AT SUNRISE the next morning, February 12, the Nautilus rose to the surface of the waves.
I rushed onto the platform. The hazy silhouette of Pelusium was outlined three miles to the south. A torrent had carried us from one sea to the other. But although that tunnel was easy to descend, going back up must have been impossible.
Near seven o’clock Ned and Conseil joined me. Those two inseparable companions had slept serenely, utterly unaware of the Nautilus’s feat.
“Well, Mr. Naturalist,” the Canadian asked in a gently mocking tone, “and how about that Mediterranean?”
“We’re floating on its surface, Ned my friend.”
“What!” Conseil put in. “Last night . . . ?”
“Yes, last night, in a matter of minutes, we cleared that insuperable isthmus.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” the Canadian replied.
“And you’re in the wrong, Mr. Land,” I went on. “That flat coastline curving southward is the coast of Egypt.”
“Another one, sir,” answered the stubborn Canadian.
“But if master says so,” Conseil told him, “then so be it.”
“What’s more, Ned,” I said, “Captain Nemo himself did the honors in his tunnel, and I stood beside him in the pilothouse while he steered the Nautilus through that narrow passageway.”
“You hear, Ned?” Conseil said.
“And you, Ned, who have such good eyes,” I added, “you can spot the jetties of Port Said stretching out to sea.”
The Canadian looked carefully.
“Correct,” he said. “You’re right, professor, and your captain’s a superman. We’re in the Mediterranean. Fine. So now let’s have a chat about our little doings, if you please, but in such a way that nobody overhears.”
I could easily see what the Canadian was driving at. In any event, I thought it best to let him have his chat, and we all three went to sit next to the beacon, where we were less exposed to the damp spray from the billows.
“Now, Ned, we’re all ears,” I said. “What have you to tell us?”
“What I’ve got to tell you is very simple,” the Canadian replied. “We’re in Europe, and before Captain Nemo’s whims take us deep into the polar seas or back to Oceania, I say we should leave this Nautilus.”
I confess that such discussions with the Canadian always baffled me. I didn’t want to restrict my companions’ freedom in any way, and yet I had no desire to leave Captain Nemo. Thanks to him and his submersible, I was finishing my undersea research by the day, and I was rewriting my book on the great ocean depths in the midst of its very element. Would I ever again have such an opportunity to observe the ocean’s wonders? Absolutely not! So I couldn’t entertain this idea of leaving the Nautilus before completing our course of inquiry.
“Ned my friend,” I said, “answer me honestly. Are you bored with this ship? Are you sorry that fate has cast you into Captain Nemo’s hands?”
The Canadian paused for a short while before replying. Then, crossing his arms:
“Honestly,” he said, “I’m not sorry about this voyage under the seas. I’ll be glad to have done it, but in order to have done it, it has to finish. That’s my feeling.”
“It will finish, Ned.”
“Where and when?”
“Where? I don’t know. When? I can’t say. Or, rather, I suppose it will be over when these seas have nothing more to teach us. Everything that begins in this world must inevitably come to an end.”
“I think as master does,” Conseil replied, “and it’s extremely possible that after crossing every sea on the globe, Captain Nemo will bid the three of us a fond farewell.”
“Bid us a fond farewell?” the Canadian exclaimed. “You mean beat us to a fare-thee-well!”
“Let’s not exaggerate, Mr. Land,” I went on. “We have nothing to fear from the captain, but neither do I share Conseil’s views. We’re privy to the Nautilus’s secrets, and I don’t expect that its commander, just to set us free, will meekly stand by while we spread those secrets all over the world.”
“But in that case what do you expect?” the Canadian asked.
“That we’ll encounter advantageous conditions for escaping just as readily in six months as now.”
“Great Scott!” Ned Land put in. “And where, if you please, will we be in six months, Mr. Naturalist?”
“Perhaps here, perhaps in China. You know how quickly the Nautilus moves. It crosses oceans like swallows cross the air or express trains continents. It doesn’t fear heavily traveled seas. Who can say it won’t hug the coasts of France, England, or America, where an escape attempt could be carried out just as effectively as here.”
“Professor Aronnax,” the Canadian replied, “your arguments are rotten to the core. You talk way off in the future: ‘We’ll be here, we’ll be there!’ Me, I’m talking about right now: we are here, and we must take advantage of it!”
I was hard pressed by Ned Land’s common sense, and I felt myself losing ground. I no longer knew what arguments to put forward on my behalf.
“Sir,” Ned went on, “let’s suppose that by some impossibility, Captain Nemo offered your freedom to you this very day. Would you accept?”
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“And suppose he adds that this offer he’s making you today won’t ever be repeated, then would you accept?”
I did not reply.
“And what thinks our friend Conseil?” Ned Land asked.
“Your friend Conseil,” the fine lad replied serenely, “has nothing to say for himself. He’s a completely disinterested party on this question. Like his master, like his comrade Ned, he’s a bachelor. Neither wife, parents, nor children are waiting for him back home. He’s in master’s employ, he thinks like master, he speaks like master, and much to his regret, he can’t be counted on to form a majority. Only two persons face each other here: master on one side, Ned Land on the other. That said, your friend Conseil is listening, and he’s ready to keep score.”
I couldn’t help smiling as Conseil wiped himself out of existence. Deep down, the Canadian must have been overjoyed at not having to contend with him.
“Then, sir,” Ned Land said, “since Conseil is no more, we’ll have this discussion between just the two of us. I’ve talked, you’ve listened. What’s your reply?”
It was obvious that the matter had to be settled, and evasions were distasteful to me.
“Ned my friend,” I said, “here’s my reply. You have right on your side and my arguments can’t stand up to yours. It will never do to count on Captain Nemo’s benevolence. The most ordinary good sense would forbid him to set us free. On the other hand, good sense decrees that we take advantage of our first opportunity to leave the Nautilus.”
“Fine, Professor Aronnax, that’s wisely said.”
“But one proviso,” I said, “just one. The opportunity must be the real thing. Our first attempt to escape must succeed, because if it misfires, we won’t get a second chance, and Captain Nemo will never forgive us.”
“That’s also well put,” the Canadian replied. “But your proviso applies to any escape attempt, whether it happens in two years or two days. So this is still the question: if a promising opportunity comes up, we have to grab it.”
“Agreed. And now, Ned, will you tell me what you mean by a promising opportunity?”
“One that leads the Nautilus on a cloudy night within a short distance of some European coast.”
“And you’ll try to get away by swimming?”
“Yes, if we’re close enough to shore and the ship’s afloat on the surface. No, if we’re well out and the ship’s navigating under the waters.”
“And in that event?”
“In that event I’ll try to get hold of the skiff. I know how to handle it. We’ll stick ourselves inside, undo the bolts, and rise to the surface, without the helmsman in the bow seeing a thing.”
“Fine, Ned. Stay on the lookout for such an opportunity, but don’t forget, one slipup will finish us.”
“I won’t forget, sir.”
“And now, Ned, would you like to know my overall thinking on your plan?”
“Gladly, Professor Aronnax.”
“Well then, I think—and I don’t mean ‘I hope’—that your promising opportunity won’t ever arise.”
“Why not?”
“Because Captain Nemo recognizes that we haven’t given up all hope of recovering our freedom, and he’ll keep on his guard, above all in seas within sight of the coasts of Europe.”
“I’m of master’s opinion,” Conseil said.
“We’ll soon see,” Ned Land replied, shaking his head with a determined expression.
“And now, Ned Land,” I added, “let’s leave it at that. Not another word on any of this. The day you’re ready, alert us and we’re with you. I turn it all over to you.”
That’s how we ended this conversation, which later was to have such serious consequences. At first, I must say, events seemed to confirm my forecasts, much to the Canadian’s despair. Did Captain Nemo view us with distrust in these heavily traveled seas, or did he simply want to hide from the sight of those ships of every nation that plowed the Mediterranean? I have no idea, but usually he stayed in midwater and well out from any coast. Either the Nautilus surfaced only enough to let its pilothouse emerge, or it slipped away to the lower depths, although, between the Greek Islands and Asia Minor, we didn’t find bottom even at 2,000 meters down.
Accordingly, I became aware of the isle of Karpathos, one of the Sporades Islands, only when Captain Nemo placed his finger over a spot on the world map and quoted me this verse from Virgil:
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Est in Carpathio Neptuni gurgite vates |
It was indeed that bygone abode of Proteus, the old shepherd of King Neptune’s flocks: an island located between Rhodes and Crete, which Greeks now call Karpathos, Italians Scarpanto. Through the lounge window I could see only its granite bedrock.
The next day, February 14, I decided to spend a few hours studying the fish of this island group; but for whatever reason, the panels remained hermetically sealed. After determining the Nautilus’s heading, I noted that it was proceeding toward the ancient island of Crete, also called Candia. At the time I had shipped aboard the Abraham Lincoln, this whole island was in rebellion against its tyrannical rulers, the Ottoman Empire of Turkey. But since then I had absolutely no idea what happened to this revolution, and Captain Nemo, deprived of all contact with the shore, was hardly the man to keep me informed.
So I didn’t allude to this event when, that evening, I chanced to be alone with the captain in the lounge. Besides, he seemed silent and preoccupied. Then, contrary to custom, he ordered that both panels in the lounge be opened, and going from the one to the other, he carefully observed the watery mass. For what purpose? I hadn’t a guess, and for my part, I spent my time studying the fish that passed before my eyes.
Among others I noted that sand goby mentioned by Aristotle and commonly known by the name sea loach, which is encountered exclusively in the salty waters next to the Nile Delta. Near them some semiphosphorescent red porgy rolled by, a variety of gilthead that the Egyptians ranked among their sacred animals, lauding them in religious ceremonies when their arrival in the river’s waters announced the fertile flood season. I also noticed some wrasse known as the tapiro, three decimeters long, bony fish with transparent scales whose bluish gray color is mixed with red spots; they’re enthusiastic eaters of marine vegetables, which gives them an exquisite flavor; hence these tapiro were much in demand by the epicures of ancient Rome, and their entrails were dressed with brains of peacock, tongue of flamingo, and testes of moray to make that divine platter that so enraptured the Roman emperor Vitellius.
Another resident of these seas caught my attention and revived all my memories of antiquity. This was the remora, which travels attached to the bellies of sharks; as the ancients tell it, when these little fish cling to the undersides of a ship, they can bring it to a halt, and by so impeding
Mark Antony’s vessel during the Battle of Actium, one of them facilitated the victory of Augustus Caesar. From such slender threads hang the destinies of nations! I also observed some wonderful snappers belonging to the order Lutianida, sacred fish for the Greeks, who claimed they could drive off sea monsters from the waters they frequent; their Greek name anthias means “flower,” and they live up to it in the play of their colors and in those fleeting reflections that turn their dorsal fins into watered silk; their hues are confined to a gamut of reds, from the pallor of pink to the glow of ruby. I couldn’t take my eyes off these marine wonders, when I was suddenly jolted by an unexpected apparition.
In the midst of the waters, a man appeared, a diver carrying a little leather bag at his belt. It was no corpse lost in the waves. It was a living man, swimming vigorously, sometimes disappearing to breathe at the surface, then instantly diving again.
I turned to Captain Nemo, and in an agitated voice:
“A man! A castaway!” I exclaimed. “We must rescue him at all cost!”
The captain didn’t reply but went to lean against the window.
The man drew near, and gluing his face to the panel, he stared at us.
To my deep astonishment, Captain Nemo gave him a signal. The diver answered with his hand, immediately swam up to the surface of the sea, and didn’t reappear.
“Don’t be alarmed,” the captain told me. “That’s Nicolas from Cape Matapan, nicknamed ‘Il Pesce.’2 He’s well known throughout the Cyclades Islands. A bold diver! Water is his true element, and he lives in the sea more than on shore, going constantly from one island to another, even to Crete.”
“You know him, captain?”
“Why not, Professor Aronnax?”
This said, Captain Nemo went to a cabinet standing near the lounge’s left panel. Next to this cabinet I saw a chest bound with hoops of iron, its lid bearing a copper plaque that displayed the Nautilus’s monogram with its motto Mobilis in Mobili.
Just then, ignoring my presence, the captain opened this cabinet, a sort of safe that contained a large number of ingots.
They were gold ingots. And they represented an enormous sum of money. Where had this precious metal come from? How had the captain amassed this gold, and what was he about to do with it?
I didn’t pronounce a word. I gaped. Captain Nemo took out the ingots one by one and arranged them methodically inside the chest, filling it to the top. At which point I estimate that it held more than one thousand kilograms of gold, in other words, close to five million francs.
After securely fastening the chest, Captain Nemo wrote an address on its lid in characters that must have been modern Greek.
This done, the captain pressed a button whose wiring was in communication with the crew’s quarters. Four men appeared and, not without difficulty, pushed the chest out of the lounge. Then I heard them hoist it up the iron companionway by means of pulleys.
Just then Captain Nemo turned to me:
“You were saying, professor?” he asked me.
“I wasn’t saying a thing, captain.”
“Then, sir, with your permission, I’ll bid you good evening.”
And with that, Captain Nemo left the lounge.
I reentered my stateroom, very puzzled, as you can imagine. I tried in vain to fall asleep. I kept searching for a relationship between the appearance of the diver and that chest filled with gold. Soon, from certain rolling and pitching movements, I sensed that the Nautilus had left the lower strata and was back on the surface of the water.
Then I heard the sound of footsteps on the platform. I realized that the skiff was being detached and launched to sea. For an instant it bumped the Nautilus’s side, then all sounds ceased.
Two hours later, the same noises, the same comings and goings, were repeated. Hoisted on board, the longboat was readjusted into its socket, and the Nautilus plunged back beneath the waves.
So those millions had been delivered to their address. At what spot on the continent? Who was the recipient of Captain Nemo’s gold?
The next day I related the night’s events to Conseil and the Canadian, events that had aroused my curiosity to a fever pitch. My companions were as startled as I was.
“But where does he get those millions?” Ned Land asked.
To this no reply was possible. After breakfast I made my way to the lounge and went about my work. I wrote up my notes until five o’clock in the afternoon. Just then—was it due to some personal indisposition?—I felt extremely hot and had to take off my jacket made of fan mussel fabric. A perplexing circumstance because we weren’t in the low latitudes, and besides, once the Nautilus was submerged, it shouldn’t be subject to any rise in temperature. I looked at the pressure gauge. It marked a depth of sixty feet, a depth beyond the reach of atmospheric heat.
I kept on working, but the temperature rose to the point of becoming unbearable.
“Could there be a fire on board?” I wondered.
I was about to leave the lounge when Captain Nemo entered. He approached the thermometer, consulted it, and turned to me:
“42° centigrade,” he said.
“I’ve detected as much, captain,” I replied, “and if it gets even slightly hotter, we won’t be able to stand it.”
“Oh, professor, it won’t get any hotter unless we want it to!”
“You mean you can control this heat?”
“No, but I can back away from the fireplace producing it.”
“So it’s outside?”
“Surely. We’re cruising in a current of boiling water.”
“It can’t be!” I exclaimed.
“Look.”
The panels had opened, and I could see a completely white sea around the Nautilus. Steaming sulfurous fumes uncoiled in the midst of waves bubbling like water in a boiler. I leaned my hand against one of the windows, but the heat was so great, I had to snatch it back.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Near the island of Santorini, professor,” the captain answered me, “and right in the channel that separates the volcanic islets of Nea Kameni and Palea Kameni. I wanted to offer you the unusual sight of an underwater eruption.”
“I thought,” I said, “that the formation of such new islands had come to an end.”
“Nothing ever comes to an end in these volcanic waterways,” Captain Nemo replied, “and thanks to its underground fires, our globe is continuously under construction in these regions. According to the Latin historians Cassiodorus and Pliny, by the year 19 of the Christian era, a new island, the divine Thera, had already appeared in the very place these islets have more recently formed. Then Thera sank under the waves, only to rise and sink once more in the year 69 A.D. From that day to this, such plutonic construction work has been in abeyance. But on February 3, 1866, a new islet named George Island emerged in the midst of sulfurous steam near Nea Kameni and was fused to it on the 6th of the same month. Seven days later, on February 13, the islet of Aphroessa appeared, leaving a ten-meter channel between itself and Nea Kameni. I was in these seas when that phenomenon occurred and I was able to observe its every phase. The islet of Aphroessa was circular in shape, measuring 300 feet in diameter and thirty feet in height. It was made of black, glassy lava mixed with bits of feldspar. Finally, on March 10, a smaller islet called Reka appeared next to Nea Kameni, and since then, these three islets have fused to form one single, selfsame island.”
“What about this channel we’re in right now?” I asked.
“Here it is,” Captain Nemo replied, showing me a chart of the Greek Islands. “You observe that I’ve entered the new islets in their place.”
“But will this channel fill up one day?”
“Very likely, Professor Aronnax, because since 1866 eight little lava islets have surged up in front of the port of St. Nicolas on Palea Kameni. So it’s obvious that Nea and Palea will join in days to come. In the middle of the Pacific, tiny infusoria build continents, but here they’re built by volcanic phenomena. Look, sir! Look at the construction work going on under these waves.”
I returned to the window. The Nautilus was no longer moving. The heat had become unbearable. From the white it had recently been, the sea was turning red, a coloration caused by the presence of iron salts. Although the lounge was hermetically sealed, it was filling with an intolerable stink of sulfur, and I could see scarlet flames of such brightness, they overpowered our electric light.
I was swimming in perspiration, I was stifling, I was about to be cooked. Yes, I felt myself cooking in actual fact!
“We can’t stay any longer in this boiling water,” I told the captain.
“No, it wouldn’t be advisable,” replied Nemo the Emotionless.
He gave an order. The Nautilus tacked about and retreated from this furnace it couldn’t brave with impunity. A quarter of an hour later, we were breathing fresh air on the surface of the waves.
It then occurred to me that if Ned had chosen these waterways for our escape attempt, we wouldn’t have come out alive from this sea of fire.
The next day, February 16, we left this basin, which tallies depths of three thousand meters between Rhodes and Alexandria, and passing well out from Cerigo Island after doubling Cape Matapan, the Nautilus left the Greek Islands behind.
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1. “There in King Neptune’s domain by Karpathos, his spokesman / is azure-hued Proteus . . . “ Ed. [back] |