________________________________________________
_ THE FOLLOWING DAY, January 10, the Nautilus resumed its travels
in midwater but at a remarkable speed that I estimated to be at
least thirty-five miles per hour. The propeller was going so fast
I could neither follow nor count its revolutions.
I thought about how this marvelous electric force not only
gave motion, heat, and light to the Nautilus but even protected it
against outside attack, transforming it into a sacred ark no profane
hand could touch without being blasted; my wonderment was boundless,
and it went from the submersible itself to the engineer who
had created it.
We were traveling due west and on January 11 we doubled Cape Wessel,
located in longitude 135 degrees and latitude 10 degrees north,
the western tip of the Gulf of Carpentaria. Reefs were still
numerous but more widely scattered and were fixed on the chart
with the greatest accuracy. The Nautilus easily avoided
the Money breakers to port and the Victoria reefs to starboard,
positioned at longitude 130 degrees on the tenth parallel,
which we went along rigorously.
On January 13, arriving in the Timor Sea, Captain Nemo raised
the island of that name at longitude 122 degrees. This island,
whose surface area measures 1,625 square leagues, is governed by rajahs.
These aristocrats deem themselves the sons of crocodiles, in other words,
descendants with the most exalted origins to which a human
being can lay claim. Accordingly, their scaly ancestors infest
the island's rivers and are the subjects of special veneration.
They are sheltered, nurtured, flattered, pampered, and offered
a ritual diet of nubile maidens; and woe to the foreigner who lifts
a finger against these sacred saurians.
But the Nautilus wanted nothing to do with these nasty animals.
Timor Island was visible for barely an instant at noon while the chief
officer determined his position. I also caught only a glimpse
of little Roti Island, part of this same group, whose women have a
well-established reputation for beauty in the Malaysian marketplace.
After our position fix, the Nautilus's latitude bearings were modulated
to the southwest. Our prow pointed to the Indian Ocean. Where would
Captain Nemo's fancies take us? Would he head up to the shores
of Asia? Would he pull nearer to the beaches of Europe? Unlikely choices
for a man who avoided populated areas! So would he go down south?
Would he double the Cape of Good Hope, then Cape Horn, and push
on to the Antarctic pole? Finally, would he return to the seas
of the Pacific, where his Nautilus could navigate freely and easily?
Time would tell.
After cruising along the Cartier, Hibernia, Seringapatam, and Scott reefs,
the solid element's last exertions against the liquid element,
we were beyond all sight of shore by January 14. The Nautilus
slowed down in an odd manner, and very unpredictable in its ways,
it sometimes swam in the midst of the waters, sometimes drifted
on their surface.
During this phase of our voyage, Captain Nemo conducted interesting
experiments on the different temperatures in various strata of the sea.
Under ordinary conditions, such readings are obtained using
some pretty complicated instruments whose findings are dubious
to say the least, whether they're thermometric sounding lines,
whose glass often shatters under the water's pressure, or those devices
based on the varying resistance of metals to electric currents.
The results so obtained can't be adequately double-checked. By contrast,
Captain Nemo would seek the sea's temperature by going himself
into its depths, and when he placed his thermometer in contact
with the various layers of liquid, he found the sought-for degree
immediately and with certainty.
And so, by loading up its ballast tanks, or by sinking obliquely
with its slanting fins, the Nautilus successively reached
depths of 3,000, 4,000, 5,000, 7,000, 9,000, and 10,000 meters,
and the ultimate conclusion from these experiments was that,
in all latitudes, the sea had a permanent temperature of 4.5 degrees
centigrade at a depth of 1,000 meters.
I watched these experiments with the most intense fascination.
Captain Nemo brought a real passion to them. I often wondered
why he took these observations. Were they for the benefit
of his fellow man? It was unlikely, because sooner or later
his work would perish with him in some unknown sea!
Unless he intended the results of his experiments for me.
But that meant this strange voyage of mine would come to an end,
and no such end was in sight.
Be that as it may, Captain Nemo also introduced me to the different
data he had obtained on the relative densities of the water
in our globe's chief seas. From this news I derived some personal
enlightenment having nothing to do with science.
It happened the morning of January 15. The captain, with whom I
was strolling on the platform, asked me if I knew how salt water
differs in density from sea to sea. I said no, adding that there
was a lack of rigorous scientific observations on this subject.
"I've taken such observations," he told me, "and I can vouch
for their reliability."
"Fine," I replied, "but the Nautilus lives in a separate world,
and the secrets of its scientists don't make their way ashore."
"You're right, professor," he told me after a few moments of silence.
"This is a separate world. It's as alien to the earth as the planets
accompanying our globe around the sun, and we'll never become
familiar with the work of scientists on Saturn or Jupiter. But since
fate has linked our two lives, I can reveal the results of my
observations to you."
"I'm all attention, captain."
"You're aware, professor, that salt water is denser than fresh water,
but this density isn't uniform. In essence, if I represent
the density of fresh water by 1.000, then I find 1.028 for
the waters of the Atlantic, 1.026 for the waters of the Pacific,
1.030 for the waters of the Mediterranean--"
Aha, I thought, so he ventures into the Mediterranean?
"--1.018 for the waters of the Ionian Sea, and 1.029 for the waters
of the Adriatic."
Assuredly, the Nautilus didn't avoid the heavily traveled seas
of Europe, and from this insight I concluded that the ship would
take us back--perhaps very soon--to more civilized shores.
I expected Ned Land to greet this news with unfeigned satisfaction.
For several days our work hours were spent in all sorts of experiments,
on the degree of salinity in waters of different depths,
or on their electric properties, coloration, and transparency,
and in every instance Captain Nemo displayed an ingenuity equaled
only by his graciousness toward me. Then I saw no more of him
for some days and again lived on board in seclusion.
On January 16 the Nautilus seemed to have fallen asleep just a few meters
beneath the surface of the water. Its electric equipment had been
turned off, and the motionless propeller let it ride with the waves.
I assumed that the crew were busy with interior repairs,
required by the engine's strenuous mechanical action.
My companions and I then witnessed an unusual sight.
The panels in the lounge were open, and since the Nautilus's beacon
was off, a hazy darkness reigned in the midst of the waters.
Covered with heavy clouds, the stormy sky gave only the faintest
light to the ocean's upper strata.
I was observing the state of the sea under these conditions,
and even the largest fish were nothing more than ill-defined shadows,
when the Nautilus was suddenly transferred into broad daylight.
At first I thought the beacon had gone back on and was casting
its electric light into the liquid mass. I was mistaken,
and after a hasty examination I discovered my error.
The Nautilus had drifted into the midst of some phosphorescent
strata, which, in this darkness, came off as positively dazzling.
This effect was caused by myriads of tiny, luminous animals
whose brightness increased when they glided over the metal hull
of our submersible. In the midst of these luminous sheets of water,
I then glimpsed flashes of light, like those seen inside a blazing
furnace from streams of molten lead or from masses of metal
brought to a white heat--flashes so intense that certain areas
of the light became shadows by comparison, in a fiery setting
from which every shadow should seemingly have been banished.
No, this was no longer the calm emission of our usual lighting!
This light throbbed with unprecedented vigor and activity!
You sensed that it was alive!
In essence, it was a cluster of countless open-sea infusoria,
of noctiluca an eighth of an inch wide, actual globules of
transparent jelly equipped with a threadlike tentacle, up to 25,000
of which have been counted in thirty cubic centimeters of water.
And the power of their light was increased by those glimmers
unique to medusas, starfish, common jellyfish, angel-wing clams,
and other phosphorescent zoophytes, which were saturated with grease
from organic matter decomposed by the sea, and perhaps with mucus
secreted by fish.
For several hours the Nautilus drifted in this brilliant tide,
and our wonderment grew when we saw huge marine animals
cavorting in it, like the fire-dwelling salamanders of myth.
In the midst of these flames that didn't burn, I could see swift,
elegant porpoises, the tireless pranksters of the seas,
and sailfish three meters long, those shrewd heralds of hurricanes,
whose fearsome broadswords sometimes banged against the lounge window.
Then smaller fish appeared: miscellaneous triggerfish,
leather jacks, unicornfish, and a hundred others that left stripes
on this luminous atmosphere in their course.
Some magic lay behind this dazzling sight! Perhaps some
atmospheric condition had intensified this phenomenon?
Perhaps a storm had been unleashed on the surface of the waves?
But only a few meters down, the Nautilus felt no tempest's fury,
and the ship rocked peacefully in the midst of the calm waters.
And so it went, some new wonder constantly delighting us.
Conseil observed and classified his zoophytes, articulates, mollusks,
and fish. The days passed quickly, and I no longer kept track of them.
Ned, as usual, kept looking for changes of pace from our standard fare.
Like actual snails, we were at home in our shell, and I can vouch
that it's easy to turn into a full-fledged snail.
So this way of living began to seem simple and natural to us,
and we no longer envisioned a different lifestyle on the surface
of the planet earth, when something happened to remind us of
our strange circumstances.
On January 18 the Nautilus lay in longitude 105 degrees and latitude 15
degrees south. The weather was threatening, the sea rough and billowy.
The wind was blowing a strong gust from the east. The barometer,
which had been falling for some days, forecast an approaching
struggle of the elements.
I had climbed onto the platform just as the chief officer was taking
his readings of hour angles. Out of habit I waited for him to pronounce
his daily phrase. But that day it was replaced by a different phrase,
just as incomprehensible. Almost at once I saw Captain Nemo appear,
lift his spyglass, and inspect the horizon.
For some minutes the captain stood motionless, rooted to the spot
contained within the field of his lens. Then he lowered his
spyglass and exchanged about ten words with his chief officer.
The latter seemed to be in the grip of an excitement he tried in vain
to control. More in command of himself, Captain Nemo remained cool.
Furthermore, he seemed to be raising certain objections that his
chief officer kept answering with flat assurances. At least that's
what I gathered from their differences in tone and gesture.
As for me, I stared industriously in the direction under observation
but without spotting a thing. Sky and water merged into a perfectly
clean horizon line.
Meanwhile Captain Nemo strolled from one end of the platform
to the other, not glancing at me, perhaps not even seeing me.
His step was firm but less regular than usual. Sometimes he
would stop, cross his arms over his chest, and observe the sea.
What could he be looking for over that immense expanse?
By then the Nautilus lay hundreds of miles from the nearest coast!
The chief officer kept lifting his spyglass and stubbornly
examining the horizon, walking up and down, stamping his foot,
in his nervous agitation a sharp contrast to his superior.
But this mystery would inevitably be cleared up, and soon,
because Captain Nemo gave orders to increase speed; at once the engine
stepped up its drive power, setting the propeller in swifter rotation.
Just then the chief officer drew the captain's attention anew.
The latter interrupted his strolling and aimed his spyglass
at the point indicated. He observed it a good while.
As for me, deeply puzzled, I went below to the lounge and brought
back an excellent long-range telescope I habitually used.
Leaning my elbows on the beacon housing, which jutted from the stern
of the platform, I got set to scour that whole stretch of sky and sea.
But no sooner had I peered into the eyepiece than the instrument
was snatched from my hands.
I spun around. Captain Nemo was standing before me, but I almost
didn't recognize him. His facial features were transfigured.
Gleaming with dark fire, his eyes had shrunk beneath his frowning brow.
His teeth were half bared. His rigid body, clenched fists,
and head drawn between his shoulders, all attested to a fierce
hate breathing from every pore. He didn't move. My spyglass fell
from his hand and rolled at his feet.
Had I accidentally caused these symptoms of anger? Did this
incomprehensible individual think I had detected some secret
forbidden to guests on the Nautilus?
No! I wasn't the subject of his hate because he wasn't even looking
at me; his eyes stayed stubbornly focused on that inscrutable point
of the horizon.
Finally Captain Nemo regained his self-control. His facial appearance,
so profoundly changed, now resumed its usual calm. He addressed
a few words to his chief officer in their strange language,
then he turned to me:
"Professor Aronnax," he told me in a tone of some urgency, "I ask
that you now honor one of the binding agreements between us."
"Which one, captain?"
"You and your companions must be placed in confinement until I see
fit to set you free."
"You're in command," I answered, gaping at him. "But may I address
a question to you?"
"You may not, sir."
After that, I stopped objecting and started obeying,
since resistance was useless.
I went below to the cabin occupied by Ned Land and Conseil,
and I informed them of the captain's decision. I'll let the reader
decide how this news was received by the Canadian. In any case,
there was no time for explanations. Four crewmen were waiting
at the door, and they led us to the cell where we had spent our
first night aboard the Nautilus.
Ned Land tried to lodge a complaint, but the only answer he got
was a door shut in his face.
"Will master tell me what this means?" Conseil asked me.
I told my companions what had happened. They were as astonished
as I was, but no wiser.
Then I sank into deep speculation, and Captain Nemo's strange facial
seizure kept haunting me. I was incapable of connecting two ideas
in logical order, and I had strayed into the most absurd hypotheses,
when I was snapped out of my mental struggles by these words
from Ned Land:
"Well, look here! Lunch is served!"
Indeed, the table had been laid. Apparently Captain Nemo had given
this order at the same time he commanded the Nautilus to pick up speed.
"Will master allow me to make him a recommendation?"
Conseil asked me.
"Yes, my boy," I replied.
"Well, master needs to eat his lunch! It's prudent, because we
have no idea what the future holds."
"You're right, Conseil."
"Unfortunately," Ned Land said, "they've only given us the standard menu."
"Ned my friend," Conseil answered, "what would you say if they'd
given us no lunch at all?"
This dose of sanity cut the harpooner's complaints clean off.
We sat down at the table. Our meal proceeded pretty much in silence.
I ate very little. Conseil, everlastingly prudent, "force-fed" himself;
and despite the menu, Ned Land didn't waste a bite. Then, lunch over,
each of us propped himself in a corner.
Just then the luminous globe lighting our cell went out,
leaving us in profound darkness. Ned Land soon dozed off,
and to my astonishment, Conseil also fell into a heavy slumber.
I was wondering what could have caused this urgent need
for sleep, when I felt a dense torpor saturate my brain.
I tried to keep my eyes open, but they closed in spite of me.
I was in the grip of anguished hallucinations. Obviously some
sleep-inducing substance had been laced into the food we'd just eaten!
So imprisonment wasn't enough to conceal Captain Nemo's plans from us--
sleep was needed as well!
Then I heard the hatches close. The sea's undulations,
which had been creating a gentle rocking motion, now ceased.
Had the Nautilus left the surface of the ocean? Was it reentering
the motionless strata deep in the sea?
I tried to fight off this drowsiness. It was impossible.
My breathing grew weaker. I felt a mortal chill freeze
my dull, nearly paralyzed limbs. Like little domes of lead,
my lids fell over my eyes. I couldn't raise them.
A morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, seized my whole being.
Then the visions disappeared and left me in utter oblivion. _
Read next: FIRST PART: Chapter 24. The Coral Realm
Read previous: FIRST PART: Chapter 22. The Lightning Bolts of Captain Nemo
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