sunk all his own fortune, set a new subscription on foot, which was at
once answered, and another cable was constructed on better principles. The
bundles of conducting wires were each enveloped in gutta-percha, and
protected by a wadding of hemp, contained in a metallic covering. The
Great Eastern sailed on the 13th of July, 1866. The operation worked well.
But one incident occurred. Several times in unrolling the cable they
observed that nails had recently been forced into it, evidently with the
motive of destroying it. Captain Anderson, the officers, and engineers
consulted together, and had it posted up that, if the offender was
surprised on board, he would be thrown without further trial into the sea.
From that time the criminal attempt was never repeated.
On the 23rd of July the Great Eastern was not more than 500 miles from
Newfoundland, when they telegraphed from Ireland the news of the armistice
concluded between Prussia and Austria after Sadowa. On the 27th, in the
midst of heavy fogs, they reached the port of Heart's Content. The
enterprise was successfully terminated; and for its first despatch, young
America addressed old Europe in these words of wisdom, so rarely
understood: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill
towards men."
I did not expect to find the electric cable in its primitive state,
such as it was on leaving the manufactory. The long serpent, covered with
the remains of shells, bristling with foraminiferae, was encrusted with a
strong coating which served as a protection against all boring molluscs.
It lay quietly sheltered from the motions of the sea, and under a
favourable pressure for the transmission of the electric spark which
passes from Europe to America in .32 of a second. Doubtless this cable
will last for a great length of time, for they find that the gutta-percha
covering is improved by the sea-water. Besides, on this level, so well
chosen, the cable is never so deeply submerged as to cause it to break.
The Nautilus followed it to the lowest depth, which was more than 2,212
fathoms, and there it lay without any anchorage; and then we reached the
spot where the accident had taken place in 1863. The bottom of the ocean
then formed a valley about 100 miles broad, in which Mont Blanc might have
been placed without its summit appearing above the waves. This valley is
closed at the east by a perpendicular wall more than 2,000 yards high. We
arrived there on the 28th of May, and the Nautilus was then not more than
120 miles from Ireland.
Was Captain Nemo going to land on the British Isles? No. To my great
surprise he made for the south, once more coming back towards European
seas. In rounding the Emerald Isle, for one instant I caught sight of Cape
Clear, and the light which guides the thousands of vessels leaving Glasgow
or Liverpool. An important question then arose in my mind. Did the
Nautilus dare entangle itself in the Manche? Ned Land, who had re-appeared
since we had been nearing land, did not cease to question me. How could I
answer? Captain Nemo reminded invisible. After having shown the Canadian a
glimpse of American shores, was he going to show me the coast of France?
But the Nautilus was still going southward. On the 30th of May, it
passed in sight of Land's End, between the extreme point of England and
the Scilly Isles, which were left to starboard. If we wished to enter the
Manche, he must go straight to the east. He did not do so.
During the whole of the 31st of May, the Nautilus described a series of
circles on the water, which greatly interested me. It seemed to be seeking
a spot it had some trouble in finding. At noon, Captain Nemo himself came
to work the ship's log. He spoke no word to me, but seemed gloomier than
ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his proxim ity to European
shores? Had he some recollections of his abandoned country? If not, what
did he feel? Remorse or regret? For a long while this thought haunted my
mind, and I had a kind of presentiment that before long chance would
betray the captain's secrets.
The next day, the 1st of June, the Nautilus continued the same process.
It was evidently seeking some particular spot in the ocean. Captain Nemo
took the sun's altitude as he had done the day before. The sea was
beautiful, the sky clear. About eight miles to the east, a large steam
vessel could be discerned on the horizon. No flag fluttered from its mast,
and I could not discover its nationality. Some minutes before the sun
passed the meridian, Captain Nemo took his sextant, and watched with great
attention. The perfect rest of the water greatly helped the operation. The
Nautilus was motionless; it neither rolled nor pitched.
I was on the platform when the altitude was taken, and the Captain
pronounced these words: "It is here."
He turned and went below. Had he seen the vessel which was changing its
course and seemed to be nearing us? I could not tell. I returned to the
saloon. The panels closed, I heard the hissing of the water in the
reservoirs. The Nautilus began to sink, following a vertical line, for its
screw communicated no motion to it. Some minutes later it stopped at a
depth of more than 420 fathoms, resting on the ground. The luminous
ceiling was darkened, then the panels were opened, and through the glass I
saw the sea brilliantly illuminated by the rays of our lantern for at
least half a mile round us.
I looked to the port side, and saw nothing but an immensity of quiet
waters. But to starboard, on the bottom appeared a large protuberance,
which at once attracted my attention. One would have thought it a ruin
buried under a coating of white shells, much resembling a covering of
snow. Upon examining the mass attentively, I could recognise the
ever-thickening form of a vessel bare of its masts, which must have sunk.
It certainly belonged to past times. This wreck, to be thus encrusted with
the lime of the water, must already be able to count many years passed at
the bottom of the ocean.
What was this vessel? Why did the Nautilus visit its tomb? Could it
have been aught but a shipwreck which had drawn it under the water? I knew
not what to think, when near me in a slow voice I heard Captain Nemo say:
"At one time this ship was called the Marseillais. It carried
seventy-four guns, and was launched in 1762. In 1778, the 13th of August,
commanded by La Poype-Ver trieux, it fought boldly against the Preston. In
1779, on the 4th of July, it was at the taking of Grenada, with the
squadron of Admiral Estaing. In 1781, on the 5th of September, it took
part in the battle of Comte de Grasse, in Chesapeake Bay. In 1794, the
French Republic changed its name. On the 16th of April, in the same year,
it joined the squadron of Villaret Joyeuse, at Brest, being entrusted with
the escort of a cargo of corn coming from America, under the command of
Admiral Van Stebel. On the 11th and 12th Prairal of the second year, this
squadron fell in with an English vessel. Sir, to-day is the 13th Prairal,
the first of June, 1868. It is now seventy-four years ago, day for day on
this very spot, in latitude 47O 24', longitude 17O 28', that this vessel,
after fighting heroically, losing its three masts, with the water in its
hold, and the third of its crew disabled, preferred sinking with its 356
sailors to surrendering; and, nailing its colours to the poop, disappeared
under the waves to the cry of `Long live the Republic!'"
"The Avenger!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir, the Avenger! A good name!" muttered Captain Nemo, crossing
his arms.


    Chapter XXI. A HECATOMB



The way of describing this unlooked-for scene, the history of the
patriot ship, told at first so coldly, and the emotion with which this
strange man pronounced the last words, the name of the Avenger, the
significance of which could not escape me, all impressed itself deeply on
my mind. My eyes did not leave the Captain, who, with his hand stretched
out to sea, was watching with a glowing eye the glorious wreck. Perhaps I
was never to know who he was, from whence he came, or where he was going
to, but I saw the man move, and apart from the savant. It was no common
misanthropy which had shut Captain Nemo and his companions within the
Nautilus, but a hatred, either monstrous or sublime, which time could
never weaken. Did this hatred still seek for vengeance? The future would
soon teach me that. But the Nautilus was rising slowly to the surface of
the sea, and the form of the Avenger disappeared by degrees from my sight.
Soon a slight rolling told me that we were in the open air. At that moment
a dull boom was heard. I looked at the Captain. He did not move.
"Captain?" said I.
He did not answer. I left him and mounted the platform. Conseil and the
Canadian were already there.
"Where did that sound come from?" I asked.
"It was a gunshot," replied Ned Land.
I looked in the direction of the vessel I had already seen. It was
nearing the Nautilus, and we could see that it was putting on steam. It
was within six miles of us.
"What is that ship, Ned?"
"By its rigging, and the height of its lower masts," said the Canadian,
"I bet she is a ship-of-war. May it reach us; and, if necessary, sink this
cursed Nautilus."
"Friend Ned," replied Conseil, "what harm can it do to the Nautilus?
Can it attack it beneath the waves? Can its cannonade us at the bottom of
the sea?"
"Tell me, Ned," said I, "can you recognise what country she belongs to?"
The Canadian knitted his eyebrows, dropped his eyelids, and screwed up
the corners of his eyes, and for a few moments fixed a piercing look upon
the vessel.
"No, sir," he replied; "I cannot tell what nation she belongs to, for
she shows no colours. But I can declare she is a man-of-war, for a long
pennant flutters from her main mast."
For a quarter of an hour we watched the ship which was steaming towards
us. I could not, however, believe that she could see the Nautilus from
that distance; and still less that she could know what this submarine
engine was. Soon the Canadian informed me that she was a large, armoured,
two-decker ram. A thick black smoke was pouring from her two funnels. Her
closely-furled sails were stopped to her yards. She hoisted no flag at her
mizzen-peak. The distance prevented us from distinguishing the colours of
her pennant, which floated like a thin ribbon. She advanced rapidly. If
Captain Nemo allowed her to approach, there was a chance of salvation for
us.
"Sir," said Ned Land, "if that vessel passes within a mile of us I
shall throw myself into the sea, and I should advise you to do the same."
I did not reply to the Canadian's suggestion, but continued watching
the ship. Whether English, French, American, or Russian, she would be sure
to take us in if we could only reach her. Presently a white smoke burst
from the fore part of the vessel; some seconds after, the water, agitated
by the fall of a heavy body, splashed the stern of the Nautilus, and
shortly afterwards a loud explosion struck my ear.
"What! they are firing at us!" I exclaimed.
"So please you, sir," said Ned, "they have recognised the unicorn, and
they are firing at us."
"But," I exclaimed, "surely they can see that there are men in the
case?"
"It is, perhaps, because of that," replied Ned Land, looking at me.
A whole flood of light burst upon my mind. Doubtless they knew now how
to believe the stories of the pretended monster. No doubt, on board the
Abraham Lincoln, when the Canadian struck it with the harpoon, Commander
Farragut had recognised in the supposed narwhal a submarine vessel, more
dangerous than a supernatural cetacean. Yes, it must have been so; and on
every sea they were now seeking this engine of destruction. Terrible
indeed! if, as we supposed, Captain Nemo employed the Nautilus in works of
vengeance. On the night when we were imprisoned in that cell, in the midst
of the Indian Ocean, had he not attacked some vessel? The man buried in
the coral cemetery, had he not been a victim to the shock caused by the
Nautilus? Yes, I repeat it, it must be so. One part of the mysterious
existence of Captain Nemo had been unveiled; and, if his identity had not
been recognised, at least, the nations united against him were no longer
hunting a chimerical creature, but a man who had vowed a deadly hatred
against them. All the formidable past rose before me. Instead of meeting
friends on board the approaching ship, we could only expect pitiless
enemies. But the shot rattled about us. Some of them struck the sea and
ricochetted, losing themselves in the distance. But none touched the
Nautilus. The vessel was not more than three miles from us. In spite of
the serious cannonade, Captain Nemo did not appear on the platform; but,
if one of the conical projectiles had struck the shell of the Nautilus, it
would have been fatal. The Canadian then said, "Sir, we must do all we can
to get out of this dilemma. Let us signal them. They will then, perhaps,
understand that we are honest folks."
Ned Land took his handkerchief to wave in the air; but he had scarcely
displayed it, when he was struck down by an iron hand, and fell, in spite
of his great strength, upon the deck.
"Fool!" exclaimed the Captain, "do you wish to be pierced by the spur
of the Nautilus before it is hurled at this vessel?"
Captain Nemo was terrible to hear; he was still more terrible to see.
His face was deadly pale, with a spasm at his heart. For an instant it
must have ceased to beat. His pupils were fearfully contracted. He did not
speak, he roared, as, with his body thrown forward, he wrung the
Canadian's shoulders. Then, leaving him, and turning to the ship of war,
whose shot was still raining around him, he exclaimed, with a powerful
voice, "Ah, ship of an accursed nation, you know who I am! I do not want
your colours to know you by! Look! and I will show you mine!"
And on the fore part of the platform Captain Nemo unfurled a black
flag, similar to the one he had placed at the South Pole. At that moment a
shot struck the shell of the Nautilus obliquely, without piercing it; and,
rebounding near the Captain, was lost in the sea. He shrugged his
shoulders; and, addressing me, said shortly, "Go down, you and your
companions, go down!"
"Sir," I cried, "are you going to attack this vessel?"
"Sir, I am going to sink it."
"You will not do that?"
"I shall do it," he replied coldly. "And I advise you not to judge me,
sir. Fate has shown you what you ought not to have seen. The attack has
begun; go down."
"What is this vessel?"
"You do not know? Very well! so much the better! Its nationality to
you, at least, will be a secret. Go down!"
We could but obey. About fifteen of the sailors surrounded the Captain,
looking with implacable hatred at the vessel nearing them. One could feel
that the same desire of vengeance animated every soul. I went down at the
moment another projectile struck the Nautilus, and I heard the Captain
exclaim:
"Strike, mad vessel! Shower your useless shot! And then, you will not
escape the spur of the Nautilus. But it is not here that you shall perish!
I would not have your ruins mingle with those of the Avenger!"
I reached my room. The Captain and his second had remained on the
platform. The screw was set in motion, and the Nautilus, moving with
speed, was soon beyond the reach of the ship's guns. But the pursuit
continued, and Captain Nemo contented himself with keeping his distance.
About four in the afternoon, being no longer able to contain my
impatience, I went to the central staircase. The panel was open, and I
ventured on to the platform. The Captain was still walking up and down
with an agitated step. He was looking at the ship, which was five or six
miles to leeward.
He was going round it like a wild beast, and, drawing it eastward, he
allowed them to pursue. But he did not attack. Perhaps he still hesitated?
I wished to mediate once more. But I had scarcely spoken, when Captain
Nemo imposed silence, saying:
"I am the law, and I am the judge! I am the oppressed, and there is the
oppressor! Through him I have lost all that I loved, cherished, and
venerated-country, wife, children, father, and mother. I saw all perish!
All that I hate is there! Say no more!"
I cast a last look at the man-of-war, which was putting on steam, and
rejoined Ned and Conseil.
"We will fly!" I exclaimed.
"Good!" said Ned. "What is this vessel?"
"I do not know; but, whatever it is, it will be sunk before night. In
any case, it is better to perish with it, than be made accomplices in a
retaliation the justice of which we cannot judge."
"That is my opinion too," said Ned Land, coolly. "Let us wait for
night."
Night arrived. Deep silence reigned on board. The compass showed that
the Nautilus had not altered its course. It was on the surface, rolling
slightly. My companions and I resolved to fly when the vessel should be
near enough either to hear us or to see us; for the moon, which would be
full in two or three days, shone brightly. Once on board the ship, if we
could not prevent the blow which threatened it, we could, at least we
would, do all that circumstances would allow. Several times I thought the
Nautilus was preparing for attack; but Captain Nemo contented himself with
allowing his adversary to approach, and then fled once more before it.
Part of the night passed without any incident. We watched the
opportunity for action. We spoke little, for we were too much moved. Ned
Land would have thrown himself into the sea, but I forced him to wait.
According to my idea, the Nautilus would attack the ship at her waterline,
and then it would not only be possible, but easy to fly.
At three in the morning, full of uneasiness, I mounted the platform.
Captain Nemo had not left it. He was standing at the fore part near his
flag, which a slight breeze displayed above his head. He did not take his
eyes from the vessel. The intensity of his look seemed to attract, and
fascinate, and draw it onward more surely than if he had been towing it.
The moon was then passing the meridian. Jupiter was rising in the east.
Amid this peaceful scene of nature, sky and ocean rivalled each other in
tranquillity, the sea offering to the orbs of night the finest mirror they
could ever have in which to reflect their image. As I thought of the deep
calm of these elements, compared with all those passions brooding
imperceptibly within the Nautilus, I shuddered.
The vessel was within two miles of us. It was ever nearing that
phosphorescent light which showed the presence of the Nautilus. I could
see its green and red lights, and its white lantern hanging from the large
foremast. An indistinct vibration quivered through its rigging, showing
that the furnaces were heated to the uttermost. Sheaves of sparks and red
ashes flew from the funnels, shining in the atmosphere like stars.
I remained thus until six in the morning, without Captain Nemo noticing
me. The ship stood about a mile and a half from us, and with the first
dawn of day the firing began afresh. The moment could not be far off when,
the Nautilus attacking its adversary, my companions and myself should for
ever leave this man. I was preparing to go down to remind them, when the
second mounted the platform, accompanied by several sailors. Captain Nemo
either did not or would not see them. Some steps were taken which might be
called the signal for action. They were very simple. The iron balustrade
around the platform was lowered, and the lantern and pilot cages were
pushed within the shell until they were flush with the deck. The long
surface of the steel cigar no longer offered a single point to check its
manoeuvres. I returned to the saloon. The Nautilus still floated; some
streaks of light were filtering through the liquid beds. With the
undulations of the waves the windows were brightened by the red streaks of
the rising sun, and this dreadful day of the 2nd of June had dawned.
At five o'clock, the log showed that the speed of the Nautilus was
slackening, and I knew that it was allowing them to draw nearer. Besides,
the reports were heard more distinctly, and the projectiles, labouring
through the ambient water, were extinguished with a strange hissing noise.
"My friends," said I, "the moment is come. One grasp of the hand, and
may God protect us!"
Ned Land was resolute, Conseil calm, myself so nervous that I knew not
how to contain myself. We all passed into the library; but the moment I
pushed the door opening on to the central staircase, I heard the upper
panel close sharply. The Canadian rushed on to the stairs, but I stopped
him. A well-known hissing noise told me that the water was running into
the reservoirs, and in a few minutes the Nautilus was some yards beneath
the surface of the waves. I understood the manoeuvre. It was too late to
act. The Nautilus did not wish to strike at the impenetrable cuirass, but
below the water-line, where the metallic covering no longer protected it.
We were again imprisoned, unwilling witnesses of the dreadful drama
that was preparing. We had scarcely time to reflect; taking refuge in my
room, we looked at each other without speaking. A deep stupor had taken
hold of my mind: thought seemed to stand still. I was in that painful
state of expectation preceding a dreadful report. I waited, I listened,
every sense was merged in that of hearing! The speed of the Nautilus was
accelerated. It was preparing to rush. The whole ship trembled. Suddenly I
screamed. I felt the shock, but comparatively light. I felt the
penetrating power of the steel spur. I heard rattlings and scrapings. But
the Nautilus, carried along by its propelling power, passed through the
mass of the vessel like a needle through sailcloth!
I could stand it no longer. Mad, out of my mind, I rushed from my room
into the saloon. Captain Nemo was there, mute, gloomy, implacable; he was
looking through the port panel. A large mass cast a shadow on the water;
and, that it might lose nothing of her agony, the Nautilus was going down
into the abyss with her. Ten yards from me I saw the open shell, through
which the water was rushing with the noise of thunder, then the double
line of guns and the netting. The bridge was covered with black, agitated
shadows.
The water was rising. The poor creatures were crowding the ratlines,
clinging to the masts, struggling under the water. It was a human ant-heap
overtaken by the sea. Paralysed, stiffened with anguish, my hair standing
on end, with eyes wide open, panting, without breath, and without voice, I
too was watching! An irresistible attraction glued me to the glass!
Suddenly an explosion took place. The compressed air blew up her decks, as
if the magazines had caught fire. Then the unfortunate vessel sank more
rapidly. Her topmast, laden with victims, now appeared; then her spars,
bending under the weight of men; and, last of all, the top of her
mainmast. Then the dark mass disappeared, and with it the dead crew, drawn
down by the strong eddy.
I turned to Captain Nemo. That terrible avenger, a perfect archangel of
hatred, was still looking. When all was over, he turned to his room,
opened the door, and entered. I followed him with my eyes. On the end wall
beneath his heroes, I saw the portrait of a woman, still young, and two
little children. Captain Nemo looked at them for some moments, stretched
his arms towards them, and, kneeling down, burst into deep sobs.


    Chapter XXII. THE LAST WORDS OF CAPTAIN NEMO



The panels had closed on this dreadful vision, but light had not
returned to the saloon: all was silence and darkness within the Nautilus.
At wonderful speed, a hundred feet beneath the water, it was leaving this
desolate spot. Whither was it going? To the north or south? Where was the
man flying to after such dreadful retaliation? I had returned to my room,
where Ned and Conseil had remained silent enough. I felt an insurmountable
horror for Captain Nemo. Whatever he had suffered at the hands of these
men, he had no right to punish thus. He had made me, if not an accomplice,
at least a witness of his vengeance. At eleven the electric light
reappeared. I passed into the saloon. It was deserted. I consulted the
different instruments. The Nautilus was flying northward at the rate of
twenty-five miles an hour, now on the surface, and now thirty feet below
it. On taking the bearings by the chart, I saw that we were passing the
mouth of the Manche, and that our course was hurrying us towards the
northern seas at a frightful speed. That night we had crossed two hundred
leagues of the Atlantic. The shadows fell, and the sea was covered with
darkness until the rising of the moon. I went to my room, but could not
sleep. I was troubled with dreadful nightmare. The horrible scene of
destruction was continually before my eyes. From that day, who could tell
into what part of the North Atlantic basin the Nautilus would take us?
Still with unaccountable speed. Still in the midst of these northern fogs.
Would it touch at Spitzbergen, or on the shores of Nova Zembla? Should we
explore those unknown seas, the White Sea, the Sea of Kara, the Gulf of
Obi, the Archipelago of Liarrov, and the unknown coast of Asia? I could
not say. I could no longer judge of the time that was passing. The clocks
had been stopped on board. It seemed, as in polar countries, that night
and day no longer followed their regular course. I felt myself being drawn
into that strange region where the foundered imagination of Edgar Poe
roamed at will. Like the fabulous Gordon Pym, at every moment I expected
to see "that veiled human figure, of larger proportions than those of any
inhabitant of the earth, thrown across the cataract which defends the
approach to the pole." I estimated (though, perhaps, I may be mistaken)-I
estimated this adventurous course of the Nautilus to have lasted fifteen
or twenty days. And I know not how much longer it might have lasted, had
it not been for the catastrophe which ended this voyage. Of Captain Nemo I
saw nothing whatever now, nor of his second. Not a man of the crew was
visible for an instant. The Nautilus was almost incessantly under water.
When we came to the surface to renew the air, the panels opened and shut
mechanically. There were no more marks on the planisphere. I knew not
where we were. And the Canadian, too, his strength and patience at an end,
appeared no more. Conseil could not draw a word from him; and, fearing
that, in a dreadful fit of madness, he might kill himself, watched him
with constant devotion. One morning (what date it was I could not say) I
had fallen into a heavy sleep towards the early hours, a sleep both
painful and unhealthy, when I suddenly awoke. Ned Land was leaning over
me, saying, in a low voice, "We are going to fly." I sat up.
"When shall we go?" I asked.
"To-night. All inspection on board the Nautilus seems to have ceased.
All appear to be stupefied. You will be ready, sir?"
"Yes; where are we?"
"In sight of land. I took the reckoning this morning in the fog- twenty
miles to the east."
"What country is it?"
"I do not know; but, whatever it is, we will take refuge there."
"Yes, Ned, yes. We will fly to-night, even if the sea should swallow us
up."
"The sea is bad, the wind violent, but twenty miles in that light boat
of the Nautilus does not frighten me. Unknown to the crew, I have been
able to procure food and some bottles of water."
"I will follow you."
"But," continued the Canadian, "if I am surprised, I will defend
myself; I will force them to kill me."
"We will die together, friend Ned."
I had made up my mind to all. The Canadian left me. I reached the
platform, on which I could with difficulty support myself against the
shock of the waves. The sky was threatening; but, as land was in those
thick brown shadows, we must fly. I returned to the saloon, fearing and
yet hoping to see Captain Nemo, wishing and yet not wishing to see him.
What could I have said to him? Could I hide the involuntary horror with
which he inspired me? No. It was better that I should not meet him face to
face; better to forget him. And yet- How long seemed that day, the last
that I should pass in the Nautilus. I remained alone. Ned Land and Conseil
avoided speaking, for fear of betraying themselves. At six I dined, but I
was not hungry; I forced myself to eat in spite of my disgust, that I
might not weaken myself. At half-past six Ned Land came to my room,
saying, "We shall not see each other again before our departure. At ten
the moon will not be risen. We will profit by the darkness. Come to the
boat; Conseil and I will wait for you."
The Canadian went out without giving me time to answer. Wishing to
verify the course of the Nautilus, I went to the saloon. We were running
N.N.E. at frightful speed, and more than fifty yards deep. I cast a last
look on these wonders of nature, on the riches of art heaped up in this
museum, upon the unrivalled collection destined to perish at the bottom of
the sea, with him who had formed it. I wished to fix an indelible
impression of it in my mind. I remained an hour thus, bathed in the light
of that luminous ceiling, and passing in review those treasures shining
under their glasses. Then I returned to my room.
I dressed myself in strong sea clothing. I collected my notes, placing
them carefully about me. My heart beat loudly. I could not check its
pulsations. Certainly my trouble and agitation would have betrayed me to
Captain Nemo's eyes. What was he doing at this moment? I listened at the
door of his room. I heard steps. Captain Nemo was there. He had not gone
to rest. At every moment I expected to see him appear, and ask me why I
wished to fly. I was constantly on the alert. My imagination magnified
everything. The impression became at last so poignant that I asked myself
if it would not be better to go to the Captain's room, see him face to
face, and brave him with look and gesture.
It was the inspiration of a madman; fortunately I resisted the desire,
and stretched myself on my bed to quiet my bodily agitation. My nerves
were somewhat calmer, but in my excited brain I saw over again all my
existence on board the Nautilus; every incident, either happy or
unfortunate, which had happened since my disappearance from the Abraham
Lincoln-the submarine hunt, the Torres Straits, the savages of Papua, the
running ashore, the coral cemetery, the passage of Suez, the Island of
Santorin, the Cretan diver, Vigo Bay, Atlantis, the iceberg, the South
Pole, the imprisonment in the ice, the fight among the poulps, the storm
in the Gulf Stream, the Avenger, and the horrible scene of the vessel sunk
with all her crew. All these events passed before my eyes like scenes in a
drama. Then Captain Nemo seemed to grow enormously, his features to assume
superhuman proportions. He was no longer my equal, but a man of the
waters, the genie of the sea.
It was then half-past nine. I held my head between my hands to keep it
from bursting. I closed my eyes; I would not think any longer. There was
another half-hour to wait, another half-hour of a nightmare, which might
drive me mad.
At that moment I heard the distant strains of the organ, a sad harmony
to an undefinable chant, the wail of a soul longing to break these earthly
bonds. I listened with every sense, scarcely breathing; plunged, like
Captain Nemo, in that musical ecstasy, which was drawing him in spirit to
the end of life.
Then a sudden thought terrified me. Captain Nemo had left his room. He
was in the saloon, which I must cross to fly. There I should meet him for
the last time. He would see me, perhaps speak to me. A gesture of his
might destroy me, a single word chain me on board.
But ten was about to strike. The moment had come for me to leave my
room, and join my companions.
I must not hesitate, even if Captain Nemo himself should rise before
me. I opened my door carefully; and even then, as it turned on its hinges,
it seemed to me to make a dreadful noise. Perhaps it only existed in my
own imagination.
I crept along the dark stairs of the Nautilus, stopping at each step to
check the beating of my heart. I reached the door of the saloon, and
opened it gently. It was plunged in profound darkness. The strains of the
organ sounded faintly. Captain Nemo was there. He did not see me. In the
full light I do not think he would have noticed me, so entirely was he
absorbed in the ecstasy.
I crept along the carpet, avoiding the slightest sound which might
betray my presence. I was at least five minutes reaching the door, at the
opposite side, opening into the library.
I was going to open it, when a sigh from Captain Nemo nailed me to the
spot. I knew that he was rising. I could even see him, for the light from
the library came through to the saloon. He came towards me silently, with
his arms crossed, gliding like a spectre rather than walking. His breast
was swelling with sobs; and I heard him murmur these words (the last which
ever struck my ear):
"Almighty God! enough! enough!"
Was it a confession of remorse which thus escaped from this man's
conscience?
In desperation, I rushed through the library, mounted the central
staircase, and, following the upper flight, reached the boat. I crept
through the opening, which had already admitted my two companions.
"Let us go! let us go!" I exclaimed.
"Directly!" replied the Canadian.
The orifice in the plates of the Nautilus was first closed, and
fastened down by means of a false key, with which Ned Land had provided
himself; the opening in the boat was also closed. The Canadian began to
loosen the bolts which still held us to the submarine boat.
Suddenly a noise was heard. Voices were answering each other loudly.
What was the matter? Had they discovered our flight? I felt Ned Land
slipping a dagger into my hand.
"Yes," I murmured, "we know how to die!"
The Canadian had stopped in his work. But one word many times repeated,
a dreadful word, revealed the cause of the agitation spreading on board
the Nautilus. It was not we the crew were looking after!
"The maelstrom! the maelstrom!" Could a more dreadful word in a more
dreadful situation have sounded in our ears! We were then upon the
dangerous coast of Norway. Was the Nautilus being drawn into this gulf at
the moment our boat was going to leave its sides? We knew that at the tide
the pent-up waters between the islands of Ferroe and Loffoden rush with
irresistible violence, forming a whirlpool from which no vessel ever
escapes. From every point of the horizon enormous waves were meeting,
forming a gulf justly called the "Navel of the Ocean," whose power of
attraction extends to a distance of twelve miles. There, not only vessels,
but whales are sacrificed, as well as white bears from the northern
regions.
It is thither that the Nautilus, voluntarily or involuntarily, had been
run by the Captain.
It was describing a spiral, the circumference of which was lessening by
degrees, and the boat, which was still fastened to its side, was carried
along with giddy speed. I felt that sickly giddiness which arises from
long-continued whirling round.
We were in dread. Our horror was at its height, circulation had
stopped, all nervous influence was annihilated, and we were covered with
cold sweat, like a sweat of agony! And what noise around our frail bark!
What roarings repeated by the echo miles away! What an uproar was that of
the waters broken on the sharp rocks at the bottom, where the hardest
bodies are crushed, and trees worn away, "with all the fur rubbed off,"
according to the Norwegian phrase!
What a situation to be in! We rocked frightfully. The Nautilus defended
itself like a human being. Its steel muscles cracked. Sometimes it seemed
to stand upright, and we with it!
"We must hold on," said Ned, "and look after the bolts. We may still be
saved if we stick to the Nautilus."
He had not finished the words, when we heard a crashing noise, the
bolts gave way, and the boat, torn from its groove, was hurled like a
stone from a sling into the midst of the whirlpool.
My head struck on a piece of iron, and with the violent shock I lost
all consciousness.


    Chapter XXIII. CONCLUSION



Thus ends the voyage under the seas. What passed during that night- how
the boat escaped from the eddies of the maelstrom- how Ned Land, Conseil,
and myself ever came out of the gulf, I cannot tell.
But when I returned to consciousness, I was lying in a fisherman's hut,
on the Loffoden Isles. My two companions, safe and sound, were near me
holding my hands. We embraced each other heartily.
At that moment we could not think of returning to France. The means of
communication between the north of Norway and the south are rare. And I am
therefore obliged to wait for the steamboat running monthly from Cape
North.
And, among the worthy people who have so kindly received us, I revise
my record of these adventures once more. Not a fact has been omitted, not
a detail exaggerated. It is a faithful narrative of this incredible
expedition in an element inaccessible to man, but to which Progress will
one day open a road.
Shall I be believed? I do not know. And it matters little, after all.
What I now affirm is, that I have a right to speak of these seas, under
which, in less than ten months, I have crossed 20,000 leagues in that
submarine tour of the world, which has revealed so many wonders.
But what has become of the Nautilus? Did it resist the pressure of the
maelstrom? Does Captain Nemo still live? And does he still follow under
the ocean those frightful retaliations? Or, did he stop after the last
hecatomb?
Will the waves one day carry to him this manuscript containing the
history of his life? Shall I ever know the name of this man? Will the
missing vessel tell us by its nationality that of Captain Nemo?
I hope so. And I also hope that his powerful vessel has conquered the
sea at its most terrible gulf, and that the Nautilus has survived where so
many other vessels have been lost! If it be so-if Captain Nemo still
inhabits the ocean, his adopted country, may hatred be appeased in that
savage heart! May the contemplation of so many wonders extinguish for ever
the spirit of vengeance! May the judge disappear, and the philosopher
continue the peaceful exploration of the sea! If his destiny be strange,
it is also sublime. Have I not understood it myself? Have I not lived ten
months of this unnatural life? And to the question asked by Ecclesiastes
three thousand years ago, "That which is far off and exceeding deep, who
can find it out?" two men alone of all now living have the right to give
an answer -
CAPTAIN NEMO AND MYSELF.