time, even tonight if need be . . .’

  ‘In what direction is the Nautilus heading?’

  ‘No idea,’ Ned replied.

  ‘Well, at noon we will see the position being taken.’

  The Canadian went to rejoin Conseil. Once dressed, I made for the salon. The compass was not reassuring. The Nautilus was heading south-south-west. We were leaving Europe behind.

  I waited impatiently for our position to be marked on the map. At about half past eleven the tanks emptied and the vessel surfaced. I rushed on to the platform. Ned was already there.

  No land in sight. Nothing but the immense sea. Just a few sails on the horizon, doubtless some of those which seek favourable winds as far out as Cape Sao Roque to be able to round the Cape of Good Hope. The sky was overcast. A squall was coming on.

  In a rage, Ned tried to pierce the misty horizon. He still hoped that behind all the murk stretched the landfall he so eagerly sought.

  At noon the sun came out for a moment. The first officer profited from the bright spell to shoot the sun. Then, with the sea getting stormier, we went below again and the hatch was closed once more.

  An hour later I consulted the map and saw that the position of the Nautilus was indicated as 33° 22´ N, 16° 17´ W, that is 150 leagues from the nearest coast.* There was no way of even dreaming of an escape and I leave to the reader’s imagination how angry the Canadian was when I told him our situation.

  For my part, I was not too disappointed. It felt as though a weight bearing down on me had lifted, and I was able to resume my daily studies with relative calm.

  At about eleven in the evening I received a totally unexpected visit from Captain Nemo. With a great deal of grace, he asked me if I felt tired from staying up the night before. I replied in the negative.

  ‘Then, Dr Aronnax, may I suggest a strange excursion?’

  ‘Pray continue, captain.’

  ‘You have visited the submarine depths only in the daytime and in sunlight. Might it interest you to visit them on a dark night?’

  ‘Yes indeed.’

  ‘The excursion will be tiring, I warn you. We will need to march for a long time and climb a mountain. And the paths are not very well looked after.’

  ‘What you say only increases my curiosity. I am ready when you are.’

  ‘Please come, monsieur; we will put on our diving suits.’

  When I got to the changing-room, I saw that neither my companions nor any of the crewmen were going to accompany us. Captain Nemo had not even mentioned the possibility of taking Ned or Conseil.

  We had soon put on our equipment. On our backs were tanks filled with plenty of air, but the electric lamps had not been prepared. I mentioned this to the captain.

  ‘They would not be of any use to us,’ he replied.

  I thought I had misheard but could not repeat my question, for his head had already disappeared into its metallic container. I finished my preparations. I felt a reinforced stave being placed in my hand, and a few minutes later, after the usual procedure, we were walking on the floor of the Atlantic at a depth of 300 metres.

  It was nearly twelve. The waters were very dark, but Captain Nemo pointed out a distant reddish point like a protracted gleam, glowing about two miles from the Nautilus. What this fire was, what materials fed it, how and why it was maintained in the liquid element, I could not have said. In any case it lit our path, albeit dimly; I soon got used to the peculiar gloom, and understood why the Ruhmkorff device would not have helped in these conditions.

  Captain Nemo and I walked close together, heading directly for the light he had indicated. The smooth ground climbed imperceptibly. We were taking long strides, helping ourselves along with our sticks; but progress was slow, for our feet sank into the mud mixed with seaweed and dotted with flat stones.

  While walking, I heard a sort of sizzling sound above my head. The noise sometimes got much louder and became a continuous crackling. I soon understood the reason. It was rain, pattering violently down on the surface. Instinctively the thought came to me that I was going to get wet! Being rained on underwater: I couldn’t help laughing at the strange idea! But to tell the truth, in the thick clothing of the diving suit I no longer had any sensation of being underwater, merely of being in an atmosphere slightly denser than on land.

  After half an hour the ground became rocky. Jellyfish, microscopic crustaceans, and pennatulaceous creatures lit it up slightly with their phosphorescent gleams. I caught glimpses of piles of stones, sometimes covered by millions of zoophytes and thickets of seaweed. My feet often slid on the sticky carpet of kelp, and without my solid stave I would have fallen down more than once. Turning round, I could see the whitish searchlight of the Nautilus growing paler in the distance.

  The stone piles I have just mentioned were laid out on the ocean floor with a certain regularity that I could not explain. I noticed gigantic furrows vanishing into the distant darkness and could not begin to guess how long they were. Other peculiarities also appeared which I could not understand. It seemed to me that my lead soles were heavily crushing a bed of bones which cracked with dry sounds. What was this vast plain I was crossing? I would have liked to ask the captain, but I still could not understand the sign language he used to communicate with his companions while on their submarine excursions.

  Meanwhile the reddish glow which had been guiding us grew and soon inflamed the whole horizon. The existence underwater of this light intrigued me tremendously. Was I witnessing some outflow of electricity? Was I heading for some natural phenomenon that was still unknown to land scientists? Or even — for the thought did cross my mind — did man perhaps have a part in this blaze? Was some hand fanning the fire? Would I meet companions or friends of Captain Nemo in these deep strata, living as strange an existence as his, to whom he was paying a visit? Would I find a whole colony of exiles weary of the miseries of the earth, who had sought independence on the bottom of the ocean — and found it? All these crazy, impossible ideas haunted me. In this frame of mind, overstimulated by the new wonders from the bottom of the sea constantly passing before my eyes, I would not have been surprised to encounter one of those cities in the sea that Captain Nemo had dreamed of!

  Our path grew brighter and brighter. A whitening glow radiated from the summit of a mountain of about 800 feet. But it was only a secondary image produced in the prism of those strata of water. The source of this inexplicable light, the focus, was located on the far side of
the mountain.

  Captain Nemo moved forward without hesitation through the stony mazes furrowing the bed of the Atlantic. He knew this dark route. Doubtless he had often walked it, and could not get lost. I followed him with perfect confidence. He appeared to me as some ocean spirit. While he was walking in front, I admired his tall build silhouetted in black against the luminous backdrop of the horizon.

  It was now one in the morning. We had arrived at the first slopes of the mountain. But to start climbing them, we had to venture on to difficult paths leading through a huge thicket.

  Yes, a thicket of dead trees, without leaves and without sap, trees mineralized by the water, dominated here and there by gigantic pines. It was like a seam of coal still standing, holding on to the sunken soil with its roots. Its branches, like fine cut-outs of black paper, stood out clearly against the ceiling of the waters. The reader should imagine a Hartz forest clinging to the sides of the mountain, but a submerged forest. The paths were blocked by seaweed and wracks, amongst which teemed a whole world of crustaceans. I went on climbing the rocks, stepping over fallen trunks, breaking the sea creepers which swung from tree to tree, frightening away the fish which flew from branch to branch. Carried away, I no longer felt tired. I followed my guide, who maintained his pace.

  What a sight! How can I depict it! How can I paint the image of the woods and rocks in the liquid milieu, their dark and savage overhangs, their surfaces coloured by the red tones of this light increased by the refractive capacity of the water? We clambered over boulders which collapsed in great masses, avalanching with heavy groans. To the right and left gaped dark tunnels whose ends could not be made out. Huge clearings looked as though they had been made by man, and I wondered if some submarine inhabitant were not suddenly going to appear.

  But Captain Nemo kept on climbing. I did not want to lose touch and so boldly followed him.* My stick proved very useful. Stumbling would have been dangerous on these narrow paths cut into the sides of chasms; but I walked with a firm tread and without the intoxication of vertigo. Sometimes I jumped over a crevasse of a depth to make me recoil on land glaciers; sometimes I ventured on to wobbling tree-trunks thrown across one abyss after another, not looking under my feet, my eyes simply admiring the savage sights all round. Monumental rocks appeared, leaning on their irregularly cut bases, seeming to defy the laws of equilibrium. Between their stony knees, trees sprouted like jets under formidable pressure, and held up the same rocks that gave them root. Natural towers and broad rock faces, cut sheer like fortified walls, leaned at an angle that the laws of gravity would not have allowed on dry land.