by Jules Verne
‘Yes, my friend,’ I replied, ‘it was a torpedo that put you in this deplorable state.’
‘Ah, monsieur, believe me,’ replied Conseil, ‘I will take revenge on the animal!’
‘But how?’
‘By eating it.’
Which he did that very evening, but only out of vengeance, for to tell the truth it was very tough.
The unfortunate Conseil had been attacked by a torpedo of the most dangerous species, the cumana. In a conducting environment like water, this bizarre animal shocks fish at several metres’ distance, such is the power of its electric organ, whose two main surfaces cover as much as 27 square feet.
The following day, 12 April, the Nautilus approached the Dutch coast near the mouth of the Maroni. There several groups of manatees lived in families. These manatees, like the dugong and Steller’s sea cow, belong to the order of sirenians. Six or seven metres long, these fine animals, peaceful and inoffensive, must have weighed at least 4,000 kilograms.* I told Ned Land and Conseil that far-seeing nature had given such mammals an important role. Like the seals, they graze on the submarine prairies and thus destroy the accumulated grass which obstructs the mouths of tropical rivers.
‘And do you know’, I added, ‘what happened when men almost entirely destroyed such beneficial species? Decaying grass poisoned the air, and the contaminated air produced yellow fever which is destroying these admirable countries. Poisonous vegetation has proliferated in the warm seas, and the damage has spread irresistibly from the mouth of the Rio de la Plata to Florida!
‘And if Toussenel* is to be believed, this plague is nothing beside that which will strike our descendants when the seas are emptied of whales and seals. Crowded with squid, jellyfish, and calamar, they will become huge centres of infection because their waters will no longer have the vast stomachs that God mandated to scour the surface of the seas.’
However, although not disdaining these theories, the crew of the Nautilus took half-a-dozen manatees. The aim was to supply the ship’s kitchens with an excellent flesh, better than beef or veal. The hunting was not interesting. The manatees let themselves be struck without defending themselves. Several tons of meat were taken on board for drying.
That same day, a remarkably conducted exercise in these seas so full of game increased the reserves of the Nautilus still further. The trawl nets had brought in a certain number of fish whose heads ended in oval plates with fleshy edges. They were echeneids, of the third family of subbrachial malacopterygians. Their flattened disc is made of transversal mobile cartilaginous laminae, which the animal can use to produce a vacuum, allowing it to adhere to objects like a sucker.
The strata I had observed in the Mediterranean were also home to this species, but the ones here were Echeneis osteochir, particular to this sea. Each one that our sailors caught was placed in a pail of water.
The fishing over, the Nautilus approached the coast. A number of turtles were sleeping on the surface. It would have been difficult to catch the precious reptiles, for the slightest sound rouses them and their solid carapace resists harpoons. But the echeneids were to perform the capture with extraordinary sureness and precision. The creatures were to act as living bait, a method which would have delighted any angler.
The men of the Nautilus fixed rings to the tails of these fish that were wide enough not to get in the way of their movements, and the rings were attached to long cords, tied at the other end to the side.
The echeneids were thrown into the sea, and immediately did their job by sticking to the plastrons of the turtles. So tenacious were they that they would have been torn to pieces rather than let go. They were hauled on board, together with the turtles to which they adhered.
We thus took several loggerheads a metre wide and weighing 200 kilograms. Their carapaces were covered with great flat corneas which were thin, transparent, and brown with white and yellow dots; and this made them very precious. In addition they were excellent from the point of view of comestibility, just like exquisite-tasting green turtles.
This fishing terminated our sojourn on the shores around the Amazon, and after nightfall the Nautilus headed out for the open sea once more.
18
Squid
For several days the Nautilus kept well away from the American coast. It clearly did not wish to tarry in the Gulf of Mexico or the Caribbean. Nevertheless, its keel would have had plenty of water, for the average depth of these seas is 1,800 metres; but probably the waters dotted with islands and crisscrossed by steamers did not suit Captain Nemo.
On 16 April we sighted Martinique and Guadeloupe at a distance of about 30 miles. I caught a brief glimpse of their high peaks.
The Canadian was counting on implementing his plans in the Gulf, either by reaching a piece of land or by hailing one of the numerous boats which worked their way along the shores of the islands; and so he was very disappointed. Escape would have been practicable if Ned had managed to get hold of the boat without the captain knowing. But we could not even dream of doing so in mid-ocean.
Ned, Conseil, and I had quite a long conversation on the subject. We had been prisoners on board the Nautilus for six months. We had travelled 17,000 leagues and, as Ned pointed out, there was no reason to expect any change. He therefore made a suggestion I was not expecting: I should categorically ask Captain Nemo if he planned to keep us on board the vessel indefinitely.
Such a course of action did not appeal to me. In my view, it couldn’t possibly succeed. We couldn’t count on the captain of the Nautilus, only on ourselves, completely and exclusively. Also, for some time the captain had become more sombre, withdrawn, and anti-social. He seemed to be avoiding me, as I met him only at rare intervals. Formerly, he had enjoyed explaining the underwater wonders to me; but now he left me to my studies and no longer came into the salon.
What change had come over him? What was he reacting to? I had done nothing with which to reproach myself. Perhaps our very presence on board weighed on him? But in any case, he was certainly not the sort of person to give us back our freedom.
I therefore asked Ned to give me more time to think about the question. If his suggestion failed, it could wreck his plans by rekindling the captain’s suspicions, and make our situation very difficult. In addition, I had no arguments to offer concerning the state of our health. With the exception of the difficulties under the ice of the South Pole, Ned, Conseil, and I had never been in better health. The wholesome food, healthy atmosphere, regularity in our lives, and uniformity of temperature simply did not allow illnesses to gain a foothold. I could understand how a life like this would suit a man who had no regrets about leaving life on shore, a Captain Nemo who was at home here, who went where he wished, and who pursued goals that were mysterious to others and known only to himself; but as for the three of us, we had not been made to break with humanity. For my part, I did not wish my intriguing and original studies to be buried with me. I was now in a position to write the real book of the sea, and I wanted this book to appear sooner rather than later.
Through the open panel, ten metres below the surface of the West Indian waters, how many interesting specimens I could observe and record in my daily notes! Amongst other zoophytes, there were the Portuguese men-of-war known as Physalia pelagica, which are thick oval-shaped bladders with a pearly sheen, spreading their membranes out to be blown in the wind and letting their blue tentacles float like threads of silk, charming jellyfish to look at but authentic nettles to the touch for they secrete a corrosive liquid. Amongst the articulates there were 1½-metre-long annelids, with pink trunks and 1,700 propulsive organs, which snaked through the water, passing through all the colours of the rainbow as they swam by. In the branch of the fish there were enormous cartilaginous mobula rays, 10 feet long and 600 pounds in weight, with triangular pectoral fins, a slight swelling in the middle of the back, and fixed eyes on the edge of the front of the head; floating like wrecked ships, they sometimes adhered to our window like dark shutters. There were A
merican triggerfish for which nature had mixed only white and black paint, long, fleshy, feathered gobies with yellow fins and prominent jaws, and 1.6-metre scombroids of the species of albacores with short sharp teeth and a fine covering of scales. Then red mullets appeared in clouds, covered from head to tail in golden stripes and waving their glorious fins; they are true masterpieces of jewellery that were formerly offered to Diana,* particularly sought out by rich Romans and the subject of the proverb: ‘Those that catch them don’t eat them!’ Finally golden Pomacanthus passed before our eyes, decked out in emerald strips and clothed in velvet and silk, like lords out of Veronese’s paintings; sea bream from the Sparidae family fled using their swift thoracic fins; 15-inch clupeids produced an aura of phosphorescent gleams; grey mullets threshed the water with their large fleshy tails; red coregonids seemed to scythe the sea with their sharp pectoral fins; and silvery selenes justified their name by rising on the horizon of the waters with milky gleams like so many moons.
How many other amazing specimens I would have observed, if the Nautilus hadn’t gradually moved down towards the lower strata! Its inclined planes carried it to depths of 2,000 then 3,500 metres. The animal life now consisted only of crinoids, starfish, charming medusa-head pentacrinites whose straight stems supported small calyxes, top-shells, bloody dentalia, and fissurella, coastal molluscs of great size.
On 20 April we had come back up to an average depth of 1,500 metres. The closest land was the Bahamas, spread like cobblestones over the surface of the waters. High submarine cliffs rose, vertical walls of roughly hewn blocks resting on wide bases, with black holes opening up between them whose bottoms our electric rays could not penetrate.
The rocks were carpeted with huge grasses, giant laminarias, and enormous wracks: a true espalier of hydrophytes worthy of a world of Titans.
From this colossal flora, Conseil, Ned, and I naturally turned to listing the gigantic animals of the sea. The former were evidently destined to be the food of the latter. However, through the windows of the Nautilus, almost motionless, I could not yet see anything clinging to the long plant filaments except the principal articulates of the division of Brachyuras: decapods with long limbs, purple crabs, and Clio peculiar to the seas of the West Indies.
It was about eleven o’clock when Ned Land drew my attention to a formidable swarming moving through the large expanses of seaweed.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘these are real squids’ caves, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see a few monsters here!’
‘What?’ said Conseil. ‘Calamar, mere calamar of the class of cephalopods?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘giant squid. But my friend Land is undoubtedly mistaken, for I can’t see anything.’
‘What a shame,’ replied Conseil. ‘I long to come face to face with one of those squid I have heard about so often, which can drag ships down to the bottom of the sea. Those beasts are called Krak . . .’
‘Cracks . . .’ interjected the Canadian.
‘Krakens,’ continued Conseil, ignoring his companion’s joke.
‘I will never be able to believe’, said Land, ‘in the existence of such animals.’
‘Why ever not? We ended up believing in monsieur’s narwhal.’
‘We were wrong, Conseil.’
‘Undoubtedly, but others still believe in it.’
‘Probably, Conseil, but for my part I have resolved to admit the existence of such monsters only after I have dissected them with my own hand.’
‘So’, Conseil asked, ‘monsieur does not believe in giant squid?’
‘Hey, who the hell has ever believed in them?’ cried the Canadian.
‘Many people, Ned, my friend.’
‘Not fishermen. Scientists perhaps!’
‘With respect, Ned: fishermen and scientists.’
‘But as I stand here,’ said Conseil in the most serious tone, ‘I can perfectly remember seeing a large ship being dragged under the waves by the arms of a cephalopod.’
‘You have seen that?’ asked the Canadian.
‘Yes, Ned.’
‘With your own eyes?’
‘With my own eyes.’
‘Where, please?’
‘At Saint-Malo,’ Conseil replied imperturbably.
‘In the port?’ Ned asked sarcastically.
‘No, in a church.’
‘In a church!’
‘Yes, Ned, my friend. It was a painting of the said squid!’*
‘So!’ said Ned Land, bursting out laughing. ‘Mr Conseil has been leading me on!’
‘Actually, he is right,’ I said. ‘I have heard of the painting, but its subject is taken from legend, and you know what use legends are in natural history!* When people start talking about monsters, their imaginations can easily go off at a tangent. Not only has it been claimed that these squid can drag down ships, but a certain Olaus Magnus speaks of a mile-long cephalopod,* which seemed more like an island than an animal. It is also said that one day the Bishop of Nidaros erected an altar on an immense rock. Once his mass was over, the rock started moving and returned to the sea.* The rock was a squid.’
‘And that’s all?’ asked the Canadian.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘Another bishop, Pontoppidan of Bergen, speaks of a squid on which a whole regiment of cavalry could manoeuvre!’
‘They didn’t mess around, those bishops of olden days!’ Ned remarked.
‘Finally, the naturalists of antiquity cite monsters whose jaws resembled bays, and which were too big to get through the Strait of Gibraltar!’
‘You don’t say!’
‘But what truth is there in all those tales?’ asked Conseil.
‘None, my friends, at least none amongst the parts which go beyond the limits of plausibility and become fable or legend. However, if no foundation is needed for the imagination of storytellers, some sort of pretext is. It cannot be denied that there are very big squid and calamar, even if they are smaller than whales. Aristotle observed the dimensions of a squid five cubits long, that is 3.1 metres. Our fishermen frequently see specimens longer than 1.8 metres. The museums of Trieste and Montpellier contain skeletons of squid that are two metres long. What is more, the naturalists have calculated that an animal only six feet in length would have 27-foot tentacles, which is more than enough to make for a formidable monster.’
‘And are they still caught nowadays?’ asked the Canadian.
‘If they are not captured, at least sailors still see them. One of my friends, Captain Paul Bos of Le Havre,* has often told me that he encountered one such colossal monster in the Indian Ocean. And the most astonishing thing happened only a few years ago, in 1861, an event which no longer allows the existence of these gigantic animals to be denied.’
‘Go on,’ said Ned Land.
‘Thank you. In 1861, north-east of Tenerife, at the approximate latitude where we are now, the crew of the sloop Alecton sighted an enormous squid swimming in its wake. Captain Bouyer* closed on the animal and attacked it with harpoons and guns, but without great success, for bullets and harpoons passed through the soft flesh like unset jelly. After several attempts, the crew finally managed to put a slip knot round the mollusc’s body. The knot slid as far as the tail-fins and stopped there. They then tried to haul the monster on board, but it was so heavy that the rope pulled the tail off, and, deprived of this adornment, it disappeared under the water.’
‘Finally we have a fact.’
‘An indisputable fact, my good Ned. That was why it was proposed to call it “Bouyer’s squid”.’
‘And how long was it?’ he asked.
‘Did it not measure about six metres?’ said Conseil, standing at the window and examining the holes in the cliff.
‘Precisely,’ I replied.
‘Was its head not crowned with eight tentacles, which waved in the water like a nest of serpents?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Were its eyes not extremely prominent and large?’
‘Yes, Conseil.’
&n
bsp; ‘And was its mouth not a real parrot’s beak, a formidable one at that?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Well, if monsieur pleases,’ calmly replied Conseil, ‘if that isn’t Bouyer’s squid, then it must at least be one of its brethren.’
I gaped at him. Ned rushed to the window.
‘What a frightening beast!’ he exclaimed.
I looked in turn, and could not hide a movement of repulsion. Before my eyes flapped a horrible monster, worthy of appearing in any teratological legend.
It was a squid of colossal dimension, eight metres in length. It moved backwards at extreme velocity as it headed towards the Nautilus. It was staring with its enormous fixed eyes of a sea-green hue. Not only were its eight arms, or rather legs, implanted on its head, thus giving these animals the name of cephalopods, but were twice as big as its body and writhing like the Furies’ hair. We could distinctly see the 250 suckers in the form of hemispherical capsules on the insides of the tentacles. Sometimes these suckers were placed on the salon’s windows and stuck there. The monster’s mouth — a horny beak like a parrot’s — was opening and closing vertically. Its tongue emerged oscillating from this pair of shears, and was also made of a horny substance, itself equipped with several rows of sharp teeth. What a freak of nature: a bird’s beak on a mollusc! Its body, cylindrical but swollen in the middle, formed a fleshy mass that had to weigh 20 to 25 tons.* Its colour changed in quick succession according to the animal’s irritation, and went progressively from pale grey to reddish-brown.
What was the mollusc annoyed at? Undoubtedly the Nautilus, more formidable than itself, and on which its sucking arms and mandibles could not find a real grip. And yet what monsters these squid were, with what vitality the Creator had endowed them, and what vigour their movements had, since they possessed three hearts!
Chance had brought us to this squid, and I did not wish to waste the opportunity of closely studying such a specimen of the cephalopod. I overcame the horror its appearance caused me, picked up a pencil, and began to draw it.
