[Update, in the way of a prologue: Not that anybody has really been waiting for this after all this time, but I still wanted to post this. I intended to post this several weeks back, but I just haven't been in (I think it's only been once or twice in the last month and a half or so. In fact, I was away for so long that R-Share actually cancelled my Premium Account, so I think people will have to download those R-share files at least once every 45(?) days to keep them active. And I lost all my premium points too, but I wasn't really chasing them so I guess it doesn't really matter. In the whole time I've had the account I've only been able to get one free month in the last 12 months anyway! It's probably all those Megaupload dl's. And the fact that I post stuff like 'Leprechaun' & 'Sylvia' probably has something to do with it too.). From everybody else's perspective this happened so long ago, I don't think anybody but me cares at this point, but I still wanted to post it for the record.I might've been in earlier, but the library has temporarily reduced its hours over the last few weeks and been closed on the weekends, and frankly the atmosphere here hasn't exactly made me rush to the computer. And I still haven't felt entirely well, but it's really no excuse for not coming in sooner. But since it's the only set of excuses I have, it'll just have to do.
I finished the following essay a few weeks ago and kept adding things to it over the weeks, but a lot of the references are to things that happened over a month ago, so please excuse the lack of timeliness..............]
[THIS ESSAY ONLY REFLECTS THE CONDITIONS I KNEW ABOUT SINCE THE LAST TIME I CAME IN. THAT WOULD BE 'X' NUMBER OF WEEKS AGO (MAY 8, TO BE EXACT). ANY OTHER COMMENTS MADE LATER OR EVENTS SINCE THEN AREN'T REFLECTED IN MY COMMENTS. THINGS CHANGE SO QUICKLY IN THE BLOGOSPHERE, SO TAKE THESE WORDS FOR WHAT THEY ARE. MY THOUGHTS ABOUT THE SITUATIONS AS I KNEW OF THEM BACK THEN. THANKS!] [Update: And now, of course, more than another week has gone by, so it's even more outdated than before, but still if you desperately wanted to read until your eyeballs went blurry, you're perfectly welcome to continue.] [Second Update: Aw, just forget how long ago it was! I put some of my more recent thoughts at the end of the essay.]
Well, at least the blog is still here (but for how long, I don't know). Well, I finally read all the comments that were posted while I was gone. That reminds me. Based on some of the comments (especially ones by Greg), I think some people might be under a misconception that it's easy for me to go through and read hundreds of comments and then respond to whatever's going on immediately. That is probably the crux of Greg's beef with me and the blog. At least the stated beef. He has accused me of not protecting him from trolls and other nasty commenters and has called me a poor moderator for not stepping in and stopping it.
Well, firstly, I should make it clear that I didn't like the recent trolling and spamming. I abhor those methods though I certainly can understand the anger and frustration that was feuling it. I don't have that anger towards Greg, but I certainly can understand how the trollers would. I especially didn't like the cracks about Greg being a sex offender, etc. I felt all the trolling and spamming was way out of line, especially since things seemed to be settling down and were becoming a little more peaceful.
I do understand the points the trolls were trying to make though. And I actually do appreciate them being engaged and interested enough to be that mad. I think their primary objective was to harass Greg and get him to leave, but the thing they didn't realize is that when they disrespect Greg, they are also disrespecting me and this blog. By trolling like that, you are creating the very atmosphere that you hate Greg for creating. I did feel however that some of the trolls, especially 'Greg's #1 Fan' were using sarcasm to make a point. That's probably why I use sarcasm so much because I feel that it's instructive while at the same time being funny. The problem with what the trolls did is that after making that first point, they kept doing it. Then it started losing its ability to enlighten and started to make people reject the points they were trying to make. That's why trolling is usually so ineffective.
Usually trolls attack the blogs they're trolling, but in this case they specifically attacked Greg. I understand why they were so frustrated and angry at Greg. And ironically, I think some of them were angry at him because he had essentially driven me away from my own blog. That is partly true. Greg created such a bad atmosphere here that it was true that I wasn't as enthusiastic about hanging out at my own blog. When a blogger doesn't want to visit his own blog, that's a bad sign.
It's also ironic that that's one of the reasons Greg gave for reporting my blog to Blogger.com. That I did nothing to stop people from attacking him. I suspect that the irony is lost on Greg that he is part of the reason that I was discouraged from coming in to 'protect' him from these attacks. Irony is probably small comfort to Greg though.
Since there are always new people who come here, I should remind people that I don't have an online connection at home. This means I have to use other computers to blog (usually at the library). This means a certain amount of extra effort in all sorts of ways in order to do anything online. It also means I am not able to come in every day. And because it takes 20-30 minutes to install the various software I use there, it's not really worthwhile to just pop in for an hour or so to check in. You really need to stay at least 2 or 3 hours to make it worth it. Also, you can't walk away for longer than 5 or 10 minutes, otherwise the computers reboot and you lose anything that you've downloaded on the hard disk and you also have to re-install everything. That means you have to sit in the same spot for hours on end without much of a break. In other words, you have to have a real desire to blog (as well as the other 15 or 20 things I try to do online at the same time). Sometimes (especially when you're not feeling well), it's not something you jump at doing. You really have to want to do it. And as much as I would like it to be, the library isn't open 24 hours a day (and my idea of fun at night isn't necessarily to spend 3 or 4 hours at the library chained to a computer terminal). Hence, sometimes there are prolonged absences from the blog.
One of the other reasons I hadn't come in was that I was still working on that 'essay' I was writing about the whole situation with Greg, the people who left, and what I was going to do about the Request Post and the blog. That's not something I do lightly, so it took a little time. It also frankly was something I could only do a little bit at a time as I am still not feeling entirely well and it is frankly discouraging to ponder the situation at the Request Post for any great length of time. As a result, it took me way too long to address the issue. For that, I apologize.
I knew it was somewhat irresponsible to start a blog when I knew I wouldn't be able to maintain it properly, but I felt as long as other people didn't mind, I suppose I didn't either. I've said this in the past and so far nobody but Greg has ever minded. He's always the first (and mainly only) person to complain about the Request Post getting too full. He's also the first and only regular reader (to my knowledge) that has ever complained about me being a poor moderator. People have complained about some things here and there on the blog, but he's really the only one who's ever complained about me specifically. That should tell you something, in a very basic way, about how Greg differs from virtually every other person who has ever come here.
That also raises another misconception that I think people have. While I think of the Request Post as a forum, I think some people (other than Greg) imagine that it is a literal forum in which you can install an actual 'moderator' or screen who comes here. There is no way that I know of on Blogger.com to have a 'moderator' as people suppose. Perhaps it's a function on the new version of Blogger? But as far as I know, in order for someone to do that, you would need to give them a password to the blog and essentially hand it over to them so that they could moderate comments. As for Greg, I know he was referring to me in the figurative sense as moderator, but that too is problematic.
For the people who aren't bloggers, I should mention that as a blogger, there are only a limited number of ways that I can moderate comments:
1) COMMENT MODERATION: This involves turning on the function by which comments are only let through when the blogger allows them in. This way you screen which comments come in and which ones don't. I imagine that there aren't any readers here who've been here long enough to remember a time when I actually did have comment moderation on the blog. Check back into the archives and you'll see me talking about it. Suffice it to say, it was a disaster and I vowed never to use it here again.
And for something like the Request Post, it would obviously be prohibitive. I think people at ScoreBaby Annex know what I mean when they tried it. It loses all spontaneity and real-time effect. And would you really want your comments showing up here only when I was able to come in? What if I wasn't able to come in for a couple of weeks? I seem to remember Greg himself at one point suggesting that perhaps I should turn on comment moderation like he had over at his blog (though I could be wrong). Well, everybody's comments would only show up when I could come in. And if someone thinks it's easy to sift through literally hundreds of comments deciding which comments to let in and which ones to stay, I think they have an odd idea of what they think I want to spend my time doing. And if I remember right, the comments are all listed individually and not as a group. I would have to sit there clicking on each one to determine which ones to let through and which ones not to. People forget that blog entries are not generally designed for so many comments. Blogger.com didn't create comment moderation with the idea that you would be judging 3000 or 4000 comments. They're thinking more along the lines of 10 or 20 comments per entry.
I know it's very tempting to say, 'Turn on comment moderation' and everything will be fine, but until you have a blog that has comment sections like the Request Posts here with 1500-2000 comments in them, come back to me then and talk about how easy and smooth-running that would be for you.
Perhaps comment moderation has changed in the new version of blogger. I don't know. Maybe it's easier now and that's why people suggest it. But still, would you really want your comments showing up only when I came in?
2) TURNING OFF ANONYMOUS COMMENTS: Various people have suggested that I do this and I certainly can understand how they feel. But as I and other people have repeatedly pointed out, the majority of the bad and trouble-making comments come from people who have used nicknames, not anonymous people. And as I have also stated many times, I did not set out to run a blog that excludes anonymous people. It's easy to say 'Get rid of all the anonymous people', but as someone who surfed music blogs as 'Anonymous' for over a year before starting one, I was not suddenly going to create one where I excluded them. There's nothing wrong with blogs that do, but it was simply not the kind of blog I was interested in running.
And if I did that, I would have to exclude people like Breton Girl and Thingmaker, to name just two. For one person like that, I would put up with twenty other anonymous, but indifferent people.
But the main reason that excluding anonymous people would not ultimately make a difference is the fact that that is not the real root of the problem. I allowed anonymous people to comment before Greg got here and as far as I was concerned, it was fine. The real problem stems from an atmosphere in which anonymous people feel comfortable to attack. On this blog, there didn't used to be any reason for an anonymous person to attack anyone. I'm sure those same people were lurking around here, but they just didn't feel the need to be disruptive or annoying. And certainly not in a persistent way. But more on that later.
I know some people argue that turning off anonymous comments like they do at other blogs discourages people from being silly or stupid. But frankly, what truly discourages people from doing that is seeing what goes on here. I have always respected anonymous people here and they have always respected me. Once they understand what the blog is about or what the Request Post is about, they realize that it's simply not appropriate here to act a certain way. At least they used to. But again, more on that later.
3) DELETING OFFENDING COMMENTS: I have done this in the past, but just with spam. I can permanently delete those comments as if they were never there, and have done so before, so it is important for people to understand that it was never the actual spam that bothered me. Usually nasty comments (and I've had a couple recently in the main part of the blog) are made by hit-and-run commenters and not by regular readers.
The ones made by transient commenters don't particularly bother me (and I've actually left those ones up). They're usually made by people who don't read the blog and don't usually know what they're talking about. One of those commenters actually lumped me in with Zinhof & Chocoreve (while he was saying 'F*** You', etc.)! It makes me think I've got to post more psychedelia! It's actually kind of flattering to be grouped with blogs that I like that post so much material. But obviously this blog is very different from those in content, frequency, & availability of material.
The other nasty commenter read the most recent posts and thought I was in some kind of war with Greg (calling us both thieves, etc.). Since he hadn't really read this blog, he didn't realize that neither of us consider ourselves at war with the other (at least I don't, but I don't know how Greg feels at this point). And he didn't really know what he was talking about regarding other aspects of the blog or me. It was a general rant about music blogging.
These kinds of comments, while mildly disturbing, don't bother me at all in comparison to the spamming in the Request Post or the insulting kinds of comments made by Greg to other people in the past. Why, you might ask, am I bothered more by childish spamming where someone cuts and pastes the same phrase over and over again versus comments where people say 'F*** You' and call me a thief? It's because the former type of comment is made by someone who actually follows the conversation in the Request Post and visits the blog periodically or regularly. It's not the actual spam that bothers me; while it's annoying (especially to the other readers who have to put up with it), it bothers me more to think that someone who reads the blog is attacking it in that way.
Now with this particular spammer, you notice he only spams when he sees all the conflict going on. And he picks specific quotes to use in order to annoy the people who are arguing. He clearly seems to be trying to make a point (albeit, fairly childlishly), but I at least prefer that kind of spamming to the general kind that is meant to plague the blogger. This spamming that's been going on seems directly designed to satirize all the turmoil going on in the Request Post.
So let me make it clear, that while I understand this kind of spam, I find it more disturbing than some random guy coming in who doesn't know what he's talking about and whose spam I can delete, versus somebody who imagines that they are helping the situation by poking fun at the people involved to perhaps get them to stop, when in fact all that he is doing is attacking my blog (and me). I find it more disturbing because it is obviously a regular reader rather than a passing yahoo trying to make trouble. And if it is a regular reader, that means he obviously likes what he sees here otherwise he wouldn't come back. And if that's true, he doesn't understand the Request Post, the blog, or me, and he doesn't understand that he is attacking all at the same time and not just parodying and annoying the combatants. That means the spammer is trying to disrespect me (even if unintentionally) and that means I have failed in my job as a blogger if I haven't sent the proper message as to what this blog is all about. And this is why this kind of spam bothers me.
And on a general note about deleting comments, I am generally against it, unless it is automated or repetitious spam. As I've said, I even leave up the nasty comments directed towards me. Again, some people might consider this foolish, but again, I'm not interested in running the kind of blog that censors people's opinions, no matter how much I might disagree with them. That's another reason why I don't use comment moderation. And up until Greg came, I haven't had to worry about bad comments.
Which also reminds me. I've always meant to ask Greg why he deletes so many of his own comments. He certainly has the right to do it, but when you're trying to catch up later, it makes following conversations much harder. I've heard a few people suggest that the reason that he does it so often is because he's making inflammatory statements designed to get other people to respond and then they look like the bad guys later after he deletes his initial comments. Greg himself has suggested that he deletes so many of them because he combines them into one comment later on. I suspect that both are true. Since I download copies of the comment sections to read at home later, I know what some of Greg's original comments were before he deleted them. I would say that it was a mixture of both explanations, frankly. Though some of his original comments are fairly benign (and not really combined later on) and so I still wonder why he bothers to delete them.
At first, I thought it was because he wanted to save room in the Request Post so that it was easier to open a window to it, but if that were true, he'd be saving very little room, so I thought it would be silly if that were the reason. Then I thought perhaps he didn't want to leave a record of what he was saying, but I couldn't really see why not. Perhaps, if he was aware that some of the things he was saying were insulting, maybe he didn't want to come off looking bad later. But that doesn't make too much sense either because he left a lot of the most insulting things intact. So, it's still hard for me to tell why.
But it's another reason people were annoyed with Greg. Not because he repeatedly kept deleting his own comments, but because he kept doing it even after people told him that it bothered them. This is at the heart of the problem (but again, more on that later).
4) SHUTTING DOWN THE REQUEST POST: I was in the process of considering this (although obviously it is a somewhat Draconian solution to unwanted comments). Frankly, running a Request Post without people like Isbum, Rocket From Mars, Filmpac, Mel, Quinlan, Sallie, Watson, et al, is simply not the kind of Request Post I'm that interested in running. The only reason I started a new Post and haven't closed it down yet is because of all the good people who continued to show up there. I didn't want to slam the door in their face and that is the ONLY reason I have kept it open while I considered what I was going to do and say about this situation.
But this raises another misconception I think people have about the Request Post (and the blog). It is not simply about people making requests, posting links, and downloading music. If that's all it was about I could've gotten a bunch of robots to come in and do it. For me, it's always been about the spirit of sharing, the camaraderie, the good fellowship, the desire to help other people here, the sharing of information and opinions, and the basic sharing of the love of music. That's what the Request Post was truly about. I've mentioned or at least intimated this on occasion, but I suspect that a lot of people ignore the stuff I write since there isn't a link next to it.
But go back and read my comments in the older Request Posts and you see that I talk more about people's spirits of generosity than I do about the actual music.
I started the Request Post back at the beginning of October of last year because many readers were leaving comments asking me for various things that I didn't have. I knew that unless other people just happened to read those comment sections of older posts that it wasn't very likely that anybody was going to fulfill those requests, so I decided to collect them all up into one post and see if anybody else out there had them. I created the Request Post (like the blog) always with the idea in mind that it would be a long-term and more-or-less permanent post. That was partly because I felt it would take a very long time before people came in who might have the requested music, let alone be willing to go to all the trouble of uploading it and posting it.
I thought it would go largely ignored like most of the things I posted and would only have somebody sporadically comment once a week or once a month. And so I was fairly surprised when people started commenting right off the bat. Of course, there were only a handful of people to start off with, but relatively quickly people started coming in. The initial trend, after the breaking-in period, was for a lot of people (mostly anonymous) to come in and make a lot of requests. In fact, a lot of people were posting very large lists at first. But I think once people realized that their requests weren't being fulfilled immediately, they stopped making quite so many requests. I suspect that a lot of the people who made those early requests you see on the old lists disappeared after the first few days when their requests weren't immediately fulfilled.
It was understandable (especially in an online world where people expect a little more instant gratification), but I always thought it was funny because my attitude was that you might not get it today or tomorrow or even next week or next month, but maybe somebody will come in who has it six months from now and then you will still be able to get it. So my philosophy about the Request Post was that it was always meant to be around in case somebody wanted to request or post something regardless of how many people were there.
Now early on, if you look at the earliest comments in the Request Post, they were made by regular and loyal readers like Mickey, Isbum, Breton Girl, Mel, Sallie, and Rocket From Mars whom I all consider friends to this blog and hopefully by now, to me as well. And later on, Watson and Quinlan whose wonderful spirits were also so greatly appreciated and whom I also consider friends. Other wonderful people also stopped by like Blofeld's Cat and Detective Mitchell who eventually created their own blogs. And as is usually the case when you start your own blog, you run out of time and they ended up visiting and commenting less often. And Werther and Quidtum who also drifted away, but whose enthusiasm was always welcome. And then eventually Filmpac came with his wonderful desire to help people and his equally wonderful attitude and friendship, and then all the other wonderful people who followed after that.
I think I feel an automatic kinship with other people who like this music, but I always liked those people especially (as well as many others who came later) because of their wonderful attitudes, their generous spirits, their respect of and friendship to other people, their kindness and courtesy, and their wonderful taste. I think that's why I always consider them friends because I like those qualities in them so much and because they knew exactly what the Request Post was about and what I was trying to do with it.
There was a time in those early days when the ratio of people requesting things to people fulfilling them was rather high and just a handful of people like Rocket From Mars and Isbum were doing an awful lot of fulfilling for a large number of people. And despite the increased traffic, there was still that wonderful spirit of helping other people out, sharing, talking to other people, meeting other people who liked the same things, and making new friends.
In order to understand why so many people are angry at Greg, why so many people left, and what led up to the current situation you see now with the spamming, trolling, and attacks, you have to understand what the atmosphere was like before he came here.
I've seen a few comments by people that refer to the people who left as being childish or petty as if they were children who had had a silly tiff with Greg and picked up their toys and left. I can tell you as someone who has read every single comment on the blog in every post, let alone the person who created the blog and the Request Post, that this is not the case.
In my original essay that I was writing (and that frankly, I gave up writing after Greg said he was reporting me to Blogger.com and had to write this completely different essay instead), I outlined many of the things Greg did that annoyed, bothered, insulted, and angered other people using examples and comments from the archives. In light of him trying to shut the blog down however, it didn't really seem worthwhile spending a lot of time trying to explain to people why his attitude and behavior had led to all these problems. It seems kind of self-explanatory now (as well as being kind of academic at this point).
But I felt that people who hadn't really followed what was going on, people who had only come in occasionally or hadn't read past Request Posts, or newer readers who didn't understand what all the fuss was about, deserved an explanation. Also, I felt that Greg truly didn't understand it and so I wanted to explain it to him as well.
It's no coincidence that the majority of people who left the Request Post (and unfortunately, the blog) were some of the oldest, most loyal readers of this blog. They remember what it was like before Greg got here. That's why they became so angry. It wasn't just a simple little fight over nothing. Let me explain that.
Greg started posting comments at the beginning of January and by that time there was already a fair amount of traffic in the Request Post. Probably because people had more time during the holidays to visit in Decemeber & January.
From October to January, the Request Post had developed a wonderful atmosphere of camaraderie and activity and people got along wonderfully well. It was a fantastic place to hang out, share things, and talk to people.
Then Greg started commenting in early January. It wasn't bad at first, and just like now, Greg was enthusiastic, engaged, and often helpful to other people with information. But many times, he would be insulting, a little cold, and periodically obnoxious, demeaning, condescending, or harsh. He was quick to point out some perceived inadequacy in something that someone posted or liked, quick to reply with a link that often seemed designed to make people feel small or stupid for not knowing about something, and he generally changed the tone of the whole Request Post.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), I was sick during January and part of February and was not at the blog during this whole period. I came back in mid-February and by the time I got caught up (I think there were over 1500 comments in that post), it was late February-early March.
When I first read some of Greg's comments, my first impressions were that some of them were fairly insulting, overly critical, and somewhat harsh. But I genuinely felt at the time that Greg didn't understand that his comments came off that way.
I felt that some of that was because of the difficulty in interpreting intent when reading something in black and white. It's the same problem that chat rooms have, for instance, and why people use emoticons. It's not always easy to tell the spirit in which people are saying things. But that only applies to some of the more neutral comments that can be taken either way.
And I also felt at the time that it was Greg's enthusiasm for the music that would often come out in bad ways. His desire to get a soundtrack or score in the particular way that he wanted would often make him overly critical or insulting to other people. But when I first read his comments, I felt it was the enthusiasm that was driving it.
Also, time has a funny way of playing out on the blog when you're catching up on comments. When you're only able to come in once or twice a week, sometimes more sometimes less, like I am, time dilates and contracts in a funny way. By the time I came back and had caught up, it hardly seemed any time at all since Greg had been there, but in reality it had already been going onto its third month. This is entirely my fault.
These are some of the reasons I didn't say anything about it before. I felt that given enough time, Greg would conform to the vibe of the room and stop acting that way. That had been true of other people who came before. There were occasionally people who said harsh things or had misunderstandings prior to Greg's arrival, but they quickly learned what was appropriate to do and say by watching how other people acted in the Request Post or they quickly straightened out any misunderstandings. Everybody got along.
The problem with Greg's behavior was that it never really changed. He seemed totally oblivious to the fact that his behavior stood out like a sore thumb and was equally oblivious to the effect that it was having on other people there.
But with a dynamic, ever-changing environment like the Request Post, it is sometimes hard to tell these things. I know when Filmpac and later others started pointing things out to Greg about his behavior (or sometimes just erupting in anger) and leaving the blog, my initial reaction was 'Why can't they just ignore these bad comments like I do?'. 'Is it really that big of a problem?'
And I noticed that later on other readers would make similar comments to that effect. And that these were petty arguments and people were being childish, etc. But I started to realize the true depth of the problem when Mel and Rocket From Mars and others started saying things to Greg about his behavior. Not just because these are incredibly nice people (although that should certainly carry weight with anybody if they doubt whether Greg's behavior is bad or not), but I realized the real problem when I saw Greg's responses.
He would dismiss their concerns, fail to acknowledge that they might be bothered at all or that he might have done anything wrong to begin with, didn't seem to care whether anybody was bothered, and cared so little about them or other people here that he didn't mind whether they left or not.
It showed a shameful lack of respect on his part and more importantly, it showed me that the atmosphere of camaraderie and friendship here meant nothing to Greg. He didn't care enough about these people that he had been hanging out with (virtually every day) for over three months to try and apologize, reconcile, or alter his behavior in any way. It isn't about being wrong or right; it's about caring whether you bother other people here. It's about basic human decency, frankly. Or even if you don't care about those other people, say if you didn't like them because you think they insulted you, you should at least care about how you're affecting the Request Post or the blog. But Greg didn't seem to care anything about that either.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't expect Greg to hug everybody here and hold hands and sing around a campfire and I don't expect him to be altruistic in his attitude towards the blog or myself, if he doesn't feel that it's right, but by the same token, why would he keep coming here, if he has no regard for the other people who have gone to the effort to share things with him and everyone else here and why would he keep coming back if he had so little regard for me or this blog?
Look at his most recent reaction. He felt he was being harassed by trolls who were persistently attacking him. But rather than do what virtually every normal human being would've done and leave, he chose to stay and report the blog to Blogger.com for a term of service violation. His exact quote was:
'Good frickin' luck, because I just reported this damned blog and this terrorizing harassment bullsh*t to Blogger who WILL do something about this if Nomwl1 doesn't....which he apparently can't or won't.
Good Luck all......Blogger will likely shut this goddamn blog DOWN for good in order to stop this CRAP.'
He would rather shut down the entire blog and ruin it for everyone here rather than leave. If anyone had any doubts as to Greg's character before, why so many people left, or even why these trolls (with admittedly assinine tactics) were attacking him, this should prove beyond a shadow of a doubt to people how little regard he has for anyone else here. It should also go a long way to explaining why he generates so much hatred. This is the same level of disrespect for other people he has consistently shown here. He would rather tear the blog down around everybody's ears than either ignore the harassment, apologize or acknowledge some level of responsibility in these situations, or simply leave. All options that any normal, sane person would've employed. Instead he chooses to report a music blog for terms of service violations. Again, an irony that is probably lost on Greg (who coincidentally also posts copyrighted material at his own blog). Amazing.
And ask yourself, 'if Greg was so concerned with the harassment, why was his reaction to try and get the blog shut down?' If he had simply left and not come back or if the blog were shut down, the effect would be the same as far as Greg was concerned. Either way he wouldn't be able to comment here. But he chose the option that ruins it for everyone else. So you see, it wasn't the harassment that was the real problem. If it was, he only needed to leave to avoid it. But he wanted to stay and have the blog shut down instead. That should indicate what the real intention was (whether it was conscious or unconscious). His instinct was to destroy rather than preserve.
And notice how he blamed the blog for the harassment and not his own behavior or his presence. The 'goddamn' blog was generating the harassment. This is the way Greg's mind works. He seemed to mind the blog as much if not more than the harassment. Was he really bothered by the harassment or the blog? If this is the only place he receives this level of harassment, perhaps it's because people know him better here than anywhere else.
And I know Greg will say that he was reporting the harassment and not the blog, but he obviously knew that getting the blog shut down was a distinct possibility. So that argument really doesn't make much sense. It's like saying, 'Dogs from the neighborhood keep bothering me in this man's front yard. Well, if he can't or won't do anything about it, I'll blow up his house. He's had ample time to do something about this. He's seen this coming. I'm on his property so he has a responsibility to protect me from these dogs. No, wait. He doesn't even own it. The bank owns it. I'll get them to come over here and foreclose if he won't protect me from these dogs. I'm just reporting the dog attacks and not the house. These stray dogs hate me and they keep attacking me in his yard. I leave for a while, but they keep coming back and attack me every time I stand on this guy's lawn. He's not here often enough to protect me!'
Now if this were the situation, would that argument make sense or would it make more sense for the man to stop standing in another man's yard and provoking, sometimes with his mere presence, dogs that obviously hate him. I don't know, but perhaps I'm wrong about that.
But frankly, I'm not that bothered for myself. If I wanted to keep blogging, I can always do it somewhere else or launch a private blog (which, by the way, I still intend on doing either way.....just in case those people who left messages were wondering). Or I can simply stop blogging altogether. I'm not really bothered in that respect.
But I think I am more bothered by the idea that one music blogger would do that to another one. I've always considered my fellow bloggers to be in a great community and for someone to do this within that community, I find reprehensible. It just offends me on general principle. And I am deeply bothered at the idea that someone here would have so little respect, so little care or concern for all the other good people here that he doesn't care if he ruins it for everyone else. But I think the thing that bothers me the most in all this, is the fact that all those good people who left (and all the ones who stayed) had to put up with this level of disrespect and disregard from Greg for so long. And for that, I truly apologize.
At this point, some may be saying to themselves, 'But Greg was mercilessly attacked by these trolls.' Even Filmpac was feeling sorry for Greg at that point. And it's true, I felt it was way out of line what these trolls were doing recently (though unlike Greg apparently thinks, I didn't see any of it going on since I was away from the blog. Gee, I wonder why I didn't feel like coming into the blog for a while?). I especially didn't like the way they were using other people's nicknames to pretend to be 'Filmpac', 'Psycho Mike' and others. And I thought it was very unfair to Greg that these people started harassing him after things were settling down and I felt Greg was making an honest effort to be more neutral in his comments and generally avoiding starting trouble. To his credit, I also felt Greg tried very hard not to respond to the initial volleys in the latest round of attacks (at least since I last checked on Tuesday), but eventually couldn't help himself.
But again, ask youself. If Greg felt so harassed, why did he keep coming back? And consider these comments by Greg:
'This is the last straw.....whomever is psoting this terrorizing harassment has done it. This blog's days are going to be numbered, since I just reported this crap to Blogger.
GOOD LUCK, JERKS!
# posted by Greg : Monday, May 07, 2007 4:21:00 AM'
And then shortly after.........
'Thomas, here's B**tl*j*ic*, the original CD issue:
http://lix.in/0f4c6c
# posted by Greg : Monday, May 07, 2007 5:03:00 AM'
And then a little later...........
'BTW....Nomwl1 has seen how this nonsense has been progressing and has had ample opportunity to do something about this before.....and hasn't. It's gotten to the point where I don't need to take this harassment and terrorism any longer. What's been started up again here after a calm and rational period is nothing short of exactly what I reported: Harassment. PERIOD. Just as it's defined in Blogger's TOS violation (which I linked above and you obviously didn't bother reading): Defamation/Libel/Slander and/or Hate or violence....Here it is again for your (and others') benefit:
Report a Terms of Service Violation
# posted by Greg : Monday, May 07, 2007 9:39:00 AM'
And then after he had reported me to Blogger.com and had said he wanted to shut my blog down, he left this link to his blog the next day.........................
'BEACH PARTY (1963) - Unofficial Soundtrack with Frankie Avalon & Annette Funicello
# posted by Greg : Tuesday, May 08, 2007 4:35:00 AM'
Who has the gall, after they specifically and repeatedly say they want to shut your 'goddamn' blog down, to leave a comment advertising a new entry at their own blog??? Again, if anyone really doesn't understand why Greg generates so much hatred and attack, you only need to consider this kind of behavior to understand why.
And yes, he apparently felt so harassed he kept coming back to post comments.
And I should address this issue that Greg brings up of 'Nomwl1 has seen how this nonsense has been progressing and has had ample opportunity to do something about this before.....and hasn't.' While I do feel it is my fault for prolonged absences on the blog, I think it is supremely ironic of Greg to think that I can somehow protect him from people who hate him. Frankly, that would be a full-time job and that is not the job I signed up for when I created this blog. Greg expects me to be some sort of magical bulletproof vest for him so that nasty people will stop harassing him. I suppose he would want me to follow him from blog to blog protecting him from the hatred that he has generated over the many months. He is like somebody who comes over to your house, starts a fire, and then reports you to the police because you didn't protect him from the flames.
It is a snowball that he started with his continued insulting and demeaning behavior to other people here since the beginning of the year which has triggered off this firestorm of attack against him and he somehow believes that I can now protect him from that firestorm and that people should just forget about it and not resent him over it while he keeps staying here and other people are driven away from the blog. While I do feel this latest round of attacks is unfair, it is only the incredible gall of Greg that presumes that I can do anything to stop the hatred that he has so amply engendered.
As a fellow blogger, he knows that there is very little someone can do to prevent people from commenting in that way. Did he expect me to report my own blog to Blogger.com? Did he expect me to screen anonymous comments from people who are already using nicknames? Did he expect me to tell people to stop making these comments even after I already told people there would be consequences if the negative attitude towards others here didn't stop (and by the way, which Greg himself ignored and still continued to treat people badly until he drove a lot of other people away)? Again, irony is lost on Greg. Doesn't he realize that if I was going to stop someone from commenting, he would be the first on the list and not these trolls? Doesn't he realize that these people wouldn't be trolling, if he didn't act the way that he did in the first place or he didn't insist on hanging out in places where he's clearly not wanted or welcome?
But despite the fact that numerous comments from other people here have pointed this out to Greg in civil (and not-so-civil) ways, he believes this is my fault for not protecting him. What nerve he has. It's another example of how Greg refuses to take any sort of responsibility for his part in any of these situations. I think that may be the main reason why these trolls hate him so much. If he had taken the time to even once apologize for causing trouble, even once acknowledging his part in the trouble here, or had not acted so blithely or with such hostility to things around him, I have no doubt that people would not troll or spam this blog.
But again, Greg wants to blame the people who left, the trolls, the spammers, and ultimately me for all this. I fully expect him to blame the Tooth Fairy next. Anybody but who is really at the heart of all this. Ask yourself the basic question, if Greg had never come here, would I ever need to protect anybody from trolling, spamming, and attacks? Were these things here before he came? Were these things directed at anybody else? Greg is like the source of the Nile from which all troubles flow. He's like the Lake Victoria of the blogosphere.
And I've noticed some comments from people whom I like, like my wonderful fellow blogger, Dave of the equally wonderful Mostly Ghostly Music Sharing Blaaahhhggg!!! and Forbidden Crypts Of Haunted Music, along these lines:
'LOL...looks like a few people need to grow the hell up in here. I've been going over these requests sections, and fankly I don't see where the hell anyone gets off saying Greg is the cause of all of the bullshit around here. There are a few people who post here who obivously don't like him, and it looks to me as if they are the ones who keep bringing up the past childishness instead of letting it drop and moving on.'....
# posted by Dave : Monday, May 07, 2007 2:41:00 PM
And I suspect that Dave isn't the only one who feels that way. But this is one of the reasons that I'm writing this. It seems clear to me that people, even people who've hung out here, don't quite understand the situation with Greg. And although I haven't confirmed it by double-checking each comment, I suspect that the people who don't quite understand it are either people who don't come in as often or are relatively new readers who have only been here since Greg has been here.
Again, it is no coincidence that the people who left are some of the nicest and longest, most loyal readers of this blog. I myself could not fully understand why they couldn't just ignore his comments like I did. And I hadn't talked to them about it, but after I read Greg's responses to the things they were saying, I realized how bad the situation was and I tried to see it from their perspective.
The problem with someone like me who catches up on a week's worth of comments is that you are literally reading hundreds of comments all at the same time. When I would read all those comments at home and encounter one of Greg's insulting or demeaning comments or one of his annoying or irritating habits, I would think 'Oh, that's a little bad' and move on to the next 150 comments below it that I needed to read. But when I tried to imagine what it must've been like for people like Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket, or anyone else who was here, say every day, and experiencing that behavior in real time, I realized it must've been like water torture.
And again, it's no coincidence that many of the people who left were people who were posting an awful lot of music. Would you like it if every time you went to all the trouble of posting something, every day, for months on end, you encountered the possibility of having Greg come in and say something insulting about it, complain that something wasn't the way he liked it, or give a link to someone else who had also posted it to make them look stupid and superfluous?
Consider the group who left and ask yourself why did these people stay away? And it wasn't simply a case of a few people suddenly being childish over a few petty things. They tried to get along with Greg, day in and day out, for over three months. Consider the list of the people who left: Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket From Mars, Breton Girl, Mel, Sallie, Quinlan, Watson, Ronnie C., Bistis6, Jason, Tony, Scoredaddy1, and God knows how many other people have left or stayed away because of Greg's presence here. Some of the nicest people who have ever come here.
At this point, you may be asking yourself, 'Why didn't you just kick Greg out if he was that bad?' or 'Why haven't you kicked Greg out now?' In fact, some of those people who left may have been wondering the same thing themselves. That was another reason I wanted to write this essay.
But before I get into that, since I already had this written from my old essay, I figured I might as well cut & paste a few portions of it here to more fully explain Greg's past behavior, in case people still wonder what I'm talking about:
BEGINNING OF EXCERPT:
Take this response that Greg made when Isbum had posted 'Across 110th Street' with this footnote: '* dialogue tracks not included, sorry.' Greg said, 'Why not? That makes it an incomplete/inaccurate representation of the original album. Can you possibly provide an up with all the tracks from the album?' Now on the surface, this can be taken as a simple question as a result of Greg's enthusiasm over wanting the whole album, dialogue and all, and asking for a re-up of a more complete version. From Greg's point of a view, he was being reasonable. Now when I first read that, my impression was that it was slightly insulting. Now saying, 'Why not?' seems like an innocuous question, but I think most people would interpret that as being accusatory. When someone goes to the trouble of posting something, to characterize it as incomplete or inaccurate seems slightly demeaning or at the very least ungrateful.
But it's not the fact that Greg asked this question. We've all asked questions or posed statements like that before. For instance, I myself once remarked that one of Isbum's files was missing a track and that could be misunderstood as a criticism rather than the observation that it was. I was letting people know in case they didn't realize it or in case Isbum didn't realize. I suspected that he had left it out because it was a fairly common Jerry Lee Lewis song (and it was later confirmed by Isbum to be the case), but I thought I should mention it just in case. And I apologized because I thought Isbum might've misinterpeted what I was saying. But it's not the fact that we might say these things, but the way in which we say them.
I think from Greg's point of view (and forgive me for speculating on your own thoughts and motivations), he felt that was a perfectly innocent question. But if I had asked Isbum, 'Why didn't you include that Jerry Lee Lewis track? That makes it an incomplete/inaccurate representation of the original album....', it would come off as a reproachful criticism rather than an innocent question.
It's the attitude behind the statements. And this isn't always easy to tell in print. But in that case, the attitude seemed to be accusatory and was meant to point out some inadequacy of the posting.
And many of Greg's earlier comments didn't come off as being too bad, but take a comment like this one on January 30th in response to Quinlan's kind offer to rip an LP record set of MGM records called 'Those Glorious MGM Musicals':
'Quinlan, I used to have a couple of those, and today they're almost pointless because BETTER quality soundtracks have been issued on CD from original masters....those albums were "soundtracks" done right off the movies themselves.'
To characterize something that somebody is offering and music that they themselves enjoy as 'pointless' is fairly insulting. But I'm sure from Greg's point of view he felt he was discussing it in the abstract; original soundtracks are pointless in comparison to remastered versions (which, by the way, I don't happen to agree with). Or to emphasize the word 'BETTER' in all caps seems to suggest that what Quinlan was offering was somehow inferior (and not in a subtle way). Now that statement does come off as insulting, but I feel that from Greg's point of view he may not have meant it that way. When you try to read it from that point of view, Greg is saying that he also had these records at one time and that he prefers CD versions. But he didn't say it that way. The way it comes off sounds like he's demeaning Quinlan for offering it and for liking it. And it makes it sound like Greg is trying to put himself in a superior position by saying that he is somehow more evolved in his taste for better sound than Quinlan is. That he has gotten rid of inferior albums and has BETTER quality soundtracks now. It's hard not to fully interpret that as, at the very least, condescending.
There are dozens of these kinds of examples. These two examples are pretty mild in comparison to other things he's said.
But just in case anybody feels like I'm dumping all over Greg right now, let me just reiterate that based on his responses to various criticisms, I don't feel that Greg truly understands why people react the way that they do (and sorry to talk about you in the third person like you weren't here, but it's easier than me switching back and forth between perspectives). That's why I'm not angry at him because I feel that he feels that he is acting perfectly appropriately and doesn't fully realize the way his comments come off.
For instance, when I posted the Carrie soundtrack in the main part of the blog, the first comment I got was from Greg pointing out all the things that were wrong with it. My first reaction was that it was fairly insulting. But I felt that it was born out of Greg's enthusiasm for the soundtrack and wanting to compare both versions for any discrepancies. It wasn't so much the fact that he did that because I wanted people to be able to compare the two versions, but it was the way in which he did it. Again, the tone of the comment was that the extended version was fairly superfluous and that the recording was inadequate. Now I pretty much ignored the slightly offensive tone of the comment because I felt it was Greg's love of the music that was coming out in the wrong way.
But let's take other comments about the Request Post and the blog:
Here's one Greg made on January 21st when Blofeld's Cat suggested that maybe we should start a Yahoo group when a lot of blogs were being attacked:
'Well, the Yahoo suggestion is kinda pointless since the whole idea is this soundtrack sharing/discussion is supposed to be a blog thing.
Another Suggestion (sorry if this sounds harsh): This is SUPPOSED to be a Requests discussion in someone's blog.....and people are seriously overdoing it by just automatically posting soundtracks on their own without any requests. That's abuse of this blog, IMHO...I say cut back, folks and ONLY post what has been requested. If you want to just randomly and automatically post this and that....then start your own blog for doing such postings/sharing.'
Again, calling somebody's idea, 'kinda pointless' is probably not the best way to make friends and influence enemies. And I remember when I originally read this comment when I had returned from my absence. I didn't like this and a few other comments people were making at the time about what they thought this Request Post was supposed to be (particularly since I created it). And especially since I had already mentioned this at the end of Request Post #1 (and in other places, before and since). Specifically, that there were no rules as to what people could and couldn't post here.
Now some of this is my fault because I don't like to emphasize it too much since I don't want people abusing it by say, posting 100 rap albums or 50 current releases, for instance. They would be perfectly welcome to post anything, but I don't want people abusing that privilege. And people haven't. They understand the general vibe here.
Also, I suspect that some people skip over the things I write since there may not be a link associated with it. So they may miss out on some of these things. (I suspect that some people probably won't read this either, but it'll make it a lot harder for them to understand what's going on if they don't.)
But more importantly, when I originally read this comment, it seemed to be taking a swipe at Isbum and others for their postings. I especially didn't like that either. But by the time I came back, it was mid-February and so I didn't respond specifically. But it was one reason why I wrote at the top of Request Post #3, 'Kind suggestions are fine, but really I'm the only one who gets to make pompous pronouncements'.
Now Greg did preface his comment by saying that it was a suggestion and that he apologized if it sounded harsh (which, by the way, is the only time I can ever remember Greg apologizing for being harsh), but again I didn't appreciate somebody telling me what the Requests Post is supposed to be when I'm the one who created it. But I also understood that Greg was trying to look out for the Post (and the blog) when he made this suggestion, so I didn't feel that it was done in a malicious way (at least towards me).
That's the thing with some of these comments. When you look at them closely, you sometimes see good intentions mixed with bad executions. Or helpful information or links mixed with ambiguously interpreted attitudes.
But the real problem is the attitude with which these things are said and the intent behind them. These are just a few very mild examples of literally scores of comments which demeaned or annoyed people. I could go on indefinitely with these examples. Individually, they don't seem too bad, but cumulatively, it has an incredibly detrimental effect especially since Greg was clearly the most hostile and negative person here up to that point.
But let's take some later examples that caused real conflict:
When Isbum was nice enough to leave everybody an Easter gift,
====================================
'For my friends here,
an Easter present......
* note: this link dies Monday night the 9th.
Drive safely and have a hopping good holiday.
@ENJOY
# posted by isbum : Saturday, April 07, 2007 1:03:00 AM'
====================================
THIS WAS GREG'S RESPONSE A FEW HOURS LATER:
'The same "limited Easter surprise" from Isbum was upped over at Share a week ago....link is still active, on this page:
http://u2n2.com/article.asp?id=23752
# posted by Greg : Saturday, April 07, 2007 4:02:00 AM'
====================================
Now ask yourself, what was Greg's intent in saying that? Was he trying to be helpful? Or was he trying to put down Isbum's gift by putting 'limited Easter surprise' in quotes and saying someone had already shared it before?
====================================
HERE ARE SOME OF THE RESPONSES TO GREG'S COMMENT:
'Thanks for trashing my gesture Greg.
# posted by isbum : Saturday, April 07, 2007 10:12:00 AM
So, Greg...
For Easter, are you going to be the one with the nails, the crown or the spear?
# posted by Anonymous : Saturday, April 07, 2007 10:26:00 AM
@isbum.
Well, there are some us who REALLY appreciate your gesture and thensome.
thanks again isbum :))
and Happy Easter by the way.
# posted by tony : Saturday, April 07, 2007 10:32:00 AM
@ greg---thank you! thank you!! thank you!!! Thank you so much for letting us know that! that was a really really important bit of info you gave us about isbum's post.
exactly what is your deal? could you please calm down? you seem hell bent on being a condescending jerk and alienating everyone who visits this blog. you have your own blog (and a very nice one too!) if you want to rain on people's parades please do it there.
@ all my friends and amigos---i haven't been stopping by as much because i've become a little bit 'pigged out' on soundtracks (and, if truth be told, some soundtack afficianados 'wink wink nudge nudge') lately....
i hope everyone is having a great Holiday.
'Til Next Time,
PEACE (and All The Best---of course),
Rocket
# posted by Rocket From Mars : Saturday, April 07, 2007 11:57:00 AM
@ greg - I was going to comment but rocket said it so much better than I could. Thanks Isbum, know that your Easter gesture was much appreciated by everyone, except for you know who.
# posted by filmpac : Saturday, April 07, 2007 2:33:00 PM
=======================================
AND HERE IS GREG'S RESPONSE:
Wo said I didn't appreciate his post? Isbum said it would only be up until Monday, so people can now have two links to download from....and people have said it doesn't hurt having more than one download link since things seem to get deleted so fast.
# posted by Greg : Saturday, April 07, 2007 3:00:00 PM
=======================================
This sounds reasonable on the face of it, except that Greg didn't wait until Isbum's link had expired. He didn't say, 'Don't mean to step on anybody's toes, but if anybody wants another copy, I found one.' He never said any of that up front. He simply posted another link that makes it look like Isbum's gift is nothing special and he didn't care how he treated him or how everybody else reacted to it either.
Greg would argue that he is just being misunderstood, but I think the real problem is that people understood only too well what Greg's intent is. If he had really meant to provide people with a second link, why point out that it was posted over a week ago somewhere else? Does Greg even really care if other people are bothered by his behavior? Again, it's not about being wrong or right, it's about actually treating people with a little respect instead of dismissing the things that bother them. Look at how people responded when Greg said that. It wasn't only Isbum who was bothered by it. And it wasn't a case of just a bunch of malcontents or troublemakers not liking Greg. These were some of the nicest, most helpful, most generous people here. These are people who would never normally say anything bad to anyone here (and haven't, by the way). If you don't understand that, then you will never understand what is so bad about Greg's behavior.
It isn't that what Greg did was the worst offense in the world, but to me the greatest problem was that he didn't seem to care that he had bothered so many other people here.
And you have to understand that this kind of response to Greg only started after he had been here 3 months making comments like this. 3 months of him doing that kind of thing over and over and over again. Regardless of how he knew people didn't like it. Regardless of me telling people (well, really just Greg) to stop acting this way towards other people. Perhaps I shoud've spelled it out that disrespecting people was a no-no here. But frankly, I didn't think I needed to say something like that. I suppose I should also put up a big sign on the blog saying, 'Oxygen necessary for breathing' and 'The sun is yellow' while I was at it.
----------------------------------------
AND I SHOULD PROBABLY TAKE SOME TIME OUT TO DIGRESS HERE ABOUT RULES ON THE BLOG. Mel left a comment of his own in reaction to Greg's comments. In it he expressed his natural consternation over the atmosphere in the Request Post (which I completely agreed with, by the way), and he had this to say about rules:
'Next subject: Nomwl1, it was the late Spike Milligan who said,
In the world of mules
There are no rules.
Think about it – here’s where I don’t see eye to eye with you (let’s disagree without being disagreeable). When there are no rules, there is chaos.
Well, actually, you do have one or two, e.g. Enjoy and be kind. Pity this one has been broken so often.
Being a member of a music-sharing forum, I understand the reasons for their rules. You have to be invited to join. Anyone not toeing the party line is banned. The result is that we have a smooth-running and friendly forum without dramas.
In view of all the stupidity we’ve seen here from some of the anonymous visitors, I strongly feel that it’s time to close shop. Anonymous visitors should not be allowed in. Anyone who wants to join you should apply for admission, and only be OK’d after vetting.
Well, I’ve said my piece, and I hope that there’ll be some cooling down soon. If not, I will visit only occasionally, and become a leecher. I wouldn’t like that to happen. Not that anyone would miss me…
- mel
# posted by melnar : Saturday, April 07, 2007 11:37:00 PM'
Now firstly, I can't actually imagine a context or situation in which I would be disagreeable with Mel and I for one miss him from the blog terribly. But that's probably beside the point. I feel I owe him and anyone else who wonders why I don't impose rules here a fuller explanation. I've mentioned many of the reasons in the past, but there are a few I haven't elaborated on.
Firstly, there is nothing wrong with blogs or forums that impose rules. There are many wonderful ones out there that do. It's simply not the kind of blog I'm interested in running. For myself, when I see a list of rules that the person wants me to follow, that sends a message that that person is expecting trouble from the outset. Either do these things, or don't come here. Not only does that leave a bad taste in the mouths of good people, but it's like waving a red flag in front of the bad people. 'Come here and wreak havoc because this guy has a bunch of rules he wants us to follow.'
I'm not interested in telling people what they can't do here. I'm more interested in fostering the kind of atmosphere on the blog in which giving people a list of rules is simply not necessary. And it never was until Greg got here. Most everybody here has always eventually understood what the blog was about and what was appropriate behavior. If I did post a list of rules, it would practically have to be called 'Greg's Rules of Conduct' because it would only really ever apply to him. All the other later conflict, drama, flame wars, spamming, and trolling is as a direct result of his attitude, comments, and behavior, his intractable unwillingness to adapt, acknowledge or apologize, and the subsequent fallout from it.
He set the tone in the Request Post that said it was okay to demean people, to treat them with disrespect, and to bully and harass them in his own unique way. That sent a message to all the trolls who came later that that kind of behavior was all right regardless of whatever atmosphere I might try and instill here. And it didn't help that he had driven so many of the good people away who understood exactly what kind of atmosphere I was trying to create and maintain here. And regardless of me telling Greg to 'tone it down' (check back in the Request Post) or talking about negative behavior here, he still continued to do it. Witness the literally dozens of comments he got from other people telling him the same thing and he continued to largely ignore or dismiss it.
And that brings me to the second point. You can impose all the rules you want, but when you have such an extreme case like Greg who at one point somebody even gave the nickname, 'Mr. Obtuse', it ultimately doesn't make a difference. All the rules in the world won't stop somebody who is determined to be disruptive (whether they mean to be or not). I think a lot of the people who left now know exactly what I mean by this after having seen what happened at ScoreBaby Annex. The list of rules there didn't prevent that Request Post from shutting down. And it didn't prevent Greg from showing up there. This is another reason why I've never had rules here. It's like asking people for donations. You can do it, but there's no reason anybody will ever pay any attention to it. It's simply not in the nature of blogs. That's one of its strengths. Otherwise everybody would join forums instead of visit blogs. If people were interested in rules, they wouldn't visit a site that allows them to download music.
This doesn't mean that I'm arguing in favor of anarchy or chaos. My natural inclination is to have organization and order. But I think the better way is establishing, by example, a tone. Nobody should need rules telling people that they need to treat other people with respect or concern. The ones who do, won't listen to me, let alone read a list of rules. And the ones who don't, are the ones who, up until Greg's arrival, were the ones who came here. Also, if this were primarily a rock or pop blog, I would probably have put up a few basic rules, but frankly, the kind (and number) of people who like this type of music are usually the kind of people you don't need to spell these things out to. That's what makes Greg such a unique case. For instance, you don't see someone who likes musicals have the level of hostility that Greg does. Usually, they're happier, more respectful people.
Thirdly, everybody thinks they want rules until it applies to them. What if I had said, 'No bad language'. That would've meant that as soon as Filmpac or anyone else started dropping the 'F' bomb, I would've had to kick them out. What if I had said, 'You must post a minimum number of albums to stay here' as I've seen some forums do. That would've most likely excluded Mel and Breton Girl, for instance. Or what if I had said, 'No posting of anything unless people request it'. I would've had to reprimand Isbum. Or what if I had said, 'No Sendspace files'. We would've missed out on many of Watson's or Sallie's wonderful files. (Well, I did miss a lot of Watson's wonderful files, but that's a whole other story). Or how about 'No Megaupload' because some countries don't allow it or 'No Rapidshare' because of their fast deletion policies? All these rules make sense to someone else, and everybody imagines that they want rules......until it applies to them.
There are many reasons why this Request Post has lasted so long and why it seemed to be so popular (even now, when so many good people are turned off by the atmosphere). 'No rules' is one of those reasons.
And fourthly, no rules is a form of self-protection. This is a reason that I normally don't talk about for obvious reasons. People who haven't given it much thought or are relatively new to blogging or file-sharing might have a harder time understanding it, but consider the example of the original Napster. The power of it was its organization, centralized database, and its wide network of people. But this same quality made it much easier to attack. It was eventually attacked out of existence (if you don't count its current pay-version). That's why so many subsequent p2p networks became decentralized. Those later networks had less organization, were more chaotic and harder to search, but were much less vulnerable to attack. Again, I suspect that some of the people who come here will have a hard time understanding that especially since some of that may seem counter-intuitive, but it's true. A certain amount of chaos protects me.
So you see, there are many reasons (and others I haven't gone into) why I have no rules at the blog and why I do things the way that I do them. Many of the things I do (or don't do) are designed to keep the blog going. If you've noticed, a lot of blogs and forums that had rules aren't around anymore. Would you rather have a blog that has rules, but burns out after three months, or one that doesn't, but sticks around for a year? It's a tricky trade-off, but I've always taken the approach that I wanted the blog to be around long-term. But sometimes you just can't protect yourself from people like Greg, no matter what you do.
----------------------------------------
END OF EXCERPT
I cut out a ton of the more obnoxious examples of Greg's behavior for time and space restraints, but I think you get the idea. Some people may wonder why I took some really old examples, but it was simply a starting point. You could go through literally thousands of these comments and find so many examples of his bad behavior I would have to start a new blog just to list them all.
And the examples I cited may seem mild, but so is a drop of water hitting your forehead. But imagine if I kept dropping water on your forehead every day for over three months. I think you see what I mean.
Think of it this way. Imagine that you were throwing a giant pool party where people were splashing around having a lot of fun and enjoying each other's company. The party's been going on for three months without any problems or bad feelings and is a bigger, better party than you could have ever hoped for. People are having a terrific time, getting along really well, making new friends, helping each other out, and treating each other with a lot of respect.
And then Greg joins the party and occasionally pisses in the pool. Every once in a while he urinates on other guests and they put up with it because everybody is still having a good time and he doesn't realize he's doing it. He just thinks he's relieving himself and there's nothing wrong with it. And it's not a constant stream of urine, but something he does every once in a while, but persistently. People try to get along with it even though they are bothered by it. They're still having a good time and trying to get along with Greg who is enthusiastic, but still manages to piss in the pool. Sometimes he does it underwater and it's not always obvious from the surface.
And then imagine that the host comes by once or twice a week. It's a house that he's been renting for five or six months before he ever started the pool party. He can't come by the house that often because he doesn't have a car but nobody really complains about it and most everybody (except Greg) is exceptionally nice. In fact, Greg is always the first and only person to tell the host the water needs changing in the pool. 'There's a lot of people in here. How about some new water now?' He says it even though he knows the host isn't there. Strangely, nobody else in the pool is complaining about it. Perhaps that's one of the reasons that they're nice people.
Or perhaps they know maintaining the house and the pool is a lot of work and they're gracious enough not to complain. The host knows it was rather foolish to rent a house that he can't visit that often or start a party that he can't oversee every day, but he figures as long as nobody else minds, it's okay with him. And he figures a party that runs by itself is better than no party at all. All the guests are civilized, gracious, generous and helpful people who have never caused one bit of trouble at his house and they know exactly the kind of party he's running. And for the first nine months the house is open, none of the regular guests ever complain or cause problems. Well, none of them except Greg.
So, since the host can't drop by as often as he would like, he doesn't really see Greg pissing on people that much, but he read accounts of it later. And imagine that for the first couple of months that Greg's doing it, the host is on 'vacation'. By the time the host comes back, Greg's been pissing in the pool and slowly but surely ruining the party atmosphere that people had.
Then, some of the people who are in the pool most often and who contribute in a big way to the fun, after three months of him pissing day in and day out, start complaining and getting mad, but Greg continues to do it anyway and acts like it's their problem or they don't know what they're talking about. The host even tells Greg to 'tone it down' with the criticism and piss, but he still continues to do it anyway.
Now the other pool guests who only come by every once in a while don't understand what all the fuss is about because they don't see it happen as often, they're willing to ignore the piss in the pool, or they're not the ones being pissed on.
Greg continues to ignore the other people's concerns, attacks them, or just pays attention to the parts that interest him. He never admits that there is a problem or cares about how the other people are bothered by it. This makes the people even madder. This starts fighting back and forth. Greg never acknowledges that people might have any legitimate grievances, never apologizes for bothering anyone, and blows up at the mere suggestion that he might've done anything wrong. This starts even more fights. This starts to attract the attention of anonymous guests who come in and think this is the normal behavior at the party. One guest even starts to repeat phrases he hears over and over again until it annoys people around him.
Then the host comes back and tells people that there will be consequences if this kind of attitude continues. (An attitude that never existed at the party until Greg got there.) The host even tells people the pool party and possibly even the house may shut down if they don't cut it out.
The original guests and Greg try to get along for a while, but Greg keeps pissing and annoying people until they just can't take it anymore. It's the last straw. He even pisses all over an Easter Gift that one of the oldest, nicest guests had brought to the party.
Then, one-by-one, most of the original guests leave the pool after trying to tolerate it for as long as they can and they go somewhere else where they can find the same fun, civilized party atmosphere they once enjoyed. Many of those that left had tried not to get into fights before, had stayed for as long as they did, and tried to get along with Greg after the host warned them, in part out of the memory of the great party they once had going and because of their loyalty to the host and the house. But eventually they just had to leave. But newer party guests call them childish and ask them why they can't all just get along with the guy who pissed all over them. 'Come back to the pool and stop being so childish! It's just a little urine. Just grow up!'
And then people suggest that maybe if Greg apologizes or tries to make peace with those people, things would be better. But he never says a word except to attack them or complain about them. They start to point out the things that Greg did to alienate those people, but he still pays no attention. He blames them and other people start blaming people for pointing these things out. People stop splashing and having fun and more and more people realize what the older guests were talking about. But newer guests keep stopping by, so the party goes on.
And then the people who left create a new party at a different house where the owner graciously allows them to hold it. They put a big sign above the door with rules on it. They specifically create the party to get away from Greg, but then suddenly Greg shows up there too. He doesn't piss on them, but just gets in the pool and gives out invitations to a party at his own house and then leaves. The people who specifically wanted to get away from him have a natural reaction and aren't too pleased. They ask him to stay over at the original pool party, but he complains and doesn't want to.
Then he goes back to the original party (which, by now, has lost a lot of the fun), tells everybody how irrational and childish all those other people are being and that he was being calm and rational. Meanwhile, he keeps handing out more invitations to a party at his own house.
The original guests ask Greg to stay over at the original pool party and to leave them alone at the new place, but other guests accuse them of not dropping it and of bringing it up all the time.
Then some anonymous guests who watch all of this happen start to resent the fact that a lot of the people are gone and that a lot of the fun they were providing is gone. And yet Greg is still here, so they start harassing him and calling him names. Other anonymous people start seeing all this conflict and start causing even more random trouble. People start saying the host should kick all the anonymous people out and everybody should just get back to splashing around in the pool. Everything would just be great if those harassers would leave.
But the host comes back and sees most of his old friends, ones who started the party in the first place, gone from the party - driven away by Greg, and in their place, he sees bitterness, attacks, and a big mess from the conflict all around the pool. Greg is still there and the whole tone of the pool party has changed. There are now a fair number of people in the pool who see this new tone and think this is what the pool party is supposed to be like. They start wondering why people are so hostile to Greg and what he's done to deserve this. He seems perfectly fine in the pool. But the attacks on Greg continue. This turns off even more people who watch the party, but don't want to say anything because the atmosphere is now bad. It even starts making people want to avoid the house, let alone the pool.
Things start to calm down, Greg is pissing less in the pool and newer guests still don't understand what's so bad about Greg. Why are so many people mad at him? He couldn't possibly have done anything so bad as to warrant all this hatred. But of course they weren't the ones being pissed on for three months. The newer guests start to accuse the anonymous guests of really being the old party guests come back to cause trouble. They didn't really know the old guests that well so they assume they must be behind all this tumult.
And still Greg stays in the pool. He's driven more than twenty guests away, he gets attacked periodically, but he still splashes around in the pool with all the guests who are still there. Even the host doesn't want to stop by his own pool anymore. This generates even more hatred by people who resent Greg's presence. Now Greg is one of the oldest guests left. Some people even start thinking he's the host. He talks more at the pool party than the host does. He helps newer guests who stop by and he continues to hand out invitations to the party at his own house (that looks remarkably clean, probably because he has fewer guests over there and he never wants to start his own pool party). This infuriates the anonymous onlookers even more.
Things seem to calm down again, Greg is being a lot less annoying to the partiers present and seems to be making an effort not to piss all over the other guests. Of course, this is made easier by the fact that there are a lot fewer people at the party making contributions that he can criticize. But he is still making an honest effort. All the while, this is making onlookers even more furious.
After a small period of calm, during which the party seems to be rebounding but is really just a shadow of what it once was, the trouble-makers come back with a vengeance and start attacking Greg in a way that seems way out of line and way over the top. They start hurling insults at him and calling him a lot of disgusting names, they try to disrupt the party at every turn, and won't leave him alone. It's hard to tell what their objectives might be. Perhaps they can't take the fact that he's still here after having ruined the atmosphere and they think by taunting him they can drive him away. Perhaps they want to show other party guests what kind of person he is by making him mad. Perhaps they just enjoy taunting him because he tends to explode in anger so easily. Maybe they figure since the great party was ruined by him anyway it didn't really matter how much havoc they caused. And it's hard to tell how many people heard the noise caused by the commotion and either stayed away or rushed to join in the free-for-all.
Greg rises to the bait each time and then eventually makes a good faith attempt to ignore it, but strangely keeps coming back to the pool party regardless of how much he's being harassed. And still the harassment continues. Greg feels he should be able to stay at the pool party regardless of how many people he's driven away and how much trouble it's causing. In fact, the original party guests left not only because Greg was creating a bad atmosphere in which they were being insulted and demeaned (as well as being pissed on), but because they knew if they stayed it would cause a lot of fighting and turmoil and they didn't want to wreck the party even further. Oddly enough, Greg had no such qualms about wrecking the party.
And the attacks continued until Greg gets so upset, he calls the police to shut down the party and get the host in trouble for not protecting him from the anonymous people who hate him for what he's done. He feels the host should've been there to protect him from all this hatred that he feels is so unwarranted and inexplicable. He feels he's just being misunderstood and anything he did didn't deserve all of this.
And he blames the host for being away for so long and not taking responsibility for his own party. Even though the host is away sick, pondering what to do with the party that is no longer fun, and generally reluctant to come in because he is discouraged by the atmosphere that Greg himself has created with his thoughtless behavior that has driven away so many of his old friends who don't even want to drive by the house, let alone come in. Greg tells everybody there that he hopes the whole house gets shut down and that he's not going to put up with any more of this crap. Then he comes back the next day and hands out another invitation to a party at his house.
That's the situation here in a nutshell. (Or it's the plot to Gulliver's Travels, I'm not sure which)
But now you can understand why it's taken me a long time to write about this stuff. And frankly, it was making me tired and sad to contemplate how Greg has acted over the many months, so I started and stopped writing this essay, in pieces and spurts. It also saddens me to think that people may have interpreted my relative silence in writing my opinions on the matter as either condoning it, ignoring it, or somehow agreeing with Greg or disapproving of those who have left. That again, is simply not the case.
It was a matter of time, energy, and a question of reflecting on what to say and do about the matter. Sometimes keeping up with the maintenance of this blog is a little like working on the engine of a car that's going down the highway at 100 miles per hour. When you've caught up with the last 500 comments, 500 new ones pop up. And these things always seem to happen when I'm ill or don't come in for a while. Perhaps people take that lack of activity as a sign to create havoc, I don't know.
And I don't say these things about Greg lightly. It's not my goal to attack Greg or say nasty things about him (even though it may sound that way, at times). It's simply to explain the situation in a way that people will more fully understand and to let people know where I stand on things.
As you can tell, I have a lot to say on the matter. And while I would like to think and talk about the blog 24/7, it's still meant to be a fun hobby that I sometimes do in small doses. I think Greg believes I should be in here everyday doing nothing but protecting him from bad people. Perhaps as the blogger, I do have an obligation to stem harassment. But frankly, everybody here knows the deal by now. Nobody here except Greg is naive enough to think I come in every day, and nobody but Greg would ever imagine that they have this unassailable right to hang out here regardless of the problems they cause or the level of hatred and harassment directed towards them. Is it his God-given right to drive away so many people from my blog and then insist he stay here regardless of the level of harassment hurled at him? Am I to protect him to my dying day to preserve his right to stay here unmolested? Or is he free to go elsewhere (just as he implicitly asserts about all the people who left), if this atmosphere isn't to his liking? You tell me.
If he insisted on running out into traffic while I wasn't here, I suppose he'd blame me for that too since I should've seen it coming and stopped it. What he really means is that I saw where his behavior was leading and the kind of response it was going to receive and I should've prevented this harassment. What? By throwing him out? Perhaps in that sense, Greg is right that I should've banned him to prevent this harassment from happening sooner. Or perhaps he naively thinks this is a chatroom where you can permanently ban members instead of the public blog that it is. If it were, whose name does he think would be at the top of the ban list?
And this gets me back to the point of why I haven't simply told Greg to leave and never come back. I'm sure some people have wondered, after all the trouble he's caused, why I would let him stay here.
Firstly, if I had thought Greg was doing it deliberately, I would've kicked him out in a heartbeat. But I felt that he was acting in a way that he felt was appropriate to himself. I would never kick someone out and tell them that they aren't welcome here for simply being who they are. That is another example of the kind of blog that I'm not interested in running.
We all have faults and habits that annoy and bother other people. I'm sure, for instance, that many people who come to this blog don't like these incredibly long posts I write. I'm sure it annoys people to have to read so much or to have to scroll down to get to the music if they skip the writing. But I'm acting in a way that is appropriate to myself and there is nothing wrong with that. Just as I felt that there was nothing wrong with Greg acting in a way that he felt was appropriate to himself. Again, I wouldn't kick out a person who was just being themselves unless I thought they were annoying or attacking people deliberately.
But, although I think it's appropriate to write these incredibly long comments here, I don't go over to other people's blogs and write 50 paragraphs on other blogger's comment sections. It would be totally inappropriate. Let's say, for example, I went over to Greg's blog and every time I commented over there (assuming for a moment, that he didn't have comment moderation on), I wrote 50 paragraphs. And let's say it started to bother a large number of other readers there. And let's say that no matter how many times they pointed it out, asked me to stop, wanted me to apologize or even acknowledge I was doing it, I just kept doing it until I drove many of them away? What do you think would be Greg's response? And what do you think would happen if I just kept staying at Greg's blog until so many people complained and harassed me until I finally got fed up and reported Greg's blog to Blogger.com for terms of service violations?
But I imagine that Greg has never once considered this from anybody else's point of view. You can see from my example that while my behavior was perfectly appropriate to myself, it isn't necessarily appropriate to act that way when you're a guest at somebody else's place. That is why I think so many people kept pointing out the fact that Greg had his own blog. They found it incredibly ironic (there's that word again!) and hypocritical that he would cause all this havoc over here and yet keep his blog free from it. Whenever I've visited his blog, I've hardly ever seen any comments over there. I'm not sure if this is because of comment moderation and he just hasn't had the chance to let them through, if there just aren't many, or if he screens out most of them.
But he's okay with driving people away here with his comments. Or people have suggested he start a Request Post at his own blog, but it seems to me he hasn't done that either. He apparently would rather bring the harassment down on this blog than his own, I guess. He's okay with shutting down this blog or getting the Request Post shut down over at ScoreBaby Annex, but he apparently doesn't want to contaminate his own blog with a Request Post.
I suppose it might be reasonable to wonder why he seems to spend more time here than he does at his own blog. In the past, I always liked the idea that he did that because you rarely, if ever see a fellow blogger do that. Once people have their own blogs, it usually absorbs too much of their time and they stop commenting here, so I liked the fact that he was the exception. But of course, after all the troubles he's caused here, it does beg the question why is he one of the only bloggers who spends more time elsewhere than at his own blog? Another way in which he defies the usual pattern.
Is he being a Typhoid Mary insisting and defiantly going around infecting other blogs while keeping his own blog clean and trouble-free? I still don't think he does it intentionally, but you really have to wonder sometimes.
But see, it is this nagging doubt as to Greg's intentions that have kept me from simply kicking him out. I don't tell someone lightly that they're not welcome here and never to come back. And that would be the only option. Because I don't believe he understands why his behavior is bad (if he would acknowledge it at all), I know it would be no use in asking him to modify his behavior and attitude. He would be bound to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. And so you would have to ask him to leave if you wanted to preserve a good atmosphere at the Request Post.
But like Rocket From Mars once said, even if Greg were to leave it would most likely not be the same. And I knew exactly what he meant by that. It may also have been one of the saddest comments made here. Once you get to the point where you have to kick someone out, you've already got a bad atmosphere. And once people know how easily that good environment can be disrupted, it ruins it for everybody. It didn't have to deteroriate, but all it takes is for one Greg to do it.
And even if everybody came back and Greg stayed away permanently, the bad feeling would still linger. It's like Greg set off a series of stink bombs in the middle of the room. He can leave, but you can't put the stink back into the bomb.
Even when people went over to ScoreBaby Annex, it was still with the bad memories associated with what happened over here. You can get on with the sharing (over there and here), but the stink never quite goes away in either place. That was one of the things that made me question the future of the blog. Not whether it could keep going. I could always keep it running no matter what. But people were starting to refer to it as 'that other place'. It was a place that good people were avoiding and it felt like the blog was becoming a pariah simply because Greg was now setting the tone over here. I started to feel like I should change the name of the blog to 'Enron' or something like that.
Greg often seems to wonder why people refer to him as hijacking the blog. This is the reason. He drives people away (including myself) by creating a bad atmosphere with the condescending and attacking tone and keeps staying here. That is a form of hijacking. But I should say that I wasn't exactly driven away from my own blog so much as I was discouraged from coming in as often in recent weeks. There didn't seem to be as much reason to come in or post music until I could write about all of this and until I felt better all the way around. Again, who wants to sit at a computer for hours contemplating this stuff? I even feel bad for all of you people who have to read it.
Which gets us back to the simple solution of kicking him out. Not as simple as it sounds. Imagine if I had said that to Greg. 'Because of your attitude and the problems you cause here, I ask you to please leave and not come back.' Maybe people would've come back. But Greg would've felt bad, I would feel bad for saying it, and the people who came back, after they got through singing, 'Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead' would've still felt very bitter about the whole experience. And the result would still be the same. Bad atmosphere and I end up running the kind of blog I don't want to run. One where I kick people out for being who they are.
So you see, he put me in an untenable position. He wouldn't change (at least not enough to coexist with all those other people), and as long as he wasn't 'attacking' the blog deliberately, I was reluctant to kick him out. And even if he could learn to get along with everyone who left, I'm not interested in running a Request Post where people just tolerate one another. That's not what I was hoping for or trying to do with it in the first place and especially after you've had the good environment we once had here, you're not interested in settling for mutual coexistence.
The people who left were part of the heart and soul of the Request Post and while I can always keep the Request Post going, I'm not interested in running one without that soul. Even though it was rebounding recently, it was still a little like a vampire. It can walk and talk and move around, but without a soul, it's just the living dead. Then it just becomes a bulletin board where people tack up requests and other people fulfill them and leave. A lot of the good feeling is sucked out. While that function is just fine, I'm not overly interested in running something like that. If I were, I would just start a forum where people just post things and you have a few discussion threads on the side. It would be very orderly and organized, but it would still lack that soul.
What made the spirit amazing is that people wanted to help other people out even when they didn't have to. Filmpac would search for something somebody was looking for. Quinlan would go to the trouble of ripping something and posting it when he could for the sheer love of it and the desire to help and share. Isbum would offer something wonderful just because he wanted to and not because somebody requested something. That is the kind of spirit I wanted to be around and those were the kind of people I wanted to hang out at my blog. And it was the kind of spirit that Greg never quite understood. He felt it was just a Request Post and people should just post things people asked for. And other people lately have held a similar attitude about what the Post and the blog are about. Well, as the person who created both, I can tell you that it's not simply about sharing music for me and never has been. If it were I would've just made the blog blank and put up a bunch of links. Or I would've turned off anonymous comments and told the anonymous people, 'You're not welcome here.'
As for that wonderful spirit, when you join a forum or a private blog, for instance, you make a certain commitment, albeit slight, by giving an E-mail, registering, etc. You are jumping through some hoops to get there and if you don't post there or join the discussion threads, some people might think of it as leeching or lurking. But that's what made people's efforts here so remarkable. They had no such commitment here. It's a blog. It's designed for people to come and get stuff without having to post anything. And yet people went out of their way to help people and share their love of music. People like Rocket and Sallie and Watson. Sallie didn't have to do that here. She has her own blog and one that keeps her busy. But she still wanted to share things over here that she didn't share at her own place. She wasn't using this place to advertise her blog or as a billboard for recent posts. (I don't mind when people do that either because usually they're just letting people know what's available, but it really depends on how people do it. Greg tends to do it in a way that makes you question his motives.) That's what makes Sallie (among other things) so special. That's what made so many of the people here special.
And it wasn't just the older readers who understood what the Post and the blog were about. Tony hadn't been here that long, and yet he knew exactly what I was trying to do. He was like somebody who had been here forever and I will miss him too.
And I will miss all the other wonderful people whom I suspect didn't fully leave, but don't really want to comment here anymore.
If I had the choice between, a) 10 new people coming here tomorrow who were going to post some of the rarest soundtracks ever recorded and who wanted to post all of their collections but didn't get the spirit of the Request Post, or b) getting all those old people back, restoring that old feeling, and they never posted another piece of music, but just hung out here and talked, I would choose that old gang. So as you can tell, while I loved the music, on a personal level, it's not just about the music for me. Frankly, I can go to dozens of other blogs and get music. It will take me probably the next 10 years to listen to all the music I've already downloaded from the web that I haven't got around to yet. I sometimes think it's foolish for me to still keep downloading, when I've got 90+ DVD's worth of mp3's I haven't listened to yet. And I'm way behind on my downloading. If I was caught up, the number would probably be 300 or 400 DVD's worth.
And just from my own collection without the downloaded stuff, I honestly don't need all that much more music from other people. So if somebody's tempted to think that I miss those people just because of the music they posted, they're sorely mistaken. And if somebody thinks I keep the Request Post open because of the music being posted or because I want to keep the traffic high on the blog, they haven't read enough of the blog to understand what it's about or what I'm about.
For the first month and a half that this blog was up, I had a total of about 300 visits. It was probably because I didn't advertise the blog and I had the RSS feeds turned off. But still, I didn't care. In fact, I have never advertised this blog. I have never once left my web address anywhere and told people to come visit my blog. So if people think the popularity of the blog or the number of downloads or comments is my main concern, again they are sorely mistaken. You hope all those things happen, but you never expect them and you certainly don't chase after them. Well, at least I don't much care. If I did, I'd probably be posting much more popular genres of music or I'd force everybody to use just one file storage option to boost my Premium points.
But what is important to me is to post music that I like and hope that somebody else out there likes it too. And to create a fun, enjoyable atmosphere here. And that people here treat each other with respect (and by extension I suppose, treat me with some basic minimum respect as well). And to encourage people to seek out great blogs and great music whether they buy it or listen to it somewhere. And to run the blog in a way that I would like if I were coming here as a visitor. All very basic things.
Mel was right when he observed something that I didn't even realize. He said I created two basic rules here. Enjoy and be kind. Without realizing it, I had created two de facto rules. Greg has made it hard to do either of those two things on the blog.
And so, in light of that and in light of his most recent actions in reporting the blog, there is a lot less doubt as to whether Greg is deliberately doing these things to attack the blog. He went from possibly unintentional disrespect to intentional malice. And his refusal to accept any responsibility for his part in any of the things that happened or his lack of regard for other people and whether they might be bothered by his behavior makes it an intentional attack. Ask yourself, if it had been anyone else.....if it had been Isbum or Rocket From Mars or Filmpac....if they had bothered so many other people, whether they thought they were wrong or right, would they have apologized for doing it, apologized for causing so much trouble to other people, to the blog, or to myself (and many of them in fact did apologize when they left), and would they have tried to reconcile or get along with the other people they bothered? You bet they would.
Did Greg do any of those things? Even once? I've read every single comment on the blog and I don't remember a single instance of him trying to do any of those things. Did he even once apologize to me for driving so many people away from the blog? Was he bothered that because trolls hated him so much that he was bringing all these problems down on the other readers here? Did he once show any compunction to any of the other people here about trying to get the blog shut down and ruining it for them as well?
Ask yourselves any of those questions and then ask me whether Greg is really all that bad or not.
When even your defenders start out sentences like, 'Well, I know Greg can be a jerk......' or 'I know Greg is annoying sometimes......'.
It was because I could never tell whether Greg was an evil mastermind bent on destroying the Request Post and the blog or whether he was just the Mr. Magoo of the blogosphere, blithely causing chaos around him while he blames and attacks other people, that I was so reluctant to kick him out.
But he has made it clear that he is somewhere between those two extremes and that his malice at this point is deliberate. He is no longer welcome here, and assuming that he hasn't destroyed the blog entirely, he should leave and never come back.
But that's another reason why I haven't said it before. Because I knew that even if I told him to or asked him to, he probably would still come back. Especially if he felt things had settled down. Look at what he did at ScoreBaby Annex. When somebody specifically creates a Request Post over there with the express purpose of getting away from you, and you still go over there, it's either incredible obtuseness, ignorance, or malice. When I saw him show up there too, I felt it was an incredibly passive-aggressive thing to do. You show up there, know that they will be upset, then you come back here, reprint the whole exchange, and make them look like the bad guys for having a normal human reaction. That's malice (with an order of obtuseness on the side).
I have the feeling that he would do the same thing here if I told him he weren't welcome. He would just keep showing up anyway. It's almost as if he wants me to shut down the Request Post or the blog just to keep him from coming back. Failing that, he would just report me to shut it down.
But I would be willing to keep the Request Post open if Greg stayed away and there was no more trouble in there. I wouldn't expect people who left to come back necessarily (I'm surprised and touched that Rocket came back. I suspect he may have done it primarily out of loyalty to me and for that I will always be grateful. With the atmosphere in there, it couldn't have been easy!), but for all the other good people who were still there and wanted to hang out, I would keep it open. I probably wouldn't be as interested in hanging out there myself, but if people really wanted it to stay open (assuming the blog is still around), I'd keep it open.
If, on the other hand, Greg refused to leave, I suppose I'd just close it down. There would always be turmoil there as long as he was there, and so I'm not sure I would see much point in it.
Which leads me to the fifth way in which comments can be moderated on the blog...........
5) SHUTTING DOWN THE BLOG:
People may wonder why, in my previous post, I kept referring to Greg as having 'attacked' my blog. I wasn't referring specifically to him reporting the blog for TOS violations. I was talking about his attitude and the subsequent consequences of it. He had done something that no link-killer, troll, or the RIAA could ever do. And he did it more effectively than they ever could too. He got me to think about stopping blogging by not only attacking people here, but attacking the very spirit of the blog. That's what made it so insidious.
If I had been attacked by link-killers (as I have been many times in the past), it would only make me more defiant. I wouldn't be angry at the link-killers, but I would just keep going. I generally feel the same way about trolls though no one has ever persistently trolled me or the blog. They've done it 'indirectly' by trolling Greg, and so they have also attacked me, but I knew they weren't really bothered by the blog, per se.
But Greg has attacked the blog like a barnacle, leech, or pitbull, attaching himself to the blog, never letting go until you either want to leave or you die (figuratively speaking). I know that sounds harsh, but I don't say that lightly. I say that as a person who has had a blog up for almost a year now and never once had a problem like this until Greg got here. I've never had a significant problem from any other regular reader here. I say it as someone who has surfed literally hundreds of other blogs over a two year period and before that surfed music websites, chatrooms, forums, and other various venues. And over those period of years, I can say that Greg is probably the worst person I have ever encountered online. And I have seen some pretty nasty stuff.
In fact, when I first started this blog, it was at a time when people were attacking blogs left and right and they were falling like trees in the forest. Link-killers and trolls were causing blogs to shut down. Bloggers were attacking other bloggers. Forums were feuding with other forums. It was back when people were attacking Hans mercilessly (and I guess they still are). They were creating literally dozens of blogs just to attack him. Making fun of his dead mother-in-law, calling him every name in the book, hacking his blogs and shutting them down, pretending to be him and saying nasty things.
I thought to myself, 'Is this a good time to start a blog?' But I still did it anyway. That's probably why I was a little more paranoid about the stuff I posted and the way in which I blogged back then. In fact, even in those days when I had less than 300 visits total, some joker still killed some of my links!
And so I was not naive about what could happen on blogs. If you've ever wondered why, over the course of the blog, I've kept saying that people who come here are exceptionally nice or why it seems like I effusively heap praise on them, it's not because I'm sucking up. It's because I fully expected when I started this blog to have all of the things happen here that you've been seeing lately. I was fully expecting trolls, spam, flame wars, attacks, nasty comments, and bad feeling. And so when it didn't happen, I counted myself very lucky and I never took it for granted because I knew what it was like on other blogs. And until recently, none of those things ever happened here. People had amazingly nice things to say here. I'm still somewhat stunned by all the nice things people continue to say. Like all of those wonderful comments in the most recent posts from people like Bridget, Helen, Scarabus, Alex, or MP to name just a few. Or ones from my fellow bloggers, like Sallie, Mel, Constantino, Verdier, Timbo (that comment about 'Secret Agent Man' really lifted my spirits!), & Meester Music. I was especially happy to hear from Meester Music again after such a long time and knowing that he visits particularly brightens my day. The same goes for seeing Jazz's name when I see it turn up. I miss his him and his blog and so it's always nice to see him pop up here. I will always be grateful for the encouraging comments from these wonderful people..
And prior to discovering music blogs, there was a period of 2 or 3 years there when I didn't go online at all (another long story). I still don't have an online connection at home. But before that, I spent some time doing peer-to-peer, spent some time in chat rooms, forums, and surfing music websites. I've seen some incredibly nasty behavior in those places. Some of the worst, most horrendous comments made by people in chat rooms. All the usual stuff you can imagine. I've seen deplorable behavior in p2p, seen nasty stuff in forums, and read many incredibly nasty comments amongst the literally hundreds of blogs I've surfed.
And so the stuff going on here is relatively mild in comparison to stuff that goes on in the rest of the blogosphere. And relative to the rest of the real world, it's still a tempest in a teapot. We could all be living in Iraq right now. But since it is my teapot, it's still important to me. And the issues of respect and regard for others is still an important issue to me regardless of perspective.
And Greg's comments relative to ones you see at other blogs are also pretty mild. If this were another blog, people probably wouldn't have been so angry at him because there would've been ten people acting a little like Greg. But relative to what people were used to here, it was very bad behavior indeed and like I said before, he is clearly the most hostile, negative, and harshest of any of the regular readers I've ever had here. Trolls can say nastier things, but never over such a long period of time.
And this is why I say that Greg is probably the worst person I have ever encountered online. I shouldn't say worst person. I should say that he had the worst attitude. It's probably because usually when people act badly, it's never so consistenly and persistently. On blogs, even when people say incredibly nasty things, they don't usually like the blog enough to keep coming back. Or they troll and just annoy people for a short period of time. In chat rooms, they would've banned Greg by now and so the exposure is limited. Although I've seen many situations where the people just came back under a different nickname and IP address. But on a blog, there is no way to 'ban' someone. But even in those cases, annoying other people eventually loses its appeal to the annoyers and they drift away.
Greg is the only person I've ever seen who so thoroughly ignores the concerns of other people, has such little respect and regard for other people, cherry-picks the parts of people's comments that he wants to respond to, never apologizes for anything, never acknowledges or recognizes his effect on other people, and never accepts responsibility for any of his actions. And to do it over such a long period of time. This is truly extreme and unique.
Now, despite the way it sounds, I don't like saying those things about Greg. I certainly don't hate Greg or have a lot of anger for him, but I suppose I don't have much respect for the way he's treated people. But it's not like I'm the nicest person in the world either. My nature is fairly negative, critical and harsh too. It's probably one of the reasons I'm willing to give Greg the benefit of the doubt. I'm not one to throw stones, frankly. Well, I throw them, but it's not right when I do it. And normally I would've said a lot of these things to Greg in private through, say, E-Mail before ever saying it in public. But because of my personal situation, back-and-forth E-mail can be a very long process. And I tend to check the blog much more often than my E-mail. (That also involves a long story) And I tend to be very bad at writing E-Mail. So unfortunately, I end up airing dirty laundry here. I think I would've been much more reluctant to say these things about Greg in a public way without speaking to him first, one-on-one, if he hadn't said he wanted to shut the blog down and didn't care how he hurt other people here. Still, I do recognize how unfair it is to say things about him to everybody like this.
But it still remains true that Greg is the only reason I seriously consider the future of the blog and the Request Post. And I don't mean just because he reported the blog. Even if I started the blog somewhere else, I question whether I want to continue. Not just because of a few problems here and there. Or a few fights and conflicts, etc.
I think it's that prospect of a future with Greg hanging around. You need a certain amount of enthusiasm to blog especially in my situation and I suppose a lot of that is fueled by a good atmosphere. Maybe more than I realized. Because I suspect that Greg would show up eventually either out of malice or obtuseness, it's a consideration that makes blogging a little less appetizing. Or even if Greg stayed away, it would be the knowledge that I had to deliberately exclude someone from my blog, let alone a fellow blogger, that would also bother me a great deal. Either way, it sort of saps your spirit.
I imagine the desire to blog and share music would overcome that feeling, so I don't like to say I don't feel like blogging. I suppose the best case scenario is that things settle down there, Blogger.com doesn't really do much of anything, Greg leaves and is content to stay away from the blog, and the other people come back. I don't really see that happening though, so I suppose that's why I'm not too enthusiastic right now. That and the fact that I just wrote a million words and I'm kinda tired.
And I guess I'm not all that enthusiastic about starting a private blog either. I've got a lot of interesting things I want to do with it that I can't do with a public one, but I'm not as enthusiastic as I should be I guess because I would be excluding so many great people. Well, really more that they wouldn't be interested in joining a private blog. Although a lot of the great people I had in mind responded, a lot of the other people haven't left comments or E-mails so I suspect that it's probably just too much of an extra hassle for them to join. I can totally understand that. It's the same thing that keeps me from joining more forums and private blogs myself.
Of course, I still want to start one. I'm thinking of it more as a cross between a closet and a bulletin board where people can keep in touch or post things they don't want seen elsewhere. Because of the relatively small number of people there, I would guess it wouldn't be very active. Of course, I didn't think this Request Post was going to be very active either, so I guess you never know about these things. Either way, I still intend on creating that Private Blog in addition to this one.
Well, I don't foresee me actually shutting down this blog. It would be a sort of last resort I suppose. I always envisioned the end of the blog would either be me or other people getting bored and drifting away; I would just post something every few months or something. Or I thought I would be attacked out of existence by link-killers, trolls, or Blogger.com. I never imagined that it would implode from the inside through the actions of one person over a long period of time. That's a scenario I never envisioned.
Of course, as far as I'm concerned, I'm not really interested in shutting the blog down. Even if nobody came by and I didn't post anything for a long time, I'd still keep it up. Of course, the question is whether Blogger.com will let me. Or if Greg will let me. I sense we still haven't found the depths of his malice yet. Or you never know what new Hound of Hell has been unleashed by all this turmoil. Ten Greg wannabes could be waiting in the wings. Once people think that's what your blog is about, it's hard to turn it back around.
Of course, on a personal level, it would be nice to stop blogging. I'd finally get more time to surf other people's blogs again. Up until now, that is really the only other reason that would make me want to stop. And even that reason has never made me seriously consider it. Just a fleeting thought every once in a while about how nice it would be to go back to being able to participate in other people's blogs again. I always feel I should catch up on the downloading here first before I start back up on other people's blogs. But I never seem to be able to catch up. In a perverse way, I was almost glad when fewer people were posting things here. I thought I might at least have a chance to get caught up. I'm still working on Request Post #4 (and some random files in #2 & #3) as far as downloading goes! And I figure there's no sense in taunting myself (let alone the sheer time involved) by visiting other people's blogs if I wasn't going to download anything yet. Though I always want to read them just for the entertainment value, I always seem to have so much going on on this blog that I'm never able to get to other ones. You find yourself reading another blog and you look up and two hours has gone by. Even before I started blogging, it was a real struggle to keep up with all those great blogs out there.
But mainly right now, my enthusiasm for blogging is pretty low. I would've certainly posted some music by now if it weren't for all these other things going on. I don't like painting Greg as the bogeyman in this situation especially since conflict is always a two-way street, but it's hard to think of it any other way. If he had not created this atmosphere here with his persistent attitude, first in treating other people in a certain way and then later in refusing to take any responsibility for it, things would've never gotten so bad.
And I occasionally ask myself, 'if I had been here more often could I have stopped that downward slide?' But even after I threatened consequences (i.e. shutting down the Request Post or the blog) if that behavior and attitude continued, Greg still acted that way, drove people away, and things just got worse. So I don't think anything I would've done or said would've ultimately made much of a difference. Once the skunk is on the bus, it's pretty hard to get people back on to have a good time.
Which reminds me of that whole set of comments I made discussing consequences. At one point, Greg & Filmpac had a discussion trying to interpret what I had meant when I made those comments. I realized in reading Greg's reaction to those comments that he had slightly misinterpreted them. And Filmpac had understood them perfectly. His interpretation of what I had said was completely accurate. It was then that I realized that Greg was only choosing to listen to the parts that he wanted to and ignored the parts that applied to him. I did make the comments general to everyone, but perhaps one of my faults in this has been not wanting to single Greg out. Other people seemed to be making those points already and I had hoped that Greg would heed their words and opinions; I didn't feel like piling on him as well. But unfortunately, he chose to ignore everything everyone (including me) was saying to him.
And so you have the situation you see now. I suppose I always have the basic desire to keep blogging, but the prospect of running a blog where so many good people like Filmpac, Isbum, Quinlan, Watson, Bistis6 (and so many other great people I don't want to think about) avoid it like the plague (while Greg's stated desire is that he hopes they shut the blog down) is not a blog that I'm that interested in running.
I hate saying that because it seems somewhat ungrateful to all the great people still here, but when I started this blog, it was always with the hope that exactly those kind of people would visit. But there doesn't seem to be much point in continuing a blog where people like Breton Girl, Mel, Ronnie C., Tony or Sallie (to name just a few) don't want to hang out. That is not a good blog and it certainly means that I've failed as a blogger if it repels such good people.
That is really the main reason I'm not that interested in the blog right now. Greg has driven those people away, driven the good atmosphere away, and with it my desire to blog. Certainly the blog (or the Request Post, for that matter) can always continue without those people. Nobody's indispensable (well, even I don't have to be here all that often). But it's the difference between a blog that survives and a blog that thrives. It's the difference between an okay blog and a good blog. It's the difference between a blog I have to visit because it's mine and a blog I want to visit because I have such a good time.
Those original people who left are the heart and soul of this blog as far as I'm concerned, and while I would always want to see them back, I would never expect them to come back to a place that holds such bad associations in their minds. They should never visit a place that doesn't have a good atmosphere where people actually respect and care enough about the other people to treat them well. And they should never hang out in a place where they can expect to be attacked or insulted by people like Greg. Frankly, if I was a reader of this blog and not the blogger, I would've had exactly the same reaction that those people had. I would have either left or perhaps stuck around, but just not commented. And so I don't blame any of the people who stay away one bit.
I do find it rather disturbing though to constantly read comments, mostly from anonymous people, that 'This blog is dead', etc. Again pompous pronouncements by other people besides me. For one thing, it plays into that misconception that the blog is the Request Post. I've seen some people here even refer to this as a 'Request Blog'. To me, it would be a little like saying because people weren't posting comments in the Trivia Post that 'This Trivia Blog Is Dead', go elsewhere for your trivia. All very silly pronouncements in my mind, but people are perfectly welcome to their opinion.
But it underscores a basic misunderstanding I think people have about the Request Post (and perhaps even the blog). I've noticed various comments from people that seem to suggest in their mind that the Request Post was designed as a vast resource for posting & sharing soundtracks. While it can be that, it is basically whatever the people visit want to make it. This is true regardless of whether one person posts one item per month or 10,000 people post 10,000 items every day. And does anybody see anywhere on the blog where it actually says, 'Soundtracks Request Post', by the way? And of course some of this is my fault. 'Request Post' is actually a misnomer. It quickly became much more than that, but I was reluctant to re-title it. Others have thought of it as a forum. I have always found that very flattering, but that's not entirely accurate either.
It has always been whatever people decide to make it. Otherwise, I would've posted an entire list of rules and regulations and spelled out exactly which soundtracks I wanted people to post and that they all had to be exactly 77.2 minutes long. Otherwise, you must all leave. It can be posted music, it can be discussion, it can be anything anyone wants. Everyone just assumed what they wanted to about it because they saw it at any given moment and imagined it was that. Original readers saw it as a friendly party and so it was one for a very long time. Greg saw it as a Request Post where it was okay to treat other people badly and as a billboard for his blog so that's what it eventually became. Trollers and spammers saw it as a playground since music wasn't being posted and then when they got tired, declared it was 'dead'. Everybody created their own realities.
Unfortunately, most other people could not live in Greg's reality and so that's why you see he is the one constant there. He comes back regardless of harassment, pleas, or questions. He made it what he wanted it to be. And now he wants me to protect his particular castle in the sky from attacks. And my particular reality is that I see it as either a fun party or just a regular comment section that people occasionally visit. The beauty of that system is that I don't force you to live in my reality. You make it as you go. And I'm just as, well, satisfied is not the right word, but acclimated to the idea of it being a post where somebody wanders in once a month and says something. That's what I thought it was going to be when it started. While of course, I would prefer it to be what it once was, I'm not desperately trying to return it to its former glory either. I'm okay with it being some place where you see a comment once-a-month. The only thing I really care about is that those good people who were left high and dry by all the conflict had some good place to hang out. Whether it's here or some place else is fine by me.
On a personal level, I would prefer it to be here just because it's easier and more likely that I would get time to hang out with them if they were here. I know that sounds ridiculous, but in practical terms that ends up being true. Just the extra steps involved in surfing another location make it harder for me with the limited amount of time (and library computer resources) I have online to surf (and being such a slow reader) that the more that happens here, the less I end up spending in other places. For instance, I don't think I've been to forums (that I was a member of) in about 7 or 8 months (I'm not even sure I'm still a member!). It's sorta all I can do just to read my own blog! And that would be the only reason I would prefer people to hang out here, but otherwise I am mainly bothered by the fact that good people might be harassed here or not have a good atmosphere to hang out in.
Unfortunately, it seems that even usually good and agreeable anonymous people here feel the need to create a bad atmosphere. [Update: I've actually seen the comment being made that it was okay to mess around here since nobody was posting any music anyway so what difference did it make? It's sad to think that people actually need music posted in order for them not to create problems. I suspect that this was from an 'anonymous' person (well, really not entirely anonymous) who really hasn't read this blog much. If I haven't set the proper tone here with the stuff I write or post than I'm not sure what more I can do. I shouldn't have to hold people's hands and hit them over the knuckles with a ruler to keep them civilized and to treat others with respect. Again, not the kind of blog I envisioned.]
When I make a private blog, then I'll force people into the mold I want them to conform to and the hoops I want them to jump through. But this blog is not just the Request Post and the Request Post isn't just about posting music, at least in my eyes. It never has been.
So when good people go and bad people stay, they determine what the blog will be. I cannot force good people to inhabit the blog anymore than I can force a smile on your face or tell you what thoughts to think. I can try and set an example which is what I've tried to do with things I've written on the blog and music that I've posted. It is up to people whether they choose to ignore that example or not. And apparently a lot of people have. And the ones who haven't have wisely stayed away.
Greg, I'm afraid may never understand this. He would like me to be the Mussolini of this particular blog and make the trains run on time so that he can stay here indefinitely. No matter how many other people he drives away. Then when people get upset and take it too far, he wants to stay and return no matter how much he feels harassed. He wants me to provide a comfortable atmosphere here for him despite the fact that he ruined it for so many others here including myself.
And to be honest, it pains me to say that because I genuinely do not want to hurt Greg's feelings. He hasn't deserved the level and methods of attacks hurled at him and I would hate to see my comments here fuel another round of attacks on him. I wish if people disagreed with him they would do it in a more reasoned way (no matter how futile that may be) and put aside the four-letter words, personal attacks, spamming, and threats. But still, I do understand that he continues to bring these things on himself and refuses to even take a moment to consider whether he initiated all of this. When you start a snowball and it crushes you, you can't really complain too loudly.
And it disturbs me to see other people blame those people who left (or the ones who remain) who have a problem with Greg. Like I said before, I think it's because they don't understand the problem with Greg's behavior fully. When you've only visited the blog since he's been here, you think that this is what the blog is about. The other people just look like whiners or petty people who can't leave these childish squabbles behind them. The irony is that they were some of the most mature, sedate people here. That's why they left. They didn't really need to be exposed to that childish attitude of Greg's. It wasn't just a case of a few people who had a personality conflict with Greg. It was a case of a large number of people not liking how he had ruined the atmosphere of the blog. Is someone childish for not liking someone who keeps setting off stink bombs in someone else's house and then refuses to take responsibility for it?
Nobody says you have to be perfect to visit and comment here. I don't expect readers who come here to be Stepford people or anything; it's not a cult where I expect everybody to smile and get along in perfect harmony one-hundred percent of the time. It would be pretty boring if they did. But people did get along here and understood how to act and behave before Greg got here. So I don't think it's unreasonable to think that people can visit here in harmony without bad feeling since they were able to do it before. The one element that makes that hard, if not impossible, is Greg. It's not the spam and trolling because it wouldn't be here without Greg. Are the trolls and spammers saying nasty things about me or the blog? Well, one person did say he thought I might be Greg in disguise. I didn't really appreciate that. But other than that, 99.9% of the trouble is not directly aimed at the blog, but at Greg and the trouble he caused. In my book, that means the trolls and spammers are not the cause of the trouble.
True, they have said incredibly nasty things about Greg. It's a severe overreaction to his behavior and I hate some of these things I'm reading and hearing about. But his continued presence seems to be fueling that hatred. And it's his dogged determination to ignore everything everybody says unless he wants to attack or refute it (often in a hostile way) that continues to fuel that hatred. And while I deplore the tactics and language that some people are using, and even my defenders say things to Greg that make me cringe, I can certainly understand the anger behind it. He encourages it with his reactions and continued behavior.
I think Greg imagines that staying quiet for a while or not pissing people off is as good as an apology or getting along with other people. The trouble with that is they are never sure if you're gone for good, so they continue to say bad things. You never state that you are leaving and never coming back, so they continue to harass you in absentia. And merely saying nothing or keeping your comments neutral and posting a link is not the same as good fellowship or camaraderie. Posting links while not saying anything obnoxious isn't mending fences and proving that you're being good. I know in your mind that it is a show of good faith and I do believe you deserve credit for that effort, but it is so subtle that it's a hard thing to notice amidst the din. And there is so much history of your abusive behavior that it is hard for people to forget or ignore it. I think you imagine that just because it happened a few months ago, people should just drop it and move on, but if somebody had pissed all over your party for three months, would you just move on? Now those aren't the people causing all of these trolling problems, but they're people who resent your past actions and current reactions.
It's a little like someone who starts a war and then says 'let's forget how we all got into it, let's just focus on what we're going to do about it now.' Well, that's all well and good unless the person who started the war is still in charge. If they're still around to make the same mistakes and provoke the same problems, then it does make a difference what happened in the past and how we got to this situation you see now.
That's what appears to be behind all this anger. And despite the fact that I tell people not to retaliate against Greg and to be civil in their disagreements with him, they still continue to do it anyway. It's a train that Greg set in motion and he expects me to stop it for him.
The sad fact is that you can never legislate people's attitudes. You can have all the rules in the world, but there's nothing that says anybody has to follow them. You can delete all the comments you want. You can screen out every offensive idea and thought if you so wish, but it never solves the real problem. The genesis of the hatred will always be there regardless of how you ignore it with comment moderation or insist on drowning out other offensive voices. You can't make people treat other people with respect in a blogging world. By either Greg or his attackers. It is this sad reminder of that fact which has probably turned off so many people.
As long as Greg (or anybody else) continues to go places and demonstrates to people that it's acceptable to ignore people's irritation (as he ironically claims I have done to him), to demean and belittle people who are just trying to enjoy themselves and other people's company, and to act like they own the blogs they visit (except when it comes time to take responsibility for it), then I suppose that atmosphere will always be ruined.
Perhaps the blog was a victim of its own success. Maybe if the blog had not become as popular as it did (for whatever that's worth), the odds would be against the Gregs of the blogosphere visiting. Or perhaps it was bound to happen no matter what. I just didn't think it was going to happen so soon. I thought some attacks or trolling might happen 6 or 7 months from now, but I didn't think it was going to be this soon.
Or perhaps I should've put a big sign over the blog saying, 'No obnoxious people allowed'. I thought 'Enjoy and be kind' sort of took care of that, but maybe the Gregs of this world can't read the small print. Maybe driving a lot of people away is acceptable in their world view. Maybe ignoring what dozens of other people say and attacking them as they leave and following them wherever they go is a good thing in that particular universe. I don't know.
I just know that I'll have to wait to see what the future brings. Some things are out of your control. Hate to leave this essay on such an ambiguous note, but sometimes as much as we hate it, we just can't control what other people do or how they behave. Even if I kept the blog going, I don't know what Greg or the spammers or the trolls are going to do.
I can only hope that we've all learned something from this. Even in the smallest things (which I consider this weird turmoil or even the fate of this blog to be), I think we can always learn something. And gaining wisdom doesn't seem a small thing at all.
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[Addendum: And after catching up on the comments from the last two weeks, I see a lot of people made the same points that I did in this essay (even citing some of the same examples and quotes). I almost feel like I could've saved myself the trouble. And considering that Greg has managed to largely ignore any of the valid points people were trying to make, I suspect he will do the same thing here. He will focus on a few things I said and react angrily, cherry-pick the ones he considers to support his positions, and ignore everything else I was trying to say, if the pattern holds up.
I keep hoping for the best in Greg and that perhaps he will take in some of what people have said to him to reconsider his behavior and attitude, but at this point, I don't hold out much hope. And I say that not for the benefit of anybody else (anybody who is truly offended by Greg has generally left) or myself (I can't really do much more than ask him to leave which I have done), but I truly say that because I believe Greg does more damage to himself than anyone else by refusing to pay any attention to people. He creates this intense hatred around him and builds this huge defensive reaction (which I think we can all relate to when people are saying things about us), but he only ends up hurting himself the most. The only people who are willing to put up with his behavior now are people who don't know him that well, people who don't visit that often, or people who expect a certain amount of bad attitude online.
But I honestly lament for Greg because I still believe after all this time he doesn't understand why people hate him so intensely. When you demean and disrespect other people for so long, drive them away, and then a lot of other people see this and start trolling you, you can't just refer to it as harassment and terrorism without accepting some responsibility for what triggered it in the first place. It wasn't simply spontaneous hatred generated from nothing. It sprang entirely out of your attitude and behavior. That's something that's hard to take back no matter how you act now. The damage was already done and you continued to exacerbate it with your continued outbursts, refusal to accept other people's feelings and reactions, and your periodic anger and hostility.
But I suspect this will fuel your anger even more and for that I am sorry. But I am mainly sorry that it seems likely that you will probably be the focus of attacks wherever you go because people now know what kind of person you were here. And I would again urge people to stop attacking Greg in that vicious and personal way (i.e., setting up pages to harass him, calling him a sex offender, etc.), since it is way out of line and really counter-productive. But again I understand the frustration that people have for Greg and frankly, he started this fire and I'm not sure it's that easy to put out.
I noticed Greg citing two people whom he felt agreed with him and basically ignored the 40 or 50 other people who didn't. Now, just because you're in the minority doesn't necessarily mean you're wrong, but you have to ask yourself that if you can only cite 2 other people that you felt were on your side (and frankly, that's not exactly what they said....you ignored the entirety of their comments) out of the dozens of other people, maybe there's something wrong with this picture.
And I've read a few of the more recent comments by a few other people who blamed me for not moderating these harassing comments more. And while I accept any fault for my absences, anybody's who's visited for any length of time on the blog knows how this works and I suspect that these feelings were held by people who haven't been here that long otherwise I don't think they would be quite so generous to Greg. Certainly he doesn't deserve this level of attack, but neither is he the innocent victim here either. It probably only looks that way if you've only read the most recent Request Posts and nothing else. Unless you can say that you've been here from the beginning, I think it's much harder to take that stance without all the facts and nuances.
My continual presence was never necessary until Greg showed up here. He brought all of this down on himself and the blog and people only see the aftermath and think it's the chaotic atmosphere of the blog that is the problem. Well, it's funny how none of that existed for the first nine months the blog was up despite the fact that it had a lot of traffic before. It only existed after Greg got here. And until you can tell me that you've read most of the comments in the history of this blog (even some of the ones deleted by Greg), then I don't think you can claim to have the full picture of the situation.
That, again, is the reason I wrote this. Because nobody really has time to read all of these things unless they really want to or unless they're the blogger (two categories I luckily happen to fall into), and so I wanted to try to make people understand why the blog is the way that it is now.....and to tell it from the perspective of one who has tracked it from the very beginning.
It is still funny to me to read all these comments by people who declare what the blog is, what the Request Post is, how it isn't what it should be, or what they think should be done with it. It is what it is. It isn't what people imagine it is. I can imagine it to be a peaceful harmonious place where people treat each other with respect, but unless people are willing to do it, all the imagining on my part, all the rules and comment deletion, all the 'moderator' action, won't turn it into that. All you need is one Greg to abuse the system to turn it into crap if he so chooses.
And as I've said many times, I set out to create a certain kind of blog. Any other kind of blog, I'm not that interested in running. It doesn't mean it's bad, it simply means I'm not interested in doing it. Telling me that I must turn off anonymous comments is like telling me I must post nothing but heavy metal and country-western albums in order for this to be a good blog. There's nothing wrong with doing that, but I'm simply not interested in it. Telling me I need to kick people out or delete other people's comments is like telling me I need to keep all my posts short and post something every day. Maybe it would make the blog better, but it would turn it into the kind of blog I'm simply not interested in presiding over. And ultimately, I have to please myself as much as I cherish all the people who visit. I'm not going to change the way I blog or the blog itself to please other people in part because I think it ultimately does a disservice to people who visit anyway.
I don't think I see much point in creating a blog that I'm not interested in. Of course, I have that now, but that is mostly due to the presence of Greg. If he insisted on staying here no matter what, then he creates a situation that is impossible for me since I would be forced to delete his comments or kick him out even more strongly or do other things that would turn this blog into something I don't want anyway. This is the reason I'm not sure if this was his goal in the first place. He doesn't seem to mind that he's driven almost all the people away from the Request Post. So his goals are still a mystery to me. I almost think he would be satisfied if it were just me and him here.
I know for a lot of people (maybe most) who read this, they may still have a hard time understanding my attitude on this. They may think, 'What's the problem? Do 'x', 'y', & 'z' to fix your blog, and that's that. Turn off anonymous comments, do comment moderation, kick Greg out, set up a bunch of rules, post more heavy metal music, etc. What's the problem?'
I think it's especially hard for people to understand if they assume my goal is to have high traffic, or to have a lot of people posting music, or to even have a conflict-free blog (none of which are necessarily my goals). But if I haven't made my goals plain by now, it would be hard to explain any more than I already have.
Also, I think people imagine that what they see happen at other blogs will work here. But until you have a blog that generates hundreds of comments, has Greg visiting for a prolonged period of time, and you've been running a blog for a year or more, then I think it's much harder to make that comparison. There are reasons why those methods may work or at least appear to work at other blogs, but each blog is different. Depending on the type of music posted, the number of people visiting, the kind of people visiting, the number of posts, the volatility of the blog, the amount of time it's been up, etc., conditions are different for each blog. For instance, comment moderation is viable if you intend to be in every day and you get maybe 4 or 5 comments in a single post. But do it for eight months straight with over 4000 comments, and then talk to me about comment moderation. And look at blogs that turn off anonymous comments. They may appear orderly, but then they also have fewer comments. What you're really saying to me is reduce the number of comments you allow and everything will be fine. Sure, I could turn off comments altogether and I would have the most orderly blog in the universe too. And I have seen the most vicious attacks on blogs that had anonymous comments turned off.
Or you can have a very peaceful atmosphere on a blog that has all of those features installed, but part of the reason may be because there's simply less traffic. It's easier to be peaceful when the traffic's low and there isn't one central location to make comments. That's why it appears to work on other blogs because people don't congregate in one spot as the blog continues to post new material. Turning off anonymous comments or deleting the occasional odd random comment works in an environment where you have maybe 10 or 20 comments in a particular section and where people don't gather together. And it appears to work if the blog has less overall traffic. For instance, does Greg's blog appear peaceful because of comment moderation and deletion or is it peaceful simply because fewer people visit it? All things that especially non-bloggers don't take into account. Before I was a blogger, I never thought about any of that stuff. I didn't even know how this stuff worked (and there are still big aspects I don't understand), so I think it is completely understandable that people imagine that if all those methods work elsewhere they should work here too. But as I say, every blog is different.
I suppose I could create the same atmosphere here that Greg has on his blog. Allowing only 1 or 2 comments to be posted and screen everything else out. But would it be the same kind of blog if I did? If I were interested in having that kind of blog, I would've created it that way in the first place. I wouldn't write nearly so much, I wouldn't post compilations that are bound to have a limited appeal, I would post more popular stuff, and I wouldn't have even bothered to put in a Request Post. But I blog the way that I do because that's what interests me. It's also probably why this blog is what I always think of as a 'rinky-dink' blog, but I suppose it's my 'rinky-dink' blog and I like it that way. So as much as it antagonizes people, I suppose I have to do it the way that I want to otherwise I don't think it's good for anybody.
So if that means a thousand people visit or it's just me and Greg here for the rest of eternity (well, I would probably shoot myself before that happened anyway), then I just have to keep blogging in a way that satisfies myself regardless of what people imagine the blog should be. That's all I can really do at the end of the day.]
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[Second Addendum: Wow! I think I wrote that first addendum over two weeks ago! It's amazing how quickly time goes by. I keep thinking I want to come in and then I realize weeks have gone by. I suppose the longer I stay away, the easier it gets. Frankly, there's not much incentive to post anything when most of the good people stay away from the blog. I don't really have much interest in posting things for the benefit of Greg and a bunch of spammers and trolls. I know that's really unfair to all the other good people who may be checking in occasionally to see if anything's changed, but it's not really intentional on my part. I want to come in, but when it comes time to think of working on stuff to post, it gets much harder to put the effort in when you know you've just got Greg and his entourage to look forward to.
It's interesting. I don't blog specifically for the comments, but just knowing that good people are either gone, afraid, or disenchanted to comment really makes it much harder to want to put in the effort.
And I know all those good people who left their E-mail addresses and left really wonderful comments concerning a private blog must be wondering if I ever intend on doing it (assuming anyone still cares), but it's just that I haven't been online long enough to really get the whole thing going (let alone respond to people's kind E-mails). I sincerely apologize for that.
And I haven't had a chance to leave a comment over at Isbum's great new blog either and I've only had a chance to make a quick visit over there only once (and so I hope everything is still going well over there), but knowing that people have a good place to go also makes me less motivated to work on that private blog. I'd almost feel like I was taking something away from his blog if I asked people over to mine, but I know people are able to visit more than one blog, so I know it's kind of silly. But still, that feeling that all those good people have somewhere to hang out makes me less inclined to work too hard on that private blog, I guess. And I don't want to mess anything up for Isbum.
I always wanted to see Isbum or Filmpac or Rocket From Mars start their own blog since they are exactly the kind of people who should have one (great people with great taste in music with great collections and great spirits) and so it makes me gladder than you can know to see Isbum have one. And Isbum is exactly the kind of person who would do something as nice as to start one to help out all those people who wanted to have somewhere good to go. The blogosphere is filled with great and generous people as witnessed by all those great blogs out there, but Isbum (and many of the people over there) are in a special category. (And no, I don't get paid based on the number of times I use the word, 'great'.)
I also keep meaning to respond to all those nice comments people left on the blog in the past several weeks, but there's something simultaneously uplifting and depressing about going through them. I've read them all (well, except for the last couple of week's worth) and people have said some amazingly nice things in the past couple of months. I wanted everyone to know that all the things they said were not ignored by me (even if it seemed that way). Sometimes it's hard to know where to begin especially since so many people have said so many things, but if I have the stamina I intend to respond to them (someday).
There is an amazing backlog of things I want to do when I have the chance to go online and so it's equally amazing how little progress I make. I get a lot done, but there's so many things to check out, respond to, read, and research when I get online that it always seems a losing proposition.
I have used the time away from the blog though to get inspired to do some compilations and to listen to a tiny fraction of my backlog of downloaded music. Yeah, yeah, I know nobody but me cares, but I thought I'd mention it anyway.................]
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[Third addendum: And that's where I stopped writing when I intended to come in and post this behemoth of an essay, but amazingly more than another week has gone by. I really wanted to try and come in before the Tony Awards to post some music, but as much as I hate to admit it, I selfishly stayed home and watched the French Open. I had fully intended to come in and do more stuff online, but I didn't realize the French Open Finals were that weekend, and so I ended up staying home. As attractive as the prospect of coming in to find out what fresh hell I might encounter when I came back to the blog after being away from it for three weeks as I spend hours stuck to a library computer might be, I amazingly ended up not doing it.
And now I see that same imaginative spammer (assuming it's the same one) has taken to cutting and pasting into every comment section (at least the ones I checked....I stopped after about the 5th or 6th one) that no more music was being shared here. Funny, all those posts with music on them must be my imagination or something. Maybe it's just a mirage caused by lack of water (or good sense).
Well, it appears that the spammers (and to a lesser extent trolls) have morphed into not just attacking Greg but now they're attacking the blog directly as well. I wouldn't mind so much if these apparently weren't being made by people who actually seem to be reading the blog and understand what's going on. I find it extremely odd to say the least that people who were supposedly upset by Greg and all the fighting going on decided the way to solve that problem was by spamming and trolling. And after the first several weeks of doing that didn't work, they must've decided it was the right way to go by keeping it up (which, by the way, is the proverbial definition of insanity).
The blog's still here (though Greg seems to be somewhat dormant as far as I can tell) and so what exactly is the purpose of spamming the blog in such an idiotic way? I don't mind so much from the standpoint that given enough time all this person's spam will be gone from the blog so I don't exactly know what he expects to achieve by doing it. Discouraging people from posting comments perhaps? Pretty silly because unless they intend to stay here for the life of the blog, it hardly matters. People will always post comments eventually.
And as they can tell, I still come back even after prolonged absences so unless they really want to be bothered to keep wasting their time spamming, I'll always delete it eventually anyway. Just because people might not want to comment because of it doesn't prevent people from downloading music. And those same people who might be put off from commenting can always go elsewhere to share and post music, so what exactly this particular spammer(s?) hopes to accomplish is really beyond me, but I suppose that's why they have insane asylums. Places where repeat spammers can pick up their mail, I guess. (And posting the phrase 'There is no music being shared here' dozens of times in the comment section of say, a post of a compilation that has over 80 tracks of mystery themes seems well, I hate to use the word again but, idiotic. Almost three hours of non-music, I guess.)
I suppose if the spammer's goal is to get me to shut down the blog, that hardly seems likely because of it. If anything, it would encourage me to keep it open just to keep deleting their comments. If, on the other hand, they wanted me to keep the blog open by spamming me then that would still be a stupid tactic. So, again, doesn't really make much sense. But, still I enjoy commenting on it because it gives me a chance to call somebody stupid without actually feeling too bad about it.
So to sum up, the goal of this spamming is to a) get people to stop posting music? Well, that would make sense if you just did it in the Request Post, but doing it in say, the comment section of the 'The Railway Children' just seems silly (though 'Filmpac' did still manage to generously post music anyway, now that I think about it!), b) get people to stop commenting? Well, after I delete the spam, people will still continue to post comments, so again, silly. And it's not like people post a lot of comments in the older posts anyway, so......still silly, c) annoy Greg because he's annoying? Well, since spamming is more likely to annoy the blogger and other people more than it does Greg, again.........it begins with an 's' and ends in a 'y', d) annoy me and the other people reading it? Well, since the person is apparently upset that music is not being shared here and he either wants to satirize that fact or he wants to warn other people who come here, then annoying me or other people here hardly seems the way to remedy that situation. Again.........well, you fill in the blank, e) get me to turn off anonymous comments? Well, that seems a pretty ridiculous way to do it. Since I haven't done it yet, continuing to do it won't exactly inspire me to do it now. No reason to think it would after such a long time, but of course, I may have to re-think that whole thing since we seem to have such a large percentage of anonymous people who don't have any respect for other people or this blog now, but it still qualifies as silly since they'd have no reason to think I would do it now if I haven't already done it, f) get a rise out of Greg just because it's fun? Well, since it's hardly likely that Greg is going to read the comment section of 'The Railway Children', then that's just.....no, wait, not silly so much as idiotic. Well, really it switches back and forth between being silly, stupid, and idiotic. It's multi-faceted stupidity. Okay, I just enjoy calling the spammer stupid and idiotic. Oh, now I get the appeal. Never mind.
Oh, that was kinda fun repeatedly calling the spammer and/or spammers stupid. But I'd get bored with all the cutting and pasting. I like to call them stupid the old-fashioned way. By typing in the words dozens of times. You know that is kinda fun. That spammer is stupid. That spammer is stupid. That spammer is stupid. (Though sorry to disappoint anyone, but I won't be deleting those last three repetitious spams.)
Well, since I doubt that the spammer will have the mental capabilities to actually make it this far down the post, the fun of calling him stupid and idiotic will just have to be reserved for me and the people who are reading this. And for all those people who read this far down, you can have fun seeing if he actually spams this post. That will be a secret sign between you and me that he is really, really, really stupid. Actually, that's a good rule-of-thumb in general. If you see any spam anywhere on the blog, then that means the spammer is trying to prove to me that he is as stupid as I think he is. Either way, I win. I either get a blog free from spam or after I delete his spam, I get the knowledge and confirmation of just how stupid he is, but I also get a blog free from spam. Really, a win-win situation for me any way you look at it. (I'm perfectly willing to trade the time and effort it takes me to delete his spam for the satisfaction of knowing just how stupid he is.)
I'm having too much fun. I should get back to discussing more serious matters..........Hmmm, can't think of anything actually. Spamming isn't like Greg for instance. I can always easily delete spam but I can't easily give Greg a personality transplant. The same goes for all the other malcontents and trolls who think attacking him is somehow making my blog better, I suppose. It would be nice if they all went to live on a desert island with Greg somewhere, but since that hardly seems likely, I guess I'll just put up with it.
You see, I always have the advantage because I will always continue to do it because I enjoy it. Spammers and trolls do it because they're bored and frustrated about something......until they get bored and frustrated with something else. Then they move on. It's the nature of the beast. You may think it's callous of me not to be more concerned with the problems they cause, but it's simply because I know it's not based on anything permanent. All these things pass. I've seen it a million times.
It's the same thing with people who are against file-sharing. Many of them are much like spammers and trolls. It can be about conviction (and it's not like I don't agree with some of their points), but the majority of people I have ever seen who rail against it on the web are less about the conviction of the wrongness of it so much as they are about venting anger and spewing hatred. Since it's not based on conviction so much as hatred, it's not as troubling. And the reason I say that is because it's like when VCR's became more affordable in the 1980's. Movie studios and television executives railed against it and tried to stop it not out of a true conviction that it was wrong, but because they were just afraid of some short-term loss of profits. They were afraid that people would never buy a video cassette or pay to see a movie in a theater because they could violate copyright by taping things off of television for free. But even at the time it seemed silly because it was like watching blacksmiths rail against automobiles or the telegraph companies trying to suppress telephones. As much as you think it hurts business, you can never make the technology go away as much as you would want it to.
But just like file-sharing, it's a reality that won't go away. Sure some people share music because they want to thumb their noses at the companies, because they want to get away with something forbidden, or because they just want to 'steal' stuff as some critics like to think of it (I suspect a lot of those people are the ones left reading this blog unfortunately). I imagine when commerical radio came out some people thought of it as stealing too. But most bloggers I've encountered do it because they want to share music that they like with others. There are some blogs I've seen that seem to have a 'stick-it-to-the-man' attitude, but it's clear that the majority of bloggers in the circle that we inhabit are more interested in sharing. It's based on conviction and not simply 'thievery'. If music blogs and p2p networks were to disappear tomorrow, people would still be file-sharing through E-mail, forums, usenet, newsgroups, et al. That's not because the majority of the people are committed to 'stealing' as a conviction or a principle, but it's because they have a basic desire to share their love of music. And they know realistically that they are never going to buy all the things they want. We would be trading tapes and CD-R's if mp3's didn't exist. It's a reality that isn't going away anytime soon and just like VCR's, you can't wish it away, you can only change your business model, adjust and adapt, and use it to encourage people's greater love of music like they did with film and a Blockbuster on every corner or later a Netflix in every mailbox.
I think anybody who's been reading this blog for a while pretty clearly realizes I'm not trying to distribute these files to the largest possible audience. I think loyal readers know I'm not trying to put Amazon.com or Walmart out of business. And anybody who's actually read the blog knows I advocate people buying the stuff they enjoy as well. The only people who complain about such things are people who don't actually 'read' this blog. They just want to vent anger in much the same way that spammers and trolls do. And in the same way they don't do much more than inspire more hatred and anger. Really productive stuff.
The reality is that even though this blog is publicly available and searchable, the thing you pretty quickly learn as a blogger is that even though you imagine that you're making something available to the whole world, finding something in the blogosphere is like looking at a drop of water in the Pacific Ocean. It's there for everyone to see, but discerning it is another matter. Sometimes people have looked for things on this blog that they knew were here and they still couldn't find them. So making these things available on blogs is not like freely handing them out on a street corner to everyone who walks by. In reality a very small number of people frequent any one individual blog. I think the real problem lies in the sheer volume of material available. In the past, when people had the desire to listen to something that they wanted to own and listen to many times, they would go and pay for an outrageously priced CD (well, in the old days when music lovers were more satisfied, they would actually pay for a more moderately priced LP, but that's a whole other discussion). Now, when they have a desire to listen to something, they have 500 albums to choose from. It's not any one individual download that's the problem, it's the fact that they simply don't have time to listen to everything and all that desire for music is being oversaturated and over-satisfied (if that's possible). That's where the real threat lies, I think, but it's not born out of thieving file-sharers, but the technology and the power of networking that the internet provides. That's not going away anytime soon.
And so just as it is with those who complain about file-sharing or those who abuse file-sharing, trolls and spammers are like the people without conviction. They are the people who just want to grab some music because it's free and see how much they can get away with. I guess that's why I'm not as bothered by these recent attacks (as perhaps I should be). Even if the blog stopped tomorrow, I'd still be sharing music with someone somewhere not because I'm just trying to grab everything in sight that's free and trying to give away everything to everyone. It's not based on some fleeting desire to 'steal' as some people might think just as conversely, spamming is not based on anything of real substance. Cutting and pasting the same phrase over and over again hardly poses a real threat because it's not exactly based on a reasoned argument. It's based on someobdy's ability to use 'Control-c' on their keyboard. I'm not entirely sure, but I think I could get a monkey to do that. Monkeys can be pretty annoying if they want to be, but unless this were the Planet of the Apes, I'm not going to be too bothered by it.
The thing I will always take away from my blogging experience won't be some annoying conflicts, childish spamming, or bad blood. The thing I will take away will be the people I met, their generosity and insight, the music they shared with me, and the enjoyment I got from their enjoyment. All this turmoil, tumult and attack is based on quicksand, but the other stuff is lasting. I will always be glad I met people like Isbum & Rocket From Mars, Filmpac & Mel, Sallie & Breton Girl, Timbo & JazzHollister, Mickey & (all the) Tony(s), Quinlan & Watson, Jordan & J.R., Bistis6 & Ronnie C., Thingmaker & Honored General, Detective Mitchell & Blofeld's Cat, The Amazing Mumford & Cedric, Vince & First Moon, Paulz & Potsdamerplatz, Mr. T & (all the) Scoredaddy's, Alex & Ruggo, Attax & 7 Black Notes, Ill Folks & Lazar, Xtabay & Esther, Telstar Ted & Phelpster, MisterLesterKeen & Meester Music, Loungetracks & Sansgarantie, John Hartigan & Rangeraver, Scoreman & IndyB007, Maimone Digital & Quidtum, 'D' & Thomas, JAMK & Flunkyrat, Robotgunfighter & Vinnie Rattolle, Number06 & Bongolong, Onzichtbaredj & Pastor McPurvis, Soundsational in all his guises, Dave & Jean, Jason & Muad'Dib, Alfrodo & Don Roberto, and all the other wonderful individuals and bloggers I've met along the way that my addled brain is having trouble coming up with right now. And all the great bloggers I never met or got to know too well, but loved their blogs. Too many wonderful people and too much wonderful music to mention along the way, that's for certain.
That far outweighs any recent nastiness.
Well, despite all this babbling I seem to be doing, I hope it's clear in all that clutter that at least as far as I'm concerned I have no intention of shutting down the blog. Blogger.com seems to have taken the sensible approach to their response to Greg's complaints. While I don't think they like harassing attacks any more than I do, I think they realize that censorship and shutting down the blog isn't the answer. Well, it never really was the answer, when you think about it. Deleting people's comments or getting rid of the blog isn't really going to get rid of the anger people felt (and feel) toward Greg. It's just not that simple. And as it has always been, the answer really lies in Greg's hands. If he just thought to once apologize or reach out to some of these people, most of that anger would've deflated and he could've avoided all of this. But he chose to do it his own way. (As I suppose we all must.)
And again, in case it wasn't clear, I again officially ask Greg to leave the blog and not come back. I don't take any pleasure in that. (If I did, I suppose I'd be as bad as the trolls & the spammer.) I don't like 'banning' people, particularly a fellow blogger. Believe me, it gives me no great joy. But he has single-handedly alienated most of the people who came here either directly or indirectly through his behavior and attitude and the extreme ire he provokes, so I don't really see that I have any choice as he regrettably is an extreme irritant to people. And as I said before, I would normally never kick someone out for just being who they are, but he has so clearly demonstrated that he wanted to shut this blog down, that he didn't care anything about the other people here, that he seems determined to bother other people wherever they may go, and this all constitutes intent on his part. That isn't just being who he is, but it goes far beyond just being annoying.
Some of it, I think, was prompted by feeling persecuted by other people and feeling that he was being misunderstood, but with the exception of some attempts at restraint and neutrality, he has shown at every step of the way an unwillingness to acknowledge, an inability to make amends or peace, a desire for destruction, hostility and provocation, and a general disregard and disrespect for other people here (beyond the cursory fulfillment of some requests and information). I'm not trying to say that Greg is some terrible, terrible person, but despite the excessive number of chances he's been given to fix this problem himself, he has chosen to do things that have only made the situations worse. His instincts as far as I can tell have never led to things getting better, only worse. Every outburst, every denial, every insult, every demeaning remark, every refusal of the facts or ignoring of people's reactions, responses, and feelings, all lead him to exacerbate every problem, not fix it. You can't incite hatred here and then come back and post links to new entries at your blog. It just doesn't work that way when you're dealing with human beings. You can't ignore the fact that they're outraged (well, except for the times you lash out) and advertise new shares at your blog and expect that it's all okay.
And again, who specifically says they want to shut your 'goddamn' blog down and keep coming back and doing and saying the things that Greg does? Does it makes sense to anyone that you would want to advertise your blog on one that you would like to see shut down? How many reports to Blogger.com do you have to make before it means you're attacking this blog? And if Greg still naively thinks that reporting harassment and reporting the blog are two separate things, it just goes to prove that he is being deliberately disingenuous. He wants to make that distinction, but then says that he hopes they shut down the blog.
Which reminds me. I was catching up on the last three plus weeks of comments in the Request Post and noticed more exchanges between Greg and the trolls such as 'Khan'. At first, just a few of the later comments caught my eye and I thought it was more mindless trolling, but as I backtracked the comments to when they started I noticed 'Khan' giving a reason for the trolling that I found interesting. He said he was simply doing it because he was frustrated about Greg and had no other outlet for it. Greg wasn't allowing any sort of dissenting comments at his own blog and apparently this was one of the only places 'Khan' could do it. It did give me greater insight into why trolls (at least some of them) were doing it. They were frustrated and had nowhere else to do it (unfortunately, as most trolling does, it devolved from valid points to mindless and annoying attacks on the blog by 'Khan', et al. I know he probably doesn't see it that way, but every troublemaking move on Greg is a knife in the heart of the blog.). They thought it was acceptable here presumably because very few people except Greg were 'sharing' music here (if you can call advertising his own blog and providing links by other people as sharing music). I suppose from their perspectives everybody (including me) had more-or-less abandoned the blog and that's why it was acceptable to troll in great quantities. Of course, they were doing it even when there was a lot of activity before, but I assume it was because of the outrage they felt from Greg still being here and so many good people having left.
Of course, the thing they don't seem to realize is that it does nothing but attack my blog. But they may not care about that either I suppose. They're bothered by Greg and his attitude, but they don't mind attacking my blog. Truly odd. Not as odd as Greg's behavior, but still odd.
Or they may have misinterpreted my reactions as passivity and acceptance rather than it simply being the different time-frame that it was. It's understandable I suppose. For many people who visited in the past, they might check in every one, two or three days so in a month that might represent 10 to 30 or more visits in a month. From my perspective, I'm able to come in sometimes only once or twice a week or what has happened lately, once every two or three weeks, that represents anywhere from 2 to 8 visits a month. Some (or maybe most) people might not understand why it would take me a long time to respond if they're coming in 30 times a month and I'm coming in 4 times a month. But each visit for me represents a huge backlog of things I need to do online in addition to all the things I want to do on the blog. And so catching up on hundreds of comments and acting on them is not the easiest thing in the world to do. In fact, every time I came in some new development would occur that would make me re-think my response. (Now, that's not complaining so much as explaining, but you get the idea.)
In fact, even now, the fact that so much spamming and trolling has been going on has made me reconsider what I was going to do concerning anonymous comments. I alluded to that change of heart in my last set of comments in the Request Post. I was adamantly opposed to turning off anonymous comments, but so much spamming and trolling that now not only seems directed at Greg, but the blog too (robotically putting 'There is no music being shared here' in all the comment sections is a big factor in my reconsideration) makes me think that too many evil people are hanging out here now. Not that turning off anonymous comments will really do anything to solve that, but at least I can live in denial and ignore it by turning off anonymous comments. Of course, if I do that I feel like I'm moving to the dark side along with Greg.
It reminds me of a trip I took to Singapore once. Beautiful country. It's a little like an adult Disneyland. The streets are impeccably clean and everything is orderly and beautiful. Of course, at the time I went there the president (? - I can't remember if they have a president or not) had the editor of a newspaper critical to him jailed. And I remember being told that if I had any chewing gum, I had better keep it in my luggage. Which at the time I thought was strange and inconvenient (especially since I had a pack of gum in my pocket at the time). If you didn't, you were subject to heavy fines (I think back then it was something like $500) and if I remember right, possibly jail. Their stated reason was that they wanted to keep the streets and subways clean. They didn't want gum mucking up the doors to the subways, etc.
So while I enjoyed the beauty and order of Singapore, I knew that facade came with a heavy price. (And some years later, they had that whole caning incident with the American teenager spraying graffiti. It was kind of disturbing that some people in America were talking about how we should do that here.) Hard choice though. I could have clean streets and repression, or gum on the sidewalks and freedom. I could turn off anonymous comments, become like Greg, and keep my subways free of the gummy mess of trolls and spam or I could opt for what I used to have. Still, I am considering turning over to the dark side and turning off anonymous comments.
It does seem as if the trolls and spammers want me to do it as much as the good people do. Frankly, it's not really the type of blog I want to run, but I think if people like Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket, Mel, Breton Girl, etc. asked me to, I would do it. I would not be happy about changing my blog into something that I wouldn't prefer and I wouldn't make the change to improve the blog or anything, but I think I might do it specifically because good friends asked me to. Because if it means that much to them, it means that much to me. But now that I think about it, since they don't really visit anymore it's sort of a moot point. Actually, maybe that does save me the moral dilemma of having to decide. Well, I guess Greg driving away most of the good people actually has its advantages.
Then I guess it would be up to the trolls and spammers. If they asked me nicely to turn off anonymous comments, I suppose I would turn it off just as a favor to them since they're the only ones who hang out here anymore. Yeah, I'll be expecting those requests real soon.
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Oh, great. I just spent the last half-hour responding to one of Greg's comments and then I realized it was one of his imitators. I missed the first part of the comment that made it clear that it was satire. Frankly, it's getting hard to tell his bizarre rants from other bizarre rants. Well, there goes 10 really good paragraphs down the drain that I just had to delete. All that righteous indignation on my part and it was all wasted on one of his imitators. Oh, well. (Too bad too. There was some good writing in there.)
Well, it should at least again remind people that you don't have to be anonymous to cause trouble. (As if Greg hasn't proved that already).
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And here's another comment by 'Khan' in the Request Post that was kind of interesting:
'No one on this blog posts music except Greg who posts crapola with dialog and sound effects. So why not tear the place down. What have we to loose anymore? This blog died long ago. The only reason to come here is to listen to the babble.
You love it and you know it. Or else why come here? When was the last time anyone posted so much as one song? This blog is about babble and has been for some time now.
You all come here to listen to me and laugh at my humorous commentary. Admit it.
No one is going to post music here while Greg is here. Since he wont leave Nomw1 or his proxy must regulate this blog.
That is the only solution. No one is going to share anything while Greg is here.
Khan.'
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Well, if that arrogance doesn't rival Greg's I'm not sure what does. Greg doesn't own this blog, but I suppose now Khan does. Strange how there are literally hundreds of blogs where someone hasn't posted anything for a while and where there is no music being posted in a comment section, but Khan feels it's his God-given right to tear this blog down since he considers it dead. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but neither of you really needs to be here if you don't want to be. Neither of you has obviously actually ever read this blog, otherwise you would know what it was about. And both of you have the attitude that the Request Post is just about posting music. The people who left really knew what it was about. It wasn't a place to hang out and make trouble just because you feel like it or because I'm not here. (And I hate to break it to you, but I've heard commentary that was more humorous.)
Having said that and not to be ungrateful, I really do appreciate the fact that you seem to have my back and I do agree with you that nobody is likely to share music while Greg is here (or while his imitators pretend to be him......or while trolls continue to 'tear the place down'......or while spammers continue to spam even after I delete it). If you don't want to be accused of being as obtuse as Greg though, then perhaps you should consider that fact before you declare this or any other blog dead and consider it yours to do with as you please. I find that attitude as insufferable as Greg's frankly, though I don't like saying it to someone that I feel is basically on my and the blog's side. But really, how much could you have really liked this blog if you take that attitude? How much do the spammers like it? Are these really people who've enjoyed the blog, got the spirit I tried to have about it, read the archives or shared music with a good attitude like the people who left or are these just malcontents who want to tear something down because they're bored or dissatisfied? Do you think harassing Greg really solves anything or makes the atmosphere worse? It's like someone who puts up graffiti in a bad neighborhood. If you're tired of the neighborhood being bad, don't take the attitude that 'we have nothing to lose' by making it worse. That's just stupid. If you don't like Greg being here, do as the others did and stay away for the time being. Or try to improve things. Otherwise you're just attacking the blog and you're no different from Greg.
Even though I'm as partisan as the next person, I frankly get a little sick of all of this polarization. People just like starting wars because they enjoy taking sides, I think. 'I'm bored. Let's start a flame war somewhere.' It's not just about sharing music and it's not just about everyone getting along and not hurting each other's feelings. If it were it would be pretty boring. We'd get a lot of music and nobody would ever bother anyone else, but again, I could get a bunch of robots to do that. I like the fact that people are passionate enough to get angry at what Greg has done (or even if they're mad at me, at least it shows they're engaged). But causing trouble for the sake of causing trouble, or going over the top in harassing even Greg is not really about outrage anymore, it's about boredom. It's about wanting to attack something because you don't like it, but you can't be constructive about it. Or you have some time to kill between surfing other blogs. The truly constructive people either left or have tried to reason with Greg (as hopeless as that might be) or have tried to continue to share music and treat other people with respect. Trolling and spamming really doesn't do any of those things. Is it likely to make Greg listen or is just a way to satisfy some childish desire?
I don't mind pointed satire (in fact, I like it), but to claim that people only come here to read your 'humorous commentary' is about as arrogant as anything I've ever read from Greg.
You know, amazingly, as hard as it is to believe, I suspect there are actually a few blogs out there that don't ever post music in their comment sections. But the trolls and spammers are upset that 10,000 items aren't being constantly posted here. What exactly does that say? Does that imply that someone is glad to have any music posted by someone at all or does that say that they're incredibly greedy because they're not getting a steady stream of generous people to give them stuff? 'We're upset that no music's being posted here!' Well, as idiotic as Greg may be, at least the idea of posting something as opposed to spamming or trolling about not posting it makes more sense to me. But maybe that's just me.
Harassment isn't the same as moderation. Trolling isn't the same as cordiality. If people were truly upset about Greg's bad behavior, why mirror it? To teach him a lesson? Obviously, if it hasn't worked the first 1000 times you did it, it's probably not going to penetrate the first several layers of cement. To improve the atmosphere on the blog? Obviously not. To get people to share music again? Obviously not. To vent frustration about what he did to the blog? Well, all of us who don't have cement up there got it the first 1000 times you did it. To attack the blog because you're bored? Bingo! I think I figured it out.
Which isn't to say I don't appreciate the outrage people have (especially on my behalf). I do more than you can know. And I actually liked what 'Khan' and 'Greg's #1 Fan' had to say initially. But it quickly devolved into repetitious harassment (of him and the blog) and became a lot less interesting (and frankly not the humorous funfest you imagine).
I make the main part of the blog what it is, but the thing people tend to forget is that they make the comment sections what they are. They are only as good as the people who come here. And because this is the only place the trolls feel is a good place to attack Greg then they like to hang out here and make it what they want. If that isn't a Greg-like attitude I don't know what is. Perhaps instead of fighting fire with fire, you tried fighting fire with water once in a while? If you don't like a bad attitude, fight it with a good attitude instead. That's what a lot of the people who went to Isbum's place did, I suspect. They didn't stay over here and cause trouble. Or if they did comment over here like Filmpac or Breton Girl do occasionally, they try to do it in a civilized or reasonable way. They may get mad from time to time and engage Greg in some argument, but not for long and not to hurt the blog. They don't sit around declaring it 'dead' and make it worse. They actually share some music (albeit elsewhere). And before they left, they tried to make it good here for as long as they could stand it. That's constructive.
For the majority of the life of this blog, it didn't need me to come in every day in order to have a good atmosphere. That was determined by the people who came here and the comments they made (beyond the atmosphere I tried to instill in the main part of the blog). But instead of people being content with Greg being the only bad one here, they decided to jump on the Greg bandwagon and really make the atmosphere terrible. They weren't content that Greg be the only one. They wanted to clone Greg and reproduce his bad attitude all over the blog. Again, I hate to break it to anybody, but that's not about me stopping them or deleting their comments. That's about them.
This isn't about them being a flood and me being the dam that stops it. This is not a natural disaster, but a man-made one created by Greg and then helped by the trolls and spammers. But it is like terrorism. Greg was the first hijacker and just like with hijackers once you create that atmosphere, it's hard to ever return to a time when you don't need metal detectors and X-ray machines. Everybody wants me to install security to prevent hijackers like Greg and the trolls, but everybody knows the real solution to terrorism isn't to hunt down all the terrorists, install airtight security, or profile everybody who comes along. You can do all those things as a temporary stopgap, but the real solution is to create an environment where people don't feel the need to become terrorists. You help to create a good atmosphere and drive out or ignore the nasty people. And the few radical nuts left (like Greg) will become isolated. The trolls and spammers are like jihadists who have followed in Greg's footsteps. They think they're attacking Greg, but they're really just attacking the airport.
To me, the Request Post was always about the camaraderie of sharing the music, not just about posting music. And that was ruined by Greg (and he continues to try and ruin it wherever he goes by going places he's not welcome). He never understood that, but it's something the trolls and spammers never got either. Otherwise they wouldn't try to make it worse. They thought it was just about posting music too and so they were upset when it stopped. Except it never occurred to them that they could go to plenty of other places to share music. Or maybe they didn't want to share music? Maybe they just wanted to take music? Well, there are plenty of places to do that too. No, what they really wanted to do was hang out here and cause trouble. And they used Greg as an excuse. Initially, it was valid to harass him to some extent after he drove so many people away (or at least lambaste him for a while), but then it just became sport to people and that has nothing to do with anger OR the sharing of music that they were supposedly so upset about in the first place. And just like Greg, it's something that none of them ever got. They never got the spirit of this blog, of me, of the Request Post, or of the other people who left.
But again I don't expect the spammer to actually read this (considering he cuts and pastes, I'm not entirely sure he can actually read) since he won't bother to read anything that doesn't have music attached to it or isn't less than two sentences long, and I only hold out marginally more hope that trolls will read this (since I sense they actually do read a few things along the way), but I suppose this is really to let other people know where I stand on this.
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Well, I didn't intend to write such a long third addendum, but as usual, you can tell I had a lot on my mind. On more practical matters, I've thought about various things I could do about the problems on the blog. In my opinion, as I've said before, I firmly believe that almost all the other trolling and spamming would disappear or at least diminish if it weren't for the fact that Greg continues to come back. And while I remember reading some exchange between Greg and 'Khan' in the Request Post about how it was clear from the two main posts I left at the top of the blog that Greg was not welcome here, 'Khan' did slightly misinterpret that (though I appreciated the fact that he was nice enough to point that out to Greg and defend me). 'Khan' rightly understood that the tone of those posts was one of disgust with Greg (though Greg didn't seem to understand that), but I didn't officially say I was banning Greg (though that may be why he assumed it was okay to stay here, but of course, that didn't stop him from showing up at ScoreBaby Annex or Isbum's place).
As I explained earlier, it's not something I do lightly and was still considering the situation and not going to make that determination until I had read what prompted Greg's reporting of the blog. But also in the exchange between 'Khan' and Greg, Greg reiterated the complaint about how I wasn't around to protect him from the attacks. Another supreme irony (Greg really seems full of them). He didn't realize that if I did come back to 'protect' him it would simply be to kick him out. That's part of the reason I wasn't entirely enthusiastic about rushing back here and posting this essay. I tried to keep up with the comments and consider other options, but he took that to be apathy, unwillingness, or inability to protect him. So incredibly funny, I have to stop myself from laughing about it actually. He didn't realize that that prolonged absence was really for his benefit. Otherwise, he would just have been kicked out of yet another blog even sooner. But even now, I don't like the idea of kicking him out.
Not, obviously, because he's such a wonderful presence that I want to have hanging out at my blog, but because I wanted people to know why, what led up to it, and that it was about a lot of issues that ran deeper than just kicking him out. I felt a lot of people didn't get what the blog was about or the Request Post for that matter (as I've tried to say a million times by now). Most people by now understand what's wrong with Greg, but some good people like Thomas and Petronius, for example, still don't understand. Others haven't really paid any attention to this stuff and so just think a bunch of jerks landed at the blog or they think the trolls and the spammers are the real problem and not Greg. But more importantly, I wanted people (especially the people who left) to know how I felt and where I stood on these matters and I wanted people to know what I was trying to do with the blog in the first place.
And kicking Greg out is really no solution to anything when you think about it. It alleviates the problem, certainly, but even blogs that are 'Greg-free' are always operating in reaction to that fact. It's like closing the borders to a country and kicking out all the terrorists doesn't really solve the problem of terrorism. Once that genie is out of the bottle, it's hard to put it back in. Greg is like Timothy McVeigh or Osama Bin Laden. And the trolls and spammers are his loyal entourage (i.e. nutty fringe element).
Once you create an atmosphere where people are always reacting to some extremist, it's not quite the atmosphere you want despite how peaceful it might seem. That's why I would still want to create a private blog in addition to this one. Of course, if I did that, people would post there instead of here anyway, so for all those people disappointed about the lack of postings here, they would probably still be disappointed.
If I wasn't so discouraged from coming in (between my illness and all the spamming and trolling and Greg hanging around, it doesn't exactly make me want to come in as often), I would work on it more, but I just haven't been in long enough to fully set up a private blog up, let alone contact everyone.
I've also considered the possibility of asking someone who might be in more often and whom I trust like Isbum, Filmpac, or Rocket to 'moderate' the Request Post. Well, I actually considered that even before Greg came here, but I never wanted to burden any of those good people with the responsibility. It was only after I saw that Isbum was willing to do it over at ScoreBaby Annex and later at his own blog that I knew that he would be willing to do something like that. I figured that if they wanted to run a blog they would've started one themselves, so I didn't want to dump extra work on them like that.
But now I wouldn't feel comfortable asking Isbum, for instance, because I don't want to take anything away from his own blog. It's like asking another blogger to come in and help run your blog. He's busy enough. I even feel funny bringing up the idea of a private blog because I don't want to take any focus away from what Isbum's got going over at his place. But I only bring up the possibility of him or someone else doing moderation (and again ironically an idea that Greg was also proposing....he didn't realize that the first step in moderating the post would be to get rid of him!) because of a really nice E-Mail Isbum sent me (and which I have yet to reply to......as is true, by the way, with all the other nice E-mail's people sent me and which I intend on someday answering....and thank you all very sincerely for the well wishes about my health and about the blog......I appreciate it more than you can know). He mentioned that he and others were anticipating my return and he made me realize that maybe he would be willing to do it over here though he didn't say that specifically. But I didn't realize that people were willing to come back here. I just assumed they had moved on and I had accepted it. Probably another reason I wasn't in that big of a hurry to rush back.
Again, not feeling that strong desire or inspiration to work on writing this essay or posting new music when it was mainly for the benefit of Greg and a bunch of trolls and spammers. Perhaps if there had been a little less trolling, but every time I checked in (albeit only a few times in the last few months) there seemed to be a new round of it to keep up with. It was hard enough to keep up with the hundreds of good comments back when people were posting music, but I don't exactly rush back to sift through hundreds of comments just to read trolls saying the blog is dead and to watch Greg put up more links to his blog. It wasn't intentional on my part to stay away, but the longer you do, the easier it gets. I had more time and energy to listen to music, organize the music I did have, etc. I even found myself working on more compilations or finishing up old ones. It's funny. I didn't think it would make too much of a difference, but I realize that even blogging as infrequently as I was before was interfering with that stuff more than I realized.
In fact, right now I'm listening to Garcia27's excellent Goldsmith compilation. Really wonderful. And what an amazing amount of work involved! I don't think I would've gotten around to listening to an 8 hour compilation like that before. Normally, I would've had to burn it onto disc immediately, but once I had more time to clean up the hard drive, I had more room to keep some of the stuff on to listen to it. And I'm finally able to listen to more files by Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket, Mel, Sallie, Quinlan, and Tony, to name a few. I think I went through about 10 of Tony's files while I was writing an earlier section of this essay, in fact. And I'm finally listening to some of Esther's files at Stax O'Wax. Just went through her luau compilation. All great stuff. Oh, and how great to listen to Sallie's musicals, Mel's mood music comps, Isbum and Rocket's rips, Filmpac's wonderful finds, and Quinlan's meticulous files. Hard to really muster up too much anger after that, I tell you. Oh, and listened to some Maimone Digital & Bistis6 files too. Of course, I guess all of these are from 3 or 4 months ago, but to me they were just like yesterday. (Of course, that's probably because I just listened to them yesterday.) Now if I can only visit some other blogs and listen to what they're sharing, I'd be in hog heaven.
Oh, but back to the less heavenly discussion. As I said, I had thought about asking Isbum a long long time ago about doing some moderation, but I didn't really want to impose on our friendship by burdening him with that responsibility. (Frankly, I always wanted to ask him if he would do cover art for some of my compilations too because I liked what he did with his own files, but I never wanted to burden him with that extra work either!)
But one of the other problems with that is that as far as I know there's no way of doing that on the old version of Blogger without basically handing over the password to the whole blog. Not really a huge problem because I trust Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket and some of the other people who left enough with the password, but I use it for other things so it would involve more than the security of the blog. Plus I would feel uncomfortable passing it around too much. A little like passing out your ATM code. But probably not much of a problem since I could always change the password to something unique.
But the problem with that isn't so much about trust as it is with potential accidents. It's easy with Blogger to click on the wrong option and accidentally change the blog around. I remember I accidentally wiped out the whole top of the blog once. Probably nobody here remembers that, but luckily I was able to retrieve the deleted HTML code and replace it (though to this day I'm not entirely sure it's exactly the same as it used to be). But as far as trusting them with my password, I know they would never abuse the administrator privileges. Of course, Isbum must've had some arrangement with ScoreBaby, and I always meant to ask him how they set that up, but I haven't had the chance.
The other possibility I considered was the member or administrative status option on the newer version of Blogger. In order for someone to do moderation on the Request Post while I wasn't here, they would need to be able to delete comments. And as far as I know the only way to do that is if you have adminstrator privileges. Now, I'm not sure, but I think on the newer version you're able to give that to someone else but switching over to the newer version poses its own problems. It's the reason I've never done it before. When they encouraged everyone to try the newer version of Blogger, they made it clear that if you converted over, any changes you made on your older version of your blog that might not be compatible with the newer one might be lost. And once you made the switch, you couldn't go back. So if say, the formatting wasn't right, or it messed up something else, I could never switch back to the original version. Any formatting changes I made or any other modifications on the blog right now might be lost. I don't even know if the newer version has the same link list options. That's why I've never made the switch. They said it was a one-way trip and up until now I never felt the need to take the chance to get a few new features that I didn't care about anyway.
So kicking someone out like Greg or the trolls or deleting people's comments doesn't really do much good unless I can figure out a way to enforce it. That might entail revamping the entire blog. So until I had more time to look into how to do it, I would have no way of keeping Greg out even if I wanted to. That's one of the reasons it's taken a while. I haven't had time to talk to Isbum or anyone else about it or research what would be involved in changing the blog to the newer version and what problems that might present. (I bet Greg's not in such a hurry for moderation now!)
And that's all assuming someone would be willing to do it. I would never want to ask Isbum now that he's got his own blog (and if you're reading this Isbum, please excuse the impertinence of even bringing it up) and I suspect that the people over there would prefer to hang out over at Isbum's anyway. I don't think they would be happy about any moderator here being hamstrung by my insistence on no rules, anonymous people, etc. I think Isbum or anyone else like Filmpac or Rocket (though I think Rocket could not come in often enough to moderate) would prefer the atmosphere at Isbum's place. Without main posts you don't get as much random traffic who are more likely to be potentially disruptive like they are here. This seems to be 'yahoo central' right now and once that happens I'm not sure if that ever entirely goes away. Another wonderful legacy from Greg. Thanks, Greg!
Most blogs don't really need constant attention, but apparently the people here need to have some perpetual adult supervision (and Greg needs something else, but I've never figured out what). I still find it hard to believe that this blog attracts the kind of people who spam and troll. You'd think those kind of people wouldn't be interested in listening to this kind of music! You'd think the kind of mind that runs to doing that kind of stuff wouldn't prefer to listen to the kind of stuff that I or anyone who used to come here would post. But I guess it takes all kind of people to make a blogosphere.
Well, I suppose it all comes down to Greg & the trolls. If Greg refused to leave even though the blogger asked him to (doesn't really seem to stop him from posting comments at Isbum's place, if comments I read here are to be believed), then I suppose I would have to start deleting his comments. Great. I can add censorship to my to-do list. Thanks, Greg!
If, on the other hand, he stayed away peacefully, the trolls stopped trolling, etc. I suppose I'd keep the Post open. Well, I'd probably keep the Post open anyway even if nobody posted any music. I don't mind discussion in there either as long as it's not idiotic trolling. But frankly, I don't see any need for anyone to troll if Greg's not here. I suppose in some perverse way it's a back-handed compliment. People wouldn't be so angry if they hadn't liked what was here before, I suppose. Of course, if they really had respect for it or the blog, they wouldn't be acting that way now, but I guess 50 percent is better than nothing. Of course, those are the same people who confuse the Request Post with the blog so I guess I couldn't really expect much from them anyway. I suspect they haven't even ventured beyond the main page, let alone even read any of it otherwise they would know what the blog was about. Certainly not babbling the way they do. I'm the only one on here allowed to babble. Babble and pompous pronouncements. My two main functions on the blog.
Well, I did warn everybody that this was going to be an incredibly long essay. That reminds me of another one of Greg's comments that I read. It was pretty funny; he referred to the two top posts on the main part of the blog as the essay I've been referring to. He thought those were the essays I was talking about and he was disgusted that I left them up there and that I didn't seem to be doing anything about the attacks on him even though I've had ample time to do it. It's funny beyond belief. He doesn't take the time to actually pay attention to what I say to actually figure out that those aren't incredibly long and those aren't essays. And he has the hubris to think I should pay any attention to him as to what I should post in the main part of the blog. He left some comment saying how I should take down the 'Greg, I'm deeply disappointed' post. Uh, did he think I was magically any less disappointed with him? Maybe I should re-write my entire blog depending on his whims and preferences. Oh, I forgot. I thought it was his blog there for a minute. Well, it was an honest mistake what with him thinking I have to operate on his timetable, put up and take down posts depending on what he says, moderate the blog and impose the rules the way he thinks I should, etc. I got confused for a second.
Well, I should probably leave this essay on a happier note, but I can't think of one. The only thing I can think of is to reiterate my apologies to anyone who has been inconvenienced, put out, repelled, or offended by anything they've seen on the blog (and that's just from the stuff I post). No, actually, I am sincerely sorry for anyone who came here to have a good time and left with a face full of crap (and that even includes Greg.....I don't wish him any more than he deserves, and that's really up to him to determine by his own actions).
It's odd, but people keep thinking of the comment sections of public blogs as forums that can be easily (or even should be) moderated. I suggest chat rooms or actual forums for true moderation if that's what they're looking for, but I do think people have the right to be treated civilly and with respect when they come here. Unfortunately, unless I forgot to renew by God-membership controlling people's attitudes and demeanor is out of my control. Ignoring and deleting isn't the same as respect and civility, by the way.
And equally unfortunately, Greg never understood any of that and he is by far the biggest offender (despite the subsequent trolling). All else is simply reaction to him. But I think Greg should be allowed to act that way if he wants. He should just do it at his own blog or other places that are willing to accept him for who he is. If those places don't consider it bad, then he should stay and be happy there. There's really no point in commenting in places that are upset by his presence. Even if he believes that it's just a few people, if it's clear that the blogger himself doesn't want him here, he, especially as a fellow blogger, should honor that. I hope that it's not more than I can expect from him. If he doesn't honor it, I am forced to conclude that the harsher things that people say about Greg might be true. I still choose to believe that he is not quite the demon that people paint him to be (even despite all the things I myself have said here). I think some of this just comes from his angry reaction to what people have said and done, but that doesn't really excuse his behavior here when everyone was being nice to him. Still, if Greg was truly the person he claims to be, he would stay away from places that don't want him there, not out of fear or anger, but simply out of some sense of honor. Again, I hope that's not too much to expect.
You'd think I'd be disenchanted with blogging, but I'm not. You'd think I'd be disenchanted with the people who came here considering all the bad apples who seem to be hanging around, but I'm not. Too many good people who don't troll, spam, and generally cause trouble to be all that upset. I am disgusted with Greg's attitude however, but I was disgusted with that before all the trolling and spamming started so I consider all of this temporary. As I said before, I have always considered the blog to be more-or-less permanent regardless of how many people stop by (or how disgusting they may be). The only thing that prompts that sense of finality (as in the previous post) is not knowing how many times Greg can report the blog before something happens, but I am glad that Blogger.com has been sensible about it. Otherwise, regardless of how long I may stay away, I always have the intention of coming back (even if it takes a while). If I stay away for six months or something, you'll probably know I've stopped blogging, but anything short of that and to me it's just a temporary lull. I have to admit that there is something awfully nice about staying away though. I finally cleaned out things on my hard drive that having been sitting on there for the better part of a year. And it gives me more time (well really, less distraction) to get inspired to do compilations and things. And as I listen to more of this backlog of music, my deep appreciation for the efforts of people here only increases tenfold.
For instance, right now I'm listening to a truckload of Quinlan's files (Bonds, musicals, and jazz, to be exact.......boy, wouldn't that make an interesting movie? A musical version of Bond with a jazz score? But I digress........). And as I listen, it reminds me of all the good fellowship he provided and the hard work and care that went into ripping these albums (and work on the artwork) just for other people's enjoyment and it makes me like and respect him even more (if that's possible). (And not to be too negative about it, but I can't help but be reminded of how often someone like Greg tore down that effort and offered so little of his own in return. He offered much effort in the way of surfing blogs and providing other links and information and that shouldn't be overlooked, but still it was never with the same sense of camaraderie.) Well, that's the spirit I miss from the blog, but I'm always glad that it is out there somewhere and that there are still so many people out there who haven't been driven away from the blogosphere by the tactics of spammers and trolls here and elsewhere. It's sad to think of how many people may have been repelled from the potential joys of music blogging simply because of the attitude of people like Greg and the trolls, but that ugliness has always been out there I suppose. It was when I started the blog and it will always be for as long as people choose to act that way, I guess. Which is not so much resignation or condemnation as it is a reaffirmation that all of these things come and go. All the turmoil and bad feelings flow in and out like the tide and as long as the blog's here, I just try to ride these things out. It never affects my attitude about the charms of blogging and sharing, so while I'd like to be angrier about these things, it's very hard to while I'm listening to an LP rip of 'Brigadoon'.
I do feel bad that people may have been inconvenienced by my absences from the blog and I also feel bad about not responding to their wonderful E-mails and comments in the way that I should have. With health concerns and the inherent attraction of not coming in or thinking about these things, I can only say again that it leads to all these unintentional prolonged absences and so I wanted to apologize again to all those people who may have been put out by it.
Uh, still can't think of that happier note to end on. Well, at least the blog's still here. That's something. I always take a certain amount of joy in that. And, oh yeah, there's some nice music sprinkled around. That's always good. Or you can find (or buy) lots of great music elsewhere. Seems that should make a few people out there happy. You'd think so anyway.
Enjoy and be kind! (yes, and that is said with a certain amount of irony)
Thank you Nomwl1 for this 'icredibly long essay'. I don't quite know what to say...I think you already pretty much said it all.
ReplyDeleteI really appreciate your wise and insightful observations and reactions, though.
And I got one hell of a kick out of this extended metaphor of the pool-party...funny story if it wasn't so real.
You still are the greatest blogger I know!
Take care,
Nomwl1-fan # 1
PS There's no music being shared here! :-)
You are such a nice, reasonable guy... I can't say I read all of your essay, but that's largely because I get a headache trying to read a lot of text off a screen and I lack a printer. Everything I read sounds like a sensible understanding of what's been happening - seen with an uncommon degree of empathy and decency.
ReplyDeleteI expect that, with your attitude, all will come out well, given enough time. I'll drop in occasionally and see if there are requests I can fill. I get lazy about doing that anywhere and find so many other things to engage my attention...
Thanks for continuing in the face of adversity and just plain perversity.
Thingmaker (still too lazy to sign in properly)
I haven't finished reading you essay yet - I'll have to come back later to do that.
ReplyDeleteMeanwhile, I'd just like to say that I take all your points regarding my comments about moderating, also that I dug your anomalies about the ongoing party at the pool.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: you are one of nature's gentlemen.
I'll be back.
I wish you all the very best.
Nice to see you're back, my friend! :) I was hoping to see you again since a long time!!!!
ReplyDeleteIt seems you've understand greg's behaviour... All i could say is that he start to do the same kind of trouble at Industrial Cocktail's (by ranting than an unreleased score was editing to left out the dialogues and most of the sfx, and then posting his own rip - full of dialogues and sfx) and La Leyenda's blog (by pointing out quickly than he was the original uploader, when he link/upload tons of stuff without giving any credits to the original ripper/poster)... For all i've could read and see, he's just an egoist and self-centered people. He even try to post at Isbum's blog, firstly under another name (but acting exactly like under his name: a link for his own post on his own blog) and then under his name, when he's really not welcome. Thanks to Isbum, he found a way to use the flush to delete greg's comments. ;)
I'm still here every days, but not as often as before, mostly for have a look if you're back... *blush* Well done for keeping the blog alive! :) I suppose i don't need to say you're more than welcome at Isbum's place... ;) It looks a lot like the Requests part when greg was not here, it's a real pleasure to come and share a few scores... :)
Hi nomwl1,
ReplyDeleteHoly smokes---that's like the "War & Peace" of the blog-o-sphere that you wrote there! AND i can't thank you enough for it. YOU are amazing! I've really missed your wit and charm these last couple of months. I hope you're doing alot better. As long as this blog is here (and you're still accepting visitors) i'll be around too! (did that sound to 'Tom Joad-ish' Maw?)
(and what a GREAT bunch of compilations you come roaring back with! like i said---A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!)
As always---i feel a kindred spirit and bond with you and this blog.
do you have any requests these days?
As always---
ALL THE BEST,
Rocket From Mars
ps---"D'oh" (in my best Homer Simpson voice). I just checked out the 'requests' section and notice it's been disabled. i didn't mean to come off as a wiseass or anything when i asked if you had any requests nomwl1.
ReplyDeleteHOWEVER---i was going to post the 10 rarest soundtracks EVER in the history of recorded music just to get things going again but---oh well (now THAT was meant to be a jerk-ish thing to say---with all due respect of course)
anyway---see you soon. (maybe i'll post a few shares in this strand---if anyone has any requests. i know i've been looking for Paul McCartney's "The Marrying Kind" [i think that's what it was called]for a long time now---hint hint)
later alligators,
Rocket
I've read almost everything now, and i just need to add something...
ReplyDeleteI don't know who tell this (i believe it was an anonymous), the fact that greg may could be one of the "troll" (more a troublemaker)... For what i've read (and i never stop to come here, even if it was only 1 time per day), i could tell that i've got more than little doubts it may be true... And i didn't say this only because he insulted me in both under his name and in anonymous way (i'll never forgive the "breton bitch", by the way!).
I need to explain my point of view for this:
1. There's some of the Anonymous attacks who was posted in a time greg was around (and it was especially directed against your blog)
2. The following comment came from an angry/upset greg who claims that the blog need to be moderated
3. the writing style (read carefully, it sounds a lot like greg)
4. as i said before, he insulted me under the anonymous way (and claimed this one time, whe he says that i need to have a life - no irony!)... If he could do this by insulting me, he could do this to insulted you/this blog.
I don't know what he may could act like this, and i haven't got more than my doubts...... :(
Good morning, Nomwl1,
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad to see that you are still around. You are truly a class act. And, you are far too kind for any of this turmoil to happen here. But, nevertheless, you've been nothing short of admirable. I wish you continued success.
Also, you are entirely correct. The friends and discussion here are unique. They provide a dimension not found elsewhere. And, your comments are always insightful and charming. Thank you for being the wonderful person you are.
I used to be "Mickey", now I'm Donald. It's been quite a long time since I last paid a visit here (for different reasons...), but now I'm back on track and want to thank you for all the kind words you never fail to have for me. I have always appreciated your blog, and I mean that most sincerely. I was deeply saddened when I saw you were under attack by some geek, since you do such marvellous, tremendous and USEFUL work. Your blog is probabbly one of the best ten around.... And now, pardon my French (hé-hé, monsieur !), but fuck all the morons !!!
ReplyDeleteJust my two cents - i hope one day a french will tell nasty words like this: "excusez mon anglais"... :p
ReplyDeleteThe above was not posted by me!
ReplyDeleteI might egg on Greg, but I ain't spamming!
Best,
Khan's vacation-substitute
@ Nomwl1 - I've just read your entire "incredibly long essay" and I am still in a state of shock and awe. Dagnabbit, you done brought a tear to my eye.
ReplyDeleteThe pool party analogy is absolutely spot on. I don't think I've ever laughed that much, while at the same time crying in my beer. You read the situation perfectly. Get an agent, and make a big budget Hollywood flick out of it. It's gold:))
We can only hope that "you know who" finally sees the light.
Bravo, and best wishes always.
Dear Nomwl1,
ReplyDeleteI humbly apologise to you (and all the visitors to this blog---save one) if any of my diatribes caused bad feeling or negativity in any manner what so ever.
In your essay you mention that you appreciated my 'sarcasm'. Thank you. I tried to use that 'tool' to call light to an amazingly dense subject. Oh well. Sometimes 'you eat the bear and others the bear eats you'. (I have no idea what that means in this context so didn't even bother asking.)
I tried to keep the discourse polite (if slightly acid tinged) and was sickened at how quickly it spiralled downward into a cesspool of mean spirited depravity. (I have my theories as to who was pushing it in that direction but will not mention any names. Greg. ooops sorry. it slipped out.
Once again, I meant no disrespect to you or anyone else (except for one I guess).
the 'real'.
GREG FAN #1
p.s. I have always loved this blog and hope it continues. You are one of the nicest people I have ever stumbled across on the internet nomwl1! Best of luck in the future.
greg, you must read the esay: Nomwl1 asked you clearly to leave HIS blog on it.
ReplyDeleteWe do not want links for your blog, and if you think you will be popular by posting things requested at Isbum's blog, you're wrong!
Move away from us, and do what you want at our blog without annoying us, please!
See, Nomwl1, why i think one of the troll may be greg... The lovely reply came short time after i said to greg to stay on his blog - plus, curiously, an anonymous greghead (who "speak" exactly like greg) attacked me at Industrial Cocktail's, and the last post was the same, and under the same name...
ReplyDeleteI may could have wrong, but these kind of things didn't help to change my thoughts...
@ breton girl
ReplyDeleteI fear you are absolutely right and I guess the spam here is done by Greg, since he is pissed off about Nomwl
not having erased the "offensive" posts against him.
Who but Greg should hold a grudge against Nomwl?
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ReplyDeletegreg, truth is that you never tell you leave, and you didn't stop to post links to your blog... Even if you're not one of the troll, everything is against you.
ReplyDeleteThink about Nomwl1's essay for a whil (and readit of course!).......
There's no f**king way I'm reading anything that long it's RIDICULOUS. Bottom line: Nomwl1 brought all this nonsense on HIMSELF by not restricting comments and letting the attacks against me stand.
ReplyDeleteIf he won't listen to me, I am NOT going to listen to HIM so the rest of you goddamned TROLLS can piss the hell off, PERIOD.
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ReplyDeleteBingo, the truth is out there now. Greg has now finally proved his true character for all to see. That last cut & paste diatribe was indeed Greg, the blogger user profile confirms it...
ReplyDeletehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451428107307870696
... has always been Greg!
I guess he screwed up this time and forgot to use the *other* Greg which he continues to claim is not him.
This debate is now officially over. Nomwl1 has ruled. Gregory, you are the weakest link... GOODBYE!
Well said, Filmpac!
ReplyDeleteAnd there's another truth: on EVERY posts before this one, greg post few links for his blog, complaining he was not the poster, posting all the links for his blog and the complaining about Nomwl1 and his blog! See the way he act, it's pathetic... :(
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ReplyDeletegreg, no one ask you to come here, if you are so pissed off, the go away!
ReplyDeleteme wanna tell bubye - time for me beddy-bye wit me baba *yum-yum* an didee - tis place tis icky now - and me need to go to de potty for me wee-wee afta me drink wawa :p
Thank you, anonymous! :)
ReplyDeleteYou are welcome, breton girl!
ReplyDeleteSuch a lovely nick!
Love it!
Hey nomwl1,
ReplyDeleteAgain, I apologize for posting this several times, but I'm not sure where to submit this request.
Is there any way you can reupload the Neal Hefti Odd Couple score? I keep getting some kind of formatting error message. I'm new to online soundtrack collecting, so I'm not sure what the actual problem is.
I love your blog!
Thanks.
Jason
Gregory, the only one here acting like a child is you, diddums. You are the one ranting, swearing, and yelling at us in bold.
ReplyDeleteYou're fresh out of excuses this time. Your cover is blown, you have proved yourself to be the cut and paste guy, and no amount of denying will ever drag you out of the shit.
You've been told in no uncertain terms what the host of the party thinks, so start acting like an adult and do the right thing.
@ imagineer - If you can tell us exactly what this "some kind of formatting error message" is, perhaps I would be able to help. Near as I can tell, the links for Nomwl1's "The Odd Couple" are still good, but I would be happy to help out and re-upload if required.
ReplyDeleteYes, this is a pointed reminder as to how good this place *USED* to be, before it was polluted.
Funny how greg tells us to let it go and grow up.
ReplyDeleteLet's say, just for the sake of making a point, that all the anonymous trolls and the "other" greg, were actually not him. And let's say that greg really never did anything wrong. Even IF all of that were true, who really cares? It's people he'll never ever meet in real life; people who live miles and miles away from him. Yet, he's so obsessed over what they may or may not be saying about him and making his online personality look like, that he just can't stay away from this blog, and has to constantly check in here to see what's being said.
It makes this place feel like high school. And actually, that's a good example. If a group of people in high school don't like you, you just stay away from them, and if you're intelligent and mature enough, you ignore anything they might try and do to aggravate you. You would have to be a moron to, say, try and eat lunch with them, or even talk with them unless you absolutely had to. It should be even easier to do so online.
Of course, we all know that all the gregs ARE actually him, which makes it even worse.
Seriously, greg, grow up, and LET IT GO.
Dear Mr. Kreiger---
ReplyDeleteYou seriously need help dude. There IS something worng with you. (did you like that Westworld reference? pretty cool huh? could you rip JUST the dialogue and SFX and post them on your blog and then put a link for it here? sorry i digress...)
You've been 'outed' my man! filmpac called it right---YOU are "Mr. Cut and Paste Guy". To quote Nelson Muntz: "hah. hah." (and yes---i am baiting you. just to see what kind of 'cut & paste job' this will warrant.) Do try and do something super long and uncreative---you know---a lot like your blog.
i once complimented it and left nice comments only to be polite (something you know NOTHING about) in the hope that you would spend more time there and leave this one alone. Man was i barking up the wrong tree.
i have a theory to throw out there folks---Mr. Greg "Cut & Paste" Kreiger in his profile he once had up on his very own blog mentioned his love of vampires. well there's more than just 'bloodsuckers' out there. there are also psychic pariah who 'feed' off of all types of energy (positive and negative). That's you Mr. Kreiger. i just know you're actually getting off on all the misery and BS you've sown because YOU are a sick puppy.
In closing---get some help and then get a life. (or at least borrow from a more benign source. perhaps----say something like---oh i don't know---Courage The Cowardly Dog? Yeeeesh. pathetic.
To quote Val Kilmer in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang---
"Just go...Vanish."
Rocket
ps---Hi nomwl1! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE i hope you realise you are in no way responsible for any of this bizarro-ness. the only thing i think you might be guilty of however is---GLOBAL WARMING! ADMIT IT! IT WAS YOU WASN'T IT? GREAT. JUST GREAT!
pps---since people are requesting things in this strand---does anyone have the soundtrack that Paul McCartney (remember him? the cute Beatle?) wrote in the 60's?
Talented copy & paste guy (aka Greg) missed the ten foot electric cattle prod!
ReplyDeleteMust do better;)
Well, since this has become a greg-bash AND request-post, I'd like to ask for a complete BLADE II by Beltrami.
ReplyDeleteAnyone got it?
Also, I'm looking for Brian Tyler's Enterprise CANAMAR Promo and any other of his unreleased stuff.
Anyone manage to get a hold of his i-tunes album for BUG?
Thanks everyone (except Gregory, of course).
Geez, greg, will you never stop to act like a baby??????????
ReplyDeleteI was happy to see that the blog restarted its posting, but sad to see that the arguings go on. I reag the essay and picture myself as a newcomer which had a incomplete vision of the scene. What can be said? Greg is a kind of psychiatric case, out of therapeutic possibilities. I think the only solution is to ignore him completely. If every time he says something, Breton Girl or anybody else replies, that's what he needs to keep this matter going on. And, Greg, don't mind to answer this. You won't get an answer. I'll continue to come to this blog. But will make no more comments about this matter.
ReplyDelete@ Anonymous: ignoring greg is not something easy to do... He not only polluted this blog, but also used to post on several occasions at Isbum's place, whe he KNOW he not welcome. And as someone being regulary insulted by this moron (he do this a Industrial Cocktail's blog too, under anonymous - now IC didn't allow anymore to post anonymous), there's some things i will not ignore! Especially, as a victim of rape, being called bitch! :(
ReplyDelete@ breton girl
ReplyDeleteI haven't been happy about greg's 'bitch'-comments from the start, his grudge against women is fairly obvious.
Since I have had a long relationiship with a hradcore-feminist for many years, I am still pretty sensitive in that area.
Now, I wasn't really aware of you being a victim of rape, but I think I remember you stating that before and the fact that Greg continues to insult you in this regard is really disgusting. I am very sorry for all that - some men can be real animals.
Greg also seems to be obsessed with executing (false) power over other people and must be a sicko for sure.
I am also stunned at your 'balls' to come forward with that again in order to to show what a person Greg is.
Breton Girl, you are an impressive, strong woman and I appreciate that a lot.
Thanks and take care.
Wow, i'm speechless... Thank you, anonymous! :))
ReplyDeleteDon't be...and you're welcome!
ReplyDelete@ Nomwl1 - It's great to hear from you again. It took me a long time to read your great and lengthy essay (I don't even dare to imagine how many hours you've spent writing it), and I thank you for clearing some stuff which I was uncertain about. Your pool analogy was informative and interesting, particularly because I'm one of the "new" people around here and haven't seen how the flame war originally began, so it was good to know more about the situation at hand.
ReplyDeleteDespite being a relatively new visitor to your blog, I've noticed what an effect you've had on many people who are posting here. I've greatly appreciated your kind, intelligent and encouraging words and have listened to many of the great shares both you and other visitors have provided. If it weren't for this place, I probably would never have discovered Korngold's Kings Row which is a fantastic soundtrack, and I thank you for giving me a chance to hear such a wonderful score.
I'm sorry for what has happened in the blog, and I hope that maybe someday this place will be free of this pointless spamming and flaming, and instead continue to be a source of happiness and a discussion ground for many music lovers.
I wish you all the best. :)
greg, no's ones sayeded yous cud comes! eberybodies askeded yous go 'way! you no stays, poopiehead!
ReplyDeleteAnd by the way, greg, i'll be more intelligent than you (ok, it's not too hard): the next time you will cut and paste something, i will not reply!
ReplyDeleteI just hope you could stay alone in your own shit...
No, Greg, you don't!
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ReplyDeleteNomwl1,my beloved nomwl1, how are you? Are you fine?
ReplyDeleteI´m glad to hear you again. I think, you must do a request room in the same form that isbum. Only to people really interested in share our passion for film music.
Your essay is very interesting and sensible and I hope that you are better now. I don´t know you but
I think you must be a great person,and a person who deserves nice things in his life.
You allways will have my support, dear Nomwl1
From Spain, Alex
@ Rocket: it's curious, but when i've read your post at Isbum's, i was just thinking that the link was deleted by this poopiehead...
ReplyDelete@ Nomwl1: I start to think than maybe putting the anonymous choice down maybe be a good solution... I know it may could stop a few people to post, but it will be also give a more peaceful place... Or at least if greg whant to annoy us whith his copy and paste childish things, he will be forced to do this under his name! It curious to see how the trollish posts are against you and your blog since you've posted your essay......
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ReplyDelete@ Greg Kreiger---if i was wrong i apologize and have removed any posts you may have felt were pointing a finger directly at you.
ReplyDeleteRocket From Mars
ps: thanks for the advice.
pps: please notice how easy it is to say 'sorry' when someone else feels they've been slighted or wronged.
Greg, if I may, just for a moment. Calmly, rationally. To put it in a nutshell, the problem that just everybody has with you is the level of anger and hostility you display with every post.
ReplyDeleteHad you simply stated you had nothing to do with it (which quite frankly, I didn't think you had), WITHOUT having to swear, OR run down others at Isbum's Place, then others would NOT feel quite as bad towards you.
You continue to talk about "growing the hell up", yet you are the one who continues to act in the most childish manner possible. Just some food for thought.
I mean this in a positive way, truly.
....and I mean this in a positive way, but I have NEVER posted ANYTHING negative at FranklySnot without a damned good reason (such as when Breton Girl has continued to harass me here without reason), because ANYTHING I might have posted over there was a POSITIVE and CONTRIBUTING share or answering a question.....and either Breton G has either blasted at me for simply CONTRIBUTING something, or someone else has (names withheld), or ISbum has simply deleted a reply7 of mine asap, and then Breton shows up here and screams at me to stay away, when ALL I ever did was to post a POSITIVE CONTRIBUTION.
ReplyDeleteIF I DID ever make one or two negative and swearing posts there, it was with a damn good reason.
Now....you tell me (based on my explanation of my numerous attempts to CONTRIBUTE POSITIVELY both here and at Frankly Snot), WHO is the one or ones who need to chill out, grow the hell up, and LET IT GO?
Just some food for thought....
....not to mention the absolutely insane assumptions and childish accusations that every anonymous spamming post might possibly be me, when it should be obvious to anyone with a sane mind and clear head that anon trolls are responsible for doing this?
ReplyDeleteBreton Girl has obviously ASSumed more than once she doesn't care if it is me or not, that she's ASSUMING it's me, regardless?
YOU TELL ME who's out of their minds and a complete nut case?
Isbum even emailed me a couple of weeks ago, claiming he discouraged the "regulars" to stop this insane and pointless continuing flame war against me.....and that OBVIOUSLY didn't do a damned bit of good, did it?
You tell me WHO are the ones who are "acting in the most childish manner" possible?
Just one thing: i try to stay polite (and trust me it's hard) when YOU are the one who insulted me! I never called you paedophile, faggot or queer, and not only because it's not the right thing to do. YOU are the one who call me bitch (with anothers lovely names) when all i said was my point of view... Yes, i call you moron - and by your actions you deserve to be called like this! But i insulted you in this only way, not on your sexual orientation! YOU insulted me because i'm not agree with you and because i'm a woman. Did i need to say i was the first and only one who asked to stop to attack you about your homosexuality?????
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, now i don't care if you are the one who attacked me anonymously at Industrial Cocktail's, the one who copy and paste a few things i tell, or the one who attack nomwl1 and his blog in anonymous... You've done too much damages, and even if it's not you, i wouldn't trust you because of your past. And i believe i'm not the only one who think this.....
And for attacking you because you've posted something @ Isbum's... Well, WE made it clear that we got this place to be free from you, and it's more clear you are not welcome (read the 3 rules!)... Stay away from Isbum's place and i stay away from you, it's as simple as this!
I don't know why i take time to reply, you will never understand....
ReplyDeleteAnd who said it was my blog (and what blog, this one or Isbums?)... Certainly not me! But the anonymous who insulted me at IC's said the same, so know i'm CERTAIN it was you!
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ReplyDeleteGreg wrote:
ReplyDeletePiss off already....It's not YOUR blog, but HIS.
Exactly, Krieger.
HIS blog. And he's said he doesn't want you here.
Just like you weren't welcome at scorebaby -- but you showed up anyway.
Just like you aren't welcome at isbums but you continue posting there. Not only as yourself, but as your transparent proxy, "Hjalmar Poelzig". Just like you so obviously baited and insulted Breton Girl at Industrial Cocktail.
You can deny it all you want, but everyone knows it's you.
Who's gonna show up next, Greg?
Benjamin William?
Greg Ofborg?
Cinemacapman?
You seem incapable of staying away from private, untainted places where it has been made explicitly clear you are not welcome.
These places aren't guilty of "censorship", they aren't guilty of "bigotry" -- these people do not want you around because you are a colossally offensive, overbearing personality who makes sharity infinitely less fun.
They. Don't. Like. You.
They. Will. Never. Like. Nor. Accept. You.
And yet you continually insist on injecting yourself into their midst. Is it just to start high-school-level drama? To prove something? To prove ... what, exactly?
That you know more than they do?
That you're somehow above common courtesy?
That, by getting the last word in, you can "win"?
Greg, I have had enough.
Fake Greg, Spam Greg, Cut'n'Paste Greg, Imitation Khan Greg, Horrifyingly Insulting Misogynist Greg -- all of you.
And yes, Greg, I realise the sad, pathetic truth (as does everyone else) that you're all the same person.
Here's how this is gonna work: No more from you, understand? Not a peep. From any of you. It's time for YOU to "Get Over It." Period.
So I've started a blog.
It's called "Jacking Kreiger's Linx". Actually, it's called "Soundtrack Rarities -- Now Greg-Free", but the address is:
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
It's empty now, just one post with a hint of what might come. From now on, unless you stay away from YDHTV -- AS PER NOMWL1'S REQUEST, and unless you stay away from isbum's -- AS PER HIS REQUEST -- , every time you post something on your blog, I'll post it on mine, and I'll post pointers to it here and everywhere else.
Direct links to your uploads, no clickthrough protection. No bullshit.
And no YOU.
That way, people who want the music don't have to have any contact with YOU, and people who want to DELETE your links don't have to go through the rigmarole of wading through your ineffective attempt at link protection. They can find it all on my blog, if you choose to keep jerking people around.
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
Unless you stop coming where you are not wanted. Simple as that. Fuck off somewhere else, and I'll stop doing it. Keep popping your head in (even anonymously) and I'll keep right on 'til the cows come home. You complain about "harrassment" and "terrorism", but that's exactly what you continue to traffic in by polluting sites who have made clear that they don't want you around..
So beat it. Or prepare to make a hell of a lot more work for yourself. You didn't win this one. It's over.
You keep admonishing people to "grow the hell up." It's time for you to nut-up like a man and chalk this one up as a loss.
Get. Over. It.
Period.
Once again, that's:
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
The rest is up to you.
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ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteIt's curious how a part of a song could describe greg's posts:
ReplyDelete"It's not a question of your sanity
More of a lesson of humanity
You knew the score
You always wanted more
Another lover you could choose to be
A question mark about your sexuality..."
By the great Samantha Fox ("You and me")
You're a lost cause, Gregory.
ReplyDelete@ Not Greg
ReplyDeleteI really, really appreciate your post and even more so your new blog! What an awesome idea, I'm loving it already!
Thanks.
===========================
ReplyDeleteHi Everybody!
Wow! I'm stunned at all the comments in here! I was expecting maybe 3 or 4. I didn't think anybody was going to read this far down!
Well, all the people who took the time to respond, I want to sincerely thank each and every one of you! And to all my old friends, a big hello and a huge thanks! I really miss hearing from you! And to all the spammers, trolls, and Greg, from what I've skimmed, it looks like you've proved my point. (and I do have the satisfaction of knowing the spammer(s?) is as stupid as I think he is.....you've made my day!)
Well, keep the comments coming if you're so inclined (for all those of you who haven't gone blind from reading this). Feel free to respond to anything in this essay, to each other, or just to harass the mean-spirited people here.
I haven't read these comments yet, but boy, do I have a lot of reading to do tonight!
And again to all my old friends, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart! :))
Nice to see you're back again, my friend! :)
ReplyDeleteAnd about harassing the mean-spirited people (and you know who you are, g...!) i'd like to do this myself, but he's so stupid that he may be able to tell again that's he's innocent of everything and that i'm the one who start the war! :p All i could say is he's got everything he's deserved...... ;)
greg, you're really a pathetic looser... Even when everyone (includes Nomwl1!) ask you to go away, you stay here... And when you haven't got any "good" argument, you chose to post insultes against this blog, Nomwl1, me.... Geez, how old are you, 2 years old????
ReplyDeleteBe careful, greg... I'm usually quiet and polite (yes!), but you've done to much to insult/hurt me.... I will not let you do this without any reply!
That was NOT me, I guarantee you. I've given up on ever posting anything here again, unless an incident like this pops up to make people THINK it's me.....and that was most certainly NOT me.
ReplyDeleteThis is going to be the ongoing problem I've so clearly tried to explain here and to Nomwl1 more than once: Leaving his blog open to anonymous postings via Other or Anonymous is going to CONTINUE to cause endless problems.
GEEZ, A MIRACLE IS COMING!!!!! *blink*
ReplyDeleteI think i turned nut to say this, but i trust you... Because if it was you, i'd be more insulted in your reply, and curiously it sounds like a kind of apology (at least for you)...
By the way (and now i'm totally nut!) i agree with you - at least partly... The possibility to post anonymously is not a great choice for this blog. :( It's a pity, because without the "other" choice, i'm not sure some people (like me during a while) would post if they need to be logged on...
What a shame. Like many others I enjoyed this blog and then sadly watched it slide downhill thanks to Greg. Yes there were some who egged him on but his actions and his alone started and continued the crap.
ReplyDeleteAfter Nomwl1's wonderful essay on the situation it seemed we were on the road to recovery, but Greg's first post in this section just proved , as all his previous posts proved,that he is a lost cause.
It's telling that his first reply was to say he was not going to read the words of our host - the person he took to task time & again. Instead he prefers to continue his bizarre woman-bashing and odd behavior under who knows how many names.
Aside from all your other sad gestures,how dare you attack Breton Girl in the way you have....pathetic. Don't worry Greg...everyone knows you all too well.
No one knows me at all, least of all you.
ReplyDeleteI haven't posted anything here since my reply to Breton Girl on Wednesday.....this last piece of offensiveness was NOT me. At least Breton Girl and I agree that the ability to post anonymously/other is going to continue to cause endless problems here....as this anon Khan post has just proven.
Greg, i said that i partly agree with you, ok. (i'm NUT!) But i also agrre with mp and his (?) post - you will never understand how many damages you've done here! Without you and your over-reacted way to go, this blog could be fine with the anonymous ability to post!!!!
ReplyDeleteYour last posts under your name are not offensive/insluting, i agree, but it was too late... I couldn't forget than the first who call me "breton bitch" was YOU and no one else! :( So even if you are not the one who've made the last trolling posts (and as i said, i rust you for the last two BECAUSE of your "polite" reaction - and not because you said it), you're the one who carry the responsibility of it. By insulting Nowml1, his blog and all of us, you give the trolls an opportunity to make more damages.......
Hi, I'm Greg's ego. It's about time I addressed all of you. I have endured so much harassment, terrorism and grotesque language that I can no longer quell my angst.
ReplyDeleteI must confess that I have desperate feelings of alienation and extraordinarily low self esteem. My dearth of "real friends" in the "real world" has driven me to seek acceptance and appreciation in the blogosphere. All I want is for you to like me, instead, you terrorize me by saying things like "Greg sucks" and "Greg, get a life." This is sheer terror for me. How could you be so brutal with your "Greg bites" and "Greg likes man boobs." It is grotesque.
Apparently, my eagerness to win friends has backfired and now, although I can't believe it, some people don't like me. I can't handle this. I've done so much for all of you; how dare you treat me this way?
As such, I have dedicated myself to ridding the world of any forum that would allow the posting of a single unkind word about me. You see, the blogosphere is all I have in this world. This is what I live for. I spend the majority of my days studying the subtleties of each syllable uttered about me. I am consumed by it. It is the very essence of my being. And you have chosen to nip away at that essence like jackals. Instead of turning my back and walking away, I have chosen to fight. Fight for what I believe in! And what I believe is that everyone should love me and say only nice things about me. And if the moderator of this forum can't enforce that policy, well, I'm sorry but it's Greg first, as it has always been.
FYI, I am starting a not-for-profit group which will battle all unkind and derogatory slanders levied specifically against me, particularly the anonymous ones. I have decided to call this group, "Against Negative Unsigned Statements" or A.N.U.S. I hope to recruit many members into my A.N.U.S. In fact, a fraternal organization, "People Encouraging Nicer Internet Statements" has already expressed interest. Please join me to increase the size of my A.N.U.S. and together we can put an end to the grotesque innuendo and critique that plague these boards.
Geez, greg's superego couldn't you stop? I'm ok to jump on greg's back when he annoy us, but he's quiet since days! By acting like this, you're like greg!
ReplyDeleteIf you've got some courtesy, think about Nomwl1... You must read his essay, by the way.
But damn funnier than Greg. Oh man, that was priceless!
ReplyDeleteYes, Filmpac, i must admit it made me laugh (especially the A.N.U.S. part)! :p I just try to respect Nomwl1's blog since greg is not here anymore....
ReplyDeleteOk guys, since I'm only Greg's superego but not Greg himself I will try to comply to your wishes and Nom's of course also.
ReplyDeleteBut the way I know Greg he won't be gone for long, this might only be a break to refuel his "powers".
Join my A. N. U. S. anyway if you can.
Greetings,
G's superego
No need to "refuel my powers" at all.....This just goes to further prove my point as to who are the REAL causes of continuing problems here. Again, I haven't posted anything here in several days, let along anything negative or offensive. Rather obvious who's going to continue to cause problems for Nomwl.
ReplyDeleteYou all need to seriously grow up.
greg, could you please shut up? Ok, greg's superego post was not a good idea. But with you reply, you give him (?) another reason to post! Geez, the superego post(s) are childish and not in the right time, but that's all - you don't need to feel offended, unless you're Nomwl1.
ReplyDeleteAnd why WE need to grown up? I suppose i need to point that i asked him to stop to post this kind of thing, huh? YOU may could grown up yourself, by the way: when you've got a reason to prove you could be better (or less worse) than you are by keeping your mouth close, you come back for a NOT IMPORTANT reason! Do not complain you've got more troubles after this, you've just done the right thing to have it!
Greg wrote:
ReplyDeleteNo one knows me at all, least of all you.
I know you, Greg. I'm sure you can tell that from my previous post. I know you well enough to know that the latest trolling posts weren't you, which is why my blog is still in a holding pattern. I appreciate your impulse in popping your head in here to clarify that. But you've been asked to stay away. Period.
Sticking your head in to "clarify" things -- to post about how you haven't posted anything except the things you've posted about not having posted anything is not staying away. I said "no more" from you. I meant it.
Greg also wrote:
You all need to seriously grow up.
As do you, Greg. You need to stop posting here where you have been asked to stay away.
Give. It. Up.
I'll remind you once more:
jackingkireger'slinx.blogspot.com
This is your last warning.
Don't post here again.
@ Not Greg
ReplyDeleteHow dare you make threats like that?
Who do you think you are, this is not your blog and Nomwl1 would certainly not approve of this.
Greg, I am very sorry you are still scapegoated here.
Drop me a line.
greg, we know who you are, no need to change your name! And if you read the essay, you may change your mind about Nomwl1's thoughts, by the way (wich you still haven't done when i read you)... I'm not sure at all he will not approve the kind of post that no greg could type... ;)
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteOk... There's a bloody troll who try to insult Nomwl1 and his blog by copy and paste something pathetic, and in the same time trying to ridiculize my name by signing breton slut... And about a couple of hours ago (waiting is just for muddy the water, another time) there's the stupid greg who post something against Nomwl1 and the blog... No need to think too much before telling both are in fact greg and only greg!
ReplyDeleteI'd like to ignore you, you greghead, and i will do as much as possible (and when it will be impossible i'll post only here), but another time you insulted me! In the real world i'd filled a complain against you for harassement, you moron!!!!!
You are seriously disturbed with sex, and more disturbed about women! You could think what you want without insulting people, but you just wouldn't! You're always talking about YOUR right, YOU are harassed... But everytime it's about OTHERS then you shut your mouth! Why so many people got to another place (2 in fact)? Not because of all the spams, trolls, or things like this... No, WE MOVE BECAUSE OF YOU!!!!! You chose to stay and kick us in the butt, and now you are complaining... But you put everything on your head, yourself, not us, or Nomwl1, or me, or Isbum... Stay in your own shit now!
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ReplyDeleteOh, and I WILL NOT DELETE MY COMMENTS! I'm not the kind of girl who like to muddy the water, ME!!!!
ReplyDeleteAnother time greg is very polite - and another time he haven't got the balls to sign under his name. It's pathetic...
ReplyDeleteGreg is the Al Bundy of the web: he's a pathetic looser without a life but he still manage to annoy people around him!
That was not me....I already stated very clearly in another comment here that I've given up on ever posting anything here again, because of precisely this very reason:
ReplyDeleteThe anonymous trolling will never end here and you (and others) will never cease to give it up and will forever think the anonymous postings are ME, when in fact they are NOT.
If anyone is laughable and a pathetic loser with no life, it's YOU.
GOODBYE, ALREADY! :-P
Would not trust you anymore, you green ink! You've got too much reason to do this, and it's too much the way you act! Oh, and you've got the exact reaction than Nomwl1 was talking about.... :p
ReplyDeleteAnd stopping posting here? What about posting @ Isbum's under Hjalmar Poelzig name? Oh, yes, i forget, it's not you, it's a bad guy from Transylvania!
I respect Nomwl1's wishes, so my reply to your other comment is posted here...
ReplyDeleteAs long as i'll be insulted (with the bloody trolling post who sign breton slut, bitch or whore, or under your name) i'll reply! Stop it, don't insult me and i will not reply! It's pretty clear (and i said this since ages), but it seems you wouldn't understand!
When a troll will post and sign under a name who's injurious against me, it will be you. If someone tells me anonymously "shut up bitch" or any other nice comment, it will be you. If someone post anonymously something against me, it will be you. Why? Because you are the only one who act like this against me under your name! No other people insulted nor injuried me but you, so even if the trolling is not yours, for me it will be you......
If you want to insult me, greg, at least try to be original! It's so much the same that it's now boring... You're laughable!
ReplyDeletegreg, another time you've posted @ Isbum's without any reason! May i need to say AGAIN (for the thousand time, it seems) that YOU ARE NOT WELCOME?????
ReplyDeleteOh, and by the way, i jump to the same conclusion that Isbum about Industrial Cocktail... Maybe because the anonymous/other was closed because of you and your shitty attack against me (anonymously, of course!)...
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SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
greg, my dear, now you could amit it... :) If you are insulting me so much, it's because you are deeply in love with me. How could it be another thing, with all your sexual references?
ReplyDeleteSHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH YOU FUCKING CUNT!
ReplyDeleteI'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR STUPID TROLLING, BITCH!
Libération sexuelle ou tyrannie du plaisir ?
ReplyDeleteEnvie de briser la monotonie du couple, de pimenter sa vie sexuelle ? Les libertins modernes seraient de plus en plus nombreux à s'adonner à des pratiques autrefois taboues : échangisme, sadomasochisme, mélangisme… Mais derrière cette façade de liberté sexuelle pourrait bien se cacher une nouvelle tyrannie du plaisir obligatoire.
Il n'est pas si loin le temps où l'échangisme et le sadomasochisme étaient considérés comme d'inavouables perversions. Aujourd'hui sorties de l'ombre, ces pratiques riment avec liberté sexuelle… Le couple serait-il devenu ringard ?
Liberté sexuelle ou tyrannie du plaisir ?
Ils n'étaient dans les années 1960 qu'une poignée. Alors que l'interdit tombe, ces Français qui osent tout ne se cachent plus. Les codes visuels et linguistiques de leur monde autrefois fermé envahissent la sphère publique. Le cuir et le latex s'invitent aux défilés de mode, les visuels sadomasochistes inondent les publicités… Une fois la parenthèse des années sida oubliée, certains ont voulu redonner quelques couleurs au slogan de mai 68 "Jouissons sans entrave". "Pas question comme nos parents de baiser avec la même personne pendant trente ou quarante ans" s'insurge Lulu sur nos forums.
Libération sexuelle
Mais ces pratiques exotiques pourraient-elles demain devenir la norme ou restent-elles malgré tout limitées à très peu de couples ? Ces expériences ne sont-elles pas vécues comme de simples bravades passagères aux normes sociales ? Difficile d'y voir clair…
Si les romans de Houellebecq, l'émission "Paris Première" de Frédéric Taddeï ou "Nova mag" ont contribué à "déghettoïser" l'échangisme ou les partouzes, on se demande encore qui sont ces "heureux libertins". Et combien sont-ils réellement à franchir la porte d'un club échangiste ou à participer à ces soirées où le sexe est collectif ?… Plus nombreux qu'il y a quelques années, c'est une chose certaine.
L'empire des sens interdit
Plus généralement issus de la classe moyenne ou aisée, ces nouveaux épicuriens appartiennent à tous les niveaux économiques et culturels. Les rencontres se font généralement via des petites annonces, des forums de rencontres ou des soirées organisées par des initiés.
Mais cette sexualité collective rime-t-elle forcément avec liberté sexuelle. Selon Daniel Welzer-Lang, sociologue et maître de conférence à l'université de Toulouse, certaines pratiques ont encore du mal à se conjuguer au féminin. D'après lui, l'échangisme reste encore un milieu macho. Non seulement le premier pas est plus souvent une demande masculine mais l'imaginaire érotique féminin peine parfois se satisfaire des codes hérités du porno très présent lors de ces soirées.
Great choice, greg, to post something in french about sado masochist sexuality! It fits perfectly with you, my dear... :p
ReplyDeleteAlors qu'elle se rend dans un pensionnat de jeunes filles, une jeune institutrice est «oubliée» par son cocher dans un petit village isolé de Transylvannie. La Baronne Meinster lui propose de l'héberger dans son château jusqu'au lendemain où elle pourra alors reprendre son voyage...
ReplyDeleteAprès FRANKENSTEIN S'EST ECHAPPE!, la Hammer Film va rapidement produire une suite aux aventures du fameux scientifique. Mais, étrangement, le personnage de Dracula va rester dans son cercueil même si LE CAUCHEMAR DE DRACULA produit un effet aussi tonitruant dans les salles à travers le monde. Premier handicap au retour du prince des ténèbres dans les salles, Christopher Lee est peu enclin à montrer de nouveau ses canines proéminentes sur un grand écran. Selon certaines sources, il aurait préféré s'orienter vers d'autres rôles alors que pour le producteur Anthony Hinds, il aurait été plutôt question d'un différent financier. Pourtant, un scénario intitulé, faute de mieux, DRACULA II est écrit durant l'année 1959 mais celui-ci ne sera jamais tourné en l'état. Ce scénario de Jimmy Sangster va être adapté par Peter Bryan et Edward Percy de manière à supprimer le personnage de Dracula et le remplacer par un autre vampire. LES MAITRESSES DE DRACULA va connaître, lui aussi, quelques modifications entre son scénario d'origine et ce qui va être réellement filmé. Par exemple, le final prévu à l'origine montrait Van Helsing pratiquer des rites occultes et même invoquer une nuée de chauve-souris de l'enfer pour se débarrasser de son ennemi d'outre-tombe. Cet épilogue spectaculaire est donc absent du film de Terence Fisher mais fera son apparition un peu plus tard dans LE BAISER DU VAMPIRE de Don Sharp.
Privé de Dracula, la production n'hésite pourtant pas à titrer le film en utilisant le nom du célèbre vampire. Le problème est rapidement résolu par un prologue où on nous explique que Dracula a donc laissé des disciples derrière lui. A la place de Christopher Lee, il est donc choisi de prendre un acteur complètement différent. Bien que David Peel ait quasiment le même âge que Christopher Lee, l'acteur va interpréter un vampire plus juvénile. Une façon de placer le mal à l'état brut dans une enveloppe charnelle plus innocente. A cet effet, on pourra faire un lien évident avec le film suivant de Terence Fisher, LES DEUX VISAGES DU DOCTEUR JEKYLL, où le mal prend le visage attirant de la beauté. L'image du bel aristocrate décadent revient d'ailleurs beaucoup dans les films produits par la Hammer (UNE MESSE POUR DRACULA, LES SEVICES DE DRACULA, le prologue du CHIEN DES BASKERVILLES...). Dans LES MAITRESSES DE DRACULA, si le vampire est un homme séduisant qui cache un véritable animal, la connotation sexuelle du film est résolument affichée. Mais ce n'est pas forcément lié au seul personnage du Baron qui s'attaque à toutes les proies y compris sa propre mère. Le sous-texte déborde carrément sur d'autres vampires qui y marquent clairement leurs propres ambivalences. Ainsi, l'amie de l'institutrice lui demande pardon de s'être abandonnée au vampire mais lui propose juste après de venir les rejoindre pour s'aimer ensemble. On ne sait plus trop s'il s'agit véritablement d'une soif de sang ou de pulsions fort différentes qui guident nos créatures de la nuit.
Weird sexual pleasures, dracula in the movies... You must choice something better, greg, it's too much like you!
ReplyDelete@BB
ReplyDeleteLes multiples visages de la violence:
Abuse de nous
celui qui nous touche sans nous demander notre avis
Abuse de nous
celui qui, au café ou dans la rue, ne nous laisse pas tranquille
Abuse de nous
celui qui nous tient financièrement
Abuse de nous
celui qui nous oblige à coucher avec lui quand il en a envie
Abuse de nous
ceux qui nous forment mal et ne nous paient pas assez
ceux qui détruisent notre entourage
ceux qui nous font vivre dans des appartements misérables
La violence à l'égard des femmes est un phénomène avec une longue histoire derrière lui et qui, en dépit de tous les changements qui interviennent dans le domaine de l'égalité et de l'émancipation existe toujours.
La violence ne se limite pas uniquement aux actes physiques directs commis par un tiers, mais comprend toutes les actions entreprises par une personne extérieure ou des structures (telles que croyances ou ordres sociaux) dans le but de restreindre la capacité d'action d'un être humain.
La peur:
A chaque fois que nous restons debout et regardons la peur en face, notre force, notre courage et notre confiance en nous grandissent.
La peur est un sentiment que nous connaissons tous.
La peur agit sur notre âme et notre corps, nous sommes tendus. Nous nous sentons menacés et la peur touche l'essence même de notre existence.
Nous avons peur lorsque nous prenons conscience d'un danger, réel ou imaginé. Le cas échéant, nous perdons notre habituelle confiance en nous, nous nous sentons désarmés. Si nous avons le sentiment de ne pas maîtriser la situation, notre peur s'amplifie.
La peur: le signal du danger
En cas de danger, si nous percevons la peur comme un signal, elle nous permet de:
- contrôler l'origine de la menace
- maîtriser nos émotions
Gérer sa peur et avoir le courage d'avoir peur sont aussi des thèmes abordés.
Geez, greg, will you ever understand that you're not welcome @ Isbum's????? Read the rules and stop to annoy us, you've got your own blog for this! Oh, and of course your message will be deleted AGAIN!
ReplyDelete@Breton Girl
ReplyDeleteExcuse me, but I COURTEOUSLY and POLITELY pointed out that the Day At The Races download was....and is indeed....incomplete.
@Joshyr:
This is what is in that Day At The Races download file:
5. Tomorrow Is Another Day/A Message From The Man In The Moon/All God's Chillum...
6. End Title
7. Main Title
GO WEST (1940) tracks 7-12
8. You Can't Argue With Love
9. Classic Excerpt
10. Ridin' The Range
11. My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean/Land Of The Sky Blue Water
12. End Title
13. Main Title
THE BIG STORE (1941) tracks 13-19
14. If It's You
15. Sing While You Sell
16. Mama Yo Quiero
17. Bach Excerpt
18. The Tenement Symphony
19. End Title
This is what is listed at SoundtrackCollector.com:
1. Main Title
A DAY AT THE RACES (1937) tracks 1-6
2. Blue Venetian Waters
3. Prelude In Do Mi, Op 23
4. Blue Venetian Waters
5. Tomorrow Is Another Day/A Message From The Man In The Moon/All God's Chillum...
6. End Title
7. Main Title
GO WEST (1940) tracks 7-12
8. You Can't Argue With Love
9. Classic Excerpt
10. Ridin' The Range
11. My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean/Land Of The Sky Blue Water
12. End Title
13. Main Title
THE BIG STORE (1941) tracks 13-19
14. If It's You
15. Sing While You Sell
16. Mama Yo Quiero
17. Bach Excerpt
18. The Tenement Symphony
19. End Title
It's obviously missing the first four tracks, so how can it be misnumbered?
And excuse me, greg, but Isbum got 3 rules for his blog and the last one is... Well, read this, rules are still the same:
ReplyDeleteHello everybody! Just a word before we get started..
three things will get your post removed.
1. Complaining
2. Being Negative or Rude
3. Your Name is Greg
@Breton Girl
ReplyDeleteExcuse me, but I COURTEOUSLY and POLITELY pointed out that the Day At The Races download was....and is indeed....incomplete.
@Joshyr:
This is what is in that Day At The Races download file...I even tried downloading it a second time just to be certain:
5. Tomorrow Is Another Day/A Message From The Man In The Moon/All God's Chillum...
6. End Title
7. Main Title
GO WEST (1940) tracks 7-12
8. You Can't Argue With Love
9. Classic Excerpt
10. Ridin' The Range
11. My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean/Land Of The Sky Blue Water
12. End Title
13. Main Title
THE BIG STORE (1941) tracks 13-19
14. If It's You
15. Sing While You Sell
16. Mama Yo Quiero
17. Bach Excerpt
18. The Tenement Symphony
19. End Title
This is what is listed at SoundtrackCollector.com:
1. Main Title
A DAY AT THE RACES (1937) tracks 1-6
2. Blue Venetian Waters
3. Prelude In Do Mi, Op 23
4. Blue Venetian Waters
5. Tomorrow Is Another Day/A Message From The Man In The Moon/All God's Chillum...
6. End Title
7. Main Title
GO WEST (1940) tracks 7-12
8. You Can't Argue With Love
9. Classic Excerpt
10. Ridin' The Range
11. My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean/Land Of The Sky Blue Water
12. End Title
13. Main Title
THE BIG STORE (1941) tracks 13-19
14. If It's You
15. Sing While You Sell
16. Mama Yo Quiero
17. Bach Excerpt
18. The Tenement Symphony
19. End Title
It's obviously missing the first four tracks, so how can it be misnumbered?
NO ONE ELSE has commented on the missing tracks, and Joshyr himself is mistaken that the "tracks are misnumbered".
You're wrong, VonCheech make a comment himself... And so????? There's only 3 rules and the third is NO GREG!
ReplyDeleteThere's already 3 blogs when you are not welcome anymore: here (read the essay, it's pretty clear he ask you to move away), Isbums, and Ghoulies's blog... You could still anoy us here, both under your name and anonymously; you could still annoy us @ Isbum's until he put you in the garbage... At least Ghoulies found the right thing to do: no anonymous comments, moderation... Oh, and you messages are up only until ghoulies and i have replied!
Don't you think there's a problem with YOU now? So much people and so much places who didn't like you, it's not a coincidence......
Great job, greg, look what's happened @ Isbum's because you wouldn't stop to post and listen to Isbum's simple rules:
ReplyDeleteisbum said...
@ joshy and voncheech - Due to the ongoing situation with Greg, I'd prefer we end all further Marx Brothers postings.
Thanks for understanding.
August 1, 2007 12:37 AM
You're really a moron! We couldn't post some great stuff only because of you! What do you think of this, dickhead??????
As you said, it's Isbum's blog, and he made clear since he very first post that he wouldn't want you. We were here until YOU force us to move away. In case it was not clear here, and it Score Baby's during a short time, it's pretty clear with isbum: YOU ARE NOT WELCOME! No matter what you could think or say, you'll be deleted everytime you'll post @ Isbum's. At least you could have a small amount of respect for Isbum's RULES on HIS blog!
ReplyDeleteThere's nothing but facts in my posts, and you only could reply with insults. I don't know who act childish but it's not me.
And as i said before, in the real wolrd, i'd file a complain against you for harrassement. You could call me idiot or stupid if you want, i'll be angry but it's your right... But you've got no right to call me with names like this, it's not only insulting, it's degrading! Do you think a victim of rape could be named bitch, cunt, or whore many times and do not reply? How would you react if i call you alway queer, fag or bugger?
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteNo thanks, greg, i don't want to be poisoned! :p
ReplyDeleteMe neither, "Anonymous."
ReplyDeleteI wouldn't want to taste the sad, sick bile of pure hatred that likely seeps from your every pore.
Once again:
jackingkriegerslinks.blogspot.com
All Krieger's shares, with none of the Krieger bullshit.
Enjoy!
1. That was NOT me, Mr. "Not Greg".
ReplyDelete2. You've already been reported to Bloggger for "stealing content". How do you also think they're going to link it that you've somehow REMOVED the Blogger frame/toolbar/whatever it is?
Good luck when you land in jail.
P.S. "Not Greg"
ReplyDeleteYou're a dead man as far as your "blog" goes.....VERY DEAD!
Greg wrote.
ReplyDeleteI'M NOT SCARED OF YOUR PATHETIC BLOG!
If my blog, which does nothing but replicate the content you post, is PATHETIC, then what does that make your blog?
Hm?
1. That was NOT me, Mr. "Not Greg".
Of course it wasn't, Greg.
;)
In any event, so what ? It hardly matters now. You were warned. Deal with it.
2. You've already been reported to Bloggger for "stealing content". How do you also think they're going to link it that you've somehow REMOVED the Blogger frame/toolbar/whatever it is?
They won't care. In either case.
In fact, I'm sure by now the techheads at Blogger support are having as robust a behind-the-scenes laugh as everyone else who's ever had the misfortune of coming in contact with you.
Good luck when you land in jail.
Thanks, Greg! I appreciate your good wishes.
You're a dead man as far as your "blog" goes.....VERY DEAD!
Nope. Still very much alive and kicking. Feel free to check it out at
jackingkriegerslinks.blogspot.com
And should anyone else care to stop by, you'll find all of Krieger's links in one handy, easily-downloadable, readily reportable
spot. Without the droning egotism of silly, silly Greg Krieger.
Enjoy!
Ah, more cleverness from our friend "Anonymous."
ReplyDeleteSqueeze this, "Mr. Charmin":
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
All the goods, all in one no-nonsense place.
Still alive.
I guess "Bloggger" (Greg's spelling) "links it" (again, Greg's spelling) just fine.
Enjoy!
You're truly the most assholish, insidious, sick, Sick, SICK, and mentally FUCKED UP and disturbed person I've ever had the misfortune to encounter. You're truly disturbed and SICK beyond belief. You have NO fucking life and the mentality and attitude of a teenager.
ReplyDeleteGo seek help because you NEED it very badly.....or just die a horrible fucking death because you deserve it. You're an absolutely hateful and vile person who belongs in a class with the Nazis who killed Jews and other innocent people without reason.
I seriously hope you have a horrible accident and die most miserably in agonizing pain beyond belief.
Greg, posing under several more transparent aliases, wrote:
ReplyDeleteYou're an absolutely hateful and vile person who belongs in a class with the Nazis who killed Jews and other innocent people without reason.
Greg, you make me laugh. Out loud.
See:
LOL!
I seriously hope you have a horrible accident and die most miserably in agonizing pain beyond belief.
I don't doubt that for a second, Greg. I'm glad I'm in your thoughts. Constantly, it would seem. Hurray, me!
:)
Ever hear of TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS, Mr. Fuckwad Bloggger??
Yes, I've certainly heard of them. But I rarely make them, Greg, because I have at least a modicum of intelligence you so clearly seem to lack. Oh, and a keen sense of irony. Also, it's spelled "Blogger," Greg. Only two "g"s. Like in "Greggg."
You can spell "Greggg," can't you, "Gggrregggg"?
(Additionally, "assholish" isn't a word. You fucking dummy.)
Hey, Greg, since you're not going away, why not visit my blog?
Don't know if you've heard or not, but you can find it at
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
What I do is provide direct links to all your shares, but without the severe detriment of YOU being involved.
Isn't that peachy?
ENJOY!
No.
ReplyDeletejackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
ENJOY!
Greg wrote:
ReplyDelete...Sick SHIT like this, I meant.
Then why didn't you SAY so the first time, dummy?
Die horribly, anyway.
Again, no.
And again:
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
Who's banned from Isbum's and Ghoulies's blogs? GREG! Not me..... :p And who could post on these (great) blogs? ME! Not greg... :p
ReplyDeleteBreton Girl a dit:
ReplyDeleteWho's banned from Isbum's and Ghoulies's blogs? GREG! Not me..... :p And who could post on these (great) blogs? ME! Not greg... :p
Excellent points!
And as a member of the human race, I feel I must apologise for all of Greg's nastiness, Breton Girl. His vulgarity offends us all. You deserve much, much better.
And Greg --
Why so much hate, Greg?
Why so much vulgar nonsense for such a cultured, storied and mature vampire such as yourself, whose sly manipulation has stretched throughout the ages?
Why, I ask you?
Why?
Still waiting for that Email to set up an engagement for my ass-kicking.
Meanwhile, I'm hanging out at
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
ENJOY!
Oh, and greg have a look here: http://soundtrack-area.blogspot.com/2007/08/soundtracks-area-rules.html and then found a good translator and enjoy! :p
ReplyDelete@ Breton Girl:
ReplyDeleteGreg ne peut pas évidemment parler anglais très bien -- je doute qu'il fasse mieux avec une langue différente, même si il a une traduction !
You smartass, that report was about a terms of service violation concering all your sick harassments, but you'll stop laughing when I report your blogs for what they are. You better believe I won't let my blog go down without yours to accompany it!
ReplyDeletePPS (you smartasshole!)
ReplyDeleteYOU BROUGHT THIS ON!
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteyou'll stop laughing when I report your blogs for what they are
ReplyDeleteI could use a break from laughing. My tummy's sore!
You better believe I won't let my blog go down without yours to accompany it!
Greg, Greg, Greg, Greg, Greg.
I personally don't care whether your blog lives or dies.
But you are continually disobeying the requests of the proprietors of several blogs by repeatedly posting where YOU ARE NOT WANTED.
Whenever that stops, I'll stop.
I told you all this before. Are you deaf? Blind? Or just stupid?
Combination of all three?
Prob'ly!
In which case you won't have much use for my blog:
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
But do be a dear and drop by, regardless.
(oh, and I'm still waiting for the info on my upcoming asskicking. Please advise.)
YOU BROUGHT THIS ON!
Yep, I sure did!
(Wholeheartedly encouraged by your lack of either basic human dignity or decency, I sure as hell did!)
SO HOW WILL ISBUM LIKE IT IF HIS BLOG GETS SHUT DOWN BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU TRY TO DO HERE???
ReplyDeleteSTOP OR BE STOPPED!
Greg wrote:
ReplyDeleteSO WHAT THE FUCK, ARE YOU THE BLOG-POLICE?
Nope. Just the Greg police. And then, only the Greg police for places who don't want Greg gumming up the works. Because Greg (hey, that's you, dummy!) is either too stupid or too inconsiderate to respect people's wishes.
IF YOU TRY TO FORCE ME TO DO ANYTHING THE WHOLE OF BLOG-LAND WILL REGRET THIS AND ONLY YOU AND YOU ALONE WILL BE RESPONSIBLE!
First of all, you CAN'T do anything. Second of all ...
Well, there is no second of all. You can't do anything. Good luck wasting your time trying.
And Greg, I know this concept is a little much for your tiny, spiteful mind to comprehend, but if you take action to shut down blogs, then YOU will be responsible for the blogs that get shut down. Not me.
But none of this will happen. Still, have at it! Knock yourself out!
SO NOW YOU ON BEHALF OF THE REST OF YOUR SPINELESS PACK HAVE BEEN WARNED ALSO -
I don't have a "pack." I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel.
STOP OR BE STOPPED!
No. I told you this already. Are you just too fucking stupid to let it sink in?
Maybe this'll help:
I won't stop. Ever. Unless you follow the instructions of those blogmasters who have told you -- REPEATEDLY -- to GO. AWAY.
SO HOW WILL ISBUM LIKE IT IF HIS BLOG GETS SHUT DOWN BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU TRY TO DO HERE???
It won't get shut down. Not because of your lame-ass threats, anyway. He can rest easy. He's a great guy, by the way. Not sure why you hate him so much that you won't honor his simple request to fuck off.
STOP OR BE STOPPED!
Uh ... see above, re: your apparently being too fucking stupid to realize I'm not gonna stop. Ever.
Hurry up and post some new material, by the way. My blog:
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
Hasn't been updated lately.
I really appreciate your wise and insightful observations and reactions, though.
ReplyDeleteAnd I got one hell of a kick out of this extended metaphor of the pool-party...funny story if it wasn't so real.
You still are the greatest blogger I know!
Take care,
Nomwl1-fan # 1
PS There's no music being shared here! :-)
Saturday, June 23, 2007 5:10:00 PM
Anonymous hat gesagt...
You are such a nice, reasonable guy... I can't say I read all of your essay, but that's largely because I get a headache trying to read a lot of text off a screen and I lack a printer. Everything I read sounds like a sensible understanding of what's been happening - seen with an uncommon degree of empathy and decency.
I expect that, with your attitude, all will come out well, given enough time. I'll drop in occasionally and see if there are requests I can fill. I get lazy about doing that anywhere and find so many other things to engage my attention...
Thanks for continuing in the face of adversity and just plain perversity.
Thingmaker (still too lazy to sign in properly)
Saturday, June 23, 2007 5:25:00 PM
Mel hat gesagt...
I haven't finished reading you essay yet - I'll have to come back later to do that.
Meanwhile, I'd just like to say that I take all your points regarding my comments about moderating, also that I dug your anomalies about the ongoing party at the pool.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: you are one of nature's gentlemen.
I'll be back.
I wish you all the very best.
Saturday, June 23, 2007 9:36:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Nice to see you're back, my friend! :) I was hoping to see you again since a long time!!!!
It seems you've understand greg's behaviour... All i could say is that he start to do the same kind of trouble at Industrial Cocktail's (by ranting than an unreleased score was editing to left out the dialogues and most of the sfx, and then posting his own rip - full of dialogues and sfx) and La Leyenda's blog (by pointing out quickly than he was the original uploader, when he link/upload tons of stuff without giving any credits to the original ripper/poster)... For all i've could read and see, he's just an egoist and self-centered people. He even try to post at Isbum's blog, firstly under another name (but acting exactly like under his name: a link for his own post on his own blog) and then under his name, when he's really not welcome. Thanks to Isbum, he found a way to use the flush to delete greg's comments. ;)
I'm still here every days, but not as often as before, mostly for have a look if you're back... *blush* Well done for keeping the blog alive! :) I suppose i don't need to say you're more than welcome at Isbum's place... ;) It looks a lot like the Requests part when greg was not here, it's a real pleasure to come and share a few scores... :)
Saturday, June 23, 2007 10:20:00 PM
Rocket From Mars hat gesagt...
Hi nomwl1,
Holy smokes---that's like the "War & Peace" of the blog-o-sphere that you wrote there! AND i can't thank you enough for it. YOU are amazing! I've really missed your wit and charm these last couple of months. I hope you're doing alot better. As long as this blog is here (and you're still accepting visitors) i'll be around too! (did that sound to 'Tom Joad-ish' Maw?)
(and what a GREAT bunch of compilations you come roaring back with! like i said---A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!)
As always---i feel a kindred spirit and bond with you and this blog.
do you have any requests these days?
As always---
ALL THE BEST,
Rocket From Mars
Saturday, June 23, 2007 10:37:00 PM
Rocket From Mars hat gesagt...
ps---"D'oh" (in my best Homer Simpson voice). I just checked out the 'requests' section and notice it's been disabled. i didn't mean to come off as a wiseass or anything when i asked if you had any requests nomwl1.
HOWEVER---i was going to post the 10 rarest soundtracks EVER in the history of recorded music just to get things going again but---oh well (now THAT was meant to be a jerk-ish thing to say---with all due respect of course)
anyway---see you soon. (maybe i'll post a few shares in this strand---if anyone has any requests. i know i've been looking for Paul McCartney's "The Marrying Kind" [i think that's what it was called]for a long time now---hint hint)
later alligators,
Rocket
Saturday, June 23, 2007 10:59:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
I've read almost everything now, and i just need to add something...
I don't know who tell this (i believe it was an anonymous), the fact that greg may could be one of the "troll" (more a troublemaker)... For what i've read (and i never stop to come here, even if it was only 1 time per day), i could tell that i've got more than little doubts it may be true... And i didn't say this only because he insulted me in both under his name and in anonymous way (i'll never forgive the "breton bitch", by the way!).
I need to explain my point of view for this:
1. There's some of the Anonymous attacks who was posted in a time greg was around (and it was especially directed against your blog)
2. The following comment came from an angry/upset greg who claims that the blog need to be moderated
3. the writing style (read carefully, it sounds a lot like greg)
4. as i said before, he insulted me under the anonymous way (and claimed this one time, whe he says that i need to have a life - no irony!)... If he could do this by insulting me, he could do this to insulted you/this blog.
I don't know what he may could act like this, and i haven't got more than my doubts...... :(
Sunday, June 24, 2007 2:59:00 AM
First Moon hat gesagt...
Good morning, Nomwl1,
I'm so glad to see that you are still around. You are truly a class act. And, you are far too kind for any of this turmoil to happen here. But, nevertheless, you've been nothing short of admirable. I wish you continued success.
Also, you are entirely correct. The friends and discussion here are unique. They provide a dimension not found elsewhere. And, your comments are always insightful and charming. Thank you for being the wonderful person you are.
Sunday, June 24, 2007 7:05:00 AM
Donald hat gesagt...
I used to be "Mickey", now I'm Donald. It's been quite a long time since I last paid a visit here (for different reasons...), but now I'm back on track and want to thank you for all the kind words you never fail to have for me. I have always appreciated your blog, and I mean that most sincerely. I was deeply saddened when I saw you were under attack by some geek, since you do such marvellous, tremendous and USEFUL work. Your blog is probabbly one of the best ten around.... And now, pardon my French (hé-hé, monsieur !), but fuck all the morons !!!
Monday, June 25, 2007 3:27:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Just my two cents - i hope one day a french will tell nasty words like this: "excusez mon anglais"... :p
Monday, June 25, 2007 4:39:00 AM
khan's vacation-substitute hat gesagt...
The above was not posted by me!
I might egg on Greg, but I ain't spamming!
Best,
Khan's vacation-substitute
Monday, June 25, 2007 11:16:00 AM
filmpac hat gesagt...
@ Nomwl1 - I've just read your entire "incredibly long essay" and I am still in a state of shock and awe. Dagnabbit, you done brought a tear to my eye.
The pool party analogy is absolutely spot on. I don't think I've ever laughed that much, while at the same time crying in my beer. You read the situation perfectly. Get an agent, and make a big budget Hollywood flick out of it. It's gold:))
We can only hope that "you know who" finally sees the light.
Bravo, and best wishes always.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007 5:43:00 AM
GREG FAN #1 hat gesagt...
Dear Nomwl1,
I humbly apologise to you (and all the visitors to this blog---save one) if any of my diatribes caused bad feeling or negativity in any manner what so ever.
In your essay you mention that you appreciated my 'sarcasm'. Thank you. I tried to use that 'tool' to call light to an amazingly dense subject. Oh well. Sometimes 'you eat the bear and others the bear eats you'. (I have no idea what that means in this context so didn't even bother asking.)
I tried to keep the discourse polite (if slightly acid tinged) and was sickened at how quickly it spiralled downward into a cesspool of mean spirited depravity. (I have my theories as to who was pushing it in that direction but will not mention any names. Greg. ooops sorry. it slipped out.
Once again, I meant no disrespect to you or anyone else (except for one I guess).
the 'real'.
GREG FAN #1
p.s. I have always loved this blog and hope it continues. You are one of the nicest people I have ever stumbled across on the internet nomwl1! Best of luck in the future.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007 6:33:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, you must read the esay: Nomwl1 asked you clearly to leave HIS blog on it.
We do not want links for your blog, and if you think you will be popular by posting things requested at Isbum's blog, you're wrong!
Move away from us, and do what you want at our blog without annoying us, please!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007 10:39:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
See, Nomwl1, why i think one of the troll may be greg... The lovely reply came short time after i said to greg to stay on his blog - plus, curiously, an anonymous greghead (who "speak" exactly like greg) attacked me at Industrial Cocktail's, and the last post was the same, and under the same name...
I may could have wrong, but these kind of things didn't help to change my thoughts...
Tuesday, June 26, 2007 11:01:00 AM
gregory's former shrink hat gesagt...
@ breton girl
I fear you are absolutely right and I guess the spam here is done by Greg, since he is pissed off about Nomwl
not having erased the "offensive" posts against him.
Who but Greg should hold a grudge against Nomwl?
Tuesday, June 26, 2007 1:34:00 PM
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Tuesday, June 26, 2007 8:05:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, truth is that you never tell you leave, and you didn't stop to post links to your blog... Even if you're not one of the troll, everything is against you.
Think about Nomwl1's essay for a whil (and readit of course!).......
Tuesday, June 26, 2007 9:44:00 PM
Greg hat gesagt...
There's no f**king way I'm reading anything that long it's RIDICULOUS. Bottom line: Nomwl1 brought all this nonsense on HIMSELF by not restricting comments and letting the attacks against me stand.
If he won't listen to me, I am NOT going to listen to HIM so the rest of you goddamned TROLLS can piss the hell off, PERIOD.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007 10:32:00 PM
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Tuesday, June 26, 2007 10:38:00 PM
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Tuesday, June 26, 2007 10:39:00 PM
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Tuesday, June 26, 2007 10:40:00 PM
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Tuesday, June 26, 2007 10:41:00 PM
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Tuesday, June 26, 2007 10:43:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, if you wouldn't read the essay (which I read), then do not complain about being harassed or fucked up, because you act exactly like if you are searching for toubles! Nomwl1 may have read something long, i agree, but he got very good and valuable arguments. If you couldn't understand that YOU are the one who start the troubles, the one who make the air here turn bad, the one who poluted this blog firstly, then you are not only a moron, but an idiot whith big ego.
I don't know why Nomwl1 will listen what you say, when you did not listen to what HE says since the begining! In fact, you listen only when someone agree with you... But when there's a lot of people who didn't agree, then you wouldn't listen anymore and you turn to insult these people. And for the moderating, if you read the essay, you will now why it's impossible for this blog!
Try to have a little bit of dignity and leave this blog for ever, you greghead!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 12:06:00 AM
filmpac hat gesagt...
Bingo, the truth is out there now. Greg has now finally proved his true character for all to see. That last cut & paste diatribe was indeed Greg, the blogger user profile confirms it...
http://www.blogger.com/profile/02451428107307870696
... has always been Greg!
I guess he screwed up this time and forgot to use the *other* Greg which he continues to claim is not him.
This debate is now officially over. Nomwl1 has ruled. Gregory, you are the weakest link... GOODBYE!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 12:09:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Well said, Filmpac!
And there's another truth: on EVERY posts before this one, greg post few links for his blog, complaining he was not the poster, posting all the links for his blog and the complaining about Nomwl1 and his blog! See the way he act, it's pathetic... :(
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 1:08:00 AM
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Wednesday, June 27, 2007 5:14:00 AM
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Wednesday, June 27, 2007 5:16:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, no one ask you to come here, if you are so pissed off, the go away!
me wanna tell bubye - time for me beddy-bye wit me baba *yum-yum* an didee - tis place tis icky now - and me need to go to de potty for me wee-wee afta me drink wawa :p
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 6:22:00 AM
red neck hat gesagt...
@ Greg
Greg, you goddamn motherfucker or rather fatherfucker! Fuck off from this blog or await more poems dealing with your multiple sicknisses!
And make sure to protect all your srewed-up links to your gay-sfx-collections, because this thing is just getting started, asshole! You gonna regret this like nothin' before, ya hairy testicle!
FUCK YOU!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 8:07:00 AM
Anonymous hat gesagt...
STOP CALLING BRETON GIRL A BITCH YOU DAMN FASCIST WOMEN-HATER!
KEEP YOUR CUNT-ENVY TO YOURSELF!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 8:12:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Thank you, anonymous! :)
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 8:15:00 AM
Anonymous hat gesagt...
You are welcome, breton girl!
Such a lovely nick!
Love it!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 9:40:00 AM
Imagineer1138 hat gesagt...
Hey nomwl1,
Again, I apologize for posting this several times, but I'm not sure where to submit this request.
Is there any way you can reupload the Neal Hefti Odd Couple score? I keep getting some kind of formatting error message. I'm new to online soundtrack collecting, so I'm not sure what the actual problem is.
I love your blog!
Thanks.
Jason
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 11:39:00 AM
filmpac hat gesagt...
Gregory, the only one here acting like a child is you, diddums. You are the one ranting, swearing, and yelling at us in bold.
You're fresh out of excuses this time. Your cover is blown, you have proved yourself to be the cut and paste guy, and no amount of denying will ever drag you out of the shit.
You've been told in no uncertain terms what the host of the party thinks, so start acting like an adult and do the right thing.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 1:16:00 PM
filmpac hat gesagt...
@ imagineer - If you can tell us exactly what this "some kind of formatting error message" is, perhaps I would be able to help. Near as I can tell, the links for Nomwl1's "The Odd Couple" are still good, but I would be happy to help out and re-upload if required.
Yes, this is a pointed reminder as to how good this place *USED* to be, before it was polluted.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 7:58:00 PM
Anonymous hat gesagt...
Funny how greg tells us to let it go and grow up.
Let's say, just for the sake of making a point, that all the anonymous trolls and the "other" greg, were actually not him. And let's say that greg really never did anything wrong. Even IF all of that were true, who really cares? It's people he'll never ever meet in real life; people who live miles and miles away from him. Yet, he's so obsessed over what they may or may not be saying about him and making his online personality look like, that he just can't stay away from this blog, and has to constantly check in here to see what's being said.
It makes this place feel like high school. And actually, that's a good example. If a group of people in high school don't like you, you just stay away from them, and if you're intelligent and mature enough, you ignore anything they might try and do to aggravate you. You would have to be a moron to, say, try and eat lunch with them, or even talk with them unless you absolutely had to. It should be even easier to do so online.
Of course, we all know that all the gregs ARE actually him, which makes it even worse.
Seriously, greg, grow up, and LET IT GO.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 8:04:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, no's ones sayeded yous cud comes! eberybodies askeded yous go 'way! you no stays, poopiehead!
Go fuck yourself with a ten foot electric cattle prod!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 10:25:00 PM
Rocket From Mars hat gesagt...
Dear Mr. Kreiger---
You seriously need help dude. There IS something worng with you. (did you like that Westworld reference? pretty cool huh? could you rip JUST the dialogue and SFX and post them on your blog and then put a link for it here? sorry i digress...)
You've been 'outed' my man! filmpac called it right---YOU are "Mr. Cut and Paste Guy". To quote Nelson Muntz: "hah. hah." (and yes---i am baiting you. just to see what kind of 'cut & paste job' this will warrant.) Do try and do something super long and uncreative---you know---a lot like your blog.
i once complimented it and left nice comments only to be polite (something you know NOTHING about) in the hope that you would spend more time there and leave this one alone. Man was i barking up the wrong tree.
i have a theory to throw out there folks---Mr. Greg "Cut & Paste" Kreiger in his profile he once had up on his very own blog mentioned his love of vampires. well there's more than just 'bloodsuckers' out there. there are also psychic pariah who 'feed' off of all types of energy (positive and negative). That's you Mr. Kreiger. i just know you're actually getting off on all the misery and BS you've sown because YOU are a sick puppy.
In closing---get some help and then get a life. (or at least borrow from a more benign source. perhaps----say something like---oh i don't know---Courage The Cowardly Dog? Yeeeesh. pathetic.
To quote Val Kilmer in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang---
"Just go...Vanish."
Rocket
ps---Hi nomwl1! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE i hope you realise you are in no way responsible for any of this bizarro-ness. the only thing i think you might be guilty of however is---GLOBAL WARMING! ADMIT IT! IT WAS YOU WASN'T IT? GREAT. JUST GREAT!
pps---since people are requesting things in this strand---does anyone have the soundtrack that Paul McCartney (remember him? the cute Beatle?) wrote in the 60's?
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 10:54:00 PM
filmpac hat gesagt...
Talented copy & paste guy (aka Greg) missed the ten foot electric cattle prod!
Must do better;)
Wednesday, June 27, 2007 11:37:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Ok, let's try again: greg, go fuck yourself with a ten foot electric cattle prod! x 1 billion
Thursday, June 28, 2007 1:25:00 AM
gregory's brain-substitute hat gesagt...
Krieger, you are really the most pathetic human being on this planet and most retarded internret-user ever to have polluted this universe!
Please visit some of your gay-club's and buy yourself some decent buggery so you can eventually ease up and let it go.
It's perfectly fine that you suck, act idiotically and have a crappy blog, but don't remind us of it every day - everyone knows what a huge dickface you are, so cut the crap, but don't paste it, get it?
Thursday, June 28, 2007 1:50:00 AM
Anonymous hat gesagt...
Well, since this has become a greg-bash AND request-post, I'd like to ask for a complete BLADE II by Beltrami.
Anyone got it?
Also, I'm looking for Brian Tyler's Enterprise CANAMAR Promo and any other of his unreleased stuff.
Anyone manage to get a hold of his i-tunes album for BUG?
Thanks everyone (except Gregory, of course).
Thursday, June 28, 2007 1:54:00 AM
khan's throbbing dick hat gesagt...
GREG: SUCK ME!
CUM ON, DO IT, YOU LITTLE SHIT!
YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT!
Thursday, June 28, 2007 2:01:00 AM
the anality of evil hat gesagt...
@ Greg, you jerkwad
Still like to piss in other people's pool, don't ya?
Guess in Freudian terms, you stuck within the anal stage, ain't ya?
Get some potty-training and commit suicide, psycho!
Thursday, June 28, 2007 2:05:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, no's ones sayeded yous cud comes! eberybodies askeded yous go 'way! you no stays, poopiehead!
Go fuck yourself with a ten foot electric cattle prod!
*for every cut and paste thing, i will post this*
Thursday, June 28, 2007 7:53:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, no's ones sayeded yous cud comes! eberybodies askeded yous go 'way! you no stays, poopiehead!
Go fuck yourself with a ten foot electric cattle prod!
Greg, you're worst than a first grade! If you're so pissed off here, no need for you to come back and annoy us and Nomwl1!!!!
Thursday, June 28, 2007 9:51:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Oh, and for those who think that the Breton girl who post the copy and past stuff that i wish to greg, it was not me! I was sleeping at this time...
greg, you're just a pathetic loser!
Thursday, June 28, 2007 9:54:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Geez, greg, will you never stop to act like a baby??????????
Thursday, June 28, 2007 10:12:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
oh, and i forget this:
greg, no's ones sayeded yous cud comes! eberybodies askeded yous go 'way! you no stays, poopiehead!
Go fuck yourself with a ten foot electric cattle prod!
Thursday, June 28, 2007 10:13:00 PM
Anonymous hat gesagt...
I was happy to see that the blog restarted its posting, but sad to see that the arguings go on. I reag the essay and picture myself as a newcomer which had a incomplete vision of the scene. What can be said? Greg is a kind of psychiatric case, out of therapeutic possibilities. I think the only solution is to ignore him completely. If every time he says something, Breton Girl or anybody else replies, that's what he needs to keep this matter going on. And, Greg, don't mind to answer this. You won't get an answer. I'll continue to come to this blog. But will make no more comments about this matter.
Thursday, June 28, 2007 10:40:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
@ Anonymous: ignoring greg is not something easy to do... He not only polluted this blog, but also used to post on several occasions at Isbum's place, whe he KNOW he not welcome. And as someone being regulary insulted by this moron (he do this a Industrial Cocktail's blog too, under anonymous - now IC didn't allow anymore to post anonymous), there's some things i will not ignore! Especially, as a victim of rape, being called bitch! :(
Friday, June 29, 2007 12:32:00 AM
Anonymous hat gesagt...
@ breton girl
I haven't been happy about greg's 'bitch'-comments from the start, his grudge against women is fairly obvious.
Since I have had a long relationiship with a hradcore-feminist for many years, I am still pretty sensitive in that area.
Now, I wasn't really aware of you being a victim of rape, but I think I remember you stating that before and the fact that Greg continues to insult you in this regard is really disgusting. I am very sorry for all that - some men can be real animals.
Greg also seems to be obsessed with executing (false) power over other people and must be a sicko for sure.
I am also stunned at your 'balls' to come forward with that again in order to to show what a person Greg is.
Breton Girl, you are an impressive, strong woman and I appreciate that a lot.
Thanks and take care.
Friday, June 29, 2007 2:24:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Wow, i'm speechless... Thank you, anonymous! :))
Friday, June 29, 2007 2:42:00 AM
Anonymous hat gesagt...
Don't be...and you're welcome!
Friday, June 29, 2007 3:41:00 AM
Kossage hat gesagt...
@ Nomwl1 - It's great to hear from you again. It took me a long time to read your great and lengthy essay (I don't even dare to imagine how many hours you've spent writing it), and I thank you for clearing some stuff which I was uncertain about. Your pool analogy was informative and interesting, particularly because I'm one of the "new" people around here and haven't seen how the flame war originally began, so it was good to know more about the situation at hand.
Despite being a relatively new visitor to your blog, I've noticed what an effect you've had on many people who are posting here. I've greatly appreciated your kind, intelligent and encouraging words and have listened to many of the great shares both you and other visitors have provided. If it weren't for this place, I probably would never have discovered Korngold's Kings Row which is a fantastic soundtrack, and I thank you for giving me a chance to hear such a wonderful score.
I'm sorry for what has happened in the blog, and I hope that maybe someday this place will be free of this pointless spamming and flaming, and instead continue to be a source of happiness and a discussion ground for many music lovers.
I wish you all the best. :)
Friday, June 29, 2007 12:17:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, no's ones sayeded yous cud comes! eberybodies askeded yous go 'way! you no stays, poopiehead!
Go fuck yourself with a ten foot electric cattle prod!
Friday, June 29, 2007 10:02:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, no's ones sayeded yous cud comes! eberybodies askeded yous go 'way! you no stays, poopiehead!
Saturday, June 30, 2007 12:09:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
And by the way, greg, i'll be more intelligent than you (ok, it's not too hard): the next time you will cut and paste something, i will not reply!
I just hope you could stay alone in your own shit...
Saturday, June 30, 2007 12:43:00 AM
krieger bitch hat gesagt...
No, Greg, you don't!
Sunday, July 01, 2007 2:25:00 PM
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Sunday, July 01, 2007 10:44:00 PM
ALEX hat gesagt...
Nomwl1,my beloved nomwl1, how are you? Are you fine?
I´m glad to hear you again. I think, you must do a request room in the same form that isbum. Only to people really interested in share our passion for film music.
Your essay is very interesting and sensible and I hope that you are better now. I don´t know you but
I think you must be a great person,and a person who deserves nice things in his life.
You allways will have my support, dear Nomwl1
From Spain, Alex
Monday, July 02, 2007 12:13:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
@ Rocket: it's curious, but when i've read your post at Isbum's, i was just thinking that the link was deleted by this poopiehead...
@ Nomwl1: I start to think than maybe putting the anonymous choice down maybe be a good solution... I know it may could stop a few people to post, but it will be also give a more peaceful place... Or at least if greg whant to annoy us whith his copy and paste childish things, he will be forced to do this under his name! It curious to see how the trollish posts are against you and your blog since you've posted your essay......
Monday, July 02, 2007 1:42:00 AM
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Monday, July 02, 2007 5:53:00 AM
Rocket From Mars hat gesagt...
@ Greg Kreiger---if i was wrong i apologize and have removed any posts you may have felt were pointing a finger directly at you.
Rocket From Mars
ps: thanks for the advice.
pps: please notice how easy it is to say 'sorry' when someone else feels they've been slighted or wronged.
Monday, July 02, 2007 6:22:00 AM
filmpac hat gesagt...
Greg, if I may, just for a moment. Calmly, rationally. To put it in a nutshell, the problem that just everybody has with you is the level of anger and hostility you display with every post.
Had you simply stated you had nothing to do with it (which quite frankly, I didn't think you had), WITHOUT having to swear, OR run down others at Isbum's Place, then others would NOT feel quite as bad towards you.
You continue to talk about "growing the hell up", yet you are the one who continues to act in the most childish manner possible. Just some food for thought.
I mean this in a positive way, truly.
Monday, July 02, 2007 4:18:00 PM
Greg hat gesagt...
....and I mean this in a positive way, but I have NEVER posted ANYTHING negative at FranklySnot without a damned good reason (such as when Breton Girl has continued to harass me here without reason), because ANYTHING I might have posted over there was a POSITIVE and CONTRIBUTING share or answering a question.....and either Breton G has either blasted at me for simply CONTRIBUTING something, or someone else has (names withheld), or ISbum has simply deleted a reply7 of mine asap, and then Breton shows up here and screams at me to stay away, when ALL I ever did was to post a POSITIVE CONTRIBUTION.
IF I DID ever make one or two negative and swearing posts there, it was with a damn good reason.
Now....you tell me (based on my explanation of my numerous attempts to CONTRIBUTE POSITIVELY both here and at Frankly Snot), WHO is the one or ones who need to chill out, grow the hell up, and LET IT GO?
Just some food for thought....
Monday, July 02, 2007 8:16:00 PM
Greg hat gesagt...
....not to mention the absolutely insane assumptions and childish accusations that every anonymous spamming post might possibly be me, when it should be obvious to anyone with a sane mind and clear head that anon trolls are responsible for doing this?
Breton Girl has obviously ASSumed more than once she doesn't care if it is me or not, that she's ASSUMING it's me, regardless?
YOU TELL ME who's out of their minds and a complete nut case?
Isbum even emailed me a couple of weeks ago, claiming he discouraged the "regulars" to stop this insane and pointless continuing flame war against me.....and that OBVIOUSLY didn't do a damned bit of good, did it?
You tell me WHO are the ones who are "acting in the most childish manner" possible?
Monday, July 02, 2007 8:20:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Just one thing: i try to stay polite (and trust me it's hard) when YOU are the one who insulted me! I never called you paedophile, faggot or queer, and not only because it's not the right thing to do. YOU are the one who call me bitch (with anothers lovely names) when all i said was my point of view... Yes, i call you moron - and by your actions you deserve to be called like this! But i insulted you in this only way, not on your sexual orientation! YOU insulted me because i'm not agree with you and because i'm a woman. Did i need to say i was the first and only one who asked to stop to attack you about your homosexuality?????
And yes, now i don't care if you are the one who attacked me anonymously at Industrial Cocktail's, the one who copy and paste a few things i tell, or the one who attack nomwl1 and his blog in anonymous... You've done too much damages, and even if it's not you, i wouldn't trust you because of your past. And i believe i'm not the only one who think this.....
And for attacking you because you've posted something @ Isbum's... Well, WE made it clear that we got this place to be free from you, and it's more clear you are not welcome (read the 3 rules!)... Stay away from Isbum's place and i stay away from you, it's as simple as this!
Monday, July 02, 2007 10:02:00 PM
Greg hat gesagt...
Piss off already....It's not YOUR blog, but HIS.
WHO is the one now who is CONTINUING this bullshit?
My point is made as far as what I explained to Filmpac, obviously.
Monday, July 02, 2007 10:28:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
I don't know why i take time to reply, you will never understand....
And who said it was my blog (and what blog, this one or Isbums?)... Certainly not me! But the anonymous who insulted me at IC's said the same, so know i'm CERTAIN it was you!
Monday, July 02, 2007 10:36:00 PM
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Monday, July 02, 2007 11:08:00 PM
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Monday, July 02, 2007 11:09:00 PM
Not Greg hat gesagt...
Greg wrote:
Piss off already....It's not YOUR blog, but HIS.
Exactly, Krieger.
HIS blog. And he's said he doesn't want you here.
Just like you weren't welcome at scorebaby -- but you showed up anyway.
Just like you aren't welcome at isbums but you continue posting there. Not only as yourself, but as your transparent proxy, "Hjalmar Poelzig". Just like you so obviously baited and insulted Breton Girl at Industrial Cocktail.
You can deny it all you want, but everyone knows it's you.
Who's gonna show up next, Greg?
Benjamin William?
Greg Ofborg?
Cinemacapman?
You seem incapable of staying away from private, untainted places where it has been made explicitly clear you are not welcome.
These places aren't guilty of "censorship", they aren't guilty of "bigotry" -- these people do not want you around because you are a colossally offensive, overbearing personality who makes sharity infinitely less fun.
They. Don't. Like. You.
They. Will. Never. Like. Nor. Accept. You.
And yet you continually insist on injecting yourself into their midst. Is it just to start high-school-level drama? To prove something? To prove ... what, exactly?
That you know more than they do?
That you're somehow above common courtesy?
That, by getting the last word in, you can "win"?
Greg, I have had enough.
Fake Greg, Spam Greg, Cut'n'Paste Greg, Imitation Khan Greg, Horrifyingly Insulting Misogynist Greg -- all of you.
And yes, Greg, I realise the sad, pathetic truth (as does everyone else) that you're all the same person.
Here's how this is gonna work: No more from you, understand? Not a peep. From any of you. It's time for YOU to "Get Over It." Period.
So I've started a blog.
It's called "Jacking Kreiger's Linx". Actually, it's called "Soundtrack Rarities -- Now Greg-Free", but the address is:
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
It's empty now, just one post with a hint of what might come. From now on, unless you stay away from YDHTV -- AS PER NOMWL1'S REQUEST, and unless you stay away from isbum's -- AS PER HIS REQUEST -- , every time you post something on your blog, I'll post it on mine, and I'll post pointers to it here and everywhere else.
Direct links to your uploads, no clickthrough protection. No bullshit.
And no YOU.
That way, people who want the music don't have to have any contact with YOU, and people who want to DELETE your links don't have to go through the rigmarole of wading through your ineffective attempt at link protection. They can find it all on my blog, if you choose to keep jerking people around.
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
Unless you stop coming where you are not wanted. Simple as that. Fuck off somewhere else, and I'll stop doing it. Keep popping your head in (even anonymously) and I'll keep right on 'til the cows come home. You complain about "harrassment" and "terrorism", but that's exactly what you continue to traffic in by polluting sites who have made clear that they don't want you around..
So beat it. Or prepare to make a hell of a lot more work for yourself. You didn't win this one. It's over.
You keep admonishing people to "grow the hell up." It's time for you to nut-up like a man and chalk this one up as a loss.
Get. Over. It.
Period.
Once again, that's:
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
The rest is up to you.
Monday, July 02, 2007 11:35:00 PM
Kommentar gelöscht
Dieser Post wurde vom Autoren entfernt.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007 12:35:00 AM
Kommentar gelöscht
Dieser Post wurde vom Autoren entfernt.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007 12:36:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
It's curious how a part of a song could describe greg's posts:
"It's not a question of your sanity
More of a lesson of humanity
You knew the score
You always wanted more
Another lover you could choose to be
A question mark about your sexuality..."
By the great Samantha Fox ("You and me")
Tuesday, July 03, 2007 12:38:00 AM
filmpac hat gesagt...
You're a lost cause, Gregory.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007 1:03:00 AM
Anonymous hat gesagt...
@ Not Greg
I really, really appreciate your post and even more so your new blog! What an awesome idea, I'm loving it already!
Thanks.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007 7:57:00 AM
nomwl1 hat gesagt...
===========================
Hi Everybody!
Wow! I'm stunned at all the comments in here! I was expecting maybe 3 or 4. I didn't think anybody was going to read this far down!
Well, all the people who took the time to respond, I want to sincerely thank each and every one of you! And to all my old friends, a big hello and a huge thanks! I really miss hearing from you! And to all the spammers, trolls, and Greg, from what I've skimmed, it looks like you've proved my point. (and I do have the satisfaction of knowing the spammer(s?) is as stupid as I think he is.....you've made my day!)
Well, keep the comments coming if you're so inclined (for all those of you who haven't gone blind from reading this). Feel free to respond to anything in this essay, to each other, or just to harass the mean-spirited people here.
I haven't read these comments yet, but boy, do I have a lot of reading to do tonight!
And again to all my old friends, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart! :))
Tuesday, July 03, 2007 8:10:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Nice to see you're back again, my friend! :)
And about harassing the mean-spirited people (and you know who you are, g...!) i'd like to do this myself, but he's so stupid that he may be able to tell again that's he's innocent of everything and that i'm the one who start the war! :p All i could say is he's got everything he's deserved...... ;)
Tuesday, July 03, 2007 9:52:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, you're really a pathetic looser... Even when everyone (includes Nomwl1!) ask you to go away, you stay here... And when you haven't got any "good" argument, you chose to post insultes against this blog, Nomwl1, me.... Geez, how old are you, 2 years old????
Be careful, greg... I'm usually quiet and polite (yes!), but you've done to much to insult/hurt me.... I will not let you do this without any reply!
Wednesday, July 04, 2007 10:05:00 PM
Greg hat gesagt...
That was NOT me, I guarantee you. I've given up on ever posting anything here again, unless an incident like this pops up to make people THINK it's me.....and that was most certainly NOT me.
This is going to be the ongoing problem I've so clearly tried to explain here and to Nomwl1 more than once: Leaving his blog open to anonymous postings via Other or Anonymous is going to CONTINUE to cause endless problems.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007 11:40:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
GEEZ, A MIRACLE IS COMING!!!!! *blink*
I think i turned nut to say this, but i trust you... Because if it was you, i'd be more insulted in your reply, and curiously it sounds like a kind of apology (at least for you)...
By the way (and now i'm totally nut!) i agree with you - at least partly... The possibility to post anonymously is not a great choice for this blog. :( It's a pity, because without the "other" choice, i'm not sure some people (like me during a while) would post if they need to be logged on...
Thursday, July 05, 2007 12:18:00 AM
MP hat gesagt...
What a shame. Like many others I enjoyed this blog and then sadly watched it slide downhill thanks to Greg. Yes there were some who egged him on but his actions and his alone started and continued the crap.
After Nomwl1's wonderful essay on the situation it seemed we were on the road to recovery, but Greg's first post in this section just proved , as all his previous posts proved,that he is a lost cause.
It's telling that his first reply was to say he was not going to read the words of our host - the person he took to task time & again. Instead he prefers to continue his bizarre woman-bashing and odd behavior under who knows how many names.
Aside from all your other sad gestures,how dare you attack Breton Girl in the way you have....pathetic. Don't worry Greg...everyone knows you all too well.
Friday, July 06, 2007 1:54:00 PM
Greg hat gesagt...
No one knows me at all, least of all you.
I haven't posted anything here since my reply to Breton Girl on Wednesday.....this last piece of offensiveness was NOT me. At least Breton Girl and I agree that the ability to post anonymously/other is going to continue to cause endless problems here....as this anon Khan post has just proven.
Friday, July 06, 2007 9:21:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Greg, i said that i partly agree with you, ok. (i'm NUT!) But i also agrre with mp and his (?) post - you will never understand how many damages you've done here! Without you and your over-reacted way to go, this blog could be fine with the anonymous ability to post!!!!
Your last posts under your name are not offensive/insluting, i agree, but it was too late... I couldn't forget than the first who call me "breton bitch" was YOU and no one else! :( So even if you are not the one who've made the last trolling posts (and as i said, i rust you for the last two BECAUSE of your "polite" reaction - and not because you said it), you're the one who carry the responsibility of it. By insulting Nowml1, his blog and all of us, you give the trolls an opportunity to make more damages.......
Saturday, July 07, 2007 12:37:00 AM
greg's superego hat gesagt...
Hi, I'm Greg's ego. It's about time I addressed all of you. I have endured so much harassment, terrorism and grotesque language that I can no longer quell my angst.
I must confess that I have desperate feelings of alienation and extraordinarily low self esteem. My dearth of "real friends" in the "real world" has driven me to seek acceptance and appreciation in the blogosphere. All I want is for you to like me, instead, you terrorize me by saying things like "Greg sucks" and "Greg, get a life." This is sheer terror for me. How could you be so brutal with your "Greg bites" and "Greg likes man boobs." It is grotesque.
Apparently, my eagerness to win friends has backfired and now, although I can't believe it, some people don't like me. I can't handle this. I've done so much for all of you; how dare you treat me this way?
As such, I have dedicated myself to ridding the world of any forum that would allow the posting of a single unkind word about me. You see, the blogosphere is all I have in this world. This is what I live for. I spend the majority of my days studying the subtleties of each syllable uttered about me. I am consumed by it. It is the very essence of my being. And you have chosen to nip away at that essence like jackals. Instead of turning my back and walking away, I have chosen to fight. Fight for what I believe in! And what I believe is that everyone should love me and say only nice things about me. And if the moderator of this forum can't enforce that policy, well, I'm sorry but it's Greg first, as it has always been.
FYI, I am starting a not-for-profit group which will battle all unkind and derogatory slanders levied specifically against me, particularly the anonymous ones. I have decided to call this group, "Against Negative Unsigned Statements" or A.N.U.S. I hope to recruit many members into my A.N.U.S. In fact, a fraternal organization, "People Encouraging Nicer Internet Statements" has already expressed interest. Please join me to increase the size of my A.N.U.S. and together we can put an end to the grotesque innuendo and critique that plague these boards.
Monday, July 09, 2007 3:42:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Geez, greg's superego couldn't you stop? I'm ok to jump on greg's back when he annoy us, but he's quiet since days! By acting like this, you're like greg!
If you've got some courtesy, think about Nomwl1... You must read his essay, by the way.
Monday, July 09, 2007 10:18:00 PM
filmpac hat gesagt...
But damn funnier than Greg. Oh man, that was priceless!
Monday, July 09, 2007 11:06:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
Yes, Filmpac, i must admit it made me laugh (especially the A.N.U.S. part)! :p I just try to respect Nomwl1's blog since greg is not here anymore....
Tuesday, July 10, 2007 12:04:00 AM
greg's superego hat gesagt...
Ok guys, since I'm only Greg's superego but not Greg himself I will try to comply to your wishes and Nom's of course also.
But the way I know Greg he won't be gone for long, this might only be a break to refuel his "powers".
Join my A. N. U. S. anyway if you can.
Greetings,
G's superego
Tuesday, July 10, 2007 2:43:00 AM
Greg hat gesagt...
No need to "refuel my powers" at all.....This just goes to further prove my point as to who are the REAL causes of continuing problems here. Again, I haven't posted anything here in several days, let along anything negative or offensive. Rather obvious who's going to continue to cause problems for Nomwl.
You all need to seriously grow up.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007 5:33:00 AM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, could you please shut up? Ok, greg's superego post was not a good idea. But with you reply, you give him (?) another reason to post! Geez, the superego post(s) are childish and not in the right time, but that's all - you don't need to feel offended, unless you're Nomwl1.
And why WE need to grown up? I suppose i need to point that i asked him to stop to post this kind of thing, huh? YOU may could grown up yourself, by the way: when you've got a reason to prove you could be better (or less worse) than you are by keeping your mouth close, you come back for a NOT IMPORTANT reason! Do not complain you've got more troubles after this, you've just done the right thing to have it!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007 7:32:00 AM
Not Greg hat gesagt...
Greg wrote:
No one knows me at all, least of all you.
I know you, Greg. I'm sure you can tell that from my previous post. I know you well enough to know that the latest trolling posts weren't you, which is why my blog is still in a holding pattern. I appreciate your impulse in popping your head in here to clarify that. But you've been asked to stay away. Period.
Sticking your head in to "clarify" things -- to post about how you haven't posted anything except the things you've posted about not having posted anything is not staying away. I said "no more" from you. I meant it.
Greg also wrote:
You all need to seriously grow up.
As do you, Greg. You need to stop posting here where you have been asked to stay away.
Give. It. Up.
I'll remind you once more:
jackingkireger'slinx.blogspot.com
This is your last warning.
Don't post here again.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007 7:35:00 AM
petronius hat gesagt...
@ Not Greg
How dare you make threats like that?
Who do you think you are, this is not your blog and Nomwl1 would certainly not approve of this.
Greg, I am very sorry you are still scapegoated here.
Drop me a line.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007 12:13:00 PM
Breton Girl hat gesagt...
greg, we know who you are, no need to change your name! And if you read the essay, you may change your mind about Nomwl1's thoughts, by the way (wich you still haven't done when i read you)... I'm not sure at all he will not approve the kind of post that no greg could type... ;)
Tuesday, July 10, 2007 10:29:00 PM
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YOU AND YOUR BLOG CAN GO TO HELL!!! Not that anybody has really been waiting for this after all this time, but I still wanted to post this. I intended to post this several weeks back, but I just haven't been in (I think it's only been once or twice in the last month and a half or so. In fact, I was away for so long that R-Share actually cancelled my Premium Account, so I think people will have to download those R-share files at least once every 45(?) days to keep them active. And I lost all my premium points too, but I wasn't really chasing them so I guess it doesn't really matter. In the whole time I've had the account I've only been able to get one free month in the last 12 months anyway! It's probably all those Megaupload dl's. And the fact that I post stuff like 'Leprechaun' & 'Sylvia' probably has something to do with it too.). From everybody else's perspective this happened so long ago, I don't think anybody but me cares at this point, but I still wanted to post it for the record.
I might've been in earlier, but the library has temporarily reduced its hours over the last few weeks and been closed on the weekends, and frankly the atmosphere here hasn't exactly made me rush to the computer. And I still haven't felt entirely well, but it's really no excuse for not coming in sooner. But since it's the only set of excuses I have, it'll just have to do.
I finished the following essay a few weeks ago and kept adding things to it over the weeks, but a lot of the references are to things that happened over a month ago, so please excuse the lack of timeliness..............]
[THIS ESSAY ONLY REFLECTS THE CONDITIONS I KNEW ABOUT SINCE THE LAST TIME I CAME IN. THAT WOULD BE 'X' NUMBER OF WEEKS AGO (MAY 8, TO BE EXACT). ANY OTHER COMMENTS MADE LATER OR EVENTS SINCE THEN AREN'T REFLECTED IN MY COMMENTS. THINGS CHANGE SO QUICKLY IN THE BLOGOSPHERE, SO TAKE THESE WORDS FOR WHAT THEY ARE. MY THOUGHTS ABOUT THE SITUATIONS AS I KNEW OF THEM BACK THEN. THANKS!] [Update: And now, of course, more than another week has gone by, so it's even more outdated than before, but still if you desperately wanted to read until your eyeballs went blurry, you're perfectly welcome to continue.] [Second Update: Aw, just forget how long ago it was! I put some of my more recent thoughts at the end of the essay.]
Well, at least the blog is still here (but for how long, I don't know). Well, I finally read all the comments that were posted while I was gone. That reminds me. Based on some of the comments (especially ones by Greg), I think some people might be under a misconception that it's easy for me to go through and read hundreds of comments and then respond to whatever's going on immediately. That is probably the crux of Greg's beef with me and the blog. At least the stated beef. He has accused me of not protecting him from trolls and other nasty commenters and has called me a poor moderator for not stepping in and stopping it.
Well, firstly, I should make it clear that I didn't like the recent trolling and spamming. I abhor those methods though I certainly can understand the anger and frustration that was feuling it. I don't have that anger towards Greg, but I certainly can understand how the trollers would. I especially didn't like the cracks about Greg being a sex offender, etc. I felt all the trolling and spamming was way out of line, especially since things seemed to be settling down and were becoming a little more peaceful.
I do understand the points the trolls were trying to make though. And I actually do appreciate them being engaged and interested enough to be that mad. I think their primary objective was to harass Greg and get him to leave, but the thing they didn't realize is that when they disrespect Greg, they are also disrespecting me and this blog. By trolling like that, you are creating the very atmosphere that you hate Greg for creating. I did feel however that some of the trolls, especially 'Greg's #1 Fan' were using sarcasm to make a point. That's probably why I use sarcasm so much because I feel that it's instructive while at the same time being funny. The problem with what the trolls did is that after making that first point, they kept doing it. Then it started losing its ability to enlighten and started to make people reject the points they were trying to make. That's why trolling is usually so ineffective.
Usually trolls attack the blogs they're trolling, but in this case they specifically attacked Greg. I understand why they were so frustrated and angry at Greg. And ironically, I think some of them were angry at him because he had essentially driven me away from my own blog. That is partly true. Greg created such a bad atmosphere here that it was true that I wasn't as enthusiastic about hanging out at my own blog. When a blogger doesn't want to visit his own blog, that's a bad sign.
It's also ironic that that's one of the reasons Greg gave for reporting my blog to Blogger.com. That I did nothing to stop people from attacking him. I suspect that the irony is lost on Greg that he is part of the reason that I was discouraged from coming in to 'protect' him from these attacks. Irony is probably small comfort to Greg though.
Since there are always new people who come here, I should remind people that I don't have an online connection at home. This means I have to use other computers to blog (usually at the library). This means a certain amount of extra effort in all sorts of ways in order to do anything online. It also means I am not able to come in every day. And because it takes 20-30 minutes to install the various software I use there, it's not really worthwhile to just pop in for an hour or so to check in. You really need to stay at least 2 or 3 hours to make it worth it. Also, you can't walk away for longer than 5 or 10 minutes, otherwise the computers reboot and you lose anything that you've downloaded on the hard disk and you also have to re-install everything. That means you have to sit in the same spot for hours on end without much of a break. In other words, you have to have a real desire to blog (as well as the other 15 or 20 things I try to do online at the same time). Sometimes (especially when you're not feeling well), it's not something you jump at doing. You really have to want to do it. And as much as I would like it to be, the library isn't open 24 hours a day (and my idea of fun at night isn't necessarily to spend 3 or 4 hours at the library chained to a computer terminal). Hence, sometimes there are prolonged absences from the blog.
One of the other reasons I hadn't come in was that I was still working on that 'essay' I was writing about the whole situation with Greg, the people who left, and what I was going to do about the Request Post and the blog. That's not something I do lightly, so it took a little time. It also frankly was something I could only do a little bit at a time as I am still not feeling entirely well and it is frankly discouraging to ponder the situation at the Request Post for any great length of time. As a result, it took me way too long to address the issue. For that, I apologize.
I knew it was somewhat irresponsible to start a blog when I knew I wouldn't be able to maintain it properly, but I felt as long as other people didn't mind, I suppose I didn't either. I've said this in the past and so far nobody but Greg has ever minded. He's always the first (and mainly only) person to complain about the Request Post getting too full. He's also the first and only regular reader (to my knowledge) that has ever complained about me being a poor moderator. People have complained about some things here and there on the blog, but he's really the only one who's ever complained about me specifically. That should tell you something, in a very basic way, about how Greg differs from virtually every other person who has ever come here.
That also raises another misconception that I think people have. While I think of the Request Post as a forum, I think some people (other than Greg) imagine that it is a literal forum in which you can install an actual 'moderator' or screen who comes here. There is no way that I know of on Blogger.com to have a 'moderator' as people suppose. Perhaps it's a function on the new version of Blogger? But as far as I know, in order for someone to do that, you would need to give them a password to the blog and essentially hand it over to them so that they could moderate comments. As for Greg, I know he was referring to me in the figurative sense as moderator, but that too is problematic.
For the people who aren't bloggers, I should mention that as a blogger, there are only a limited number of ways that I can moderate comments:
1) COMMENT MODERATION: This involves turning on the function by which comments are only let through when the blogger allows them in. This way you screen which comments come in and which ones don't. I imagine that there aren't any readers here who've been here long enough to remember a time when I actually did have comment moderation on the blog. Check back into the archives and you'll see me talking about it. Suffice it to say, it was a disaster and I vowed never to use it here again.
And for something like the Request Post, it would obviously be prohibitive. I think people at ScoreBaby Annex know what I mean when they tried it. It loses all spontaneity and real-time effect. And would you really want your comments showing up here only when I was able to come in? What if I wasn't able to come in for a couple of weeks? I seem to remember Greg himself at one point suggesting that perhaps I should turn on comment moderation like he had over at his blog (though I could be wrong). Well, everybody's comments would only show up when I could come in. And if someone thinks it's easy to sift through literally hundreds of comments deciding which comments to let in and which ones to stay, I think they have an odd idea of what they think I want to spend my time doing. And if I remember right, the comments are all listed individually and not as a group. I would have to sit there clicking on each one to determine which ones to let through and which ones not to. People forget that blog entries are not generally designed for so many comments. Blogger.com didn't create comment moderation with the idea that you would be judging 3000 or 4000 comments. They're thinking more along the lines of 10 or 20 comments per entry.
I know it's very tempting to say, 'Turn on comment moderation' and everything will be fine, but until you have a blog that has comment sections like the Request Posts here with 1500-2000 comments in them, come back to me then and talk about how easy and smooth-running that would be for you.
Perhaps comment moderation has changed in the new version of blogger. I don't know. Maybe it's easier now and that's why people suggest it. But still, would you really want your comments showing up only when I came in?
2) TURNING OFF ANONYMOUS COMMENTS: Various people have suggested that I do this and I certainly can understand how they feel. But as I and other people have repeatedly pointed out, the majority of the bad and trouble-making comments come from people who have used nicknames, not anonymous people. And as I have also stated many times, I did not set out to run a blog that excludes anonymous people. It's easy to say 'Get rid of all the anonymous people', but as someone who surfed music blogs as 'Anonymous' for over a year before starting one, I was not suddenly going to create one where I excluded them. There's nothing wrong with blogs that do, but it was simply not the kind of blog I was interested in running.
And if I did that, I would have to exclude people like Breton Girl and Thingmaker, to name just two. For one person like that, I would put up with twenty other anonymous, but indifferent people.
But the main reason that excluding anonymous people would not ultimately make a difference is the fact that that is not the real root of the problem. I allowed anonymous people to comment before Greg got here and as far as I was concerned, it was fine. The real problem stems from an atmosphere in which anonymous people feel comfortable to attack. On this blog, there didn't used to be any reason for an anonymous person to attack anyone. I'm sure those same people were lurking around here, but they just didn't feel the need to be disruptive or annoying. And certainly not in a persistent way. But more on that later.
I know some people argue that turning off anonymous comments like they do at other blogs discourages people from being silly or stupid. But frankly, what truly discourages people from doing that is seeing what goes on here. I have always respected anonymous people here and they have always respected me. Once they understand what the blog is about or what the Request Post is about, they realize that it's simply not appropriate here to act a certain way. At least they used to. But again, more on that later.
3) DELETING OFFENDING COMMENTS: I have done this in the past, but just with spam. I can permanently delete those comments as if they were never there, and have done so before, so it is important for people to understand that it was never the actual spam that bothered me. Usually nasty comments (and I've had a couple recently in the main part of the blog) are made by hit-and-run commenters and not by regular readers.
The ones made by transient commenters don't particularly bother me (and I've actually left those ones up). They're usually made by people who don't read the blog and don't usually know what they're talking about. One of those commenters actually lumped me in with Zinhof & Chocoreve (while he was saying 'F*** You', etc.)! It makes me think I've got to post more psychedelia! It's actually kind of flattering to be grouped with blogs that I like that post so much material. But obviously this blog is very different from those in content, frequency, & availability of material.
The other nasty commenter read the most recent posts and thought I was in some kind of war with Greg (calling us both thieves, etc.). Since he hadn't really read this blog, he didn't realize that neither of us consider ourselves at war with the other (at least I don't, but I don't know how Greg feels at this point). And he didn't really know what he was talking about regarding other aspects of the blog or me. It was a general rant about music blogging.
These kinds of comments, while mildly disturbing, don't bother me at all in comparison to the spamming in the Request Post or the insulting kinds of comments made by Greg to other people in the past. Why, you might ask, am I bothered more by childish spamming where someone cuts and pastes the same phrase over and over again versus comments where people say 'F*** You' and call me a thief? It's because the former type of comment is made by someone who actually follows the conversation in the Request Post and visits the blog periodically or regularly. It's not the actual spam that bothers me; while it's annoying (especially to the other readers who have to put up with it), it bothers me more to think that someone who reads the blog is attacking it in that way.
Now with this particular spammer, you notice he only spams when he sees all the conflict going on. And he picks specific quotes to use in order to annoy the people who are arguing. He clearly seems to be trying to make a point (albeit, fairly childlishly), but I at least prefer that kind of spamming to the general kind that is meant to plague the blogger. This spamming that's been going on seems directly designed to satirize all the turmoil going on in the Request Post.
So let me make it clear, that while I understand this kind of spam, I find it more disturbing than some random guy coming in who doesn't know what he's talking about and whose spam I can delete, versus somebody who imagines that they are helping the situation by poking fun at the people involved to perhaps get them to stop, when in fact all that he is doing is attacking my blog (and me). I find it more disturbing because it is obviously a regular reader rather than a passing yahoo trying to make trouble. And if it is a regular reader, that means he obviously likes what he sees here otherwise he wouldn't come back. And if that's true, he doesn't understand the Request Post, the blog, or me, and he doesn't understand that he is attacking all at the same time and not just parodying and annoying the combatants. That means the spammer is trying to disrespect me (even if unintentionally) and that means I have failed in my job as a blogger if I haven't sent the proper message as to what this blog is all about. And this is why this kind of spam bothers me.
And on a general note about deleting comments, I am generally against it, unless it is automated or repetitious spam. As I've said, I even leave up the nasty comments directed towards me. Again, some people might consider this foolish, but again, I'm not interested in running the kind of blog that censors people's opinions, no matter how much I might disagree with them. That's another reason why I don't use comment moderation. And up until Greg came, I haven't had to worry about bad comments.
Which also reminds me. I've always meant to ask Greg why he deletes so many of his own comments. He certainly has the right to do it, but when you're trying to catch up later, it makes following conversations much harder. I've heard a few people suggest that the reason that he does it so often is because he's making inflammatory statements designed to get other people to respond and then they look like the bad guys later after he deletes his initial comments. Greg himself has suggested that he deletes so many of them because he combines them into one comment later on. I suspect that both are true. Since I download copies of the comment sections to read at home later, I know what some of Greg's original comments were before he deleted them. I would say that it was a mixture of both explanations, frankly. Though some of his original comments are fairly benign (and not really combined later on) and so I still wonder why he bothers to delete them.
At first, I thought it was because he wanted to save room in the Request Post so that it was easier to open a window to it, but if that were true, he'd be saving very little room, so I thought it would be silly if that were the reason. Then I thought perhaps he didn't want to leave a record of what he was saying, but I couldn't really see why not. Perhaps, if he was aware that some of the things he was saying were insulting, maybe he didn't want to come off looking bad later. But that doesn't make too much sense either because he left a lot of the most insulting things intact. So, it's still hard for me to tell why.
But it's another reason people were annoyed with Greg. Not because he repeatedly kept deleting his own comments, but because he kept doing it even after people told him that it bothered them. This is at the heart of the problem (but again, more on that later).
4) SHUTTING DOWN THE REQUEST POST: I was in the process of considering this (although obviously it is a somewhat Draconian solution to unwanted comments). Frankly, running a Request Post without people like Isbum, Rocket From Mars, Filmpac, Mel, Quinlan, Sallie, Watson, et al, is simply not the kind of Request Post I'm that interested in running. The only reason I started a new Post and haven't closed it down yet is because of all the good people who continued to show up there. I didn't want to slam the door in their face and that is the ONLY reason I have kept it open while I considered what I was going to do and say about this situation.
But this raises another misconception I think people have about the Request Post (and the blog). It is not simply about people making requests, posting links, and downloading music. If that's all it was about I could've gotten a bunch of robots to come in and do it. For me, it's always been about the spirit of sharing, the camaraderie, the good fellowship, the desire to help other people here, the sharing of information and opinions, and the basic sharing of the love of music. That's what the Request Post was truly about. I've mentioned or at least intimated this on occasion, but I suspect that a lot of people ignore the stuff I write since there isn't a link next to it.
But go back and read my comments in the older Request Posts and you see that I talk more about people's spirits of generosity than I do about the actual music.
I started the Request Post back at the beginning of October of last year because many readers were leaving comments asking me for various things that I didn't have. I knew that unless other people just happened to read those comment sections of older posts that it wasn't very likely that anybody was going to fulfill those requests, so I decided to collect them all up into one post and see if anybody else out there had them. I created the Request Post (like the blog) always with the idea in mind that it would be a long-term and more-or-less permanent post. That was partly because I felt it would take a very long time before people came in who might have the requested music, let alone be willing to go to all the trouble of uploading it and posting it.
I thought it would go largely ignored like most of the things I posted and would only have somebody sporadically comment once a week or once a month. And so I was fairly surprised when people started commenting right off the bat. Of course, there were only a handful of people to start off with, but relatively quickly people started coming in. The initial trend, after the breaking-in period, was for a lot of people (mostly anonymous) to come in and make a lot of requests. In fact, a lot of people were posting very large lists at first. But I think once people realized that their requests weren't being fulfilled immediately, they stopped making quite so many requests. I suspect that a lot of the people who made those early requests you see on the old lists disappeared after the first few days when their requests weren't immediately fulfilled.
It was understandable (especially in an online world where people expect a little more instant gratification), but I always thought it was funny because my attitude was that you might not get it today or tomorrow or even next week or next month, but maybe somebody will come in who has it six months from now and then you will still be able to get it. So my philosophy about the Request Post was that it was always meant to be around in case somebody wanted to request or post something regardless of how many people were there.
Now early on, if you look at the earliest comments in the Request Post, they were made by regular and loyal readers like Mickey, Isbum, Breton Girl, Mel, Sallie, and Rocket From Mars whom I all consider friends to this blog and hopefully by now, to me as well. And later on, Watson and Quinlan whose wonderful spirits were also so greatly appreciated and whom I also consider friends. Other wonderful people also stopped by like Blofeld's Cat and Detective Mitchell who eventually created their own blogs. And as is usually the case when you start your own blog, you run out of time and they ended up visiting and commenting less often. And Werther and Quidtum who also drifted away, but whose enthusiasm was always welcome. And then eventually Filmpac came with his wonderful desire to help people and his equally wonderful attitude and friendship, and then all the other wonderful people who followed after that.
I think I feel an automatic kinship with other people who like this music, but I always liked those people especially (as well as many others who came later) because of their wonderful attitudes, their generous spirits, their respect of and friendship to other people, their kindness and courtesy, and their wonderful taste. I think that's why I always consider them friends because I like those qualities in them so much and because they knew exactly what the Request Post was about and what I was trying to do with it.
There was a time in those early days when the ratio of people requesting things to people fulfilling them was rather high and just a handful of people like Rocket From Mars and Isbum were doing an awful lot of fulfilling for a large number of people. And despite the increased traffic, there was still that wonderful spirit of helping other people out, sharing, talking to other people, meeting other people who liked the same things, and making new friends.
In order to understand why so many people are angry at Greg, why so many people left, and what led up to the current situation you see now with the spamming, trolling, and attacks, you have to understand what the atmosphere was like before he came here.
I've seen a few comments by people that refer to the people who left as being childish or petty as if they were children who had had a silly tiff with Greg and picked up their toys and left. I can tell you as someone who has read every single comment on the blog in every post, let alone the person who created the blog and the Request Post, that this is not the case.
In my original essay that I was writing (and that frankly, I gave up writing after Greg said he was reporting me to Blogger.com and had to write this completely different essay instead), I outlined many of the things Greg did that annoyed, bothered, insulted, and angered other people using examples and comments from the archives. In light of him trying to shut the blog down however, it didn't really seem worthwhile spending a lot of time trying to explain to people why his attitude and behavior had led to all these problems. It seems kind of self-explanatory now (as well as being kind of academic at this point).
But I felt that people who hadn't really followed what was going on, people who had only come in occasionally or hadn't read past Request Posts, or newer readers who didn't understand what all the fuss was about, deserved an explanation. Also, I felt that Greg truly didn't understand it and so I wanted to explain it to him as well.
It's no coincidence that the majority of people who left the Request Post (and unfortunately, the blog) were some of the oldest, most loyal readers of this blog. They remember what it was like before Greg got here. That's why they became so angry. It wasn't just a simple little fight over nothing. Let me explain that.
Greg started posting comments at the beginning of January and by that time there was already a fair amount of traffic in the Request Post. Probably because people had more time during the holidays to visit in Decemeber & January.
From October to January, the Request Post had developed a wonderful atmosphere of camaraderie and activity and people got along wonderfully well. It was a fantastic place to hang out, share things, and talk to people.
Then Greg started commenting in early January. It wasn't bad at first, and just like now, Greg was enthusiastic, engaged, and often helpful to other people with information. But many times, he would be insulting, a little cold, and periodically obnoxious, demeaning, condescending, or harsh. He was quick to point out some perceived inadequacy in something that someone posted or liked, quick to reply with a link that often seemed designed to make people feel small or stupid for not knowing about something, and he generally changed the tone of the whole Request Post.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), I was sick during January and part of February and was not at the blog during this whole period. I came back in mid-February and by the time I got caught up (I think there were over 1500 comments in that post), it was late February-early March.
When I first read some of Greg's comments, my first impressions were that some of them were fairly insulting, overly critical, and somewhat harsh. But I genuinely felt at the time that Greg didn't understand that his comments came off that way.
I felt that some of that was because of the difficulty in interpreting intent when reading something in black and white. It's the same problem that chat rooms have, for instance, and why people use emoticons. It's not always easy to tell the spirit in which people are saying things. But that only applies to some of the more neutral comments that can be taken either way.
And I also felt at the time that it was Greg's enthusiasm for the music that would often come out in bad ways. His desire to get a soundtrack or score in the particular way that he wanted would often make him overly critical or insulting to other people. But when I first read his comments, I felt it was the enthusiasm that was driving it.
Also, time has a funny way of playing out on the blog when you're catching up on comments. When you're only able to come in once or twice a week, sometimes more sometimes less, like I am, time dilates and contracts in a funny way. By the time I came back and had caught up, it hardly seemed any time at all since Greg had been there, but in reality it had already been going onto its third month. This is entirely my fault.
These are some of the reasons I didn't say anything about it before. I felt that given enough time, Greg would conform to the vibe of the room and stop acting that way. That had been true of other people who came before. There were occasionally people who said harsh things or had misunderstandings prior to Greg's arrival, but they quickly learned what was appropriate to do and say by watching how other people acted in the Request Post or they quickly straightened out any misunderstandings. Everybody got along.
The problem with Greg's behavior was that it never really changed. He seemed totally oblivious to the fact that his behavior stood out like a sore thumb and was equally oblivious to the effect that it was having on other people there.
But with a dynamic, ever-changing environment like the Request Post, it is sometimes hard to tell these things. I know when Filmpac and later others started pointing things out to Greg about his behavior (or sometimes just erupting in anger) and leaving the blog, my initial reaction was 'Why can't they just ignore these bad comments like I do?'. 'Is it really that big of a problem?'
And I noticed that later on other readers would make similar comments to that effect. And that these were petty arguments and people were being childish, etc. But I started to realize the true depth of the problem when Mel and Rocket From Mars and others started saying things to Greg about his behavior. Not just because these are incredibly nice people (although that should certainly carry weight with anybody if they doubt whether Greg's behavior is bad or not), but I realized the real problem when I saw Greg's responses.
He would dismiss their concerns, fail to acknowledge that they might be bothered at all or that he might have done anything wrong to begin with, didn't seem to care whether anybody was bothered, and cared so little about them or other people here that he didn't mind whether they left or not.
It showed a shameful lack of respect on his part and more importantly, it showed me that the atmosphere of camaraderie and friendship here meant nothing to Greg. He didn't care enough about these people that he had been hanging out with (virtually every day) for over three months to try and apologize, reconcile, or alter his behavior in any way. It isn't about being wrong or right; it's about caring whether you bother other people here. It's about basic human decency, frankly. Or even if you don't care about those other people, say if you didn't like them because you think they insulted you, you should at least care about how you're affecting the Request Post or the blog. But Greg didn't seem to care anything about that either.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't expect Greg to hug everybody here and hold hands and sing around a campfire and I don't expect him to be altruistic in his attitude towards the blog or myself, if he doesn't feel that it's right, but by the same token, why would he keep coming here, if he has no regard for the other people who have gone to the effort to share things with him and everyone else here and why would he keep coming back if he had so little regard for me or this blog?
Look at his most recent reaction. He felt he was being harassed by trolls who were persistently attacking him. But rather than do what virtually every normal human being would've done and leave, he chose to stay and report the blog to Blogger.com for a term of service violation. His exact quote was:
'Good frickin' luck, because I just reported this damned blog and this terrorizing harassment bullsh*t to Blogger who WILL do something about this if Nomwl1 doesn't....which he apparently can't or won't.
Good Luck all......Blogger will likely shut this goddamn blog DOWN for good in order to stop this CRAP.'
He would rather shut down the entire blog and ruin it for everyone here rather than leave. If anyone had any doubts as to Greg's character before, why so many people left, or even why these trolls (with admittedly assinine tactics) were attacking him, this should prove beyond a shadow of a doubt to people how little regard he has for anyone else here. It should also go a long way to explaining why he generates so much hatred. This is the same level of disrespect for other people he has consistently shown here. He would rather tear the blog down around everybody's ears than either ignore the harassment, apologize or acknowledge some level of responsibility in these situations, or simply leave. All options that any normal, sane person would've employed. Instead he chooses to report a music blog for terms of service violations. Again, an irony that is probably lost on Greg (who coincidentally also posts copyrighted material at his own blog). Amazing.
And ask yourself, 'if Greg was so concerned with the harassment, why was his reaction to try and get the blog shut down?' If he had simply left and not come back or if the blog were shut down, the effect would be the same as far as Greg was concerned. Either way he wouldn't be able to comment here. But he chose the option that ruins it for everyone else. So you see, it wasn't the harassment that was the real problem. If it was, he only needed to leave to avoid it. But he wanted to stay and have the blog shut down instead. That should indicate what the real intention was (whether it was conscious or unconscious). His instinct was to destroy rather than preserve.
And notice how he blamed the blog for the harassment and not his own behavior or his presence. The 'goddamn' blog was generating the harassment. This is the way Greg's mind works. He seemed to mind the blog as much if not more than the harassment. Was he really bothered by the harassment or the blog? If this is the only place he receives this level of harassment, perhaps it's because people know him better here than anywhere else.
And I know Greg will say that he was reporting the harassment and not the blog, but he obviously knew that getting the blog shut down was a distinct possibility. So that argument really doesn't make much sense. It's like saying, 'Dogs from the neighborhood keep bothering me in this man's front yard. Well, if he can't or won't do anything about it, I'll blow up his house. He's had ample time to do something about this. He's seen this coming. I'm on his property so he has a responsibility to protect me from these dogs. No, wait. He doesn't even own it. The bank owns it. I'll get them to come over here and foreclose if he won't protect me from these dogs. I'm just reporting the dog attacks and not the house. These stray dogs hate me and they keep attacking me in his yard. I leave for a while, but they keep coming back and attack me every time I stand on this guy's lawn. He's not here often enough to protect me!'
Now if this were the situation, would that argument make sense or would it make more sense for the man to stop standing in another man's yard and provoking, sometimes with his mere presence, dogs that obviously hate him. I don't know, but perhaps I'm wrong about that.
But frankly, I'm not that bothered for myself. If I wanted to keep blogging, I can always do it somewhere else or launch a private blog (which, by the way, I still intend on doing either way.....just in case those people who left messages were wondering). Or I can simply stop blogging altogether. I'm not really bothered in that respect.
But I think I am more bothered by the idea that one music blogger would do that to another one. I've always considered my fellow bloggers to be in a great community and for someone to do this within that community, I find reprehensible. It just offends me on general principle. And I am deeply bothered at the idea that someone here would have so little respect, so little care or concern for all the other good people here that he doesn't care if he ruins it for everyone else. But I think the thing that bothers me the most in all this, is the fact that all those good people who left (and all the ones who stayed) had to put up with this level of disrespect and disregard from Greg for so long. And for that, I truly apologize.
At this point, some may be saying to themselves, 'But Greg was mercilessly attacked by these trolls.' Even Filmpac was feeling sorry for Greg at that point. And it's true, I felt it was way out of line what these trolls were doing recently (though unlike Greg apparently thinks, I didn't see any of it going on since I was away from the blog. Gee, I wonder why I didn't feel like coming into the blog for a while?). I especially didn't like the way they were using other people's nicknames to pretend to be 'Filmpac', 'Psycho Mike' and others. And I thought it was very unfair to Greg that these people started harassing him after things were settling down and I felt Greg was making an honest effort to be more neutral in his comments and generally avoiding starting trouble. To his credit, I also felt Greg tried very hard not to respond to the initial volleys in the latest round of attacks (at least since I last checked on Tuesday), but eventually couldn't help himself.
But again, ask youself. If Greg felt so harassed, why did he keep coming back? And consider these comments by Greg:
'This is the last straw.....whomever is psoting this terrorizing harassment has done it. This blog's days are going to be numbered, since I just reported this crap to Blogger.
GOOD LUCK, JERKS!
# posted by Greg : Monday, May 07, 2007 4:21:00 AM'
And then shortly after.........
'Thomas, here's B**tl*j*ic*, the original CD issue:
http://lix.in/0f4c6c
# posted by Greg : Monday, May 07, 2007 5:03:00 AM'
And then a little later...........
'BTW....Nomwl1 has seen how this nonsense has been progressing and has had ample opportunity to do something about this before.....and hasn't. It's gotten to the point where I don't need to take this harassment and terrorism any longer. What's been started up again here after a calm and rational period is nothing short of exactly what I reported: Harassment. PERIOD. Just as it's defined in Blogger's TOS violation (which I linked above and you obviously didn't bother reading): Defamation/Libel/Slander and/or Hate or violence....Here it is again for your (and others') benefit:
Report a Terms of Service Violation
# posted by Greg : Monday, May 07, 2007 9:39:00 AM'
And then after he had reported me to Blogger.com and had said he wanted to shut my blog down, he left this link to his blog the next day.........................
'BEACH PARTY (1963) - Unofficial Soundtrack with Frankie Avalon & Annette Funicello
# posted by Greg : Tuesday, May 08, 2007 4:35:00 AM'
Who has the gall, after they specifically and repeatedly say they want to shut your 'goddamn' blog down, to leave a comment advertising a new entry at their own blog??? Again, if anyone really doesn't understand why Greg generates so much hatred and attack, you only need to consider this kind of behavior to understand why.
And yes, he apparently felt so harassed he kept coming back to post comments.
And I should address this issue that Greg brings up of 'Nomwl1 has seen how this nonsense has been progressing and has had ample opportunity to do something about this before.....and hasn't.' While I do feel it is my fault for prolonged absences on the blog, I think it is supremely ironic of Greg to think that I can somehow protect him from people who hate him. Frankly, that would be a full-time job and that is not the job I signed up for when I created this blog. Greg expects me to be some sort of magical bulletproof vest for him so that nasty people will stop harassing him. I suppose he would want me to follow him from blog to blog protecting him from the hatred that he has generated over the many months. He is like somebody who comes over to your house, starts a fire, and then reports you to the police because you didn't protect him from the flames.
It is a snowball that he started with his continued insulting and demeaning behavior to other people here since the beginning of the year which has triggered off this firestorm of attack against him and he somehow believes that I can now protect him from that firestorm and that people should just forget about it and not resent him over it while he keeps staying here and other people are driven away from the blog. While I do feel this latest round of attacks is unfair, it is only the incredible gall of Greg that presumes that I can do anything to stop the hatred that he has so amply engendered.
As a fellow blogger, he knows that there is very little someone can do to prevent people from commenting in that way. Did he expect me to report my own blog to Blogger.com? Did he expect me to screen anonymous comments from people who are already using nicknames? Did he expect me to tell people to stop making these comments even after I already told people there would be consequences if the negative attitude towards others here didn't stop (and by the way, which Greg himself ignored and still continued to treat people badly until he drove a lot of other people away)? Again, irony is lost on Greg. Doesn't he realize that if I was going to stop someone from commenting, he would be the first on the list and not these trolls? Doesn't he realize that these people wouldn't be trolling, if he didn't act the way that he did in the first place or he didn't insist on hanging out in places where he's clearly not wanted or welcome?
But despite the fact that numerous comments from other people here have pointed this out to Greg in civil (and not-so-civil) ways, he believes this is my fault for not protecting him. What nerve he has. It's another example of how Greg refuses to take any sort of responsibility for his part in any of these situations. I think that may be the main reason why these trolls hate him so much. If he had taken the time to even once apologize for causing trouble, even once acknowledging his part in the trouble here, or had not acted so blithely or with such hostility to things around him, I have no doubt that people would not troll or spam this blog.
But again, Greg wants to blame the people who left, the trolls, the spammers, and ultimately me for all this. I fully expect him to blame the Tooth Fairy next. Anybody but who is really at the heart of all this. Ask yourself the basic question, if Greg had never come here, would I ever need to protect anybody from trolling, spamming, and attacks? Were these things here before he came? Were these things directed at anybody else? Greg is like the source of the Nile from which all troubles flow. He's like the Lake Victoria of the blogosphere.
And I've noticed some comments from people whom I like, like my wonderful fellow blogger, Dave of the equally wonderful Mostly Ghostly Music Sharing Blaaahhhggg!!! and Forbidden Crypts Of Haunted Music, along these lines:
'LOL...looks like a few people need to grow the hell up in here. I've been going over these requests sections, and fankly I don't see where the hell anyone gets off saying Greg is the cause of all of the bullshit around here. There are a few people who post here who obivously don't like him, and it looks to me as if they are the ones who keep bringing up the past childishness instead of letting it drop and moving on.'....
# posted by Dave : Monday, May 07, 2007 2:41:00 PM
And I suspect that Dave isn't the only one who feels that way. But this is one of the reasons that I'm writing this. It seems clear to me that people, even people who've hung out here, don't quite understand the situation with Greg. And although I haven't confirmed it by double-checking each comment, I suspect that the people who don't quite understand it are either people who don't come in as often or are relatively new readers who have only been here since Greg has been here.
Again, it is no coincidence that the people who left are some of the nicest and longest, most loyal readers of this blog. I myself could not fully understand why they couldn't just ignore his comments like I did. And I hadn't talked to them about it, but after I read Greg's responses to the things they were saying, I realized how bad the situation was and I tried to see it from their perspective.
The problem with someone like me who catches up on a week's worth of comments is that you are literally reading hundreds of comments all at the same time. When I would read all those comments at home and encounter one of Greg's insulting or demeaning comments or one of his annoying or irritating habits, I would think 'Oh, that's a little bad' and move on to the next 150 comments below it that I needed to read. But when I tried to imagine what it must've been like for people like Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket, or anyone else who was here, say every day, and experiencing that behavior in real time, I realized it must've been like water torture.
And again, it's no coincidence that many of the people who left were people who were posting an awful lot of music. Would you like it if every time you went to all the trouble of posting something, every day, for months on end, you encountered the possibility of having Greg come in and say something insulting about it, complain that something wasn't the way he liked it, or give a link to someone else who had also posted it to make them look stupid and superfluous?
Consider the group who left and ask yourself why did these people stay away? And it wasn't simply a case of a few people suddenly being childish over a few petty things. They tried to get along with Greg, day in and day out, for over three months. Consider the list of the people who left: Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket From Mars, Breton Girl, Mel, Sallie, Quinlan, Watson, Ronnie C., Bistis6, Jason, Tony, Scoredaddy1, and God knows how many other people have left or stayed away because of Greg's presence here. Some of the nicest people who have ever come here.
At this point, you may be asking yourself, 'Why didn't you just kick Greg out if he was that bad?' or 'Why haven't you kicked Greg out now?' In fact, some of those people who left may have been wondering the same thing themselves. That was another reason I wanted to write this essay.
But before I get into that, since I already had this written from my old essay, I figured I might as well cut & paste a few portions of it here to more fully explain Greg's past behavior, in case people still wonder what I'm talking about:
BEGINNING OF EXCERPT:
Take this response that Greg made when Isbum had posted 'Across 110th Street' with this footnote: '* dialogue tracks not included, sorry.' Greg said, 'Why not? That makes it an incomplete/inaccurate representation of the original album. Can you possibly provide an up with all the tracks from the album?' Now on the surface, this can be taken as a simple question as a result of Greg's enthusiasm over wanting the whole album, dialogue and all, and asking for a re-up of a more complete version. From Greg's point of a view, he was being reasonable. Now when I first read that, my impression was that it was slightly insulting. Now saying, 'Why not?' seems like an innocuous question, but I think most people would interpret that as being accusatory. When someone goes to the trouble of posting something, to characterize it as incomplete or inaccurate seems slightly demeaning or at the very least ungrateful.
But it's not the fact that Greg asked this question. We've all asked questions or posed statements like that before. For instance, I myself once remarked that one of Isbum's files was missing a track and that could be misunderstood as a criticism rather than the observation that it was. I was letting people know in case they didn't realize it or in case Isbum didn't realize. I suspected that he had left it out because it was a fairly common Jerry Lee Lewis song (and it was later confirmed by Isbum to be the case), but I thought I should mention it just in case. And I apologized because I thought Isbum might've misinterpeted what I was saying. But it's not the fact that we might say these things, but the way in which we say them.
I think from Greg's point of view (and forgive me for speculating on your own thoughts and motivations), he felt that was a perfectly innocent question. But if I had asked Isbum, 'Why didn't you include that Jerry Lee Lewis track? That makes it an incomplete/inaccurate representation of the original album....', it would come off as a reproachful criticism rather than an innocent question.
It's the attitude behind the statements. And this isn't always easy to tell in print. But in that case, the attitude seemed to be accusatory and was meant to point out some inadequacy of the posting.
And many of Greg's earlier comments didn't come off as being too bad, but take a comment like this one on January 30th in response to Quinlan's kind offer to rip an LP record set of MGM records called 'Those Glorious MGM Musicals':
'Quinlan, I used to have a couple of those, and today they're almost pointless because BETTER quality soundtracks have been issued on CD from original masters....those albums were "soundtracks" done right off the movies themselves.'
To characterize something that somebody is offering and music that they themselves enjoy as 'pointless' is fairly insulting. But I'm sure from Greg's point of view he felt he was discussing it in the abstract; original soundtracks are pointless in comparison to remastered versions (which, by the way, I don't happen to agree with). Or to emphasize the word 'BETTER' in all caps seems to suggest that what Quinlan was offering was somehow inferior (and not in a subtle way). Now that statement does come off as insulting, but I feel that from Greg's point of view he may not have meant it that way. When you try to read it from that point of view, Greg is saying that he also had these records at one time and that he prefers CD versions. But he didn't say it that way. The way it comes off sounds like he's demeaning Quinlan for offering it and for liking it. And it makes it sound like Greg is trying to put himself in a superior position by saying that he is somehow more evolved in his taste for better sound than Quinlan is. That he has gotten rid of inferior albums and has BETTER quality soundtracks now. It's hard not to fully interpret that as, at the very least, condescending.
There are dozens of these kinds of examples. These two examples are pretty mild in comparison to other things he's said.
But just in case anybody feels like I'm dumping all over Greg right now, let me just reiterate that based on his responses to various criticisms, I don't feel that Greg truly understands why people react the way that they do (and sorry to talk about you in the third person like you weren't here, but it's easier than me switching back and forth between perspectives). That's why I'm not angry at him because I feel that he feels that he is acting perfectly appropriately and doesn't fully realize the way his comments come off.
For instance, when I posted the Carrie soundtrack in the main part of the blog, the first comment I got was from Greg pointing out all the things that were wrong with it. My first reaction was that it was fairly insulting. But I felt that it was born out of Greg's enthusiasm for the soundtrack and wanting to compare both versions for any discrepancies. It wasn't so much the fact that he did that because I wanted people to be able to compare the two versions, but it was the way in which he did it. Again, the tone of the comment was that the extended version was fairly superfluous and that the recording was inadequate. Now I pretty much ignored the slightly offensive tone of the comment because I felt it was Greg's love of the music that was coming out in the wrong way.
But let's take other comments about the Request Post and the blog:
Here's one Greg made on January 21st when Blofeld's Cat suggested that maybe we should start a Yahoo group when a lot of blogs were being attacked:
'Well, the Yahoo suggestion is kinda pointless since the whole idea is this soundtrack sharing/discussion is supposed to be a blog thing.
Another Suggestion (sorry if this sounds harsh): This is SUPPOSED to be a Requests discussion in someone's blog.....and people are seriously overdoing it by just automatically posting soundtracks on their own without any requests. That's abuse of this blog, IMHO...I say cut back, folks and ONLY post what has been requested. If you want to just randomly and automatically post this and that....then start your own blog for doing such postings/sharing.'
Again, calling somebody's idea, 'kinda pointless' is probably not the best way to make friends and influence enemies. And I remember when I originally read this comment when I had returned from my absence. I didn't like this and a few other comments people were making at the time about what they thought this Request Post was supposed to be (particularly since I created it). And especially since I had already mentioned this at the end of Request Post #1 (and in other places, before and since). Specifically, that there were no rules as to what people could and couldn't post here.
Now some of this is my fault because I don't like to emphasize it too much since I don't want people abusing it by say, posting 100 rap albums or 50 current releases, for instance. They would be perfectly welcome to post anything, but I don't want people abusing that privilege. And people haven't. They understand the general vibe here.
Also, I suspect that some people skip over the things I write since there may not be a link associated with it. So they may miss out on some of these things. (I suspect that some people probably won't read this either, but it'll make it a lot harder for them to understand what's going on if they don't.)
But more importantly, when I originally read this comment, it seemed to be taking a swipe at Isbum and others for their postings. I especially didn't like that either. But by the time I came back, it was mid-February and so I didn't respond specifically. But it was one reason why I wrote at the top of Request Post #3, 'Kind suggestions are fine, but really I'm the only one who gets to make pompous pronouncements'.
Now Greg did preface his comment by saying that it was a suggestion and that he apologized if it sounded harsh (which, by the way, is the only time I can ever remember Greg apologizing for being harsh), but again I didn't appreciate somebody telling me what the Requests Post is supposed to be when I'm the one who created it. But I also understood that Greg was trying to look out for the Post (and the blog) when he made this suggestion, so I didn't feel that it was done in a malicious way (at least towards me).
That's the thing with some of these comments. When you look at them closely, you sometimes see good intentions mixed with bad executions. Or helpful information or links mixed with ambiguously interpreted attitudes.
But the real problem is the attitude with which these things are said and the intent behind them. These are just a few very mild examples of literally scores of comments which demeaned or annoyed people. I could go on indefinitely with these examples. Individually, they don't seem too bad, but cumulatively, it has an incredibly detrimental effect especially since Greg was clearly the most hostile and negative person here up to that point.
But let's take some later examples that caused real conflict:
When Isbum was nice enough to leave everybody an Easter gift,
====================================
'For my friends here,
an Easter present......
* note: this link dies Monday night the 9th.
Drive safely and have a hopping good holiday.
@ENJOY
# posted by isbum : Saturday, April 07, 2007 1:03:00 AM'
====================================
THIS WAS GREG'S RESPONSE A FEW HOURS LATER:
'The same "limited Easter surprise" from Isbum was upped over at Share a week ago....link is still active, on this page:
http://u2n2.com/article.asp?id=23752
# posted by Greg : Saturday, April 07, 2007 4:02:00 AM'
====================================
Now ask yourself, what was Greg's intent in saying that? Was he trying to be helpful? Or was he trying to put down Isbum's gift by putting 'limited Easter surprise' in quotes and saying someone had already shared it before?
====================================
HERE ARE SOME OF THE RESPONSES TO GREG'S COMMENT:
'Thanks for trashing my gesture Greg.
# posted by isbum : Saturday, April 07, 2007 10:12:00 AM
So, Greg...
For Easter, are you going to be the one with the nails, the crown or the spear?
# posted by Anonymous : Saturday, April 07, 2007 10:26:00 AM
@isbum.
Well, there are some us who REALLY appreciate your gesture and thensome.
thanks again isbum :))
and Happy Easter by the way.
# posted by tony : Saturday, April 07, 2007 10:32:00 AM
@ greg---thank you! thank you!! thank you!!! Thank you so much for letting us know that! that was a really really important bit of info you gave us about isbum's post.
exactly what is your deal? could you please calm down? you seem hell bent on being a condescending jerk and alienating everyone who visits this blog. you have your own blog (and a very nice one too!) if you want to rain on people's parades please do it there.
@ all my friends and amigos---i haven't been stopping by as much because i've become a little bit 'pigged out' on soundtracks (and, if truth be told, some soundtack afficianados 'wink wink nudge nudge') lately....
i hope everyone is having a great Holiday.
'Til Next Time,
PEACE (and All The Best---of course),
Rocket
# posted by Rocket From Mars : Saturday, April 07, 2007 11:57:00 AM
@ greg - I was going to comment but rocket said it so much better than I could. Thanks Isbum, know that your Easter gesture was much appreciated by everyone, except for you know who.
# posted by filmpac : Saturday, April 07, 2007 2:33:00 PM
=======================================
AND HERE IS GREG'S RESPONSE:
Wo said I didn't appreciate his post? Isbum said it would only be up until Monday, so people can now have two links to download from....and people have said it doesn't hurt having more than one download link since things seem to get deleted so fast.
# posted by Greg : Saturday, April 07, 2007 3:00:00 PM
=======================================
This sounds reasonable on the face of it, except that Greg didn't wait until Isbum's link had expired. He didn't say, 'Don't mean to step on anybody's toes, but if anybody wants another copy, I found one.' He never said any of that up front. He simply posted another link that makes it look like Isbum's gift is nothing special and he didn't care how he treated him or how everybody else reacted to it either.
Greg would argue that he is just being misunderstood, but I think the real problem is that people understood only too well what Greg's intent is. If he had really meant to provide people with a second link, why point out that it was posted over a week ago somewhere else? Does Greg even really care if other people are bothered by his behavior? Again, it's not about being wrong or right, it's about actually treating people with a little respect instead of dismissing the things that bother them. Look at how people responded when Greg said that. It wasn't only Isbum who was bothered by it. And it wasn't a case of just a bunch of malcontents or troublemakers not liking Greg. These were some of the nicest, most helpful, most generous people here. These are people who would never normally say anything bad to anyone here (and haven't, by the way). If you don't understand that, then you will never understand what is so bad about Greg's behavior.
It isn't that what Greg did was the worst offense in the world, but to me the greatest problem was that he didn't seem to care that he had bothered so many other people here.
And you have to understand that this kind of response to Greg only started after he had been here 3 months making comments like this. 3 months of him doing that kind of thing over and over and over again. Regardless of how he knew people didn't like it. Regardless of me telling people (well, really just Greg) to stop acting this way towards other people. Perhaps I shoud've spelled it out that disrespecting people was a no-no here. But frankly, I didn't think I needed to say something like that. I suppose I should also put up a big sign on the blog saying, 'Oxygen necessary for breathing' and 'The sun is yellow' while I was at it.
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AND I SHOULD PROBABLY TAKE SOME TIME OUT TO DIGRESS HERE ABOUT RULES ON THE BLOG. Mel left a comment of his own in reaction to Greg's comments. In it he expressed his natural consternation over the atmosphere in the Request Post (which I completely agreed with, by the way), and he had this to say about rules:
'Next subject: Nomwl1, it was the late Spike Milligan who said,
In the world of mules
There are no rules.
Think about it – here’s where I don’t see eye to eye with you (let’s disagree without being disagreeable). When there are no rules, there is chaos.
Well, actually, you do have one or two, e.g. Enjoy and be kind. Pity this one has been broken so often.
Being a member of a music-sharing forum, I understand the reasons for their rules. You have to be invited to join. Anyone not toeing the party line is banned. The result is that we have a smooth-running and friendly forum without dramas.
In view of all the stupidity we’ve seen here from some of the anonymous visitors, I strongly feel that it’s time to close shop. Anonymous visitors should not be allowed in. Anyone who wants to join you should apply for admission, and only be OK’d after vetting.
Well, I’ve said my piece, and I hope that there’ll be some cooling down soon. If not, I will visit only occasionally, and become a leecher. I wouldn’t like that to happen. Not that anyone would miss me…
- mel
# posted by melnar : Saturday, April 07, 2007 11:37:00 PM'
Now firstly, I can't actually imagine a context or situation in which I would be disagreeable with Mel and I for one miss him from the blog terribly. But that's probably beside the point. I feel I owe him and anyone else who wonders why I don't impose rules here a fuller explanation. I've mentioned many of the reasons in the past, but there are a few I haven't elaborated on.
Firstly, there is nothing wrong with blogs or forums that impose rules. There are many wonderful ones out there that do. It's simply not the kind of blog I'm interested in running. For myself, when I see a list of rules that the person wants me to follow, that sends a message that that person is expecting trouble from the outset. Either do these things, or don't come here. Not only does that leave a bad taste in the mouths of good people, but it's like waving a red flag in front of the bad people. 'Come here and wreak havoc because this guy has a bunch of rules he wants us to follow.'
I'm not interested in telling people what they can't do here. I'm more interested in fostering the kind of atmosphere on the blog in which giving people a list of rules is simply not necessary. And it never was until Greg got here. Most everybody here has always eventually understood what the blog was about and what was appropriate behavior. If I did post a list of rules, it would practically have to be called 'Greg's Rules of Conduct' because it would only really ever apply to him. All the other later conflict, drama, flame wars, spamming, and trolling is as a direct result of his attitude, comments, and behavior, his intractable unwillingness to adapt, acknowledge or apologize, and the subsequent fallout from it.
He set the tone in the Request Post that said it was okay to demean people, to treat them with disrespect, and to bully and harass them in his own unique way. That sent a message to all the trolls who came later that that kind of behavior was all right regardless of whatever atmosphere I might try and instill here. And it didn't help that he had driven so many of the good people away who understood exactly what kind of atmosphere I was trying to create and maintain here. And regardless of me telling Greg to 'tone it down' (check back in the Request Post) or talking about negative behavior here, he still continued to do it. Witness the literally dozens of comments he got from other people telling him the same thing and he continued to largely ignore or dismiss it.
And that brings me to the second point. You can impose all the rules you want, but when you have such an extreme case like Greg who at one point somebody even gave the nickname, 'Mr. Obtuse', it ultimately doesn't make a difference. All the rules in the world won't stop somebody who is determined to be disruptive (whether they mean to be or not). I think a lot of the people who left now know exactly what I mean by this after having seen what happened at ScoreBaby Annex. The list of rules there didn't prevent that Request Post from shutting down. And it didn't prevent Greg from showing up there. This is another reason why I've never had rules here. It's like asking people for donations. You can do it, but there's no reason anybody will ever pay any attention to it. It's simply not in the nature of blogs. That's one of its strengths. Otherwise everybody would join forums instead of visit blogs. If people were interested in rules, they wouldn't visit a site that allows them to download music.
This doesn't mean that I'm arguing in favor of anarchy or chaos. My natural inclination is to have organization and order. But I think the better way is establishing, by example, a tone. Nobody should need rules telling people that they need to treat other people with respect or concern. The ones who do, won't listen to me, let alone read a list of rules. And the ones who don't, are the ones who, up until Greg's arrival, were the ones who came here. Also, if this were primarily a rock or pop blog, I would probably have put up a few basic rules, but frankly, the kind (and number) of people who like this type of music are usually the kind of people you don't need to spell these things out to. That's what makes Greg such a unique case. For instance, you don't see someone who likes musicals have the level of hostility that Greg does. Usually, they're happier, more respectful people.
Thirdly, everybody thinks they want rules until it applies to them. What if I had said, 'No bad language'. That would've meant that as soon as Filmpac or anyone else started dropping the 'F' bomb, I would've had to kick them out. What if I had said, 'You must post a minimum number of albums to stay here' as I've seen some forums do. That would've most likely excluded Mel and Breton Girl, for instance. Or what if I had said, 'No posting of anything unless people request it'. I would've had to reprimand Isbum. Or what if I had said, 'No Sendspace files'. We would've missed out on many of Watson's or Sallie's wonderful files. (Well, I did miss a lot of Watson's wonderful files, but that's a whole other story). Or how about 'No Megaupload' because some countries don't allow it or 'No Rapidshare' because of their fast deletion policies? All these rules make sense to someone else, and everybody imagines that they want rules......until it applies to them.
There are many reasons why this Request Post has lasted so long and why it seemed to be so popular (even now, when so many good people are turned off by the atmosphere). 'No rules' is one of those reasons.
And fourthly, no rules is a form of self-protection. This is a reason that I normally don't talk about for obvious reasons. People who haven't given it much thought or are relatively new to blogging or file-sharing might have a harder time understanding it, but consider the example of the original Napster. The power of it was its organization, centralized database, and its wide network of people. But this same quality made it much easier to attack. It was eventually attacked out of existence (if you don't count its current pay-version). That's why so many subsequent p2p networks became decentralized. Those later networks had less organization, were more chaotic and harder to search, but were much less vulnerable to attack. Again, I suspect that some of the people who come here will have a hard time understanding that especially since some of that may seem counter-intuitive, but it's true. A certain amount of chaos protects me.
So you see, there are many reasons (and others I haven't gone into) why I have no rules at the blog and why I do things the way that I do them. Many of the things I do (or don't do) are designed to keep the blog going. If you've noticed, a lot of blogs and forums that had rules aren't around anymore. Would you rather have a blog that has rules, but burns out after three months, or one that doesn't, but sticks around for a year? It's a tricky trade-off, but I've always taken the approach that I wanted the blog to be around long-term. But sometimes you just can't protect yourself from people like Greg, no matter what you do.
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END OF EXCERPT
I cut out a ton of the more obnoxious examples of Greg's behavior for time and space restraints, but I think you get the idea. Some people may wonder why I took some really old examples, but it was simply a starting point. You could go through literally thousands of these comments and find so many examples of his bad behavior I would have to start a new blog just to list them all.
And the examples I cited may seem mild, but so is a drop of water hitting your forehead. But imagine if I kept dropping water on your forehead every day for over three months. I think you see what I mean.
Think of it this way. Imagine that you were throwing a giant pool party where people were splashing around having a lot of fun and enjoying each other's company. The party's been going on for three months without any problems or bad feelings and is a bigger, better party than you could have ever hoped for. People are having a terrific time, getting along really well, making new friends, helping each other out, and treating each other with a lot of respect.
And then Greg joins the party and occasionally pisses in the pool. Every once in a while he urinates on other guests and they put up with it because everybody is still having a good time and he doesn't realize he's doing it. He just thinks he's relieving himself and there's nothing wrong with it. And it's not a constant stream of urine, but something he does every once in a while, but persistently. People try to get along with it even though they are bothered by it. They're still having a good time and trying to get along with Greg who is enthusiastic, but still manages to piss in the pool. Sometimes he does it underwater and it's not always obvious from the surface.
And then imagine that the host comes by once or twice a week. It's a house that he's been renting for five or six months before he ever started the pool party. He can't come by the house that often because he doesn't have a car but nobody really complains about it and most everybody (except Greg) is exceptionally nice. In fact, Greg is always the first and only person to tell the host the water needs changing in the pool. 'There's a lot of people in here. How about some new water now?' He says it even though he knows the host isn't there. Strangely, nobody else in the pool is complaining about it. Perhaps that's one of the reasons that they're nice people.
Or perhaps they know maintaining the house and the pool is a lot of work and they're gracious enough not to complain. The host knows it was rather foolish to rent a house that he can't visit that often or start a party that he can't oversee every day, but he figures as long as nobody else minds, it's okay with him. And he figures a party that runs by itself is better than no party at all. All the guests are civilized, gracious, generous and helpful people who have never caused one bit of trouble at his house and they know exactly the kind of party he's running. And for the first nine months the house is open, none of the regular guests ever complain or cause problems. Well, none of them except Greg.
So, since the host can't drop by as often as he would like, he doesn't really see Greg pissing on people that much, but he read accounts of it later. And imagine that for the first couple of months that Greg's doing it, the host is on 'vacation'. By the time the host comes back, Greg's been pissing in the pool and slowly but surely ruining the party atmosphere that people had.
Then, some of the people who are in the pool most often and who contribute in a big way to the fun, after three months of him pissing day in and day out, start complaining and getting mad, but Greg continues to do it anyway and acts like it's their problem or they don't know what they're talking about. The host even tells Greg to 'tone it down' with the criticism and piss, but he still continues to do it anyway.
Now the other pool guests who only come by every once in a while don't understand what all the fuss is about because they don't see it happen as often, they're willing to ignore the piss in the pool, or they're not the ones being pissed on.
Greg continues to ignore the other people's concerns, attacks them, or just pays attention to the parts that interest him. He never admits that there is a problem or cares about how the other people are bothered by it. This makes the people even madder. This starts fighting back and forth. Greg never acknowledges that people might have any legitimate grievances, never apologizes for bothering anyone, and blows up at the mere suggestion that he might've done anything wrong. This starts even more fights. This starts to attract the attention of anonymous guests who come in and think this is the normal behavior at the party. One guest even starts to repeat phrases he hears over and over again until it annoys people around him.
Then the host comes back and tells people that there will be consequences if this kind of attitude continues. (An attitude that never existed at the party until Greg got there.) The host even tells people the pool party and possibly even the house may shut down if they don't cut it out.
The original guests and Greg try to get along for a while, but Greg keeps pissing and annoying people until they just can't take it anymore. It's the last straw. He even pisses all over an Easter Gift that one of the oldest, nicest guests had brought to the party.
Then, one-by-one, most of the original guests leave the pool after trying to tolerate it for as long as they can and they go somewhere else where they can find the same fun, civilized party atmosphere they once enjoyed. Many of those that left had tried not to get into fights before, had stayed for as long as they did, and tried to get along with Greg after the host warned them, in part out of the memory of the great party they once had going and because of their loyalty to the host and the house. But eventually they just had to leave. But newer party guests call them childish and ask them why they can't all just get along with the guy who pissed all over them. 'Come back to the pool and stop being so childish! It's just a little urine. Just grow up!'
And then people suggest that maybe if Greg apologizes or tries to make peace with those people, things would be better. But he never says a word except to attack them or complain about them. They start to point out the things that Greg did to alienate those people, but he still pays no attention. He blames them and other people start blaming people for pointing these things out. People stop splashing and having fun and more and more people realize what the older guests were talking about. But newer guests keep stopping by, so the party goes on.
And then the people who left create a new party at a different house where the owner graciously allows them to hold it. They put a big sign above the door with rules on it. They specifically create the party to get away from Greg, but then suddenly Greg shows up there too. He doesn't piss on them, but just gets in the pool and gives out invitations to a party at his own house and then leaves. The people who specifically wanted to get away from him have a natural reaction and aren't too pleased. They ask him to stay over at the original pool party, but he complains and doesn't want to.
Then he goes back to the original party (which, by now, has lost a lot of the fun), tells everybody how irrational and childish all those other people are being and that he was being calm and rational. Meanwhile, he keeps handing out more invitations to a party at his own house.
The original guests ask Greg to stay over at the original pool party and to leave them alone at the new place, but other guests accuse them of not dropping it and of bringing it up all the time.
Then some anonymous guests who watch all of this happen start to resent the fact that a lot of the people are gone and that a lot of the fun they were providing is gone. And yet Greg is still here, so they start harassing him and calling him names. Other anonymous people start seeing all this conflict and start causing even more random trouble. People start saying the host should kick all the anonymous people out and everybody should just get back to splashing around in the pool. Everything would just be great if those harassers would leave.
But the host comes back and sees most of his old friends, ones who started the party in the first place, gone from the party - driven away by Greg, and in their place, he sees bitterness, attacks, and a big mess from the conflict all around the pool. Greg is still there and the whole tone of the pool party has changed. There are now a fair number of people in the pool who see this new tone and think this is what the pool party is supposed to be like. They start wondering why people are so hostile to Greg and what he's done to deserve this. He seems perfectly fine in the pool. But the attacks on Greg continue. This turns off even more people who watch the party, but don't want to say anything because the atmosphere is now bad. It even starts making people want to avoid the house, let alone the pool.
Things start to calm down, Greg is pissing less in the pool and newer guests still don't understand what's so bad about Greg. Why are so many people mad at him? He couldn't possibly have done anything so bad as to warrant all this hatred. But of course they weren't the ones being pissed on for three months. The newer guests start to accuse the anonymous guests of really being the old party guests come back to cause trouble. They didn't really know the old guests that well so they assume they must be behind all this tumult.
And still Greg stays in the pool. He's driven more than twenty guests away, he gets attacked periodically, but he still splashes around in the pool with all the guests who are still there. Even the host doesn't want to stop by his own pool anymore. This generates even more hatred by people who resent Greg's presence. Now Greg is one of the oldest guests left. Some people even start thinking he's the host. He talks more at the pool party than the host does. He helps newer guests who stop by and he continues to hand out invitations to the party at his own house (that looks remarkably clean, probably because he has fewer guests over there and he never wants to start his own pool party). This infuriates the anonymous onlookers even more.
Things seem to calm down again, Greg is being a lot less annoying to the partiers present and seems to be making an effort not to piss all over the other guests. Of course, this is made easier by the fact that there are a lot fewer people at the party making contributions that he can criticize. But he is still making an honest effort. All the while, this is making onlookers even more furious.
After a small period of calm, during which the party seems to be rebounding but is really just a shadow of what it once was, the trouble-makers come back with a vengeance and start attacking Greg in a way that seems way out of line and way over the top. They start hurling insults at him and calling him a lot of disgusting names, they try to disrupt the party at every turn, and won't leave him alone. It's hard to tell what their objectives might be. Perhaps they can't take the fact that he's still here after having ruined the atmosphere and they think by taunting him they can drive him away. Perhaps they want to show other party guests what kind of person he is by making him mad. Perhaps they just enjoy taunting him because he tends to explode in anger so easily. Maybe they figure since the great party was ruined by him anyway it didn't really matter how much havoc they caused. And it's hard to tell how many people heard the noise caused by the commotion and either stayed away or rushed to join in the free-for-all.
Greg rises to the bait each time and then eventually makes a good faith attempt to ignore it, but strangely keeps coming back to the pool party regardless of how much he's being harassed. And still the harassment continues. Greg feels he should be able to stay at the pool party regardless of how many people he's driven away and how much trouble it's causing. In fact, the original party guests left not only because Greg was creating a bad atmosphere in which they were being insulted and demeaned (as well as being pissed on), but because they knew if they stayed it would cause a lot of fighting and turmoil and they didn't want to wreck the party even further. Oddly enough, Greg had no such qualms about wrecking the party.
And the attacks continued until Greg gets so upset, he calls the police to shut down the party and get the host in trouble for not protecting him from the anonymous people who hate him for what he's done. He feels the host should've been there to protect him from all this hatred that he feels is so unwarranted and inexplicable. He feels he's just being misunderstood and anything he did didn't deserve all of this.
And he blames the host for being away for so long and not taking responsibility for his own party. Even though the host is away sick, pondering what to do with the party that is no longer fun, and generally reluctant to come in because he is discouraged by the atmosphere that Greg himself has created with his thoughtless behavior that has driven away so many of his old friends who don't even want to drive by the house, let alone come in. Greg tells everybody there that he hopes the whole house gets shut down and that he's not going to put up with any more of this crap. Then he comes back the next day and hands out another invitation to a party at his house.
That's the situation here in a nutshell. (Or it's the plot to Gulliver's Travels, I'm not sure which)
But now you can understand why it's taken me a long time to write about this stuff. And frankly, it was making me tired and sad to contemplate how Greg has acted over the many months, so I started and stopped writing this essay, in pieces and spurts. It also saddens me to think that people may have interpreted my relative silence in writing my opinions on the matter as either condoning it, ignoring it, or somehow agreeing with Greg or disapproving of those who have left. That again, is simply not the case.
It was a matter of time, energy, and a question of reflecting on what to say and do about the matter. Sometimes keeping up with the maintenance of this blog is a little like working on the engine of a car that's going down the highway at 100 miles per hour. When you've caught up with the last 500 comments, 500 new ones pop up. And these things always seem to happen when I'm ill or don't come in for a while. Perhaps people take that lack of activity as a sign to create havoc, I don't know.
And I don't say these things about Greg lightly. It's not my goal to attack Greg or say nasty things about him (even though it may sound that way, at times). It's simply to explain the situation in a way that people will more fully understand and to let people know where I stand on things.
As you can tell, I have a lot to say on the matter. And while I would like to think and talk about the blog 24/7, it's still meant to be a fun hobby that I sometimes do in small doses. I think Greg believes I should be in here everyday doing nothing but protecting him from bad people. Perhaps as the blogger, I do have an obligation to stem harassment. But frankly, everybody here knows the deal by now. Nobody here except Greg is naive enough to think I come in every day, and nobody but Greg would ever imagine that they have this unassailable right to hang out here regardless of the problems they cause or the level of hatred and harassment directed towards them. Is it his God-given right to drive away so many people from my blog and then insist he stay here regardless of the level of harassment hurled at him? Am I to protect him to my dying day to preserve his right to stay here unmolested? Or is he free to go elsewhere (just as he implicitly asserts about all the people who left), if this atmosphere isn't to his liking? You tell me.
If he insisted on running out into traffic while I wasn't here, I suppose he'd blame me for that too since I should've seen it coming and stopped it. What he really means is that I saw where his behavior was leading and the kind of response it was going to receive and I should've prevented this harassment. What? By throwing him out? Perhaps in that sense, Greg is right that I should've banned him to prevent this harassment from happening sooner. Or perhaps he naively thinks this is a chatroom where you can permanently ban members instead of the public blog that it is. If it were, whose name does he think would be at the top of the ban list?
And this gets me back to the point of why I haven't simply told Greg to leave and never come back. I'm sure some people have wondered, after all the trouble he's caused, why I would let him stay here.
Firstly, if I had thought Greg was doing it deliberately, I would've kicked him out in a heartbeat. But I felt that he was acting in a way that he felt was appropriate to himself. I would never kick someone out and tell them that they aren't welcome here for simply being who they are. That is another example of the kind of blog that I'm not interested in running.
We all have faults and habits that annoy and bother other people. I'm sure, for instance, that many people who come to this blog don't like these incredibly long posts I write. I'm sure it annoys people to have to read so much or to have to scroll down to get to the music if they skip the writing. But I'm acting in a way that is appropriate to myself and there is nothing wrong with that. Just as I felt that there was nothing wrong with Greg acting in a way that he felt was appropriate to himself. Again, I wouldn't kick out a person who was just being themselves unless I thought they were annoying or attacking people deliberately.
But, although I think it's appropriate to write these incredibly long comments here, I don't go over to other people's blogs and write 50 paragraphs on other blogger's comment sections. It would be totally inappropriate. Let's say, for example, I went over to Greg's blog and every time I commented over there (assuming for a moment, that he didn't have comment moderation on), I wrote 50 paragraphs. And let's say it started to bother a large number of other readers there. And let's say that no matter how many times they pointed it out, asked me to stop, wanted me to apologize or even acknowledge I was doing it, I just kept doing it until I drove many of them away? What do you think would be Greg's response? And what do you think would happen if I just kept staying at Greg's blog until so many people complained and harassed me until I finally got fed up and reported Greg's blog to Blogger.com for terms of service violations?
But I imagine that Greg has never once considered this from anybody else's point of view. You can see from my example that while my behavior was perfectly appropriate to myself, it isn't necessarily appropriate to act that way when you're a guest at somebody else's place. That is why I think so many people kept pointing out the fact that Greg had his own blog. They found it incredibly ironic (there's that word again!) and hypocritical that he would cause all this havoc over here and yet keep his blog free from it. Whenever I've visited his blog, I've hardly ever seen any comments over there. I'm not sure if this is because of comment moderation and he just hasn't had the chance to let them through, if there just aren't many, or if he screens out most of them.
But he's okay with driving people away here with his comments. Or people have suggested he start a Request Post at his own blog, but it seems to me he hasn't done that either. He apparently would rather bring the harassment down on this blog than his own, I guess. He's okay with shutting down this blog or getting the Request Post shut down over at ScoreBaby Annex, but he apparently doesn't want to contaminate his own blog with a Request Post.
I suppose it might be reasonable to wonder why he seems to spend more time here than he does at his own blog. In the past, I always liked the idea that he did that because you rarely, if ever see a fellow blogger do that. Once people have their own blogs, it usually absorbs too much of their time and they stop commenting here, so I liked the fact that he was the exception. But of course, after all the troubles he's caused here, it does beg the question why is he one of the only bloggers who spends more time elsewhere than at his own blog? Another way in which he defies the usual pattern.
Is he being a Typhoid Mary insisting and defiantly going around infecting other blogs while keeping his own blog clean and trouble-free? I still don't think he does it intentionally, but you really have to wonder sometimes.
But see, it is this nagging doubt as to Greg's intentions that have kept me from simply kicking him out. I don't tell someone lightly that they're not welcome here and never to come back. And that would be the only option. Because I don't believe he understands why his behavior is bad (if he would acknowledge it at all), I know it would be no use in asking him to modify his behavior and attitude. He would be bound to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. And so you would have to ask him to leave if you wanted to preserve a good atmosphere at the Request Post.
But like Rocket From Mars once said, even if Greg were to leave it would most likely not be the same. And I knew exactly what he meant by that. It may also have been one of the saddest comments made here. Once you get to the point where you have to kick someone out, you've already got a bad atmosphere. And once people know how easily that good environment can be disrupted, it ruins it for everybody. It didn't have to deteroriate, but all it takes is for one Greg to do it.
And even if everybody came back and Greg stayed away permanently, the bad feeling would still linger. It's like Greg set off a series of stink bombs in the middle of the room. He can leave, but you can't put the stink back into the bomb.
Even when people went over to ScoreBaby Annex, it was still with the bad memories associated with what happened over here. You can get on with the sharing (over there and here), but the stink never quite goes away in either place. That was one of the things that made me question the future of the blog. Not whether it could keep going. I could always keep it running no matter what. But people were starting to refer to it as 'that other place'. It was a place that good people were avoiding and it felt like the blog was becoming a pariah simply because Greg was now setting the tone over here. I started to feel like I should change the name of the blog to 'Enron' or something like that.
Greg often seems to wonder why people refer to him as hijacking the blog. This is the reason. He drives people away (including myself) by creating a bad atmosphere with the condescending and attacking tone and keeps staying here. That is a form of hijacking. But I should say that I wasn't exactly driven away from my own blog so much as I was discouraged from coming in as often in recent weeks. There didn't seem to be as much reason to come in or post music until I could write about all of this and until I felt better all the way around. Again, who wants to sit at a computer for hours contemplating this stuff? I even feel bad for all of you people who have to read it.
Which gets us back to the simple solution of kicking him out. Not as simple as it sounds. Imagine if I had said that to Greg. 'Because of your attitude and the problems you cause here, I ask you to please leave and not come back.' Maybe people would've come back. But Greg would've felt bad, I would feel bad for saying it, and the people who came back, after they got through singing, 'Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead' would've still felt very bitter about the whole experience. And the result would still be the same. Bad atmosphere and I end up running the kind of blog I don't want to run. One where I kick people out for being who they are.
So you see, he put me in an untenable position. He wouldn't change (at least not enough to coexist with all those other people), and as long as he wasn't 'attacking' the blog deliberately, I was reluctant to kick him out. And even if he could learn to get along with everyone who left, I'm not interested in running a Request Post where people just tolerate one another. That's not what I was hoping for or trying to do with it in the first place and especially after you've had the good environment we once had here, you're not interested in settling for mutual coexistence.
The people who left were part of the heart and soul of the Request Post and while I can always keep the Request Post going, I'm not interested in running one without that soul. Even though it was rebounding recently, it was still a little like a vampire. It can walk and talk and move around, but without a soul, it's just the living dead. Then it just becomes a bulletin board where people tack up requests and other people fulfill them and leave. A lot of the good feeling is sucked out. While that function is just fine, I'm not overly interested in running something like that. If I were, I would just start a forum where people just post things and you have a few discussion threads on the side. It would be very orderly and organized, but it would still lack that soul.
What made the spirit amazing is that people wanted to help other people out even when they didn't have to. Filmpac would search for something somebody was looking for. Quinlan would go to the trouble of ripping something and posting it when he could for the sheer love of it and the desire to help and share. Isbum would offer something wonderful just because he wanted to and not because somebody requested something. That is the kind of spirit I wanted to be around and those were the kind of people I wanted to hang out at my blog. And it was the kind of spirit that Greg never quite understood. He felt it was just a Request Post and people should just post things people asked for. And other people lately have held a similar attitude about what the Post and the blog are about. Well, as the person who created both, I can tell you that it's not simply about sharing music for me and never has been. If it were I would've just made the blog blank and put up a bunch of links. Or I would've turned off anonymous comments and told the anonymous people, 'You're not welcome here.'
As for that wonderful spirit, when you join a forum or a private blog, for instance, you make a certain commitment, albeit slight, by giving an E-mail, registering, etc. You are jumping through some hoops to get there and if you don't post there or join the discussion threads, some people might think of it as leeching or lurking. But that's what made people's efforts here so remarkable. They had no such commitment here. It's a blog. It's designed for people to come and get stuff without having to post anything. And yet people went out of their way to help people and share their love of music. People like Rocket and Sallie and Watson. Sallie didn't have to do that here. She has her own blog and one that keeps her busy. But she still wanted to share things over here that she didn't share at her own place. She wasn't using this place to advertise her blog or as a billboard for recent posts. (I don't mind when people do that either because usually they're just letting people know what's available, but it really depends on how people do it. Greg tends to do it in a way that makes you question his motives.) That's what makes Sallie (among other things) so special. That's what made so many of the people here special.
And it wasn't just the older readers who understood what the Post and the blog were about. Tony hadn't been here that long, and yet he knew exactly what I was trying to do. He was like somebody who had been here forever and I will miss him too.
And I will miss all the other wonderful people whom I suspect didn't fully leave, but don't really want to comment here anymore.
If I had the choice between, a) 10 new people coming here tomorrow who were going to post some of the rarest soundtracks ever recorded and who wanted to post all of their collections but didn't get the spirit of the Request Post, or b) getting all those old people back, restoring that old feeling, and they never posted another piece of music, but just hung out here and talked, I would choose that old gang. So as you can tell, while I loved the music, on a personal level, it's not just about the music for me. Frankly, I can go to dozens of other blogs and get music. It will take me probably the next 10 years to listen to all the music I've already downloaded from the web that I haven't got around to yet. I sometimes think it's foolish for me to still keep downloading, when I've got 90+ DVD's worth of mp3's I haven't listened to yet. And I'm way behind on my downloading. If I was caught up, the number would probably be 300 or 400 DVD's worth.
And just from my own collection without the downloaded stuff, I honestly don't need all that much more music from other people. So if somebody's tempted to think that I miss those people just because of the music they posted, they're sorely mistaken. And if somebody thinks I keep the Request Post open because of the music being posted or because I want to keep the traffic high on the blog, they haven't read enough of the blog to understand what it's about or what I'm about.
For the first month and a half that this blog was up, I had a total of about 300 visits. It was probably because I didn't advertise the blog and I had the RSS feeds turned off. But still, I didn't care. In fact, I have never advertised this blog. I have never once left my web address anywhere and told people to come visit my blog. So if people think the popularity of the blog or the number of downloads or comments is my main concern, again they are sorely mistaken. You hope all those things happen, but you never expect them and you certainly don't chase after them. Well, at least I don't much care. If I did, I'd probably be posting much more popular genres of music or I'd force everybody to use just one file storage option to boost my Premium points.
But what is important to me is to post music that I like and hope that somebody else out there likes it too. And to create a fun, enjoyable atmosphere here. And that people here treat each other with respect (and by extension I suppose, treat me with some basic minimum respect as well). And to encourage people to seek out great blogs and great music whether they buy it or listen to it somewhere. And to run the blog in a way that I would like if I were coming here as a visitor. All very basic things.
Mel was right when he observed something that I didn't even realize. He said I created two basic rules here. Enjoy and be kind. Without realizing it, I had created two de facto rules. Greg has made it hard to do either of those two things on the blog.
And so, in light of that and in light of his most recent actions in reporting the blog, there is a lot less doubt as to whether Greg is deliberately doing these things to attack the blog. He went from possibly unintentional disrespect to intentional malice. And his refusal to accept any responsibility for his part in any of the things that happened or his lack of regard for other people and whether they might be bothered by his behavior makes it an intentional attack. Ask yourself, if it had been anyone else.....if it had been Isbum or Rocket From Mars or Filmpac....if they had bothered so many other people, whether they thought they were wrong or right, would they have apologized for doing it, apologized for causing so much trouble to other people, to the blog, or to myself (and many of them in fact did apologize when they left), and would they have tried to reconcile or get along with the other people they bothered? You bet they would.
Did Greg do any of those things? Even once? I've read every single comment on the blog and I don't remember a single instance of him trying to do any of those things. Did he even once apologize to me for driving so many people away from the blog? Was he bothered that because trolls hated him so much that he was bringing all these problems down on the other readers here? Did he once show any compunction to any of the other people here about trying to get the blog shut down and ruining it for them as well?
Ask yourselves any of those questions and then ask me whether Greg is really all that bad or not.
When even your defenders start out sentences like, 'Well, I know Greg can be a jerk......' or 'I know Greg is annoying sometimes......'.
It was because I could never tell whether Greg was an evil mastermind bent on destroying the Request Post and the blog or whether he was just the Mr. Magoo of the blogosphere, blithely causing chaos around him while he blames and attacks other people, that I was so reluctant to kick him out.
But he has made it clear that he is somewhere between those two extremes and that his malice at this point is deliberate. He is no longer welcome here, and assuming that he hasn't destroyed the blog entirely, he should leave and never come back.
But that's another reason why I haven't said it before. Because I knew that even if I told him to or asked him to, he probably would still come back. Especially if he felt things had settled down. Look at what he did at ScoreBaby Annex. When somebody specifically creates a Request Post over there with the express purpose of getting away from you, and you still go over there, it's either incredible obtuseness, ignorance, or malice. When I saw him show up there too, I felt it was an incredibly passive-aggressive thing to do. You show up there, know that they will be upset, then you come back here, reprint the whole exchange, and make them look like the bad guys for having a normal human reaction. That's malice (with an order of obtuseness on the side).
I have the feeling that he would do the same thing here if I told him he weren't welcome. He would just keep showing up anyway. It's almost as if he wants me to shut down the Request Post or the blog just to keep him from coming back. Failing that, he would just report me to shut it down.
But I would be willing to keep the Request Post open if Greg stayed away and there was no more trouble in there. I wouldn't expect people who left to come back necessarily (I'm surprised and touched that Rocket came back. I suspect he may have done it primarily out of loyalty to me and for that I will always be grateful. With the atmosphere in there, it couldn't have been easy!), but for all the other good people who were still there and wanted to hang out, I would keep it open. I probably wouldn't be as interested in hanging out there myself, but if people really wanted it to stay open (assuming the blog is still around), I'd keep it open.
If, on the other hand, Greg refused to leave, I suppose I'd just close it down. There would always be turmoil there as long as he was there, and so I'm not sure I would see much point in it.
Which leads me to the fifth way in which comments can be moderated on the blog...........
5) SHUTTING DOWN THE BLOG:
People may wonder why, in my previous post, I kept referring to Greg as having 'attacked' my blog. I wasn't referring specifically to him reporting the blog for TOS violations. I was talking about his attitude and the subsequent consequences of it. He had done something that no link-killer, troll, or the RIAA could ever do. And he did it more effectively than they ever could too. He got me to think about stopping blogging by not only attacking people here, but attacking the very spirit of the blog. That's what made it so insidious.
If I had been attacked by link-killers (as I have been many times in the past), it would only make me more defiant. I wouldn't be angry at the link-killers, but I would just keep going. I generally feel the same way about trolls though no one has ever persistently trolled me or the blog. They've done it 'indirectly' by trolling Greg, and so they have also attacked me, but I knew they weren't really bothered by the blog, per se.
But Greg has attacked the blog like a barnacle, leech, or pitbull, attaching himself to the blog, never letting go until you either want to leave or you die (figuratively speaking). I know that sounds harsh, but I don't say that lightly. I say that as a person who has had a blog up for almost a year now and never once had a problem like this until Greg got here. I've never had a significant problem from any other regular reader here. I say it as someone who has surfed literally hundreds of other blogs over a two year period and before that surfed music websites, chatrooms, forums, and other various venues. And over those period of years, I can say that Greg is probably the worst person I have ever encountered online. And I have seen some pretty nasty stuff.
In fact, when I first started this blog, it was at a time when people were attacking blogs left and right and they were falling like trees in the forest. Link-killers and trolls were causing blogs to shut down. Bloggers were attacking other bloggers. Forums were feuding with other forums. It was back when people were attacking Hans mercilessly (and I guess they still are). They were creating literally dozens of blogs just to attack him. Making fun of his dead mother-in-law, calling him every name in the book, hacking his blogs and shutting them down, pretending to be him and saying nasty things.
I thought to myself, 'Is this a good time to start a blog?' But I still did it anyway. That's probably why I was a little more paranoid about the stuff I posted and the way in which I blogged back then. In fact, even in those days when I had less than 300 visits total, some joker still killed some of my links!
And so I was not naive about what could happen on blogs. If you've ever wondered why, over the course of the blog, I've kept saying that people who come here are exceptionally nice or why it seems like I effusively heap praise on them, it's not because I'm sucking up. It's because I fully expected when I started this blog to have all of the things happen here that you've been seeing lately. I was fully expecting trolls, spam, flame wars, attacks, nasty comments, and bad feeling. And so when it didn't happen, I counted myself very lucky and I never took it for granted because I knew what it was like on other blogs. And until recently, none of those things ever happened here. People had amazingly nice things to say here. I'm still somewhat stunned by all the nice things people continue to say. Like all of those wonderful comments in the most recent posts from people like Bridget, Helen, Scarabus, Alex, or MP to name just a few. Or ones from my fellow bloggers, like Sallie, Mel, Constantino, Verdier, Timbo (that comment about 'Secret Agent Man' really lifted my spirits!), & Meester Music. I was especially happy to hear from Meester Music again after such a long time and knowing that he visits particularly brightens my day. The same goes for seeing Jazz's name when I see it turn up. I miss his him and his blog and so it's always nice to see him pop up here. I will always be grateful for the encouraging comments from these wonderful people..
And prior to discovering music blogs, there was a period of 2 or 3 years there when I didn't go online at all (another long story). I still don't have an online connection at home. But before that, I spent some time doing peer-to-peer, spent some time in chat rooms, forums, and surfing music websites. I've seen some incredibly nasty behavior in those places. Some of the worst, most horrendous comments made by people in chat rooms. All the usual stuff you can imagine. I've seen deplorable behavior in p2p, seen nasty stuff in forums, and read many incredibly nasty comments amongst the literally hundreds of blogs I've surfed.
And so the stuff going on here is relatively mild in comparison to stuff that goes on in the rest of the blogosphere. And relative to the rest of the real world, it's still a tempest in a teapot. We could all be living in Iraq right now. But since it is my teapot, it's still important to me. And the issues of respect and regard for others is still an important issue to me regardless of perspective.
And Greg's comments relative to ones you see at other blogs are also pretty mild. If this were another blog, people probably wouldn't have been so angry at him because there would've been ten people acting a little like Greg. But relative to what people were used to here, it was very bad behavior indeed and like I said before, he is clearly the most hostile, negative, and harshest of any of the regular readers I've ever had here. Trolls can say nastier things, but never over such a long period of time.
And this is why I say that Greg is probably the worst person I have ever encountered online. I shouldn't say worst person. I should say that he had the worst attitude. It's probably because usually when people act badly, it's never so consistenly and persistently. On blogs, even when people say incredibly nasty things, they don't usually like the blog enough to keep coming back. Or they troll and just annoy people for a short period of time. In chat rooms, they would've banned Greg by now and so the exposure is limited. Although I've seen many situations where the people just came back under a different nickname and IP address. But on a blog, there is no way to 'ban' someone. But even in those cases, annoying other people eventually loses its appeal to the annoyers and they drift away.
Greg is the only person I've ever seen who so thoroughly ignores the concerns of other people, has such little respect and regard for other people, cherry-picks the parts of people's comments that he wants to respond to, never apologizes for anything, never acknowledges or recognizes his effect on other people, and never accepts responsibility for any of his actions. And to do it over such a long period of time. This is truly extreme and unique.
Now, despite the way it sounds, I don't like saying those things about Greg. I certainly don't hate Greg or have a lot of anger for him, but I suppose I don't have much respect for the way he's treated people. But it's not like I'm the nicest person in the world either. My nature is fairly negative, critical and harsh too. It's probably one of the reasons I'm willing to give Greg the benefit of the doubt. I'm not one to throw stones, frankly. Well, I throw them, but it's not right when I do it. And normally I would've said a lot of these things to Greg in private through, say, E-Mail before ever saying it in public. But because of my personal situation, back-and-forth E-mail can be a very long process. And I tend to check the blog much more often than my E-mail. (That also involves a long story) And I tend to be very bad at writing E-Mail. So unfortunately, I end up airing dirty laundry here. I think I would've been much more reluctant to say these things about Greg in a public way without speaking to him first, one-on-one, if he hadn't said he wanted to shut the blog down and didn't care how he hurt other people here. Still, I do recognize how unfair it is to say things about him to everybody like this.
But it still remains true that Greg is the only reason I seriously consider the future of the blog and the Request Post. And I don't mean just because he reported the blog. Even if I started the blog somewhere else, I question whether I want to continue. Not just because of a few problems here and there. Or a few fights and conflicts, etc.
I think it's that prospect of a future with Greg hanging around. You need a certain amount of enthusiasm to blog especially in my situation and I suppose a lot of that is fueled by a good atmosphere. Maybe more than I realized. Because I suspect that Greg would show up eventually either out of malice or obtuseness, it's a consideration that makes blogging a little less appetizing. Or even if Greg stayed away, it would be the knowledge that I had to deliberately exclude someone from my blog, let alone a fellow blogger, that would also bother me a great deal. Either way, it sort of saps your spirit.
I imagine the desire to blog and share music would overcome that feeling, so I don't like to say I don't feel like blogging. I suppose the best case scenario is that things settle down there, Blogger.com doesn't really do much of anything, Greg leaves and is content to stay away from the blog, and the other people come back. I don't really see that happening though, so I suppose that's why I'm not too enthusiastic right now. That and the fact that I just wrote a million words and I'm kinda tired.
And I guess I'm not all that enthusiastic about starting a private blog either. I've got a lot of interesting things I want to do with it that I can't do with a public one, but I'm not as enthusiastic as I should be I guess because I would be excluding so many great people. Well, really more that they wouldn't be interested in joining a private blog. Although a lot of the great people I had in mind responded, a lot of the other people haven't left comments or E-mails so I suspect that it's probably just too much of an extra hassle for them to join. I can totally understand that. It's the same thing that keeps me from joining more forums and private blogs myself.
Of course, I still want to start one. I'm thinking of it more as a cross between a closet and a bulletin board where people can keep in touch or post things they don't want seen elsewhere. Because of the relatively small number of people there, I would guess it wouldn't be very active. Of course, I didn't think this Request Post was going to be very active either, so I guess you never know about these things. Either way, I still intend on creating that Private Blog in addition to this one.
Well, I don't foresee me actually shutting down this blog. It would be a sort of last resort I suppose. I always envisioned the end of the blog would either be me or other people getting bored and drifting away; I would just post something every few months or something. Or I thought I would be attacked out of existence by link-killers, trolls, or Blogger.com. I never imagined that it would implode from the inside through the actions of one person over a long period of time. That's a scenario I never envisioned.
Of course, as far as I'm concerned, I'm not really interested in shutting the blog down. Even if nobody came by and I didn't post anything for a long time, I'd still keep it up. Of course, the question is whether Blogger.com will let me. Or if Greg will let me. I sense we still haven't found the depths of his malice yet. Or you never know what new Hound of Hell has been unleashed by all this turmoil. Ten Greg wannabes could be waiting in the wings. Once people think that's what your blog is about, it's hard to turn it back around.
Of course, on a personal level, it would be nice to stop blogging. I'd finally get more time to surf other people's blogs again. Up until now, that is really the only other reason that would make me want to stop. And even that reason has never made me seriously consider it. Just a fleeting thought every once in a while about how nice it would be to go back to being able to participate in other people's blogs again. I always feel I should catch up on the downloading here first before I start back up on other people's blogs. But I never seem to be able to catch up. In a perverse way, I was almost glad when fewer people were posting things here. I thought I might at least have a chance to get caught up. I'm still working on Request Post #4 (and some random files in #2 & #3) as far as downloading goes! And I figure there's no sense in taunting myself (let alone the sheer time involved) by visiting other people's blogs if I wasn't going to download anything yet. Though I always want to read them just for the entertainment value, I always seem to have so much going on on this blog that I'm never able to get to other ones. You find yourself reading another blog and you look up and two hours has gone by. Even before I started blogging, it was a real struggle to keep up with all those great blogs out there.
But mainly right now, my enthusiasm for blogging is pretty low. I would've certainly posted some music by now if it weren't for all these other things going on. I don't like painting Greg as the bogeyman in this situation especially since conflict is always a two-way street, but it's hard to think of it any other way. If he had not created this atmosphere here with his persistent attitude, first in treating other people in a certain way and then later in refusing to take any responsibility for it, things would've never gotten so bad.
And I occasionally ask myself, 'if I had been here more often could I have stopped that downward slide?' But even after I threatened consequences (i.e. shutting down the Request Post or the blog) if that behavior and attitude continued, Greg still acted that way, drove people away, and things just got worse. So I don't think anything I would've done or said would've ultimately made much of a difference. Once the skunk is on the bus, it's pretty hard to get people back on to have a good time.
Which reminds me of that whole set of comments I made discussing consequences. At one point, Greg & Filmpac had a discussion trying to interpret what I had meant when I made those comments. I realized in reading Greg's reaction to those comments that he had slightly misinterpreted them. And Filmpac had understood them perfectly. His interpretation of what I had said was completely accurate. It was then that I realized that Greg was only choosing to listen to the parts that he wanted to and ignored the parts that applied to him. I did make the comments general to everyone, but perhaps one of my faults in this has been not wanting to single Greg out. Other people seemed to be making those points already and I had hoped that Greg would heed their words and opinions; I didn't feel like piling on him as well. But unfortunately, he chose to ignore everything everyone (including me) was saying to him.
And so you have the situation you see now. I suppose I always have the basic desire to keep blogging, but the prospect of running a blog where so many good people like Filmpac, Isbum, Quinlan, Watson, Bistis6 (and so many other great people I don't want to think about) avoid it like the plague (while Greg's stated desire is that he hopes they shut the blog down) is not a blog that I'm that interested in running.
I hate saying that because it seems somewhat ungrateful to all the great people still here, but when I started this blog, it was always with the hope that exactly those kind of people would visit. But there doesn't seem to be much point in continuing a blog where people like Breton Girl, Mel, Ronnie C., Tony or Sallie (to name just a few) don't want to hang out. That is not a good blog and it certainly means that I've failed as a blogger if it repels such good people.
That is really the main reason I'm not that interested in the blog right now. Greg has driven those people away, driven the good atmosphere away, and with it my desire to blog. Certainly the blog (or the Request Post, for that matter) can always continue without those people. Nobody's indispensable (well, even I don't have to be here all that often). But it's the difference between a blog that survives and a blog that thrives. It's the difference between an okay blog and a good blog. It's the difference between a blog I have to visit because it's mine and a blog I want to visit because I have such a good time.
Those original people who left are the heart and soul of this blog as far as I'm concerned, and while I would always want to see them back, I would never expect them to come back to a place that holds such bad associations in their minds. They should never visit a place that doesn't have a good atmosphere where people actually respect and care enough about the other people to treat them well. And they should never hang out in a place where they can expect to be attacked or insulted by people like Greg. Frankly, if I was a reader of this blog and not the blogger, I would've had exactly the same reaction that those people had. I would have either left or perhaps stuck around, but just not commented. And so I don't blame any of the people who stay away one bit.
I do find it rather disturbing though to constantly read comments, mostly from anonymous people, that 'This blog is dead', etc. Again pompous pronouncements by other people besides me. For one thing, it plays into that misconception that the blog is the Request Post. I've seen some people here even refer to this as a 'Request Blog'. To me, it would be a little like saying because people weren't posting comments in the Trivia Post that 'This Trivia Blog Is Dead', go elsewhere for your trivia. All very silly pronouncements in my mind, but people are perfectly welcome to their opinion.
But it underscores a basic misunderstanding I think people have about the Request Post (and perhaps even the blog). I've noticed various comments from people that seem to suggest in their mind that the Request Post was designed as a vast resource for posting & sharing soundtracks. While it can be that, it is basically whatever the people visit want to make it. This is true regardless of whether one person posts one item per month or 10,000 people post 10,000 items every day. And does anybody see anywhere on the blog where it actually says, 'Soundtracks Request Post', by the way? And of course some of this is my fault. 'Request Post' is actually a misnomer. It quickly became much more than that, but I was reluctant to re-title it. Others have thought of it as a forum. I have always found that very flattering, but that's not entirely accurate either.
It has always been whatever people decide to make it. Otherwise, I would've posted an entire list of rules and regulations and spelled out exactly which soundtracks I wanted people to post and that they all had to be exactly 77.2 minutes long. Otherwise, you must all leave. It can be posted music, it can be discussion, it can be anything anyone wants. Everyone just assumed what they wanted to about it because they saw it at any given moment and imagined it was that. Original readers saw it as a friendly party and so it was one for a very long time. Greg saw it as a Request Post where it was okay to treat other people badly and as a billboard for his blog so that's what it eventually became. Trollers and spammers saw it as a playground since music wasn't being posted and then when they got tired, declared it was 'dead'. Everybody created their own realities.
Unfortunately, most other people could not live in Greg's reality and so that's why you see he is the one constant there. He comes back regardless of harassment, pleas, or questions. He made it what he wanted it to be. And now he wants me to protect his particular castle in the sky from attacks. And my particular reality is that I see it as either a fun party or just a regular comment section that people occasionally visit. The beauty of that system is that I don't force you to live in my reality. You make it as you go. And I'm just as, well, satisfied is not the right word, but acclimated to the idea of it being a post where somebody wanders in once a month and says something. That's what I thought it was going to be when it started. While of course, I would prefer it to be what it once was, I'm not desperately trying to return it to its former glory either. I'm okay with it being some place where you see a comment once-a-month. The only thing I really care about is that those good people who were left high and dry by all the conflict had some good place to hang out. Whether it's here or some place else is fine by me.
On a personal level, I would prefer it to be here just because it's easier and more likely that I would get time to hang out with them if they were here. I know that sounds ridiculous, but in practical terms that ends up being true. Just the extra steps involved in surfing another location make it harder for me with the limited amount of time (and library computer resources) I have online to surf (and being such a slow reader) that the more that happens here, the less I end up spending in other places. For instance, I don't think I've been to forums (that I was a member of) in about 7 or 8 months (I'm not even sure I'm still a member!). It's sorta all I can do just to read my own blog! And that would be the only reason I would prefer people to hang out here, but otherwise I am mainly bothered by the fact that good people might be harassed here or not have a good atmosphere to hang out in.
Unfortunately, it seems that even usually good and agreeable anonymous people here feel the need to create a bad atmosphere. [Update: I've actually seen the comment being made that it was okay to mess around here since nobody was posting any music anyway so what difference did it make? It's sad to think that people actually need music posted in order for them not to create problems. I suspect that this was from an 'anonymous' person (well, really not entirely anonymous) who really hasn't read this blog much. If I haven't set the proper tone here with the stuff I write or post than I'm not sure what more I can do. I shouldn't have to hold people's hands and hit them over the knuckles with a ruler to keep them civilized and to treat others with respect. Again, not the kind of blog I envisioned.]
When I make a private blog, then I'll force people into the mold I want them to conform to and the hoops I want them to jump through. But this blog is not just the Request Post and the Request Post isn't just about posting music, at least in my eyes. It never has been.
So when good people go and bad people stay, they determine what the blog will be. I cannot force good people to inhabit the blog anymore than I can force a smile on your face or tell you what thoughts to think. I can try and set an example which is what I've tried to do with things I've written on the blog and music that I've posted. It is up to people whether they choose to ignore that example or not. And apparently a lot of people have. And the ones who haven't have wisely stayed away.
Greg, I'm afraid may never understand this. He would like me to be the Mussolini of this particular blog and make the trains run on time so that he can stay here indefinitely. No matter how many other people he drives away. Then when people get upset and take it too far, he wants to stay and return no matter how much he feels harassed. He wants me to provide a comfortable atmosphere here for him despite the fact that he ruined it for so many others here including myself.
And to be honest, it pains me to say that because I genuinely do not want to hurt Greg's feelings. He hasn't deserved the level and methods of attacks hurled at him and I would hate to see my comments here fuel another round of attacks on him. I wish if people disagreed with him they would do it in a more reasoned way (no matter how futile that may be) and put aside the four-letter words, personal attacks, spamming, and threats. But still, I do understand that he continues to bring these things on himself and refuses to even take a moment to consider whether he initiated all of this. When you start a snowball and it crushes you, you can't really complain too loudly.
And it disturbs me to see other people blame those people who left (or the ones who remain) who have a problem with Greg. Like I said before, I think it's because they don't understand the problem with Greg's behavior fully. When you've only visited the blog since he's been here, you think that this is what the blog is about. The other people just look like whiners or petty people who can't leave these childish squabbles behind them. The irony is that they were some of the most mature, sedate people here. That's why they left. They didn't really need to be exposed to that childish attitude of Greg's. It wasn't just a case of a few people who had a personality conflict with Greg. It was a case of a large number of people not liking how he had ruined the atmosphere of the blog. Is someone childish for not liking someone who keeps setting off stink bombs in someone else's house and then refuses to take responsibility for it?
Nobody says you have to be perfect to visit and comment here. I don't expect readers who come here to be Stepford people or anything; it's not a cult where I expect everybody to smile and get along in perfect harmony one-hundred percent of the time. It would be pretty boring if they did. But people did get along here and understood how to act and behave before Greg got here. So I don't think it's unreasonable to think that people can visit here in harmony without bad feeling since they were able to do it before. The one element that makes that hard, if not impossible, is Greg. It's not the spam and trolling because it wouldn't be here without Greg. Are the trolls and spammers saying nasty things about me or the blog? Well, one person did say he thought I might be Greg in disguise. I didn't really appreciate that. But other than that, 99.9% of the trouble is not directly aimed at the blog, but at Greg and the trouble he caused. In my book, that means the trolls and spammers are not the cause of the trouble.
True, they have said incredibly nasty things about Greg. It's a severe overreaction to his behavior and I hate some of these things I'm reading and hearing about. But his continued presence seems to be fueling that hatred. And it's his dogged determination to ignore everything everybody says unless he wants to attack or refute it (often in a hostile way) that continues to fuel that hatred. And while I deplore the tactics and language that some people are using, and even my defenders say things to Greg that make me cringe, I can certainly understand the anger behind it. He encourages it with his reactions and continued behavior.
I think Greg imagines that staying quiet for a while or not pissing people off is as good as an apology or getting along with other people. The trouble with that is they are never sure if you're gone for good, so they continue to say bad things. You never state that you are leaving and never coming back, so they continue to harass you in absentia. And merely saying nothing or keeping your comments neutral and posting a link is not the same as good fellowship or camaraderie. Posting links while not saying anything obnoxious isn't mending fences and proving that you're being good. I know in your mind that it is a show of good faith and I do believe you deserve credit for that effort, but it is so subtle that it's a hard thing to notice amidst the din. And there is so much history of your abusive behavior that it is hard for people to forget or ignore it. I think you imagine that just because it happened a few months ago, people should just drop it and move on, but if somebody had pissed all over your party for three months, would you just move on? Now those aren't the people causing all of these trolling problems, but they're people who resent your past actions and current reactions.
It's a little like someone who starts a war and then says 'let's forget how we all got into it, let's just focus on what we're going to do about it now.' Well, that's all well and good unless the person who started the war is still in charge. If they're still around to make the same mistakes and provoke the same problems, then it does make a difference what happened in the past and how we got to this situation you see now.
That's what appears to be behind all this anger. And despite the fact that I tell people not to retaliate against Greg and to be civil in their disagreements with him, they still continue to do it anyway. It's a train that Greg set in motion and he expects me to stop it for him.
The sad fact is that you can never legislate people's attitudes. You can have all the rules in the world, but there's nothing that says anybody has to follow them. You can delete all the comments you want. You can screen out every offensive idea and thought if you so wish, but it never solves the real problem. The genesis of the hatred will always be there regardless of how you ignore it with comment moderation or insist on drowning out other offensive voices. You can't make people treat other people with respect in a blogging world. By either Greg or his attackers. It is this sad reminder of that fact which has probably turned off so many people.
As long as Greg (or anybody else) continues to go places and demonstrates to people that it's acceptable to ignore people's irritation (as he ironically claims I have done to him), to demean and belittle people who are just trying to enjoy themselves and other people's company, and to act like they own the blogs they visit (except when it comes time to take responsibility for it), then I suppose that atmosphere will always be ruined.
Perhaps the blog was a victim of its own success. Maybe if the blog had not become as popular as it did (for whatever that's worth), the odds would be against the Gregs of the blogosphere visiting. Or perhaps it was bound to happen no matter what. I just didn't think it was going to happen so soon. I thought some attacks or trolling might happen 6 or 7 months from now, but I didn't think it was going to be this soon.
Or perhaps I should've put a big sign over the blog saying, 'No obnoxious people allowed'. I thought 'Enjoy and be kind' sort of took care of that, but maybe the Gregs of this world can't read the small print. Maybe driving a lot of people away is acceptable in their world view. Maybe ignoring what dozens of other people say and attacking them as they leave and following them wherever they go is a good thing in that particular universe. I don't know.
I just know that I'll have to wait to see what the future brings. Some things are out of your control. Hate to leave this essay on such an ambiguous note, but sometimes as much as we hate it, we just can't control what other people do or how they behave. Even if I kept the blog going, I don't know what Greg or the spammers or the trolls are going to do.
I can only hope that we've all learned something from this. Even in the smallest things (which I consider this weird turmoil or even the fate of this blog to be), I think we can always learn something. And gaining wisdom doesn't seem a small thing at all.
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[Addendum: And after catching up on the comments from the last two weeks, I see a lot of people made the same points that I did in this essay (even citing some of the same examples and quotes). I almost feel like I could've saved myself the trouble. And considering that Greg has managed to largely ignore any of the valid points people were trying to make, I suspect he will do the same thing here. He will focus on a few things I said and react angrily, cherry-pick the ones he considers to support his positions, and ignore everything else I was trying to say, if the pattern holds up.
I keep hoping for the best in Greg and that perhaps he will take in some of what people have said to him to reconsider his behavior and attitude, but at this point, I don't hold out much hope. And I say that not for the benefit of anybody else (anybody who is truly offended by Greg has generally left) or myself (I can't really do much more than ask him to leave which I have done), but I truly say that because I believe Greg does more damage to himself than anyone else by refusing to pay any attention to people. He creates this intense hatred around him and builds this huge defensive reaction (which I think we can all relate to when people are saying things about us), but he only ends up hurting himself the most. The only people who are willing to put up with his behavior now are people who don't know him that well, people who don't visit that often, or people who expect a certain amount of bad attitude online.
But I honestly lament for Greg because I still believe after all this time he doesn't understand why people hate him so intensely. When you demean and disrespect other people for so long, drive them away, and then a lot of other people see this and start trolling you, you can't just refer to it as harassment and terrorism without accepting some responsibility for what triggered it in the first place. It wasn't simply spontaneous hatred generated from nothing. It sprang entirely out of your attitude and behavior. That's something that's hard to take back no matter how you act now. The damage was already done and you continued to exacerbate it with your continued outbursts, refusal to accept other people's feelings and reactions, and your periodic anger and hostility.
But I suspect this will fuel your anger even more and for that I am sorry. But I am mainly sorry that it seems likely that you will probably be the focus of attacks wherever you go because people now know what kind of person you were here. And I would again urge people to stop attacking Greg in that vicious and personal way (i.e., setting up pages to harass him, calling him a sex offender, etc.), since it is way out of line and really counter-productive. But again I understand the frustration that people have for Greg and frankly, he started this fire and I'm not sure it's that easy to put out.
I noticed Greg citing two people whom he felt agreed with him and basically ignored the 40 or 50 other people who didn't. Now, just because you're in the minority doesn't necessarily mean you're wrong, but you have to ask yourself that if you can only cite 2 other people that you felt were on your side (and frankly, that's not exactly what they said....you ignored the entirety of their comments) out of the dozens of other people, maybe there's something wrong with this picture.
And I've read a few of the more recent comments by a few other people who blamed me for not moderating these harassing comments more. And while I accept any fault for my absences, anybody's who's visited for any length of time on the blog knows how this works and I suspect that these feelings were held by people who haven't been here that long otherwise I don't think they would be quite so generous to Greg. Certainly he doesn't deserve this level of attack, but neither is he the innocent victim here either. It probably only looks that way if you've only read the most recent Request Posts and nothing else. Unless you can say that you've been here from the beginning, I think it's much harder to take that stance without all the facts and nuances.
My continual presence was never necessary until Greg showed up here. He brought all of this down on himself and the blog and people only see the aftermath and think it's the chaotic atmosphere of the blog that is the problem. Well, it's funny how none of that existed for the first nine months the blog was up despite the fact that it had a lot of traffic before. It only existed after Greg got here. And until you can tell me that you've read most of the comments in the history of this blog (even some of the ones deleted by Greg), then I don't think you can claim to have the full picture of the situation.
That, again, is the reason I wrote this. Because nobody really has time to read all of these things unless they really want to or unless they're the blogger (two categories I luckily happen to fall into), and so I wanted to try to make people understand why the blog is the way that it is now.....and to tell it from the perspective of one who has tracked it from the very beginning.
It is still funny to me to read all these comments by people who declare what the blog is, what the Request Post is, how it isn't what it should be, or what they think should be done with it. It is what it is. It isn't what people imagine it is. I can imagine it to be a peaceful harmonious place where people treat each other with respect, but unless people are willing to do it, all the imagining on my part, all the rules and comment deletion, all the 'moderator' action, won't turn it into that. All you need is one Greg to abuse the system to turn it into crap if he so chooses.
And as I've said many times, I set out to create a certain kind of blog. Any other kind of blog, I'm not that interested in running. It doesn't mean it's bad, it simply means I'm not interested in doing it. Telling me that I must turn off anonymous comments is like telling me I must post nothing but heavy metal and country-western albums in order for this to be a good blog. There's nothing wrong with doing that, but I'm simply not interested in it. Telling me I need to kick people out or delete other people's comments is like telling me I need to keep all my posts short and post something every day. Maybe it would make the blog better, but it would turn it into the kind of blog I'm simply not interested in presiding over. And ultimately, I have to please myself as much as I cherish all the people who visit. I'm not going to change the way I blog or the blog itself to please other people in part because I think it ultimately does a disservice to people who visit anyway.
I don't think I see much point in creating a blog that I'm not interested in. Of course, I have that now, but that is mostly due to the presence of Greg. If he insisted on staying here no matter what, then he creates a situation that is impossible for me since I would be forced to delete his comments or kick him out even more strongly or do other things that would turn this blog into something I don't want anyway. This is the reason I'm not sure if this was his goal in the first place. He doesn't seem to mind that he's driven almost all the people away from the Request Post. So his goals are still a mystery to me. I almost think he would be satisfied if it were just me and him here.
I know for a lot of people (maybe most) who read this, they may still have a hard time understanding my attitude on this. They may think, 'What's the problem? Do 'x', 'y', & 'z' to fix your blog, and that's that. Turn off anonymous comments, do comment moderation, kick Greg out, set up a bunch of rules, post more heavy metal music, etc. What's the problem?'
I think it's especially hard for people to understand if they assume my goal is to have high traffic, or to have a lot of people posting music, or to even have a conflict-free blog (none of which are necessarily my goals). But if I haven't made my goals plain by now, it would be hard to explain any more than I already have.
Also, I think people imagine that what they see happen at other blogs will work here. But until you have a blog that generates hundreds of comments, has Greg visiting for a prolonged period of time, and you've been running a blog for a year or more, then I think it's much harder to make that comparison. There are reasons why those methods may work or at least appear to work at other blogs, but each blog is different. Depending on the type of music posted, the number of people visiting, the kind of people visiting, the number of posts, the volatility of the blog, the amount of time it's been up, etc., conditions are different for each blog. For instance, comment moderation is viable if you intend to be in every day and you get maybe 4 or 5 comments in a single post. But do it for eight months straight with over 4000 comments, and then talk to me about comment moderation. And look at blogs that turn off anonymous comments. They may appear orderly, but then they also have fewer comments. What you're really saying to me is reduce the number of comments you allow and everything will be fine. Sure, I could turn off comments altogether and I would have the most orderly blog in the universe too. And I have seen the most vicious attacks on blogs that had anonymous comments turned off.
Or you can have a very peaceful atmosphere on a blog that has all of those features installed, but part of the reason may be because there's simply less traffic. It's easier to be peaceful when the traffic's low and there isn't one central location to make comments. That's why it appears to work on other blogs because people don't congregate in one spot as the blog continues to post new material. Turning off anonymous comments or deleting the occasional odd random comment works in an environment where you have maybe 10 or 20 comments in a particular section and where people don't gather together. And it appears to work if the blog has less overall traffic. For instance, does Greg's blog appear peaceful because of comment moderation and deletion or is it peaceful simply because fewer people visit it? All things that especially non-bloggers don't take into account. Before I was a blogger, I never thought about any of that stuff. I didn't even know how this stuff worked (and there are still big aspects I don't understand), so I think it is completely understandable that people imagine that if all those methods work elsewhere they should work here too. But as I say, every blog is different.
I suppose I could create the same atmosphere here that Greg has on his blog. Allowing only 1 or 2 comments to be posted and screen everything else out. But would it be the same kind of blog if I did? If I were interested in having that kind of blog, I would've created it that way in the first place. I wouldn't write nearly so much, I wouldn't post compilations that are bound to have a limited appeal, I would post more popular stuff, and I wouldn't have even bothered to put in a Request Post. But I blog the way that I do because that's what interests me. It's also probably why this blog is what I always think of as a 'rinky-dink' blog, but I suppose it's my 'rinky-dink' blog and I like it that way. So as much as it antagonizes people, I suppose I have to do it the way that I want to otherwise I don't think it's good for anybody.
So if that means a thousand people visit or it's just me and Greg here for the rest of eternity (well, I would probably shoot myself before that happened anyway), then I just have to keep blogging in a way that satisfies myself regardless of what people imagine the blog should be. That's all I can really do at the end of the day.]
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[Second Addendum: Wow! I think I wrote that first addendum over two weeks ago! It's amazing how quickly time goes by. I keep thinking I want to come in and then I realize weeks have gone by. I suppose the longer I stay away, the easier it gets. Frankly, there's not much incentive to post anything when most of the good people stay away from the blog. I don't really have much interest in posting things for the benefit of Greg and a bunch of spammers and trolls. I know that's really unfair to all the other good people who may be checking in occasionally to see if anything's changed, but it's not really intentional on my part. I want to come in, but when it comes time to think of working on stuff to post, it gets much harder to put the effort in when you know you've just got Greg and his entourage to look forward to.
It's interesting. I don't blog specifically for the comments, but just knowing that good people are either gone, afraid, or disenchanted to comment really makes it much harder to want to put in the effort.
And I know all those good people who left their E-mail addresses and left really wonderful comments concerning a private blog must be wondering if I ever intend on doing it (assuming anyone still cares), but it's just that I haven't been online long enough to really get the whole thing going (let alone respond to people's kind E-mails). I sincerely apologize for that.
And I haven't had a chance to leave a comment over at Isbum's great new blog either and I've only had a chance to make a quick visit over there only once (and so I hope everything is still going well over there), but knowing that people have a good place to go also makes me less motivated to work on that private blog. I'd almost feel like I was taking something away from his blog if I asked people over to mine, but I know people are able to visit more than one blog, so I know it's kind of silly. But still, that feeling that all those good people have somewhere to hang out makes me less inclined to work too hard on that private blog, I guess. And I don't want to mess anything up for Isbum.
I always wanted to see Isbum or Filmpac or Rocket From Mars start their own blog since they are exactly the kind of people who should have one (great people with great taste in music with great collections and great spirits) and so it makes me gladder than you can know to see Isbum have one. And Isbum is exactly the kind of person who would do something as nice as to start one to help out all those people who wanted to have somewhere good to go. The blogosphere is filled with great and generous people as witnessed by all those great blogs out there, but Isbum (and many of the people over there) are in a special category. (And no, I don't get paid based on the number of times I use the word, 'great'.)
I also keep meaning to respond to all those nice comments people left on the blog in the past several weeks, but there's something simultaneously uplifting and depressing about going through them. I've read them all (well, except for the last couple of week's worth) and people have said some amazingly nice things in the past couple of months. I wanted everyone to know that all the things they said were not ignored by me (even if it seemed that way). Sometimes it's hard to know where to begin especially since so many people have said so many things, but if I have the stamina I intend to respond to them (someday).
There is an amazing backlog of things I want to do when I have the chance to go online and so it's equally amazing how little progress I make. I get a lot done, but there's so many things to check out, respond to, read, and research when I get online that it always seems a losing proposition.
I have used the time away from the blog though to get inspired to do some compilations and to listen to a tiny fraction of my backlog of downloaded music. Yeah, yeah, I know nobody but me cares, but I thought I'd mention it anyway.................]
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[Third addendum: And that's where I stopped writing when I intended to come in and post this behemoth of an essay, but amazingly more than another week has gone by. I really wanted to try and come in before the Tony Awards to post some music, but as much as I hate to admit it, I selfishly stayed home and watched the French Open. I had fully intended to come in and do more stuff online, but I didn't realize the French Open Finals were that weekend, and so I ended up staying home. As attractive as the prospect of coming in to find out what fresh hell I might encounter when I came back to the blog after being away from it for three weeks as I spend hours stuck to a library computer might be, I amazingly ended up not doing it.
And now I see that same imaginative spammer (assuming it's the same one) has taken to cutting and pasting into every comment section (at least the ones I checked....I stopped after about the 5th or 6th one) that no more music was being shared here. Funny, all those posts with music on them must be my imagination or something. Maybe it's just a mirage caused by lack of water (or good sense).
Well, it appears that the spammers (and to a lesser extent trolls) have morphed into not just attacking Greg but now they're attacking the blog directly as well. I wouldn't mind so much if these apparently weren't being made by people who actually seem to be reading the blog and understand what's going on. I find it extremely odd to say the least that people who were supposedly upset by Greg and all the fighting going on decided the way to solve that problem was by spamming and trolling. And after the first several weeks of doing that didn't work, they must've decided it was the right way to go by keeping it up (which, by the way, is the proverbial definition of insanity).
The blog's still here (though Greg seems to be somewhat dormant as far as I can tell) and so what exactly is the purpose of spamming the blog in such an idiotic way? I don't mind so much from the standpoint that given enough time all this person's spam will be gone from the blog so I don't exactly know what he expects to achieve by doing it. Discouraging people from posting comments perhaps? Pretty silly because unless they intend to stay here for the life of the blog, it hardly matters. People will always post comments eventually.
And as they can tell, I still come back even after prolonged absences so unless they really want to be bothered to keep wasting their time spamming, I'll always delete it eventually anyway. Just because people might not want to comment because of it doesn't prevent people from downloading music. And those same people who might be put off from commenting can always go elsewhere to share and post music, so what exactly this particular spammer(s?) hopes to accomplish is really beyond me, but I suppose that's why they have insane asylums. Places where repeat spammers can pick up their mail, I guess. (And posting the phrase 'There is no music being shared here' dozens of times in the comment section of say, a post of a compilation that has over 80 tracks of mystery themes seems well, I hate to use the word again but, idiotic. Almost three hours of non-music, I guess.)
I suppose if the spammer's goal is to get me to shut down the blog, that hardly seems likely because of it. If anything, it would encourage me to keep it open just to keep deleting their comments. If, on the other hand, they wanted me to keep the blog open by spamming me then that would still be a stupid tactic. So, again, doesn't really make much sense. But, still I enjoy commenting on it because it gives me a chance to call somebody stupid without actually feeling too bad about it.
So to sum up, the goal of this spamming is to a) get people to stop posting music? Well, that would make sense if you just did it in the Request Post, but doing it in say, the comment section of the 'The Railway Children' just seems silly (though 'Filmpac' did still manage to generously post music anyway, now that I think about it!), b) get people to stop commenting? Well, after I delete the spam, people will still continue to post comments, so again, silly. And it's not like people post a lot of comments in the older posts anyway, so......still silly, c) annoy Greg because he's annoying? Well, since spamming is more likely to annoy the blogger and other people more than it does Greg, again.........it begins with an 's' and ends in a 'y', d) annoy me and the other people reading it? Well, since the person is apparently upset that music is not being shared here and he either wants to satirize that fact or he wants to warn other people who come here, then annoying me or other people here hardly seems the way to remedy that situation. Again.........well, you fill in the blank, e) get me to turn off anonymous comments? Well, that seems a pretty ridiculous way to do it. Since I haven't done it yet, continuing to do it won't exactly inspire me to do it now. No reason to think it would after such a long time, but of course, I may have to re-think that whole thing since we seem to have such a large percentage of anonymous people who don't have any respect for other people or this blog now, but it still qualifies as silly since they'd have no reason to think I would do it now if I haven't already done it, f) get a rise out of Greg just because it's fun? Well, since it's hardly likely that Greg is going to read the comment section of 'The Railway Children', then that's just.....no, wait, not silly so much as idiotic. Well, really it switches back and forth between being silly, stupid, and idiotic. It's multi-faceted stupidity. Okay, I just enjoy calling the spammer stupid and idiotic. Oh, now I get the appeal. Never mind.
Oh, that was kinda fun repeatedly calling the spammer and/or spammers stupid. But I'd get bored with all the cutting and pasting. I like to call them stupid the old-fashioned way. By typing in the words dozens of times. You know that is kinda fun. That spammer is stupid. That spammer is stupid. That spammer is stupid. (Though sorry to disappoint anyone, but I won't be deleting those last three repetitious spams.)
Well, since I doubt that the spammer will have the mental capabilities to actually make it this far down the post, the fun of calling him stupid and idiotic will just have to be reserved for me and the people who are reading this. And for all those people who read this far down, you can have fun seeing if he actually spams this post. That will be a secret sign between you and me that he is really, really, really stupid. Actually, that's a good rule-of-thumb in general. If you see any spam anywhere on the blog, then that means the spammer is trying to prove to me that he is as stupid as I think he is. Either way, I win. I either get a blog free from spam or after I delete his spam, I get the knowledge and confirmation of just how stupid he is, but I also get a blog free from spam. Really, a win-win situation for me any way you look at it. (I'm perfectly willing to trade the time and effort it takes me to delete his spam for the satisfaction of knowing just how stupid he is.)
I'm having too much fun. I should get back to discussing more serious matters..........Hmmm, can't think of anything actually. Spamming isn't like Greg for instance. I can always easily delete spam but I can't easily give Greg a personality transplant. The same goes for all the other malcontents and trolls who think attacking him is somehow making my blog better, I suppose. It would be nice if they all went to live on a desert island with Greg somewhere, but since that hardly seems likely, I guess I'll just put up with it.
You see, I always have the advantage because I will always continue to do it because I enjoy it. Spammers and trolls do it because they're bored and frustrated about something......until they get bored and frustrated with something else. Then they move on. It's the nature of the beast. You may think it's callous of me not to be more concerned with the problems they cause, but it's simply because I know it's not based on anything permanent. All these things pass. I've seen it a million times.
It's the same thing with people who are against file-sharing. Many of them are much like spammers and trolls. It can be about conviction (and it's not like I don't agree with some of their points), but the majority of people I have ever seen who rail against it on the web are less about the conviction of the wrongness of it so much as they are about venting anger and spewing hatred. Since it's not based on conviction so much as hatred, it's not as troubling. And the reason I say that is because it's like when VCR's became more affordable in the 1980's. Movie studios and television executives railed against it and tried to stop it not out of a true conviction that it was wrong, but because they were just afraid of some short-term loss of profits. They were afraid that people would never buy a video cassette or pay to see a movie in a theater because they could violate copyright by taping things off of television for free. But even at the time it seemed silly because it was like watching blacksmiths rail against automobiles or the telegraph companies trying to suppress telephones. As much as you think it hurts business, you can never make the technology go away as much as you would want it to.
But just like file-sharing, it's a reality that won't go away. Sure some people share music because they want to thumb their noses at the companies, because they want to get away with something forbidden, or because they just want to 'steal' stuff as some critics like to think of it (I suspect a lot of those people are the ones left reading this blog unfortunately). I imagine when commerical radio came out some people thought of it as stealing too. But most bloggers I've encountered do it because they want to share music that they like with others. There are some blogs I've seen that seem to have a 'stick-it-to-the-man' attitude, but it's clear that the majority of bloggers in the circle that we inhabit are more interested in sharing. It's based on conviction and not simply 'thievery'. If music blogs and p2p networks were to disappear tomorrow, people would still be file-sharing through E-mail, forums, usenet, newsgroups, et al. That's not because the majority of the people are committed to 'stealing' as a conviction or a principle, but it's because they have a basic desire to share their love of music. And they know realistically that they are never going to buy all the things they want. We would be trading tapes and CD-R's if mp3's didn't exist. It's a reality that isn't going away anytime soon and just like VCR's, you can't wish it away, you can only change your business model, adjust and adapt, and use it to encourage people's greater love of music like they did with film and a Blockbuster on every corner or later a Netflix in every mailbox.
I think anybody who's been reading this blog for a while pretty clearly realizes I'm not trying to distribute these files to the largest possible audience. I think loyal readers know I'm not trying to put Amazon.com or Walmart out of business. And anybody who's actually read the blog knows I advocate people buying the stuff they enjoy as well. The only people who complain about such things are people who don't actually 'read' this blog. They just want to vent anger in much the same way that spammers and trolls do. And in the same way they don't do much more than inspire more hatred and anger. Really productive stuff.
The reality is that even though this blog is publicly available and searchable, the thing you pretty quickly learn as a blogger is that even though you imagine that you're making something available to the whole world, finding something in the blogosphere is like looking at a drop of water in the Pacific Ocean. It's there for everyone to see, but discerning it is another matter. Sometimes people have looked for things on this blog that they knew were here and they still couldn't find them. So making these things available on blogs is not like freely handing them out on a street corner to everyone who walks by. In reality a very small number of people frequent any one individual blog. I think the real problem lies in the sheer volume of material available. In the past, when people had the desire to listen to something that they wanted to own and listen to many times, they would go and pay for an outrageously priced CD (well, in the old days when music lovers were more satisfied, they would actually pay for a more moderately priced LP, but that's a whole other discussion). Now, when they have a desire to listen to something, they have 500 albums to choose from. It's not any one individual download that's the problem, it's the fact that they simply don't have time to listen to everything and all that desire for music is being oversaturated and over-satisfied (if that's possible). That's where the real threat lies, I think, but it's not born out of thieving file-sharers, but the technology and the power of networking that the internet provides. That's not going away anytime soon.
And so just as it is with those who complain about file-sharing or those who abuse file-sharing, trolls and spammers are like the people without conviction. They are the people who just want to grab some music because it's free and see how much they can get away with. I guess that's why I'm not as bothered by these recent attacks (as perhaps I should be). Even if the blog stopped tomorrow, I'd still be sharing music with someone somewhere not because I'm just trying to grab everything in sight that's free and trying to give away everything to everyone. It's not based on some fleeting desire to 'steal' as some people might think just as conversely, spamming is not based on anything of real substance. Cutting and pasting the same phrase over and over again hardly poses a real threat because it's not exactly based on a reasoned argument. It's based on someobdy's ability to use 'Control-c' on their keyboard. I'm not entirely sure, but I think I could get a monkey to do that. Monkeys can be pretty annoying if they want to be, but unless this were the Planet of the Apes, I'm not going to be too bothered by it.
The thing I will always take away from my blogging experience won't be some annoying conflicts, childish spamming, or bad blood. The thing I will take away will be the people I met, their generosity and insight, the music they shared with me, and the enjoyment I got from their enjoyment. All this turmoil, tumult and attack is based on quicksand, but the other stuff is lasting. I will always be glad I met people like Isbum & Rocket From Mars, Filmpac & Mel, Sallie & Breton Girl, Timbo & JazzHollister, Mickey & (all the) Tony(s), Quinlan & Watson, Jordan & J.R., Bistis6 & Ronnie C., Thingmaker & Honored General, Detective Mitchell & Blofeld's Cat, The Amazing Mumford & Cedric, Vince & First Moon, Paulz & Potsdamerplatz, Mr. T & (all the) Scoredaddy's, Alex & Ruggo, Attax & 7 Black Notes, Ill Folks & Lazar, Xtabay & Esther, Telstar Ted & Phelpster, MisterLesterKeen & Meester Music, Loungetracks & Sansgarantie, John Hartigan & Rangeraver, Scoreman & IndyB007, Maimone Digital & Quidtum, 'D' & Thomas, JAMK & Flunkyrat, Robotgunfighter & Vinnie Rattolle, Number06 & Bongolong, Onzichtbaredj & Pastor McPurvis, Soundsational in all his guises, Dave & Jean, Jason & Muad'Dib, Alfrodo & Don Roberto, and all the other wonderful individuals and bloggers I've met along the way that my addled brain is having trouble coming up with right now. And all the great bloggers I never met or got to know too well, but loved their blogs. Too many wonderful people and too much wonderful music to mention along the way, that's for certain.
That far outweighs any recent nastiness.
Well, despite all this babbling I seem to be doing, I hope it's clear in all that clutter that at least as far as I'm concerned I have no intention of shutting down the blog. Blogger.com seems to have taken the sensible approach to their response to Greg's complaints. While I don't think they like harassing attacks any more than I do, I think they realize that censorship and shutting down the blog isn't the answer. Well, it never really was the answer, when you think about it. Deleting people's comments or getting rid of the blog isn't really going to get rid of the anger people felt (and feel) toward Greg. It's just not that simple. And as it has always been, the answer really lies in Greg's hands. If he just thought to once apologize or reach out to some of these people, most of that anger would've deflated and he could've avoided all of this. But he chose to do it his own way. (As I suppose we all must.)
And again, in case it wasn't clear, I again officially ask Greg to leave the blog and not come back. I don't take any pleasure in that. (If I did, I suppose I'd be as bad as the trolls & the spammer.) I don't like 'banning' people, particularly a fellow blogger. Believe me, it gives me no great joy. But he has single-handedly alienated most of the people who came here either directly or indirectly through his behavior and attitude and the extreme ire he provokes, so I don't really see that I have any choice as he regrettably is an extreme irritant to people. And as I said before, I would normally never kick someone out for just being who they are, but he has so clearly demonstrated that he wanted to shut this blog down, that he didn't care anything about the other people here, that he seems determined to bother other people wherever they may go, and this all constitutes intent on his part. That isn't just being who he is, but it goes far beyond just being annoying.
Some of it, I think, was prompted by feeling persecuted by other people and feeling that he was being misunderstood, but with the exception of some attempts at restraint and neutrality, he has shown at every step of the way an unwillingness to acknowledge, an inability to make amends or peace, a desire for destruction, hostility and provocation, and a general disregard and disrespect for other people here (beyond the cursory fulfillment of some requests and information). I'm not trying to say that Greg is some terrible, terrible person, but despite the excessive number of chances he's been given to fix this problem himself, he has chosen to do things that have only made the situations worse. His instincts as far as I can tell have never led to things getting better, only worse. Every outburst, every denial, every insult, every demeaning remark, every refusal of the facts or ignoring of people's reactions, responses, and feelings, all lead him to exacerbate every problem, not fix it. You can't incite hatred here and then come back and post links to new entries at your blog. It just doesn't work that way when you're dealing with human beings. You can't ignore the fact that they're outraged (well, except for the times you lash out) and advertise new shares at your blog and expect that it's all okay.
And again, who specifically says they want to shut your 'goddamn' blog down and keep coming back and doing and saying the things that Greg does? Does it makes sense to anyone that you would want to advertise your blog on one that you would like to see shut down? How many reports to Blogger.com do you have to make before it means you're attacking this blog? And if Greg still naively thinks that reporting harassment and reporting the blog are two separate things, it just goes to prove that he is being deliberately disingenuous. He wants to make that distinction, but then says that he hopes they shut down the blog.
Which reminds me. I was catching up on the last three plus weeks of comments in the Request Post and noticed more exchanges between Greg and the trolls such as 'Khan'. At first, just a few of the later comments caught my eye and I thought it was more mindless trolling, but as I backtracked the comments to when they started I noticed 'Khan' giving a reason for the trolling that I found interesting. He said he was simply doing it because he was frustrated about Greg and had no other outlet for it. Greg wasn't allowing any sort of dissenting comments at his own blog and apparently this was one of the only places 'Khan' could do it. It did give me greater insight into why trolls (at least some of them) were doing it. They were frustrated and had nowhere else to do it (unfortunately, as most trolling does, it devolved from valid points to mindless and annoying attacks on the blog by 'Khan', et al. I know he probably doesn't see it that way, but every troublemaking move on Greg is a knife in the heart of the blog.). They thought it was acceptable here presumably because very few people except Greg were 'sharing' music here (if you can call advertising his own blog and providing links by other people as sharing music). I suppose from their perspectives everybody (including me) had more-or-less abandoned the blog and that's why it was acceptable to troll in great quantities. Of course, they were doing it even when there was a lot of activity before, but I assume it was because of the outrage they felt from Greg still being here and so many good people having left.
Of course, the thing they don't seem to realize is that it does nothing but attack my blog. But they may not care about that either I suppose. They're bothered by Greg and his attitude, but they don't mind attacking my blog. Truly odd. Not as odd as Greg's behavior, but still odd.
Or they may have misinterpreted my reactions as passivity and acceptance rather than it simply being the different time-frame that it was. It's understandable I suppose. For many people who visited in the past, they might check in every one, two or three days so in a month that might represent 10 to 30 or more visits in a month. From my perspective, I'm able to come in sometimes only once or twice a week or what has happened lately, once every two or three weeks, that represents anywhere from 2 to 8 visits a month. Some (or maybe most) people might not understand why it would take me a long time to respond if they're coming in 30 times a month and I'm coming in 4 times a month. But each visit for me represents a huge backlog of things I need to do online in addition to all the things I want to do on the blog. And so catching up on hundreds of comments and acting on them is not the easiest thing in the world to do. In fact, every time I came in some new development would occur that would make me re-think my response. (Now, that's not complaining so much as explaining, but you get the idea.)
In fact, even now, the fact that so much spamming and trolling has been going on has made me reconsider what I was going to do concerning anonymous comments. I alluded to that change of heart in my last set of comments in the Request Post. I was adamantly opposed to turning off anonymous comments, but so much spamming and trolling that now not only seems directed at Greg, but the blog too (robotically putting 'There is no music being shared here' in all the comment sections is a big factor in my reconsideration) makes me think that too many evil people are hanging out here now. Not that turning off anonymous comments will really do anything to solve that, but at least I can live in denial and ignore it by turning off anonymous comments. Of course, if I do that I feel like I'm moving to the dark side along with Greg.
It reminds me of a trip I took to Singapore once. Beautiful country. It's a little like an adult Disneyland. The streets are impeccably clean and everything is orderly and beautiful. Of course, at the time I went there the president (? - I can't remember if they have a president or not) had the editor of a newspaper critical to him jailed. And I remember being told that if I had any chewing gum, I had better keep it in my luggage. Which at the time I thought was strange and inconvenient (especially since I had a pack of gum in my pocket at the time). If you didn't, you were subject to heavy fines (I think back then it was something like $500) and if I remember right, possibly jail. Their stated reason was that they wanted to keep the streets and subways clean. They didn't want gum mucking up the doors to the subways, etc.
So while I enjoyed the beauty and order of Singapore, I knew that facade came with a heavy price. (And some years later, they had that whole caning incident with the American teenager spraying graffiti. It was kind of disturbing that some people in America were talking about how we should do that here.) Hard choice though. I could have clean streets and repression, or gum on the sidewalks and freedom. I could turn off anonymous comments, become like Greg, and keep my subways free of the gummy mess of trolls and spam or I could opt for what I used to have. Still, I am considering turning over to the dark side and turning off anonymous comments.
It does seem as if the trolls and spammers want me to do it as much as the good people do. Frankly, it's not really the type of blog I want to run, but I think if people like Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket, Mel, Breton Girl, etc. asked me to, I would do it. I would not be happy about changing my blog into something that I wouldn't prefer and I wouldn't make the change to improve the blog or anything, but I think I might do it specifically because good friends asked me to. Because if it means that much to them, it means that much to me. But now that I think about it, since they don't really visit anymore it's sort of a moot point. Actually, maybe that does save me the moral dilemma of having to decide. Well, I guess Greg driving away most of the good people actually has its advantages.
Then I guess it would be up to the trolls and spammers. If they asked me nicely to turn off anonymous comments, I suppose I would turn it off just as a favor to them since they're the only ones who hang out here anymore. Yeah, I'll be expecting those requests real soon.
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Oh, great. I just spent the last half-hour responding to one of Greg's comments and then I realized it was one of his imitators. I missed the first part of the comment that made it clear that it was satire. Frankly, it's getting hard to tell his bizarre rants from other bizarre rants. Well, there goes 10 really good paragraphs down the drain that I just had to delete. All that righteous indignation on my part and it was all wasted on one of his imitators. Oh, well. (Too bad too. There was some good writing in there.)
Well, it should at least again remind people that you don't have to be anonymous to cause trouble. (As if Greg hasn't proved that already).
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And here's another comment by 'Khan' in the Request Post that was kind of interesting:
'No one on this blog posts music except Greg who posts crapola with dialog and sound effects. So why not tear the place down. What have we to loose anymore? This blog died long ago. The only reason to come here is to listen to the babble.
You love it and you know it. Or else why come here? When was the last time anyone posted so much as one song? This blog is about babble and has been for some time now.
You all come here to listen to me and laugh at my humorous commentary. Admit it.
No one is going to post music here while Greg is here. Since he wont leave Nomw1 or his proxy must regulate this blog.
That is the only solution. No one is going to share anything while Greg is here.
Khan.'
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Well, if that arrogance doesn't rival Greg's I'm not sure what does. Greg doesn't own this blog, but I suppose now Khan does. Strange how there are literally hundreds of blogs where someone hasn't posted anything for a while and where there is no music being posted in a comment section, but Khan feels it's his God-given right to tear this blog down since he considers it dead. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but neither of you really needs to be here if you don't want to be. Neither of you has obviously actually ever read this blog, otherwise you would know what it was about. And both of you have the attitude that the Request Post is just about posting music. The people who left really knew what it was about. It wasn't a place to hang out and make trouble just because you feel like it or because I'm not here. (And I hate to break it to you, but I've heard commentary that was more humorous.)
Having said that and not to be ungrateful, I really do appreciate the fact that you seem to have my back and I do agree with you that nobody is likely to share music while Greg is here (or while his imitators pretend to be him......or while trolls continue to 'tear the place down'......or while spammers continue to spam even after I delete it). If you don't want to be accused of being as obtuse as Greg though, then perhaps you should consider that fact before you declare this or any other blog dead and consider it yours to do with as you please. I find that attitude as insufferable as Greg's frankly, though I don't like saying it to someone that I feel is basically on my and the blog's side. But really, how much could you have really liked this blog if you take that attitude? How much do the spammers like it? Are these really people who've enjoyed the blog, got the spirit I tried to have about it, read the archives or shared music with a good attitude like the people who left or are these just malcontents who want to tear something down because they're bored or dissatisfied? Do you think harassing Greg really solves anything or makes the atmosphere worse? It's like someone who puts up graffiti in a bad neighborhood. If you're tired of the neighborhood being bad, don't take the attitude that 'we have nothing to lose' by making it worse. That's just stupid. If you don't like Greg being here, do as the others did and stay away for the time being. Or try to improve things. Otherwise you're just attacking the blog and you're no different from Greg.
Even though I'm as partisan as the next person, I frankly get a little sick of all of this polarization. People just like starting wars because they enjoy taking sides, I think. 'I'm bored. Let's start a flame war somewhere.' It's not just about sharing music and it's not just about everyone getting along and not hurting each other's feelings. If it were it would be pretty boring. We'd get a lot of music and nobody would ever bother anyone else, but again, I could get a bunch of robots to do that. I like the fact that people are passionate enough to get angry at what Greg has done (or even if they're mad at me, at least it shows they're engaged). But causing trouble for the sake of causing trouble, or going over the top in harassing even Greg is not really about outrage anymore, it's about boredom. It's about wanting to attack something because you don't like it, but you can't be constructive about it. Or you have some time to kill between surfing other blogs. The truly constructive people either left or have tried to reason with Greg (as hopeless as that might be) or have tried to continue to share music and treat other people with respect. Trolling and spamming really doesn't do any of those things. Is it likely to make Greg listen or is just a way to satisfy some childish desire?
I don't mind pointed satire (in fact, I like it), but to claim that people only come here to read your 'humorous commentary' is about as arrogant as anything I've ever read from Greg.
You know, amazingly, as hard as it is to believe, I suspect there are actually a few blogs out there that don't ever post music in their comment sections. But the trolls and spammers are upset that 10,000 items aren't being constantly posted here. What exactly does that say? Does that imply that someone is glad to have any music posted by someone at all or does that say that they're incredibly greedy because they're not getting a steady stream of generous people to give them stuff? 'We're upset that no music's being posted here!' Well, as idiotic as Greg may be, at least the idea of posting something as opposed to spamming or trolling about not posting it makes more sense to me. But maybe that's just me.
Harassment isn't the same as moderation. Trolling isn't the same as cordiality. If people were truly upset about Greg's bad behavior, why mirror it? To teach him a lesson? Obviously, if it hasn't worked the first 1000 times you did it, it's probably not going to penetrate the first several layers of cement. To improve the atmosphere on the blog? Obviously not. To get people to share music again? Obviously not. To vent frustration about what he did to the blog? Well, all of us who don't have cement up there got it the first 1000 times you did it. To attack the blog because you're bored? Bingo! I think I figured it out.
Which isn't to say I don't appreciate the outrage people have (especially on my behalf). I do more than you can know. And I actually liked what 'Khan' and 'Greg's #1 Fan' had to say initially. But it quickly devolved into repetitious harassment (of him and the blog) and became a lot less interesting (and frankly not the humorous funfest you imagine).
I make the main part of the blog what it is, but the thing people tend to forget is that they make the comment sections what they are. They are only as good as the people who come here. And because this is the only place the trolls feel is a good place to attack Greg then they like to hang out here and make it what they want. If that isn't a Greg-like attitude I don't know what is. Perhaps instead of fighting fire with fire, you tried fighting fire with water once in a while? If you don't like a bad attitude, fight it with a good attitude instead. That's what a lot of the people who went to Isbum's place did, I suspect. They didn't stay over here and cause trouble. Or if they did comment over here like Filmpac or Breton Girl do occasionally, they try to do it in a civilized or reasonable way. They may get mad from time to time and engage Greg in some argument, but not for long and not to hurt the blog. They don't sit around declaring it 'dead' and make it worse. They actually share some music (albeit elsewhere). And before they left, they tried to make it good here for as long as they could stand it. That's constructive.
For the majority of the life of this blog, it didn't need me to come in every day in order to have a good atmosphere. That was determined by the people who came here and the comments they made (beyond the atmosphere I tried to instill in the main part of the blog). But instead of people being content with Greg being the only bad one here, they decided to jump on the Greg bandwagon and really make the atmosphere terrible. They weren't content that Greg be the only one. They wanted to clone Greg and reproduce his bad attitude all over the blog. Again, I hate to break it to anybody, but that's not about me stopping them or deleting their comments. That's about them.
This isn't about them being a flood and me being the dam that stops it. This is not a natural disaster, but a man-made one created by Greg and then helped by the trolls and spammers. But it is like terrorism. Greg was the first hijacker and just like with hijackers once you create that atmosphere, it's hard to ever return to a time when you don't need metal detectors and X-ray machines. Everybody wants me to install security to prevent hijackers like Greg and the trolls, but everybody knows the real solution to terrorism isn't to hunt down all the terrorists, install airtight security, or profile everybody who comes along. You can do all those things as a temporary stopgap, but the real solution is to create an environment where people don't feel the need to become terrorists. You help to create a good atmosphere and drive out or ignore the nasty people. And the few radical nuts left (like Greg) will become isolated. The trolls and spammers are like jihadists who have followed in Greg's footsteps. They think they're attacking Greg, but they're really just attacking the airport.
To me, the Request Post was always about the camaraderie of sharing the music, not just about posting music. And that was ruined by Greg (and he continues to try and ruin it wherever he goes by going places he's not welcome). He never understood that, but it's something the trolls and spammers never got either. Otherwise they wouldn't try to make it worse. They thought it was just about posting music too and so they were upset when it stopped. Except it never occurred to them that they could go to plenty of other places to share music. Or maybe they didn't want to share music? Maybe they just wanted to take music? Well, there are plenty of places to do that too. No, what they really wanted to do was hang out here and cause trouble. And they used Greg as an excuse. Initially, it was valid to harass him to some extent after he drove so many people away (or at least lambaste him for a while), but then it just became sport to people and that has nothing to do with anger OR the sharing of music that they were supposedly so upset about in the first place. And just like Greg, it's something that none of them ever got. They never got the spirit of this blog, of me, of the Request Post, or of the other people who left.
But again I don't expect the spammer to actually read this (considering he cuts and pastes, I'm not entirely sure he can actually read) since he won't bother to read anything that doesn't have music attached to it or isn't less than two sentences long, and I only hold out marginally more hope that trolls will read this (since I sense they actually do read a few things along the way), but I suppose this is really to let other people know where I stand on this.
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Well, I didn't intend to write such a long third addendum, but as usual, you can tell I had a lot on my mind. On more practical matters, I've thought about various things I could do about the problems on the blog. In my opinion, as I've said before, I firmly believe that almost all the other trolling and spamming would disappear or at least diminish if it weren't for the fact that Greg continues to come back. And while I remember reading some exchange between Greg and 'Khan' in the Request Post about how it was clear from the two main posts I left at the top of the blog that Greg was not welcome here, 'Khan' did slightly misinterpret that (though I appreciated the fact that he was nice enough to point that out to Greg and defend me). 'Khan' rightly understood that the tone of those posts was one of disgust with Greg (though Greg didn't seem to understand that), but I didn't officially say I was banning Greg (though that may be why he assumed it was okay to stay here, but of course, that didn't stop him from showing up at ScoreBaby Annex or Isbum's place).
As I explained earlier, it's not something I do lightly and was still considering the situation and not going to make that determination until I had read what prompted Greg's reporting of the blog. But also in the exchange between 'Khan' and Greg, Greg reiterated the complaint about how I wasn't around to protect him from the attacks. Another supreme irony (Greg really seems full of them). He didn't realize that if I did come back to 'protect' him it would simply be to kick him out. That's part of the reason I wasn't entirely enthusiastic about rushing back here and posting this essay. I tried to keep up with the comments and consider other options, but he took that to be apathy, unwillingness, or inability to protect him. So incredibly funny, I have to stop myself from laughing about it actually. He didn't realize that that prolonged absence was really for his benefit. Otherwise, he would just have been kicked out of yet another blog even sooner. But even now, I don't like the idea of kicking him out.
Not, obviously, because he's such a wonderful presence that I want to have hanging out at my blog, but because I wanted people to know why, what led up to it, and that it was about a lot of issues that ran deeper than just kicking him out. I felt a lot of people didn't get what the blog was about or the Request Post for that matter (as I've tried to say a million times by now). Most people by now understand what's wrong with Greg, but some good people like Thomas and Petronius, for example, still don't understand. Others haven't really paid any attention to this stuff and so just think a bunch of jerks landed at the blog or they think the trolls and the spammers are the real problem and not Greg. But more importantly, I wanted people (especially the people who left) to know how I felt and where I stood on these matters and I wanted people to know what I was trying to do with the blog in the first place.
And kicking Greg out is really no solution to anything when you think about it. It alleviates the problem, certainly, but even blogs that are 'Greg-free' are always operating in reaction to that fact. It's like closing the borders to a country and kicking out all the terrorists doesn't really solve the problem of terrorism. Once that genie is out of the bottle, it's hard to put it back in. Greg is like Timothy McVeigh or Osama Bin Laden. And the trolls and spammers are his loyal entourage (i.e. nutty fringe element).
Once you create an atmosphere where people are always reacting to some extremist, it's not quite the atmosphere you want despite how peaceful it might seem. That's why I would still want to create a private blog in addition to this one. Of course, if I did that, people would post there instead of here anyway, so for all those people disappointed about the lack of postings here, they would probably still be disappointed.
If I wasn't so discouraged from coming in (between my illness and all the spamming and trolling and Greg hanging around, it doesn't exactly make me want to come in as often), I would work on it more, but I just haven't been in long enough to fully set up a private blog up, let alone contact everyone.
I've also considered the possibility of asking someone who might be in more often and whom I trust like Isbum, Filmpac, or Rocket to 'moderate' the Request Post. Well, I actually considered that even before Greg came here, but I never wanted to burden any of those good people with the responsibility. It was only after I saw that Isbum was willing to do it over at ScoreBaby Annex and later at his own blog that I knew that he would be willing to do something like that. I figured that if they wanted to run a blog they would've started one themselves, so I didn't want to dump extra work on them like that.
But now I wouldn't feel comfortable asking Isbum, for instance, because I don't want to take anything away from his own blog. It's like asking another blogger to come in and help run your blog. He's busy enough. I even feel funny bringing up the idea of a private blog because I don't want to take any focus away from what Isbum's got going over at his place. But I only bring up the possibility of him or someone else doing moderation (and again ironically an idea that Greg was also proposing....he didn't realize that the first step in moderating the post would be to get rid of him!) because of a really nice E-Mail Isbum sent me (and which I have yet to reply to......as is true, by the way, with all the other nice E-mail's people sent me and which I intend on someday answering....and thank you all very sincerely for the well wishes about my health and about the blog......I appreciate it more than you can know). He mentioned that he and others were anticipating my return and he made me realize that maybe he would be willing to do it over here though he didn't say that specifically. But I didn't realize that people were willing to come back here. I just assumed they had moved on and I had accepted it. Probably another reason I wasn't in that big of a hurry to rush back.
Again, not feeling that strong desire or inspiration to work on writing this essay or posting new music when it was mainly for the benefit of Greg and a bunch of trolls and spammers. Perhaps if there had been a little less trolling, but every time I checked in (albeit only a few times in the last few months) there seemed to be a new round of it to keep up with. It was hard enough to keep up with the hundreds of good comments back when people were posting music, but I don't exactly rush back to sift through hundreds of comments just to read trolls saying the blog is dead and to watch Greg put up more links to his blog. It wasn't intentional on my part to stay away, but the longer you do, the easier it gets. I had more time and energy to listen to music, organize the music I did have, etc. I even found myself working on more compilations or finishing up old ones. It's funny. I didn't think it would make too much of a difference, but I realize that even blogging as infrequently as I was before was interfering with that stuff more than I realized.
In fact, right now I'm listening to Garcia27's excellent Goldsmith compilation. Really wonderful. And what an amazing amount of work involved! I don't think I would've gotten around to listening to an 8 hour compilation like that before. Normally, I would've had to burn it onto disc immediately, but once I had more time to clean up the hard drive, I had more room to keep some of the stuff on to listen to it. And I'm finally able to listen to more files by Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket, Mel, Sallie, Quinlan, and Tony, to name a few. I think I went through about 10 of Tony's files while I was writing an earlier section of this essay, in fact. And I'm finally listening to some of Esther's files at Stax O'Wax. Just went through her luau compilation. All great stuff. Oh, and how great to listen to Sallie's musicals, Mel's mood music comps, Isbum and Rocket's rips, Filmpac's wonderful finds, and Quinlan's meticulous files. Hard to really muster up too much anger after that, I tell you. Oh, and listened to some Maimone Digital & Bistis6 files too. Of course, I guess all of these are from 3 or 4 months ago, but to me they were just like yesterday. (Of course, that's probably because I just listened to them yesterday.) Now if I can only visit some other blogs and listen to what they're sharing, I'd be in hog heaven.
Oh, but back to the less heavenly discussion. As I said, I had thought about asking Isbum a long long time ago about doing some moderation, but I didn't really want to impose on our friendship by burdening him with that responsibility. (Frankly, I always wanted to ask him if he would do cover art for some of my compilations too because I liked what he did with his own files, but I never wanted to burden him with that extra work either!)
But one of the other problems with that is that as far as I know there's no way of doing that on the old version of Blogger without basically handing over the password to the whole blog. Not really a huge problem because I trust Isbum, Filmpac, Rocket and some of the other people who left enough with the password, but I use it for other things so it would involve more than the security of the blog. Plus I would feel uncomfortable passing it around too much. A little like passing out your ATM code. But probably not much of a problem since I could always change the password to something unique.
But the problem with that isn't so much about trust as it is with potential accidents. It's easy with Blogger to click on the wrong option and accidentally change the blog around. I remember I accidentally wiped out the whole top of the blog once. Probably nobody here remembers that, but luckily I was able to retrieve the deleted HTML code and replace it (though to this day I'm not entirely sure it's exactly the same as it used to be). But as far as trusting them with my password, I know they would never abuse the administrator privileges. Of course, Isbum must've had some arrangement with ScoreBaby, and I always meant to ask him how they set that up, but I haven't had the chance.
The other possibility I considered was the member or administrative status option on the newer version of Blogger. In order for someone to do moderation on the Request Post while I wasn't here, they would need to be able to delete comments. And as far as I know the only way to do that is if you have adminstrator privileges. Now, I'm not sure, but I think on the newer version you're able to give that to someone else but switching over to the newer version poses its own problems. It's the reason I've never done it before. When they encouraged everyone to try the newer version of Blogger, they made it clear that if you converted over, any changes you made on your older version of your blog that might not be compatible with the newer one might be lost. And once you made the switch, you couldn't go back. So if say, the formatting wasn't right, or it messed up something else, I could never switch back to the original version. Any formatting changes I made or any other modifications on the blog right now might be lost. I don't even know if the newer version has the same link list options. That's why I've never made the switch. They said it was a one-way trip and up until now I never felt the need to take the chance to get a few new features that I didn't care about anyway.
So kicking someone out like Greg or the trolls or deleting people's comments doesn't really do much good unless I can figure out a way to enforce it. That might entail revamping the entire blog. So until I had more time to look into how to do it, I would have no way of keeping Greg out even if I wanted to. That's one of the reasons it's taken a while. I haven't had time to talk to Isbum or anyone else about it or research what would be involved in changing the blog to the newer version and what problems that might present. (I bet Greg's not in such a hurry for moderation now!)
And that's all assuming someone would be willing to do it. I would never want to ask Isbum now that he's got his own blog (and if you're reading this Isbum, please excuse the impertinence of even bringing it up) and I suspect that the people over there would prefer to hang out over at Isbum's anyway. I don't think they would be happy about any moderator here being hamstrung by my insistence on no rules, anonymous people, etc. I think Isbum or anyone else like Filmpac or Rocket (though I think Rocket could not come in often enough to moderate) would prefer the atmosphere at Isbum's place. Without main posts you don't get as much random traffic who are more likely to be potentially disruptive like they are here. This seems to be 'yahoo central' right now and once that happens I'm not sure if that ever entirely goes away. Another wonderful legacy from Greg. Thanks, Greg!
Most blogs don't really need constant attention, but apparently the people here need to have some perpetual adult supervision (and Greg needs something else, but I've never figured out what). I still find it hard to believe that this blog attracts the kind of people who spam and troll. You'd think those kind of people wouldn't be interested in listening to this kind of music! You'd think the kind of mind that runs to doing that kind of stuff wouldn't prefer to listen to the kind of stuff that I or anyone who used to come here would post. But I guess it takes all kind of people to make a blogosphere.
Well, I suppose it all comes down to Greg & the trolls. If Greg refused to leave even though the blogger asked him to (doesn't really seem to stop him from posting comments at Isbum's place, if comments I read here are to be believed), then I suppose I would have to start deleting his comments. Great. I can add censorship to my to-do list. Thanks, Greg!
If, on the other hand, he stayed away peacefully, the trolls stopped trolling, etc. I suppose I'd keep the Post open. Well, I'd probably keep the Post open anyway even if nobody posted any music. I don't mind discussion in there either as long as it's not idiotic trolling. But frankly, I don't see any need for anyone to troll if Greg's not here. I suppose in some perverse way it's a back-handed compliment. People wouldn't be so angry if they hadn't liked what was here before, I suppose. Of course, if they really had respect for it or the blog, they wouldn't be acting that way now, but I guess 50 percent is better than nothing. Of course, those are the same people who confuse the Request Post with the blog so I guess I couldn't really expect much from them anyway. I suspect they haven't even ventured beyond the main page, let alone even read any of it otherwise they would know what the blog was about. Certainly not babbling the way they do. I'm the only one on here allowed to babble. Babble and pompous pronouncements. My two main functions on the blog.
Well, I did warn everybody that this was going to be an incredibly long essay. That reminds me of another one of Greg's comments that I read. It was pretty funny; he referred to the two top posts on the main part of the blog as the essay I've been referring to. He thought those were the essays I was talking about and he was disgusted that I left them up there and that I didn't seem to be doing anything about the attacks on him even though I've had ample time to do it. It's funny beyond belief. He doesn't take the time to actually pay attention to what I say to actually figure out that those aren't incredibly long and those aren't essays. And he has the hubris to think I should pay any attention to him as to what I should post in the main part of the blog. He left some comment saying how I should take down the 'Greg, I'm deeply disappointed' post. Uh, did he think I was magically any less disappointed with him? Maybe I should re-write my entire blog depending on his whims and preferences. Oh, I forgot. I thought it was his blog there for a minute. Well, it was an honest mistake what with him thinking I have to operate on his timetable, put up and take down posts depending on what he says, moderate the blog and impose the rules the way he thinks I should, etc. I got confused for a second.
Well, I should probably leave this essay on a happier note, but I can't think of one. The only thing I can think of is to reiterate my apologies to anyone who has been inconvenienced, put out, repelled, or offended by anything they've seen on the blog (and that's just from the stuff I post). No, actually, I am sincerely sorry for anyone who came here to have a good time and left with a face full of crap (and that even includes Greg.....I don't wish him any more than he deserves, and that's really up to him to determine by his own actions).
It's odd, but people keep thinking of the comment sections of public blogs as forums that can be easily (or even should be) moderated. I suggest chat rooms or actual forums for true moderation if that's what they're looking for, but I do think people have the right to be treated civilly and with respect when they come here. Unfortunately, unless I forgot to renew by God-membership controlling people's attitudes and demeanor is out of my control. Ignoring and deleting isn't the same as respect and civility, by the way.
And equally unfortunately, Greg never understood any of that and he is by far the biggest offender (despite the subsequent trolling). All else is simply reaction to him. But I think Greg should be allowed to act that way if he wants. He should just do it at his own blog or other places that are willing to accept him for who he is. If those places don't consider it bad, then he should stay and be happy there. There's really no point in commenting in places that are upset by his presence. Even if he believes that it's just a few people, if it's clear that the blogger himself doesn't want him here, he, especially as a fellow blogger, should honor that. I hope that it's not more than I can expect from him. If he doesn't honor it, I am forced to conclude that the harsher things that people say about Greg might be true. I still choose to believe that he is not quite the demon that people paint him to be (even despite all the things I myself have said here). I think some of this just comes from his angry reaction to what people have said and done, but that doesn't really excuse his behavior here when everyone was being nice to him. Still, if Greg was truly the person he claims to be, he would stay away from places that don't want him there, not out of fear or anger, but simply out of some sense of honor. Again, I hope that's not too much to expect.
You'd think I'd be disenchanted with blogging, but I'm not. You'd think I'd be disenchanted with the people who came here considering all the bad apples who seem to be hanging around, but I'm not. Too many good people who don't troll, spam, and generally cause trouble to be all that upset. I am disgusted with Greg's attitude however, but I was disgusted with that before all the trolling and spamming started so I consider all of this temporary. As I said before, I have always considered the blog to be more-or-less permanent regardless of how many people stop by (or how disgusting they may be). The only thing that prompts that sense of finality (as in the previous post) is not knowing how many times Greg can report the blog before something happens, but I am glad that Blogger.com has been sensible about it. Otherwise, regardless of how long I may stay away, I always have the intention of coming back (even if it takes a while). If I stay away for six months or something, you'll probably know I've stopped blogging, but anything short of that and to me it's just a temporary lull. I have to admit that there is something awfully nice about staying away though. I finally cleaned out things on my hard drive that having been sitting on there for the better part of a year. And it gives me more time (well really, less distraction) to get inspired to do compilations and things. And as I listen to more of this backlog of music, my deep appreciation for the efforts of people here only increases tenfold.
For instance, right now I'm listening to a truckload of Quinlan's files (Bonds, musicals, and jazz, to be exact.......boy, wouldn't that make an interesting movie? A musical version of Bond with a jazz score? But I digress........). And as I listen, it reminds me of all the good fellowship he provided and the hard work and care that went into ripping these albums (and work on the artwork) just for other people's enjoyment and it makes me like and respect him even more (if that's possible). (And not to be too negative about it, but I can't help but be reminded of how often someone like Greg tore down that effort and offered so little of his own in return. He offered much effort in the way of surfing blogs and providing other links and information and that shouldn't be overlooked, but still it was never with the same sense of camaraderie.) Well, that's the spirit I miss from the blog, but I'm always glad that it is out there somewhere and that there are still so many people out there who haven't been driven away from the blogosphere by the tactics of spammers and trolls here and elsewhere. It's sad to think of how many people may have been repelled from the potential joys of music blogging simply because of the attitude of people like Greg and the trolls, but that ugliness has always been out there I suppose. It was when I started the blog and it will always be for as long as people choose to act that way, I guess. Which is not so much resignation or condemnation as it is a reaffirmation that all of these things come and go. All the turmoil and bad feelings flow in and out like the tide and as long as the blog's here, I just try to ride these things out. It never affects my attitude about the charms of blogging and sharing, so while I'd like to be angrier about these things, it's very hard to while I'm listening to an LP rip of 'Brigadoon'.
I do feel bad that people may have been inconvenienced by my absences from the blog and I also feel bad about not responding to their wonderful E-mails and comments in the way that I should have. With health concerns and the inherent attraction of not coming in or thinking about these things, I can only say again that it leads to all these unintentional prolonged absences and so I wanted to apologize again to all those people who may have been put out by it.
Uh, still can't think of that happier note to end on. Well, at least the blog's still here. That's something. I always take a certain amount of joy in that. And, oh yeah, there's some nice music sprinkled around. That's always good. Or you can find (or buy) lots of great music elsewhere. Seems that should make a few people out there happy. You'd think so anyway.
Enjoy and be kind! (yes, and that is said with a certain amount of irony)
// posted by nomwl1 @ 9:52 AM 172 comments links to this post
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Greg, I am deeply disappointed.
I haven't read any of the new comments since I've been away, but I was reading the last comment under the previous post and noticed that Greg has chosen to report my blog to Blogger.com. I can't believe that a fellow blogger would do this. I've been collecting my thoughts as to what I was going to do about this situation and in the mean time, Greg has chosen to do this. I've had no anger or animosity towards Greg not being able to get caught up on the comments since I was last in and so I didn't want to say anything harsh toward or about Greg (or anyone for that matter) until I had time to review the comments and the situation.
But Greg apparently has taken the opportunity of my absence to attack me even further. I didn't believe that Greg was intentionally trying to attack my blog before, but I am forced to conclude that it was his intention to seriously attack me and this blog. I can't believe that a fellow blogger (one who runs his own music blog at www.soundtrackrarities.blogspot.com) would actually report another music blogger for terms of service violation, but if his comment under the previous post is to be believed, he has done what I can only assume in this small blogging community is unthinkable.
Up until now, I have chosen to believe in the best in Greg, but since I don't know how much longer this blog will exist since Greg has chosen to attack me, I suggest that anybody who wants anything from my blog should get it while they can. I will not retaliate by reporting Greg's blog, but I can only hope that in the cosmic scheme of things, kharma really does exist. I DON'T encourage anybody to report Greg's blog for similar terms of service violations because, despite what he has done, I don't believe that any music blogger should ever do that to a fellow blogger, and I still wouldn't want to say anything else about Greg because I haven't had a chance to read the most recent comments, but just based on him saying that he has done such a thing, I can only say that I am deeply disappointed in him.
While I'm not naive in the ways of the world or in people in general (at least I don't like to think that I am), I believed at the very least that Greg shared a love of the same music that we all did and that we shared a basic kinship because of it. But he has chosen to use my absence as an excuse to accuse me of allowing attacks to continue on him. Not all of us are able to come in as frequently as he is, and while it was not my intention to let the problem continue with my recent illness and frankly my general malaise at the recent situation here, it's true that I haven't had much motivation to write about my general thoughts on the subject. I was half way through when I thought I'd come in today and check up on things and then I see Greg's comment that he has reported me. As much as I hate to think it, again I can only conclude that somewhere in his mind, it has been his intention to attack me along with other people here and at other blogs. He has seemed content to hang out here since the beginning of the year, but rather than ignore the comments directed at him (as many others have done with his comments that they have found objectionable), he has apparently chosen to report my blog instead.
My only initial reactions to this are bewilderment and some slight anger. I am frankly more angry for all the wonderful people who visit here and who may find this blog gone at some point as a direct result of Greg. It is hard to think of it any other way. I wish I could say that it was only partly his fault, but I must come to the inescapable conclusion that if anything happens to this blog, it is as a direct result of Greg's attitude, behavior and actions. He seemingly has been on some kind of campaign to torpedo this blog for some unknown reason. I didn't think that this was intentional, but now I'm not sure what to make of it. I won't know until I've read the most recent Request Post comments to see to what bad comments Greg is talking about (I'll be reading those at home when I have more time), but I can't imagine a situation that would prompt him to essentially drop a nuclear bomb on this blog.
I can't say that he has a vendetta against blogs in general because he comments on and follows a lot of different blogs so this action against me is extremely strange to say the least. Again, I don't like to comment too much until I've read all the comments, but frankly nothing anybody ever said about me on another blog would ever prompt me to report that blog. NOTHING. And no other blogger I can think of, even ones that had blood feuds going on, has to my knowledge ever reported another blogger like this. It's true that Greg is relatively new to blogging (perhaps since the beginning of the year), but I am still stunned by this action.
He has shown a shameful lack of consideration and respect for other people. As much as I hate to say it, it's true, but until now I thought he at least had a basic minimum respect for me, other blogs, and bloggers in general.
Well, I don't know what will happen in the future, but if you don't like this situation I urge you not to retaliate against Greg because I don't like the idea of any music blog being shut down regardless of what the blogger might have done, but at the most if you do feel like doing something, then leave a comment at his blog indicating to him how you feel about this situation, either pro or con. If you agree with him, support him, if you don't like what he did, let him know (but please be civil).
Perhaps he doesn't realize that by reporting me, he is most likely going to get this blog shut down or perhaps he knows full well and doesn't care. Either way, if the blog doesn't manage to continue, I want to thank all of the wonderful people who have visited and who have made this experience a wonderful one (despite how it may end). If it unexpectedly ends before I can come in again, I would hope to continue somewhere, but frankly I don't know. Maybe it's best that I go back to being a spectator. If I had known I was going to write a potential farewell speech, I would've thought of something better to say. It was too bad too, I was in the middle of a ton of re-ups and I had all these things planned for posting.
Well, if by some miracle, Blogger.com leaves me alone, I hope I can continue here. If not, I haven't really given it much thought. All the best to one and all (even Greg). I hope he at least reflects on his actions and behavior and how it affects other people. And I don't even mean me. I hope if there is one lesson he (or anyone else [including me]) can take away from all of this is that you need to give more consideration to how you treat people. Although I know he feels that he has been wronged, he should consider how his comments, attitude and behavior have affected other people. Consider the effect that it has had on this blog, for instance. Was it your intention to cripple and shut down this blog? Perhaps not, but ultimately that may be what you have done. I hope that it gives you at least a moment's pause in the future when you find yourself in situations where people are trying to tell you things about yourself. I know it's a hard thing and nobody likes hearing bad things about themselves, but you must at least consider that when so many varied people, people who have been so universally nice and rarely if ever had a bad thing to say about anyone, try to tell you how you have bothered or insulted them, you should at least consider whether it is you who is at fault. Not simply ignore, dismiss, attack, or rationalize.
I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but this is a very unfortunate way to end this blog.
I hope that this blog can continue here (or someplace else), but if not, you've all been wonderful (well, with one exception). Not to make this sound too dramatic (especially if Blogger.com does magically choose to ignore Greg's reporting and I'm still here later on), but I've sincerely treasured getting to know everyone through their comments and sharing music that I've loved and it's been wonderful to find out that there are others out there who love it too. You are all great!
And as potentially my final words (here's keeping my fingers crossed), enjoy and be kind! :))
// posted by nomwl1 @ 7:06 PM 144 comments links to this post
Sunday, April 29, 2007
What's On My Mind
Sorry for being away for so long, but I've been sick for the last week or two. Still not feeling 100 percent. Between the situations with Greg, this anonymous spammer, and the numerous people driven away from the blog (despite the traffic actually being higher since I was last in), I am seriously pondering the future of the blog. The irony is that all of these problems were created from within by regular readers rather than from without by random trolls or link-killers.
Thanks to Greg (though I say this without any anger or malice) and the anonymous spammer, my heart currently isn't in blogging right at this moment (though I suspect that will change). It catches me at a bad moment and I will definitely have more to say on the subject once I've thought it over and collected my thoughts (everybody can look forward to an incredibly long essay on the subject).
I had hoped to do something a little different with this blog and I had hoped people who came here would respond in kind. 99.99% of the readers did respond in exactly the way that I was hoping and made blogging a wonderful experience. But all it takes is for 2 people to attack your blog, whether that was their intention or not, in the way in which they did it, to get me to the point of seriously considering the future of the blog.
Oh, well. I'm probably just in a bad mood. Well, sad really. I guess I'm more saddened by the people who have chosen to stay away rather than the people who have stayed. Probably a momentary case of looking at the glass as half-empty. Or maybe it's just the fact that the traffic on the blog always seems to go up when I go away (and drop back down when I come back). I think people prefer it when I'm not here.
Well, enjoy the self-pity party while it lasts. Hopefully, I'll be feeling better soon and my outlook won't be so bleak.
Update: I'm still working on that incredibly long essay concerning the recent (or by now, not-so-recent turmoil in the Request Post) though frankly I can only write about it in small doses. I'm also having some weird trouble reading through the new Blogger. It seems to be producing some very weird characters that make it hard for me to do anything on Blogger at the moment. I still can't figure out what's causing it. That only used to happen when I tried going to Blogger.com without logging in. Now it does it even after I've logged in. (Way to go, Blogger.com!)
But I did want to say that in skimming just some of the comments people have left here and at the Request Post (I'll be reading all the comments more thoroughly at home assuming this weird character problem isn't persistent), I was very moved by what everybody had to say. It does make me want to keep blogging (despite the fact that every time I come in, there seems to be some new frustrating obstacle that Blogger.com puts in my way!). At the moment, I have to say my enthusiasm isn't quite what it should be, but I am feeling a little bit better (health-wise & blog-wise). I wasn't expecting so many comments of encouragement and well-wishes and I have to say that it really makes a difference. As I've always said, the people who come here are really the best! (Even my trolls tend to be nicer here.....anywhere else, they'd say much worse things.)
You guys have really made me feel better about things and for that I thank all of you. (Well, all the people who said nice things, anyway.)
In my absence, I've been mulling over some of the things I wanted to do. While things seemed to have settled down and some (maybe all?) of the people who left are nicely installed at Scorebaby Annex, I still feel bad about the way in which it happened and that they didn't have an immediately available and completely safe haven in which to share and enjoy each other's company (as evidenced by the occasional skirmishes and territorial growing pains with comments and postings between here and there).
Well, I don't know if anybody at this point would be interested, but I've been considering the prospect of creating a separate private blog for just that purpose. It would be specifically for the older readers who enjoyed the community spirit that existed here once upon a time (which is slightly different from the community spirit that exists now). I was thinking of inviting a very small number of people (maybe 10 to 20) and I have the list in my mind as to who I would ask (including some newer readers). It would basically be people who were regular commenters or posters who got along remarkably well. Sorry to all the anonymous people since this would naturally preclude you. Since it would be such a small number of people, we could do things on there that we couldn't do normally (and many things that we couldn't do on a public blog like this one). I still have to research how it could be done, but it wouldn't be susceptible to Google & Blog searches as far as I know, and I have many exciting ideas about what I want to do with it.
I would probably establish it with many Request Posts initially, which would make it unnecessary for me to maintain the blog in the event of my prolonged absence. People could just move onto the next one when one got full. And if some of the people I have in mind are interested, I was also considering giving some people author status which would allow them to make regular posts, if they wanted.
Ironically, when I came online today and I had a little bit of a chance to surf around at some of the things I've missed, I realized this idea is probably very similar (if not identical) to what John Hartigan did with the Soundtrack Lovers Paradise Members Only Club. I wish I had realized this before; it would've saved me a lot of thought on the subject.
Well, I'd still be interested in doing this mainly as a way of doing something for those loyal readers who made this such a wonderful atmosphere in the past (and for the good people who still come here as well). I felt bad that there wasn't a place for the people who left to share things without worrying about unwanted comments and prying eyes.
The only thing that stops me from wanting to do it is the thought that I might be messing something up for Scorebaby. I would hate to do anything that would put a hitch in the wonderful thing that they've got going over there.
Well, if anybody's interested (and the people who would be likely candidates probably know who they are), leave me a comment here or an E-mail so I can tell if it might be worth trying.
And again, thanks to everyone for their kind words and helpful thoughts. You always make blogging worthwhile!
P.S. I just discovered that in order to create invitations for people I have to put in their E-mail addresses. I was hoping to just be able to put in people's nicknames from blogger profiles, etc. Well, if you're interested either leave me an E-mail address or if you don't want post it, leave me a comment and we'll work something out. Thanks!
Nice try, Greg.
ReplyDeleteFutile, but ... eh, nice try.
I'll reiterate:
I'm not stopping.
jackingkriegerslinx.blogspot.com
THE year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious
ReplyDeleteand puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to
mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the
public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were
particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels,
skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries, and
the Governments of several States on the two continents, were deeply
interested in the matter.
For some time past vessels had been met by "an enormous thing," a long
object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely larger
and more rapid in its movements than a whale.
The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books)
agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in
question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power of
locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If it was a
whale, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in science.
Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at divers times --
rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to this object a length
of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated opinions which set it
down as a mile in width and three in length -- we might fairly conclude
that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all dimensions admitted by the
learned ones of the day, if it existed at all. And that it did exist was an
undeniable fact; and, with that tendency which disposes the human mind in
favour of the
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Page 8
marvellous, we can understand the excitement produced in the entire world
by this supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the list of fables,
the idea was out of the question.
On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the
Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass
five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at first
that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even prepared to
determine its exact position when two columns of water, projected by the
mysterious object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred and fifty feet up
into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had been submitted to the
intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor Higginson had to do neither
more nor less than with an aquatic mammal, unknown till then, which threw
up from its blow-boles columns of water mixed with air and vapour.
Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in
the Pacific Ocean, by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam
Navigation Company. But this extraordinary creature could transport itself
from one place to another with surprising velocity; as, in an interval of
three days, the Governor Higginson and the Columbus had observed it at two
different points of the chart, separated by a distance of more than seven
hundred nautical leagues.
Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the Helvetia, of
the Compagnie-Nationale, and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship
Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying between
the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the monster to each
other in 42° 15' N. lat. and 60° 35' W. long. In these simultaneous
observations they thought themselves justified in estimating the minimum
length of the mammal at more than three hundred and fifty feet, as the
Shannon and Helvetia were of smaller dimensions than it, though they
measured three hundred feet over all.
Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea
round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich
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Page 9
islands, have never exceeded the length of sixty yards, if they attain
that.
In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion. They sang
of it in the cafes, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on the
stage. All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it. There appeared in
the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary creature, from the
white whale, the terrible "Moby Dick" of sub-arctic regions, to the immense
kraken, whose tentacles could entangle a ship of five hundred tons and
hurry it into the abyss of the ocean. The legends of ancient times were
even revived.
Then burst forth the unending argument between the believers and the
unbelievers in the societies of the wise and the scientific journals. "The
question of the monster" inflamed all minds. Editors of scientific
journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural, spilled seas of
ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing blood; for from the
sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.
During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried,
never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public. It was then
no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger seriously to
be avoided. The question took quite another shape. The monster became a
small island, a rock, a reef, but a reef of indefinite and shifting
proportions.
On the 5th of March, 1867, the Moravian, of the Montreal Ocean
Company, finding herself during the night in 27° 30' lat. and 72° 15'
long., struck on her starboard quarter a rock, marked in no chart for that
part of the sea. Under the combined efforts of the wind and its four
hundred horse- power, it was going at the rate of thirteen knots. Had it
not been for the superior strength of the hull of the Moravian, she would
have been broken by the shock and gone down with the 237 passengers she was
bringing home from Canada.
The accident happened about five o'clock in the morning, as the day
was breaking. The officers of the quarter-deck hurried to the after-part of
the vessel. They examined the sea with the most careful attention. They saw
nothing but a strong eddy about three cables' length distant, as if the
surface
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Page 10
had been violently agitated. The bearings of the place were taken exactly,
and the Moravian continued its route without apparent damage. Had it struck
on a submerged rock, or on an enormous wreck? They could not tell; but, on
examination of the ship's bottom when undergoing repairs, it was found that
part of her keel was broken.
This fact, so grave in itself, might perhaps have been forgotten like
many others if, three weeks after, it had not been re-enacted under similar
circumstances. But, thanks to the nationality of the victim of the shock,
thanks to the reputation of the company to which the vessel belonged, the
circumstance became extensively circulated.
The 13th of April, 1867, the sea being beautiful, the breeze
favourable, the Scotia, of the Cunard Company's line, found herself in 15°
12' long. and 45° 37' lat. She was going at the speed of thirteen knots and
a half.
At seventeen minutes past four in the afternoon, whilst the passengers
were assembled at lunch in the great saloon, a slight shock was felt on the
hull of the Scotia, on her quarter, a little aft of the port-paddle.
The Scotia had not struck, but she had been struck, and seemingly by
something rather sharp and penetrating than blunt. The shock had been so
slight that no one had been alarmed, had it not been for the shouts of the
carpenter's watch, who rushed on to the bridge, exclaiming, "We are
sinking! we are sinking!" At first the passengers were much frightened, but
Captain Anderson hastened to reassure them. The danger could not be
imminent. The Scotia, divided into seven compartments by strong partitions,
could brave with impunity any leak. Captain Anderson went down immediately
into the hold. He found that the sea was pouring into the fifth
compartment; and the rapidity of the influx proved that the force of the
water was considerable. Fortunately this compartment did not hold the
boilers, or the fires would have been immediately extinguished. Captain
Anderson ordered the engines to be stopped at once, and one of the men went
down to ascertain the extent of the injury. Some minutes afterwards they
discovered the existence of a large hole, two yards in diameter, in the
ship's bottom. Such a
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Page 11
leak could not be stopped; and the Scotia, her paddles half submerged, was
obliged to continue her course. She was then three hundred miles from Cape
Clear, and, after three days' delay, which caused great uneasiness in
Liverpool, she entered the basin of the company.
The engineers visited the Scotia, which was put in dry dock. They
could scarcely believe it possible; at two yards and a half below
water-mark was a regular rent, in the form of an isosceles triangle. The
broken place in the iron plates was so perfectly defined that it could not
have been more neatly done by a punch. It was clear, then, that the
instrument producing the perforation was not of a common stamp and, after
having been driven with prodigious strength, and piercing an iron plate 1
3/8 inches thick, had withdrawn itself by a backward motion.
Such was the last fact, which resulted in exciting once more the
torrent of public opinion. From this moment all unlucky casualties which
could not be otherwise accounted for were put down to the monster.
Upon this imaginary creature rested the responsibility of all these
shipwrecks, which unfortunately were considerable; for of three thousand
ships whose loss was annually recorded at Lloyd's, the number of sailing
and steam-ships supposed to be totally lost, from the absence of all news,
amounted to not less than two hundred!
Now, it was the "monster" who, justly or unjustly, was accused of
their disappearance, and, thanks to it, communication between the different
continents became more and more dangerous. The public demanded sharply that
the seas should at any price be relieved from this formidable cetacean. 1.
1. Member of the whale family.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.2
PRO AND CON
AT THE period when these events took place, I had just returned from a
scientific research in the disagreeable territory
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Page 12
of Nebraska, in the United States. In virtue of my office as Assistant
Professor in the Museum of Natural History in Paris, the French Government
had attached me to that expedition. After six months in Nebraska, I arrived
in New York towards the end of March, laden with a precious collection. My
departure for France was fixed for the first days in May. Meanwhile I was
occupying myself in classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and zoological
riches, when the accident happened to the Scotia.
I was perfectly up in the subject which was the question of the day.
How could I be otherwise? I had read and reread all the American and
European papers without being any nearer a conclusion. This mystery puzzled
me. Under the impossibility of forming an opinion, I jumped from one
extreme to the other. That there really was something could not be doubted,
and the incredulous were invited to put their finger on the wound of the
Scotia.
On my arrival at New York the question was at its height. The theory
of the floating island, and the unapproachable sandbank, supported by minds
little competent to form a judgment, was abandoned. And, indeed, unless
this shoal had a machine in its stomach, how could it change its position
with such astonishing rapidity?
From the same cause, the idea of a floating hull of an enormous wreck
was given up.
There remained, then, only two possible solutions of the question,
which created two distinct parties: on one side, those who were for a
monster of colossal strength; on the other, those who were for a submarine
vessel of enormous motive power.
But this last theory, plausible as it was, could not stand against
inquiries made in both worlds. That a private gentleman should have such a
machine at his command was not likely. Where, when, and how was it built?
and how could its construction have been kept secret? Certainly a
Government might possess such a destructive machine. And in these
disastrous times, when the ingenuity of man has multiplied the power of
weapons of war, it was possible that, without the
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Page 13
knowledge of others, a State might try to work such a formidable engine.
But the idea of a war machine fell before the declaration of
Governments. As public interest was in question, and transatlantic
communications suffered, their veracity could not be doubted. But how admit
that the construction of this submarine boat had escaped the public eye?
For a private gentleman to keep the secret under such circumstances would
be very difficult, and for a State whose every act is persistently watched
by powerful rivals, certainly impossible.
Upon my arrival in New York several persons did me the honour of
consulting me on the phenomenon in question. I had published in France a
work in quarto, in two volumes, entitled Mysteries of the Great Submarine
Grounds. This book, highly approved of in the learned world, gained for me
a special reputation in this rather obscure branch of Natural History. My
advice was asked. As long as I could deny the reality of the fact, I
confined myself to a decided negative. But soon, finding myself driven into
a corner, I was obliged to explain myself point by point. I discussed the
question in all its forms, politically and scientifically; and I give here
an extract from a carefully-studied article which I published in the number
of the 30th of April. It ran as follows:
"After examining one by one the different theories, rejecting all
other suggestions, it becomes necessary to admit the existence of a marine
animal of enormous power.
"The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us. Soundings
cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths -- what beings live,
or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the waters --
what is the organisation of these animals, we can scarcely conjecture.
However, the solution of the problem submitted to me may modify the form of
the dilemma. Either we do know all the varieties of beings which people our
planet, or we do not. If we do not know them all -- if Nature has still
secrets in the deeps for us, nothing is more conformable to reason than to
admit the existence of fishes, or cetaceans of other kinds,
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Page 14
or even of new species, of an organisation formed to inhabit the strata
inaccessible to soundings, and which an accident of some sort has brought
at long intervals to the upper level of the ocean.
"If, on the contrary, we do know all living kinds, we must necessarily
seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings already
classed; and, in that case, I should be disposed to admit the existence of
a gigantic narwhal.
"The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, often attains a length of
sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength
proportionate to its size, lengthen its destructive weapons, and you obtain
the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by the
officers of the Shannon, the instrument required by the perforation of the
Scotia, and the power necessary to pierce the hull of the steamer.
"Indeed, the narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd,
according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk has
the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried in the
bodies of whales, which the unicorn always attacks with success. Others
have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of ships, which
they bad pierced through and through, as a gimlet pierces a barrel. The
Museum of the Faculty of Medicine of Paris possesses one of these defensive
weapons, two yards and a quarter in length, and fifteen inches in diameter
at the base.
"Very well! suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the
animal ten times more powerful; launch it at the rate of twenty miles an
hour, and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required.
Until further information, therefore, I shall maintain it to be a
sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with a
real spur, as the armoured frigates, or the 'rams' of war, whose
massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time. Thus may
this puzzling phenomenon be explained, unless there be something over and
above all that one has ever conjectured, seen, perceived, or experienced;
which is just within the bounds of possibility."
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Page 15
These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point,
I wished to shelter my dignity as professor, and not give too much cause
for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well when they do laugh. I
reserved for myself a way of escape. In effect, however, I admitted the
existence of the "monster." My article was warmly discussed, which procured
it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of partisans.
The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the imagination.
The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings. And
the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the only medium through which
these giants (against which terrestrial animals, such as elephants or
rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be produced or developed.
The industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from
this point of view. The Shipping and Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd's List,
the Packet-Boat, and the Maritime and Colonial Review, all papers devoted
to insurance companies which threatened to raise their rates of premium,
were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been pronounced. The
United States were the first in the field; and in New York they made
preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this narwhal. A frigate
of great speed, the Abraham Lincoln, was put in commission as soon as
possible. The arsenals were opened to Commander Farragut, who hastened the
arming of his frigate; but, as it always happens, the moment it was decided
to pursue the monster, the monster did not appear. For two months no one
heard it spoken of. No ship met with it. It seemed as if this unicorn knew
of the plots weaving around it. It had been so much talked of, even through
the Atlantic cable, that jesters pretended that this slender fly had
stopped a telegram on its passage and was making the most of it.
So when the frigate had been armed for a long campaign, and provided
with formidable fishing apparatus, no one could tell what course to pursue.
Impatience grew apace, when, on the 2nd of July, they learned that a
steamer of the line of San Francisco, from California to Shanghai, had
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seen the animal three weeks before in the North Pacific Ocean. The
excitement caused by this news was extreme. The ship was revictualled and
well stocked with coal.
Three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left Brooklyn pier, I received
a letter worded as follows: To M. ARONNAX,
Professor in the Museum of Paris,
Fifth Avenue Hotel,
New York.
SIR, -- If you will consent to join the Abraham Lincoln in this
expedition, the Government of the United States will with pleasure see
France represented in the enterprise. Commander Farragut has a cabin at
your disposal. Very cordially yours,
J.B. HOBSON,
Secretary of Marine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.3
I FORM MY RESOLUTION
THREE seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson's letter I no more
thought of pursuing the unicorn than of attempting the passage of the North
Sea. Three seconds after reading the letter of the honourable Secretary of
Marine, I felt that my true vocation, the sole end of my life, was to chase
this disturbing monster and purge it from the world.
But I had just returned from a fatiguing journey, weary and longing
for repose. I aspired to nothing more than again seeing my country, my
friends, my little lodging by the Jardin des Plantes, my dear and precious
collections -- but nothing could keep me back! I forgot all -- fatigue,
friends and collections -- and accepted without hesitation the offer of the
American Government.
"Besides," thought I, "all roads lead back to Europe; and the unicorn
may be amiable enough to hurry me towards the coast of France. This worthy
animal may allow
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Page 17
itself to be caught in the seas of Europe (for my particular benefit), and
I will not bring back less than half a yard of his ivory halberd to the
Museum of Natural History." But in the meanwhile I must seek this narwhal
in the North Pacific Ocean, which, to return to France, was taking the road
to the antipodes.
"Conseil," I called in an impatient voice.
Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had
accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the liking
well. He was quiet by nature, regular from principle, zealous from habit,
evincing little disturbance at the different surprises of life, very quick
with his hands, and apt at any service required of him; and, despite his
name, never giving advice -- even when asked for it.
Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led.
Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never
make an objection to pack his portmanteau for whatever country it might be,
or however far away, whether China or Congo. Besides all this, he had good
health, which defied all sickness, and solid muscles, but no nerves; good
morals are understood. This boy was thirty years old, and his age to that
of his master as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused for saying that I was
forty years old?
But Conseil had one fault: he was ceremonious to a degree, and would
never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes provoking.
"Conseil," said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make
preparations for my departure.
Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him
if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but this
time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the enterprise
might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of sinking a frigate as
easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for reflection even to the most
impassive man in the world. What would Conseil say?
"Conseil," I called a third time.
Conseil appeared.
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Page 18
"Did you call, sir?" said he, entering.
"Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in
two hours."
"As you please, sir," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Not an instant to lose; lock in my trunk all travelling utensils,
coats, shirts, and stockings -- without counting, as many as you can, and
make haste."
"And your collections, sir?" observed Conseil.
"They will keep them at the hotel."
"We are not returning to Paris, then?" said Conseil.
"Oh! certainly," I answered, evasively, "by making a curve."
"Will the curve please you, sir?"
"Oh! it will be nothing; not quite so direct a road, that is all. We
take our passage in the Abraham, Lincoln."
"As you think proper, sir," coolly replied Conseil.
"You see, my friend, it has to do with the monster -- the famous
narwhal. We are going to purge it from the seas. A glorious mission, but a
dangerous one! We cannot tell where we may go; these animals can be very
capricious. But we will go whether or no; we have got a captain who is
pretty wide-awake."
Our luggage was transported to the deck of the frigate immediately. I
hastened on board and asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors
conducted me to the poop, where I found myself in the presence of a
good-looking officer, who held out his hand to me.
"Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?" said he.
"Himself," replied I. "Commander Farragut?"
"You are welcome, Professor; your cabin is ready for you."
I bowed, and desired to be conducted to the cabin destined for me.
The Abraham Lincoln had been well chosen and equipped for her new
destination. She was a frigate of great speed, fitted with high-pressure
engines which admitted a pressure of seven atmospheres. Under this the
Abraham Lincoln attained the mean speed of nearly eighteen knots and a
third
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Page 19
an hour -- a considerable speed, but, nevertheless, insufficient to grapple
with this gigantic cetacean.
The interior arrangements of the frigate corresponded to its nautical
qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was in the after part,
opening upon the gunroom.
"We shall be well off here," said I to Conseil.
"As well, by your honour's leave, as a hermit-crab in the shell of a
whelk," said Conseil.
I left Conseil to stow our trunks conveniently away, and remounted the
poop in order to survey the preparations for departure.
At that moment Commander Farragut was ordering the last moorings to be
cast loose which held the Abraham Lincoln to the pier of Brooklyn. So in a
quarter of an hour, perhaps less, the frigate would have sailed without me.
I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and incredible
expedition, the recital of which may well meet with some suspicion.
But Commander Farragut would not lose a day nor an hour in scouring
the seas in which the animal had been sighted. He sent for the engineer.
"Is the steam full on?" asked he.
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
"Go ahead," cried Commander Farragut.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.4
NED LAND
CAPTAIN FARRAGUT was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he
commanded. His vessel and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the
question of the monster there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not
allow the existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in
it, as certain good women believe in the leviathan -- by faith, not by
reason. The monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it.
Either Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal,
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or the narwhal would kill the captain. There was no third course.
The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were
ever chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances of a
meeting, watching narrowly the vast surface of the ocean. More than one
took up his quarters voluntarily in the cross-trees, who would have cursed
such a berth under any other circumstances. As long as the sun described
its daily course, the rigging was crowded with sailors, whose feet were
burnt to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render it unbearable;
still the Abraham Lincoln had not yet breasted the suspected waters of the
Pacific. As to the ship's company, they desired nothing better than to meet
the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist it on board, and despatch it. They
watched the sea with eager attention.
Besides, Captain Farragut had spoken of a certain sum of two thousand
dollars, set apart for whoever should first sight the monster, were he
cabin-boy, common seaman, or officer.
I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the Abraham Lincoln.
For my own part I was not behind the others, and, left to no one my
share of daily observations. The frigate might have been called the Argus,
for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to protest by
his indifference against the question which so interested us all, and
seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on board.
I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with
every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever been
better armed. We possessed every known engine, from the harpoon thrown by
the hand to the barbed arrows of the blunderbuss, and the explosive balls
of the duck-gun. On the forecastle lay the perfection of a breech-loading
gun, very thick at the breech, and very narrow in the bore, the model of
which had been in the Exhibition of 1867. This precious weapon of American
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origin could throw with ease a conical projectile of nine pounds to a mean
distance of ten miles.
Thus the Abraham Lincoln wanted for no means of destruction; and, what
was better still she had on board Ned Land, the prince of harpooners.
Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who
knew no equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity, and
cunning he possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning whale
to escape the stroke of his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years of age; he was a tall man (more than
six feet high), strongly built, grave and taciturn, occasionally violent,
and very passionate when contradicted. His person attracted attention, but
above all the boldness of his look, which gave a singular expression to his
face.
Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little
communicative as Ned Land was, I must admit that he took a certain liking
for me. My nationality drew him to me, no doubt. It was an opportunity for
him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of Rabelais, which is
still in use in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner's family was
originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe of hardy fishermen when
this town belonged to France.
Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved
to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related his
fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his recital
took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to a Canadian
Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.
I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old
friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and
cemented amidst extreme dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to live
a hundred years longer, that I may have more time to dwell the longer on
your memory.
Now, what was Ned Land's opinion upon the question of the marine
monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was the
only one on board who did not share
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that universal conviction. He even avoided the subject, which I one day
thought it my duty to press upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th
July (that is to say, three weeks after our departure), the frigate was
abreast of Cape Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia.
We had crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan opened
less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were over the
Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.
Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and
another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up to
this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up the
conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various chances of
success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let me
speak without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.
"Well, Ned," said I, "is it possible that you are not convinced of the
existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any particular
reason for being so incredulous?"
The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering,
struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to collect
himself, and said at last, "Perhaps I have, Mr. Aronnax."
"But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the
great marine mammalia -- you ought to be the last to doubt under such
circumstances!"
"That is just what deceives you, Professor," replied Ned. "As a whaler
I have followed many a cetacean, harpooned a great number, and killed
several; but, however strong or well-armed they may have been, neither
their tails nor their weapons would have been able even to scratch the iron
plates of a steamer."
"But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhal have
pierced through and through."
"Wooden ships -- that is possible," replied the Canadian, "but I have
never seen it done; and, until further proof, I
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deny that whales, cetaceans, or sea-unicorns could ever produce the effect
you describe."
"Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction resting on the logic of
facts. I believe in the existence of a mammal powerfully organised,
belonging to the branch of vertebrata, like the whales, the cachalots, or
the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defence of great penetrating
power."
"Hum!" said the harpooner, shaking his head with the air of a man who
would not be convinced.
"Notice one thing, my worthy Canadian," I resumed. "If such an animal
is in existence, if it inhabits the depths of the ocean, if it frequents
the strata lying miles below the surface of the water, it must necessarily
possess an organisation the strength of which would defy all comparison."
"And why this powerful organisation?" demanded Ned.
"Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one's self in these
strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me. Let us admit that the
pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of
water thirty-two feet high. In reality the column of water would be
shorter, as we are speaking of sea water, the density of which is greater
than that of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as many times 32
feet of water as there are above you, so many times does your body bear a
pressure equal to that of the atmosphere, that is to say, 15 lb. for each
square inch of its surface. It follows, then, that at 320 feet this
pressure equals that of 10 atmospheres, of 100 atmospheres at 3,200 feet,
and of 1,000 atmospheres at 32,000 feet, that is, about 6 miles; which is
equivalent to saying that if you could attain this depth in the ocean, each
square three-eighths of an inch of the surface of your body would bear a
pressure of 5,600 lb. Ah! my brave Ned, do you know how many square inches
you carry on the surface of your body?"
"I have no idea, Mr. Aronnax."
"About 6,500; and as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15
lb. to the square inch, your 6,500 square inches bear at this moment a
pressure of 97,500 lb."
"Without my perceiving it?"
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"Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed by such a
pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interior of your body with
equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibrium between the interior and exterior
pressure, which thus neutralise each other, and which allows you to bear it
without inconvenience. But in the water it is another thing."
"Yes, I understand," replied Ned, becoming more attentive; "because
the water surrounds me, but does not penetrate."
"Precisely, Ned: so that at 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea you
would undergo a pressure of 97,500 lb.; at 320 feet, ten times that
pressure; at 3,200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at 32,000
feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000 lb. -- that is to
say, that you would be flattened as if you had been drawn from the plates
of a hydraulic machine!"
"The devil!" exclaimed Ned.
"Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundred
yards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such depths --
of those whose surface is represented by millions of square inches, that is
by tens of millions of pounds, we must estimate the pressure they undergo.
Consider, then, what must be the resistance of their bony structure, and
the strength of their organisation to withstand such pressure!"
"Why!" exclaimed Ned Land, "they must be made of iron plates eight
inches thick, like the armoured frigates."
"As you say, Ned. And think what destruction such a mass would cause,
if hurled with the speed of an express train against the hull of a vessel."
"Yes -- certainly -- perhaps," replied the Canadian, shaken by these
figures, but not yet willing to give in.
"Well, have I convinced you?"
"You have convinced me of one thing, sir, which is that, if such
animals do exist at the bottom of the seas, they must necessarily be as
strong as you say."
"But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explain the
accident to the Scotia?"
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Page 25
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.5
AT A VENTURE
THE voyage of the Abraham Lincoln was for a long time marked by no
special incident. But one circumstance happened which showed the wonderful
dexterity of Ned Land, and proved what confidence we might place in him.
The 30th of June, the frigate spoke some American whalers, from whom
we learned that they knew nothing about the narwhal. But one of them, the
captain of the Monroe, knowing that Ned Land had shipped on board the
Abraham Lincoln, begged for his help in chasing a whale they had in sight.
Commander Farragut, desirous of seeing Ned Land at work, gave him
permission to go on board the Monroe. And fate served our Canadian so well
that, instead of one whale, he harpooned two with a double blow, striking
one straight to the heart, and catching the other after some minutes'
pursuit.
Decidedly, if the monster ever had to do with Ned Land's harpoon, I
would not bet in its favour.
The frigate skirted the south-east coast of America with great
rapidity. The 3rd of July we were at the opening of the Straits of
Magellan, level with Cape Vierges. But Commander Farragut would not take a
tortuous passage, but doubled Cape Horn.
The ship's crew agreed with him. And certainly it was possible that
they might meet the narwhal in this narrow pass. Many of the sailors
affirmed that the monster could not pass there, "that he was too big for
that!"
The 6th of July, about three o'clock in the afternoon, the Abraham
Lincoln, at fifteen miles to the south, doubled the solitary island, this
lost rock at the extremity of the American continent, to which some Dutch
sailors gave the name of their native town, Cape Horn. The course was taken
towards the north-west, and the next day the screw of the frigate was at
last beating the waters of the Pacific.
"Keep your eyes open!" called out the sailors.
And they were opened widely. Both eyes and glasses, a
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Page 26
little dazzled, it is true, by the prospect of two thousand dollars, had
not an instant's repose.
I myself, for whom money had no charms, was not the least attentive on
board. Giving but few minutes to my meals, but a few hours to sleep,
indifferent to either rain or sunshine, I did not leave the poop of the
vessel. Now leaning on the netting of the forecastle, now on the taffrail,
I devoured with eagerness the soft foam which whitened the sea as far as
the eye could reach; and how often have I shared the emotion of the
majority of the crew, when some capricious whale raised its black back
above the waves! The poop of the vessel was crowded on a moment. The cabins
poured forth a torrent of sailors and officers, each with heaving breast
and troubled eye watching the course of the cetacean. I looked and looked
till I was nearly blind, whilst Conseil kept repeating in a calm voice:
"If, sir, you would not squint so much, you would see better!"
But vain excitement! The Abraham Lincoln checked its speed and made
for the animal signalled, a simple whale, or common cachalot, which soon
disappeared amidst a storm of abuse.
But the weather was good. The voyage was being accomplished under the
most favourable auspices. It was then the bad season in Australia, the July
of that zone corresponding to our January in Europe, but the sea was
beautiful and easily scanned round a vast circumference.
The 20th of July, the tropic of Capricorn was cut by 105° of
longitude, and the 27th of the same month we crossed the Equator on the
110th meridian. This passed, the frigate took a more decided westerly
direction, and scoured the central waters of the Pacific. Commander
Farragut thought, and with reason, that it was better to remain in deep
water, and keep clear of continents or islands, which the beast itself
seemed to shun (perhaps because there was not enough water for him!
suggested the greater part of the crew). The frigate passed at some
distance from the Marquesas and the Sandwich Islands, crossed the tropic of
Cancer, and made for the China Seas. We were on the theatre of the last
diversions
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Page 27
of the monster: and, to say truth, we no longer lived on board. The entire
ship's crew were undergoing a nervous excitement, of which I can give no
idea: they could not eat, they could not sleep -- twenty times a day, a
misconception or an optical illusion of some sailor seated on the taff
rail, would cause dreadful perspirations, and these emotions, twenty times
repeated, kept us in a state of excitement so violent that a reaction was
unavoidable.
And truly, reaction soon showed itself. For three months, during which
a day seemed an age, the Abraham Lincoln furrowed all the waters of the
Northern Pacific, running at whales, making sharp deviations from her
course, veering suddenly from one tack to another, stopping suddenly,
putting on steam, and backing ever and anon at the risk of deranging her
machinery, and not one point of the Japanese or American coast was left
unexplored.
The warmest partisans of the enterprise now became its most ardent
detractors. Reaction mounted from the crew to the captain himself, and
certainly, had it not been for the resolute determination on the part of
Captain Farragut, the frigate would have headed due southward. This useless
search could not last much longer. The Abraham Lincoln had nothing to
reproach herself with, she had done her best to succeed. Never had an
American ship's crew shown more zeal or patience; its failure could not be
placed to their charge -- there remained nothing but to return.
This was represented to the commander. The sailors could not hide
their discontent, and the service suffered. I will not say there was a
mutiny on board, but after a reasonable period of obstinacy, Captain
Farragut (as Columbus did) asked for three days' patience. If in three days
the monster did not appear, the man at the helm should give three turns of
the wheel, and the Abraham Lincoln would make for the European seas.
This promise was made on the 2nd of November. It had the effect of
rallying the ship's crew. The ocean was watched with renewed attention.
Each one wished for a last glance in which to sum up his remembrance.
Glasses were used with feverish activity. It was a grand defiance given to
the giant
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Page 28
narwhal, and he could scarcely fail to answer the summons and "appear."
Two days passed, the steam was at half pressure; a thousand schemes
were tried to attract the attention and stimulate the apathy of the animal
in case it should be met in those parts. Large quantities of bacon were
trailed in the wake of the ship, to the great satisfaction (I must say) of
the sharks. Small craft radiated in all directions round the Abraham
Lincoln as she lay to, and did not leave a spot of the sea unexplored. But
the night of the 4th of November arrived without the unveiling of this
submarine mystery.
The next day, the 5th of November, at twelve, the delay would (morally
speaking) expire; after that time, Commander Farragut, faithful to his
promise, was to turn the course to the south-east and abandon for ever the
northern regions of the Pacific.
The frigate was then in 31° 15' N. lat. and 136° 42' E. long. The
coast of Japan still remained less than two hundred miles to leeward. Night
was approaching. They had just struck eight bells; large clouds veiled the
face of the moon, then in its first quarter. The sea undulated peaceably
under the stern of the vessel.
At that moment I was leaning forward on the starboard netting.
Conseil, standing near me, was looking straight before him. The crew,
perched in the ratlines, examined the horizon which contracted and darkened
by degrees. Officers with their night glasses scoured the growing darkness:
sometimes the ocean sparkled under the rays of the moon, which darted
between two clouds, then all trace of light was lost in the darkness.
In looking at Conseil, I could see he was undergoing a little of the
general influence. At least I thought so. Perhaps for the first time his
nerves vibrated to a sentiment of curiosity.
"Come, Conseil," said I, "this is the last chance of pocketing the two
thousand dollars."
"May I be permitted to say, sir," replied Conseil, "that I never
reckoned on getting the prize; and, had the government
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Page 29
of the Union offered a hundred thousand dollars, it would have been none
the poorer."
"You are right, Conseil. It is a foolish affair after all, and one
upon which we entered too lightly. What time lost, what useless emotions!
We should have been back in France six months ago."
"In your little room, sir," replied Conseil, "and in your museum, sir;
and I should have already classed all your fossils, sir. And the Babiroussa
would have been installed in its cage in the Jardin des Plantes, and have
drawn all the curious people of the capital!"
"As you say, Conseil. I fancy we shall run a fair chance of being
laughed at for our pains."
"That's tolerably certain," replied Conseil, quietly; "I think they
will make fun of you, sir. And, must I say it -- ?"
"Go on, my good friend."
"Well, sir, you will only get your deserts."
"Indeed!"
"When one has the honour of being a savant as you are, sir, one should
not expose one's self to -- "
Conseil had not time to finish his compliment. In the midst of general
silence a voice had just been heard. It was the voice of Ned Land shouting:
"Look out there! The very thing we are looking for -- on our weather
beam!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.6
AT FULL STEAM
AT THIS cry the whole ship's crew hurried towards the harpooner --
commander, officers, masters, sailors, cabin- boys; even the engineers left
their engines, and the stokers their furnaces.
The order to stop her had been given, and the frigate now simply went
on by her own momentum. The darkness was then profound, and, however good
the Canadian's eyes
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were, I asked myself how he had managed to see, and what he had been able
to see. My heart beat as if it would break. But Ned Land was not mistaken,
and we all perceived the object he pointed to. At two cables' length from
the Abraham Lincoln, on the starboard quarter, the sea seemed to be
illuminated all over. It was not a mere phosphoric phenomenon. The monster
emerged some fathoms from the water, and then threw out that very intense
but mysterious light mentioned in the report of several captains. This
magnificent irradiation must have been produced by an agent of great
shining power. The luminous part traced on the sea an immense oval, much
elongated, the centre of which condensed a burning heat, whose overpowering
brilliancy died out by successive gradations.
"It is only a massing of phosphoric particles," cried one of the
officers.
"No, sir, certainly not," I replied. "That brightness is of an
essentially electrical nature. Besides, see, see! it moves; it is moving
forwards, backwards; it is darting towards us!"
A general cry arose from the frigate.
"Silence!" said the captain. "Up with the helm, reverse the engines."
The steam was shut off, and the Abraham Lincoln, beating to port,
described a semicircle.
"Right the helm, go ahead," cried the captain.
These orders were executed, and the frigate moved rapidly from the
burning light.
I was mistaken. She tried to sheer off, but the supernatural animal
approached with a velocity double her own.
We gasped for breath. Stupefaction more than fear made us dumb and
motionless. The animal gained on us, sporting with the waves. It made the
round of the frigate, which was then making fourteen knots, and enveloped
it with its electric rings like luminous dust.
Then it moved away two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent track,
like those volumes of steam that the express trains leave behind. All at
once from the dark line of the horizon whither it retired to gain its
momentum, the monster rushed suddenly towards the Abraham Lincoln with
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Page 31
alarming rapidity, stopped suddenly about twenty feet from the hull, and
died out -- not diving under the water, for its brilliancy did not abate --
but suddenly, and as if the source of this brilliant emanation was
exhausted. Then it re- appeared on the other side of the vessel, as if it
had turned and slid under the hull. Any moment a collision might have
occurred which would have been fatal to us. However, I was astonished at
the manoeuvres of the frigate. She fled and did not attack.
On the captain's face, generally so impassive, was an expression of
unaccountable astonishment.
"Mr. Aronnax," he said, "I do not know with what formidable being I
have to deal, and I will not imprudently risk my frigate in the midst of
this darkness. Besides, how attack this unknown thing, how defend one's
self from it? Wait for daylight, and the scene will change."
"You have no further doubt, captain, of the nature of the animal?"
"No, sir; it is evidently a gigantic narwhal, and an electric one."
"Perhaps," added I, "one can only approach it with a torpedo."
"Undoubtedly," replied the captain, "if it possesses such dreadful
power, it is the most terrible animal that ever was created. That is why,
sir, I must be on my guard."
The crew were on their feet all night. No one thought of sleep. The
Abraham Lincoln, not being able to struggle with such velocity, had
moderated its pace, and sailed at half speed. For its part, the narwhal,
imitating the frigate, let the waves rock it at will, and seemed decided
not to leave the scene of the struggle. Towards midnight, however, it
disappeared, or, to use a more appropriate term, it "died out" like a large
glow-worm. Had it fled? One could only fear, not hope it. But at seven
minutes to one o'clock in the morning a deafening whistling was heard, like
that produced by a body of water rushing with great violence.
The captain, Ned Land, and I were then on the poop, eagerly peering
through the profound darkness.
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"Ned Land," asked the commander, "you have often heard the roaring of
whales?"
"Often, sir; but never such whales the sight of which brought me in
two thousand dollars. If I can only approach within four harpoons' length
of it!"
"But to approach it," said the commander, "I ought to put a whaler at
your disposal?"
"Certainly, sir."
"That will be trifling with the lives of my men."
"And mine too," simply said the harpooner.
Towards two o'clock in the morning, the burning light reappeared, not
less intense, about five miles to windward of the Abraham Lincoln.
Notwithstanding the distance, and the noise of the wind and sea, one heard
distinctly the loud strokes of the animal's tail, and even its panting
breath. It seemed that, at the moment that the enormous narwhal had come to
take breath at the surface of the water, the air was engulfed in its lungs,
like the steam in the vast cylinders of a machine of two thousand
horse-power.
"Hum!" thought I, "a whale with the strength of a cavalry regiment
would be a pretty whale!"
We were on the qui vive till daylight, and prepared for the combat.
The fishing implements were laid along the hammock nettings. The second
lieutenant loaded the blunder- busses, which could throw harpoons to the
distance of a mile, and long duck-guns, with explosive bullets, which
inflicted mortal wounds even to the most terrible animals. Ned Land
contented himself with sharpening his harpoon -- a terrible weapon in his
hands.
At six o'clock day began to break; and, with the first glimmer of
light, the electric light of the narwhal disappeared. At seven o'clock the
day was sufficiently advanced, but a very thick sea fog obscured our view,
and the best spy- glasses could not pierce it. That caused disappointment
and anger.
I climbed the mizzen-mast. Some officers were already perched on the
mast-heads. At eight o'clock the fog lay heavily on the waves, and its
thick scrolls rose little by little.
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The horizon grew wider and clearer at the same time. Suddenly, just as on
the day before, Ned Land's voice was heard:
"The thing itself on the port quarter!" cried the harpooner.
Every eye was turned towards the point indicated. There, a mile and a
half from the frigate, a long blackish body emerged a yard above the waves.
Its tail, violently agitated, produced a considerable eddy. Never did a
tail beat the sea with such violence. An immense track, of dazzling
whiteness, marked the passage of the animal, and described a long curve.
The frigate approached the cetacean. I examined it thoroughly.
The reports of the Shannon and of the Helvetia had rather exaggerated
its size, and I estimated its length at only two hundred and fifty feet. As
to its dimensions, I could only conjecture them to be admirably
proportioned. While I watched this phenomenon, two jets of steam and water
were ejected from its vents, and rose to the height of 120 feet; thus I
ascertained its way of breathing. I concluded definitely that it belonged
to the vertebrate branch, class mammalia.
The crew waited impatiently for their chief's orders. The latter,
after having observed the animal attentively, called the engineer. The
engineer ran to him.
"Sir," said the commander, "you have steam up?"
"Yes, sir," answered the engineer.
"Well, make up your fires and put on all steam."
Three hurrahs greeted this order. The time for the struggle had
arrived. Some moments after, the two funnels of the frigate vomited
torrents of black smoke, and the bridge quaked under the trembling of the
boilers.
The Abraham Lincoln, propelled by her wonderful screw, went straight
at the animal. The latter allowed it to come within half a cable's length;
then, as if disdaining to dive, it took a little turn, and stopped a short
distance off.
This pursuit lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour, without the
frigate gaining two yards on the cetacean. it
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was quite evident that at that rate we should never come up with it.
"Well, Mr. Land," asked the captain, "do you advise me to put the
boats out to sea?"
"No, sir," replied Ned Land; "because we shall not take that beast
easily."
"What shall we do then?"
"Put on more steam if you can, sir. With your leave, I mean to post
myself under the bowsprit, and, if we get within harpooning distance, I
shall throw my harpoon."
"Go, Ned," said the captain. "Engineer, put on more pressure."
Ned Land went to his post. The fires were increased, the screw
revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the
valves. We heaved the log, and calculated that the Abraham Lincoln was
going at the rate of 18 1/2 miles an hour.
But the accursed animal swam at the same speed.
For a whole hour the frigate kept up this pace, without gaining six
feet. It was humiliating for one of the swiftest sailers in the American
navy. A stubborn anger seized the crew; the sailors abused the monster,
who, as before, disdained to answer them; the captain no longer contented
himself with twisting his beard -- he gnawed it.
The engineer was called again.
"You have turned full steam on?"
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
The speed of the Abraham Lincoln increased. Its masts trembled down to
their stepping holes, and the clouds of smoke could hardly find way out of
the narrow funnels.
They heaved the log a second time.
"Well?" asked the captain of the man at the wheel.
"Nineteen miles and three-tenths, sir."
"Clap on more steam."
The engineer obeyed. The manometer showed ten degrees. But the
cetacean grew warm itself, no doubt; for without straining itself, it made
19 3/10 miles.
What a pursuit! No, I cannot describe the emotion that vibrated
through me. Ned Land kept his post, harpoon in
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hand. Several times the animal let us gain upon it. -- "We shall catch it!
we shall catch it!" cried the Canadian. But just as he was going to strike,
the cetacean stole away with a rapidity that could not be estimated at less
than thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied
the frigate, going round and round it. A cry of fury broke from everyone!
At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o'clock in the
morning.
The captain then decided to take more direct means.
"Ah!" said he, "that animal goes quicker than the Abraham Lincoln.
Very well! we will see whether it will escape these conical bullets. Send
your men to the forecastle, sir."
The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and slewed round. But the
shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.
"Another, more to the right," cried the commander, "and five dollars
to whoever will hit that infernal beast."
An old gunner with a grey beard -- that I can see now -- with steady
eye and grave face, went up to the gun and took a long aim. A loud report
was heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew.
The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, and, sliding off the
rounded surface, was lost in two miles depth of sea.
The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said:
"I will pursue that beast till my frigate bursts up."
"Yes," answered I; "and you will be quite right to do it."
I wished the beast would exhaust itself, and not be insensible to
fatigue like a steam engine. But it was of no use. Hours passed, without
its showing any signs of exhaustion.
However, it must be said in praise of the Abraham Lincoln that she
struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance she made under
three hundred miles during this unlucky day, November the 6th. But night
came on, and overshadowed the rough ocean.
Now I thought our expedition was at an end, and that we should never
again see the extraordinary animal. I was mistaken. At ten minutes to
eleven in the evening, the electric
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light reappeared three miles to windward of the frigate, as pure, as
intense as during the preceding night.
The narwhal seemed motionless; perhaps, tired with its day's work, it
slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. Now was a
chance of which the captain resolved to take advantage.
He gave his orders. The Abraham Lincoln kept up half- steam, and
advanced cautiously so as not to awake its adversary. It is no rare thing
to meet in the middle of the ocean whales so sound asleep that they can be
successfully attacked, and Ned Land had harpooned more than one during its
sleep. The Canadian went to take his place again under the bowsprit.
The frigate approached noiselessly, stopped at two cables' lengths
from the animal, and following its track. No one breathed; a deep silence
reigned on the bridge. We were not a hundred feet from the burning focus,
the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.
At this moment, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw below me Ned
Land grappling the martingale in one hand, brandishing his terrible harpoon
in the other, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal. Suddenly his
arm straightened, and the harpoon was thrown; I heard the sonorous stroke
of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body. The electric light
went out suddenly, and two enormous waterspouts broke over the bridge of
the frigate, rushing like a torrent from stem to stern, overthrowing men,
and breaking the lashings of the spars. A fearful shock followed, and,
thrown over the rail without having time to stop myself, I fell into the
sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.7
AN UNKNOWN SPECIES OF WHALE
THIS unexpected fall so stunned me that I have no clear recollection
of my sensations at the time. I was at first drawn down to a depth of about
twenty feet. I am a good swimmer
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(though without pretending to rival Byron or Edgar Poe, who were masters of
the art), and in that plunge I did not lose my presence of mind. Two
vigorous strokes brought me to the surface of the water. My first care was
to look for the frigate. Had the crew seen me disappear? Had the Abraham
Lincoln veered round? Would the captain put out a boat? Might I hope to be
saved?
The darkness was intense. I caught a glimpse of a black mass
disappearing in the east, its beacon lights dying out in the distance. It
was the frigate! I was lost.
"Help, help!" I shouted, swimming towards the Abraham Lincoln in
desperation.
My clothes encumbered me; they seemed glued to my body, and paralysed
my movements.
I was sinking! I was suffocating!
"Help!"
This was my last cry. My mouth filled with water; I struggled against
being drawn down the abyss. Suddenly my clothes were seized by a strong
hand, and I felt myself quickly drawn up to the surface of the sea; and I
heard, yes, I heard these words pronounced in my ear:
"If master would be so good as to lean on my shoulder, master would
swim with much greater ease."
I seized with one hand my faithful Conseil's arm.
"Is it you?" said I, "you?"
"Myself," answered Conseil; "and waiting master's orders."
"That shock threw you as well as me into the sea?"
"No; but, being in my master's service, I followed him."
The worthy fellow thought that was but natural.
"And the frigate?" I asked.
"The frigate?" replied Conseil, turning on his back; "I think that
master had better not count too much on her."
"You think so?"
"I say that, at the time I threw myself into the sea, I heard the men
at the wheel say, 'The screw and the rudder are broken.'
"Broken?"
"Yes, broken by the monster's teeth. It is the only injury
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the Abraham Lincoln has sustained. But it is a bad look-out for us -- she
no longer answers her helm."
"Then we are lost!"
"Perhaps so," calmly answered Conseil. "However, we have still several
hours before us, and one can do a good deal in some hours."
Conseil's imperturbable coolness set me up again. I swam more
vigorously; but, cramped by my clothes, which stuck to me like a leaden
weight, I felt great difficulty in bearing up. Conseil saw this.
"Will master let me make a slit?" said he; and, slipping an open knife
under my clothes, he ripped them up from top to bottom very rapidly. Then
he cleverly slipped them off me, while I swam for both of us.
Then I did the same for Conseil, and we continued to swim near to each
other.
Nevertheless, our situation was no less terrible. Perhaps our
disappearance had not been noticed; and, if it had been, the frigate could
not tack, being without its helm. Conseil argued on this supposition, and
laid his plans accordingly. This quiet boy was perfectly self-possessed. We
then decided that, as our only chance of safety was being picked up by the
Abraham Lincoln's boats, we ought to manage so as to wait for them as long
as possible. I resolved then to husband our strength, so that both should
not be exhausted at the same time; and this is how we managed: while one of
us lay on our back, quite still, with arms crossed, and legs stretched out,
the other would swim and push the other on in front. This towing business
did not last more than ten minutes each; and relieving each other thus, we
could swim on for some hours, perhaps till day-break. Poor chance! but hope
is so firmly rooted in the heart of man! Moreover, there were two of us.
Indeed I declare (though it may seem improbable) if I sought to destroy all
hope -- if I wished to despair, I could not.
The collision of the frigate with the cetacean had occurred about
eleven o'clock in the evening before. I reckoned then we should have eight
hours to swim before sunrise, an operation quite practicable if we relieved
each other. The
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sea, very calm, was in our favour. Sometimes I tried to pierce the intense
darkness that was only dispelled by the phosphorescence caused by our
movements. I watched the luminous waves that broke over my hand, whose
mirror-like surface was spotted with silvery rings. One might have said
that we were in a bath of quicksilver.
Near one o'clock in the morning, I was seized with dreadful fatigue.
My limbs stiffened under the strain of violent cramp. Conseil was obliged
to keep me up, and our preservation devolved on him alone. I heard the poor
boy pant; his breathing became short and hurried. I found that he could not
keep up much longer.
"Leave me! leave me!" I said to him.
"Leave my master? Never!" replied he. "I would drown first."
Just then the moon appeared through the fringes of a thick cloud that
the wind was driving to the east. The surface of the sea glittered with its
rays. This kindly light reanimated us. My head got better again. I looked
at all points of the horizon. I saw the frigate! She was five miles from
us, and looked like a dark mass, hardly discernible. But no boats!
I would have cried out. But what good would it have been at such a
distance! My swollen lips could utter no sounds. Conseil could articulate
some words, and I heard him repeat at intervals, "Help! help!"
Our movements were suspended for an instant; we listened. It might be
only a singing in the ear, but it seemed to me as if a cry answered the cry
from Conseil.
"Did you hear?" I murmured.
"Yes! Yes!"
And Conseil gave one more despairing cry.
This time there was no mistake! A human voice responded to ours! Was
it the voice of another unfortunate creature, abandoned in the middle of
the ocean, some other victim of the shock sustained by the vessel? Or
rather was it a boat from the frigate, that was hailing us in the darkness?
Conseil made a last effort, and, leaning on my shoulder, while I
struck out in a desperate effort, he raised himself half out of the water,
then fell back exhausted.
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Page 40
"What did you see?"
"I saw -- " murmured he; "I saw -- but do not talk -- reserve all your
strength!"
What had he seen? Then, I know not why, the thought of the monster
came into my head for the first time! But that voice! The time is past for
Jonahs to take refuge in whales' bellies! However, Conseil was towing me
again. He raised his head sometimes, looked before us, and uttered a cry of
recognition, which was responded to by a voice that came nearer and nearer.
I scarcely heard it. My strength was exhausted; my fingers stiffened; my
hand afforded me support no longer; my mouth, convulsively opening, filled
with salt water. Cold crept over me. I raised my head for the last time,
then I sank.
At this moment a hard body struck me. I clung to it: then I felt that
I was being drawn up, that I was brought to the surface of the water, that
my chest collapsed -- I fainted.
It is certain that I soon came to, thanks to the vigorous rubbings
that I received. I half opened my eyes.
"Conseil!" I murmured.
"Does master call me?" asked Conseil.
Just then, by the waning light of the moon which was sinking down to
the horizon, I saw a face which was not Conseil's and which I immediately
recognised.
"Ned!" I cried.
"The same, sir, who is seeking his prize!" replied the Canadian.
"Were you thrown into the sea by the shock to the frigate?"
"Yes, Professor; but more fortunate than you, I was able to find a
footing almost directly upon a floating island."
"An island?"
"Or, more correctly speaking, on our gigantic narwhal."
"Explain yourself, Ned!"
"Only I soon found out why my harpoon had not entered its skin and was
blunted."
"Why, Ned, why?"
"Because, Professor, that beast is made of sheet iron."
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The Canadian's last words produced a sudden revolution in my brain. I
wriggled myself quickly to the top of the being, or object, half out of the
water, which served us for a refuge. I kicked it. It was evidently a hard,
impenetrable body, and not the soft substance that forms the bodies of the
great marine mammalia. But this hard body might be a bony covering, like
that of the antediluvian animals; and I should be free to class this
monster among amphibious reptiles, such as tortoises or alligators.
Well, no! the blackish back that supported me was smooth, polished,
without scales. The blow produced a metallic sound; and, incredible though
it may be, it seemed, I might say, as if it was made of riveted plates.
There was no doubt about it! This monster, this natural phenomenon
that had puzzled the learned world, and overthrown and misled the
imagination of seamen of both hemispheres, it must be owned was a still
more astonishing phenomenon, inasmuch as it was a simply human
construction.
We had no time to lose, however. We were lying upon the back of a sort
of submarine boat, which appeared (as far as I could judge) like a huge
fish of steel. Ned Land's mind was made up on this point. Conseil and I
could only agree with him.
Just then a bubbling began at the back of this strange thing (which
was evidently propelled by a screw), and it began to move. We had only just
time to seize hold of the upper part, which rose about seven feet out of
the water, and happily its speed was not great.
"As long as it sails horizontally," muttered Ned Land, "I do not mind;
but, if it takes a fancy to dive, I would not give two straws for my life."
The Canadian might have said still less. It became really necessary to
communicate with the beings, whatever they were, shut up inside the
machine. I searched all over the outside for an aperture, a panel, or a
manhole, to use a technical expression; but the lines of the iron rivets,
solidly driven into the joints of the iron plates, were clear and
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Page 42
uniform. Besides, the moon disappeared then, and left us in total darkness.
At last this long night passed. My indistinct remembrance prevents my
describing all the impressions it made. I can only recall one circumstance.
During some lulls of the wind and sea, I fancied I heard several times
vague sounds, a sort of fugitive harmony produced by words of command. What
was, then, the mystery of this submarine craft, of which the whole world
vainly sought an explanation? What kind of beings existed in this strange
boat? What mechanical agent caused its prodigious speed?
Daybreak appeared. The morning mists surrounded us, but they soon
cleared off. I was about to examine the hull, which formed on deck a kind
of horizontal platform, when I felt it gradually sinking.
"Oh! confound it!" cried Ned Land, kicking the resounding plate.
"Open, you inhospitable rascals!"
Happily the sinking movement ceased. Suddenly a noise, like iron works
violently pushed aside, came from the interior of the boat. One iron plate
was moved, a man appeared, uttered an odd cry, and disappeared immediately.
Some moments after, eight strong men, with masked faces, appeared
noiselessly, and drew us down into their formidable machine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.8
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
THIS forcible abduction, so roughly carried out, was accomplished with
the rapidity of lightning. I shivered all over. Whom had we to deal with?
No doubt some new sort of pirates, who explored the sea in their own way.
Hardly had the narrow panel closed upon me, when I was enveloped in
darkness. My eyes, dazzled with the outer light, could distinguish nothing.
I felt my naked feet cling to the rungs of an iron ladder. Ned Land and
Conseil, firmly seized, followed
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me. At the bottom of the ladder, a door opened, and shut after us
immediately with a bang.
We were alone. Where, I could not say, hardly imagine. All was black,
and such a dense black that, after some minutes, my eyes had not been able
to discern even the faintest glimmer.
Meanwhile, Ned Land, furious at these proceedings, gave free vent to
his indignation.
"Confound it!" cried he, "here are people who come up to the Scotch
for hospitality. They only just miss being cannibals. I should not be
surprised at it, but I declare that they shall not eat me without my
protesting."
"Calm yourself, friend Ned, calm yourself," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Do not cry out before you are hurt. We are not quite done for yet."
"Not quite," sharply replied the Canadian, "but pretty near, at all
events. Things look black. Happily, my bowie- knife I have still, and I can
always see well enough to use it. The first of these pirates who lays a
hand on me -- "
"Do not excite yourself, Ned," I said to the harpooner, "and do not
compromise us by useless violence. Who knows that they will not listen to
us? Let us rather try to find out where we are."
I groped about. In five steps I came to an iron wall, made of plates
bolted together. Then turning back I struck against a wooden table, near
which were ranged several stools. The boards of this prison were concealed
under a thick mat, which deadened the noise of the feet. The bare walls
revealed no trace of window or door. Conseil, going round the reverse way,
met me, and we went back to the middle of the cabin, which measured about
twenty feet by ten. As to its height, Ned Land, in spite of his own great
height, could not measure it.
Half an hour had already passed without our situation being bettered,
when the dense darkness suddenly gave way to extreme light. Our prison was
suddenly lighted, that is to say, it became filled with a luminous matter,
so strong that I could not bear it at first. In its whiteness and intensity
I recognised that electric light which played round the
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submarine boat like a magnificent phenomenon of phosphorescence. After
shutting my eyes involuntarily, I opened them, and saw that this luminous
agent came from a half globe, unpolished, placed in the roof of the cabin.
"At last one can see," cried Ned Land, who, knife in hand, stood on
the defensive.
"Yes," said I; "but we are still in the dark about ourselves."
"Let master have patience," said the imperturbable Conseil.
The sudden lighting of the cabin enabled me to examine it minutely. It
only contained a table and five stools. The invisible door might be
hermetically sealed. No noise was heard. All seemed dead in the interior of
this boat. Did it move, did it float on the surface of the ocean, or did it
dive into its depths? I could not guess.
A noise of bolts was now heard, the door opened, and two men appeared.
One was short, very muscular, broad-shouldered, with robust limbs,
strong head, an abundance of black hair, thick moustache, a quick
penetrating look, and the vivacity which characterises the population of
Southern France.
The second stranger merits a more detailed description. I made out his
prevailing qualities directly: self-confidence -- because his head was well
set on his shoulders, and his black eyes looked around with cold assurance;
calmness -- for his skin, rather pale, showed his coolness of blood; energy
-- evinced by the rapid contraction of his lofty brows; and courage --
because his deep breathing denoted great power of lungs.
Whether this person was thirty-five or fifty years of age, I could not
say. He was tall, had a large forehead, straight nose, a clearly cut mouth,
beautiful teeth, with fine taper hands, indicative of a highly nervous
temperament. This man was certainly the most admirable specimen I had ever
met. One particular feature was his eyes, rather far from each other, and
which could take in nearly a quarter of the horizon at once.
This faculty -- (I verified it later) -- gave him a range of
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vision far superior to Ned Land's. When this stranger fixed upon an object,
his eyebrows met, his large eyelids closed around so as to contract the
range of his vision, and he looked as if he magnified the objects lessened
by distance, as if he pierced those sheets of water so opaque to our eyes,
and as if he read the very depths of the seas.
The two strangers, with caps made from the fur of the sea otter, and
shod with sea boots of seal's skin, were dressed in clothes of a particular
texture, which allowed free movement of the limbs. The taller of the two,
evidently the chief on board, examined us with great attention, without
saying a word; then, turning to his companion, talked with him in an
unknown tongue. It was a sonorous, harmonious, and flexible dialect, the
vowels seeming to admit of very varied accentuation.
The other replied by a shake of the head, and added two or three
perfectly incomprehensible words. Then he seemed to question me by a look.
I replied in good French that I did not know his language; but he
seemed not to understand me, and my situation became more embarrassing.
"If master were to tell our story," said Conseil, "perhaps these
gentlemen may understand some words."
I began to tell our adventures, articulating each syllable clearly,
and without omitting one single detail. I announced our names and rank,
introducing in person Professor Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and master
Ned Land, the harpooner.
The man with the soft calm eyes listened to me quietly, even politely,
and with extreme attention; but nothing in his countenance indicated that
he had understood my story. When I finished, he said not a word.
There remained one resource, to speak English. Perhaps they would know
this almost universal language. I knew it -- as well as the German language
-- well enough to read it fluently, but not to speak it correctly. But,
anyhow, we must make ourselves understood.
"Go on in your turn," I said to the harpooner; "speak your best
Anglo-Saxon, and try to do better than I."
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Page 46
Ned did not beg off, and recommenced our story.
To his great disgust, the harpooner did not seem to have made himself
more intelligible than I had. Our visitors did not stir. They evidently
understood neither the language of England nor of France.
Very much embarrassed, after having vainly exhausted our speaking
resources, I knew not what part to take, when Conseil said:
"If master will permit me, I will relate it in German."
But in spite of the elegant terms and good accent of the narrator, the
German language had no success. At last, nonplussed, I tried to remember my
first lessons, and to narrate our adventures in Latin, but with no better
success. This last attempt being of no avail, the two strangers exchanged
some words in their unknown language, and retired.
The door shut.
"It is an infamous shame," cried Ned Land, who broke out for the
twentieth time. "We speak to those rogues in French, English, German, and
Latin, and not one of them has the politeness to answer!"
"Calm yourself," I said to the impetuous Ned; "anger will do no good."
"But do you see, Professor," replied our irascible companion, "that we
shall absolutely die of hunger in this iron cage?"
"Bah!" said Conseil, philosophically; "we can hold out some time yet."
"My friends," I said, "we must not despair. We have been worse off
than this. Do me the favour to wait a little before forming an opinion upon
the commander and crew of this boat."
"My opinion is formed," replied Ned Land, sharply. "They are rascals."
"Good! and from what country?"
"From the land of rogues!"
"My brave Ned, that country is not clearly indicated on the map of the
world; but I admit that the nationality of the two strangers is hard to
determine. Neither English, French, nor German, that is quite certain.
However, I am
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Page 47
inclined to think that the commander and his companion were born in low
latitudes. There is southern blood in them. But I cannot decide by their
appearance whether they are Spaniards, Turks, Arabians, or Indians. As to
their language, it is quite incomprehensible."
"There is the disadvantage of not knowing all languages," said
Conseil, "or the disadvantage of not having one universal language."
As he said these words, the door opened. A steward entered. He brought
us clothes, coats and trousers, made of a stuff I did not know. I hastened
to dress myself, and my companions followed my example. During that time,
the steward -- dumb, perhaps deaf -- had arranged the table, and laid three
plates.
"This is something like!" said Conseil.
"Bah!" said the angry harpooner, "what do you suppose they eat here?
Tortoise liver, filleted shark, and beef- steaks from seadogs."
"We shall see," said Conseil.
The dishes, of bell metal, were placed on the table, and we took our
places. Undoubtedly we had to do with civilised people, and, had it not
been for the electric light which flooded us, I could have fancied I was in
the dining-room of the Adelphi Hotel at Liverpool, or at the Grand Hotel in
Paris. I must say, however, that there was neither bread nor wine. The
water was fresh and clear, but it was water and did not suit Ned Land's
taste. Amongst the dishes which were brought to us, I recognised several
fish delicately dressed; but of some, although excellent, I could give no
opinion, neither could I tell to what kingdom they belonged, whether animal
or vegetable. As to the dinner-service, it was elegant, and in perfect
taste. Each utensil -- spoon, fork, knife, plate -- had a letter engraved
on it, with a motto above it, of which this is an exact facsimile:
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
N
The letter N was no doubt the initial of the name of the enigmatical
person who commanded at the bottom of the seas.
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Page 48
Ned and Conseil did not reflect much. They devoured the food, and I
did likewise. I was, besides, reassured as to our fate; and it seemed
evident that our hosts would not let us die of want.
However, everything has an end, everything passes away, even the
hunger of people who have not eaten for fifteen hours. Our appetites
satisfied, we felt overcome with sleep.
"Faith! I shall sleep well," said Conseil.
"So shall I," replied Ned Land.
My two companions stretched themselves on the cabin carpet, and were
soon sound asleep. For my own part, too many thoughts crowded my brain, too
many insoluble questions pressed upon me, too many fancies kept my eyes
half open. Where were we? What strange power carried us on? I felt -- or
rather fancied I felt -- the machine sinking down to the lowest beds of the
sea. Dreadful nightmares beset me; I saw in these mysterious asylums a
world of unknown animals, amongst which this submarine boat seemed to be of
the same kind, living, moving, and formidable as they. Then my brain grew
calmer, my imagination wandered into vague unconsciousness, and I soon fell
into a deep sleep.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.9
NED LAND'S TEMPERS
How long we slept I do not know; but our sleep must have lasted long,
for it rested us completely from our fatigues. I woke first. My companions
had not moved, and were still stretched in their corner.
Hardly roused from my somewhat hard couch, I felt my brain freed, my
mind clear. I then began an attentive examination of our cell. Nothing was
changed inside. The prison was still a prison -- the prisoners, prisoners.
However, the steward, during our sleep, had cleared the table. I breathed
with difficulty. The heavy air seemed to oppress my lungs. Although the
cell was large, we had evidently
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Page 49
consumed a great part of the oxygen that it contained. Indeed, each man
consumes, in one hour, the oxygen contained in more than 176 pints of air,
and this air, charged (as then) with a nearly equal quantity of carbonic
acid, becomes unbreathable.
It became necessary to renew the atmosphere of our prison, and no
doubt the whole in the submarine boat. That gave rise to a question in my
mind. How would the commander of this floating dwelling-place proceed?
Would he obtain air by chemical means, in getting by heat the oxygen
contained in chlorate of potash, and in absorbing carbonic acid by caustic
potash? Or -- a more convenient, economical, and consequently more probable
alternative -- would he be satisfied to rise and take breath at the surface
of the water, like a whale, and so renew for twenty-four hours the
atmospheric provision?
In fact, I was already obliged to increase my respirations to eke out
of this cell the little oxygen it contained, when suddenly I was refreshed
by a current of pure air, and perfumed with saline emanations. It was an
invigorating sea breeze, charged with iodine. I opened my mouth wide, and
my lungs saturated themselves with fresh particles.
At the same time I felt the boat rolling. The iron-plated monster had
evidently just risen to the surface of the ocean to breathe, after the
fashion of whales. I found out from that the mode of ventilating the boat.
When I had inhaled this air freely, I sought the conduit pipe, which
conveyed to us the beneficial whiff, and I was not long in finding it.
Above the door was a ventilator, through which volumes of fresh air renewed
the impoverished atmosphere of the cell.
I was making my observations, when Ned and Conseil awoke almost at the
same time, under the influence of this reviving air. They rubbed their
eyes, stretched themselves, and were on their feet in an instant.
"Did master sleep well?" asked Conseil, with his usual politeness.
"Very well, my brave boy. And you, Mr. Land?"
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"Soundly, Professor. But, I don't know if I am right or not, there
seems to be a sea breeze!"
A seaman could not be mistaken, and I told the Canadian all that had
passed during his sleep.
"Good!" said he. "That accounts for those roarings we heard, when the
supposed narwhal sighted the Abraham Lincoln."
"Quite so, Master Land; it was taking breath."
"Only, Mr. Aronnax, I have no idea what o'clock it is, unless it is
dinner-time."
"Dinner-time! my good fellow? Say rather breakfast-time, for we
certainly have begun another day."
"So," said Conseil, "we have slept twenty-four hours?"
"That is my opinion."
"I will not contradict you," replied Ned Land. "But, dinner or
breakfast, the steward will be welcome, whichever he brings."
"Master Land, we must conform to the rules on board, and I suppose our
appetites are in advance of the dinner- hour."
"That is just like you, friend Conseil," said Ned, impatiently. "You
are never out of temper, always calm; you would return thanks before grace,
and die of hunger rather than complain!"
Time was getting on, and we were fearfully hungry; and this time the
steward did not appear. It was rather too long to leave us, if they really
had good intentions towards us. Ned Land, tormented by the cravings of
hunger, got still more angry; and, notwithstanding his promise, I dreaded
an explosion when he found himself with one of the crew.
For two hours more Ned Land's temper increased; he cried, he shouted,
but in vain. The walls were deaf. There was no sound to be heard in the
boat; all was still as death. It did not move, for I should have felt the
trembling motion of the hull under the influence of the screw. Plunged in
the depths of the waters, it belonged no longer to earth: this silence was
dreadful.
I felt terrified, Conseil was calm, Ned Land roared.
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Just then a noise was heard outside. Steps sounded on the metal flags.
The locks were turned, the door opened, and the steward appeared.
Before I could rush forward to stop him, the Canadian had thrown him
down, and held him by the throat. The steward was choking under the grip of
his powerful hand.
Conseil was already trying to unclasp the harpooner's hand from his
half-suffocated victim, and I was going to fly to the rescue, when suddenly
I was nailed to the spot by hearing these words in French:
"Be quiet, Master Land; and you, Professor, will you be so good as to
listen to me?"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.10
THE MAN OF THE SEAS
IT WAS the commander of the vessel who thus spoke.
At these words, Ned Land rose suddenly. The steward, nearly strangled,
tottered out on a sign from his master. But such was the power of the
commander on board, that not a gesture betrayed the resentment which this
man must have felt towards the Canadian. Conseil interested in spite of
himself, I stupefied, awaited in silence the result of this scene.
The commander, leaning against the corner of a table with his arms
folded, scanned us with profound attention. Did he hesitate to speak? Did
he regret the words which he had just spoken in French? One might almost
think so.
After some moments of silence, which not one of us dreamed of
breaking, "Gentlemen," said he, in a calm and penetrating voice, "I speak
French, English, German, and Latin equally well. I could, therefore, have
answered you at our first interview, but I wished to know you first, then
to reflect. The story told by each one, entirely agreeing in the main
points, convinced me of your identity. I know now that chance has brought
before me M. Pierre Aronnax, Professor of Natural History at the Museum of
Paris,
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entrusted with a scientific mission abroad, Conseil, his servant, and Ned
Land, of Canadian origin, harpooner on board the frigate Abraham Lincoln of
the navy of the United States of America."
I bowed assent. It was not a question that the commander put to me.
Therefore there was no answer to be made. This man expressed himself with
perfect ease, without any accent. His sentences were well turned, his words
clear, and his fluency of speech remarkable. Yet, I did not recognise in
him a fellow-countryman.
He continued the conversation in these terms:
"You have doubtless thought, sir, that I have delayed long in paying
you this second visit. The reason is that, your identity recognised, I
wished to weigh maturely what part to act towards you. I have hesitated
much. Most annoying circumstances have brought you into the presence of a
man who has broken all the ties of humanity. You have come to trouble my
existence."
"Unintentionally!" said I.
"Unintentionally?" replied the stranger, raising his voice a little.
"Was it unintentionally that the Abraham Lincoln pursued me all over the
seas? Was it unintentionally that you took passage in this frigate? Was it
unintentionally that your cannon-balls rebounded off the plating of my
vessel? Was it unintentionally that Mr. Ned Land struck me with his
harpoon?"
I detected a restrained irritation in these words. But to these
recriminations I had a very natural answer to make, and I made it.
"Sir," said I, "no doubt you are ignorant of the discussions which
have taken place concerning you in America and Europe. You do not know that
divers accidents, caused by collisions with your submarine machine, have
excited public feeling in the two continents. I omit the theories without
number by which it was sought to explain that of which you alone possess
the secret. But you must understand that, in pursuing you over the high
seas of the Pacific, the Abraham Lincoln believed itself to be chasing some
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Page 53
powerful sea-monster, of which it was necessary to rid the ocean at any
price."
A half-smile curled the lips of the commander: then, in a calmer tone:
"M. Aronnax," he replied, "dare you affirm that your frigate would not
as soon have pursued and cannonaded a submarine boat as a monster?"
This question embarrassed me, for certainly Captain Farragut might not
have hesitated. He might have thought it his duty to destroy a contrivance
of this kind, as he would a gigantic narwhal.
"You understand then, sir," continued the stranger, "that I have the
right to treat you as enemies?"
I answered nothing, purposely. For what good would it be to discuss
such a proposition, when force could destroy the best arguments?
"I have hesitated some time," continued the commander; nothing obliged
me to show you hospitality. If I chose to separate myself from you, I
should have no interest in seeing you again; I could place you upon the
deck of this vessel which has served you as a refuge, I could sink beneath
the waters, and forget that you had ever existed. Would not that be my
right?"
"It might be the right of a savage," I answered, "but not that of a
civilised man."
"Professor," replied the commander, quickly, "I am not what you call a
civilised man! I have done with society entirely, for reasons which I alone
have the right of appreciating. I do not, therefore, obey its laws, and I
desire you never to allude to them before me again!"
This was said plainly. A flash of anger and disdain kindled in the
eyes of the Unknown, and I had a glimpse of a terrible past in the life of
this man. Not only had he put himself beyond the pale of human laws, but he
had made himself independent of them, free in the strictest acceptation of
the word, quite beyond their reach! Who then would dare to pursue him at
the bottom of the sea, when, on its surface, he defied all attempts made
against him?
What vessel could resist the shock of his submarine monitor?
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Page 54
What cuirass, however thick, could withstand the blows of his spur? No man
could demand from him an account of his actions; God, if he believed in one
-- his conscience, if he had one -- were the sole judges to whom he was
answerable.
These reflections crossed my mind rapidly, whilst the stranger
personage was silent, absorbed, and as if wrapped up in himself. I regarded
him with fear mingled with interest, as, doubtless, OEdiphus regarded the
Sphinx.
After rather a long silence, the commander resumed the conversation.
"I have hesitated," said he, "but I have thought that my interest
might be reconciled with that pity to which every human being has a right.
You will remain on board my vessel, since fate has cast you there. You will
be free; and, in exchange for this liberty, I shall only impose one single
condition. Your word of honour to submit to it will suffice."
"Speak, sir," I answered. "I suppose this condition is one which a man
of honour may accept?"
"Yes, sir; it is this: It is possible that certain events, unforeseen,
may oblige me to consign you to your cabins for some hours or some days, as
the case may be. As I desire never to use violence, I expect from you, more
than all the others, a passive obedience. In thus acting, I take all the
responsibility: I acquit you entirely, for I make it an impossibility for
you to see what ought not to be seen. Do you accept this condition?"
Then things took place on board which, to say the least, were
singular, and which ought not to be seen by people who were not placed
beyond the pale of social laws. Amongst the surprises which the future was
preparing for me, this might not be the least.
"We accept," I answered; "only I will ask your permission, sir, to
address one question to you -- one only."
"Speak, sir."
"You said that we should be free on board."
"Entirely."
"I ask you, then, what you mean by this liberty?"
"Just the liberty to go, to come, to see, to observe even all that
passes here save under rare circumstances -- the
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Page 55
liberty, in short, which we enjoy ourselves, my companions and I."
It was evident that we did not understand one another.
"Pardon me, sir," I resumed, "but this liberty is only what every
prisoner has of pacing his prison. It cannot suffice us."
"It must suffice you, however."
"What! we must renounce for ever seeing our country, our friends, our
relations again?"
"Yes, sir. But to renounce that unendurable worldly yoke which men
believe to be liberty is not perhaps so painful as you think."
"Well," exclaimed Ned Land, "never will I give my word of honour not
to try to escape."
"I did not ask you for your word of honour, Master Land," answered the
commander, coldly.
"Sir," I replied, beginning to get angry in spite of myself, "you
abuse your situation towards us; it is cruelty."
"No, sir, it is clemency. You are my prisoners of war. I keep you,
when I could, by a word, plunge you into the depths of the ocean. You
attacked me. You came to surprise a secret which no man in the world must
penetrate -- the secret of my whole existence. And you think that I am
going to send you back to that world which must know me no more? Never! In
retaining you, it is not you whom I guard -- it is myself."
These words indicated a resolution taken on the part of the commander,
against which no arguments would prevail.
"So, sir," I rejoined, "you give us simply the choice between life and
death?"
"Simply."
"My friends," said I, "to a question thus put, there is nothing to
answer. But no word of honour binds us to the master of this vessel."
"None, sir," answered the Unknown.
Then, in a gentler tone, he continued:
"Now, permit me to finish what I have to say to you. I know you, M.
Aronnax. You and your companions will not, perhaps, have so much to
complain of in the chance
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which has bound you to my fate. You will find amongst the books which are
my favourite study the work which you have published on 'the depths of the
sea.' I have often read it. You have carried out your work as far as
terrestrial science permitted you. But you do not know all -- you have not
seen all. Let me tell you then, Professor, that you will not regret the
time passed on board my vessel. You are going to visit the land of
marvels."
These words of the commander had a great effect upon me. I cannot deny
it. My weak point was touched; and I forgot, for a moment, that the
contemplation of these sublime subjects was not worth the loss of liberty.
Besides, I trusted to the future to decide this grave question. So I
contented myself with saying:
"By what name ought I to address you?"
"Sir," replied the commander, "I am nothing to you but Captain Nemo;
and you and your companions are nothing to me but the passengers of the
Nautilus."
Captain Nemo called. A steward appeared. The captain gave him his
orders in that strange language which I did not understand. Then, turning
towards the Canadian and Conseil:
"A repast awaits you in your cabin," said he. "Be so good as to follow
this man.
"And now, M. Aronnax, our breakfast is ready. Permit me to lead the
way."
"I am at your service, Captain."
I followed Captain Nemo; and as soon as I had passed through the door,
I found myself in a kind of passage lighted by electricity, similar to the
waist of a ship. After we had proceeded a dozen yards, a second door opened
before me.
I then entered a dining-room, decorated and furnished in severe taste.
High oaken sideboards, inlaid with ebony, stood at the two extremities of
the room, and upon their shelves glittered china, porcelain, and glass of
inestimable value. The plate on the table sparkled in the rays which the
luminous ceiling shed around, while the light was tempered and softened by
exquisite paintings.
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In the centre of the room was a table richly laid out. Captain Nemo
indicated the place I was to occupy.
The breakfast consisted of a certain number of dishes, the contents of
which were furnished by the sea alone; and I was ignorant of the nature and
mode of preparation of some of them. I acknowledged that they were good,
but they had a peculiar flavour, which I easily became accustomed to. These
different aliments appeared to me to be rich in phosphorus, and I thought
they must have a marine origin.
Captain Nemo looked at me. I asked him no questions, but he guessed my
thoughts, and answered of his own accord the questions which I was burning
to address to him.
"The greater part of these dishes are unknown to you," he said to me.
"However, you may partake of them without fear. They are wholesome and
nourishing. For a long time I have renounced the food of the earth, and I
am never ill now. My crew, who are healthy, are fed on the same food."
"So," said I, "all these eatables are the produce of the sea?"
"Yes, Professor, the sea supplies all my wants. Sometimes I cast my
nets in tow, and I draw them in ready to break. Sometimes I hunt in the
midst of this element, which appears to be inaccessible to man, and quarry
the game which dwells in my submarine forests. My flocks, like those of
Neptune's old shepherds, graze fearlessly in the immense prairies of the
ocean. I have a vast property there, which I cultivate myself, and which is
always sown by the hand of the Creator of all things."
"I can understand perfectly, sir, that your nets furnish excellent
fish for your table; I can understand also that you hunt aquatic game in
your submarine forests; but I cannot understand at all how a particle of
meat, no matter how small, can figure in your bill of fare."
"This, which you believe to be meat, Professor, is nothing else than
fillet of turtle. Here are also some dolphins' livers, which you take to be
ragout of pork. My cook is a clever fellow, who excels in dressing these
various products of the ocean. Taste all these dishes. Here is a preserve
of
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sea-cucumber, which a Malay would declare to be unrivalled in the world;
here is a cream, of which the milk has been furnished by the cetacea, and
the sugar by the great fucus of the North Sea; and, lastly, permit me to
offer you some preserve of anemones, which is equal to that of the most
delicious fruits."
I tasted, more from curiosity than as a connoisseur, whilst Captain
Nemo enchanted me with his extraordinary stories.
"You like the sea, Captain?"
"Yes; I love it! The sea is everything. It covers seven- tenths of the
terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert,
where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides. The sea
is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence. It is
nothing but love and emotion; it is the 'Living Infinite,' as one of your
poets has said. In fact, Professor, Nature manifests herself in it by her
three kingdoms -- mineral, vegetable, and animal. The sea is the vast
reservoir of Nature. The globe began with sea, so to speak; and who knows
if it will not end with it? In it is supreme tranquillity. The sea does not
belong to despots. Upon its surface men can still exercise unjust laws,
fight, tear one another to pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial
horrors. But at thirty feet below its level, their reign ceases, their
influence is quenched, and their power disappears. Ah! sir, live -- live in
the bosom of the waters! There only is independence! There I recognise no
masters! There I am free!"
Captain Nemo suddenly became silent in the midst of this enthusiasm,
by which he was quite carried away. For a few moments he paced up and down,
much agitated. Then he became more calm, regained his accustomed coldness
of expression, and turning towards me:
"Now, Professor," said he, "if you wish to go over the Nautilus, I am
at your service."
Captain Nemo rose. I followed him. A double door, contrived at the
back of the dining-room, opened, and I entered a room equal in dimensions
to that which I had just quitted.
It was a library. High pieces of furniture, of black violet ebony
inlaid with brass, supported upon their wide shelves
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a great number of books uniformly bound. They followed the shape of the
room, terminating at the lower part in huge divans, covered with brown
leather, which were curved, to afford the greatest comfort. Light movable
desks, made to slide in and out at will, allowed one to rest one's book
while reading. In the centre stood an immense table, covered with
pamphlets, amongst which were some newspapers, already of old date. The
electric light flooded everything; it was shed from four unpolished globes
half sunk in the volutes of the ceiling. I looked with real admiration at
this room, so ingeniously fitted up, and I could scarcely believe my eyes.
"Captain Nemo," said I to my host, who had just thrown himself on one
of the divans, "this is a library which would do honour to more than one of
the continental palaces, and I am absolutely astounded when I consider that
it can follow you to the bottom of the seas."
"Where could one find greater solitude or silence, Professor?" replied
Captain Nemo. "Did your study in the Museum afford you such perfect quiet?"
"No, sir; and I must confess that it is a very poor one after yours.
You must have six or seven thousand volumes here."
"Twelve thousand, M. Aronnax. These are the only ties which bind me to
the earth. But I had done with the world on the day when my Nautilus
plunged for the first time beneath the waters. That day I bought my last
volumes, my last pamphlets, my last papers, and from that time I wish to
think that men no longer think or write. These books, Professor, are at
your service besides, and you can make use of them freely."
I thanked Captain Nemo, and went up to the shelves of the library.
Works on science, morals, and literature abounded in every language; but I
did not see one single work on political economy; that subject appeared to
be strictly proscribed. Strange to say, all these books were irregularly
arranged, in whatever language they were written; and this medley proved
that the Captain of the Nautilus must have read indiscriminately the books
which he took up by chance.
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"Sir," said I to the Captain, "I thank you for having placed this
library at my disposal. It contains treasures of science, and I shall
profit by them."
"This room is not only a library," said Captain Nemo, "it is also a
smoking-room."
"A smoking-room!" I cried. "Then one may smoke on board?"
"Certainly."
"Then, sir, I am forced to believe that you have kept up a
communication with Havannah."
"Not any," answered the Captain. "Accept this cigar, M. Aronnax; and,
though it does not come from Havannah, you will be pleased with it, if you
are a connoisseur."
I took the cigar which was offered me; its shape recalled the London
ones, but it seemed to be made of leaves of gold. I lighted it at a little
brazier, which was supported upon an elegant bronze stem, and drew the
first whiffs with the delight of a lover of smoking who has not smoked for
two days.
"It is excellent, but it is not tobacco."
"No!" answered the Captain, "this tobacco comes neither from Havannah
nor from the East. It is a kind of sea-weed, rich in nicotine, with which
the sea provides me, but somewhat sparingly."
At that moment Captain Nemo opened a door which stood opposite to that
by which I had entered the library, and I passed into an immense
drawing-room splendidly lighted.
It was a vast, four-sided room, thirty feet long, eighteen wide, and
fifteen high. A luminous ceiling, decorated with light arabesques, shed a
soft clear light over all the marvels accumulated in this museum. For it
was in fact a museum, in which an intelligent and prodigal hand had
gathered all the treasures of nature and art, with the artistic confusion
which distinguishes a painter's studio.
Thirty first-rate pictures, uniformly framed, separated by bright
drapery, ornamented the walls, which were hung with tapestry of severe
design. I saw works of great value, the greater part of which I had admired
in the special collections of Europe, and in the exhibitions of paintings.
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Some admirable statues in marble and bronze, after the finest antique
models, stood upon pedestals in the corners of this magnificent museum.
Amazement, as the Captain of the Nautilus had predicted, had already begun
to take possession of me.
"Professor," said this strange man, "you must excuse the unceremonious
way in which I receive you, and the disorder of this room."
"Sir," I answered, "without seeking to know who you are, I recognise
in you an artist."
An amateur, nothing more, sir. Formerly I loved to collect these
beautiful works created by the hand of man. I sought them greedily, and
ferreted them out indefatigably, and I have been able to bring together
some objects of great value. These are my last souvenirs of that world
which is dead to me. In my eyes, your modern artists are already old; they
have two or three thousand years of existence; I confound them in my own
mind. Masters have no age."
Under elegant glass cases, fixed by copper rivets, were classed and
labelled the most precious productions of the sea which had ever been
presented to the eye of a naturalist. My delight as a professor may be
conceived.
Apart, in separate compartments, were spread out chaplets of pearls of
the greatest beauty, which reflected the electric light in little sparks of
fire; pink pearls, torn from the pinna-marina of the Red Sea; green pearls,
yellow, blue, and black pearls, the curious productions of the divers
molluscs of every ocean, and certain mussels of the water- courses of the
North; lastly, several specimens of inestimable value. Some of these pearls
were larger than a pigeon's egg, and were worth millions.
Therefore, to estimate the value of this collection was simply
impossible. Captain Nemo must have expended millions in the acquirement of
these various specimens, and I was thinking what source he could have drawn
from, to have been able thus to gratify his fancy for collecting, when I
was interrupted by these words:
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"You are examining my shells, Professor? Unquestionably they must be
interesting to a naturalist; but for me they have a far greater charm, for
I have collected them all with my own hand, and there is not a sea on the
face of the globe which has escaped my researches."
"I can understand, Captain, the delight of wandering about in the
midst of such riches. You are one of those who have collected their
treasures themselves. No museum in Europe possesses such a collection of
the produce of the ocean. But if I exhaust all my admiration upon it, I
shall have none left for the vessel which carries it. I do not wish to pry
into your secrets: but I must confess that this Nautilus, with the motive
power which is confined in it, the contrivances which enable it to be
worked, the powerful agent which propels it, all excite my curiosity to the
highest pitch. I see suspended on the walls of this room instruments of
whose use I am ignorant."
"You will find these same instruments in my own room, Professor, where
I shall have much pleasure in explaining their use to you. But first come
and inspect the cabin which is set apart for your own use. You must see how
you will be accommodated on board the Nautilus."
I followed Captain Nemo who, by one of the doors opening from each
panel of the drawing-room, regained the waist. He conducted me towards the
bow, and there I found, not a cabin, but an elegant room, with a bed,
dressing- table, and several other pieces of excellent furniture.
I could only thank my host.
"Your room adjoins mine," said he, opening a door, "and mine opens
into the drawing-room that we have just quitted."
I entered the Captain's room: it had a severe, almost a monkish
aspect. A small iron bedstead, a table, some articles for the toilet; the
whole lighted by a skylight. No comforts, the strictest necessaries only.
Captain Nemo pointed to a seat.
"Be so good as to sit down," he said. I seated myself, and he began
thus:
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.11
ALL BY ELECTRICITY
SIR," said Captain Nemo, showing me the instruments hanging on the
walls of his room, "here are the contrivances required for the navigation
of the Nautilus. Here, as in the drawing-room, I have them always under my
eyes, and they indicate my position and exact direction in the middle of
the ocean. Some are known to you, such as the thermometer, which gives the
internal temperature of the Nautilus; the barometer, which indicates the
weight of the air and foretells the changes of the weather; the hygrometer,
which marks the dryness of the atmosphere; the storm-glass, the contents of
which, by decomposing, announce the approach of tempests; the compass,
which guides my course; the sextant, which shows the latitude by the
altitude of the sun; chronometers, by which I calculate the longitude; and
glasses for day and night, which I use to examine the points of the
horizon, when the Nautilus rises to the surface of the waves."
"These are the usual nautical instruments," I replied, "and I know the
use of them. But these others, no doubt, answer to the particular
requirements of the Nautilus. This dial with movable needle is a manometer,
is it not?"
"It is actually a manometer. But by communication with the water,
whose external pressure it indicates, it gives our depth at the same time."
"And these other instruments, the use of which I cannot guess?"
"Here, Professor, I ought to give you some explanations. Will you be
kind enough to listen to me?"
He was silent for a few moments, then he said:
"There is a powerful agent, obedient, rapid, easy, which conforms to
every use, and reigns supreme on board my vessel. Everything is done by
means of it. It lights, warms it, and is the soul of my mechanical
apparatus. This agent is electricity."
"Electricity?" I cried in surprise.
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"Yes, sir."
"Nevertheless, Captain, you possess an extreme rapidity of movement,
which does not agree well with the power of electricity. Until now, its
dynamic force has remained under restraint, and has only been able to
produce a small amount of power."
"Professor," said Captain Nemo, "my electricity is not everybody's.
You know what sea-water is composed of. In a thousand grammes are found 96
1/2 per cent. of water, and about 2 2/3 per cent. of chloride of sodium;
then, in a smaller quantity, chlorides of magnesium and of potassium,
bromide of magnesium, sulphate of magnesia, sulphate and carbonate of lime.
You see, then, that chloride of sodium forms a large part of it. So it is
this sodium that I extract from the sea-water, and of which I compose my
ingredients. I owe all to the ocean; it produces electricity, and
electricity gives heat, light, motion, and, in a word, life to the
Nautilus."
"But not the air you breathe?"
"Oh! I could manufacture the air necessary for my consumption, but it
is useless, because I go up to the surface of the water when I please.
However, if electricity does not furnish me with air to breathe, it works
at least the powerful pumps that are stored in spacious reservoirs, and
which enable me to prolong at need, and as long as I will, my stay in the
depths of the sea. It gives a uniform and unintermittent light, which the
sun does not. Now look at this clock; it is electrical, and goes with a
regularity that defies the best chronometers. I have divided it into
twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, because for me there is neither
night nor day, sun nor moon, but only that factitious light that I take
with me to the bottom of the sea. Look! just now, it is ten o'clock in the
morning."
"Exactly."
"Another application of electricity. This dial hanging in front of us
indicates the speed of the Nautilus. An electric thread puts it in
communication with the screw, and the needle indicates the real speed.
Look! now we are spinning along with a uniform speed of fifteen miles an
hour."
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"It is marvelous! And I see, Captain, you were right to make use of
this agent that takes the place of wind, water, and steam."
"We have not finished, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo, rising. "If you
will allow me, we will examine the stern of the Nautilus."
Really, I knew already the anterior part of this submarine boat, of
which this is the exact division, starting from the ship's head: the
dining-room, five yards long, separated from the library by a water-tight
partition; the library, five yards long; the large drawing-room, ten yards
long, separated from the Captain's room by a second water-tight partition;
the said room, five yards in length; mine, two and a half yards; and,
lastly a reservoir of air, seven and a half yards, that extended to the
bows. Total length thirty- five yards, or one hundred and five feet. The
partitions had doors that were shut hermetically by means of india-rubber
instruments, and they ensured the safety of the Nautilus in case of a leak.
I followed Captain Nemo through the waist, and arrived at the centre
of the boat. There was a sort of well that opened between two partitions.
An iron ladder, fastened with an iron hook to the partition, led to the
upper end. I asked the Captain what the ladder was used for.
"It leads to the small boat," he said.
"What! have you a boat?" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"Of course; an excellent vessel, light and insubmersible, that serves
either as a fishing or as a pleasure boat."
"But then, when you wish to embark, you are obliged to come to the
surface of the water?"
"Not at all. This boat is attached to the upper part of the hull of
the Nautilus, and occupies a cavity made for it. It is decked, quite
water-tight, and held together by solid bolts. This ladder leads to a
man-hole made in the hull of the Nautilus, that corresponds with a similar
hole made in the side of the boat. By this double opening I get into the
small vessel. They shut the one belonging to the Nautilus; I shut the other
by means of screw pressure. I undo the bolts, and the little boat goes up
to the surface of the sea
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with prodigious rapidity. I then open the panel of the bridge, carefully
shut till then; I mast it, hoist my sail, take my oars, and I'm off."
"But how do you get back on board?"
"I do not come back, M. Aronnax; the Nautilus comes to me."
"By your orders?"
"By my orders. An electric thread connects us. I telegraph to it, and
that is enough."
"Really," I said, astonished at these marvels, "nothing can be more
simple."
After having passed by the cage of the staircase that led to the
platform, I saw a cabin six feet long, in which Conseil and Ned Land,
enchanted with their repast, were devouring it with avidity. Then a door
opened into a kitchen nine feet long, situated between the large
store-rooms. There electricity, better than gas itself, did all the
cooking. The streams under the furnaces gave out to the sponges of platina
a heat which was regularly kept up and distributed. They also heated a
distilling apparatus, which, by evaporation, furnished excellent drinkable
water. Near this kitchen was a bathroom comfortably furnished, with hot and
cold water taps.
Next to the kitchen was the berth-room of the vessel, sixteen feet
long. But the door was shut, and I could not see the management of it,
which might have given me an idea of the number of men employed on board
the Nautilus.
At the bottom was a fourth partition that separated this office from
the engine-room. A door opened, and I found myself in the compartment where
Captain Nemo -- certainly an engineer of a very high order -- had arranged
his locomotive machinery. This engine-room, clearly lighted, did not
measure less than sixty-five feet in length. It was divided into two parts;
the first contained the materials for producing electricity, and the second
the machinery that connected it with the screw. I examined it with great
interest, in order to understand the machinery of the Nautilus.
"You see," said the Captain, "I use Bunsen's contrivances, not
Ruhmkorff's. Those would not have been powerful
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enough. Bunsen's are fewer in number, but strong and large, which
experience proves to be the best. The electricity produced passes forward,
where it works, by electro- magnets of great size, on a system of levers
and cog-wheels that transmit the movement to the axle of the screw. This
one, the diameter of which is nineteen feet, and the thread twenty-three
feet, performs about 120 revolutions in a second."
"And you get then?"
"A speed of fifty miles an hour."
"I have seen the Nautilus manoeuvre before the Abraham Lincoln, and I
have my own ideas as to its speed. But this is not enough. We must see
where we go. We must be able to direct it to the right, to the left, above,
below. How do you get to the great depths, where you find an increasing
resistance, which is rated by hundreds of atmospheres? How do you return to
the surface of the ocean? And how do you maintain yourselves in the
requisite medium? Am I asking too much?"
"Not at all, Professor," replied the Captain, with some hesitation;
"since you may never leave this submarine boat. Come into the saloon, it is
our usual study, and there you will learn all you want to know about the
Nautilus."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.12
SOME FIGURES
A MOMENT after we were seated on a divan in the saloon smoking. The
Captain showed me a sketch that gave the plan, section, and elevation of
the Nautilus. Then he began his description in these words:
"Here, M. Aronnax, are the several dimensions of the boat you are in.
It is an elongated cylinder with conical ends. It is very like a cigar in
shape, a shape already adopted in London in several constructions of the
same sort. The length of this cylinder, from stem to stern, is exactly 232
feet, and its maximum breadth is twenty-six
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feet. It is not built quite like your long-voyage steamers, but its lines
are sufficiently long, and its curves prolonged enough, to allow the water
to slide off easily, and oppose no obstacle to its passage. These two
dimensions enable you to obtain by a simple calculation the surface and
cubic contents of the Nautilus. Its area measures 6,032 feet; and its
contents about 1,500 cubic yards; that is to say, when completely immersed
it displaces 50,000 feet of water, or weighs 1,500 tons.
"When I made the plans for this submarine vessel, I meant that
nine-tenths should be submerged: consequently it ought only to displace
nine-tenths of its bulk, that is to say, only to weigh that number of tons.
I ought not, therefore, to have exceeded that weight, constructing it on
the aforesaid dimensions.
"The Nautilus is composed of two hulls, one inside, the other outside,
joined by T-shaped irons, which render it very strong. Indeed, owing to
this cellular arrangement it resists like a block, as if it were solid. Its
sides cannot yield; it coheres spontaneously, and not by the closeness of
its rivets; and its perfect union of the materials enables it to defy the
roughest seas.
"These two hulls are composed of steel plates, whose density is from
.7 to .8 that of water. The first is not less than two inches and a half
thick and weighs 394 tons. The second envelope, the keel, twenty inches
high and ten thick, weighs only sixty-two tons. The engine, the ballast,
the several accessories and apparatus appendages, the partitions and
bulkheads, weigh 961.62 tons. Do you follow all this?"
"I do."
"Then, when the Nautilus is afloat under these circumstances,
one-tenth is out of the water. Now, if I have made reservoirs of a size
equal to this tenth, or capable of holding 150 tons, and if I fill them
with water, the boat, weighing then 1,507 tons, will be completely
immersed. That would happen, Professor. These reservoirs are in the lower
part of the Nautilus. I turn on taps and they fill, and the vessel sinks
that had just been level with the surface."
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"Well, Captain, but now we come to the real difficulty. I can
understand your rising to the surface; but, diving below the surface, does
not your submarine contrivance encounter a pressure, and consequently
undergo an upward thrust of one atmosphere for every thirty feet of water,
just about fifteen pounds per square inch?"
"Just so, sir."
"Then, unless you quite fill the Nautilus, I do not see how you can
draw it down to those depths."
"Professor, you must not confound statics with dynamics or you will be
exposed to grave errors. There is very little labour spent in attaining the
lower regions of the ocean, for all bodies have a tendency to sink. When I
wanted to find out the necessary increase of weight required to sink the
Nautilus, I had only to calculate the reduction of volume that sea-water
acquires according to the depth."
"That is evident."
"Now, if water is not absolutely incompressible, it is at least
capable of very slight compression. Indeed, after the most recent
calculations this reduction is only .000436 of an atmosphere for each
thirty feet of depth. If we want to sink 3,000 feet, I should keep account
of the reduction of bulk under a pressure equal to that of a column of
water of a thousand feet. The calculation is easily verified. Now, I have
supplementary reservoirs capable of holding a hundred tons. Therefore I can
sink to a considerable depth. When I wish to rise to the level of the sea,
I only let off the water, and empty all the reservoirs if I want the
Nautilus to emerge from the tenth part of her total capacity."
I had nothing to object to these reasonings.
"I admit your calculations, Captain," I replied; "I should be wrong to
dispute them since daily experience confirms them; but I foresee a real
difficulty in the way."
"What, sir?"
"When you are about 1,000 feet deep, the walls of the Nautilus bear a
pressure of 100 atmospheres. If, then, just now you were to empty the
supplementary reservoirs, to lighten the vessel, and to go up to the
surface, the pumps
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must overcome the pressure of 100 atmospheres, which is 1,500 lbs. per
square inch. From that a power -- "
"That electricity alone can give," said the Captain, hastily. "I
repeat, sir, that the dynamic power of my engines is almost infinite. The
pumps of the Nautilus have an enormous power, as you must have observed
when their jets of water burst like a torrent upon the Abraham Lincoln.
Besides, I use subsidiary reservoirs only to attain a mean depth of 750 to
1,000 fathoms, and that with a view of managing my machines. Also, when I
have a mind to visit the depths of the ocean five or six mlles below the
surface, I make use of slower but not less infallible means."
"What are they, Captain?"
"That involves my telling you how the Nautilus is worked."
"I am impatient to learn."
"To steer this boat to starboard or port, to turn, in a word,
following a horizontal plan, I use an ordinary rudder fixed on the back of
the stern-post, and with one wheel and some tackle to steer by. But I can
also make the Nautilus rise and sink, and sink and rise, by a vertical
movement by means of two inclined planes fastened to its sides, opposite
the centre of flotation, planes that move in every direction, and that are
worked by powerful levers from the interior. If the planes are kept
parallel with the boat, it moves horizontally. If slanted, the Nautilus,
according to this inclination, and under the influence of the screw, either
sinks diagonally or rises diagonally as it suits me. And even if I wish to
rise more quickly to the surface, I ship the screw, and the pressure of the
water causes the Nautilus to rise vertically like a balloon filled with
hydrogen."
"Bravo, Captain! But how can the steersman follow the route in the
middle of the waters?"
"The steersman is placed in a glazed box, that is raised about the
hull of the Nautilus, and furnished with lenses."
"Are these lenses capable of resisting such pressure?"
"Perfectly. Glass, which breaks at a blow, is, nevertheless, capable
of offering considerable resistance. During some experiments of fishing by
electric light in 1864 in the
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Northern Seas, we saw plates less than a third of an inch thick resist a
pressure of sixteen atmospheres. Now, the glass that I use is not less than
thirty times thicker."
"Granted. But, after all, in order to see, the light must exceed the
darkness, and in the midst of the darkness in the water, how can you see?"
"Behind the steersman's cage is placed a powerful electric reflector,
the rays from which light up the sea for half a mile in front."
"Ah! bravo, bravo, Captain! Now I can account for this phosphorescence
in the supposed narwhal that puzzled us so. I now ask you if the boarding
of the Nautilus* and of the Scotia, that has made such a noise, has been
the result of a chance rencontre?"
"Quite accidental, sir. I was sailing only one fathom below the
surface of the water when the shock came. It had no bad result."
"None, sir. But now, about your rencontre with the Abraham Lincoln?"
"Professor, I am sorry for one of the best vessels in the American
navy; but they attacked me, and I was bound to defend myself. I contented
myself, however, with putting the frigate hors de combat; she will not have
any difficulty in getting repaired at the next port."
"Ah, Commander! your Nautilus is certainly a marvellous boat."
"Yes, Professor; and I love it as if it were part of myself. If danger
threatens one of your vessels on the ocean, the first impression is the
feeling of an abyss above and below. On the Nautilus men's hearts never
fail them. No defects to be afraid of, for the double shell is as firm as
iron; no rigging to attend to; no sails for the wind to carry away; no
boilers to burst; no fire to fear, for the vessel is made of iron, not of
wood; no coal to run short, for electricity is the only mechanical agent;
no collision to fear, for it alone swims in deep water; no tempest to
brave, for when it dives below the water it reaches absolute tranquillity.
There, sir! that is the perfection of vessels! And if it is true that the
engineer has more confidence in the vessel than the
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builder, and the builder than the captain himself, you understand the trust
I repose in my Nautilus; for I am at once captain, builder, and engineer."
"But how could you construct this wonderful Nautilus in secret?"
"Each separate portion, M. Aronnax, was brought from different parts
of the globe."
"But these parts had to be put together and arranged?"
"Professor, I had set up my workshops upon a desert island in the
ocean. There my workmen, that is to say, the brave men that I instructed
and educated, and myself have put together our Nautilus. Then, when the
work was finished, fire destroyed all trace of our proceedings on this
island, that I could have jumped over if I had liked."
"Then the cost of this vessel is great?"
"M. Aronnax, an iron vessel costs L145 per ton. Now the Nautilus
weighed 1,500. It came therefore to L67,500, and L80,000 more for fitting
it up, and about L200,000, with the works of art and the collections it
contains."
"One last question, Captain Nemo."
"Ask it, Professor."
"You are rich?"
"Immensely rich, sir; and I could, without missing it, pay the
national debt of France."
I stared at the singular person who spoke thus. Was he playing upon my
credulity? The future would decide that.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.13
THE BLACK RIVER
THE portion of the terrestrial globe which is covered by water is
estimated at upwards of eighty millions of acres. This fluid mass comprises
two billions two hundred and fifty millions of cubic miles, forming a
spherical body of a diameter of sixty leagues, the weight of which would be
three quintillions of tons. To comprehend the meaning of these figures, it
is necessary to observe that a quintillion is
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to a billion as a billion is to unity; in other words, there are as many
billions in a quintillion as there are units in a billion. This mass of
fluid is equal to about the quantity of water which would be discharged by
all the rivers of the earth in forty thousand years.
During the geological epochs the ocean originally prevailed
everywhere. Then by degrees, in the silurian period, the tops of the
mountains began to appear, the islands emerged, then disappeared in partial
deluges, reappeared, became settled, formed continents, till at length the
earth became geographically arranged, as we see in the present day. The
solid had wrested from the liquid thirty-seven million six hundred and
fifty-seven square miles, equal to twelve billions nine hundred and sixty
millions of acres.
The shape of continents allows us to divide the waters into five great
portions: the Arctic or Frozen Ocean, the Antarctic, or Frozen Ocean, the
Indian, the Atlantic, and the Pacific Oceans.
The Pacific Ocean extends from north to south between the two Polar
Circles, and from east to west between Asia and America, over an extent of
145 degrees of longitude. It is the quietest of seas; its currents are
broad and slow, it has medium tides, and abundant rain. Such was the ocean
that my fate destined me first to travel over under these strange
conditions.
"Sir," said Captain Nemo, "we will, if you please, take our bearings
and fix the starting-point of this voyage. It is a quarter to twelve; I
will go up again to the surface."
The Captain pressed an electric clock three times. The pumps began to
drive the water from the tanks; the needle of the manometer marked by a
different pressure the ascent of the Nautilus, then it stopped.
"We have arrived," said the Captain.
I went to the central staircase which opened on to the platform,
clambered up the iron steps, and found myself on the upper part of the
Nautilus.
The platform was only three feet out of water. The front and back of
the Nautilus was of that spindle-shape which caused it justly to be
compared to a cigar. I noticed that its
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iron plates, slightly overlaying each other, resembled the shell which
clothes the bodies of our large terrestrial reptiles. It explained to me
how natural it was, in spite of all glasses, that this boat should have
been taken for a marine animal.
Toward the middle of the platform the longboat, half buried in the
hull of the vessel, formed a slight excrescence. Fore and aft rose two
cages of medium height with inclined sides, and partly closed by thick
lenticular glasses; one destined for the steersman who directed the
Nautilus, the other containing a brilliant lantern to give light on the
road.
The sea was beautiful, the sky pure. Scarcely could the long vehicle
feel the broad undulations of the ocean. A light breeze from the east
rippled the surface of the waters. The horizon, free from fog, made
observation easy. Nothing was in sight. Not a quicksand, not an island. A
vast desert.
Captain Nemo, by the help of his sextant, took the altitude of the
sun, which ought also to give the latitude. He waited for some moments till
its disc touched the horizon. Whilst taking observations not a muscle
moved, the instrument could not have been more motionless in a hand of
marble.
"Twelve o'clock, sir," said he. "When you like -- "
I cast a last look upon the sea, slightly yellowed by the Japanese
coast, and descended to the saloon.
"And now, sir, I leave you to your studies," added the Captain; "our
course is E.N.E., our depth is twenty-six fathoms. Here are maps on a large
scale by which you may follow it. The saloon is at your disposal, and, with
your permission, I will retire." Captain Nemo bowed, and I remained alone,
lost in thoughts all bearing on the commander of the Nautilus.
For a whole hour was I deep in these reflections, seeking to pierce
this mystery so interesting to me. Then my eyes fell upon the vast
planisphere spread upon the table, and I placed my finger on the very spot
where the given latitude and longitude crossed.
The sea has its large rivers like the continents. They are
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special currents known by their temperature and their colour. The most
remarkable of these is known by the name of the Gulf Stream. Science has
decided on the globe the direction of five principal currents: one in the
North Atlantic, a second in the South, a third in the North Pacific, a
fourth in the South, and a fifth in the Southern Indian Ocean. It is even
probable that a sixth current existed at one time or another in the
Northern Indian Ocean, when the Caspian and Aral Seas formed but one vast
sheet of water.
At this point indicated on the planisphere one of these currents was
rolling, the Kuro-Scivo of the Japanese, the Black River, which, leaving
the Gulf of Bengal, where it is warmed by the perpendicular rays of a
tropical sun, crosses the Straits of Malacca along the coast of Asia, turns
into the North Pacific to the Aleutian Islands, carrying with it trunks of
camphor-trees and other indigenous productions, and edging the waves of the
ocean with the pure indigo of its warm water. It was this current that the
Nautilus was to follow. I followed it with my eye; saw it lose itself in
the vastness of the Pacific, and felt myself drawn with it, when Ned Land
and Conseil appeared at the door of the saloon.
My two brave companions remained petrified at the sight of the wonders
spread before them.
"Where are we, where are we?" exclaimed the Canadian. "In the museum
at Quebec?"
"My friends," I answered, making a sign for them to enter, "you are
not in Canada, but on board the Nautilus, fifty yards below the level of
the sea."
"But, M. Aronnax," said Ned Land, "can you tell me how many men there
are on board? Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred?"
"I cannot answer you, Mr. Land; it is better to abandon for a time all
idea of seizing the Nautilus or escaping from it. This ship is a
masterpiece of modern industry, and I should be sorry not to have seen it.
Many people would accept the situation forced upon us, if only to move
amongst such wonders. So be quiet and let us try and see what passes around
us."
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"See!" exclaimed the harpooner, "but we can see nothing in this iron
prison! We are walking -- we are sailing -- blindly."
Ned Land had scarcely pronounced these words when all was suddenly
darkness. The luminous ceiling was gone, and so rapidly that my eyes
received a painful impression.
We remained mute, not stirring, and not knowing what surprise awaited
us, whether agreeable or disagreeable. A sliding noise was heard: one would
have said that panels were working at the sides of the Nautilus.
"It is the end of the end!" said Ned Land.
Suddenly light broke at each side of the saloon, through two oblong
openings. The liquid mass appeared vividly lit up by the electric gleam.
Two crystal plates separated us from the sea. At first I trembled at the
thought that this frail partition might break, but strong bands of copper
bound them, giving an almost infinite power of resistance.
The sea was distinctly visible for a mile all round the Nautilus. What
a spectacle! What pen can describe it? Who could paint the effects of the
light through those transparent sheets of water, and the softness of the
successive gradations from the lower to the superior strata of the ocean?
We know the transparency of the sea and that its clearness is far
beyond that of rock-water. The mineral and organic substances which it
holds in suspension heightens its transparency. In certain parts of the
ocean at the Antilles, under seventy-five fathoms of water, can be seen
with surprising clearness a bed of sand. The penetrating power of the solar
rays does not seem to cease for a depth of one hundred and fifty fathoms.
But in this middle fluid travelled over by the Nautilus, the electric
brightness was produced even in the bosom of the waves. It was no longer
luminous water, but liquid light.
On each side a window opened into this unexplored abyss. The obscurity
of the saloon showed to advantage the brightness outside, and we looked out
as if this pure crystal had been the glass of an immense aquarium.
"You wished to see, friend Ned; well, you see now."
"Curious! curious!" muttered the Canadian, who, forgetting
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his ill-temper, seemed to submit to some irresistible attraction; "and one
would come further than this to admire such a sight!"
"Ah!" thought I to myself, "I understand the life of this man; he has
made a world apart for himself, in which he treasures all his greatest
wonders."
For two whole hours an aquatic army escorted the Nautilus. During
their games, their bounds, while rivalling each other in beauty,
brightness, and velocity, I distinguished the green labre; the banded
mullet, marked by a double line of black; the round-tailed goby, of a white
colour, with violet spots on the back; the Japanese scombrus, a beautiful
mackerel of these seas, with a blue body and silvery head; the brilliant
azurors, whose name alone defies description; some banded spares, with
variegated fins of blue and yellow; the woodcocks of the seas, some
specimens of which attain a yard in length; Japanese salamanders, spider
lampreys, serpents six feet long, with eyes small and lively, and a huge
mouth bristling with teeth; with many other species.
Our imagination was kept at its height, interjections followed quickly
on each other. Ned named the fish, and Conseil classed them. I was in
ecstasies with the vivacity of their movements and the beauty of their
forms. Never had it been given to me to surprise these animals, alive and
at liberty, in their natural element. I will not mention all the varieties
which passed before my dazzled eyes, all the collection of the seas of
China and Japan. These fish, more numerous than the birds of the air, came,
attracted, no doubt, by the brilliant focus of the electric light.
Suddenly there was daylight in the saloon, the iron panels closed
again, and the enchanting vision disappeared. But for a long time I dreamt
on, till my eyes fell on the instruments hanging on the partition. The
compass still showed the course to be E.N.E., the manometer indicated a
pressure of five atmospheres, equivalent to a depth of twenty- five
fathoms, and the electric log gave a speed of fifteen miles an hour. I
expected Captain Nemo, but he did not appear. The clock marked the hour of
five.
Ned Land and Conseil returned to their cabin, and I
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retired to my chamber. My dinner was ready. It was composed of turtle soup
made of the most delicate hawks- bills, of a surmullet served with puff
paste (the liver of which, prepared by itself, was most delicious), and
fillets of the emperor-holocanthus, the savour of which seemed to me
superior even to salmon.
I passed the evening reading, writing, and thinking. Then sleep
overpowered me, and I stretched myself on my couch of zostera, and slept
profoundly, whilst the Nautilus was gliding rapidly through the current of
the Black River.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.14
A NOTE OF INVITATION
THE next day was the 9th of November. I awoke after a long sleep of
twelve hours. Conseil came, according to custom, to know "how I passed the
night," and to offer his services. He had left his friend the Canadian
sleeping like a man who had never done anything else all his life. I let
the worthy fellow chatter as be pleased, without caring to answer him. I
was preoccupied by the absence of the Captain during our sitting of the day
before, and hoping to see him to-day.
As soon as I was dressed I went into the saloon. It was deserted. I
plunged into the study of the shell treasures hidden behind the glasses.
The whole day passed without my being honoured by a visit from Captain
Nemo. The panels of the saloon did not open. Perhaps they did not wish us
to tire of these beautiful things.
The course of the Nautilus was E.N.E., her speed twelve knots, the
depth below the surface between twenty-five and thirty fathoms.
The next day, 10th of November, the same desertion, the same solitude.
I did not see one of the ship's crew: Ned and Conseil spent the greater
part of the day with me. They were astonished at the puzzling absence of
the Captain. Was
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this singular man ill? -- had he altered his intentions with regard to us?
After all, as Conseil said, we enjoyed perfect liberty, we were
delicately and abundantly fed. Our host kept to his terms of the treaty. We
could not complain, and, indeed, the singularity of our fate reserved such
wonderful compensation for us that we had no right to accuse it as yet.
That day I commenced the journal of these adventures which has enabled
me to relate them with more scrupulous exactitude and minute detail.
11th November, early in the morning. The fresh air spreading over the
interior of the Nautilus told me that we had come to the surface of the
ocean to renew our supply of oxygen. I directed my steps to the central
staircase, and mounted the platform.
It was six o'clock, the weather was cloudy, the sea grey, but calm.
Scarcely a billow. Captain Nemo, whom I hoped to meet, would he be there? I
saw no one but the steersman imprisoned in his glass cage. Seated upon the
projection formed by the hull of the pinnace, I inhaled the salt breeze
with delight.
By degrees the fog disappeared under the action of the sun's rays, the
radiant orb rose from behind the eastern horizon. The sea flamed under its
glance like a train of gunpowder. The clouds scattered in the heights were
coloured with lively tints of beautiful shades, and numerous "mare's
tails," which betokened wind for that day. But what was wind to this
Nautilus, which tempests could not frighten!
I was admiring this joyous rising of the sun, so gay, and so
life-giving, when I heard steps approaching the platform. I was prepared to
salute Captain Nemo, but it was his second (whom I had already seen on the
Captain's first visit) who appeared. He advanced on the platform, not
seeming to see me. With his powerful glass to his eye, he scanned every
point of the horizon with great attention. This examination over, he
approached the panel and pronounced a sentence in exactly these terms. I
have remembered
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it, for every morning it was repeated under exactly the same conditions. It
was thus worded:
"Nautron respoc lorni virch."
What it meant I could not say.
These words pronounced, the second descended. I thought that the
Nautilus was about to return to its submarine navigation. I regained the
panel and returned to my chamber.
Five days sped thus, without any change in our situation. Every
morning I mounted the platform. The same phrase was pronounced by the same
individual. But Captain Nemo did not appear.
I had made up my mind that I should never see him again, when, on the
16th November, on returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found upon
my table a note addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was written in
a bold, clear hand, the characters rather pointed, recalling the German
type. The note was worded as follows: TO PROFESSOR ARONNAX,
On board the Nautilus.
16th of November, 1867.
Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting- party, which will
take place to-morrow morning in the forests of the Island of Crespo. He
hopes that nothing will prevent the Professor from being present, and he
will with pleasure see him joined by his companions. CAPTAIN NEMO,
Commander of the Nautilus.
"A hunt!" exclaimed Ned.
"And in the forests of the Island of Crespo!" added Conseil.
"Oh! then the gentleman is going on terra firma?" replied Ned Land.
"That seems to me to be clearly indicated," said I, reading the letter
once more.
"Well, we must accept," said the Canadian. "But once more on dry
ground, we shall know what to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a
piece of fresh venison."
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Without seeking to reconcile what was contradictory between Captain
Nemo's manifest aversion to islands and continents, and his invitation to
hunt in a forest, I contented myself with replying:
"Let us first see where the Island of Crespo is."
I consulted the planisphere, and in 32° 40' N. lat. and 157° 50' W.
long., I found a small island, recognised in 1801 by Captain Crespo, and
marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la Plata, the meaning of
which is The Silver Rock. We were then about eighteen hundred miles from
our starting-point, and the course of the Nautilus, a little changed, was
bringing it back towards the southeast.
I showed this little rock, lost in the midst of the North Pacific, to
my companions.
"If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground," said I, "he at
least chooses desert islands."
Ned Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he
left me.
After supper, which was served by the steward, mute and impassive, I
went to bed, not without some anxiety.
The next morning, the 17th of November, on awakening, I felt that the
Nautilus was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the saloon.
Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and asked me
if it was convenient for me to accompany him. As he made no allusion to his
absence during the last eight days, I did not mention it, and simply
answered that my companions and myself were ready to follow him.
We entered the dining-room, where breakfast was served.
"M. Aronnax," said the Captain, "pray, share my breakfast without
ceremony; we will chat as we eat. For, though I promised you a walk in the
forest, I did not undertake to find hotels there. So breakfast as a man who
will most likely not have his dinner till very late."
I did honour to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish,
and slices of sea-cucumber, and different sorts of seaweed. Our drink
consisted of pure water, to which the Captain added some drops of a
fermented liquor, extracted
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by the Kamschatcha method from a seaweed known under the name of Rhodomenia
palmata. Captain Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began:
"Sir, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of Crespo,
you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge lightly of any
man."
"But Captain, believe me -- "
"Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any
cause to accuse me of folly and contradiction."
"I listen."
"You know as well as I do, Professor, that man can live under water,
providing he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In
submarine works, the workman, clad in an impervious dress, with his head in
a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of forcing pumps and
regulators."
"That is a diving apparatus," said I.
"Just so, but under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is
attached to the pump which sends him air through an india-rubber tube, and
if we were obliged to be thus held to the Nautilus, we could not go far."
"And the means of getting free?" I asked.
"It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own
countrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use, and which
will allow you to risk yourself under these new physiological conditions
without any organ whatever suffering. It consists of a reservoir of thick
iron plates, in which I store the air under a pressure of fifty
atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on the back by means of braces, like a
soldier's knapsack. Its upper part forms a box in which the air is kept by
means of a bellows, and therefore cannot escape unless at its normal
tension. In the Rouquayrol apparatus such as we use, two india- rubber
pipes leave this box and join a sort of tent which holds the nose and
mouth; one is to introduce fresh air, the other to let out the foul, and
the tongue closes one or the other according to the wants of the
respirator. But I, in encountering great pressures at the bottom of the
sea, was obliged to shut my head, like that of a diver in a ball
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of copper; and it is to this ball of copper that the two pipes, the
inspirator and the expirator, open."
"Perfectly, Captain Nemo; but the air that you carry with you must
soon be used; when it only contains fifteen per cent. of oxygen it is no
longer fit to breathe."
"Right! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the Nautilus
allow me to store the air under considerable pressure, and on those
conditions the reservoir of the apparatus can furnish breathable air for
nine or ten hours."
"I have no further objections to make," I answered. "I will only ask
you one thing, Captain -- how can you light your road at the bottom of the
sea?"
"With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax; one is carried on the back,
the other is fastened to the waist. It is composed of a Bunsen pile, which
I do not work with bichromate of potash, but with sodium. A wire is
introduced which collects the electricity produced, and directs it towards
a particularly made lantern. In this lantern is a spiral glass which
contains a small quantity of carbonic gas. When the apparatus is at work
this gas becomes luminous, giving out a white and continuous light. Thus
provided, I can breathe and I can see."
"Captain Nemo, to all my objections you make such crushing answers
that I dare no longer doubt. But, if I am forced to admit the Rouquayrol
and Ruhmkorff apparatus, I must be allowed some reservations with regard to
the gun I am to carry."
"But it is not a gun for powder," answered the Captain.
"Then it is an air-gun."
"Doubtless! How would you have me manufacture gunpowder on board,
without either saltpetre, sulphur, or charcoal?"
"Besides," I added, "to fire under water in a medium eight hundred and
fifty-five times denser than the air, we must conquer very considerable
resistance."
"That would be no difficulty. There exist guns, according to Fulton,
perfected in England by Philip Coles and Burley, in France by Furcy, and in
Italy by Landi, which are furnished with a peculiar system of closing,
which can fire
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under these conditions. But I repeat, having no powder, I use air under
great pressure, which the pumps of the Nautilus furnish abundantly."
"But this air must be rapidly used?"
"Well, have I not my Rouquayrol reservoir, which can furnish it at
need? A tap is all that is required. Besides M. Aronnax, you must see
yourself that, during our submarine hunt, we can spend but little air and
but few balls."
"But it seems to me that in this twilight, and in the midst of this
fluid, which is very dense compared with the atmosphere, shots could not go
far, nor easily prove mortal."
"Sir, on the contrary, with this gun every blow is mortal; and,
however lightly the animal is touched, it falls as if struck by a
thunderbolt."
"Why?"
"Because the balls sent by this gun are not ordinary balls, but little
cases of glass. These glass cases are covered with a case of steel, and
weighted with a pellet of lead; they are real Leyden bottles, into which
the electricity is forced to a very high tension. With the slightest shock
they are discharged, and the animal, however strong it may be, falls dead.
I must tell you that these cases are size number four, and that the charge
for an ordinary gun would be ten."
"I will argue no longer," I replied, rising from the table. "I have
nothing left me but to take my gun. At all events, I will go where you go."
Captain Nemo then led me aft; and in passing before Ned's and
Conseil's cabin, I called my two companions, who followed promptly. We then
came to a cell near the machinery-room, in which we put on our
walking-dress.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.15
A WALK ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA
THIS cell was, to speak correctly, the arsenal and wardrobe of the
Nautilus. A dozen diving apparatuses hung from the partition waiting our
use.
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Ned Land, on seeing them, showed evident repugnance to dress himself
in one.
"But, my worthy Ned, the forests of the Island of Crespo are nothing
but submarine forests."
"Good!" said the disappointed harpooner, who saw his dreams of fresh
meat fade away. "And you, M. Aronnax, are you going to dress yourself in
those clothes?"
"There is no alternative, Master Ned."
"As you please, sir," replied the harpooner, shrugging his shoulders;
"but, as for me, unless I am forced, I will never get into one."
"No one will force you, Master Ned," said Captain Nemo.
"Is Conseil going to risk it?" asked Ned.
"I follow my master wherever he goes," replied Conseil.
At the Captain's call two of the ship's crew came to help us dress in
these heavy and impervious clothes, made of india-rubber without seam, and
constructed expressly to resist considerable pressure. One would have
thought it a suit of armour, both supple and resisting. This suit formed
trousers and waistcoat. The trousers were finished off with thick boots,
weighted with heavy leaden soles. The texture of the waistcoat was held
together by bands of copper, which crossed the chest, protecting it from
the great pressure of the water, and leaving the lungs free to act; the
sleeves ended in gloves, which in no way restrained the movement of the
hands. There was a vast difference noticeable between these consummate
apparatuses and the old cork breastplates, jackets, and other contrivances
in vogue during the eighteenth century.
Captain Nemo and one of his companions (a sort of Hercules, who must
have possessed great strength), Conseil and myself were soon enveloped in
the dresses. There remained nothing more to be done but to enclose our
heads in the metal box. But, before proceeding to this operation, I asked
the Captain's permission to examine the guns.
One of the Nautilus men gave me a simple gun, the butt end of which,
made of steel, hollow in the centre, was rather large. It served as a
reservoir for compressed air, which a valve, worked by a spring, allowed to
escape into
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a metal tube. A box of projectiles in a groove in the thickness of the butt
end contained about twenty of these electric balls, which, by means of a
spring, were forced into the barrel of the gun. As soon as one shot was
fired, another was ready.
"Captain Nemo," said I, "this arm is perfect, and easily handled: I
only ask to be allowed to try it. But how shall we gain the bottom of the
sea?"
"At this moment, Professor, the Nautilus is stranded in five fathoms,
and we have nothing to do but to start."
"But how shall we get off?"
"You shall see."
Captain Nemo thrust his head into the helmet, Conseil and I did the
same, not without hearing an ironical "Good sport!" from the Canadian. The
upper part of our dress terminated in a copper collar upon which was
screwed the metal helmet. Three holes, protected by thick glass, allowed us
to see in all directions, by simply turning our head in the interior of the
head-dress. As soon as it was in position, the Rouquayrol apparatus on our
backs began to act; and, for my part, I could breathe with ease.
With the Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, and the gun in my hand,
I was ready to set out. But to speak the truth, imprisoned in these heavy
garments, and glued to the deck by my leaden soles, it was impossible for
me to take a step.
But this state of things was provided for. I felt myself being pushed
into a little room contiguous to the wardrobe- room. My companions
followed, towed along in the same way. I heard a water-tight door,
furnished with stopper- plates, close upon us, and we were wrapped in
profound darkness.
After some minutes, a loud hissing was heard. I felt the cold mount
from my feet to my chest. Evidently from some part of the vessel they had,
by means of a tap, given entrance to the water, which was invading us, and
with which the room was soon filled. A second door cut in the side of the
Nautilus then opened. We saw a faint light. In another instant our feet
trod the bottom of the sea.
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And now, how can I retrace the impression left upon me by that walk
under the waters? Words are impotent to relate such wonders! Captain Nemo
walked in front, his companion followed some steps behind. Conseil and I
remained near each other, as if an exchange of words had been possible
through our metallic cases. I no longer felt the weight of my clothing, or
of my shoes, of my reservoir of air, or my thick helmet, in the midst of
which my head rattled like an almond in its shell.
The light, which lit the soil thirty feet below the surface of the
ocean, astonished me by its power. The solar rays shone through the watery
mass easily, and dissipated all colour, and I clearly distinguished objects
at a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Beyond that the tints darkened
into fine gradations of ultramarine, and faded into vague obscurity. Truly
this water which surrounded me was but another air denser than the
terrestrial atmosphere, but almost as transparent. Above me was the calm
surface of the sea. We were walking on fine, even sand, not wrinkled, as on
a flat shore, which retains the impression of the billows. This dazzling
carpet, really a reflector, repelled the rays of the sun with wonderful
intensity, which accounted for the vibration which penetrated every atom of
liquid. Shall I be believed when I say that, at the depth of thirty feet, I
could see as if I was in broad daylight?
For a quarter of an hour I trod on this sand, sown with the impalpable
dust of shells. The hull of the Nautilus, resembling a long shoal,
disappeared by degrees; but its lantern, when darkness should overtake us
in the waters, would help to guide us on board by its distinct rays.
Soon forms of objects outlined in the distance were discernible. I
recognised magnificent rocks, hung with a tapestry of zoophytes of the most
beautiful kind, and I was at first struck by the peculiar effect of this
medium.
It was then ten in the morning; the rays of the sun struck the surface
of the waves at rather an oblique angle, and at the touch of their light,
decomposed by refraction as through a prism, flowers, rocks, plants,
shells, and polypi were shaded at the edges by the seven solar colours. It
was marvellous,
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a feast for the eyes, this complication of coloured tints, a perfect
kaleidoscope of green, yellow, orange, violet, indigo, and blue; in one
word, the whole palette of an enthusiastic colourist! Why could I not
communicate to Conseil the lively sensations which were mounting to my
brain, and rival him in expressions of admiration? For aught I knew,
Captain Nemo and his companion might be able to exchange thoughts by means
of signs previously agreed upon. So, for want of better, I talked to
myself; I declaimed in the copper box which covered my head, thereby
expending more air in vain words than was perhaps wise.
Various kinds of isis, clusters of pure tuft-coral, prickly fungi, and
anemones formed a brilliant garden of flowers, decked with their
collarettes of blue tentacles, sea-stars studding the sandy bottom. It was
a real grief to me to crush under my feet the brilliant specimens of
molluscs which strewed the ground by thousands, of hammerheads, donaciae
(veritable bounding shells), of staircases, and red helmet-shells,
angel-wings, and many others produced by this inexhaustible ocean. But we
were bound to walk, so we went on, whilst above our heads waved medusae
whose umbrellas of opal or rose-pink, escalloped with a band of blue,
sheltered us from the rays of the sun and fiery pelagiae, which, in the
darkness, would have strewn our path with phosphorescent light.
All these wonders I saw in the space of a quarter of a mile, scarcely
stopping, and following Captain Nemo, who beckoned me on by signs. Soon the
nature of the soil changed; to the sandy plain succeeded an extent of slimy
mud which the Americans call "ooze," composed of equal parts of silicious
and calcareous shells. We then travelled over a plain of seaweed of wild
and luxuriant vegetation. This sward was of close texture, and soft to the
feet, and rivalled the softest carpet woven by the hand of man. But whilst
verdure was spread at our feet, it did not abandon our heads. A light
network of marine plants, of that inexhaustible family of seaweeds of which
more than two thousand kinds are known, grew on the surface of the water.
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I noticed that the green plants kept nearer the top of the sea, whilst the
red were at a greater depth, leaving to the black or brown the care of
forming gardens and parterres in the remote beds of the ocean.
We had quitted the Nautilus about an hour and a half. It was near
noon; I knew by the perpendicularity of the sun's rays, which were no
longer refracted. The magical colours disappeared by degrees, and the
shades of emerald and sapphire were effaced. We walked with a regular step,
which rang upon the ground with astonishing intensity; the slightest noise
was transmitted with a quickness to which the ear is unaccustomed on the
earth; indeed, water is a better conductor of sound than air, in the ratio
of four to one. At this period the earth sloped downwards; the light took a
uniform tint. We were at a depth of a hundred and five yards and twenty
inches, undergoing a pressure of six atmospheres.
At this depth I could still see the rays of the sun, though feebly; to
their intense brilliancy had succeeded a reddish twilight, the lowest state
between day and night; but we could still see well enough; it was not
necessary to resort to the Ruhmkorff apparatus as yet. At this moment
Captain Nemo stopped; he waited till I joined him, and then pointed to an
obscure mass, looming in the shadow, at a short distance.
"It is the forest of the Island of Crespo," thought I; and I was not
mistaken.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.16
A SUBMARINE FOREST
WE HAD at last arrived on the borders of this forest, doubtless one of
the finest of Captain Nemo's immense domains. He looked upon it as his own,
and considered he had the same right over it that the first men had in the
first days of the world. And, indeed, who would have disputed with him the
possession of this submarine property? What other
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hardier pioneer would come, hatchet in hand, to cut down the dark copses?
This forest was composed of large tree-plants; and the moment we
penetrated under its vast arcades, I was struck by the singular position of
their branches -- a position I had not yet observed.
Not an herb which carpeted the ground, not a branch which clothed the
trees, was either broken or bent, nor did they extend horizontally; all
stretched up to the surface of the ocean. Not a filament, not a ribbon,
however thin they might be, but kept as straight as a rod of iron. The fuci
and llianas grew in rigid perpendicular lines, due to the density of the
element which had produced them. Motionless yet, when bent to one side by
the hand, they directly resumed their former position. Truly it was the
region of perpendicularity!
I soon accustomed myself to this fantastic position, as well as to the
comparative darkness which surrounded us. The soil of the forest seemed
covered with sharp blocks, difficult to avoid. The submarine flora struck
me as being very perfect, and richer even than it would have been in the
arctic or tropical zones, where these productions are not so plentiful. But
for some minutes I involuntarily confounded the genera, taking animals for
plants; and who would not have been mistaken? The fauna and the flora are
too closely allied in this submarine world.
These plants are self-propagated, and the principle of their existence
is in the water, which upholds and nourishes them. The greater number,
instead of leaves, shoot forth blades of capricious shapes, comprised
within a scale of colours pink, carmine, green, olive, fawn, and brown.
"Curious anomaly, fantastic element!" said an ingenious naturalist,
"in which the animal kingdom blossoms, and the vegetable does not!"
In about an hour Captain Nemo gave the signal to halt; I, for my part,
was not sorry, and we stretched ourselves under an arbour of alariae, the
long thin blades of which stood up like arrows.
This short rest seemed delicious to me; there was nothing
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wanting but the charm of conversation; but, impossible to speak, impossible
to answer, I only put my great copper head to Conseil's. I saw the worthy
fellow's eyes glistening with delight, and, to show his satisfaction, he
shook himself in his breastplate of air, in the most comical way in the
world.
After four hours of this walking, I was surprised not to find myself
dreadfully hungry. How to account for this state of the stomach I could not
tell. But instead I felt an insurmountable desire to sleep, which happens
to all divers. And my eyes soon closed behind the thick glasses, and I fell
into a heavy slumber, which the movement alone had prevented before.
Captain Nemo and his robust companion, stretched in the clear crystal, set
us the example.
How long I remained buried in this drowsiness I cannot judge, but,
when I woke, the sun seemed sinking towards the horizon. Captain Nemo had
already risen, and I was beginning to stretch my limbs, when an unexpected
apparition brought me briskly to my feet.
A few steps off, a monstrous sea-spider, about thirty- eight inches
high, was watching me with squinting eyes, ready to spring upon me. Though
my diver's dress was thick enough to defend me from the bite of this
animal, I could not help shuddering with horror. Conseil and the sailor of
the Nautilus awoke at this moment. Captain Nemo pointed out the hideous
crustacean, which a blow from the butt end of the gun knocked over, and I
saw the horrible claws of the monster writhe in terrible convulsions. This
incident reminded me that other animals more to be feared might haunt these
obscure depths, against whose attacks my diving-dress would not protect me.
I had never thought of it before, but I now resolved to be upon my guard.
Indeed, I thought that this halt would mark the termination of our walk;
but I was mistaken, for, instead of returning to the Nautilus, Captain Nemo
continued his bold excursion. The ground was still on the incline, its
declivity seemed to be getting greater, and to be leading us to greater
depths. It must have been about three o'clock when we reached a narrow
valley, between high perpendicular walls, situated about
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seventy-five fathoms deep. Thanks to the perfection of our apparatus, we
were forty-five fathoms below the limit which nature seems to have imposed
on man as to his submarine excursions.
I say seventy-five fathoms, though I had no instrument by which to
judge the distance. But I knew that even in the clearest waters the solar
rays could not penetrate further. And accordingly the darkness deepened. At
ten paces not an object was visible. I was groping my way, when I suddenly
saw a brilliant white light. Captain Nemo had just put his electric
apparatus into use; his companion did the same, and Conseil and I followed
their example. By turning a screw I established a communication between the
wire and the spiral glass, and the sea, lit by our four lanterns, was
illuminated for a circle of thirty-six yards.
As we walked I thought the light of our Ruhmkorff apparatus could not
fail to draw some inhabitant from its dark couch. But if they did approach
us, they at least kept at a respectful distance from the hunters. Several
times I saw Captain Nemo stop, put his gun to his shoulder, and after some
moments drop it and walk on. At last, after about four hours, this
marvellous excursion came to an end. A wall of superb rocks, in an imposing
mass, rose before us, a heap of gigantic blocks, an enormous, steep granite
shore, forming dark grottos, but which presented no practicable slope; it
was the prop of the Island of Crespo. It was the earth! Captain Nemo
stopped suddenly. A gesture of his brought us all to a halt; and, however
desirous I might be to scale the wall, I was obliged to stop. Here ended
Captain Nemo's domains. And he would not go beyond them. Further on was a
portion of the globe he might not trample upon.
The return began. Captain Nemo had returned to the head of his little
band, directing their course without hesitation. I thought we were not
following the same road to return to the Nautilus. The new road was very
steep, and consequently very painful. We approached the surface of the sea
rapidly. But this return to the upper strata was not so sudden as to cause
relief from the pressure too rapidly,
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which might have produced serious disorder in our organisation, and brought
on internal lesions, so fatal to divers. Very soon light reappeared and
grew, and, the sun being low on the horizon, the refraction edged the
different objects with a spectral ring. At ten yards and a half deep, we
walked amidst a shoal of little fishes of all kinds, more numerous than the
birds of the air, and also more agile; but no aquatic game worthy of a shot
had as yet met our gaze, when at that moment I saw the Captain shoulder his
gun quickly, and follow a moving object into the shrubs. He fired; I heard
a slight hissing, and a creature fell stunned at some distance from us. It
was a magnificent sea-otter, an enhydrus, the only exclusively marine
quadruped. This otter was five feet long, and must have been very valuable.
Its skin, chestnut- brown above and silvery underneath, would have made one
of those beautiful furs so sought after in the Russian and Chinese markets:
the fineness and the lustre of its coat would certainly fetch L80. I
admired this curious mammal, with its rounded head ornamented with short
ears, its round eyes, and white whiskers like those of a cat, with webbed
feet and nails, and tufted tail. This precious animal, hunted and tracked
by fishermen, has now become very rare, and taken refuge chiefly in the
northern parts of the Pacific, or probably its race would soon become
extinct.
Captain Nemo's companion took the beast, threw it over his shoulder,
and we continued our journey. For one hour a plain of sand lay stretched
before us. Sometimes it rose to within two yards and some inches of the
surface of the water. I then saw our image clearly reflected, drawn
inversely, and above us appeared an identical group reflecting our
movements and our actions; in a word, like us in every point, except that
they walked with their heads downward and their feet in the air.
Another effect I noticed, which was the passage of thick clouds which
formed and vanished rapidly; but on reflection I understood that these
seeming clouds were due to the varying thickness of the reeds at the
bottom, and I could even see the fleecy foam which their broken tops
multiplied on the water, and the shadows of large birds
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passing above our heads, whose rapid flight I could discern on the surface
of the sea.
On this occasion I was witness to one of the finest gunshots which
ever made the nerves of a hunter thrill. A large bird of great breadth of
wing, clearly visible, approached, hovering over us. Captain Nemo's
companion shouldered his gun and fired, when it was only a few yards above
the waves. The creature fell stunned, and the force of its fall brought it
within the reach of dexterous hunter's grasp. It was an albatross of the
finest kind.
Our march had not been interrupted by this incident. For two hours we
followed these sandy plains, then fields of algae very disagreeable to
cross. Candidly, I could do no more when I saw a glimmer of light, which,
for a half mile, broke the darkness of the waters. It was the lantern of
the Nautilus. Before twenty minutes were over we should be on board, and I
should be able to breathe with ease, for it seemed that my reservoir
supplied air very deficient in oxygen. But I did not reckon on an
accidental meeting which delayed our arrival for some time.
I had remained some steps behind, when I presently saw Captain Nemo
coming hurriedly towards me. With his strong hand he bent me to the ground,
his companion doing the same to Conseil. At first I knew not what to think
of this sudden attack, but I was soon reassured by seeing the Captain lie
down beside me, and remain immovable.
I was stretched on the ground, just under the shelter of a bush of
algae, when, raising my head, I saw some enormous mass, casting
phosphorescent gleams, pass blusteringly by.
My blood froze in my veins as I recognised two formidable sharks which
threatened us. It was a couple of tintoreas, terrible creatures, with
enormous tails and a dun glassy stare, the phosphorescent matter ejected
from holes pierced around the muzzle. Monstrous brutes! which would crush a
whole man in their iron jaws. I did not know whether Conseil stopped to
classify them; for my part, I noticed their silver bellies, and their huge
mouths bristling with teeth,
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from a very unscientific point of view, and more as a possible victim than
as a naturalist.
Happily the voracious creatures do not see well. They passed without
seeing us, brushing us with their brownish fins, and we escaped by a
miracle from a danger certainly greater than meeting a tiger full-face in
the forest. Half an hour after, guided by the electric light we reached the
Nautilus. The outside door had been left open, and Captain Nemo closed it
as soon as we had entered the first cell. He then pressed a knob. I heard
the pumps working in the midst of the vessel, I felt the water sinking from
around me, and in a few moments the cell was entirely empty. The inside
door then opened, and we entered the vestry.
There our diving-dress was taken off, not without some trouble, and,
fairly worn out from want of food and sleep, I returned to my room, in
great wonder at this surprising excursion at the bottom of the sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.17
FOUR THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE PACIFIC
THE next morning, the 18th of November, I had quite recovered from my
fatigues of the day before, and I went up on to the platform, just as the
second lieutenant was uttering his daily phrase.
I was admiring the magnificent aspect of the ocean when Captain Nemo
appeared. He did not seem to be aware of my presence, and began a series of
astronomical observations. Then, when he had finished, he went and leant on
the cage of the watch-light, and gazed abstractedly on the ocean. In the
meantime, a number of the sailors of the Nautilus, all strong and healthy
men, had come up onto the platform. They came to draw up the nets that had
been laid all night. These sailors were evidently of different nations,
although the European type was visible in all of them. I recognised some
unmistakable Irishmen, Frenchmen, some Sclaves, and a Greek, or a Candiote.
They were civil,
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and only used that odd language among themselves, the origin of which I
could not guess, neither could I question them.
The nets were hauled in. They were a large kind of "chaluts," like
those on the Normandy coasts, great pockets that the waves and a chain
fixed in the smaller meshes kept open. These pockets, drawn by iron poles,
swept through the water, and gathered in everything in their way. That day
they brought up curious specimens from those productive coasts.
I reckoned that the haul had brought in more than nine hundredweight
of fish. It was a fine haul, but not to be wondered at. Indeed, the nets
are let down for several hours, and enclose in their meshes an infinite
variety. We had no lack of excellent food, and the rapidity of the Nautilus
and the attraction of the electric light could always renew our supply.
These several productions of the sea were immediately lowered through the
panel to the steward's room, some to be eaten fresh, and others pickled.
The fishing ended, the provision of air renewed, I thought that the
Nautilus was about to continue its submarine excursion, and was preparing
to return to my room, when, without further preamble, the Captain turned to
me, saying:
"Professor, is not this ocean gifted with real life? It has its
tempers and its gentle moods. Yesterday it slept as we did, and now it has
woke after a quiet night. Look!" he continued, "it wakes under the caresses
of the sun. It is going to renew its diurnal existence. It is an
interesting study to watch the play of its organisation. It has a pulse,
arteries, spasms; and I agree with the learned Maury, who discovered in it
a circulation as real as the circulation of blood in animals.
"Yes, the ocean has indeed circulation, and to promote it, the Creator
has caused things to multiply in it -- caloric, salt, and animalculae."
When Captain Nemo spoke thus, he seemed altogether changed, and
aroused an extraordinary emotion in me.
"Also," he added, "true existence is there; and I can imagine the
foundations of nautical towns, clusters of submarine
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houses, which, like the Nautilus, would ascend every morning to breathe at
the surface of the water, free towns, independent cities. Yet who knows
whether some despot -- "
Captain Nemo finished his sentence with a violent gesture. Then,
addressing me as if to chase away some sorrowful thought:
"M. Aronnax," he asked. "do you know the depth of the ocean?"
"I only know, Captain, what the principal soundings have taught us."
"Could you tell me them, so that I can suit them to my purpose?"
"These are some," I replied, "that I remember. If I am not mistaken, a
depth of 8,000 yards has been found in the North Atlantic, and 2,500 yards
in the Mediterranean. The most remarkable soundings have been made in the
South Atlantic, near the thirty-fifth parallel, and they gave 12,000 yards,
14,000 yards, and 15,000 yards. To sum up all, it is reckoned that if the
bottom of the sea were levelled, its mean depth would be about one and
three-quarter leagues."
"Well, Professor," replied the Captain, "we shall show you better than
that I hope. As to the mean depth of this part of the Pacific, I tell you
it is only 4,000 yards."
Having said this, Captain Nemo went towards the panel, and disappeared
down the ladder. I followed him, and went into the large drawing-room. The
screw was immediately put in motion, and the log gave twenty miles an hour.
During the days and weeks that passed, Captain Nemo was very sparing
of his visits. I seldom saw him. The lieutenant pricked the ship's course
regularly on the chart, so I could always tell exactly the route of the
Nautilus.
Nearly every day, for some time, the panels of the drawing-room were
opened, and we were never tired of penetrating the mysteries of the
submarine world.
The general direction of the Nautilus was south-east, and it kept
between 100 and 150 yards of depth. One day, however, I do not know why,
being drawn diagonally by
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means of the inclined planes, it touched the bed of the sea. The
thermometer indicated a temperature of 4.25 (cent.): a temperature that at
this depth seemed common to all latitudes.
At three o'clock in the morning of the 26th of November the Nautilus
crossed the tropic of Cancer at 172° long. On 27th instant it sighted the
Sandwich Islands, where Cook died, February 14, 1779. We had then gone
4,860 leagues from our starting-point. In the morning, when I went on the
platform, I saw two miles to windward, Hawaii, the largest of the seven
islands that form the group. I saw clearly the cultivated ranges, and the
several mountain- chains that run parallel with the side, and the volcanoes
that overtop Mouna-Rea, which rise 5,000 yards above the level of the sea.
Besides other things the nets brought up, were several flabellariae and
graceful polypi, that are peculiar to that part of the ocean. The direction
of the Nautilus was still to the south-east. It crossed the equator
December 1, in 142° long.; and on the 4th of the same month, after crossing
rapidly and without anything in particular occurring, we sighted the
Marquesas group. I saw, three miles off, Martin's peak in Nouka-Hiva, the
largest of the group that belongs to France. I only saw the woody mountains
against the horizon, because Captain Nemo did not wish to bring the ship to
the wind. There the nets brought up beautiful specimens of fish: some with
azure fins and tails like gold, the flesh of which is unrivalled; some
nearly destitute of scales, but of exquisite flavour; others, with bony
jaws, and yellow-tinged gills, as good as bonitos; all fish that would be
of use to us. After leaving these charming islands protected by the French
flag, from the 4th to the 11th of December the Nautilus sailed over about
2,000 miles.
During the daytime of the 11th of December I was busy reading in the
large drawing-room. Ned Land and Conseil watched the luminous water through
the half-open panels. The Nautilus was immovable. While its reservoirs were
filled, it kept at a depth of 1,000 yards, a region rarely visited in the
ocean, and in which large fish were seldom seen.
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I was then reading a charming book by Jean Mace, The Slaves of the
Stomach, and I was learning some valuable lessons from it, when Conseil
interrupted me.
"Will master come here a moment?" he said, in a curious voice.
"What is the matter, Conseil?"
"I want master to look."
I rose, went, and leaned on my elbows before the panes and watched.
In a full electric light, an enormous black mass, quite immovable, was
suspended in the midst of the waters. I watched it attentively, seeking to
find out the nature of this gigantic cetacean. But a sudden thought crossed
my mind. "A vessel!" I said, half aloud.
"Yes," replied the Canadian, "a disabled ship that has sunk
perpendicularly."
Ned Land was right; we were close to a vessel of which the tattered
shrouds still hung from their chains. The keel seemed to be in good order,
and it had been wrecked at most some few hours. Three stumps of masts,
broken off about two feet above the bridge, showed that the vessel had had
to sacrifice its masts. But, lying on its side, it had filled, and it was
heeling over to port. This skeleton of what it had once been was a sad
spectacle as it lay lost under the waves, but sadder still was the sight of
the bridge, where some corpses, bound with ropes, were still lying. I
counted five -- four men, one of whom was standing at the helm, and a woman
standing by the poop, holding an infant in her arms. She was quite young. I
could distinguish her features, which the water had not decomposed, by the
brilliant light from the Nautilus. In one despairing effort, she had raised
her infant above her head -- poor little thing! -- whose arms encircled its
mother's neck. The attitude of the four sailors was frightful, distorted as
they were by their convulsive movements, whilst making a last effort to
free themselves from the cords that bound them to the vessel. The steersman
alone, calm, with a grave, clear face, his grey hair glued to his forehead,
and his hand clutching the wheel of
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the helm, seemed even then to be guiding the three broken masts through the
depths of the ocean.
What a scene! We were dumb; our hearts beat fast before this
shipwreck, taken as it were from life and photographed in its last moments.
And I saw already, coming towards it with hungry eyes, enormous sharks,
attracted by the human flesh.
However, the Nautilus, turning, went round the submerged vessel, and
in one instant I read on the stern -- "The Florida, Sunderland."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.18
VANIKORO
THIS terrible spectacle was the forerunner of the series of maritime
catastrophes that the Nautilus was destined to meet with in its route. As
long as it went through more frequented waters, we often saw the hulls of
shipwrecked vessels that were rotting in the depths, and deeper down
cannons, bullets, anchors, chains, and a thousand other iron materials
eaten up by rust. However, on the 11th of December we sighted the Pomotou
Islands, the old "dangerous group" of Bougainville, that extend over a
space of 500 leagues at E.S.E. to W.N.W., from the Island Ducie to that of
Lazareff. This group covers an area of 370 square leagues, and it is formed
of sixty groups of islands, among which the Gambier group is remarkable,
over which France exercises sway. These are coral islands, slowly raised,
but continuous, created by the daily work of polypi. Then this new island
will be joined later on to the neighboring groups, and a fifth continent
will stretch from New Zealand and New Caledonia, and from thence to the
Marquesas.
One day, when I was suggesting this theory to Captain Nemo, he replied
coldly:
"The earth does not want new continents, but new men."
On 15th of December, we left to the east the bewitching group of the
Societies and the graceful Tahiti, queen of the
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Pacific. I saw in the morning, some miles to the windward, the elevated
summits of the island. These waters furnished our table with excellent
fish, mackerel, bonitos, and some varieties of a sea-serpent.
On the 25th of December the Nautilus sailed into the midst of the New
Hebrides, discovered by Quiros in 1606, and that Bougainville explored in
1768, and to which Cook gave its present name in 1773. This group is
composed principally of nine large islands, that form a band of 120 leagues
N.N.S. to S.S.W., between 15° and 2° S. lat., and 164° and 168° long. We
passed tolerably near to the Island of Aurou, that at noon looked like a
mass of green woods, surmounted by a peak of great height.
That day being Christmas Day, Ned Land seemed to regret sorely the
non-celebration of "Christmas," the family fete of which Protestants are so
fond. I had not seen Captain Nemo for a week, when, on the morning of the
27th, he came into the large drawing-room, always seeming as if he had seen
you five minutes before. I was busily tracing the route of the Nautilus on
the planisphere. The Captain came up to me, put his finger on one spot on
the chart, and said this single word.
"Vanikoro."
The effect was magical! It was the name of the islands on which La
Perouse had been lost! I rose suddenly.
"The Nautilus has brought us to Vanikoro?" I asked.
"Yes, Professor," said the Captain.
"And I can visit the celebrated islands where the Boussole and the
Astrolabe struck?"
"If you like, Professor."
"When shall we be there?"
"We are there now."
Followed by Captain Nemo, I went up on to the platform, and greedily
scanned the horizon.
To the N.E. two volcanic islands emerged of unequal size, surrounded
by a coral reef that measured forty miles in circumference. We were close
to Vanikoro, really the one to which Dumont d'Urville gave the name of Isle
de la Recherche, and exactly facing the little harbour of Vanou,
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situated in 16° 4' S. lat., and 164° 32' E. long. The earth seemed covered
with verdure from the shore to the summits in the interior, that were
crowned by Mount Kapogo, 476 feet high. The Nautilus, having passed the
outer belt of rocks by a narrow strait, found itself among breakers where
the sea was from thirty to forty fathoms deep. Under the verdant shade of
some mangroves I perceived some savages, who appeared greatly surprised at
our approach. In the long black body, moving between wind and water, did
they not see some formidable cetacean that they regarded with suspicion?
Just then Captain Nemo asked me what I knew about the wreck of La
Perouse.
"Only what everyone knows, Captain," I replied.
"And could you tell me what everyone knows about it?" be inquired,
ironically.
"Easily."
I related to him all that the last works of Dumont d'Urville had made
known -- works from which the following is a brief account.
La Perouse, and his second, Captain de Langle, were sent by Louis XVI,
in 1785, on a voyage of circumnavigation. They embarked in the corvettes
Boussole and the Astrolabe, neither of which were again heard of. In 1791,
the French Government, justly uneasy as to the fate of these two sloops,
manned two large merchantmen, the Recherche and the Esperance, which left
Brest the 28th of September under the command of Bruni d'Entrecasteaux.
Two months after, they learned from Bowen, commander of the Albemarle,
that the debris of shipwrecked vessels had been seen on the coasts of New
Georgia. But D'Entrecasteaux, ignoring this communication -- rather
uncertain, besides -- directed his course towards the Admiralty Islands,
mentioned in a report of Captain Hunter's as being the place where La
Perouse was wrecked.
They sought in vain. The Esperance and the Recherche passed before
Vanikoro without stopping there, and, in fact, this voyage was most
disastrous, as it cost D'Entrecasteaux
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his life, and those of two of his lieutenants, besides several of his crew.
Captain Dillon, a shrewd old Pacific sailor, was the first to find
unmistakable traces of the wrecks. On the 15th of May, 1824, his vessel,
the St. Patrick, passed close to Tikopia, one of the New Hebrides. There a
Lascar came alongside in a canoe, sold him the handle of a sword in silver
that bore the print of characters engraved on the hilt. The Lascar
pretended that six years before, during a stay at Vanikoro, he had seen two
Europeans that belonged to some vessels that had run aground on the reefs
some years ago.
Dillon guessed that he meant La Perouse, whose disappearance had
troubled the whole world. He tried to get on to Vanikoro, where, according
to the Lascar, he would find numerous debris of the wreck, but winds and
tides prevented him.
Dillon returned to Calcutta. There he interested the Asiatic Society
and the Indian Company in his discovery. A vessel, to which was given the
name of the Recherche, was put at his disposal, and he set out, 23rd
January, 1827, accompanied by a French agent.
The Recherche, after touching at several points in the Pacific, cast
anchor before Vanikoro, 7th July, 1827, in that same harbour of Vanou where
the Nautilus was at this time.
There it collected numerous relics of the wreck -- iron utensils,
anchors, pulley-strops, swivel-guns, an 18 lb. shot, fragments of
astronomical instruments, a piece of crown- work, and a bronze clock,
bearing this inscription -- "Bazin m'a fait," the mark of the foundry of
the arsenal at Brest about 1785. There could be no further doubt.
Dillon, having made all inquiries, stayed in the unlucky place till
October. Then he quitted Vanikoro, and directed his course towards New
Zealand; put into Calcutta, 7th April, 1828, and returned to France, where
he was warmly welcomed by Charles X.
But at the same time, without knowing Dillon's movements, Dumont
d'Urville had already set out to find the scene of the wreck. And they had
learned from a whaler
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that some medals and a cross of St. Louis had been found in the hands of
some savages of Louisiade and New Caledonia. Dumont d'Urville, commander of
the Astrolabe, had then sailed, and two months after Dillon had left
Vanikoro he put into Hobart Town. There he learned the results of Dillon's
inquiries, and found that a certain James Hobbs, second lieutenant of the
Union of Calcutta, after landing on an island situated 8° 18' S. lat., and
156° 30' E. long., had seen some iron bars and red stuffs used by the
natives of these parts. Dumont d'Urville, much perplexed, and not knowing
how to credit the reports of low-class journals, decided to follow Dillon's
track.
On the 10th of February, 1828, the Astrolabe appeared off Tikopia, and
took as guide and interpreter a deserter found on the island; made his way
to Vanikoro, sighted it on the 12th inst., lay among the reefs until the
14th, and not until the 20th did he cast anchor within the barrier in the
harbour of Vanou.
On the 23rd, several officers went round the island and brought back
some unimportant trifles. The natives, adopting a system of denials and
evasions, refused to take them to the unlucky place. This ambiguous conduct
led them to believe that the natives had ill-treated the castaways, and
indeed they seemed to fear that Dumont d'Urville had come to avenge La
Perouse and his unfortunate crew.
However, on the 26th, appeased by some presents, and understanding
that they had no reprisals to fear, they led M. Jacquireot to the scene of
the wreck.
There, in three or four fathoms of water, between the reefs of Pacou
and Vanou, lay anchors, cannons, pigs of lead and iron, embedded in the
limy concretions. The large boat and the whaler belonging to the Astrolabe
were sent to this place, and, not without some difficulty, their crews
hauled up an anchor weighing 1,800 lbs., a brass gun, some pigs of iron,
and two copper swivel-guns.
Dumont d'Urville, questioning the natives, learned too that La
Perouse, after losing both his vessels on the reefs of this island, had
constructed a smaller boat, only to be lost a second time. Where, no one
knew.
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But the French Government, fearing that Dumont d'Urville was not
acquainted with Dillon's movements, had sent the sloop Bayonnaise,
commanded by Legoarant de Tromelin, to Vanikoro, which had been stationed
on the west coast of America. The Bayonnaise cast her anchor before
Vanikoro some months after the departure of the Astrolabe, but found no new
document; but stated that the savages had respected the monument to La
Perouse. That is the substance of what I told Captain Nemo.
"So," he said, "no one knows now where the third vessel perished that
was constructed by the castaways on the island of Vanikoro?"
"No one knows."
Captain Nemo said nothing, but signed to me to follow him into the
large saloon. The Nautilus sank several yards below the waves, and the
panels were opened.
I hastened to the aperture, and under the crustations of coral,
covered with fungi, I recognised certain debris that the drags had not been
able to tear up -- iron stirrups, anchors, cannons, bullets, capstan
fittings, the stem of a ship, all objects clearly proving the wreck of some
vessel, and now carpeted with living flowers. While I was looking on this
desolate scene, Captain Nemo said, in a sad voice:
"Commander La Perouse set out 7th December, 1785, with his vessels La
Boussole and the Astrolabe. He first cast anchor at Botany Bay, visited the
Friendly Isles, New Caledonia, then directed his course towards Santa Cruz,
and put into Namouka, one of the Hapai group. Then his vessels struck on
the unknown reefs of Vanikoro. The Boussole, which went first, ran aground
on the southerly coast. The Astrolabe went to its help, and ran aground
too. The first vessel was destroyed almost immediately. The second,
stranded under the wind, resisted some days. The natives made the castaways
welcome. They installed themselves in the island, and constructed a smaller
boat with the debris of the two large ones. Some sailors stayed willingly
at Vanikoro; the others, weak and ill, set out with La Perouse. They
directed their course towards the Solomon Islands, and there perished, with
everything, on the westerly coast of the
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chief island of the group, between Capes Deception and Satisfaction."
"How do you know that?"
"By this, that I found on the spot where was the last wreck."
Captain Nemo showed me a tin-plate box, stamped with the French arms,
and corroded by the salt water. He opened it, and I saw a bundle of papers,
yellow but still readable.
They were the instructions of the naval minister to Commander La
Perouse, annotated in the margin in Louis XVI's handwriting.
"Ah! it is a fine death for a sailor!" said Captain Nemo, at last. "A
coral tomb makes a quiet grave; and I trust that I and my comrades will
find no other."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.19
TORRES STRAITS
DURING the night of the 27th or 28th of December, the Nautilus left
the shores of Vanikoro with great speed. Her course was south-westerly, and
in three days she had gone over the 750 leagues that separated it from La
Perouse's group and the south-east point of Papua.
Early on the 1st of January, 1863, Conseil joined me on the platform.
"Master, will you permit me to wish you a happy New Year?"
"What! Conseil; exactly as if I was at Paris in my study at the Jardin
des Plantes? Well, I accept your good wishes, and thank you for them. Only,
I will ask you what you mean by a 'Happy New Year' under our circumstances?
Do you mean the year that will bring us to the end of our imprisonment, or
the year that sees us continue this strange voyage?"
"Really, I do not know how to answer, master. We are sure to see
curious things, and for the last two months we
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have not had time for dullness. The last marvel is always the most
astonishing; and, if we continue this progression, I do not know how it
will end. It is my opinion that we shall never again see the like. I think
then, with no offence to master, that a happy year would be one in which we
could see everything."
On 2nd January we had made 11,340 miles, or 5,250 French leagues,
since our starting-point in the Japan Seas. Before the ship's head
stretched the dangerous shores of the coral sea, on the north-east coast of
Australia. Our boat lay along some miles from the redoubtable bank on which
Cook's vessel was lost, 10th June, 1770. The boat in which Cook was struck
on a rock, and, if it did not sink, it was owing to a piece of coral that
was broken by the shock, and fixed itself in the broken keel.
I had wished to visit the reef, 360 leagues long, against which the
sea, always rough, broke with great violence, with a noise like thunder.
But just then the inclined planes drew the Nautilus down to a great depth,
and I could see nothing of the high coral walls. I had to content myself
with the different specimens of fish brought up by the nets. I remarked,
among others, some germons, a species of mackerel as large as a tunny, with
bluish sides, and striped with transverse bands, that disappear with the
animal's life. These fish followed us in shoals, and furnished us with very
delicate food. We took also a large number of giltheads, about one and a
half inches long, tasting like dorys; and flying fire-fish like submarine
swallows, which, in dark nights, light alternately the air and water with
their phosphorescent light.
Two days after crossing the coral sea, 4th January, we sighted the
Papuan coasts. On this occasion, Captain Nemo informed me that his
intention was to get into the Indian Ocean by the Strait of Torres. His
communication ended there.
The Torres Straits are nearly thirty-four leagues wide; but they are
obstructed by an innumerable quantity of islands, islets, breakers, and
rocks, that make its navigation almost impracticable; so that Captain Nemo
took all needful precautions to cross them. The Nautilus, floating betwixt
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wind and water, went at a moderate pace. Her screw, like a cetacean's tail,
beat the waves slowly.
Profiting by this, I and my two companions went up on to the deserted
platform. Before us was the steersman's cage, and I expected that Captain
Nemo was there directing the course of the Nautilus. I had before me the
excellent charts of the Straits of Torres, and I consulted them
attentively. Round the Nautilus the sea dashed furiously. The course of the
waves, that went from south-east to north-west at the rate of two and a
half miles, broke on the coral that showed itself here and there.
"This is a bad sea!" remarked Ned Land.
"Detestable indeed, and one that does not suit a boat like the
Nautilus."
"The Captain must be very sure of his route, for I see there pieces of
coral that would do for its keel if it only touched them slightly."
Indeed the situation was dangerous, but the Nautilus seemed to slide
like magic off these rocks. It did not follow the routes of the Astrolabe
and the Zelee exactly, for they proved fatal to Dumont d'Urville. It bore
more northwards, coasted the Islands of Murray, and came back to the
southwest towards Cumberland Passage. I thought it was going to pass it by,
when, going back to north-west, it went through a large quantity of islands
and islets little known, towards the Island Sound and Canal Mauvais.
I wondered if Captain Nemo, foolishly imprudent, would steer his
vessel into that pass where Dumont d'Urville's two corvettes touched; when,
swerving again, and cutting straight through to the west, he steered for
the Island of Gilboa.
It was then three in the afternoon. The tide began to recede, being
quite full. The Nautilus approached the island, that I still saw, with its
remarkable border of screw-pines. He stood off it at about two miles
distant. Suddenly a shock overthrew me. The Nautilus just touched a rock,
and stayed immovable, laying lightly to port side.
When I rose, I perceived Captain Nemo and his lieutenant on the
platform. They were examining the situation
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of the vessel, and exchanging words in their incomprehensible dialect.
She was situated thus: Two miles, on the starboard side, appeared
Gilboa, stretching from north to west like an immense arm. Towards the
south and east some coral showed itself, left by the ebb. We had run
aground, and in one of those seas where the tides are middling -- a sorry
matter for the floating of the Nautilus. However, the vessel had not
suffered, for her keel was solidly joined. But, if she could neither glide
off nor move, she ran the risk of being for ever fastened to these rocks,
and then Captain Nemo's submarine vessel would be done for.
I was reflecting thus, when the Captain, cool and calm, always master
of himself, approached me.
"An accident?" I asked.
"No; an incident."
"But an incident that will oblige you perhaps to become an inhabitant
of this land from which you flee?"
Captain Nemo looked at me curiously, and made a negative gesture, as
much as to say that nothing would force him to set foot on terra firma
again. Then he said:
"Besides, M. Aronnax, the Nautilus is not lost; it will carry you yet
into the midst of the marvels of the ocean. Our voyage is only begun, and I
do not wish to be deprived so soon of the honour of your company."
"However, Captain Nemo," I replied, without noticing the ironical turn
of his phrase, "the Nautilus ran aground in open sea. Now the tides are not
strong in the Pacific; and, if you cannot lighten the Nautilus, I do not
see how it will be reinflated."
"The tides are not strong in the Pacific: you are right there,
Professor; but in Torres Straits one finds still a difference of a yard and
a half between the level of high and low seas. To-day is 4th January, and
in five days the moon will be full. Now, I shall be very much astonished if
that satellite does not raise these masses of water sufficiently, and
render me a service that I should be indebted to her for."
Having said this, Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant,
redescended to the interior of the Nautilus. As to
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the vessel, it moved not, and was immovable, as if the coralline polypi had
already walled it up with their indestructible cement.
"Well, sir?" said Ned Land, who came up to me after the departure of
the Captain.
"Well, friend Ned, we will wait patiently for the tide on the 9th
instant; for it appears that the moon will have the goodness to put it off
again."
"Really?"
"Really."
"And this Captain is not going to cast anchor at all since the tide
will suffice?" said Conseil, simply.
The Canadian looked at Conseil, then shrugged his shoulders.
"Sir, you may believe me when I tell you that this piece of iron will
navigate neither on nor under the sea again; it is only fit to be sold for
its weight. I think, therefore, that the time has come to part company with
Captain Nemo."
"Friend Ned, I do not despair of this stout Nautilus, as you do; and
in four days we shall know what to hold to on the Pacific tides. Besides,
flight might be possible if we were in sight of the English or Provencal
coast; but on the Papuan shores, it is another thing; and it will be time
enough to come to that extremity if the Nautilus does not recover itself
again, which I look upon as a grave event."
"But do they know, at least, how to act circumspectly? There is an
island; on that island there are trees; under those trees, terrestrial
animals, bearers of cutlets and roast- beef, to which I would willingly
give a trial."
"In this, friend Ned is right," said Conseil, "and I agree with him.
Could not master obtain permission from his friend Captain Nemo to put us
on land, if only so as not to lose the habit of treading on the solid parts
of our planet?"
"I can ask him, but he will refuse."
"Will master risk it?" asked Conseil, "and we shall know how to rely
upon the Captain's amiability."
To my great surprise, Captain Nemo gave me the permission I asked for,
and he gave it very agreeably, without
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even exacting from me a promise to return to the vessel; but flight across
New Guinea might be very perilous, and I should not have counselled Ned
Land to attempt it. Better to be a prisoner on board the Nautilus than to
fall into the hands of the natives.
At eight o'clock, armed with guns and hatchets, we got off the
Nautilus. The sea was pretty calm; a slight breeze blew on land. Conseil
and I rowing, we sped along quickly, and Ned steered in the straight
passage that the breakers left between them. The boat was well handled, and
moved rapidly.
Ned Land could not restrain his joy. He was like a prisoner that had
escaped from prison, and knew not that it was necessary to re-enter it.
"Meat! We are going to eat some meat; and what meat!" he replied.
"Real game! no, bread, indeed."
"I do not say that fish is not good; we must not abuse it; but a piece
of fresh venison, grilled on live coals, will agreeably vary our ordinary
course."
"Glutton!" said Conseil, "he makes my mouth water."
"It remains to be seen," I said, "if these forests are full of game,
and if the game is not such as will hunt the hunter himself."
"Well said, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, whose teeth seemed
sharpened like the edge of a hatchet; "but I will eat tiger -- loin of
tiger -- if there is no other quadruped on this island."
"Friend Ned is uneasy about it," said Conseil.
"Whatever it may be," continued Ned Land, "every animal with four paws
without feathers, or with two paws without feathers, will be saluted by my
first shot."
"Very well! Master Land's imprudences are beginning."
"Never fear, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian; "I do not want
twenty-five minutes to offer you a dish, of my sort."
At half-past eight the Nautilus boat ran softly aground on a heavy
sand, after having happily passed the coral reef that surrounds the Island
of Gilboa.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.20
A FEW DAYS ON LAND
I WAS much impressed on touching land. Ned Land tried the soil with
his feet, as if to take possession of it. However, it was only two months
before that we had become, according to Captain Nemo, "passengers on board
the Nautilus," but, in reality, prisoners of its commander.
In a few minutes we were within musket-shot of the coast. The whole
horizon was hidden behind a beautiful curtain of forests. Enormous trees,
the trunks of which attained a height of 200 feet, were tied to each other
by garlands of bindweed, real natural hammocks, which a light breeze
rocked. They were mimosas, figs, hibisci, and palm trees, mingled together
in profusion; and under the shelter of their verdant vault grew orchids,
leguminous plants, and ferns.
But, without noticing all these beautiful specimens of Papuan flora,
the Canadian abandoned the agreeable for the useful. He discovered a
coco-tree, beat down some of the fruit, broke them, and we drunk the milk
and ate the nut with a satisfaction that protested against the ordinary
food on the Nautilus.
"Excellent!" said Ned Land.
"Exquisite!" replied Conseil.
"And I do not think," said the Canadian, "that he would object to our
introducing a cargo of coco-nuts on board."
"I do not think he would, but he would not taste them."
"So much the worse for him," said Conseil.
"And so much the better for us," replied Ned Land. "There will be more
for us."
"One word only, Master Land," I said to the harpooner, who was
beginning to ravage another coco-nut tree. "Coconuts are good things, but
before filling the canoe with them it would be wise to reconnoitre and see
if the island does not produce some substance not less useful. Fresh
vegetables would be welcome on board the Nautilus."
"Master is right," replied Conseil; "and I propose to
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reserve three places in our vessel, one for fruits, the other for
vegetables, and the third for the venison, of which I have not yet seen the
smallest specimen."
"Conseil, we must not despair," said the Canadian.
"Let us continue," I returned, "and lie in wait. Although the island
seems uninhabited, it might still contain some individuals that would be
less hard than we on the nature of game."
"Ho! ho!" said Ned Land, moving his jaws significantly.
"Well, Ned!" said Conseil.
"My word!" returned the Canadian, "I begin to understand the charms of
anthropophagy."
"Ned! Ned! what are you saying? You, a man-eater? I should not feel
safe with you, especially as I share your cabin. I might perhaps wake one
day to find myself half devoured."
"Friend Conseil, I like you much, but not enough to eat you
unnecessarily."
"I would not trust you," replied Conseil. "But enough. We must
absolutely bring down some game to satisfy this cannibal, or else one of
these fine mornings, master will find only pieces of his servant to serve
him."
While we were talking thus, we were penetrating the sombre arches of
the forest, and for two hours we surveyed it in all directions.
Chance rewarded our search for eatable vegetables, and one of the most
useful products of the tropical zones furnished us with precious food that
we missed on board. I would speak of the bread-fruit tree, very abundant in
the island of Gilboa; and I remarked chiefly the variety destitute of
seeds, which bears in Malaya the name of "rima."
Ned Land knew these fruits well. He had already eaten many during his
numerous voyages, and he knew how to prepare the eatable substance.
Moreover, the sight of them excited him, and he could contain himself no
longer.
"Master," he said, "I shall die if I do not taste a little of this
bread-fruit pie."
"Taste it, friend Ned -- taste it as you want. We are here to make
experiments -- make them."
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"It won't take long," said the Canadian.
And, provided with a lentil, he lighted a fire of dead wood that
crackled joyously. During this time, Conseil and I chose the best fruits of
the bread-fruit. Some had not then attained a sufficient degree of
maturity; and their thick skin covered a white but rather fibrous pulp.
Others, the greater number yellow and gelatinous, waited only to be picked.
These fruits enclosed no kernel. Conseil brought a dozen to Ned Land,
who placed them on a coal fire, after having cut them in thick slices, and
while doing this repeating:
"You will see, master, how good this bread is. More so when one has
been deprived of it so long. It is not even bread," added he, "but a
delicate pastry. You have eaten none, master?"
"No, Ned."
"Very well, prepare yourself for a juicy thing. If you do not come for
more, I am no longer the king of harpooners."
After some minutes, the part of the fruits that was exposed to the
fire was completely roasted. The interior looked like a white pasty, a sort
of soft crumb, the flavour of which was like that of an artichoke.
It must be confessed this bread was excellent, and I ate of it with
great relish.
"What time is it now?" asked the Canadian.
"Two o'clock at least," replied Conseil.
"How time flies on firm ground!" sighed Ned Land.
"Let us be off," replied Conseil.
We returned through the forest, and completed our collection by a raid
upon the cabbage-palms, that we gathered from the tops of the trees, little
beans that I recognised as the "abrou" of the Malays, and yams of a
superior quality.
We were loaded when we reached the boat. But Ned Land did not find his
provisions sufficient. Fate, however, favoured us. Just as we were pushing
off, he perceived several trees, from twenty-five to thirty feet high, a
species of palm-tree.
At last, at five o'clock in the evening, loaded with our riches, we
quitted the shore, and half an hour after we hailed
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the Nautilus. No one appeared on our arrival. The enormous iron-plated
cylinder seemed deserted. The provisions embarked, I descended to my
chamber, and after supper slept soundly.
The next day, 6th January, nothing new on board. Not a sound inside,
not a sign of life. The boat rested along the edge, in the same place in
which we had left it. We resolved to return to the island. Ned Land hoped
to be more fortunate than on the day before with regard to the hunt, and
wished to visit another part of the forest.
At dawn we set off. The boat, carried on by the waves that flowed to
shore, reached the island in a few minutes.
We landed, and, thinking that it was better to give in to the
Canadian, we followed Ned Land, whose long limbs threatened to distance us.
He wound up the coast towards the west: then, fording some torrents, he
gained the high plain that was bordered with admirable forests. Some
kingfishers were rambling along the water-courses, but they would not let
themselves be approached. Their circumspection proved to me that these
birds knew what to expect from bipeds of our species, and I concluded that,
if the island was not inhabited, at least human beings occasionally
frequented it.
After crossing a rather large prairie, we arrived at the skirts of a
little wood that was enlivened by the songs and flight of a large number of
birds.
"There are only birds," said Conseil.
"But they are eatable," replied the harpooner.
"I do not agree with you, friend Ned, for I see only parrots there."
"Friend Conseil," said Ned, gravely, "the parrot is like pheasant to
those who have nothing else."
"And," I added, "this bird, suitably prepared, is worth knife and
fork."
Indeed, under the thick foliage of this wood, a world of parrots were
flying from branch to branch, only needing a careful education to speak the
human language. For the moment, they were chattering with parrots of all
colours, and grave cockatoos, who seemed to meditate upon some
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philosophical problem, whilst brilliant red lories passed like a piece of
bunting carried away by the breeze, papuans, with the finest azure colours,
and in all a variety of winged things most charming to behold, but few
eatable.
However, a bird peculiar to these lands, and which has never passed
the limits of the Arrow and Papuan islands, was wanting in this collection.
But fortune reserved it for me before long.
After passing through a moderately thick copse, we found a plain
obstructed with bushes. I saw then those magnificent birds, the disposition
of whose long feathers obliges them to fly against the wind. Their
undulating flight, graceful aerial curves, and the shading of their
colours, attracted and charmed one's looks. I had no trouble in recognising
them.
"Birds of paradise!" I exclaimed.
The Malays, who carry on a great trade in these birds with the
Chinese, have several means that we could not employ for taking them.
Sometimes they put snares on the top of high trees that the birds of
paradise prefer to frequent. Sometimes they catch them with a viscous
birdlime that paralyses their movements. They even go so far as to poison
the fountains that the birds generally drink from. But we were obliged to
fire at them during flight, which gave us few chances to bring them down;
and, indeed, we vainly exhausted one half our ammunition.
About eleven o'clock in the morning, the first range of mountains that
form the centre of the island was traversed, and we had killed nothing.
Hunger drove us on. The hunters had relied on the products of the chase,
and they were wrong. Happily Conseil, to his great surprise, made a double
shot and secured breakfast. He brought down a white pigeon and a
wood-pigeon, which, cleverly plucked and suspended from a skewer, was
roasted before a red fire of dead wood. While these interesting birds were
cooking, Ned prepared the fruit of the bread-tree. Then the wood-pigeons
were devoured to the bones, and declared excellent. The nutmeg, with which
they are in the habit of stuffing their crops, flavours their flesh and
renders it delicious eating.
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"Now, Ned, what do you miss now?"
"Some four-footed game, M. Aronnax. All these pigeons are only
side-dishes and trifles; and until I have killed an animal with cutlets I
shall not be content."
"Nor I, Ned, if I do not catch a bird of paradise."
"Let us continue hunting," replied Conseil. "Let us go towards the
sea. We have arrived at the first declivities of the mountains, and I think
we had better regain the region of forests."
That was sensible advice, and was followed out. After walking for one
hour we had attained a forest of sago-trees. Some inoffensive serpents
glided away from us. The birds of paradise fled at our approach, and truly
I despaired of getting near one when Conseil, who was walking in front,
suddenly bent down, uttered a triumphal cry, and came back to me bringing a
magnificent specimen.
"Ah! bravo, Conseil!"
"Master is very good."
"No, my boy; you have made an excellent stroke. Take one of these
living birds, and carry it in your hand."
"If master will examine it, he will see that I have not deserved great
merit."
"Why, Conseil?"
"Because this bird is as drunk as a quail."
"Drunk!"
"Yes, sir; drunk with the nutmegs that it devoured under the
nutmeg-tree, under which I found it. See, friend Ned, see the monstrous
effects of intemperance!"
"By Jove!" exclaimed the Canadian, "because I have drunk gin for two
months, you must needs reproach me!"
However, I examined the curious bird. Conseil was right. The bird,
drunk with the juice, was quite powerless. It could not fly; it could
hardly walk.
This bird belonged to the most beautiful of the eight species that are
found in Papua and in the neighbouring islands. It was the "large emerald
bird, the most rare kind." It measured three feet in length. Its head was
comparatively small, its eyes placed near the opening of the beak, and also
small. But the shades of colour were beautiful, having
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a yellow beak, brown feet and claws, nut-coloured wings with purple tips,
pale yellow at the back of the neck and head, and emerald colour at the
throat, chestnut on the breast and belly. Two horned, downy nets rose from
below the tail, that prolonged the long light feathers of admirable
fineness, and they completed the whole of this marvellous bird, that the
natives have poetically named the "bird of the sun."
But if my wishes were satisfied by the possession of the bird of
paradise, the Canadian's were not yet. Happily, about two o'clock, Ned Land
brought down a magnificent hog; from the brood of those the natives call
"bari-outang." The animal came in time for us to procure real quadruped
meat, and he was well received. Ned Land was very proud of his shot. The
hog, hit by the electric ball, fell stone dead. The Canadian skinned and
cleaned it properly, after having taken half a dozen cutlets, destined to
furnish us with a grilled repast in the evening. Then the hunt was resumed,
which was still more marked by Ned and Conseil's exploits.
Indeed, the two friends, beating the bushes, roused a herd of
kangaroos that fled and bounded along on their elastic paws. But these
animals did not take to flight so rapidly but what the electric capsule
could stop their course.
"Ah, Professor!" cried Ned Land, who was carried away by the delights
of the chase, "what excellent game, and stewed, too! What a supply for the
Nautilus! Two! three! five down! And to think that we shall eat that flesh,
and that the idiots on board shall not have a crumb!"
I think that, in the excess of his joy, the Canadian, if he had not
talked so much, would have killed them all. But he contented himself with a
single dozen of these interesting marsupians. These animals were small.
They were a species of those "kangaroo rabbits" that live habitually in the
hollows of trees, and whose speed is extreme; but they are moderately fat,
and furnish, at least, estimable food. We were very satisfied with the
results of the hunt. Happy Ned proposed to return to this enchanting island
the next day, for he wished to depopulate it of all the eatable quadrupeds.
But he had reckoned without his host.
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At six o'clock in the evening we had regained the shore; our boat was
moored to the usual place. The Nautilus, like a long rock, emerged from the
waves two miles from the beach. Ned Land, without waiting, occupied himself
about the important dinner business. He understood all about cooking well.
The "bari-outang," grilled on the coals, soon scented the air with a
delicious odour.
Indeed, the dinner was excellent. Two wood-pigeons completed this
extraordinary menu. The sago pasty, the artocarpus bread, some mangoes,
half a dozen pineapples, and the liquor fermented from some coco-nuts,
overjoyed us. I even think that my worthy companions' ideas had not all the
plainness desirable.
"Suppose we do not return to the Nautilus this evening?" said Conseil.
"Suppose we never return?" added Ned Land.
Just then a stone fell at our feet and cut short the harpooner's
proposition.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.21
CAPTAIN NEMO'S THUNDERBOLT
WE LOOKED at the edge of the forest without rising, my hand stopping
in the action of putting it to my mouth, Ned Land's completing its office.
"Stones do not fall from the sky," remarked Conseil, "or they would
merit the name aerolites."
A second stone, carefully aimed, that made a savoury pigeon's leg fall
from Conseil's hand, gave still more weight to his observation. We all
three arose, shouldered our guns, and were ready to reply to any attack.
"Are they apes?" cried Ned Land.
"Very nearly -- they are savages."
"To the boat!" I said, hurrying to the sea.
It was indeed necessary to beat a retreat, for about twenty natives
armed with bows and slings appeared on the skirts
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of a copse that masked the horizon to the right, hardly a hundred steps
from us.
Our boat was moored about sixty feet from us. The savages approached
us, not running, but making hostile demonstrations. Stones and arrows fell
thickly.
Ned Land had not wished to leave his provisions; and, in spite of his
imminent danger, his pig on one side and kangaroos on the other, he went
tolerably fast. In two minutes we were on the shore. To load the boat with
provisions and arms, to push it out to sea, and ship the oars, was the work
of an instant. We had not gone two cable-lengths, when a hundred savages,
howling and gesticulating, entered the water up to their waists. I watched
to see if their apparition would attract some men from the Nautilus on to
the platform. But no. The enormous machine, lying off, was absolutely
deserted.
Twenty minutes later we were on board. The panels were open. After
making the boat fast, we entered into the interior of the Nautilus.
I descended to the drawing-room, from whence I heard some chords.
Captain Nemo was there, bending over his organ, and plunged in a musical
ecstasy.
"Captain!"
He did not hear me.
"Captain!" I said, touching his hand.
He shuddered, and, turning round, said, "Ah! it is you, Professor?
Well, have you had a good hunt, have you botanised successfully?"
"Yes Captain; but we have unfortunately brought a troop of bipeds,
whose vicinity troubles me."
"What bipeds?"
"Savages."
"Savages!" he echoed, ironically. "So you are astonished, Professor,
at having set foot on a strange land and finding savages? Savages! where
are there not any? Besides, are they worse than others, these whom you call
savages?"
"But Captain -- "
"How many have you counted?"
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"A hundred at least."
"M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, placing his fingers on the organ
stops, "when all the natives of Papua are assembled on this shore, the
Nautilus will have nothing to fear from their attacks."
The Captain's fingers were then running over the keys of the
instrument, and I remarked that he touched only the black keys, which gave
his melodies an essentially Scotch character. Soon he had forgotten my
presence, and had plunged into a reverie that I did not disturb. I went up
again on to the platform: night had already fallen; for, in this low
latitude, the sun sets rapidly and without twilight. I could only see the
island indistinctly; but the numerous fires, lighted on the beach, showed
that the natives did not think of leaving it. I was alone for several
hours, sometimes thinking of the natives -- but without any dread of them,
for the imperturbable confidence of the Captain was catching -- sometimes
forgetting them to admire the splendours of the night in the tropics. My
remembrances went to France in the train of those zodiacal stars that would
shine in some hours' time. The moon shone in the midst of the
constellations of the zenith.
The night slipped away without any mischance, the islanders frightened
no doubt at the sight of a monster aground in the bay. The panels were
open, and would have offered an easy access to the interior of the
Nautilus.
At six o'clock in the morning of the 8th January I went up on to the
platform. The dawn was breaking. The island soon showed itself through the
dissipating fogs, first the shore, then the summits.
The natives were there, more numerous than on the day before -- five
or six hundred perhaps -- some of them, profiting by the low water, had
come on to the coral, at less than two cable-lengths from the Nautilus. I
distinguished them easily; they were true Papuans, with athletic figures,
men of good race, large high foreheads, large, but not broad and flat, and
white teeth. Their woolly hair, with a reddish tinge, showed off on their
black shining bodies like those of
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the Nubians. From the lobes of their ears, cut and distended, hung chaplets
of bones. Most of these savages were naked. Amongst them, I remarked some
women, dressed from the hips to knees in quite a crinoline of herbs, that
sustained a vegetable waistband. Some chiefs had ornamented their necks
with a crescent and collars of glass beads, red and white; nearly all were
armed with bows, arrows, and shields and carried on their shoulders a sort
of net containing those round stones which they cast from their slings with
great skill. One of these chiefs, rather near to the Nautilus, examined it
attentively. He was, perhaps, a "mado" of high rank, for he was draped in a
mat of banana-leaves, notched round the edges, and set off with brilliant
colours.
I could easily have knocked down this native, who was within a short
length; but I thought that it was better to wait for real hostile
demonstrations. Between Europeans and savages, it is proper for the
Europeans to parry sharply, not to attack.
During low water the natives roamed about near the Nautilus, but were
not troublesome; I heard them frequently repeat the word "Assai," and by
their gestures I understood that they invited me to go on land, an
invitation that I declined.
So that, on that day, the boat did not push off, to the great
displeasure of Master Land, who could not complete his provisions.
This adroit Canadian employed his time in preparing the viands and
meat that he had brought off the island. As for the savages, they returned
to the shore about eleven o'clock in the morning, as soon as the coral tops
began to disappear under the rising tide; but I saw their numbers had
increased considerably on the shore. Probably they came from the
neighbouring islands, or very likely from Papua. However, I had not seen a
single native canoe. Having nothing better to do, I thought of dragging
these beautiful limpid waters, under which I saw a profusion of shells,
zoophytes, and marine plants. Moreover, it was the last day that the
Nautilus would pass in these parts, if it float
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in open sea the next day, according to Captain Nemo's promise.
I therefore called Conseil, who brought me a little light drag, very
like those for the oyster fishery. Now to work! For two hours we fished
unceasingly, but without bringing up any rarities. The drag was filled with
midas-ears, harps, melames, and particularly the most beautiful hammers I
have ever seen. We also brought up some sea-slugs, pearl- oysters, and a
dozen little turtles that were reserved for the pantry on board.
But just when I expected it least, I put my hand on a wonder, I might
say a natural deformity, very rarely met with. Conseil was just dragging,
and his net came up filled with divers ordinary shells, when, all at once,
he saw me plunge my arm quickly into the net, to draw out a shell, and
heard me utter a cry.
"What is the matter, sir?" he asked in surprise. "Has master been
bitten?"
"No, my boy; but I would willingly have given a finger for my
discovery."
"What discovery?"
"This shell," I said, holding up the object of my triumph.
"It is simply an olive porphyry."
"Yes, Conseil; but, instead of being rolled from right to left, this
olive turns from left to right."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, my boy; it is a left shell."
Shells are all right-handed, with rare exceptions; and, when by chance
their spiral is left, amateurs are ready to pay their weight in gold.
Conseil and I were absorbed in the contemplation of our treasure, and
I was promising myself to enrich the museum with it, when a stone
unfortunately thrown by a native struck against, and broke, the precious
object in Conseil's hand. I uttered a cry of despair! Conseil took up his
gun, and aimed at a savage who was poising his sling at ten yards from him.
I would have stopped him, but his blow took effect and broke the bracelet
of amulets which encircled the arm of the savage.
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"Conseil!" cried I. "Conseil!"
"Well, sir! do you not see that the cannibal has commenced the
attack?"
"A shell is not worth the life of a man," said I.
"Ah! the scoundrel!" cried Conseil; "I would rather he had broken my
shoulder!"
Conseil was in earnest, but I was not of his opinion. However, the
situation had changed some minutes before, and we had not perceived. A
score of canoes surrounded the Nautilus. These canoes, scooped out of the
trunk of a tree, long, narrow, well adapted for speed, were balanced by
means of a long bamboo pole, which floated on the water. They were managed
by skilful, half-naked paddlers, and I watched their advance with some
uneasiness. It was evident that these Papuans had already had dealings with
the Europeans and knew their ships. But this long iron cylinder anchored in
the bay, without masts or chimneys, what could they think of it? Nothing
good, for at first they kept at a respectful distance. However, seeing it
motionless, by degrees they took courage, and sought to familiarise
themselves with it. Now this familiarity was precisely what it was
necessary to avoid. Our arms, which were noiseless, could only produce a
moderate effect on the savages, who have little respect for aught but
blustering things. The thunderbolt without the reverberations of thunder
would frighten man but little, though the danger lies in the lightning, not
in the noise.
At this moment the canoes approached the Nautilus, and a shower of
arrows alighted on her.
I went down to the saloon, but found no one there. I ventured to knock
at the door that opened into the Captain's room. "Come in," was the answer.
I entered, and found Captain Nemo deep in algebraical calculations of
x and other quantities.
"I am disturbing you," said I, for courtesy's sake.
"That is true, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain; "but I think you have
serious reasons for wishing to see me?"
"Very grave ones; the natives are surrounding us in their
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canoes, and in a few minutes we shall certainly be attacked by many
hundreds of savages."
"Ah!," said Captain Nemo quietly, "they are come with their canoes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, sir, we must close the hatches."
"Exactly, and I came to say to you -- "
"Nothing can be more simple," said Captain Nemo. And, pressing an
electric button, he transmitted an order to the ship's crew.
"It is all done, sir," said he, after some moments. "The pinnace is
ready, and the hatches are closed. You do not fear, I imagine, that these
gentlemen could stave in walls on which the balls of your frigate have had
no effect?"
"No, Captain; but a danger still exists."
"What is that, sir?"
"It is that to-morrow, at about this hour, we must open the hatches to
renew the air of the Nautilus. Now, if, at this moment, the Papuans should
occupy the platform, I do not see how you could prevent them from
entering."
"Then, sir, you suppose that they will board us?"
"I am certain of it."
"Well, sir, let them come. I see no reason for hindering them. After
all, these Papuans are poor creatures, and I am unwilling that my visit to
the island should cost the life of a single one of these wretches."
Upon that I was going away; But Captain Nemo detained me, and asked me
to sit down by him. He questioned me with interest about our excursions on
shore, and our hunting; and seemed not to understand the craving for meat
that possessed the Canadian. Then the conversation turned on various
subjects, and, without being more communicative, Captain Nemo showed
himself more amiable.
Amongst other things, we happened to speak of the situation of the
Nautilus, run aground in exactly the same spot in this strait where Dumont
d'Urville was nearly lost. Apropos of this:
"This D'Urville was one of your great sailors," said the
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Captain to me, "one of your most intelligent navigators. He is the Captain
Cook of you Frenchmen. Unfortunate man of science, after having braved the
icebergs of the South Pole, the coral reefs of Oceania, the cannibals of
the Pacific, to perish miserably in a railway train! If this energetic man
could have reflected during the last moments of his life, what must have
been uppermost in his last thoughts, do you suppose?"
So speaking, Captain Nemo seemed moved, and his emotion gave me a
better opinion of him. Then, chart in hand, we reviewed the travels of the
French navigator, his voyages of circumnavigation, his double detention at
the South Pole, which led to the discovery of Adelaide and Louis Philippe,
and fixing the hydrographical bearings of the principal islands of Oceania.
"That which your D'Urville has done on the surface of the seas," said
Captain Nemo, "that have I done under them, and more easily, more
completely than he. The Astrolabe and the Zelee, incessantly tossed about
by the hurricane, could not be worth the Nautilus, quiet repository of
labour that she is, truly motionless in the midst of the waters.
"To-morrow," added the Captain, rising, "to-morrow, at twenty minutes
to three p.m., the Nautilus shall float, and leave the Strait of Torres
uninjured."
Having curtly pronounced these words, Captain Nemo bowed slightly.
This was to dismiss me, and I went back to my room.
There I found Conseil, who wished to know the result of my interview
with the Captain.
"My boy," said I, "when I feigned to believe that his Nautilus was
threatened by the natives of Papua, the Captain answered me very
sarcastically. I have but one thing to say to you: Have confidence in him,
and go to sleep in peace."
"Have you no need of my services, sir?"
"No, my friend. What is Ned Land doing?"
"If you will excuse me, sir," answered Conseil, "friend Ned is busy
making a kangaroo-pie which will be a marvel."
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I remained alone and went to bed, but slept indifferently. I heard the
noise of the savages, who stamped on the platform, uttering deafening
cries. The night passed thus, without disturbing the ordinary repose of the
crew. The presence of these cannibals affected them no more than the
soldiers of a masked battery care for the ants that crawl over its front.
At six in the morning I rose. The hatches had not been opened. The
inner air was not renewed, but the reservoirs, filled ready for any
emergency, were now resorted to, and discharged several cubic feet of
oxygen into the exhausted atmosphere of the Nautilus.
I worked in my room till noon, without having seen Captain Nemo, even
for an instant. On board no preparations for departure were visible.
I waited still some time, then went into the large saloon. The clock
marked half-past two. In ten minutes it would be high-tide: and, if Captain
Nemo had not made a rash promise, the Nautilus would be immediately
detached. If not, many months would pass ere she could leave her bed of
coral.
However, some warning vibrations began to be felt in the vessel. I
heard the keel grating against the rough calcareous bottom of the coral
reef.
At five-and-twenty minutes to three, Captain Nemo appeared in the
saloon.
"We are going to start," said he.
"Ah!" replied I.
"I have given the order to open the hatches."
"And the Papuans?"
"The Papuans?" answered Captain Nemo, slightly shrugging his
shoulders.
"Will they not come inside the Nautilus?"
"How?"
"Only by leaping over the hatches you have opened."
"M. Aronnax," quietly answered Captain Nemo, "they will not enter the
hatches of the Nautilus in that way, even if they were open."
I looked at the Captain.
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"You do not understand?" said he.
"Hardly."
"Well, come and you will see."
I directed my steps towards the central staircase. There Ned Land and
Conseil were slyly watching some of the ship's crew, who were opening the
hatches, while cries of rage and fearful vociferations resounded outside.
The port lids were pulled down outside. Twenty horrible faces
appeared. But the first native who placed his hand on the stair-rail,
struck from behind by some invisible force, I know not what, fled, uttering
the most fearful cries and making the wildest contortions.
Ten of his companions followed him. They met with the same fate.
Conseil was in ecstasy. Ned Land, carried away by his violent
instincts, rushed on to the staircase. But the moment he seized the rail
with both hands, he, in his turn, was overthrown.
"I am struck by a thunderbolt," cried he, with an oath.
This explained all. It was no rail; but a metallic cable charged with
electricity from the deck communicating with the platform. Whoever touched
it felt a powerful shock -- and this shock would have been mortal if
Captain Nemo had discharged into the conductor the whole force of the
current. It might truly be said that between his assailants and himself he
had stretched a network of electricity which none could pass with impunity.
Meanwhile, the exasperated Papuans bad beaten a retreat paralysed with
terror. As for us, half laughing, we consoled and rubbed the unfortunate
Ned Land, who swore like one possessed.
But at this moment the Nautilus, raised by the last waves of the tide,
quitted her coral bed exactly at the fortieth minute fixed by the Captain.
Her screw swept the waters slowly and majestically. Her speed increased
gradually, and, sailing on the surface of the ocean, she quitted safe and
sound the dangerous passes of the Straits of Torres.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.22
"AEGRI SOMNIA"
THE following day 10th January, the Nautilus continued her course
between two seas, but with such remarkable speed that I could not estimate
it at less than thirty-five miles an hour. The rapidity of her screw was
such that I could neither follow nor count its revolutions. When I
reflected that this marvellous electric agent, after having afforded
motion, heat, and light to the Nautilus, still protected her from outward
attack, and transformed her into an ark of safety which no profane hand
might touch without being thunderstricken, my admiration was unbounded, and
from the structure it extended to the engineer who had called it into
existence.
Our course was directed to the west, and on the 11th of January we
doubled Cape Wessel, situation in 135° long. and 10° S. lat., which forms
the east point of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The reefs were still numerous,
but more equalised, and marked on the chart with extreme precision. The
Nautilus easily avoided the breakers of Money to port and the Victoria
reefs to starboard, placed at 130° long. and on the 10th parallel, which we
strictly followed.
On the 13th of January, Captain Nemo arrived in the Sea of Timor, and
recognised the island of that name in 122° long.
From this point the direction of the Nautilus inclined towards the
south-west. Her head was set for the Indian Ocean. Where would the fancy of
Captain Nemo carry us next? Would he return to the coast of Asia or would
he approach again the shores of Europe? Improbable conjectures both, to a
man who fled from inhabited continents. Then would he descend to the south?
Was he going to double the Cape of Good Hope, then Cape Horn, and finally
go as far as the Antarctic pole? Would he come back at last to the Pacific,
where his Nautilus could sail free and independently? Time would show.
After having skirted the sands of Cartier, of Hibernia,
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Seringapatam, and Scott, last efforts of the solid against the liquid
element, on the 14th of January we lost sight of land altogether. The speed
of the Nautilus was considerably abated, and with irregular course she
sometimes swam in the bosom of the waters, sometimes floated on their
surface.
During this period of the voyage, Captain Nemo made some interesting
experiments on the varied temperature of the sea, in different beds. Under
ordinary conditions these observations are made by means of rather
complicated instruments, and with somewhat doubtful results, by means of
thermometrical sounding-leads, the glasses often breaking under the
pressure of the water, or an apparatus grounded on the variations of the
resistance of metals to the electric currents. Results so obtained could
not be correctly calculated. On the contrary, Captain Nemo went himself to
test the temperature in the depths of the sea, and his thermometer, placed
in communication with the different sheets of water, gave him the required
degree immediately and accurately.
It was thus that, either by overloading her reservoirs or by
descending obliquely by means of her inclined planes, the Nautilus
successively attained the depth of three, four, five, seven, nine, and ten
thousand yards, and the definite result of this experience was that the sea
preserved an average temperature of four degrees and a half at a depth of
five thousand fathoms under all latitudes.
On the 16th of January, the Nautilus seemed becalmed only a few yards
beneath the surface of the waves. Her electric apparatus remained inactive
and her motionless screw left her to drift at the mercy of the currents. I
supposed that the crew was occupied with interior repairs, rendered
necessary by the violence of the mechanical movements of the machine.
My companions and I then witnessed a curious spectacle. The hatches of
the saloon were open, and, as the beacon- light of the Nautilus was not in
action, a dim obscurity reigned in the midst of the waters. I observed the
state of the sea, under these conditions, and the largest fish appeared to
me no more than scarcely defined shadows, when the Nautilus
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found herself suddenly transported into full light. I thought at first that
the beacon had been lighted, and was casting its electric radiance into the
liquid mass. I was mistaken, and after a rapid survey perceived my error.
The Nautilus floated in the midst of a phosphorescent bed which, in
this obscurity, became quite dazzling. It was produced by myriads of
luminous animalculae, whose brilliancy was increased as they glided over
the metallic hull of the vessel. I was surprised by lightning in the midst
of these luminous sheets, as though they bad been rivulets of lead melted
in an ardent furnace or metallic masses brought to a white heat, so that,
by force of contrast, certain portions of light appeared to cast a shade in
the midst of the general ignition, from which all shade seemed banished.
No; this was not the calm irradiation of our ordinary lightning. There was
unusual life and vigour: this was truly living light!
In reality, it was an infinite agglomeration of coloured infusoria, of
veritable globules of jelly, provided with a threadlike tentacle, and of
which as many as twenty-five thousand have been counted in less than two
cubic half- inches of water.
During several hours the Nautilus floated in these brilliant waves,
and our admiration increased as we watched the marine monsters disporting
themselves like salamanders. I saw there in the midst of this fire that
burns not the swift and elegant porpoise (the indefatigable clown of the
ocean), and some swordfish ten feet long, those prophetic heralds of the
hurricane whose formidable sword would now and then strike the glass of the
saloon. Then appeared the smaller fish, the balista, the leaping mackerel,
wolf-thorn- tails, and a hundred others which striped the luminous
atmosphere as they swam. This dazzling spectacle was enchanting! Perhaps
some atmospheric condition increased the intensity of this phenomenon.
Perhaps some storm agitated the surface of the waves. But at this depth of
some yards, the Nautilus was unmoved by its fury and reposed peacefully in
still water.
So we progressed, incessantly charmed by some new marvel. The days
passed rapidly away, and I took no account
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of them. Ned, according to habit, tried to vary the diet on board. Like
snails, we were fixed to our shells, and I declare it is easy to lead a
snail's life.
Thus this life seemed easy and natural, and we thought no longer of
the life we led on land; but something happened to recall us to the
strangeness of our situation.
On the 18th of January, the Nautilus was in 105° long. and 15° S. lat.
The weather was threatening, the sea rough and rolling. There was a strong
east wind. The barometer, which had been going down for some days,
foreboded a coming storm. I went up on to the platform just as the second
lieutenant was taking the measure of the horary angles, and waited,
according to habit till the daily phrase was said. But on this day it was
exchanged for another phrase not less incomprehensible. Almost directly, I
saw Captain Nemo appear with a glass, looking towards the horizon.
For some minutes be was immovable, without taking his eye off the
point of observation. Then he lowered his glass and exchanged a few words
with his lieutenant. The latter seemed to be a victim to some emotion that
he tried in vain to repress. Captain Nemo, having more command over
himself, was cool. He seemed, too, to be making some objections to which
the lieutenant replied by formal assurances. At least I concluded so by the
difference of their tones and gestures. For myself, I had looked carefully
in the direction indicated without seeing anything. The sky and water were
lost in the clear line of the horizon.
However, Captain Nemo walked from one end of the platform to the
other, without looking at me, perhaps without seeing me. His step was firm,
but less regular than usual. He stopped sometimes, crossed his arms, and
observed the sea. What could he be looking for on that immense expanse?
The Nautilus was then some hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.
The lieutenant had taken up the glass and examined the horizon
steadfastly, going and coming, stamping his foot and showing more nervous
agitation than his superior officer. Beside, this mystery must necessarily
be solved, and before
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long; for, upon an order from Captain Nemo, the engine, increasing its
propelling power, made the screw turn more rapidly.
Just then the lieutenant drew the Captain's attention again. The
latter stopped walking and directed his glass towards the place indicated.
He looked long. I felt very much puzzled, and descended to the
drawing-room, and took out an excellent telescope that I generally used.
Then, leaning on the cage of the watch-light that jutted out from the front
of the platform, set myself to look over all the line of the sky and sea.
But my eye was no sooner applied to the glass than it was quickly
snatched out of my hands.
I turned round. Captain Nemo was before me, but I did not know him.
His face was transfigured. His eyes flashed sullenly; his teeth were set;
his stiff body, clenched fists, and head shrunk between his shoulders,
betrayed the violent agitation that pervaded his whole frame. He did not
move. My glass, fallen from his hands, had rolled at his feet.
Had I unwittingly provoked this fit of anger? Did this
incomprehensible person imagine that I had discovered some forbidden
secret? No; I was not the object of this hatred, for he was not looking at
me; his eye was steadily fixed upon the impenetrable point of the horizon.
At last Captain Nemo recovered himself. His agitation subsided. He
addressed some words in a foreign language to his lieutenant, then turned
to me. "M. Aronnax," he said, in rather an imperious tone, "I require you
to keep one of the conditions that bind you to me."
"What is it, Captain?"
"You must be confined, with your companions, until I think fit to
release you."
"You are the master," I replied, looking steadily at him. "But may I
ask you one question?"
"None, sir."
There was no resisting this imperious command, it would have been
useless. I went down to the cabin occupied by Ned Land and Conseil, and
told them the Captain's determination.
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You may judge how this communication was received by the Canadian.
But there was not time for altercation. Four of the crew waited at the
door, and conducted us to that cell where we had passed our first night on
board the Nautilus.
Ned Land would have remonstrated, but the door was shut upon him.
"Will master tell me what this means?" asked Conseil.
I told my companions what had passed. They were as much astonished as
I, and equally at a loss how to account for it.
Meanwhile, I was absorbed in my own reflections, and could think of
nothing but the strange fear depicted in the Captain's countenance. I was
utterly at a loss to account for it, when my cogitations were disturbed by
these words from Ned Land:
"Hallo! breakfast is ready."
And indeed the table was laid. Evidently Captain Nemo had given this
order at the same time that he had hastened the speed of the Nautilus.
"Will master permit me to make a recommendation?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy."
"Well, it is that master breakfasts. It is prudent, for we do not know
what may happen."
"You are right, Conseil."
"Unfortunately," said Ned Land, "they have only given us the ship's
fare."
"Friend Ned," asked Conseil, "what would you have said if the
breakfast had been entirely forgotten?"
This argument cut short the harpooner's recriminations.
We sat down to table. The meal was eaten in silence.
Just then the luminous globe that lighted the cell went out, and left
us in total darkness. Ned Land was soon asleep, and what astonished me was
that Conseil went off into a heavy slumber. I was thinking what could have
caused his irresistible drowsiness, when I felt my brain becoming
stupefied. In spite of my efforts to keep my eyes open, they would close. A
painful suspicion seized me. Evidently
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soporific substances had been mixed with the food we had just taken.
Imprisonment was not enough to conceal Captain Nemo's projects from us,
sleep was more necessary. I then heard the panels shut. The undulations of
the sea, which caused a slight rolling motion, ceased. Had the Nautilus
quitted the surface of the ocean? Had it gone back to the motionless bed of
water? I tried to resist sleep. It was impossible. My breathing grew weak.
I felt a mortal cold freeze my stiffened and half-paralysed limbs. My
eyelids, like leaden caps, fell over my eyes. I could not raise them; a
morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, bereft me of my being. Then the
visions disappeared, and left me in complete insensibility.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.23
THE CORAL KINGDOM
THE next day I woke with my head singularly clear. To my great
surprise, I was in my own room. My companions, no doubt, had been
reinstated in their cabin, without having perceived it any more than I. Of
what had passed during the night they were as ignorant as I was, and to
penetrate this mystery I only reckoned upon the chances of the future.
I then thought of quitting my room. Was I free again or a prisoner?
Quite free. I opened the door, went to the half-deck, went up the central
stairs. The panels, shut the evening before, were open. I went on to the
platform.
Ned Land and Conseil waited there for me. I questioned them; they knew
nothing. Lost in a heavy sleep in which they had been totally unconscious,
they had been astonished at finding themselves in their cabin.
As for the Nautilus, it seemed quiet and mysterious as ever. It
floated on the surface of the waves at a moderate pace. Nothing seemed
changed on board.
The second lieutenant then came on to the platform, and gave the usual
order below.
As for Captain Nemo, he did not appear.
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Of the people on board, I only saw the impassive steward, who served
me with his usual dumb regularity.
About two o'clock, I was in the drawing-room, busied in arranging my
notes, when the Captain opened the door and appeared. I bowed. He made a
slight inclination in return, without speaking. I resumed my work, hoping
that he would perhaps give me some explanation of the events of the
preceding night. He made none. I looked at him. He seemed fatigued; his
heavy eyes had not been refreshed by sleep; his face looked very sorrowful.
He walked to and fro, sat down and got up again, took a chance book, put it
down, consulted his instruments without taking his habitual notes, and
seemed restless and uneasy. At last, he came up to me, and said:
"Are you a doctor, M. Aronnax?"
I so little expected such a question that I stared some time at him
without answering.
"Are you a doctor?" he repeated. "Several of your colleagues have
studied medicine."
"Well," said I, "I am a doctor and resident surgeon to the hospital. I
practised several years before entering the museum."
"Very well, sir."
My answer had evidently satisfied the Captain. But, not knowing what
he would say next, I waited for other questions, reserving my answers
according to circumstances.
"M. Aronnax, will you consent to prescribe for one of my men?" be
asked.
"Is he ill?"
"Yes."
"I am ready to follow you."
"Come, then."
I own my heart beat, I do not know why. I saw certain connection
between the illness of one of the crew and the events of the day before;
and this mystery interested me at least as much as the sick man.
Captain Nemo conducted me to the poop of the Nautilus, and took me
into a cabin situated near the sailors' quarters.
There, on a bed, lay a man about forty years of age,
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with a resolute expression of countenance, a true type of an Anglo-Saxon.
I leant over him. He was not only ill, he was wounded. His head,
swathed in bandages covered with blood, lay on a pillow. I undid the
bandages, and the wounded man looked at me with his large eyes and gave no
sign of pain as I did it. It was a horrible wound. The skull, shattered by
some deadly weapon, left the brain exposed, which was much injured. Clots
of blood had formed in the bruised and broken mass, in colour like the
dregs of wine.
There was both contusion and suffusion of the brain. His breathing was
slow, and some spasmodic movements of the muscles agitated his face. I felt
his pulse. It was intermittent. The extremities of the body were growing
cold already, and I saw death must inevitably ensue. After dressing the
unfortunate man's wounds, I readjusted the bandages on his head, and turned
to Captain Nemo.
"What caused this wound?" I asked.
"What does it signify?" he replied, evasively. "A shock has broken one
of the levers of the engine, which struck myself. But your opinion as to
his state?"
I hesitated before giving it.
"You may speak," said the Captain. "This man does not understand
French."
I gave a last look at the wounded man.
"He will be dead in two hours."
"Can nothing save him?"
"Nothing."
Captain Nemo's hand contracted, and some tears glistened in his eyes,
which I thought incapable of shedding any.
For some moments I still watched the dying man, whose life ebbed
slowly. His pallor increased under the electric light that was shed over
his death-bed. I looked at his intelligent forehead, furrowed with
premature wrinkles, produced probably by misfortune and sorrow. I tried to
learn the secret of his life from the last words that escaped his lips.
"You can go now, M. Aronnax," said the Captain.
I left him in the dying man's cabin, and returned to my
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room much affected by this scene. During the whole day, I was haunted by
uncomfortable suspicions, and at night I slept badly, and between my broken
dreams I fancied I heard distant sighs like the notes of a funeral psalm.
Were they the prayers of the dead, murmured in that language that I could
not understand?
The next morning I went on to the bridge. Captain Nemo was there
before me. As soon as he perceived me he came to me.
"Professor, will it be convenient to you to make a submarine excursion
to-day?"
"With my companions?" I asked.
"If they like."
"We obey your orders, Captain."
"Will you be so good then as to put on your cork jackets?"
It was not a question of dead or dying. I rejoined Ned Land and
Conseil, and told them of Captain Nemo's proposition. Conseil hastened to
accept it, and this time the Canadian seemed quite willing to follow our
example.
It was eight o'clock in the morning. At half-past eight we were
equipped for this new excursion, and provided with two contrivances for
light and breathing. The double door was open; and, accompanied by Captain
Nemo, who was followed by a dozen of the crew, we set foot, at a depth of
about thirty feet, on the solid bottom on which the Nautilus rested.
A slight declivity ended in an uneven bottom, at fifteen fathoms
depth. This bottom differed entirely from the one I had visited on my first
excursion under the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Here, there was no fine
sand, no submarine prairies, no sea-forest. I immediately recognised that
marvellous region in which, on that day, the Captain did the honours to us.
It was the coral kingdom.
The light produced a thousand charming varieties, playing in the midst
of the branches that were so vividly coloured. I seemed to see the
membraneous and cylindrical tubes tremble beneath the undulation of the
waters. I was tempted to gather their fresh petals, ornamented with
delicate
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tentacles, some just blown, the others budding, while a small fish,
swimming swiftly, touched them slightly, like flights of birds. But if my
hand approached these living flowers, these animated, sensitive plants, the
whole colony took alarm. The white petals re-entered their red cases, the
flowers faded as I looked, and the bush changed into a block of stony
knobs.
Chance had thrown me just by the most precious specimens of the
zoophyte. This coral was more valuable than that found in the
Mediterranean, on the coasts of France, Italy and Barbary. Its tints
justified the poetical names of "Flower of Blood," and "Froth of Blood,"
that trade has given to its most beautiful productions. Coral is sold for
L20 per ounce; and in this place the watery beds would make the fortunes of
a company of coral-divers. This precious matter, often confused with other
polypi, formed then the inextricable plots called "macciota," and on which
I noticed several beautiful specimens of pink coral.
Real petrified thickets, long joints of fantastic architecture, were
disclosed before us. Captain Nemo placed himself under a dark gallery,
where by a slight declivity we reached a depth of a hundred yards. The
light from our lamps produced sometimes magical effects, following the
rough outlines of the natural arches and pendants disposed like lustres,
that were tipped with points of fire.
At last, after walking two hours, we had attained a depth of about
three hundred yards, that is to say, the extreme limit on which coral
begins to form. But there was no isolated bush, nor modest brushwood, at
the bottom of lofty trees. It was an immense forest of large mineral
vegetations, enormous petrified trees, united by garlands of elegant sea-
bindweed, all adorned with clouds and reflections. We passed freely under
their high branches, lost in the shade of the waves.
Captain Nemo had stopped. I and my companions halted, and, turning
round, I saw his men were forming a semi- circle round their chief.
Watching attentively, I observed that four of them carried on their
shoulders an object of an oblong shape.
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We occupied, in this place, the centre of a vast glade surrounded by
the lofty foliage of the submarine forest. Our lamps threw over this place
a sort of clear twilight that singularly elongated the shadows on the
ground. At the end of the glade the darkness increased, and was only
relieved by little sparks reflected by the points of coral.
Ned Land and Conseil were near me. We watched, and I thought I was
going to witness a strange scene. On observing the ground, I saw that it
was raised in certain places by slight excrescences encrusted with limy
deposits, and disposed with a regularity that betrayed the hand of man.
In the midst of the glade, on a pedestal of rocks roughly piled up,
stood a cross of coral that extended its long arms that one might have
thought were made of petrified blood. Upon a sign from Captain Nemo one of
the men advanced; and at some feet from the cross he began to dig a hole
with a pickaxe that he took from his belt. I understood all! This glade was
a cemetery, this hole a tomb, this oblong object the body of the man who
had died in the night! The Captain and his men had come to bury their
companion in this general resting-place, at the bottom of this inaccessible
ocean!
The grave was being dug slowly; the fish fled on all sides while their
retreat was being thus disturbed; I heard the strokes of the pickaxe, which
sparkled when it hit upon some flint lost at the bottom of the waters. The
hole was soon large and deep enough to receive the body. Then the bearers
approached; the body, enveloped in a tissue of white linen, was lowered
into the damp grave. Captain Nemo, with his arms crossed on his breast, and
all the friends of him who had loved them, knelt in prayer.
The grave was then filled in with the rubbish taken from the ground,
which formed a slight mound. When this was done, Captain Nemo and his men
rose; then, approaching the grave, they knelt again, and all extended their
hands in sign of a last adieu. Then the funeral procession returned to the
Nautilus, passing under the arches of the forest, in the midst of thickets,
along the coral bushes, and still on the ascent. At last the light of the
ship appeared, and its
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luminous track guided us to the Nautilus. At one o'clock we had returned.
As soon as I had changed my clothes I went up on to the platform, and,
a prey to conflicting emotions, I sat down near the binnacle. Captain Nemo
joined me. I rose and said to him:
"So, as I said he would, this man died in the night?"
"Yes, M. Aronnax."
"And he rests now, near his companions, in the coral cemetery?"
"Yes, forgotten by all else, but not by us. We dug the grave, and the
polypi undertake to seal our dead for eternity." And, burying his face
quickly in his hands, he tried in vain to suppress a sob. Then he added:
"Our peaceful cemetery is there, some hundred feet below the surface of the
waves."
"Your dead sleep quietly, at least, Captain, out of the reach of
sharks."
"Yes, sir, of sharks and men," gravely replied the Captain.
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Chapter 2.1
THE INDIAN OCEAN
WE NOW come to the second part of our journey under the sea. The first
ended with the moving scene in the coral cemetery which left such a deep
impression on my mind. Thus, in the midst of this great sea, Captain Nemo's
life was passing, even to his grave, which he had prepared in one of its
deepest abysses. There, not one of the ocean's monsters could trouble the
last sleep of the crew of the Nautilus, of those friends riveted to each
other in death as in life. "Nor any man, either," had added the Captain.
Still the same fierce, implacable defiance towards human society!
I could no longer content myself with the theory which satisfied
Conseil.
That worthy fellow persisted in seeing in the Commander of the
Nautilus one of those unknown servants who return mankind contempt for
indifference. For him, he was a misunderstood genius who, tired of earth's
deceptions, had taken refuge in this inaccessible medium, where he might
follow his instincts freely. To my mind, this explains but one side of
Captain Nemo's character. Indeed, the mystery of that last night during
which we had been chained in prison, the sleep, and the precaution so
violently taken by the Captain of snatching from my eyes the glass I had
raised to sweep the horizon, the mortal wound of the man, due to an
unaccountable shock of the Nautilus, all put me on a new track. No; Captain
Nemo was not satisfied with shunning man. His formidable apparatus not only
suited his instinct of freedom, but perhaps also the design of some
terrible retaliation.
At this moment nothing is clear to me; I catch but a glimpse of light
amidst all the darkness, and I must confine myself to writing as events
shall dictate.
That day, the 24th of January, 1868, at noon, the second
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officer came to take the altitude of the sun. I mounted the platform, lit a
cigar, and watched the operation. It seemed to me that the man did not
understand French; for several times I made remarks in a loud voice, which
must have drawn from him some involuntary sign of attention, if he had
understood them; but he remained undisturbed and dumb.
As he was taking observations with the sextant, one of the sailors of
the Nautilus (the strong man who had accompanied us on our first submarine
excursion to the Island of Crespo) came to clean the glasses of the
lantern. I examined the fittings of the apparatus, the strength of which
was increased a hundredfold by lenticular rings, placed similar to those in
a lighthouse, and which projected their brilliance in a horizontal plane.
The electric lamp was combined in such a way as to give its most powerful
light. Indeed, it was produced in vacuo, which insured both its steadiness
and its intensity. This vacuum economised the graphite points between which
the luminous arc was developed -- an important point of economy for Captain
Nemo, who could not easily have replaced them; and under these conditions
their waste was imperceptible. When the Nautilus was ready to continue its
submarine journey, I went down to the saloon. The panel was closed, and the
course marked direct west.
We were furrowing the waters of the Indian Ocean, a vast liquid plain,
with a surface of 1,200,000,000 of acres, and whose waters are so clear and
transparent that any one leaning over them would turn giddy. The Nautilus
usually floated between fifty and a hundred fathoms deep. We went on so for
some days. To anyone but myself, who had a great love for the sea, the
hours would have seemed long and monotonous; but the daily walks on the
platform, when I steeped myself in the reviving air of the ocean, the sight
of the rich waters through the windows of the saloon, the books in the
library, the compiling of my memoirs, took up all my time, and left me not
a moment of ennui or weariness.
For some days we saw a great number of aquatic birds, sea-mews or
gulls. Some were cleverly killed and, prepared
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in a certain way, made very acceptable water-game. Amongst large-winged
birds, carried a long distance from all lands and resting upon the waves
from the fatigue of their flight, I saw some magnificent albatrosses,
uttering discordant cries like the braying of an ass, and birds belonging
to the family of the long-wings.
As to the fish, they always provoked our admiration when we surprised
the secrets of their aquatic life through the open panels. I saw many kinds
which I never before had a chance of observing.
From the 21st to the 23rd of January the Nautilus went at the rate of
two hundred and fifty leagues in twenty-four hours, being five hundred and
forty miles, or twenty-two miles an hour. If we recognised so many
different varieties of fish, it was because, attracted by the electric
light, they tried to follow us; the greater part, however, were soon
distanced by our speed, though some kept their place in the waters of the
Nautilus for a time. The morning of the 24th, in 12° 5' S. lat., and 94°
33' long., we observed Keeling Island, a coral formation, planted with
magnificent cocos, and which bad been visited by Mr. Darwin and Captain
Fitzroy. The Nautilus skirted the shores of this desert island for a little
distance. Its nets brought up numerous specimens of polypi and curious
shells of mollusca.
Soon Keeling Island disappeared from the horizon, and our course was
directed to the north-west in the direction of the Indian Peninsula.
From Keeling Island our course was slower and more variable, often
taking us into great depths. Several times they made use of the inclined
planes, which certain internal levers placed obliquely to the waterline. In
that way we went about two miles, but without ever obtaining the greatest
depths of the Indian Sea, which soundings of seven thousand fathoms have
never reached. As to the temperature of the lower strata, the thermometer
invariably indicated 4° above zero. I only observed that in the upper
regions the water was always colder in the high levels than at the surface
of the sea.
On the 25th of January the ocean was entirely deserted;
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the Nautilus passed the day on the surface, beating the waves with its
powerful screw and making them rebound to a great height. Who under such
circumstances would not have taken it for a gigantic cetacean? Three parts
of this day I spent on the platform. I watched the sea. Nothing on the
horizon, till about four o'clock a steamer running west on our counter. Her
masts were visible for an instant, but she could not see the Nautilus,
being too low in the water. I fancied this steamboat belonged to the P.O.
Company, which runs from Ceylon to Sydney, touching at King George's Point
and Melbourne.
At five o'clock in the evening, before that fleeting twilight which
binds night to day in tropical zones, Conseil and I were astonished by a
curious spectacle.
It was a shoal of argonauts travelling along on the surface of the
ocean. We could count several hundreds. They belonged to the tubercle kind
which are peculiar to the Indian seas.
These graceful molluscs moved backwards by means of their locomotive
tube, through which they propelled the water already drawn in. Of their
eight tentacles, six were elongated, and stretched out floating on the
water, whilst the other two, rolled up flat, were spread to the wing like a
light sail. I saw their spiral-shaped and fluted shells, which Cuvier
justly compares to an elegant skiff. A boat indeed! It bears the creature
which secretes it without its adhering to it.
For nearly an hour the Nautilus floated in the midst of this shoal of
molluscs. Then I know not what sudden fright they took. But as if at a
signal every sail was furled, the arms folded, the body drawn in, the
shells turned over, changing their centre of gravity, and the whole fleet
disappeared under the waves. Never did the ships of a squadron manoeuvre
with more unity.
At that moment night fell suddenly, and the reeds, scarcely raised by
the breeze, lay peaceably under the sides of the Nautilus.
The next day, 26th of January, we cut the equator at the eighty-second
meridian and entered the northern hemisphere.
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During the day a formidable troop of sharks accompanied us, terrible
creatures, which multiply in these seas and make them very dangerous. They
were "cestracio philippi" sharks, with brown backs and whitish bellies,
armed with eleven rows of teeth -- eyed sharks -- their throat being marked
with a large black spot surrounded with white like an eye. There were also
some Isabella sharks, with rounded snouts marked with dark spots. These
powerful creatures often hurled themselves at the windows of the saloon
with such violence as to make us feel very insecure. At such times Ned Land
was no longer master of himself. He wanted to go to the surface and harpoon
the monsters, particularly certain smooth-hound sharks, whose mouth is
studded with teeth like a mosaic; and large tiger-sharks nearly six yards
long, the last named of which seemed to excite him more particularly. But
the Nautilus, accelerating her speed, easily left the most rapid of them
behind.
The 27th of January, at the entrance of the vast Bay of Bengal, we met
repeatedly a forbidding spectacle, dead bodies floating on the surface of
the water. They were the dead of the Indian villages, carried by the Ganges
to the level of the sea, and which the vultures, the only undertakers of
the country, had not been able to devour. But the sharks did not fail to
help them at their funeral work.
About seven o'clock in the evening, the Nautilus, half- immersed, was
sailing in a sea of milk. At first sight the ocean seemed lactified. Was it
the effect of the lunar rays? No; for the moon, scarcely two days old, was
still lying hidden under the horizon in the rays of the sun. The whole sky,
though lit by the sidereal rays, seemed black by contrast with the
whiteness of the waters.
Conseil could not believe his eyes, and questioned me as to the cause
of this strange phenomenon. Happily I was able to answer him.
"It is called a milk sea," I explained. "A large extent of white
wavelets often to be seen on the coasts of Amboyna, and in these parts of
the sea."
"But, sir," said Conseil, "can you tell me what causes
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such an effect? for I suppose the water is not really turned into milk."
"No, my boy; and the whiteness which surprises you is caused only by
the presence of myriads of infusoria, a sort of luminous little worm,
gelatinous and without colour, of the thickness of a hair, and whose length
is not more than seven-thousandths of an inch. These insects adhere to one
another sometimes for several leagues."
"Several leagues!" exclaimed Conseil.
"Yes, my boy; and you need not try to compute the number of these
infusoria. You will not be able, for, if I am not mistaken, ships have
floated on these milk seas for more than forty miles."
Towards midnight the sea suddenly resumed its usual colour; but behind
us, even to the limits of the horizon, the sky reflected the whitened
waves, and for a long time seemed impregnated with the vague glimmerings of
an aurora borealis.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.2
A NOVEL PROPOSAL OF CAPTAIN NEMO'S
ON THE 28th of February, when at noon the Nautilus came to the surface
of the sea, in 9° 4' N. lat., there was land in sight about eight miles to
westward. The first thing I noticed was a range of mountains about two
thousand feet high, the shapes of which were most capricious. On taking the
bearings, I knew that we were nearing the island of Ceylon, the pearl which
hangs from the lobe of the Indian Peninsula.
Captain Nemo and his second appeared at this moment. The Captain
glanced at the map. Then turning to me, said:
"The Island of Ceylon, noted for its pearl-fisheries. Would you like
to visit one of them, M. Aronnax?"
"Certainly, Captain."
"Well, the thing is easy. Though, if we see the fisheries, we shall
not see the fishermen. The annual exportation has
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not yet begun. Never mind, I will give orders to make for the Gulf of
Manaar, where we shall arrive in the night."
The Captain said something to his second, who immediately went out.
Soon the Nautilus returned to her native element, and the manometer showed
that she was about thirty feet deep.
"Well, sir," said Captain Nemo, "you and your companions shall visit
the Bank of Manaar, and if by chance some fisherman should be there, we
shall see him at work."
"Agreed, Captain!"
"By the bye, M. Aronnax you are not afraid of sharks?"
"Sharks!" exclaimed I.
This question seemed a very hard one.
"Well?" continued Captain Nemo.
"I admit, Captain, that I am not yet very familiar with that kind of
fish."
"We are accustomed to them," replied Captain Nemo, "and in time you
will be too. However, we shall be armed, and on the road we may be able to
hunt some of the tribe. It is interesting. So, till to-morrow, sir, and
early."
This said in a careless tone, Captain Nemo left the saloon. Now, if
you were invited to hunt the bear in the mountains of Switzerland, what
would you say?
"Very well! to-morrow we will go and hunt the bear." If you were asked
to hunt the lion in the plains of Atlas, or the tiger in the Indian
jungles, what would you say?
"Ha! ha! it seems we are going to hunt the tiger or the lion!" But
when you are invited to hunt the shark in its natural element, you would
perhaps reflect before accepting the invitation. As for myself, I passed my
hand over my forehead, on which stood large drops of cold perspiration.
"Let us reflect," said I, "and take our time. Hunting otters in submarine
forests, as we did in the Island of Crespo, will pass; but going up and
down at the bottom of the sea, where one is almost certain to meet sharks,
is quite another thing! I know well that in certain countries, particularly
in the Andaman Islands, the negroes never hesitate to attack them with a
dagger in one hand and a running noose in the other; but I also know that
few who affront those
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creatures ever return alive. However, I am not a negro, and if I were I
think a little hesitation in this case would not be ill-timed."
At this moment Conseil and the Canadian entered, quite composed, and
even joyous. They knew not what awaited them.
"Faith, sir," said Ned Land, "your Captain Nemo -- the devil take him!
-- has just made us a very pleasant offer."
"Ah!" said I, "you know?"
"If agreeable to you, sir," interrupted Conseil, "the commander of the
Nautilus has invited us to visit the magnificent Ceylon fisheries
to-morrow, in your company; he did it kindly, and behaved like a real
gentleman."
"He said nothing more?"
"Nothing more, sir, except that he had already spoken to you of this
little walk."
"Sir," said Conseil, "would you give us some details of the pearl
fishery?"
"As to the fishing itself," I asked, "or the incidents, which?"
"On the fishing," replied the Canadian; "before entering upon the
ground, it is as well to know something about it."
"Very well; sit down, my friends, and I will teach you."
Ned and Conseil seated themselves on an ottoman, and the first thing
the Canadian asked was:
"Sir, what is a pearl?"
"My worthy Ned," I answered, "to the poet, a pearl is a tear of the
sea; to the Orientals, it is a drop of dew solidified; to the ladies, it is
a jewel of an oblong shape, of a brilliancy of mother-of-pearl substance,
which they wear on their fingers, their necks, or their ears; for the
chemist it is a mixture of phosphate and carbonate of lime, with a little
gelatine; and lastly, for naturalists, it is simply a morbid secretion of
the organ that produces the mother- of-pearl amongst certain bivalves."
"Branch of molluscs," said Conseil.
"Precisely so, my learned Conseil; and, amongst these testacea the
earshell, the tridacnae, the turbots, in a word, all those which secrete
mother-of-pearl, that is, the blue,
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bluish, violet, or white substance which lines the interior of their
shells, are capable of producing pearls."
"Mussels too?" asked the Canadian.
"Yes, mussels of certain waters in Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Saxony,
Bohemia, and France."
"Good! For the future I shall pay attention," replied the Canadian.
"But," I continued, "the particular mollusc which secretes the pearl
is the pearl-oyster. The pearl is nothing but a formation deposited in a
globular form, either adhering to the oyster-shell or buried in the folds
of the creature. On the shell it is fast: in the flesh it is loose; but
always has for a kernel a small hard substance, maybe a barren egg, maybe a
grain of sand, around which the pearly matter deposits itself year after
year successively, and by thin concentric layers."
"Are many pearls found in the same oyster?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy. Some are a perfect casket. One oyster has been
mentioned, though I allow myself to doubt it, as having contained no less
than a hundred and fifty sharks."
"A hundred and fifty sharks!" exclaimed Ned Land.
"Did I say sharks?" said I hurriedly. "I meant to say a hundred and
fifty pearls. Sharks would not be sense."
"Certainly not," said Conseil; "but will you tell us now by what means
they extract these pearls?"
"They proceed in various ways. When they adhere to the shell, the
fishermen often pull them off with pincers; but the most common way is to
lay the oysters on mats of the seaweed which covers the banks. Thus they
die in the open air; and at the end of ten days they are in a forward state
of decomposition. They are then plunged into large reservoirs of sea-water;
then they are opened and washed."
"The price of these pearls varies according to their size?" asked
Conseil.
"Not only according to their size," I answered, "but also according to
their shape, their water (that is, their colour), and their lustre: that
is, that bright and diapered sparkle which makes them so charming to the
eye. The most beautiful
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are called virgin pearls, or paragons. They are formed alone in the tissue
of the mollusc, are white, often opaque, and sometimes have the
transparency of an opal; they are generally round or oval. The round are
made into bracelets, the oval into pendants, and, being more precious, are
sold singly. Those adhering to the shell of the oyster are more irregular
in shape, and are sold by weight. Lastly, in a lower order are classed
those small pearls known under the name of seed-pearls; they are sold by
measure, and are especially used in embroidery for church ornaments."
"But," said Conseil, "is this pearl-fishery dangerous?"
"No," I answered, quickly; "particularly if certain precautions are
taken."
"What does one risk in such a calling?" said Ned Land, "the swallowing
of some mouthfuls of sea-water?"
"As you say, Ned. By the bye," said I, trying to take Captain Nemo's
careless tone, "are you afraid of sharks, brave Ned?"
"I!" replied the Canadian; "a harpooner by profession? It is my trade
to make light of them."
"But," said I, "it is not a question of fishing for them with an
iron-swivel, hoisting them into the vessel, cutting off their tails with a
blow of a chopper, ripping them up, and throwing their heart into the sea!"
"Then, it is a question of -- "
"Precisely."
"In the water?"
"In the water."
"Faith, with a good harpoon! You know, sir, these sharks are
ill-fashioned beasts. They turn on their bellies to seize you, and in that
time -- "
Ned Land had a way of saying "seize" which made my blood run cold.
"Well, and you, Conseil, what do you think of sharks?"
"Me!" said Conseil. "I will be frank, sir."
"So much the better," thought I.
"If you, sir, mean to face the sharks, I do not see why your faithful
servant should not face them with you."
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.3
A PEARL OF TEN MILLIONS
THE next morning at four o'clock I was awakened by the steward whom
Captain Nemo had placed at my service. I rose hurriedly, dressed, and went
into the saloon.
Captain Nemo was awaiting me.
"M. Aronnax," said he, "are you ready to start?"
"I am ready."
"Then please to follow me."
"And my companions, Captain?"
"They have been told and are waiting."
"Are we not to put on our diver's dresses?" asked I.
"Not yet. I have not allowed the Nautilus to come too near this coast,
and we are some distance from the Manaar Bank; but the boat is ready, and
will take us to the exact point of disembarking, which will save us a long
way. It carries our diving apparatus, which we will put on when we begin
our submarine journey."
Captain Nemo conducted me to the central staircase, which led on the
platform. Ned and Conseil were already there, delighted at the idea of the
"pleasure party" which was preparing. Five sailors from the Nautilus, with
their oars, waited in the boat, which had been made fast against the side.
The night was still dark. Layers of clouds covered the sky, allowing
but few stars to be seen. I looked on the side where the land lay, and saw
nothing but a dark line enclosing three parts of the horizon, from
south-west to north- west. The Nautilus, having returned during the night
up the western coast of Ceylon, was now west of the bay, or rather gulf,
formed by the mainland and the Island of Manaar. There, under the dark
waters, stretched the pintadine bank, an inexhaustible field of pearls, the
length of which is more than twenty miles.
Captain Nemo, Ned Land, Conseil, and I took our places in the stern of
the boat. The master went to the tiller; his
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four companions leaned on their oars, the painter was cast off, and we
sheered off.
The boat went towards the south; the oarsmen did not hurry. I noticed
that their strokes, strong in the water, only followed each other every ten
seconds, according to the method generally adopted in the navy. Whilst the
craft was running by its own velocity, the liquid drops struck the dark
depths of the waves crisply like spats of melted lead. A little billow,
spreading wide, gave a slight roll to the boat, and some samphire reeds
flapped before it.
We were silent. What was Captain Nemo thinking of? Perhaps of the land
he was approaching, and which he found too near to him, contrary to the
Canadian's opinion, who thought it too far off. As to Conseil, he was
merely there from curiosity.
About half-past five the first tints on the horizon showed the upper
line of coast more distinctly. Flat enough in the east, it rose a little to
the south. Five miles still lay between us, and it was indistinct owing to
the mist on the water. At six o'clock it became suddenly daylight, with
that rapidity peculiar to tropical regions, which know neither dawn nor
twilight. The solar rays pierced the curtain of clouds, piled up on the
eastern horizon, and the radiant orb rose rapidly. I saw land distinctly,
with a few trees scattered here and there. The boat neared Manaar Island,
which was rounded to the south. Captain Nemo rose from his seat and watched
the sea.
At a sign from him the anchor was dropped, but the chain scarcely ran,
for it was little more than a yard deep, and this spot was one of the
highest points of the bank of pintadines.
"Here we are, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "You see that enclosed
bay? Here, in a month will be assembled the numerous fishing boats of the
exporters, and these are the waters their divers will ransack so boldly.
Happily, this bay is well situated for that kind of fishing. It is
sheltered from the strongest winds; the sea is never very rough here, which
makes it favourable for the diver's work. We will now put on our dresses,
and begin our walk."
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I did not answer, and, while watching the suspected waves, began with
the help of the sailors to put on my heavy sea-dress. Captain Nemo and my
companions were also dressing. None of the Nautilus men were to accompany
us on this new excursion.
Soon we were enveloped to the throat in india-rubber clothing; the air
apparatus fixed to our backs by braces. As to the Ruhmkorff apparatus,
there was no necessity for it. Before putting my head into the copper cap,
I had asked the question of the Captain.
"They would be useless," he replied. "We are going to no great depth,
and the solar rays will be enough to light our walk. Besides, it would not
be prudent to carry the electric light in these waters; its brilliancy
might attract some of the dangerous inhabitants of the coast most
inopportunely."
As Captain Nemo pronounced these words, I turned to Conseil and Ned
Land. But my two friends had already encased their heads in the metal cap,
and they could neither hear nor answer.
One last question remained to ask of Captain Nemo.
"And our arms?" asked I; "our guns?"
"Guns! What for? Do not mountaineers attack the bear with a dagger in
their hand, and is not steel surer than lead? Here is a strong blade; put
it in your belt, and we start."
I looked at my companions; they were armed like us, and, more than
that, Ned Land was brandishing an enormous harpoon, which he had placed in
the boat before leaving the Nautilus.
Then, following the Captain's example, I allowed myself to be dressed
in the heavy copper helmet, and our reservoirs of air were at once in
activity. An instant after we were landed, one after the other, in about
two yards of water upon an even sand. Captain Nemo made a sign with his
hand, and we followed him by a gentle declivity till we disappeared under
the waves.
At about seven o'clock we found ourselves at last surveying
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the oyster-banks on which the pearl-oysters are reproduced by millions.
Captain Nemo pointed with his hand to the enormous heap of oysters;
and I could well understand that this mine was inexhaustible, for Nature's
creative power is far beyond man's instinct of destruction. Ned Land,
faithful to his instinct, hastened to fill a net which he carried by his
side with some of the finest specimens. But we could not stop. We must
follow the Captain, who seemed to guide himself by paths known only to
himself. The ground was sensibly rising, and sometimes, on holding up my
arm, it was above the surface of the sea. Then the level of the bank would
sink capriciously. Often we rounded high rocks scarped into pyramids. In
their dark fractures huge crustacea, perched upon their high claws like
some war-machine, watched us with fixed eyes, and under our feet crawled
various kinds of annelides.
At this moment there opened before us a large grotto dug in a
picturesque heap of rocks and carpeted with all the thick warp of the
submarine flora. At first it seemed very dark to me. The solar rays seemed
to be extinguished by successive gradations, until its vague transparency
became nothing more than drowned light. Captain Nemo entered; we followed.
My eyes soon accustomed themselves to this relative state of darkness. I
could distinguish the arches springing capriciously from natural pillars,
standing broad upon their granite base, like the heavy columns of Tuscan
architecture. Why had our incomprehensible guide led us to the bottom of
this submarine crypt? I was soon to know. After descending a rather sharp
declivity, our feet trod the bottom of a kind of circular pit. There
Captain Nemo stopped, and with his hand indicated an object I had not yet
perceived. It was an oyster of extraordinary dimensions, a gigantic
tridacne, a goblet which could have contained a whole lake of holy-water, a
basin the breadth of which was more than two yards and a half, and
consequently larger than that ornamenting the saloon of the Nautilus. I
approached this extraordinary mollusc. It adhered by its filaments to a
table of granite, and there, isolated, it developed
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itself in the calm waters of the grotto. I estimated the weight of this
tridacne at 600 lb. Such an oyster would contain 30 lb. of meat; and one
must have the stomach of a Gargantua to demolish some dozens of them.
Captain Nemo was evidently acquainted with the existence of this
bivalve, and seemed to have a particular motive in verifying the actual
state of this tridacne. The shells were a little open; the Captain came
near and put his dagger between to prevent them from closing; then with his
hand he raised the membrane with its fringed edges, which formed a cloak
for the creature. There, between the folded plaits, I saw a loose pearl,
whose size equalled that of a coco-nut. Its globular shape, perfect
clearness, and admirable lustre made it altogether a jewel of inestimable
value. Carried away by my curiosity, I stretched out my hand to seize it,
weigh it, and touch it; but the Captain stopped me, made a sign of refusal,
and quickly withdrew his dagger, and the two shells closed suddenly. I then
understood Captain Nemo's intention. In leaving this pearl hidden in the
mantle of the tridacne he was allowing it to grow slowly. Each year the
secretions of the mollusc would add new concentric circles. I estimated its
value at L500,000 at least.
After ten minutes Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. I thought he had
halted previously to returning. No; by a gesture be bade us crouch beside
him in a deep fracture of the rock, his hand pointed to one part of the
liquid mass, which I watched attentively.
About five yards from me a shadow appeared, and sank to the ground.
The disquieting idea of sharks shot through my mind, but I was mistaken;
and once again it was not a monster of the ocean that we had anything to do
with.
It was a man, a living man, an Indian, a fisherman, a poor devil who,
I suppose, had come to glean before the harvest. I could see the bottom of
his canoe anchored some feet above his head. He dived and went up
successively. A stone held between his feet, cut in the shape of a sugar
loaf, whilst a rope fastened him to his boat, helped him to descend more
rapidly. This was all his apparatus. Reaching the bottom,
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about five yards deep, he went on his knees and filled his bag with oysters
picked up at random. Then he went up, emptied it, pulled up his stone, and
began the operation once more, which lasted thirty seconds.
The diver did not see us. The shadow of the rock hid us from sight.
And how should this poor Indian ever dream that men, beings like himself,
should be there under the water watching his movements and losing no detail
of the fishing? Several times he went up in this way, and dived again. He
did not carry away more than ten at each plunge, for he was obliged to pull
them from the bank to which they adhered by means of their strong byssus.
And how many of those oysters for which he risked his life had no pearl in
them! I watched him closely; his manoeuvres were regular; and for the space
of half an hour no danger appeared to threaten him.
I was beginning to accustom myself to the sight of this interesting
fishing, when suddenly, as the Indian was on the ground, I saw him make a
gesture of terror, rise, and make a spring to return to the surface of the
sea.
I understood his dread. A gigantic shadow appeared just above the
unfortunate diver. It was a shark of enormous size advancing diagonally,
his eyes on fire, and his jaws open. I was mute with horror and unable to
move.
The voracious creature shot towards the Indian, who threw himself on
one side to avoid the shark's fins; but not its tail, for it struck his
chest and stretched him on the ground.
This scene lasted but a few seconds: the shark returned, and, turning
on his back, prepared himself for cutting the Indian in two, when I saw
Captain Nemo rise suddenly, and then, dagger in hand, walk straight to the
monster, ready to fight face to face with him. The very moment the shark
was going to snap the unhappy fisherman in two, he perceived his new
adversary, and, turning over, made straight towards him.
I can still see Captain Nemo's position. Holding himself well
together, he waited for the shark with admirable coolness; and, when it
rushed at him, threw himself on one side
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with wonderful quickness, avoiding the shock, and burying his dagger deep
into its side. But it was not all over. A terrible combat ensued.
The shark had seemed to roar, if I might say so. The blood rushed in
torrents from its wound. The sea was dyed red, and through the opaque
liquid I could distinguish nothing more. Nothing more until the moment
when, like lightning, I saw the undaunted Captain hanging on to one of the
creature's fins, struggling, as it were, hand to hand with the monster, and
dealing successive blows at his enemy, yet still unable to give a decisive
one.
The shark's struggles agitated the water with such fury that the
rocking threatened to upset me.
I wanted to go to the Captain's assistance, but, nailed to the spot
with horror, I could not stir.
I saw the haggard eye; I saw the different phases of the fight. The
Captain fell to the earth, upset by the enormous mass which leant upon him.
The shark's jaws opened wide, like a pair of factory shears, and it would
have been all over with the Captain; but, quick as thought, harpoon in
hand, Ned Land rushed towards the shark and struck it with its sharp point.
The waves were impregnated with a mass of blood. They rocked under the
shark's movements, which beat them with indescribable fury. Ned Land had
not missed his aim. It was the monster's death-rattle. Struck to the heart,
it struggled in dreadful convulsions, the shock of which overthrew Conseil.
But Ned Land had disentangled the Captain, who, getting up without any
wound, went straight to the Indian, quickly cut the cord which held him to
his stone, took him in his arms, and, with a sharp blow of his heel,
mounted to the surface.
We all three followed in a few seconds, saved by a miracle, and
reached the fisherman's boat.
Captain Nemo's first care was to recall the unfortunate man to life
again. I did not think he could succeed. I hoped so, for the poor
creature's immersion was not long; but the blow from the shark's tail might
have been his death-blow.
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Happily, with the Captain's and Conseil's sharp friction, I saw
consciousness return by degrees. He opened his eyes. What was his surprise,
his terror even, at seeing four great copper heads leaning over him! And,
above all, what must he have thought when Captain Nemo, drawing from the
pocket of his dress a bag of pearls, placed it in his hand! This munificent
charity from the man of the waters to the poor Cingalese was accepted with
a trembling hand. His wondering eyes showed that he knew not to what super-
human beings he owed both fortune and life.
At a sign from the Captain we regained the bank, and, following the
road already traversed, came in about half an hour to the anchor which held
the canoe of the Nautilus to the earth.
Once on board, we each, with the help of the sailors, got rid of the
heavy copper helmet.
Captain Nemo's first word was to the Canadian.
"Thank you, Master Land," said he.
"It was in revenge, Captain," replied Ned Land. "I owed you that."
A ghastly smile passed across the Captain's lips, and that was all.
"To the Nautilus," said he.
The boat flew over the waves. Some minutes after we met the shark's
dead body floating. By the black marking of the extremity of its fins, I
recognised the terrible melanopteron of the Indian Seas, of the species of
shark so properly called. It was more than twenty-five feet long; its
enormous mouth occupied one-third of its body. It was an adult, as was
known by its six rows of teeth placed in an isosceles triangle in the upper
jaw.
Whilst I was contemplating this inert mass, a dozen of these voracious
beasts appeared round the boat; and, without noticing us, threw themselves
upon the dead body and fought with one another for the pieces.
At half-past eight we were again on board the Nautilus. There I
reflected on the incidents which had taken place in our excursion to the
Manaar Bank.
Two conclusions I must inevitably draw from it -- one
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bearing upon the unparalleled courage of Captain Nemo, the other upon his
devotion to a human being, a representative of that race from which he fled
beneath the sea. Whatever he might say, this strange man had not yet
succeeded in entirely crushing his heart.
When I made this observation to him, he answered in a slightly moved
tone:
"That Indian, sir, is an inhabitant of an oppressed country; and I am
still, and shall be, to my last breath, one of them!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.4
THE RED SEA
IN THE course of the day of the 29th of January, the island of Ceylon
disappeared under the horizon, and the Nautilus, at a speed of twenty miles
an hour, slid into the labyrinth of canals which separate the Maldives from
the Laccadives. It coasted even the Island of Kiltan, a land originally
coraline, discovered by Vasco da Gama in 1499, and one of the nineteen
principal islands of the Laccadive Archipelago, situated between 10° and
14° 30' N. lat., and 69° 50' 72" E. long.
We had made 16,220 miles, or 7,500 (French) leagues from our
starting-point in the Japanese Seas.
The next day (30th January), when the Nautilus went to the surface of
the ocean there was no land in sight. Its course was N.N.E., in the
direction of the Sea of Oman, between Arabia and the Indian Peninsula,
which serves as an outlet to the Persian Gulf. It was evidently a block
without any possible egress. Where was Captain Nemo taking us to? I could
not say. This, however, did not satisfy the Canadian, who that day came to
me asking where we were going.
"We are going where our Captain's fancy takes us, Master Ned."
"His fancy cannot take us far, then," said the Canadian.
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"The Persian Gulf has no outlet: and, if we do go in, it will not be long
before we are out again."
"Very well, then, we will come out again, Master Land; and if, after
the Persian Gulf, the Nautilus would like to visit the Red Sea, the Straits
of Bab-el-mandeb are there to give us entrance."
"I need not tell you, sir," said Ned Land, "that the Red Sea is as
much closed as the Gulf, as the Isthmus of Suez is not yet cut; and, if it
was, a boat as mysterious as ours would not risk itself in a canal cut with
sluices. And again, the Red Sea is not the road to take us back to Europe."
"But I never said we were going back to Europe."
"What do you suppose, then?"
"I suppose that, after visiting the curious coasts of Arabia and
Egypt, the Nautilus will go down the Indian Ocean again, perhaps cross the
Channel of Mozambique, perhaps off the Mascarenhas, so as to gain the Cape
of Good Hope."
"And once at the Cape of Good Hope?" asked the Canadian, with peculiar
emphasis.
"Well, we shall penetrate into that Atlantic which we do not yet know.
Ah! friend Ned, you are getting tired of this journey under the sea; you
are surfeited with the incessantly varying spectacle of submarine wonders.
For my part, I shall be sorry to see the end of a voyage which it is given
to so few men to make."
For four days, till the 3rd of February, the Nautilus scoured the Sea
of Oman, at various speeds and at various depths. It seemed to go at
random, as if hesitating as to which road it should follow, but we never
passed the Tropic of Cancer.
In quitting this sea we sighted Muscat for an instant, one of the most
important towns of the country of Oman. I admired its strange aspect,
surrounded by black rocks upon which its white houses and forts stood in
relief. I saw the rounded domes of its mosques, the elegant points of its
minarets, its fresh and verdant terraces. But it was only a vision! The
Nautilus soon sank under the waves of that part of the sea.
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We passed along the Arabian coast of Mahrah and Hadramaut, for a
distance of six miles, its undulating line of mountains being occasionally
relieved by some ancient ruin. The 5th of February we at last entered the
Gulf of Aden, a perfect funnel introduced into the neck of Bab-el- mandeb,
through which the Indian waters entered the Red Sea.
The 6th of February, the Nautilus floated in sight of Aden, perched
upon a promontory which a narrow isthmus joins to the mainland, a kind of
inaccessible Gibraltar, the fortifications of which were rebuilt by the
English after taking possession in 1839. I caught a glimpse of the octagon
minarets of this town, which was at one time the richest commercial
magazine on the coast.
I certainly thought that Captain Nemo, arrived at this point, would
back out again; but I was mistaken, for be did no such thing, much to my
surprise.
The next day, the 7th of February, we entered the Straits of
Bab-el-mandeb, the name of which, in the Arab tongue, means The Gate of
Tears.
To twenty miles in breadth, it is only thirty-two in length. And for
the Nautilus, starting at full speed, the crossing was scarcely the work of
an hour. But I saw nothing, not even the Island of Perim, with which the
British Government has fortified the position of Aden. There were too many
English or French steamers of the line of Suez to Bombay, Calcutta to
Melbourne, and from Bourbon to the Mauritius, furrowing this narrow
passage, for the Nautilus to venture to show itself. So it remained
prudently below. At last about noon, we were in the waters of the Red Sea.
I would not even seek to understand the caprice which had decided
Captain Nemo upon entering the gulf. But I quite approved of the Nautilus
entering it. Its speed was lessened: sometimes it kept on the surface,
sometimes it dived to avoid a vessel, and thus I was able to observe the
upper and lower parts of this curious sea.
The 8th of February, from the first dawn of day, Mocha came in sight,
now a ruined town, whose walls would fall at a gunshot, yet which shelters
here and there some verdant
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date-trees; once an important city, containing six public markets, and
twenty-six mosques, and whose walls, defended by fourteen forts, formed a
girdle of two miles in circumference.
The Nautilus then approached the African shore, where the depth of the
sea was greater. There, between two waters clear as crystal, through the
open panels we were allowed to contemplate the beautiful bushes of
brilliant coral and large blocks of rock clothed with a splendid fur of
green variety of sites and landscapes along these sandbanks and algae and
fuci. What an indescribable spectacle, and what variety of sites and
landscapes along these sandbanks and volcanic islands which bound the
Libyan coast! But where these shrubs appeared in all their beauty was on
the eastern coast, which the Nautilus soon gained. It was on the coast of
Tehama, for there not only did this display of zoophytes flourish beneath
the level of the sea, but they also formed picturesque interlacings which
unfolded themselves about sixty feet above the surface, more capricious but
less highly coloured than those whose freshness was kept up by the vital
power of the waters.
What charming hours I passed thus at the window of the saloon! What
new specimens of submarine flora and fauna did I admire under the
brightness of our electric lantern!
The 9th of February the Nautilus floated in the broadest part of the
Red Sea, which is comprised between Souakin, on the west coast, and
Komfidah, on the east coast, with a diameter of ninety miles.
That day at noon, after the bearings were taken, Captain Nemo mounted
the platform, where I happened to be, and I was determined not to let him
go down again without at least pressing him regarding his ulterior
projects. As soon as he saw me he approached and graciously offered me a
cigar.
"Well, sir, does this Red Sea please you? Have you sufficiently
observed the wonders it covers, its fishes, its zoophytes, its parterres of
sponges, and its forests of coral? Did you catch a glimpse of the towns on
its borders?"
"Yes, Captain Nemo," I replied; "and the Nautilus is
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wonderfully fitted for such a study. Ah! it is an intelligent boat!"
"Yes, sir, intelligent and invulnerable. It fears neither the terrible
tempests of the Red Sea, nor its currents, nor its sandbanks."
"Certainly," said I, "this sea is quoted as one of the worst, and in
the time of the ancients, if I am not mistaken, its reputation was
detestable."
"Detestable, M. Aronnax. The Greek and Latin historians do not speak
favourably of it, and Strabo says it is very dangerous during the Etesian
winds and in the rainy season. The Arabian Edrisi portrays it under the
name of the Gulf of Colzoum, and relates that vessels perished there in
great numbers on the sandbanks and that no one would risk sailing in the
night. It is, he pretends, a sea subject to fearful hurricanes, strewn with
inhospitable islands, and 'which offers nothing good either on its surface
or in its depths.'"
"One may see," I replied, "that these historians never sailed on board
the Nautilus."
"Just so," replied the Captain, smiling; "and in that respect moderns
are not more advanced than the ancients. It required many ages to find out
the mechanical power of steam. Who knows if, in another hundred years, we
may not see a second Nautilus? Progress is slow, M. Aronnax."
"It is true," I answered; "your boat is at least a century before its
time, perhaps an era. What a misfortune that the secret of such an
invention should die with its inventor!"
Captain Nemo did not reply. After some minutes' silence he continued:
"You were speaking of the opinions of ancient historians upon the
dangerous navigation of the Red Sea."
"It is true," said I; "but were not their fears exaggerated?"
"Yes and no, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, who seemed to know the
Red Sea by heart. "That which is no longer dangerous for a modern vessel,
well rigged, strongly built, and master of its own course, thanks to
obedient steam, offered all sorts of perils to the ships of the ancients,
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Picture to yourself those first navigators venturing in ships made of
planks sewn with the cords of the palmtree, saturated with the grease of
the seadog, and covered with powdered resin! They had not even instruments
wherewith to take their bearings, and they went by guess amongst currents
of which they scarcely knew anything. Under such conditions shipwrecks
were, and must have been, numerous. But in our time, steamers running
between Suez and the South Seas have nothing more to fear from the fury of
this gulf, in spite of contrary trade-winds. The captain and passengers do
not prepare for their departure by offering propitiatory sacrifices; and,
on their return, they no longer go ornamented with wreaths and gilt fillets
to thank the gods in the neighbouring temple."
"I agree with you," said I; "and steam seems to have killed all
gratitude in the hearts of sailors. But, Captain, since you seem to have
especially studied this sea, can you tell me the origin of its name?"
"There exist several explanations on the subject, M. Aronnax. Would
you like to know the opinion of a chronicler of the fourteenth century?"
"Willingly."
"This fanciful writer pretends that its name was given to it after the
passage of the Israelites, when Pharaoh perished in the waves which closed
at the voice of Moses."
"A poet's explanation, Captain Nemo," I replied; "but I cannot content
myself with that. I ask you for your personal opinion."
"Here it is, M. Aronnax. According to my idea, we must see in this
appellation of the Red Sea a translation of the Hebrew word 'Edom'; and if
the ancients gave it that name, it was on account of the particular colour
of its waters."
"But up to this time I have seen nothing but transparent waves and
without any particular colour."
"Very likely; but as we advance to the bottom of the gulf, you will
see this singular appearance. I remember seeing the Bay of Tor entirely
red, like a sea of blood."
"And you attribute this colour to the presence of a microscopic
seaweed?"
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"Yes."
"So, Captain Nemo, it is not the first time you have overrun the Red
Sea on board the Nautilus?"
"No, sir."
"As you spoke a while ago of the passage of the Israelites and of the
catastrophe to the Egyptians, I will ask whether you have met with the
traces under the water of this great historical fact?"
"No, sir; and for a good reason."
"What is it?"
"It is that the spot where Moses and his people passed is now so
blocked up with sand that the camels can barely bathe their legs there. You
can well understand that there would not be water enough for my Nautilus."
"And the spot?" I asked.
"The spot is situated a little above the Isthmus of Suez, in the arm
which formerly made a deep estuary, when the Red Sea extended to the Salt
Lakes. Now, whether this passage were miraculous or not, the Israelites,
nevertheless, crossed there to reach the Promised Land, and Pharaoh's army
perished precisely on that spot; and I think that excavations made in the
middle of the sand would bring to light a large number of arms and
instruments of Egyptian origin."
"That is evident," I replied; "and for the sake of archaeologists let
us hope that these excavations will be made sooner or later, when new towns
are established on the isthmus, after the construction of the Suez Canal; a
canal, however, very useless to a vessel like the Nautilus."
"Very likely; but useful to the whole world," said Captain Nemo. "The
ancients well understood the utility of a communication between the Red Sea
and the Mediterranean for their commercial affairs: but they did not think
of digging a canal direct, and took the Nile as an intermediate. Very
probably the canal which united the Nile to the Red Sea was begun by
Sesostris, if we may believe tradition. One thing is certain, that in the
year 615 before Jesus Christ, Necos undertook the works of an alimentary
canal to the waters of the Nile across the plain of Egypt, looking towards
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Arabia. It took four days to go up this canal, and it was so wide that two
triremes could go abreast. It was carried on by Darius, the son of
Hystaspes, and probably finished by Ptolemy II. Strabo saw it navigated:
but its decline from the point of departure, near Bubastes, to the Red Sea
was so slight that it was only navigable for a few months in the year. This
canal answered all commercial purposes to the age of Antonius, when it was
abandoned and blocked up with sand. Restored by order of the Caliph Omar,
it was definitely destroyed in 761 or 762 by Caliph Al-Mansor, who wished
to prevent the arrival of provisions to Mohammed-ben-Abdallah, who had
revolted against him. During the expedition into Egypt, your General
Bonaparte discovered traces of the works in the Desert of Suez; and,
surprised by the tide, he nearly perished before regaining Hadjaroth, at
the very place where Moses had encamped three thousand years before him."
"Well, Captain, what the ancients dared not undertake, this junction
between the two seas, which will shorten the road from Cadiz to India, M.
Lesseps has succeeded in doing; and before long he will have changed Africa
into an immense island."
"Yes, M. Aronnax; you have the right to be proud of your countryman.
Such a man brings more honour to a nation than great captains. He began,
like so many others, with disgust and rebuffs; but he has triumphed, for he
has the genius of will. And it is sad to think that a work like that, which
ought to have been an international work and which would have sufficed to
make a reign illustrious, should have succeeded by the energy of one man.
All honour to M. Lesseps!"
"Yes! honour to the great citizen," I replied, surprised by the manner
in which Captain Nemo had just spoken.
"Unfortunately," he continued, "I cannot take you through the Suez
Canal; but you will be able to see the long jetty of Port Said after
to-morrow, when we shall be in the Mediterranean."
"The Mediterranean!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir; does that astonish you?"
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"What astonishes me is to think that we shall be there the day after
to-morrow."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, Captain, although by this time I ought to have accustomed myself
to be surprised at nothing since I have been on board your boat."
"But the cause of this surprise?"
"Well! it is the fearful speed you will have to put on the Nautilus,
if the day after to-morrow she is to be in the Mediterranean, having made
the round of Africa, and doubled the Cape of Good Hope!"
"Who told you that she would make the round of Africa and double the
Cape of Good Hope, sir?"
"Well, unless the Nautilus sails on dry land, and passes above the
isthmus -- "
"Or beneath it, M. Aronnax."
"Beneath it?"
"Certainly," replied Captain Nemo quietly. "A long time ago Nature
made under this tongue of land what man has this day made on its surface."
"What! such a passage exists?"
"Yes; a subterranean passage, which I have named the Arabian Tunnel.
It takes us beneath Suez and opens into the Gulf of Pelusium."
"But this isthmus is composed of nothing but quicksands?"
"To a certain depth. But at fifty-five yards only there is a solid
layer of rock."
"Did you discover this passage by chance?" I asked more and more
surprised.
"Chance and reasoning, sir; and by reasoning even more than by chance.
Not only does this passage exist, but I have profited by it several times.
Without that I should not have ventured this day into the impassable Red
Sea. I noticed that in the Red Sea and in the Mediterranean there existed a
certain number of fishes of a kind perfectly identical. Certain of the
fact, I asked myself was it possible that there was no communication
between the two seas? If
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there was, the subterranean current must necessarily run from the Red Sea
to the Mediterranean, from the sole cause of difference of level. I caught
a large number of fishes in the neighbourhood of Suez. I passed a copper
ring through their tails, and threw them back into the sea. Some months
later, on the coast of Syria, I caught some of my fish ornamented with the
ring. Thus the communication between the two was proved. I then sought for
it with my Nautilus; I discovered it, ventured into it, and before long,
sir, you too will have passed through my Arabian tunnel!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.5
THE ARABIAN TUNNEL
THAT same evening, in 21° 30' N. lat., the Nautilus floated on the
surface of the sea, approaching the Arabian coast. I saw Djeddah, the most
important counting-house of Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and India. I
distinguished clearly enough its buildings, the vessels anchored at the
quays, and those whose draught of water obliged them to anchor in the
roads. The sun, rather low on the horizon, struck full on the houses of the
town, bringing out their whiteness. Outside, some wooden cabins, and some
made of reeds, showed the quarter inhabited by the Bedouins. Soon Djeddah
was shut out from view by the shadows of night, and the Nautilus found
herself under water slightly phosphorescent.
The next day, the 10th of February, we sighted several ships running
to windward. The Nautilus returned to its submarine navigation; but at
noon, when her bearings were taken, the sea being deserted, she rose again
to her waterline.
Accompanied by Ned and Conseil, I seated myself on the platform. The
coast on the eastern side looked like a mass faintly printed upon a damp
fog.
We were leaning on the sides of the pinnace, talking of
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one thing and another, when Ned Land, stretching out his hand towards a
spot on the sea, said:
"Do you see anything there, sir?"
"No, Ned," I replied; "but I have not your eyes, you know."
"Look well," said Ned, "there, on the starboard beam, about the height
of the lantern! Do you not see a mass which seems to move?"
"Certainly," said I, after close attention; "I see something like a
long black body on the top of the water."
And certainly before long the black object was not more than a mile
from us. It looked like a great sandbank deposited in the open sea. It was
a gigantic dugong!
Ned Land looked eagerly. His eyes shone with covetousness at the sight
of the animal. His hand seemed ready to harpoon it. One would have thought
he was awaiting the moment to throw himself into the sea and attack it in
its element.
At this instant Captain Nemo appeared on the platform. He saw the
dugong, understood the Canadian's attitude, and, addressing him, said:
"If you held a harpoon just now, Master Land, would it not burn your
hand?"
"Just so, sir."
"And you would not be sorry to go back, for one day, to your trade of
a fisherman and to add this cetacean to the list of those you have already
killed?"
"I should not, sir."
"Well, you can try."
"Thank you, sir," said Ned Land, his eyes flaming.
"Only," continued the Captain, "I advise you for your own sake not to
miss the creature."
"Is the dugong dangerous to attack?" I asked, in spite of the
Canadian's shrug of the shoulders.
"Yes," replied the Captain; "sometimes the animal turns upon its
assailants and overturns their boat. But for Master Land this danger is not
to be feared. His eye is prompt, his arm sure."
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At this moment seven men of the crew, mute and immovable as ever,
mounted the platform. One carried a harpoon and a line similar to those
employed in catching whales. The pinnace was lifted from the bridge, pulled
from its socket, and let down into the sea. Six oarsmen took their seats,
and the coxswain went to the tiller. Ned, Conseil, and I went to the back
of the boat.
"You are not coming, Captain?" I asked.
"No, sir; but I wish you good sport."
The boat put off, and, lifted by the six rowers, drew rapidly towards
the dugong, which floated about two miles from the Nautilus.
Arrived some cables-length from the cetacean, the speed slackened, and
the oars dipped noiselessly into the quiet waters. Ned Land, harpoon in
hand, stood in the fore part of the boat. The harpoon used for striking the
whale is generally attached to a very long cord which runs out rapidly as
the wounded creature draws it after him. But here the cord was not more
than ten fathoms long, and the extremity was attached to a small barrel
which, by floating, was to show the course the dugong took under the water.
I stood and carefully watched the Canadian's adversary. This dugong,
which also bears the name of the halicore, closely resembles the manatee;
its oblong body terminated in a lengthened tall, and its lateral fins in
perfect fingers. Its difference from the manatee consisted in its upper
jaw, which was armed with two long and pointed teeth which formed on each
side diverging tusks.
This dugong which Ned Land was preparing to attack was of colossal
dimensions; it was more than seven yards long. It did not move, and seemed
to be sleeping on the waves, which circumstance made it easier to capture.
The boat approached within six yards of the animal. The oars rested on
the rowlocks. I half rose. Ned Land, his body thrown a little back,
brandished the harpoon in his experienced hand.
Suddenly a hissing noise was heard, and the dugong disappeared.
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The harpoon, although thrown with great force; had apparently only struck
the water.
"Curse it!" exclaimed the Canadian furiously; "I have missed it!"
"No," said I; "the creature is wounded -- look at the blood; but your
weapon has not stuck in his body."
"My harpoon! my harpoon!" cried Ned Land.
The sailors rowed on, and the coxswain made for the floating barrel.
The harpoon regained, we followed in pursuit of the animal.
The latter came now and then to the surface to breathe. Its wound had
not weakened it, for it shot onwards with great rapidity.
The boat, rowed by strong arms, flew on its track. Several times it
approached within some few yards, and the Canadian was ready to strike, but
the dugong made off with a sudden plunge, and it was impossible to reach
it.
Imagine the passion which excited impatient Ned Land! He hurled at the
unfortunate creature the most energetic expletives in the English tongue.
For my part, I was only vexed to see the dugong escape all our attacks.
We pursued it without relaxation for an hour, and I began to think it
would prove difficult to capture, when the animal, possessed with the
perverse idea of vengeance of which he had cause to repent, turned upon the
pinnace and assailed us in its turn.
This manoeuvre did not escape the Canadian.
"Look out!" he cried.
The coxswain said some words in his outlandish tongue, doubtless
warning the men to keep on their guard.
The dugong came within twenty feet of the boat, stopped, sniffed the
air briskly with its large nostrils (not pierced at the extremity, but in
the upper part of its muzzle). Then, taking a spring, he threw himself upon
us.
The pinnace could not avoid the shock, and half upset, shipped at
least two tons of water, which had to be emptied; but, thanks to the
coxswain, we caught it sideways, not full front, so we were not quite
overturned. While Ned Land,
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clinging to the bows, belaboured the gigantic animal with blows from his
harpoon, the creature's teeth were buried in the gunwale, and it lifted the
whole thing out of the water, as a lion does a roebuck. We were upset over
one another, and I know not how the adventure would have ended, if the
Canadian, still enraged with the beast, had not struck it to the heart.
I heard its teeth grind on the iron plate, and the dugong disappeared,
carrying the harpoon with him. But the barrel soon returned to the surface,
and shortly after the body of the animal, turned on its back. The boat came
up with it, took it in tow, and made straight for the Nautilus.
It required tackle of enormous strength to hoist the dugong on to the
platform. It weighed 10,000 lb.
The next day, 11th February, the larder of the Nautilus was enriched
by some more delicate game. A flight of sea- swallows rested on the
Nautilus. It was a species of the Sterna nilotica, peculiar to Egypt; its
beak is black, head grey and pointed, the eye surrounded by white spots,
the back, wings, and tail of a greyish colour, the belly and throat white,
and claws red. They also took some dozen of Nile ducks, a wild bird of high
flavour, its throat and upper part of the head white with black spots.
About five o'clock in the evening we sighted to the north the Cape of
Ras-Mohammed. This cape forms the extremity of Arabia Petraea, comprised
between the Gulf of Suez and the Gulf of Acabah.
The Nautilus penetrated into the Straits of Jubal, which leads to the
Gulf of Suez. I distinctly saw a high mountain, towering between the two
gulfs of Ras-Mohammed. It was Mount Horeb, that Sinai at the top of which
Moses saw God face to face.
At six o'clock the Nautilus, sometimes floating, sometimes immersed,
passed some distance from Tor, situated at the end of the bay, the waters
of which seemed tinted with red, an observation already made by Captain
Nemo. Then night fell in the midst of a heavy silence, sometimes broken by
the cries of the pelican and other night-birds, and the noise of the waves
breaking upon the shore, chafing against the
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rocks, or the panting of some far-off steamer beating the waters of the
Gulf with its noisy paddles.
From eight to nine o'clock the Nautilus remained some fathoms under
the water. According to my calculation we must have been very near Suez.
Through the panel of the saloon I saw the bottom of the rocks brilliantly
lit up by our electric lamp. We seemed to be leaving the Straits behind us
more and more.
At a quarter-past nine, the vessel having returned to the surface, I
mounted the platform. Most impatient to pass through Captain Nemo's tunnel,
I could not stay in one place, so came to breathe the fresh night air.
Soon in the shadow I saw a pale light, half discoloured by the fog,
shining about a mile from us.
"A floating lighthouse!" said someone near me.
I turned, and saw the Captain.
"It is the floating light of Suez," he continued. "It will not be long
before we gain the entrance of the tunnel."
"The entrance cannot be easy?"
"No, sir; for that reason I am accustomed to go into the steersman's
cage and myself direct our course. And now, if you will go down, M.
Aronnax, the Nautilus is going under the waves, and will not return to the
surface until we have passed through the Arabian Tunnel."
Captain Nemo led me towards the central staircase; half- way down he
opened a door, traversed the upper deck, and landed in the pilot's cage,
which it may be remembered rose at the extremity of the platform. It was a
cabin measuring six feet square, very much like that occupied by the pilot
on the steamboats of the Mississippi or Hudson. In the midst worked a
wheel, placed vertically, and caught to the tiller-rope, which ran to the
back of the Nautilus. Four light-ports with lenticular glasses, let in a
groove in the partition of the cabin, allowed the man at the wheel to see
in all directions.
This cabin was dark; but soon my eyes accustomed themselves to the
obscurity, and I perceived the pilot, a strong man, with his hands resting
on the spokes of the wheel. Outside, the sea appeared vividly lit up by the
lantern,
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which shed its rays from the back of the cabin to the other extremity of
the platform.
"Now," said Captain Nemo, "let us try to make our passage."
Electric wires connected the pilot's cage with the machinery room, and
from there the Captain could communicate simultaneously to his Nautilus the
direction and the speed. He pressed a metal knob, and at once the speed of
the screw diminished.
I looked in silence at the high straight wall we were running by at
this moment, the immovable base of a massive sandy coast. We followed it
thus for an hour only some few yards off.
Captain Nemo did not take his eye from the knob, suspended by its two
concentric circles in the cabin. At a simple gesture, the pilot modified
the course of the Nautilus every instant.
I had placed myself at the port-scuttle, and saw some magnificent
substructures of coral, zoophytes, seaweed, and fucus, agitating their
enormous claws, which stretched out from the fissures of the rock.
At a quarter-past ten, the Captain himself took the helm. A large
gallery, black and deep, opened before us. The Nautilus went boldly into
it. A strange roaring was heard round its sides. It was the waters of the
Red Sea, which the incline of the tunnel precipitated violently towards the
Mediterranean. The Nautilus went with the torrent, rapid as an arrow, in
spite of the efforts of the machinery, which, in order to offer more
effective resistance, beat the waves with reversed screw.
On the walls of the narrow passage I could see nothing but brilliant
rays, straight lines, furrows of fire, traced by the great speed, under the
brilliant electric light. My heart beat fast.
At thirty-five minutes past ten, Captain Nemo quitted the helm, and,
turning to me, said:
"The Mediterranean!"
In less than twenty minutes, the Nautilus, carried along by the
torrent, had passed through the Isthmus of Suez.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.6
THE GRECIAN ARCHIPELAGO
THE next day, the 12th of February, at the dawn of day, the Nautilus
rose to the surface. I hastened on to the platform. Three miles to the
south the dim outline of Pelusium was to be seen. A torrent had carried us
from one sea to another. About seven o'clock Ned and Conseil joined me.
"Well, Sir Naturalist," said the Canadian, in a slightly jovial tone,
"and the Mediterranean?"
"We are floating on its surface, friend Ned."
"What!" said Conseil, "this very night."
"Yes, this very night; in a few minutes we have passed this impassable
isthmus."
"I do not believe it," replied the Canadian.
"Then you are wrong, Master Land," I continued; "this low coast which
rounds off to the south is the Egyptian coast. And you who have such good
eyes, Ned, you can see the jetty of Port Said stretching into the sea."
The Canadian looked attentively.
"Certainly you are right, sir, and your Captain is a first- rate man.
We are in the Mediterranean. Good! Now, if you please, let us talk of our
own little affair, but so that no one hears us."
I saw what the Canadian wanted, and, in any case, I thought it better
to let him talk, as he wished it; so we all three went and sat down near
the lantern, where we were less exposed to the spray of the blades.
"Now, Ned, we listen; what have you to tell us?"
"What I have to tell you is very simple. We are in Europe; and before
Captain Nemo's caprices drag us once more to the bottom of the Polar Seas,
or lead us into Oceania, I ask to leave the Nautilus."
I wished in no way to shackle the liberty of my companions, but I
certainly felt no desire to leave Captain Nemo.
Thanks to him, and thanks to his apparatus, I was each day nearer the
completion of my submarine studies; and
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I was rewriting my book of submarine depths in its very element. Should I
ever again have such an opportunity of observing the wonders of the ocean?
No, certainly not! And I could not bring myself to the idea of abandoning
the Nautilus before the cycle of investigation was accomplished.
"Friend Ned, answer me frankly, are you tired of being on board? Are
you sorry that destiny has thrown us into Captain Nemo's hands?"
The Canadian remained some moments without answering. Then, crossing
his arms, he said:
"Frankly, I do not regret this journey under the seas. I shall be glad
to have made it; but, now that it is made, let us have done with it. That
is my idea."
"It will come to an end, Ned."
"Where and when?"
"Where I do not know -- when I cannot say; or, rather, I suppose it
will end when these seas have nothing more to teach us."
"Then what do you hope for?" demanded the Canadian.
"That circumstances may occur as well six months hence as now by which
we may and ought to profit."
"Oh!" said Ned Land, "and where shall we be in six months, if you
please, Sir Naturalist?"
"Perhaps in China; you know the Nautilus is a rapid traveller. It goes
through water as swallows through the air, or as an express on the land. It
does not fear frequented seas; who can say that it may not beat the coasts
of France, England, or America, on which flight may be attempted as
advantageously as here."
"M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, "your arguments are rotten at the
foundation. You speak in the future, 'We shall be there! we shall be here!'
I speak in the present, 'We are here, and we must profit by it.'"
Ned Land's logic pressed me hard, and I felt myself beaten on that
ground. I knew not what argument would now tell in my favour.
"Sir," continued Ned, "let us suppose an impossibility: if Captain
Nemo should this day offer you your liberty; would you accept it?"
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"I do not know," I answered.
"And if," he added, "the offer made you this day was never to be
renewed, would you accept it?"
"Friend Ned, this is my answer. Your reasoning is against me. We must
not rely on Captain Nemo's good-will. Common prudence forbids him to set us
at liberty. On the other side, prudence bids us profit by the first
opportunity to leave the Nautilus."
"Well, M. Aronnax, that is wisely said."
"Only one observation -- just one. The occasion must be serious, and
our first attempt must succeed; if it fails, we shall never find another,
and Captain Nemo will never forgive us."
"All that is true," replied the Canadian. "But your observation
applies equally to all attempts at flight, whether in two years' time, or
in two days'. But the question is still this: If a favourable opportunity
presents itself, it must be seized."
"Agreed! And now, Ned, will you tell me what you mean by a favourable
opportunity?"
"It will be that which, on a dark night, will bring the Nautilus a
short distance from some European coast."
"And you will try and save yourself by swimming?"
"Yes, if we were near enough to the bank, and if the vessel was
floating at the time. Not if the bank was far away, and the boat was under
the water."
"And in that case?"
"In that case, I should seek to make myself master of the pinnace. I
know how it is worked. We must get inside, and the bolts once drawn, we
shall come to the surface of the water, without even the pilot, who is in
the bows, perceiving our flight."
"Well, Ned, watch for the opportunity; but do not forget that a hitch
will ruin us."
"I will not forget, sir."
"And now, Ned, would you like to know what I think of your project?"
"Certainly, M. Aronnax."
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"Well, I think -- I do not say I hope -- I think that this favourable
opportunity will never present itself."
"Why not?"
"Because Captain Nemo cannot hide from himself that we have not given
up all hope of regaining our liberty, and he will be on his guard, above
all, in the seas and in the sight of European coasts."
"We shall see," replied Ned Land, shaking his head determinedly.
"And now, Ned Land," I added, "let us stop here. Not another word on
the subject. The day that you are ready, come and let us know, and we will
follow you. I rely entirely upon you."
Thus ended a conversation which, at no very distant time, led to such
grave results. I must say here that facts seemed to confirm my foresight,
to the Canadian's great despair. Did Captain Nemo distrust us in these
frequented seas? or did he only wish to hide himself from the numerous
vessels, of all nations, which ploughed the Mediterranean? I could not
tell; but we were oftener between waters and far from the coast. Or, if the
Nautilus did emerge, nothing was to be seen but the pilot's cage; and
sometimes it went to great depths, for, between the Grecian Archipelago and
Asia Minor we could not touch the bottom by more than a thousand fathoms.
Thus I only knew we were near the Island of Carpathos, one of the
Sporades, by Captain Nemo reciting these lines from Virgil:
"Est Carpathio Neptuni gurgite vates,
Caeruleus Proteus," as he pointed to a spot on the planisphere.
It was indeed the ancient abode of Proteus, the old shepherd of
Neptune's flocks, now the Island of Scarpanto, situated between Rhodes and
Crete. I saw nothing but the granite base through the glass panels of the
saloon.
The next day, the 14th of February, I resolved to employ some hours in
studying the fishes of the Archipelago; but for some reason or other the
panels remained hermetically sealed. Upon taking the course of the
Nautilus, I found that
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we were going towards Candia, the ancient Isle of Crete. At the time I
embarked on the Abraham Lincoln, the whole of this island had risen in
insurrection against the despotism of the Turks. But how the insurgents had
fared since that time I was absolutely ignorant, and it was not Captain
Nemo, deprived of all land communications, who could tell me.
I made no allusion to this event when that night I found myself alone
with him in the saloon. Besides, he seemed to be taciturn and preoccupied.
Then, contrary to his custom, he ordered both panels to be opened, and,
going from one to the other, observed the mass of waters attentively. To
what end I could not guess; so, on my side, I employed my time in studying
the fish passing before my eyes.
In the midst of the waters a man appeared, a diver, carrying at his
belt a leathern purse. It was not a body abandoned to the waves; it was a
living man, swimming with a strong hand, disappearing occasionally to take
breath at the surface.
I turned towards Captain Nemo, and in an agitated voice exclaimed:
"A man shipwrecked! He must be saved at any price!"
The Captain did not answer me, but came and leaned against the panel.
The man had approached, and, with his face flattened against the
glass, was looking at us.
To my great amazement, Captain Nemo signed to him. The diver answered
with his hand, mounted immediately to the surface of the water, and did not
appear again.
"Do not be uncomfortable," said Captain Nemo. "It is Nicholas of Cape
Matapan, surnamed Pesca. He is well known in all the Cyclades. A bold
diver! water is his element, and he lives more in it than on land, going
continually from one island to another, even as far as Crete."
"You know him, Captain?"
"Why not, M. Aronnax?"
Saying which, Captain Nemo went towards a piece of furniture standing
near the left panel of the saloon. Near this piece of furniture, I saw a
chest bound with iron, on
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the cover of which was a copper plate, bearing the cypher of the Nautilus
with its device.
At that moment, the Captain, without noticing my presence, opened the
piece of furniture, a sort of strong box, which held a great many ingots.
They were ingots of gold. From whence came this precious metal, which
represented an enormous sum? Where did the Captain gather this gold from?
and what was he going to do with it?
I did not say one word. I looked. Captain Nemo took the ingots one by
one, and arranged them methodically in the chest, which he filled entirely.
I estimated the contents at more than 4,000 lb. weight of gold, that is to
say, nearly L200,000.
The chest was securely fastened, and the Captain wrote an address on
the lid, in characters which must have belonged to Modern Greece.
This done, Captain Nemo pressed a knob, the wire of which communicated
with the quarters of the crew. Four men appeared, and, not without some
trouble, pushed the chest out of the saloon. Then I heard them hoisting it
up the iron staircase by means of pulleys.
At that moment, Captain Nemo turned to me.
"And you were saying, sir?" said he.
"I was saying nothing, Captain."
"Then, sir, if you will allow me, I will wish you good night."
Whereupon he turned and left the saloon.
I returned to my room much troubled, as one may believe. I vainly
tried to sleep -- I sought the connecting link between the apparition of
the diver and the chest filled with gold. Soon, I felt by certain movements
of pitching and tossing that the Nautilus was leaving the depths and
returning to the surface.
Then I heard steps upon the platform; and I knew they were unfastening
the pinnace and launching it upon the waves. For one instant it struck the
side of the Nautilus, then all noise ceased.
Two hours after, the same noise, the same going and coming
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was renewed; the boat was hoisted on board, replaced in its socket, and the
Nautilus again plunged under the waves.
So these millions had been transported to their address. To what point
of the continent? Who was Captain Nemo's correspondent?
The next day I related to Conseil and the Canadian the events of the
night, which had excited my curiosity to the highest degree. My companions
were not less surprised than myself.
"But where does he take his millions to?" asked Ned Land.
To that there was no possible answer. I returned to the saloon after
having breakfast and set to work. Till five o'clock in the evening I
employed myself in arranging my notes. At that moment -- (ought I to
attribute it to some peculiar idiosyncrasy) -- I felt so great a heat that
I was obliged to take off my coat. It was strange, for we were under low
latitudes; and even then the Nautilus, submerged as it was, ought to
experience no change of temperature. I looked at the manometer; it showed a
depth of sixty feet, to which atmospheric heat could never attain.
I continued my work, but the temperature rose to such a pitch as to be
intolerable.
"Could there be fire on board?" I asked myself.
I was leaving the saloon, when Captain Nemo entered; he approached the
thermometer, consulted it, and, turning to me, said:
"Forty-two degrees."
"I have noticed it, Captain," I replied; "and if it gets much hotter
we cannot bear it."
"Oh, sir, it will not get better if we do not wish it."
"You can reduce it as you please, then?"
"No; but I can go farther from the stove which produces it."
"It is outward, then!"
"Certainly; we are floating in a current of boiling water."
"Is it possible!" I exclaimed.
"Look."
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The panels opened, and I saw the sea entirely white all round. A
sulphurous smoke was curling amid the waves, which boiled like water in a
copper. I placed my band on one of the panes of glass, but the heat was so
great that I quickly took it off again.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Near the Island of Santorin, sir," replied the Captain. "I wished to
give you a sight of the curious spectacle of a submarine eruption."
"I thought," said I, "that the formation of these new islands was
ended."
"Nothing is ever ended in the volcanic parts of the sea," replied
Captain Nemo; "and the globe is always being worked by subterranean fires.
Already, in the nineteenth year of our era, according to Cassiodorus and
Pliny, a new island, Theia (the divine), appeared in the very place where
these islets have recently been formed. Then they sank under the waves, to
rise again in the year 69, when they again subsided. Since that time to our
days the Plutonian work has been suspended. But on the 3rd of February,
1866, a new island, which they named George Island, emerged from the midst
of the sulphurous vapour near Nea Kamenni, and settled again the 6th of the
same month. Seven days after, the 13th of February, the Island of Aphroessa
appeared, leaving between Nea Kamenni and itself a canal ten yards broad. I
was in these seas when the phenomenon occurred, and I was able therefore to
observe all the different phases. The Island of Aphroessa, of round form,
measured 300 feet in diameter, and 30 feet in height. It was composed of
black and vitreous lava, mixed with fragments of felspar. And lastly, on
the 10th of March, a smaller island, called Reka, showed itself near Nea
Kamenni, and since then these three have joined together, forming but one
and the same island."
"And the canal in which we are at this moment?" I asked.
"Here it is," replied Captain Nemo, showing me a map of the
Archipelago. "You see, I have marked the new islands."
I returned to the glass. The Nautilus was no longer moving,
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the heat was becoming unbearable. The sea, which till now had been white,
was red, owing to the presence of salts of iron. In spite of the ship's
being hermetically sealed, an insupportable smell of sulphur filled the
saloon, and the brilliancy of the electricity was entirely extinguished by
bright scarlet flames. I was in a bath, I was choking, I was broiled.
"We can remain no longer in this boiling water," said I to the
Captain.
"It would not be prudent," replied the impassive Captain Nemo.
An order was given; the Nautilus tacked about and left the furnace it
could not brave with impunity. A quarter of an hour after we were breathing
fresh air on the surface. The thought then struck me that, if Ned Land had
chosen this part of the sea for our flight, we should never have come alive
out of this sea of fire.
The next day, the 16th of February, we left the basin which, between
Rhodes and Alexandria, is reckoned about 1,500 fathoms in depth, and the
Nautilus, passing some distance from Cerigo, quitted the Grecian
Archipelago after having doubled Cape Matapan.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.7
THE MEDITERRANEAN IN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS
THE Mediterranean, the blue sea par excellence, "the great sea" of the
Hebrews, "the sea" of the Greeks, the "mare nostrum" of the Romans,
bordered by orange-trees, aloes, cacti, and sea-pines; embalmed with the
perfume of the myrtle, surrounded by rude mountains, saturated with pure
and transparent air, but incessantly worked by under- ground fires; a
perfect battlefield in which Neptune and Pluto still dispute the empire of
the world!
It is upon these banks, and on these waters, says Michelet, that man
is renewed in one of the most powerful climates of the globe. But,
beautiful as it was, I could only take a
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rapid glance at the basin whose superficial area is two million of square
yards. Even Captain Nemo's knowledge was lost to me, for this puzzling
person did not appear once during our passage at full speed. I estimated
the course which the Nautilus took under the waves of the sea at about six
hundred leagues, and it was accomplished in forty-eight hours. Starting on
the morning of the 16th of February from the shores of Greece, we had
crossed the Straits of Gibraltar by sunrise on the 18th.
It was plain to me that this Mediterranean, enclosed in the midst of
those countries which he wished to avoid, was distasteful to Captain Nemo.
Those waves and those breezes brought back too many remembrances, if not
too many regrets. Here he had no longer that independence and that liberty
of gait which he had when in the open seas, and his Nautilus felt itself
cramped between the close shores of Africa and Europe.
Our speed was now twenty-five miles an hour. It may be well understood
that Ned Land, to his great disgust, was obliged to renounce his intended
flight. He could not launch the pinnace, going at the rate of twelve or
thirteen yards every second. To quit the Nautilus under such conditions
would be as bad as jumping from a train going at full speed -- an imprudent
thing, to say the least of it. Besides, our vessel only mounted to the
surface of the waves at night to renew its stock of air; it was steered
entirely by the compass and the log.
I saw no more of the interior of this Mediterranean than a traveller
by express train perceives of the landscape which flies before his eyes;
that is to say, the distant horizon, and not the nearer objects which pass
like a flash of lightning.
We were then passing between Sicily and the coast of Tunis. In the
narrow space between Cape Bon and the Straits of Messina the bottom of the
sea rose almost suddenly. There was a perfect bank, on which there was not
more than nine fathoms of water, whilst on either side the depth was ninety
fathoms.
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The Nautilus had to manoeuvre very carefully so as not to strike
against this submarine barrier.
I showed Conseil, on the map of the Mediterranean, the spot occupied
by this reef.
"But if you please, sir," observed Conseil, "it is like a real isthmus
joining Europe to Africa."
"Yes, my boy, it forms a perfect bar to the Straits of Lybia, and the
soundings of Smith have proved that in former times the continents between
Cape Boco and Cape Furina were joined."
"I can well believe it," said Conseil.
"I will add," I continued, "that a similar barrier exists between
Gibraltar and Ceuta, which in geological times formed the entire
Mediterranean."
"What if some volcanic burst should one day raise these two barriers
above the waves?"
"It is not probable, Conseil."
"Well, but allow me to finish, please, sir; if this phenomenon should
take place, it will be troublesome for M. Lesseps, who has taken so much
pains to pierce the isthmus."
"I agree with you; but I repeat, Conseil, this phenomenon will never
happen. The violence of subterranean force is ever diminishing. Volcanoes,
so plentiful in the first days of the world, are being extinguished by
degrees; the internal heat is weakened, the temperature of the lower strata
of the globe is lowered by a perceptible quantity every century to the
detriment of our globe, for its heat is its life."
"But the sun?"
"The sun is not sufficient, Conseil. Can it give heat to a dead body?"
"Not that I know of."
"Well, my friend, this earth will one day be that cold corpse; it will
become uninhabitable and uninhabited like the moon, which has long since
lost all its vital heat."
"In how many centuries?"
"In some hundreds of thousands of years, my boy."
"Then," said Conseil, "we shall have time to finish our journey --
that is, if Ned Land does not interfere with it."
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And Conseil, reassured, returned to the study of the bank, which the
Nautilus was skirting at a moderate speed.
During the night of the 16th and 17th February we had entered the
second Mediterranean basin, the greatest depth of which was 1,450 fathoms.
The Nautilus, by the action of its crew, slid down the inclined planes and
buried itself in the lowest depths of the sea.
On the 18th of February, about three o'clock in the morning, we were
at the entrance of the Straits of Gibraltar. There once existed two
currents: an upper one, long since recognised, which conveys the waters of
the ocean into the basin of the Mediterranean; and a lower counter-current,
which reasoning has now shown to exist. Indeed, the volume of water in the
Mediterranean, incessantly added to by the waves of the Atlantic and by
rivers falling into it, would each year raise the level of this sea, for
its evaporation is not sufficient to restore the equilibrium. As it is not
so, we must necessarily admit the existence of an under-current, which
empties into the basin of the Atlantic through the Straits of Gibraltar the
surplus waters of the Mediterranean. A fact indeed; and it was this
counter-current by which the Nautilus profited. It advanced rapidly by the
narrow pass. For one instant I caught a glimpse of the beautiful ruins of
the temple of Hercules, buried in the ground, according to Pliny, and with
the low island which supports it; and a few minutes later we were floating
on the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.8
VIGO BAY
THE Atlantic! a vast sheet of water whose superficial area covers
twenty-five millions of square miles, the length of which is nine thousand
miles, with a mean breadth of two thousand seven hundred -- an ocean whose
parallel winding shores embrace an immense circumference, watered by the
largest rivers of the world, the St. Lawrence, the Mississippi, the Amazon,
the Plata, the Orinoco, the Niger, the Senegal,
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the Elbe, the Loire, and the Rhine, which carry water from the most
civilised, as well as from the most savage, countries! Magnificent field of
water, incessantly ploughed by vessels of every nation, sheltered by the
flags of every nation, and which terminates in those two terrible points so
dreaded by mariners, Cape Horn and the Cape of Tempests.
The Nautilus was piercing the water with its sharp spur, after having
accomplished nearly ten thousand leagues in three months and a half, a
distance greater than the great circle of the earth. Where were we going
now, and what was reserved for the future? The Nautilus, leaving the
Straits of Gibraltar, had gone far out. It returned to the surface of the
waves, and our daily walks on the platform were restored to us.
I mounted at once, accompanied by Ned Land and Conseil. At a distance
of about twelve miles, Cape St. Vincent was dimly to be seen, forming the
south-western point of the Spanish peninsula. A strong southerly gale was
blowing. The sea was swollen and billowy; it made the Nautilus rock
violently. It was almost impossible to keep one's foot on the platform,
which the heavy rolls of the sea beat over every instant. So we descended
after inhaling some mouthfuls of fresh air.
I returned to my room, Conseil to his cabin; but the Canadian, with a
preoccupied air, followed me. Our rapid passage across the Mediterranean
had not allowed him to put his project into execution, and he could not
help showing his disappointment. When the door of my room was shut, he sat
down and looked at me silently.
"Friend Ned," said I, "I understand you; but you cannot reproach
yourself. To have attempted to leave the Nautilus under the circumstances
would have been folly."
Ned Land did not answer; his compressed lips and frowning brow showed
with him the violent possession this fixed idea had taken of his mind.
"Let us see," I continued; "we need not despair yet. We are going up
the coast of Portugal again; France and England are not far off, where we
can easily find refuge. Now if the Nautilus, on leaving the Straits of
Gibraltar, had
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gone to the south, if it had carried us towards regions where there were no
continents, I should share your uneasiness. But we know now that Captain
Nemo does not fly from civilised seas, and in some days I think you can act
with security."
Ned Land still looked at me fixedly; at length his fixed lips parted,
and he said, "It is for to-night."
I drew myself up suddenly. I was, I admit, little prepared for this
communication. I wanted to answer the Canadian, but words would not come.
"We agreed to wait for an opportunity," continued Ned Land, "and the
opportunity has arrived. This night we shall be but a few miles from the
Spanish coast. It is cloudy. The wind blows freely. I have your word, M.
Aronnax, and I rely upon you."
As I was silent, the Canadian approached me.
"To-night, at nine o'clock," said he. "I have warned Conseil. At that
moment Captain Nemo will be shut up in his room, probably in bed. Neither
the engineers nor the ship's crew can see us. Conseil and I will gain the
central staircase, and you, M. Aronnax, will remain in the library, two
steps from us, waiting my signal. The oars, the mast, and the sail are in
the canoe. I have even succeeded in getting some provisions. I have
procured an English wrench, to unfasten the bolts which attach it to the
shell of the Nautilus. So all is ready, till to-night."
"The sea is bad."
"That I allow," replied the Canadian; "but we must risk that. Liberty
is worth paying for; besides, the boat is strong, and a few miles with a
fair wind to carry us is no great thing. Who knows but by to-morrow we may
be a hundred leagues away? Let circumstances only favour us, and by ten or
eleven o'clock we shall have landed on some spot of terra firma, alive or
dead. But adieu now till to-night."
With these words the Canadian withdrew, leaving me almost dumb. I had
imagined that, the chance gone, I should have time to reflect and discuss
the matter. My obstinate companion had given me no time; and, after all,
what could
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I have said to him? Ned Land was perfectly right. There was almost the
opportunity to profit by. Could I retract my word, and take upon myself the
responsibility of compromising the future of my companions? To-morrow
Captain Nemo might take us far from all land.
At that moment a rather loud hissing noise told me that the reservoirs
were filling, and that the Nautilus was sinking under the waves of the
Atlantic.
A sad day I passed, between the desire of regaining my liberty of
action and of abandoning the wonderful Nautilus, and leaving my submarine
studies incomplete.
What dreadful hours I passed thus! Sometimes seeing myself and
companions safely landed, sometimes wishing, in spite of my reason, that
some unforeseen circumstance, would prevent the realisation of Ned Land's
project.
Twice I went to the saloon. I wished to consult the compass. I wished
to see if the direction the Nautilus was taking was bringing us nearer or
taking us farther from the coast. But no; the Nautilus kept in Portuguese
waters.
I must therefore take my part and prepare for flight. My luggage was
not heavy; my notes, nothing more.
As to Captain Nemo, I asked myself what he would think of our escape;
what trouble, what wrong it might cause him and what he might do in case of
its discovery or failure. Certainly I had no cause to complain of him; on
the contrary, never was hospitality freer than his. In leaving him I could
not be taxed with ingratitude. No oath bound us to him. It was on the
strength of circumstances he relied, and not upon our word, to fix us for
ever.
I had not seen the Captain since our visit to the Island of Santorin.
Would chance bring me to his presence before our departure? I wished it,
and I feared it at the same time. I listened if I could hear him walking
the room contiguous to mine. No sound reached my ear. I felt an unbearable
uneasiness. This day of waiting seemed eternal. Hours struck too slowly to
keep pace with my impatience.
My dinner was served in my room as usual. I ate but little; I was too
preoccupied. I left the table at seven o'clock. A hundred and twenty
minutes (I counted them) still separated
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me from the moment in which I was to join Ned Land. My agitation redoubled.
My pulse beat violently. I could not remain quiet. I went and came, hoping
to calm my troubled spirit by constant movement. The idea of failure in our
bold enterprise was the least painful of my anxieties; but the thought of
seeing our project discovered before leaving the Nautilus, of being brought
before Captain Nemo, irritated, or (what was worse) saddened, at my
desertion, made my heart beat.
I wanted to see the saloon for the last time. I descended the stairs
and arrived in the museum, where I had passed so many useful and agreeable
hours. I looked at all its riches, all its treasures, like a man on the eve
of an eternal exile, who was leaving never to return.
These wonders of Nature, these masterpieces of art, amongst which for
so many days my life had been concentrated, I was going to abandon them for
ever! I should like to have taken a last look through the windows of the
saloon into the waters of the Atlantic: but the panels were hermetically
closed, and a cloak of steel separated me from that ocean which I had not
yet explored.
In passing through the saloon, I came near the door let into the angle
which opened into the Captain's room. To my great surprise, this door was
ajar. I drew back involuntarily. If Captain Nemo should be in his room, he
could see me. But, hearing no sound, I drew nearer. The room was deserted.
I pushed open the door and took some steps forward. Still the same monklike
severity of aspect.
Suddenly the clock struck eight. The first beat of the hammer on the
bell awoke me from my dreams. I trembled as if an invisible eye had plunged
into my most secret thoughts, and I hurried from the room.
There my eye fell upon the compass. Our course was still north. The
log indicated moderate speed, the manometer a depth of about sixty feet.
I returned to my room, clothed myself warmly -- sea- boots, an
otterskin cap, a great coat of byssus, lined with sealskin; I was ready, I
was waiting. The vibration of the screw alone broke the deep silence which
reigned on board.
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I listened attentively. Would no loud voice suddenly inform me that Ned
Land had been surprised in his projected flight. A mortal dread hung over
me, and I vainly tried to regain my accustomed coolness.
At a few minutes to nine, I put my ear to the Captain's door. No
noise. I left my room and returned to the saloon, which was half in
obscurity, but deserted.
I opened the door communicating with the library. The same
insufficient light, the same solitude. I placed myself near the door
leading to the central staircase, and there waited for Ned Land's signal.
At that moment the trembling of the screw sensibly diminished, then it
stopped entirely. The silence was now only disturbed by the beatings of my
own heart. Suddenly a slight shock was felt; and I knew that the Nautilus
had stopped at the bottom of the ocean. My uneasiness increased. The
Canadian's signal did not come. I felt inclined to join Ned Land and beg of
him to put off his attempt. I felt that we were not sailing under our usual
conditions.
At this moment the door of the large saloon opened, and Captain Nemo
appeared. He saw me, and without further preamble began in an amiable tone
of voice:
"Ah, sir! I have been looking for you. Do you know the history of
Spain?"
Now, one might know the history of one's own country by heart; but in
the condition I was at the time, with troubled mind and head quite lost, I
could not have said a word of it.
"Well," continued Captain Nemo, "you heard my question! Do you know
the history of Spain?"
"Very slightly," I answered.
"Well, here are learned men having to learn," said the Captain. "Come,
sit down, and I will tell you a curious episode in this history. Sir,
listen well," said he; "this history will interest you on one side, for it
will answer a question which doubtless you have not been able to solve."
"I listen, Captain," said I, not knowing what my interlocutor was
driving at, and asking myself if this incident was bearing on our projected
flight.
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"Sir, if you have no objection, we will go back to 1702. You cannot be
ignorant that your king, Louis XIV, thinking that the gesture of a
potentate was sufficient to bring the Pyrenees under his yoke, had imposed
the Duke of Anjou, his grandson, on the Spaniards. This prince reigned more
or less badly under the name of Philip V, and had a strong party against
him abroad. Indeed, the preceding year, the royal houses of Holland,
Austria, and England had concluded a treaty of alliance at the Hague, with
the intention of plucking the crown of Spain from the head of Philip V, and
placing it on that of an archduke to whom they prematurely gave the title
of Charles III.
"Spain must resist this coalition; but she was almost entirely
unprovided with either soldiers or sailors. However, money would not fail
them, provided that their galleons, laden with gold and silver from
America, once entered their ports. And about the end of 1702 they expected
a rich convoy which France was escorting with a fleet of twenty-three
vessels, commanded by Admiral Chateau- Renaud, for the ships of the
coalition were already beating the Atlantic. This convoy was to go to
Cadiz, but the Admiral, hearing that an English fleet was cruising in those
waters, resolved to make for a French port.
"The Spanish commanders of the convoy objected to this decision. They
wanted to be taken to a Spanish port, and, if not to Cadiz, into Vigo Bay,
situated on the northwest coast of Spain, and which was not blocked.
"Admiral Chateau-Renaud had the rashness to obey this injunction, and
the galleons entered Vigo Bay.
"Unfortunately, it formed an open road which could not be defended in
any way. They must therefore hasten to unload the galleons before the
arrival of the combined fleet; and time would not have failed them had not
a miserable question of rivalry suddenly arisen.
"You are following the chain of events?" asked Captain Nemo.
"Perfectly," said I, not knowing the end proposed by this historical
lesson.
"I will continue. This is what passed. The merchants of
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Cadiz had a privilege by which they had the right of receiving all
merchandise coming from the West Indies. Now, to disembark these ingots at
the port of Vigo was depriving them of their rights. They complained at
Madrid, and obtained the consent of the weak-minded Philip that the convoy,
without discharging its cargo, should remain sequestered in the roads of
Vigo until the enemy had disappeared.
"But whilst coming to this decision, on the 22nd of October, 1702, the
English vessels arrived in Vigo Bay, when Admiral Chateau-Renaud, in spite
of inferior forces, fought bravely. But, seeing that the treasure must fall
into the enemy's hands, he burnt and scuttled every galleon, which went to
the bottom with their immense riches."
Captain Nemo stopped. I admit I could not see yet why this history
should interest me.
"Well?" I asked.
"Well, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, "we are in that Vigo Bay;
and it rests with yourself whether you will penetrate its mysteries."
The Captain rose, telling me to follow him. I had had time to recover.
I obeyed. The saloon was dark, but through the transparent glass the waves
were sparkling. I looked.
For half a mile around the Nautilus, the waters seemed bathed in
electric light. The sandy bottom was clean and bright. Some of the ship's
crew in their diving-dresses were clearing away half-rotten barrels and
empty cases from the midst of the blackened wrecks. From these cases and
from these barrels escaped ingots of gold and silver, cascades of piastres
and jewels. The sand was heaped up with them. Laden with their precious
booty, the men returned to the Nautilus, disposed of their burden, and went
back to this inexhaustible fishery of gold and silver.
I understood now. This was the scene of the battle of the 22nd of
October, 1702. Here on this very spot the galleons laden for the Spanish
Government had sunk. Here Captain Nemo came, according to his wants, to
pack up those millions with which he burdened the Nautilus. It was for him
and him alone America had given up her precious metals. He was
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heir direct, without anyone to share, in those treasures torn from the
Incas and from the conquered of Ferdinand Cortez.
"Did you know, sir," he asked, smiling, "that the sea contained such
riches?"
"I knew," I answered, "that they value money held in suspension in
these waters at two millions."
"Doubtless; but to extract this money the expense would be greater
than the profit. Here, on the contrary, I have but to pick up what man has
lost -- and not only in Vigo Bay, but in a thousand other ports where
shipwrecks have happened, and which are marked on my submarine map. Can you
understand now the source of the millions I am worth?"
"I understand, Captain. But allow me to tell you that in exploring
Vigo Bay you have only been beforehand with a rival society."
"And which?"
"A society which has received from the Spanish Government the
privilege of seeking those buried galleons. The shareholders are led on by
the allurement of an enormous bounty, for they value these rich shipwrecks
at five hundred millions."
"Five hundred millions they were," answered Captain Nemo, "but they
are so no longer."
"Just so," said I; "and a warning to those shareholders would be an
act of charity. But who knows if it would be well received? What gamblers
usually regret above all is less the loss of their money than of their
foolish hopes. After all, I pity them less than the thousands of
unfortunates to whom so much riches well-distributed would have been
profitable, whilst for them they will be for ever barren."
I had no sooner expressed this regret than I felt that it must have
wounded Captain Nemo.
"Barren!" he exclaimed, with animation. "Do you think then, sir, that
these riches are lost because I gather them? Is it for myself alone,
according to your idea, that I take the trouble to collect these treasures?
Who told you that I did not make a good use of it? Do you think I am
ignorant that there are suffering beings and oppressed races on this
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earth, miserable creatures to console, victims to avenge? Do you not
understand?"
Captain Nemo stopped at these last words, regretting perhaps that he
had spoken so much. But I had guessed that, whatever the motive which had
forced him to seek independence under the sea, it had left him still a man,
that his heart still beat for the sufferings of humanity, and that his
immense charity was for oppressed races as well as individuals. And I then
understood for whom those millions were destined which were forwarded by
Captain Nemo when the Nautilus was cruising in the waters of Crete.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.9
A VANISHED CONTINENT
THE next morning, the 19th of February, I saw the Canadian enter my
room. I expected this visit. He looked very disappointed.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"Well, Ned, fortune was against us yesterday."
"Yes; that Captain must needs stop exactly at the hour we intended
leaving his vessel."
"Yes, Ned, he had business at his bankers."
"His bankers!"
"Or rather his banking-house; by that I mean the ocean, where his
riches are safer than in the chests of the State."
I then related to the Canadian the incidents of the preceding night,
hoping to bring him back to the idea of not abandoning the Captain; but my
recital had no other result than an energetically expressed regret from Ned
that he had not been able to take a walk on the battlefield of Vigo on his
own account.
"However," said he, "all is not ended. It is only a blow of the
harpoon lost. Another time we must succeed; and to-night, if necessary -- "
"In what direction is the Nautilus going?" I asked.
"I do not know," replied Ned.
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"Well, at noon we shall see the point."
The Canadian returned to Conseil. As soon as I was dressed, I went
into the saloon. The compass was not reassuring. The course of the Nautilus
was S.S.W. We were turning our backs on Europe.
I waited with some impatience till the ship's place was pricked on the
chart. At about half-past eleven the reservoirs were emptied, and our
vessel rose to the surface of the ocean. I rushed towards the platform. Ned
Land had preceded me. No more land in sight. Nothing but an immense sea.
Some sails on the horizon, doubtless those going to San Roque in search of
favourable winds for doubling the Cape of Good Hope. The weather was
cloudy. A gale of wind was preparing. Ned raved, and tried to pierce the
cloudy horizon. He still hoped that behind all that fog stretched the land
he so longed for.
At noon the sun showed itself for an instant. The second profited by
this brightness to take its height. Then, the sea becoming more billowy, we
descended, and the panel closed.
An hour after, upon consulting the chart, I saw the position of the
Nautilus was marked at 16° 17' long., and 33° 22' lat., at 150 leagues from
the nearest coast. There was no means of flight, and I leave you to imagine
the rage of the Canadian when I informed him of our situation.
For myself, I was not particularly sorry. I felt lightened of the load
which had oppressed me, and was able to return with some degree of calmness
to my accustomed work.
That night, about eleven o'clock, I received a most unexpected visit
from Captain Nemo. He asked me very graciously if I felt fatigued from my
watch of the preceding night. I answered in the negative.
"Then, M. Aronnax, I propose a curious excursion."
"Propose, Captain?"
"You have hitherto only visited the submarine depths by daylight,
under the brightness of the sun. Would it suit you to see them in the
darkness of the night?"
"Most willingly."
"I warn you, the way will be tiring. We shall have far
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to walk, and must climb a mountain. The roads are not well kept."
"What you say, Captain, only heightens my curiosity; I am ready to
follow you."
"Come then, sir, we will put on our diving-dresses."
Arrived at the robing-room, I saw that neither of my companions nor
any of the ship's crew were to follow us on this excursion. Captain Nemo
had not even proposed my taking with me either Ned or Conseil.
In a few moments we had put on our diving-dresses; they placed on our
backs the reservoirs, abundantly filled with air, but no electric lamps
were prepared. I called the Captain's attention to the fact.
"They will be useless," he replied.
I thought I had not heard aright, but I could not repeat my
observation, for the Captain's head had already disappeared in its metal
case. I finished harnessing myself. I felt them put an iron-pointed stick
into my hand, and some minutes later, after going through the usual form,
we set foot on the bottom of the Atlantic at a depth of 150 fathoms.
Midnight was near. The waters were profoundly dark, but Captain Nemo
pointed out in the distance a reddish spot, a sort of large light shining
brilliantly about two miles from the Nautilus. What this fire might be,
what could feed it, why and how it lit up the liquid mass, I could not say.
In any case, it did light our way, vaguely, it is true, but I soon
accustomed myself to the peculiar darkness, and I understood, under such
circumstances, the uselessness of the Ruhmkorff apparatus.
As we advanced, I heard a kind of pattering above my head. The noise
redoubling, sometimes producing a continual shower, I soon understood the
cause. It was rain falling violently, and crisping the surface of the
waves. Instinctively the thought flashed across my mind that I should be
wet through! By the water! in the midst of the water! I could not help
laughing at the odd idea. But, indeed, in the thick diving-dress, the
liquid element is no longer felt, and one only seems to be in an atmosphere
somewhat denser than the terrestrial atmosphere. Nothing more.
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After half an hour's walk the soil became stony. Medusae, microscopic
crustacea, and pennatules lit it slightly with their phosphorescent gleam.
I caught a glimpse of pieces of stone covered with millions of zoophytes
and masses of seaweed. My feet often slipped upon this sticky carpet of
seaweed, and without my iron-tipped stick I should have fallen more than
once. In turning round, I could still see the whitish lantern of the
Nautilus beginning to pale in the distance.
But the rosy light which guided us increased and lit up the horizon.
The presence of this fire under water puzzled me in the highest degree. Was
I going towards a natural phenomenon as yet unknown to the savants of the
earth? Or even (for this thought crossed my brain) had the hand of man
aught to do with this conflagration? Had he fanned this flame? Was I to
meet in these depths companions and friends of Captain Nemo whom he was
going to visit, and who, like him, led this strange existence? Should I
find down there a whole colony of exiles who, weary of the miseries of this
earth, had sought and found independence in the deep ocean? All these
foolish and unreasonable ideas pursued me. And in this condition of mind,
over-excited by the succession of wonders continually passing before my
eyes, I should not have been surprised to meet at the bottom of the sea one
of those submarine towns of which Captain Nemo dreamed.
Our road grew lighter and lighter. The white glimmer came in rays from
the summit of a mountain about 800 feet high. But what I saw was simply a
reflection, developed by the clearness of the waters. The source of this
inexplicable light was a fire on the opposite side of the mountain.
In the midst of this stony maze furrowing the bottom of the Atlantic,
Captain Nemo advanced without hesitation. He knew this dreary road.
Doubtless he had often travelled over it, and could not lose himself. I
followed him with unshaken confidence. He seemed to me like a genie of the
sea; and, as he walked before me, I could not help admiring his stature,
which was outlined in black on the luminous horizon.
It was one in the morning when we arrived at the first
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slopes of the mountain; but to gain access to them we must venture through
the difficult paths of a vast copse.
Yes; a copse of dead trees, without leaves, without sap, trees
petrified by the action of the water and here and there overtopped by
gigantic pines. It was like a coal-pit still standing, holding by the roots
to the broken soil, and whose branches, like fine black paper cuttings,
showed distinctly on the watery ceiling. Picture to yourself a forest in
the Hartz hanging on to the sides of the mountain, but a forest swallowed
up. The paths were encumbered with seaweed and fucus, between which
grovelled a whole world of crustacea. I went along, climbing the rocks,
striding over extended trunks, breaking the sea bind-weed which hung from
one tree to the other; and frightening the fishes, which flew from branch
to branch. Pressing onward, I felt no fatigue. I followed my guide, who was
never tired. What a spectacle! How can I express it? how paint the aspect
of those woods and rocks in this medium -- their under parts dark and wild,
the upper coloured with red tints, by that light which the reflecting
powers of the waters doubled? We climbed rocks which fell directly after
with gigantic bounds and the low growling of an avalanche. To right and
left ran long, dark galleries, where sight was lost. Here opened vast
glades which the hand of man seemed to have worked; and I sometimes asked
myself if some inhabitant of these submarine regions would not suddenly
appear to me.
But Captain Nemo was still mounting. I could not stay behind. I
followed boldly. My stick gave me good help. A false step would have been
dangerous on the narrow passes sloping down to the sides of the gulfs; but
I walked with firm step, without feeling any giddiness. Now I jumped a
crevice, the depth of which would have made me hesitate had it been among
the glaciers on the land; now I ventured on the unsteady trunk of a tree
thrown across from one abyss to the other, without looking under my feet,
having only eyes to admire the wild sites of this region.
There, monumental rocks, leaning on their regularly-cut bases, seemed
to defy all laws of equilibrium. From between their stony knees trees
sprang, like a jet under heavy pressure,
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and upheld others which upheld them. Natural towers, large scarps, cut
perpendicularly, like a "curtain," inclined at an angle which the laws of
gravitation could never have tolerated in terrestrial regions.
Two hours after quitting the Nautilus we had crossed the line of
trees, and a hundred feet above our heads rose the top of the mountain,
which cast a shadow on the brilliant irradiation of the opposite slope.
Some petrified shrubs ran fantastically here and there. Fishes got up under
our feet like birds in the long grass. The massive rocks were rent with
impenetrable fractures, deep grottos, and unfathomable holes, at the bottom
of which formidable creatures might be heard moving. My blood curdled when
I saw enormous antennae blocking my road, or some frightful claw closing
with a noise in the shadow of some cavity. Millions of luminous spots shone
brightly in the midst of the darkness. They were the eyes of giant
crustacea crouched in their holes; giant lobsters setting themselves up
like halberdiers, and moving their claws with the clicking sound of
pincers; titanic crabs, pointed like a gun on its carriage; and frightful-
looking poulps, interweaving their tentacles like a living nest of
serpents.
We had now arrived on the first platform, where other surprises
awaited me. Before us lay some picturesque ruins, which betrayed the hand
of man and not that of the Creator. There were vast heaps of stone, amongst
which might be traced the vague and shadowy forms of castles and temples,
clothed with a world of blossoming zoophytes, and over which, instead of
ivy, sea-weed and fucus threw a thick vegetable mantle. But what was this
portion of the globe which had been swallowed by cataclysms? Who had placed
those rocks and stones like cromlechs of prehistoric times? Where was I?
Whither had Captain Nemo's fancy hurried me?
I would fain have asked him; not being able to, I stopped him -- I
seized his arm. But, shaking his head, and pointing to the highest point of
the mountain, he seemed to say:
"Come, come along; come higher!"
I followed, and in a few minutes I had climbed to the
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top, which for a circle of ten yards commanded the whole mass of rock.
I looked down the side we had just climbed. The mountain did not rise
more than seven or eight hundred feet above the level of the plain; but on
the opposite side it commanded from twice that height the depths of this
part of the Atlantic. My eyes ranged far over a large space lit by a
violent fulguration. In fact, the mountain was a volcano.
At fifty feet above the peak, in the midst of a rain of stones and
scoriae, a large crater was vomiting forth torrents of lava which fell in a
cascade of fire into the bosom of the liquid mass. Thus situated, this
volcano lit the lower plain like an immense torch, even to the extreme
limits of the horizon. I said that the submarine crater threw up lava, but
no flames. Flames require the oxygen of the air to feed upon and cannot be
developed under water; but streams of lava, having in themselves the
principles of their incandescence, can attain a white heat, fight
vigorously against the liquid element, and turn it to vapour by contact.
Rapid currents bearing all these gases in diffusion and torrents of
lava slid to the bottom of the mountain like an eruption of Vesuvius on
another Terra del Greco.
There indeed under my eyes, ruined, destroyed, lay a town -- its roofs
open to the sky, its temples fallen, its arches dislocated, its columns
lying on the ground, from which one would still recognise the massive
character of Tuscan architecture. Further on, some remains of a gigantic
aqueduct; here the high base of an Acropolis, with the floating outline of
a Parthenon; there traces of a quay, as if an ancient port had formerly
abutted on the borders of the ocean, and disappeared with its merchant
vessels and its war-galleys. Farther on again, long lines of sunken walls
and broad, deserted streets -- a perfect Pompeii escaped beneath the
waters. Such was the sight that Captain Nemo brought before my eyes!
Where was I? Where was I? I must know at any cost. I tried to speak,
but Captain Nemo stopped me by a
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gesture, and, picking up a piece of chalk-stone, advanced to a rock of
black basalt, and traced the one word:
ATLANTIS
What a light shot through my mind! Atlantis! the Atlantis of Plato,
that continent denied by Origen and Humbolt, who placed its disappearance
amongst the legendary tales. I had it there now before my eyes, bearing
upon it the unexceptionable testimony of its catastrophe. The region thus
engulfed was beyond Europe, Asia, and Lybia, beyond the columns of
Hercules, where those powerful people, the Atlantides, lived, against whom
the first wars of ancient Greeks were waged.
Thus, led by the strangest destiny, I was treading under foot the
mountains of this continent, touching with my hand those ruins a thousand
generations old and contemporary with the geological epochs. I was walking
on the very spot where the contemporaries of the first man had walked.
Whilst I was trying to fix in my mind every detail of this grand
landscape, Captain Nemo remained motionless, as if petrified in mute
ecstasy, leaning on a mossy stone. Was he dreaming of those generations
long since disappeared? Was he asking them the secret of human destiny? Was
it here this strange man came to steep himself in historical recollections,
and live again this ancient life -- he who wanted no modern one? What would
I not have given to know his thoughts, to share them, to understand them!
We remained for an hour at this place, contemplating the vast plains under
the brightness of the lava, which was sometimes wonderfully intense. Rapid
tremblings ran along the mountain caused by internal bubblings, deep noise,
distinctly transmitted through the liquid medium were echoed with majestic
grandeur. At this moment the moon appeared through the mass of waters and
threw her pale rays on the buried continent. It was but a gleam, but what
an indescribable effect! The Captain rose, cast one last look on the
immense plain, and then bade me follow him.
We descended the mountain rapidly, and, the mineral forest once
passed, I saw the lantern of the Nautilus shining
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like a star. The Captain walked straight to it, and we got on board as the
first rays of light whitened the surface of the ocean.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.10
THE SUBMARINE COAL-MINES
THE next day, the 20th of February, I awoke very late: the fatigues of
the previous night had prolonged my sleep until eleven o'clock. I dressed
quickly, and hastened to find the course the Nautilus was taking. The
instruments showed it to be still toward the south, with a speed of twenty
miles an hour and a depth of fifty fathoms.
The species of fishes here did not differ much from those already
noticed. There were rays of giant size, five yards long, and endowed with
great muscular strength, which enabled them to shoot above the waves;
sharks of many kinds; amongst others, one fifteen feet long, with
triangular sharp teeth, and whose transparency rendered it almost invisible
in the water.
Amongst bony fish Conseil noticed some about three yards long, armed
at the upper jaw with a piercing sword; other bright-coloured creatures,
known in the time of Aristotle by the name of the sea-dragon, which are
dangerous to capture on account of the spikes on their back.
About four o'clock, the soil, generally composed of a thick mud mixed
with petrified wood, changed by degrees, and it became more stony, and
seemed strewn with conglomerate and pieces of basalt, with a sprinkling of
lava. I thought that a mountainous region was succeeding the long plains;
and accordingly, after a few evolutions of the Nautilus, I saw the
southerly horizon blocked by a high wall which seemed to close all exit.
Its summit evidently passed the level of the ocean. It must be a continent,
or at least an island -- one of the Canaries, or of the Cape Verde Islands.
The bearings not being yet taken, perhaps designedly, I was ignorant of our
exact position. In any case, such
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a wall seemed to me to mark the limits of that Atlantis, of which we had in
reality passed over only the smallest part.
Much longer should I have remained at the window admiring the beauties
of sea and sky, but the panels closed. At this moment the Nautilus arrived
at the side of this high, perpendicular wall. What it would do, I could not
guess. I returned to my room; it no longer moved. I laid myself down with
the full intention of waking after a few hours' sleep; but it was eight
o'clock the next day when I entered the saloon. I looked at the manometer.
It told me that the Nautilus was floating on the surface of the ocean.
Besides, I heard steps on the platform. I went to the panel. It was open;
but, instead of broad daylight, as I expected, I was surrounded by profound
darkness. Where were we? Was I mistaken? Was it still night? No; not a star
was shining and night has not that utter darkness.
I knew not what to think, when a voice near me said:
"Is that you, Professor?"
"Ah! Captain," I answered, "where are we?"
"Underground, sir."
"Underground!" I exclaimed. "And the Nautilus floating still?"
"It always floats."
"But I do not understand."
"Wait a few minutes, our lantern will be lit, and, if you like light
places, you will be satisfied."
I stood on the platform and waited. The darkness was so complete that
I could not even see Captain Nemo; but, looking to the zenith, exactly
above my head, I seemed to catch an undecided gleam, a kind of twilight
filling a circular hole. At this instant the lantern was lit, and its
vividness dispelled the faint light. I closed my dazzled eyes for an
instant, and then looked again. The Nautilus was stationary, floating near
a mountain which formed a sort of quay. The lake, then, supporting it was a
lake imprisoned by a circle of walls, measuring two miles in diameter and
six in circumference. Its level (the manometer showed) could only be the
same as the outside level, for there must necessarily be a communication
between the lake and the sea. The high partitions,
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leaning forward on their base, grew into a vaulted roof bearing the shape
of an immense funnel turned upside down, the height being about five or six
hundred yards. At the summit was a circular orifice, by which I had caught
the slight gleam of light, evidently daylight.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"In the very heart of an extinct volcano, the interior of which has
been invaded by the sea, after some great convulsion of the earth. Whilst
you were sleeping, Professor, the Nautilus penetrated to this lagoon by a
natural canal, which opens about ten yards beneath the surface of the
ocean. This is its harbour of refuge, a sure, commodious, and mysterious
one, sheltered from all gales. Show me, if you can, on the coasts of any of
your continents or islands, a road which can give such perfect refuge from
all storms."
"Certainly," I replied, "you are in safety here, Captain Nemo. Who
could reach you in the heart of a volcano? But did I not see an opening at
its summit?"
"Yes; its crater, formerly filled with lava, vapour, and flames, and
which now gives entrance to the life-giving air we breathe."
"But what is this volcanic mountain?"
"It belongs to one of the numerous islands with which this sea is
strewn -- to vessels a simple sandbank -- to us an immense cavern. Chance
led me to discover it, and chance served me well."
"But of what use is this refuge, Captain? The Nautilus wants no port."
"No, sir; but it wants electricity to make it move, and the
wherewithal to make the electricity -- sodium to feed the elements, coal
from which to get the sodium, and a coal-mine to supply the coal. And
exactly on this spot the sea covers entire forests embedded during the
geological periods, now mineralised and transformed into coal; for me they
are an inexhaustible mine."
"Your men follow the trade of miners here, then, Captain?"
"Exactly so. These mines extend under the waves like the mines of
Newcastle. Here, in their diving-dresses, pick-
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axe and shovel in hand, my men extract the coal, which I do not even ask
from the mines of the earth. When I burn this combustible for the
manufacture of sodium, the smoke, escaping from the crater of the mountain,
gives it the appearance of a still-active volcano."
"And we shall see your companions at work?"
"No; not this time at least; for I am in a hurry to continue our
submarine tour of the earth. So I shall content myself with drawing from
the reserve of sodium I already possess. The time for loading is one day
only, and we continue our voyage. So, if you wish to go over the cavern and
make the round of the lagoon, you must take advantage of to-day, M.
Aronnax."
I thanked the Captain and went to look for my companions, who had not
yet left their cabin. I invited them to follow me without saying where we
were. They mounted the platform. Conseil, who was astonished at nothing,
seemed to look upon it as quite natural that he should wake under a
mountain, after having fallen asleep under the waves. But Ned Land thought
of nothing but finding whether the cavern had any exit. After breakfast,
about ten o'clock, we went down on to the mountain.
"Here we are, once more on land," said Conseil.
"I do not call this land," said the Canadian. "And besides, we are not
on it, but beneath it."
Between the walls of the mountains and the waters of the lake lay a
sandy shore which, at its greatest breadth, measured five hundred feet. On
this soil one might easily make the tour of the lake. But the base of the
high partitions was stony ground, with volcanic locks and enormous pumice-
stones lying in picturesque heaps. All these detached masses, covered with
enamel, polished by the action of the subterraneous fires, shone
resplendent by the light of our electric lantern. The mica dust from the
shore, rising under our feet, flew like a cloud of sparks. The bottom now
rose sensibly, and we soon arrived at long circuitous slopes, or inclined
planes, which took us higher by degrees; but we were obliged to walk
carefully among these conglomerates,
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bound by no cement, the feet slipping on the glassy crystal, felspar, and
quartz.
The volcanic nature of this enormous excavation was confirmed on all
sides, and I pointed it out to my companions.
"Picture to yourselves," said I, "what this crater must have been when
filled with boiling lava, and when the level of the incandescent liquid
rose to the orifice of the mountain, as though melted on the top of a hot
plate."
"I can picture it perfectly," said Conseil. "But, sir, will you tell
me why the Great Architect has suspended operations, and how it is that the
furnace is replaced by the quiet waters of the lake?"
"Most probably, Conseil, because some convulsion beneath the ocean
produced that very opening which has served as a passage for the Nautilus.
Then the waters of the Atlantic rushed into the interior of the mountain.
There must have been a terrible struggle between the two elements, a
struggle which ended in the victory of Neptune. But many ages have run out
since then, and the submerged volcano is now a peaceable grotto."
"Very well," replied Ned Land; "I accept the explanation, sir; but, in
our own interests, I regret that the opening of which you speak was not
made above the level of the sea."
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "if the passage had not been under
the sea, the Nautilus could not have gone through it."
We continued ascending. The steps became more and more perpendicular
and narrow. Deep excavations, which we were obliged to cross, cut them here
and there; sloping masses had to be turned. We slid upon our knees and
crawled along. But Conseil's dexterity and the Canadian's strength
surmounted all obstacles. At a height of about 31 feet the nature of the
ground changed without becoming more practicable. To the conglomerate and
trachyte succeeded black basalt, the first dispread in layers full of
bubbles, the latter forming regular prisms, placed like a colonnade
supporting the spring of the immense vault, an admirable specimen of
natural architecture. Between the blocks of basalt wound long streams of
lava, long since
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grown cold, encrusted with bituminous rays; and in some places there were
spread large carpets of sulphur. A more powerful light shone through the
upper crater, shedding a vague glimmer over these volcanic depressions for
ever buried in the bosom of this extinguished mountain. But our upward
march was soon stopped at a height of about two hundred and fifty feet by
impassable obstacles. There was a complete vaulted arch overhanging us, and
our ascent was changed to a circular walk. At the last change vegetable
life began to struggle with the mineral. Some shrubs, and even some trees,
grew from the fractures of the walls. I recognised some euphorbias, with
the caustic sugar coming from them; heliotropes, quite incapable of
justifying their name, sadly drooped their clusters of flowers, both their
colour and perfume half gone. Here and there some chrysanthemums grew
timidly at the foot of an aloe with long, sickly-looking leaves. But
between the streams of lava, I saw some little violets still slightly
perfumed, and I admit that I smelt them with delight. Perfume is the soul
of the flower, and sea-flowers have no soul.
We had arrived at the foot of some sturdy dragon-trees, which had
pushed aside the rocks with their strong roots, when Ned Land exclaimed:
"Ah! sir, a hive! a hive!"
"A hive!" I replied, with a gesture of incredulity.
"Yes, a hive," repeated the Canadian, "and bees humming round it."
I approached, and was bound to believe my own eyes. There at a hole
bored in one of the dragon-trees were some thousands of these ingenious
insects, so common in all the Canaries, and whose produce is so much
esteemed. Naturally enough, the Canadian wished to gather the honey, and I
could not well oppose his wish. A quantity of dry leaves, mixed with
sulphur, he lit with a spark from his flint, and he began to smoke out the
bees. The humming ceased by degrees, and the hive eventually yielded
several pounds of the sweetest honey, with which Ned Land filled his
haversack.
"When I have mixed this honey with the paste of the
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bread-fruit," said he, "I shall be able to offer you a succulent cake."
"'Pon my word," said Conseil, "it will be gingerbread."
"Never mind the gingerbread," said I; "let us continue our interesting
walk."
At every turn of the path we were following, the lake appeared in all
its length and breadth. The lantern lit up the whole of its peaceable
surface, which knew neither ripple nor wave. The Nautilus remained
perfectly immovable. On the platform, and on the mountain, the ship's crew
were working like black shadows clearly carved against the luminous
atmosphere. We were now going round the highest crest of the first layers
of rock which upheld the roof. I then saw that bees were not the only
representatives of the animal kingdom in the interior of this volcano.
Birds of prey hovered here and there in the shadows, or fled from their
nests on the top of the rocks. There were sparrow- hawks, with white
breasts, and kestrels, and down the slopes scampered, with their long legs,
several fine fat bustards. I leave anyone to imagine the covetousness of
the Canadian at the sight of this savoury game, and whether he did not
regret having no gun. But he did his best to replace the lead by stones,
and, after several fruitless attempts, he succeeded in wounding a
magnificent bird. To say that he risked his life twenty times before
reaching it is but the truth; but he managed so well that the creature
joined the honey-cakes in his bag. We were now obliged to descend toward
the shore, the crest becoming impracticable. Above us the crater seemed to
gape like the mouth of a well. From this place the sky could be clearly
seen, and clouds, dissipated by the west wind, leaving behind them, even on
the summit of the mountain, their misty remnants -- certain proof that they
were only moderately high, for the volcano did not rise more than eight
hundred feet above the level of the ocean. Half an hour after the
Canadian's last exploit we had regained the inner shore. Here the flora was
represented by large carpets of marine crystal, a little umbelliferous
plant very good to pickle, which also bears the name of pierce-stone and
sea-fennel. Conseil gathered some
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bundles of it. As to the fauna, it might be counted by thousands of
crustacea of all sorts, lobsters, crabs, spider-crabs, chameleon shrimps,
and a large number of shells, rockfish, and limpets. Three-quarters of an
hour later we had finished our circuitous walk and were on board. The crew
had just finished loading the sodium, and the Nautilus could have left that
instant. But Captain Nemo gave no order. Did be wish to wait until night,
and leave the submarine passage secretly? Perhaps so. Whatever it might be,
the next day, the Nautilus, having left its port, steered clear of all land
at a few yards beneath the waves of the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.11
THE SARGASSO SEA
THAT day the Nautilus crossed a singular part of the Atlantic Ocean.
No one can be ignorant of the existence of a current of warm water known by
the name of the Gulf Stream. After leaving the Gulf of Florida, we went in
the direction of Spitzbergen. But before entering the Gulf of Mexico, about
45° of N. lat., this current divides into two arms, the principal one going
towards the coast of Ireland and Norway, whilst the second bends to the
south about the height of the Azores; then, touching the African shore, and
describing a lengthened oval, returns to the Antilles. This second arm --
it is rather a collar than an arm -- surrounds with its circles of warm
water that portion of the cold, quiet, immovable ocean called the Sargasso
Sea, a perfect lake in the open Atlantic: it takes no less than three years
for the great current to pass round it. Such was the region the Nautilus
was now visiting, a perfect meadow, a close carpet of seaweed, fucus, and
tropical berries, so thick and so compact that the stem of a vessel could
hardly tear its way through it. And Captain Nemo, not wishing to entangle
his screw in this herbaceous mass, kept some yards beneath the surface of
the waves. The name Sargasso comes from the Spanish word "sargazzo" which
signifies kelp.
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This kelp, or berry-plant, is the principal formation of this immense bank.
And this is the reason why these plants unite in the peaceful basin of the
Atlantic. The only explanation which can be given, he says, seems to me to
result from the experience known to all the world. Place in a vase some
fragments of cork or other floating body, and give to the water in the vase
a circular movement, the scattered fragments will unite in a group in the
centre of the liquid surface, that is to say, in the part least agitated.
In the phenomenon we are considering, the Atlantic is the vase, the Gulf
Stream the circular current, and the Sargasso Sea the central point at
which the floating bodies unite.
I share Maury's opinion, and I was able to study the phenomenon in the
very midst, where vessels rarely penetrate. Above us floated products of
all kinds, heaped up among these brownish plants; trunks of trees torn from
the Andes or the Rocky Mountains, and floated by the Amazon or the
Mississippi; numerous wrecks, remains of keels, or ships' bottoms,
side-planks stove in, and so weighted with shells and barnacles that they
could not again rise to the surface. And time will one day justify Maury's
other opinion, that these substances thus accumulated for ages will become
petrified by the action of the water and will then form inexhaustible
coal-mines -- a precious reserve prepared by far-seeing Nature for the
moment when men shall have exhausted the mines of continents.
In the midst of this inextricable mass of plants and seaweed, I
noticed some charming pink halcyons and actiniae, with their long tentacles
trailing after them, and medusae, green, red, and blue.
All the day of the 22nd of February we passed in the Sargasso Sea,
where such fish as are partial to marine plants find abundant nourishment.
The next, the ocean had returned to its accustomed aspect. From this time
for nineteen days, from the 23rd of February to the 12th of March, the
Nautilus kept in the middle of the Atlantic, carrying us at a constant
speed of a hundred leagues in twenty-four hours. Captain Nemo evidently
intended accomplishing his submarine programme, and I imagined that he
intended,
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after doubling Cape Horn, to return to the Australian seas of the Pacific.
Ned Land had cause for fear. In these large seas, void of islands, we could
not attempt to leave the boat. Nor had we any means of opposing Captain
Nemo's will. Our only course was to submit; but what we could neither gain
by force nor cunning, I liked to think might be obtained by persuasion.
This voyage ended, would he not consent to restore our liberty, under an
oath never to reveal his existence? -- an oath of honour which we should
have religiously kept. But we must consider that delicate question with the
Captain. But was I free to claim this liberty? Had he not himself said from
the beginning, in the firmest manner, that the secret of his life exacted
from him our lasting imprisonment on board the Nautilus? And would not my
four months' silence appear to him a tacit acceptance of our situation? And
would not a return to the subject result in raising suspicions which might
be hurtful to our projects, if at some future time a favourable opportunity
offered to return to them?
During the nineteen days mentioned above, no incident of any kind
happened to signalise our voyage. I saw little of the Captain; he was at
work. In the library I often found his books left open, especially those on
natural history. My work on submarine depths, conned over by him, was
covered with marginal notes, often contradicting my theories and systems;
but the Captain contented himself with thus purging my work; it was very
rare for him to discuss it with me. Sometimes I heard the melancholy tones
of his organ; but only at night, in the midst of the deepest obscurity,
when the Nautilus slept upon the deserted ocean. During this part of our
voyage we sailed whole days on the surface of the waves. The sea seemed
abandoned. A few sailing-vessels, on the road to India, were making for the
Cape of Good Hope. One day we were followed by the boats of a whaler, who,
no doubt, took us for some enormous whale of great price; but Captain Nemo
did not wish the worthy fellows to lose their time and trouble, so ended
the chase by plunging under the water. Our navigation continued until the
13th of March; that day the Nautilus was employed in
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taking soundings, which greatly interested me. We had then made about
13,000 leagues since our departure from the high seas of the Pacific. The
bearings gave us 45° 37' S. lat., and 37° 53' W. long. It was the same
water in which Captain Denham of the Herald sounded 7,000 fathoms without
finding the bottom. There, too, Lieutenant Parker, of the American frigate
Congress, could not touch the bottom with 15,140 fathoms. Captain Nemo
intended seeking the bottom of the ocean by a diagonal sufficiently
lengthened by means of lateral planes placed at an angle of 45° with the
water-line of the Nautilus. Then the screw set to work at its maximum
speed, its four blades beating the waves with indescribable force. Under
this powerful pressure, the hull of the Nautilus quivered like a sonorous
chord and sank regularly under the water.
At 7,000 fathoms I saw some blackish tops rising from the midst of the
waters; but these summits might belong to high mountains like the Himalayas
or Mont Blanc, even higher; and the depth of the abyss remained
incalculable. The Nautilus descended still lower, in spite of the great
pressure. I felt the steel plates tremble at the fastenings of the bolts;
its bars bent, its partitions groaned; the windows of the saloon seemed to
curve under the pressure of the waters. And this firm structure would
doubtless have yielded, if, as its Captain had said, it had not been
capable of resistance like a solid block. We had attained a depth of 16,000
yards (four leagues), and the sides of the Nautilus then bore a pressure of
1,600 atmospheres, that is to say, 3,200 lb. to each square two-fifths of
an inch of its surface.
"What a situation to be in!" I exclaimed. "To overrun these deep
regions where man has never trod! Look, Captain, look at these magnificent
rocks, these uninhabited grottoes, these lowest receptacles of the globe,
where life is no longer possible! What unknown sights are here! Why should
we be unable to preserve a remembrance of them?"
"Would you like to carry away more than the remembrance?" said Captain
Nemo.
"What do you mean by those words?"
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"I mean to say that nothing is easier than to make a photographic view
of this submarine region."
I had not time to express my surprise at this new proposition, when,
at Captain Nemo's call, an objective was brought into the saloon. Through
the widely-opened panel, the liquid mass was bright with electricity, which
was distributed with such uniformity that not a shadow, not a gradation,
was to be seen in our manufactured light. The Nautilus remained motionless,
the force of its screw subdued by the inclination of its planes: the
instrument was propped on the bottom of the oceanic site, and in a few
seconds we had obtained a perfect negative.
But, the operation being over, Captain Nemo said, "Let us go up; we
must not abuse our position, nor expose the Nautilus too long to such great
pressure."
"Go up again!" I exclaimed.
"Hold well on."
I had not time to understand why the Captain cautioned me thus, when I
was thrown forward on to the carpet. At a signal from the Captain, its
screw was shipped, and its blades raised vertically; the Nautilus shot into
the air like a balloon, rising with stunning rapidity, and cutting the mass
of waters with a sonorous agitation. Nothing was visible; and in four
minutes it had shot through the four leagues which separated it from the
ocean, and, after emerging like a flying-fish, fell, making the waves
rebound to an enormous height.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.12
CACHALOTS AND WHALES
DURING the nights of the 13th and 14th of March, the Nautilus returned
to its southerly course. I fancied that, when on a level with Cape Horn, he
would turn the helm westward, in order to beat the Pacific seas, and so
complete the tour of the world. He did nothing of the kind, but continued
on his way to the southern regions. Where was
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he going to? To the pole? It was madness! I began to think that the
Captain's temerity justified Ned Land's fears. For some time past the
Canadian had not spoken to me of his projects of flight; he was less
communicative, almost silent. I could see that this lengthened imprisonment
was weighing upon him, and I felt that rage was burning within him. When he
met the Captain, his eyes lit up with suppressed anger; and I feared that
his natural violence would lead him into some extreme. That day, the 14th
of March, Conseil and he came to me in my room. I inquired the cause of
their visit.
"A simple question to ask you, sir," replied the Canadian.
"Speak, Ned."
"How many men are there on board the Nautilus, do you think?"
"I cannot tell, my friend."
"I should say that its working does not require a large crew."
"Certainly, under existing conditions, ten men, at the most, ought to
be enough."
"Well, why should there be any more?"
"Why?" I replied, looking fixedly at Ned Land, whose meaning was easy
to guess. "Because," I added, "if my surmises are correct, and if I have
well understood the Captain's existence, the Nautilus is not only a vessel:
it is also a place of refuge for those who, like its commander, have broken
every tie upon earth."
"Perhaps so," said Conseil; "but, in any case, the Nautilus can only
contain a certain number of men. Could not you, sir, estimate their
maximum?"
"How, Conseil?"
"By calculation; given the size of the vessel, which you know, sir,
and consequently the quantity of air it contains, knowing also how much
each man expends at a breath, and comparing these results with the fact
that the Nautilus is obliged to go to the surface every twenty-four hours."
Conseil had not finished the sentence before I saw what he was driving
at.
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"I understand," said I; "but that calculation, though simple enough,
can give but a very uncertain result."
"Never mind," said Ned Land urgently.
"Here it is, then," said I. "In one hour each man consumes the oxygen
contained in twenty gallons of air; and in twenty-four, that contained in
480 gallons. We must, therefore find how many times 480 gallons of air the
Nautilus contains."
"Just so," said Conseil.
"Or," I continued, "the size of the Nautilus being 1,500 tons; and one
ton holding 200 gallons, it contains 300,000 gallons of air, which, divided
by 480, gives a quotient of 625. Which means to say, strictly speaking,
that the air contained in the Nautilus would suffice for 625 men for
twenty-four hours."
"Six hundred and twenty-five!" repeated Ned.
"But remember that all of us, passengers, sailors, and officers
included, would not form a tenth part of that number."
"Still too many for three men," murmured Conseil.
The Canadian shook his head, passed his hand across his forehead, and
left the room without answering.
"Will you allow me to make one observation, sir?" said Conseil. "Poor
Ned is longing for everything that he cannot have. His past life is always
present to him; everything that we are forbidden he regrets. His head is
full of old recollections. And we must understand him. What has he to do
here? Nothing; he is not learned like you, sir; and has not the same taste
for the beauties of the sea that we have. He would risk everything to be
able to go once more into a tavern in his own country."
Certainly the monotony on board must seem intolerable to the Canadian,
accustomed as he was to a life of liberty and activity. Events were rare
which could rouse him to any show of spirit; but that day an event did
happen which recalled the bright days of the harpooner. About eleven in the
morning, being on the surface of the ocean, the Nautilus fell in with a
troop of whales -- an encounter which did not
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astonish me, knowing that these creatures, hunted to death, had taken
refuge in high latitudes.
We were seated on the platform, with a quiet sea. The month of October
in those latitudes gave us some lovely autumnal days. It was the Canadian
-- he could not be mistaken -- who signalled a whale on the eastern
horizon. Looking attentively, one might see its black back rise and fall
with the waves five miles from the Nautilus.
"Ah!" exclaimed Ned Land, "if I was on board a whaler, now such a
meeting would give me pleasure. It is one of large size. See with what
strength its blow-holes throw up columns of air and steam! Confound it, why
am I bound to these steel plates?"
"What, Ned," said I, "you have not forgotten your old ideas of
fishing?"
"Can a whale-fisher ever forget his old trade, sir? Can he ever tire
of the emotions caused by such a chase?"
"You have never fished in these seas, Ned?"
"Never, sir; in the northern only, and as much in Behring as in Davis
Straits."
"Then the southern whale is still unknown to you. It is the Greenland
whale you have hunted up to this time, and that would not risk passing
through the warm waters of the equator. Whales are localised, according to
their kinds, in certain seas which they never leave. And if one of these
creatures went from Behring to Davis Straits, it must be simply because
there is a passage from one sea to the other, either on the American or the
Asiatic side."
"In that case, as I have never fished in these seas, I do not know the
kind of whale frequenting them!"
"I have told you, Ned."
"A greater reason for making their acquaintance," said Conseil.
"Look! look!" exclaimed the Canadian, "they approach: they aggravate
me; they know that I cannot get at them!"
Ned stamped his feet. His hand trembled, as he grasped an imaginary
harpoon.
"Are these cetaceans as large as those of the northern seas?" asked
he.
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"Very nearly, Ned."
"Because I have seen large whales, sir, whales measuring a hundred
feet. I have even been told that those of Hullamoch and Umgallick, of the
Aleutian Islands, are sometimes a hundred and fifty feet long."
"That seems to me exaggeration. These creatures are generally much
smaller than the Greenland whale."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Canadian, whose eyes had never left the ocean,
"they are coming nearer; they are in the same water as the Nautilus."
Then, returning to the conversation, he said:
"You spoke of the cachalot as a small creature. I have heard of
gigantic ones. They are intelligent cetacea. It is said of some that they
cover themselves with seaweed and fucus, and then are taken for islands.
People encamp upon them, and settle there; lights a fire -- "
"And build houses," said Conseil.
"Yes, joker," said Ned Land. "And one fine day the creature plunges,
carrying with it all the inhabitants to the bottom of the sea."
"Something like the travels of Sinbad the Sailor," I replied,
laughing.
"Ah!" suddenly exclaimed Ned Land, "it is not one whale; there are ten
-- there are twenty -- it is a whole troop! And I not able to do anything!
hands and feet tied!"
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "why do you not ask Captain Nemo's
permission to chase them?"
Conseil bad not finished his sentence when Ned Land had lowered
himself through the panel to seek the Captain. A few minutes afterwards the
two appeared together on the platform.
Captain Nemo watched the troop of cetacea playing on the waters about
a mile from the Nautilus.
"They are southern whales," said he; "there goes the fortune of a
whole fleet of whalers."
"Well, sir," asked the Canadian, "can I not chase them, if only to
remind me of my old trade of harpooner?"
"And to what purpose?" replied Captain Nemo; "only
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to destroy! We have nothing to do with the whale-oil on board."
"But, sir," continued the Canadian, "in the Red Sea you allowed us to
follow the dugong."
"Then it was to procure fresh meat for my crew. Here it would be
killing for killing's sake. I know that is a privilege reserved for man,
but I do not approve of such murderous pastime. In destroying the southern
whale (like the Greenland whale, an inoffensive creature), your traders do
a culpable action, Master Land. They have already depopulated the whole of
Baffin's Bay, and are annihilating a class of useful animals. Leave the
unfortunate cetacea alone. They have plenty of natural enemies --
cachalots, swordfish, and sawfish -- without you troubling them."
The Captain was right. The barbarous and inconsiderate greed of these
fishermen will one day cause the disappearance of the last whale in the
ocean. Ned Land whistled "Yankee-doodle" between his teeth, thrust his
hands into his pockets, and turned his back upon us. But Captain Nemo
watched the troop of cetacea, and, addressing me, said:
"I was right in saying that whales had natural enemies enough, without
counting man. These will have plenty to do before long. Do you see, M.
Aronnax, about eight miles to leeward, those blackish moving points?"
"Yes, Captain," I replied.
"Those are cachalots -- terrible animals, which I have met in troops
of two or three hundred. As to those, they are cruel, mischievous
creatures; they would be right in exterminating them."
The Canadian turned quickly at the last words.
"Well, Captain," said he, "it is still time, in the interest of the
whales."
"It is useless to expose one's self, Professor. The Nautilus will
disperse them. It is armed with a steel spur as good as Master Land's
harpoon, I imagine."
The Canadian did not put himself out enough to shrug his shoulders.
Attack cetacea with blows of a spur! Who had ever heard of such a thing?
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"Wait, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "We will show you something you
have never yet seen. We have no pity for these ferocious creatures. They
are nothing but mouth and teeth."
Mouth and teeth! No one could better describe the macrocephalous
cachalot, which is sometimes more than seventy- five feet long. Its
enormous head occupies one-third of its entire body. Better armed than the
whale, whose upper jaw is furnished only with whalebone, it is supplied
with twenty- five large tusks, about eight inches long, cylindrical and
conical at the top, each weighing two pounds. It is in the upper part of
this enormous head, in great cavities divided by cartilages, that is to be
found from six to eight hundred pounds of that precious oil called
spermaceti. The cachalot is a disagreeable creature, more tadpole than
fish, according to Fredol's description. It is badly formed, the whole of
its left side being (if we may say it), a "failure," and being only able to
see with its right eye. But the formidable troop was nearing us. They had
seen the whales and were preparing to attack them. One could judge
beforehand that the cachalots would be victorious, not only because they
were better built for attack than their inoffensive adversaries, but also
because they could remain longer under water without coming to the surface.
There was only just time to go to the help of the whales. The Nautilus went
under water. Conseil, Ned Land, and I took our places before the window in
the saloon, and Captain Nemo joined the pilot in his cage to work his
apparatus as an engine of destruction. Soon I felt the beatings of the
screw quicken, and our speed increased. The battle between the cachalots
and the whales had already begun when the Nautilus arrived. They did not at
first show any fear at the sight of this new monster joining in the
conflict. But they soon had to guard against its blows. What a battle! The
Nautilus was nothing but a formidable harpoon, brandished by the hand of
its Captain. It hurled itself against the fleshy mass, passing through from
one part to the other, leaving behind it two quivering halves of the
animal. It could not feel the formidable blows from their tails upon its
sides, nor the
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shock which it produced itself, much more. One cachalot killed, it ran at
the next, tacked on the spot that it might not miss its prey, going
forwards and backwards, answering to its helm, plunging when the cetacean
dived into the deep waters, coming up with it when it returned to the
surface, striking it front or sideways, cutting or tearing in all
directions and at any pace, piercing it with its terrible spur. What
carnage! What a noise on the surface of the waves! What sharp hissing, and
what snorting peculiar to these enraged animals! In the midst of these
waters, generally so peaceful, their tails made perfect billows. For one
hour this wholesale massacre continued, from which the cachalots could not
escape. Several times ten or twelve united tried to crush the Nautilus by
their weight. From the window we could see their enormous mouths, studded
with tusks, and their formidable eyes. Ned Land could not contain himself;
he threatened and swore at them. We could feel them clinging to our vessel
like dogs worrying a wild boar in a copse. But the Nautilus, working its
screw, carried them here and there, or to the upper levels of the ocean,
without caring for their enormous weight, nor the powerful strain on the
vessel. At length the mass of cachalots broke up, the waves became quiet,
and I felt that we were rising to the surface. The panel opened, and we
hurried on to the platform. The sea was covered with mutilated bodies. A
formidable explosion could not have divided and torn this fleshy mass with
more violence. We were floating amid gigantic bodies, bluish on the back
and white underneath, covered with enormous protuberances. Some terrified
cachalots were flying towards the horizon. The waves were dyed red for
several miles, and the Nautilus floated in a sea of blood: Captain Nemo
joined us.
"Well, Master Land?" said he.
"Well, sir," replied the Canadian, whose enthusiasm had somewhat
calmed; "it is a terrible spectacle, certainly. But I am not a butcher. I
am a hunter, and I call this a butchery."
"It is a massacre of mischievous creatures," replied the Captain; "and
the Nautilus is not a butcher's knife."
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"I like my harpoon better," said the Canadian.
"Every one to his own," answered the Captain, looking fixedly at Ned
Land.
I feared he would commit some act of violence, which would end in sad
consequences. But his anger was turned by the sight of a whale which the
Nautilus had just come up with. The creature had not quite escaped from the
cachalot's teeth. I recognised the southern whale by its flat head, which
is entirely black. Anatomically, it is distinguished from the white whale
and the North Cape whale by the seven cervical vertebrae, and it has two
more ribs than its congeners. The unfortunate cetacean was lying on its
side, riddled with holes from the bites, and quite dead. From its mutilated
fin still hung a young whale which it could not save from the massacre. Its
open mouth let the water flow in and out, murmuring like the waves breaking
on the shore. Captain Nemo steered close to the corpse of the creature. Two
of his men mounted its side, and I saw, not without surprise, that they
were drawing from its breasts all the milk which they contained, that is to
say, about two or three tons. The Captain offered me a cup of the milk,
which was still warm. I could not help showing my repugnance to the drink;
but he assured me that it was excellent, and not to be distinguished from
cow's milk. I tasted it, and was of his opinion. It was a useful reserve to
us, for in the shape of salt butter or cheese it would form an agreeable
variety from our ordinary food. From that day I noticed with uneasiness
that Ned Land's ill-will towards Captain Nemo increased, and I resolved to
watch the Canadian's gestures closely.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.13
THE ICEBERG
THE Nautilus was steadily pursuing its southerly course, following the
fiftieth meridian with considerable speed. Did he wish to reach the pole? I
did not think so, for every
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attempt to reach that point had hitherto failed. Again, the season was far
advanced, for in the Antarctic regions the 13th of March corresponds with
the 13th of September of northern regions, which begin at the equinoctial
season. On the 14th of March I saw floating ice in latitude 55°, merely
pale bits of debris from twenty to twenty-five feet long, forming banks
over which the sea curled. The Nautilus remained on the surface of the
ocean. Ned Land, who had fished in the Arctic Seas, was familiar with its
icebergs; but Conseil and I admired them for the first time. In the
atmosphere towards the southern horizon stretched a white dazzling band.
English whalers have given it the name of "ice blink." However thick the
clouds may be, it is always visible, and announces the presence of an ice
pack or bank. Accordingly, larger blocks soon appeared, whose brilliancy
changed with the caprices of the fog. Some of these masses showed green
veins, as if long undulating lines had been traced with sulphate of copper;
others resembled enormous amethysts with the light shining through them.
Some reflected the light of day upon a thousand crystal facets. Others
shaded with vivid calcareous reflections resembled a perfect town of
marble. The more we neared the south the more these floating islands
increased both in number and importance.
At 60° lat. every pass had disappeared. But, seeking carefully,
Captain Nemo soon found a narrow opening, through which he boldly slipped,
knowing, however, that it would close behind him. Thus, guided by this
clever hand, the Nautilus passed through all the ice with a precision which
quite charmed Conseil; icebergs or mountains, ice- fields or smooth plains,
seeming to have no limits, drift-ice or floating ice-packs, plains broken
up, called palchs when they are circular, and streams when they are made up
of long strips. The temperature was very low; the thermometer exposed to
the air marked 2° or 3° below zero, but we were warmly clad with fur, at
the expense of the sea-bear and seal. The interior of the Nautilus, warmed
regularly by its electric apparatus, defied the most intense cold. Besides,
it would only have been necessary to go some
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yards beneath the waves to find a more bearable temperature. Two months
earlier we should have had perpetual daylight in these latitudes; but
already we had had three or four hours of night, and by and by there would
be six months of darkness in these circumpolar regions. On the 15th of
March we were in the latitude of New Shetland and South Orkney. The Captain
told me that formerly numerous tribes of seals inhabited them; but that
English and American whalers, in their rage for destruction, massacred both
old and young; thus, where there was once life and animation, they had left
silence and death.
About eight o'clock on the morning of the 16th of March the Nautilus,
following the fifty-fifth meridian, cut the Antarctic polar circle. Ice
surrounded us on all sides, and closed the horizon. But Captain Nemo went
from one opening to another, still going higher. I cannot express my
astonishment at the beauties of these new regions. The ice took most
surprising forms. Here the grouping formed an oriental town, with
innumerable mosques and minarets; there a fallen city thrown to the earth,
as it were, by some convulsion of nature. The whole aspect was constantly
changed by the oblique rays of the sun, or lost in the greyish fog amidst
hurricanes of snow. Detonations and falls were heard on all sides, great
overthrows of icebergs, which altered the whole landscape like a diorama.
Often seeing no exit, I thought we were definitely prisoners; but, instinct
guiding him at the slightest indication, Captain Nemo would discover a new
pass. He was never mistaken when he saw the thin threads of bluish water
trickling along the ice- fields; and I had no doubt that he had already
ventured into the midst of these Antarctic seas before. On the 16th of
March, however, the ice-fields absolutely blocked our road. It was not the
iceberg itself, as yet, but vast fields cemented by the cold. But this
obstacle could not stop Captain Nemo: be hurled himself against it with
frightful violence. The Nautilus entered the brittle mass like a wedge, and
split it with frightful crackings. It was the battering ram of the ancients
hurled by infinite strength. The ice, thrown high in the air, fell like
hail around us. By its own power of
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impulsion our apparatus made a canal for itself; sometimes carried away by
its own impetus, it lodged on the ice-field, crushing it with its weight,
and sometimes buried beneath it, dividing it by a simple pitching movement,
producing large rents in it. Violent gales assailed us at this time,
accompanied by thick fogs, through which, from one end of the platform to
the other, we could see nothing. The wind blew sharply from all parts of
the compass, and the snow lay in such hard heaps that we had to break it
with blows of a pickaxe. The temperature was always at 5° below zero; every
outward part of the Nautilus was covered with ice. A rigged vessel would
have been entangled in the blocked up gorges. A vessel without sails, with
electricity for its motive power, and wanting no coal, could alone brave
such high latitudes. At length, on the 18th of March, after many useless
assaults, the Nautilus was positively blocked. It was no longer either
streams, packs, or ice-fields, but an interminable and immovable barrier,
formed by mountains soldered together.
"An iceberg!" said the Canadian to me.
I knew that to Ned Land, as well as to all other navigators who had
preceded us, this was an inevitable obstacle. The sun appearing for an
instant at noon, Captain Nemo took an observation as near as possible,
which gave our situation at 51° 30' long. and 67° 39' of S. lat. We had
advanced one degree more in this Antarctic region. Of the liquid surface of
the sea there was no longer a glimpse. Under the spur of the Nautilus lay
stretched a vast plain, entangled with confused blocks. Here and there
sharp points and slender needles rising to a height of 200 feet; further on
a steep shore, hewn as it were with an axe and clothed with greyish tints;
huge mirrors, reflecting a few rays of sunshine, half drowned in the fog.
And over this desolate face of nature a stern silence reigned, scarcely
broken by the flapping of the wings of petrels and puffins. Everything was
frozen -- even the noise. The Nautilus was then obliged to stop in its
adventurous course amid these fields of ice. In spite of our efforts, in
spite of the powerful means employed to break up the ice, the Nautilus
remained immovable.
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Generally, when we can proceed no further, we have return still open to us;
but here return was as impossible as advance, for every pass had closed
behind us; and for the few moments when we were stationary, we were likely
to be entirely blocked, which did indeed happen about two o'clock in the
afternoon, the fresh ice forming around its sides with astonishing
rapidity. I was obliged to admit that Captain Nemo was more than imprudent.
I was on the platform at that moment. The Captain had been observing our
situation for some time past, when he said to me:
"Well, sir, what do you think of this?"
"I think that we are caught, Captain."
"So, M. Aronnax, you really think that the Nautilus cannot disengage
itself?"
"With difficulty, Captain; for the season is already too far advanced
for you to reckon on the breaking of the ice."
"Ah! sir," said Captain Nemo, in an ironical tone, "you will always be
the same. You see nothing but difficulties and obstacles. I affirm that not
only can the Nautilus disengage itself, but also that it can go further
still."
"Further to the South?" I asked, looking at the Captain.
"Yes, sir; it shall go to the pole."
"To the pole!" I exclaimed, unable to repress a gesture of
incredulity.
"Yes," replied the Captain, coldly, "to the Antarctic pole -- to that
unknown point from whence springs every meridian of the globe. You know
whether I can do as I please with the Nautilus!"
Yes, I knew that. I knew that this man was bold, even to rashness. But
to conquer those obstacles which bristled round the South Pole, rendering
it more inaccessible than the North, which had not yet been reached by the
boldest navigators -- was it not a mad enterprise, one which only a maniac
would have conceived? It then came into my head to ask Captain Nemo if he
had ever discovered that pole which had never yet been trodden by a human
creature?
"No, sir," he replied; "but we will discover it together. Where others
have failed, I will not fail. I have never yet
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led my Nautilus so far into southern seas; but, I repeat, it shall go
further yet."
"I can well believe you, Captain," said I, in a slightly ironical
tone. "I believe you! Let us go ahead! There are no obstacles for us! Let
us smash this iceberg! Let us blow it up; and, if it resists, let us give
the Nautilus wings to fly over it!"
"Over it, sir!!" said Captain Nemo, quietly; "no, not over it, but
under it!"
"Under it!" I exclaimed, a sudden idea of the Captain's projects
flashing upon my mind. I understood; the wonderful qualities of the
Nautilus were going to serve us in this superhuman enterprise.
"I see we are beginning to understand one another, sir," said the
Captain, half smiling. "You begin to see the possibility -- I should say
the success -- of this attempt. That which is impossible for an ordinary
vessel is easy to the Nautilus. If a continent lies before the pole, it
must stop before the continent; but if, on the contrary, the pole is washed
by open sea, it will go even to the pole."
"Certainly," said I, carried away by the Captain's reasoning; "if the
surface of the sea is solidified by the ice, the lower depths are free by
the Providential law which has placed the maximum of density of the waters
of the ocean one degree higher than freezing-point; and, if I am not
mistaken, the portion of this iceberg which is above the water is as one to
four to that which is below."
"Very nearly, sir; for one foot of iceberg above the sea there are
three below it. If these ice mountains are not more than 300 feet above the
surface, they are not more than 900 beneath. And what are 900 feet to the
Nautilus?"
"Nothing, sir."
"It could even seek at greater depths that uniform temperature of
sea-water, and there brave with impunity the thirty or forty degrees of
surface cold."
"Just so, sir -- just so," I replied, getting animated.
"The only difficulty," continued Captain Nemo, "is that of remaining
several days without renewing our provision of air."
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"Is that all? The Nautilus has vast reservoirs; we can fill them, and
they will supply us with all the oxygen we want."
"Well thought of, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain, smiling. "But, not
wishing you to accuse me of rashness, I will first give you all my
objections."
"Have you any more to make?"
"Only one. It is possible, if the sea exists at the South Pole, that
it may be covered; and, consequently, we shall be unable to come to the
surface."
"Good, sir! but do you forget that the Nautilus is armed with a
powerful spur, and could we not send it diagonally against these fields of
ice, which would open at the shocks."
"Ah! sir, you are full of ideas to-day."
"Besides, Captain," I added, enthusiastically, "why should we not find
the sea open at the South Pole as well as at the North? The frozen poles of
the earth do not coincide, either in the southern or in the northern
regions; and, until it is proved to the contrary, we may suppose either a
continent or an ocean free from ice at these two points of the globe."
"I think so too, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo. "I only wish you
to observe that, after having made so many objections to my project, you
are now crushing me with arguments in its favour!"
The preparations for this audacious attempt now began. The powerful
pumps of the Nautilus were working air into the reservoirs and storing it
at high pressure. About four o'clock, Captain Nemo announced the closing of
the panels on the platform. I threw one last look at the massive iceberg
which we were going to cross. The weather was clear, the atmosphere pure
enough, the cold very great, being 12° below zero; but, the wind having
gone down, this temperature was not so unbearable. About ten men mounted
the sides of the Nautilus, armed with pickaxes to break the ice around the
vessel, which was soon free. The operation was quickly performed, for the
fresh ice was still very thin. We all went below. The usual reservoirs were
filled with the newly-liberated water, and the Nautilus soon descended. I
had taken my place with Conseil in the saloon; through the
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open window we could see the lower beds of the Southern Ocean. The
thermometer went up, the needle of the compass deviated on the dial. At
about 900 feet, as Captain Nemo had foreseen, we were floating beneath the
undulating bottom of the iceberg. But the Nautilus went lower still -- it
went to the depth of four hundred fathoms. The temperature of the water at
the surface showed twelve degrees, it was now only ten; we had gained two.
I need not say the temperature of the Nautilus was raised by its heating
apparatus to a much higher degree; every manoeuvre was accomplished with
wonderful precision.
"We shall pass it, if you please, sir," said Conseil.
"I believe we shall," I said, in a tone of firm conviction.
In this open sea, the Nautilus had taken its course direct to the
pole, without leaving the fifty-second meridian. From 67° 30' to 90°,
twenty-two degrees and a half of latitude remained to travel; that is,
about five hundred leagues. The Nautilus kept up a mean speed of twenty-six
miles an hour -- the speed of an express train. If that was kept up, in
forty hours we should reach the pole.
For a part of the night the novelty of the situation kept us at the
window. The sea was lit with the electric lantern; but it was deserted;
fishes did not sojourn in these imprisoned waters; they only found there a
passage to take them from the Antarctic Ocean to the open polar sea. Our
pace was rapid; we could feel it by the quivering of the long steel body.
About two in the morning I took some hours' repose, and Conseil did the
same. In crossing the waist I did not meet Captain Nemo: I supposed him to
be in the pilot's cage. The next morning, the 19th of March, I took my post
once more in the saloon. The electric log told me that the speed of the
Nautilus had been slackened. It was then going towards the surface; but
prudently emptying its reservoirs very slowly. My heart beat fast. Were we
going to emerge and regain the open polar atmosphere? No! A shock told me
that the Nautilus had struck the bottom of the iceberg, still very thick,
judging from the deadened sound. We had indeed "struck," to use a sea
expression, but in an inverse sense, and at a thousand feet deep. This
would give three
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thousand feet of ice above us; one thousand being above the water-mark. The
iceberg was then higher than at its borders -- not a very reassuring fact.
Several times that day the Nautilus tried again, and every time it struck
the wall which lay like a ceiling above it. Sometimes it met with but 900
yards, only 200 of which rose above the surface. It was twice the height it
was when the Nautilus had gone under the waves. I carefully noted the
different depths, and thus obtained a submarine profile of the chain as it
was developed under the water. That night no change had taken place in our
situation. Still ice between four and five hundred yards in depth! It was
evidently diminishing, but, still, what a thickness between us and the
surface of the ocean! It was then eight. According to the daily custom on
board the Nautilus, its air should have been renewed four hours ago; but I
did not suffer much, although Captain Nemo had not yet made any demand upon
his reserve of oxygen. My sleep was painful that night; hope and fear
besieged me by turns: I rose several times. The groping of the Nautilus
continued. About three in the morning, I noticed that the lower surface of
the iceberg was only about fifty feet deep. One hundred and fifty feet now
separated us from the surface of the waters. The iceberg was by degrees
becoming an ice-field, the mountain a plain. My eyes never left the
manometer. We were still rising diagonally to the surface, which sparkled
under the electric rays. The iceberg was stretching both above and beneath
into lengthening slopes; mile after mile it was getting thinner. At length,
at six in the morning of that memorable day, the 19th of March, the door of
the saloon opened, and Captain Nemo appeared.
"The sea is open!!" was all he said.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.14
THE SOUTH POLE
I RUSHED on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few
scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs -- a long
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stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under
those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to
the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively
spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was
dimly seen on our northern horizon.
"Are we at the pole?" I asked the Captain, with a beating heart.
"I do not know," he replied. "At noon I will take our bearings."
"But will the sun show himself through this fog?" said I, looking at
the leaden sky.
"However little it shows, it will be enough," replied the Captain.
About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one
hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be
strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later
we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in
circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of
land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence
of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury's theory. The ingenious
American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth
parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is
never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the
conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as
icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to
these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a
vast cap, the circumference. of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But
the Nautilus, for fear of running aground, had stopped about three
cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The
boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments,
Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen
Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the
South Pole. A few strokes of the oar
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brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on
to the land, when I held him back.
"Sir," said I to Captain Nemo, "to you belongs the honour of first
setting foot on this land."
"Yes, sir," said the Captain, "and if I do not hesitate to tread this
South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace
there."
Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with
emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with
his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to
take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in
this ecstasy, he turned to us.
"When you like, sir."
I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a
long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like
crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not
mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a
sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their
expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no
volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic
countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full
activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32'. The vegetation of this
desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the
black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells
placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported
on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the
shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was
strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of
northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would
swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies,
animating the waters on the skirts of the shore.
There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind
which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic
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seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little
kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most
was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds,
deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we
passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There
were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the
ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture,
but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of
their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the
vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of
small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were
a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others
blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that
the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting
them but to put a wick in.
"A little more," said Conseil, "and they would be perfect lamps! After
that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with
wicks!"
About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs' nests, a
sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo
had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass,
were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath,
with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be
killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and
at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy.
Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide
whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him
leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient
and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not
command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day
showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind
the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow.
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"Till to-morrow," said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the
Nautilus amid these atmospheric disturbances.
The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to
remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of
incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could
hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this
violent storm. The Nautilus did not remain motionless, but skirted the
coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the
sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March,
the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing
2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our
observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat
took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic
nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater
which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent
was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large
troops of sea- mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were
several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice,
many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never
having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were
provisions there for hundreds of vessels.
"Sir," said Conseil, "will you tell me the names of these creatures?"
"They are seals and morses."
It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the
sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast
bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice
were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I
involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched
these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else,
forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his
family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong
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enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took
little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly
enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins,
forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their
element -- the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close
skin and webbed feet -- they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they
take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft
and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look
a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions,
and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton
and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable
development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No
mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also
capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily
domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught
they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them
slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called,
which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose
ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards
long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four
incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in
the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of
seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured
twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move
as we approached.
"These creatures are not dangerous?" asked Conseil.
"No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young
their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the
fishing-boats to pieces."
"They are quite right," said Conseil.
"I do not say they are not."
Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters
the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it
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we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce.
"Good!" said Conseil; "a concert of bulls!"
"No; a concert of morses."
"They are fighting!"
"They are either fighting or playing."
We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles,
and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over
at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not
stumble, and helped me up, saying:
"If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would
preserve your equilibrium better."
Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain
covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we
heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger.
As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for
they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint,
approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four
yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the
north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of
their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of
returning. It was eleven o'clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions
favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We
followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At
half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run
aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his
instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which
the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him,
and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not
appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not
accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were
indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the
equinox; the sun would
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disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the
long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged
from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of
December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it
had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I
communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo.
"You are right, M. Aronnax," said he; "if to-morrow I cannot take the
altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But
precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March,
my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun."
"Why, Captain?"
"Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it
is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave
errors may be made with instruments."
"What will you do then?"
"I shall only use my chronometer," replied Captain Nemo. "If
to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction,
is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South
Pole."
"Just so," said I. "But this statement is not mathematically correct,
because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon."
"Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do
not want more. Till to-morrow, then!"
Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the
shore, observing and studying until five o'clock. Then I went to bed, not,
however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb.
The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the
platform. I found Captain Nemo there.
"The weather is lightening a little," said he. "I have some hope.
After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation."
That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me.
But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I
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saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I
was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were
too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this
unreflecting fisherman's way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The
Nautilus had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league
from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards
high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the
instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a
barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three
kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English "right
whale," which has no dorsal fin; the "humpback," with reeved chest and
large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and
the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This
powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height
columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These
different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters;
and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of
refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed
large medusae floating between the reeds.
At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to
the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters.
Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his
observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-
stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the
smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed
the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter
would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak,
which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast
sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the
sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale
azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun
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seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon.
From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the
distance lay the Nautilus like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us,
to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and
ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit
Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would
have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve
the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding
its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet
ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means
of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the
horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the
chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of
the sun coincided with twelve o'clock on the chronometer, we were at the
pole itself.
"Twelve!" I exclaimed.
"The South Pole!" replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me
the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon.
I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting
by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his
hand on my shoulder, said:
"I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the
South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of
the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents."
"In whose name, Captain?"
"In my own, sir!"
Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an "N" in
gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose
last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:
"Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea,
and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!"
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.15
ACCIDENT OR INCIDENT?
THE next day, the 22nd of March, at six in the morning, preparations
for departure were begun. The last gleams of twilight were melting into
night. The cold was great, the constellations shone with wonderful
intensity. In the zenith glittered that wondrous Southern Cross -- the
polar bear of Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 120 below zero, and
when the wind freshened it was most biting. Flakes of ice increased on the
open water. The sea seemed everywhere alike. Numerous blackish patches
spread on the surface, showing the formation of fresh ice. Evidently the
southern basin, frozen during the six winter months, was absolutely
inaccessible. What became of the whales in that time? Doubtless they went
beneath the icebergs, seeking more practicable seas. As to the seals and
morses, accustomed to live in a hard climate, they remained on these icy
shores. These creatures have the instinct to break holes in the ice-field
and to keep them open. To these holes they come for breath; when the birds,
driven away by the cold, have emigrated to the north, these sea mammals
remain sole masters of the polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling
with water, and the Nautilus was slowly descending. At 1,000 feet deep it
stopped; its screw beat the waves, and it advanced straight towards the
north at a speed of fifteen miles an hour. Towards night it was already
floating under the immense body of the iceberg. At three in the morning I
was awakened by a violent shock. I sat up in my bed and listened in the
darkness, when I was thrown into the middle of the room. The Nautilus,
after having struck, had rebounded violently. I groped along the partition,
and by the staircase to the saloon, which was lit by the luminous ceiling.
The furniture was upset. Fortunately the windows were firmly set, and had
held fast. The pictures on the starboard side, from being no longer
vertical, were clinging to the paper, whilst those of the port side were
hanging at least a foot from the wall. The Nautilus was lying on its
starboard side perfectly motionless.
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I heard footsteps, and a confusion of voices; but Captain Nemo did not
appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil entered.
"What is the matter?" said I, at once.
"I came to ask you, sir," replied Conseil.
"Confound it!" exclaimed the Canadian, "I know well enough! The
Nautilus has struck; and, judging by the way she lies, I do not think she
will right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits."
"But," I asked, "has she at least come to the surface of the sea?"
"We do not know," said Conseil.
"It is easy to decide," I answered. I consulted the manometer. To my
great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. "What does that
mean?" I exclaimed.
"We must ask Captain Nemo," said Conseil.
"But where shall we find him?" said Ned Land.
"Follow me," said I, to my companions.
We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. At the centre
staircase, by the berths of the ship's crew, there was no one. I thought
that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot's cage. It was best to wait. We all
returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained thus, trying to hear
the slightest noise which might be made on board the Nautilus, when Captain
Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his face, generally so impassive,
showed signs of uneasiness. He watched the compass silently, then the
manometer; and, going to the planisphere, placed his finger on a spot
representing the southern seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some
minutes later, when he turned towards me, I said, using one of his own
expressions in the Torres Straits:
"An incident, Captain?"
"No, sir; an accident this time."
"Serious?"
"Perhaps."
"Is the danger immediate?"
"No."
"The Nautilus has stranded?"
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"Yes."
"And this has happened -- how?"
"From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a
mistake has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium
from producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist
natural ones."
Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this
philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.
"May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?"
"An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over," he
replied. "When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or
reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing turns
over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell, struck
the Nautilus, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with irresistible
force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where it is lying on
its side."
"But can we not get the Nautilus off by emptying its reservoirs, that
it might regain its equilibrium?"
"That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump
working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the Nautilus is
rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and, until some obstacle
stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be altered."
Indeed, the Nautilus still held the same position to starboard;
doubtless it would right itself when the block stopped. But at this moment
who knows if we may not be frightfully crushed between the two glassy
surfaces? I reflected on all the consequences of our position. Captain Nemo
never took his eyes off the manometer. Since the fall of the iceberg, the
Nautilus had risen about a hundred and fifty feet, but it still made the
same angle with the perpendicular. Suddenly a slight movement was felt in
the hold. Evidently it was righting a little. Things hanging in the saloon
were sensibly returning to their normal position. The partitions were
nearing the upright. No one spoke. With beating hearts we watched and felt
the straightening.
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The boards became horizontal under our feet. Ten minutes passed.
"At last we have righted!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said Captain Nemo, going to the door of the saloon.
"But are we floating?" I asked.
"Certainly," he replied; "since the reservoirs are not empty; and,
when empty, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea."
We were in open sea; but at a distance of about ten yards, on either
side of the Nautilus, rose a dazzling wall of ice. Above and beneath the
same wall. Above, because the lower surface of the iceberg stretched over
us like an immense ceiling. Beneath, because the overturned block, having
slid by degrees, had found a resting-place on the lateral walls, which kept
it in that position. The Nautilus was really imprisoned in a perfect tunnel
of ice more than twenty yards in breadth, filled with quiet water. It was
easy to get out of it by going either forward or backward, and then make a
free passage under the iceberg, some hundreds of yards deeper. The luminous
ceiling had been extinguished, but the saloon was still resplendent with
intense light. It was the powerful reflection from the glass partition sent
violently back to the sheets of the lantern. I cannot describe the effect
of the voltaic rays upon the great blocks so capriciously cut; upon every
angle, every ridge, every facet was thrown a different light, according to
the nature of the veins running through the ice; a dazzling mine of gems,
particularly of sapphires, their blue rays crossing with the green of the
emerald. Here and there were opal shades of wonderful softness, running
through bright spots like diamonds of fire, the brilliancy of which the eye
could not bear. The power of the lantern seemed increased a hundredfold,
like a lamp through the lenticular plates of a first-class lighthouse.
"How beautiful! how beautiful!" cried Conseil.
"Yes," I said, "it is a wonderful sight. Is it not, Ned?"
"Yes, confound it! Yes," answered Ned Land, "it is superb! I am mad at
being obliged to admit it. No one
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has ever seen anything like it; but the sight may cost us dear. And, if I
must say all, I think we are seeing here things which God never intended
man to see."
Ned was right, it was too beautiful. Suddenly a cry from Conseil made
me turn.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Shut your eyes, sir! Do not look, sir!" Saying which, Conseil clapped
his hands over his eyes.
"But what is the matter, my boy?"
"I am dazzled, blinded."
My eyes turned involuntarily towards the glass, but I could not stand
the fire which seemed to devour them. I understood what had happened. The
Nautilus had put on full speed. All the quiet lustre of the ice-walls was
at once changed into flashes of lightning. The fire from these myriads of
diamonds was blinding. It required some time to calm our troubled looks. At
last the hands were taken down.
"Faith, I should never have believed it," said Conseil.
It was then five in the morning; and at that moment a shock was felt
at the bows of the Nautilus. I knew that its spur had struck a block of
ice. It must have been a false manoeuvre, for this submarine tunnel,
obstructed by blocks, was not very easy navigation. I thought that Captain
Nemo, by changing his course, would either turn these obstacles or else
follow the windings of the tunnel. In any case, the road before us could
not be entirely blocked. But, contrary to my expectations, the Nautilus
took a decided retrograde motion.
"We are going backwards?" said Conseil.
"Yes," I replied. "This end of the tunnel can have no egress."
"And then?"
"Then," said I, "the working is easy. We must go back again, and go
out at the southern opening. That is all."
In speaking thus, I wished to appear more confident than I really was.
But the retrograde motion of the Nautilus was increasing; and, reversing
the screw, it carried us at great speed.
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"It will be a hindrance," said Ned.
"What does it matter, some hours more or less, provided we get out at
last?"
"Yes," repeated Ned Land, "provided we do get out at last!"
For a short time I walked from the saloon to the library. My
companions were silent. I soon threw myself on an ottoman, and took a book,
which my eyes overran mechanically. A quarter of an hour after, Conseil,
approaching me, said, "Is what you are reading very interesting, sir?"
"Very interesting!" I replied.
"I should think so, sir. It is your own book you are reading."
"My book?"
And indeed I was holding in my hand the work on the Great Submarine
Depths. I did not even dream of it. I closed the book and returned to my
walk. Ned and Conseil rose to go.
"Stay here, my friends," said I, detaining them. "Let us remain
together until we are out of this block."
"As you please, sir," Conseil replied.
Some hours passed. I often looked at the instruments hanging from the
partition. The manometer showed that the Nautilus kept at a constant depth
of more than three hundred yards; the compass still pointed to south; the
log indicated a speed of twenty miles an hour, which, in such a cramped
space, was very great. But Captain Nemo knew that he could not hasten too
much, and that minutes were worth ages to us. At twenty-five minutes past
eight a second shock took place, this time from behind. I turned pale. My
companions were close by my side. I seized Conseil's hand. Our looks
expressed our feelings better than words. At this moment the Captain
entered the saloon. I went up to him.
"Our course is barred southward?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. The iceberg has shifted and closed every outlet."
"We are blocked up then?"
"Yes.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.16
WANT OF AIR
THUS around the Nautilus, above and below, was an impenetrable wall of
ice. We were prisoners to the iceberg. I watched the Captain. His
countenance had resumed its habitual imperturbability.
"Gentlemen," he said calmly, "there are two ways of dying in the
circumstances in which we are placed." (This puzzling person had the air of
a mathematical professor lecturing to his pupils.) "The first is to be
crushed; the second is to die of suffocation. I do not speak of the
possibility of dying of hunger, for the supply of provisions in the
Nautilus will certainly last longer than we shall. Let us, then, calculate
our chances."
"As to suffocation, Captain," I replied, "that is not to be feared,
because our reservoirs are full."
"Just so; but they will only yield two days' supply of air. Now, for
thirty-six hours we have been hidden under the water, and already the heavy
atmosphere of the Nautilus requires renewal. In forty-eight hours our
reserve will be exhausted."
"Well, Captain, can we be delivered before forty-eight hours?"
"We will attempt it, at least, by piercing the wall that surrounds
us."
"On which side?"
"Sound will tell us. I am going to run the Nautilus aground on the
lower bank, and my men will attack the iceberg on the side that is least
thick."
Captain Nemo went out. Soon I discovered by a hissing noise that the
water was entering the reservoirs. The Nautilus sank slowly, and rested on
the ice at a depth of 350 yards, the depth at which the lower bank was
immersed.
"My friends," I said, "our situation is serious, but I rely on your
courage and energy."
"Sir," replied the Canadian, "I am ready to do anything for the
general safety."
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"Good! Ned," and I held out my hand to the Canadian.
"I will add," he continued, "that, being as handy with the pickaxe as
with the harpoon, if I can be useful to the Captain, he can command my
services."
"He will not refuse your help. Come, Ned!"
I led him to the room where the crew of the Nautilus were putting on
their cork-jackets. I told the Captain of Ned's proposal, which he
accepted. The Canadian put on his sea-costume, and was ready as soon as his
companions. When Ned was dressed, I re-entered the drawing-room, where the
panes of glass were open, and, posted near Conseil, I examined the ambient
beds that supported the Nautilus. Some instants after, we saw a dozen of
the crew set foot on the bank of ice, and among them Ned Land, easily known
by his stature. Captain Nemo was with them. Before proceeding to dig the
walls, he took the soundings, to be sure of working in the right direction.
Long sounding lines were sunk in the side walls, but after fifteen yards
they were again stopped by the thick wall. It was useless to attack it on
the ceiling-like surface, since the iceberg itself measured more than 400
yards in height. Captain Nemo then sounded the lower surface. There ten
yards of wall separated us from the water, so great was the thickness of
the ice-field. It was necessary, therefore, to cut from it a piece equal in
extent to the waterline of the Nautilus. There were about 6,000 cubic yards
to detach, so as to dig a hole by which we could descend to the ice-field.
The work had begun immediately and carried on with indefatigable energy.
Instead of digging round the Nautilus which would have involved greater
difficulty, Captain Nemo had an immense trench made at eight yards from the
port-quarter. Then the men set to work simultaneously with their screws on
several points of its circumference. Presently the pickaxe attacked this
compact matter vigorously, and large blocks were detached from the mass. By
a curious effect of specific gravity, these blocks, lighter than water,
fled, so to speak, to the vault of the tunnel, that increased in thickness
at the top in proportion as it diminished at the base. But that mattered
little, so long as the lower part grew thinner. After two
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hours' hard work, Ned Land came in exhausted. He and his comrades were
replaced by new workers, whom Conseil and I joined. The second lieutenant
of the Nautilus superintended us. The water seemed singularly cold, but I
soon got warm handling the pickaxe. My movements were free enough, although
they were made under a pressure of thirty atmospheres. When I re-entered,
after working two hours, to take some food and rest, I found a perceptible
difference between the pure fluid with which the Rouquayrol engine supplied
me and the atmosphere of the Nautilus, already charged with carbonic acid.
The air had not been renewed for forty-eight hours, and its vivifying
qualities were considerably enfeebled. However, after a lapse of twelve
hours, we had only raised a block of ice one yard thick, on the marked
surface, which was about 600 cubic yards! Reckoning that it took twelve
hours to accomplish this much it would take five nights and four days to
bring this enterprise to a satisfactory conclusion. Five nights and four
days! And we have only air enough for two days in the reservoirs! "Without
taking into account," said Ned, "that, even if we get out of this infernal
prison, we shall also be imprisoned under the iceberg, shut out from all
possible communication with the atmosphere." True enough! Who could then
foresee the minimum of time necessary for our deliverance? We might be
suffocated before the Nautilus could regain the surface of the waves? Was
it destined to perish in this ice-tomb, with all those it enclosed? The
situation was terrible. But everyone had looked the danger in the face, and
each was determined to do his duty to the last.
As I expected, during the night a new block a yard square was carried
away, and still further sank the immense hollow. But in the morning when,
dressed in my cork-jacket, I traversed the slushy mass at a temperature of
six or seven degrees below zero, I remarked that the side walls were
gradually closing in. The beds of water farthest from the trench, that were
not warmed by the men's work, showed a tendency to solidification. In
presence of this new and imminent danger, what would become of our chances
of safety,
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and how hinder the solidification of this liquid medium, that would burst
the partitions of the Nautilus like glass?
I did not tell my companions of this new danger. What was the good of
damping the energy they displayed in the painful work of escape? But when I
went on board again, I told Captain Nemo of this grave complication.
"I know it," he said, in that calm tone which could counteract the
most terrible apprehensions. "It is one danger more; but I see no way of
escaping it; the only chance of safety is to go quicker than
solidification. We must be beforehand with it, that is all."
On this day for several hours I used my pickaxe vigorously. The work
kept me up. Besides, to work was to quit the Nautilus, and breathe directly
the pure air drawn from the reservoirs, and supplied by our apparatus, and
to quit the impoverished and vitiated atmosphere. Towards evening the
trench was dug one yard deeper. When I returned on board, I was nearly
suffocated by the carbonic acid with which the air was filled -- ah! if we
had only the chemical means to drive away this deleterious gas. We had
plenty of oxygen; all this water contained a considerable quantity, and by
dissolving it with our powerful piles, it would restore the vivifying
fluid. I had thought well over it; but of what good was that, since the
carbonic acid produced by our respiration had invaded every part of the
vessel? To absorb it, it was necessary to fill some jars with caustic
potash, and to shake them incessantly. Now this substance was wanting on
board, and nothing could replace it. On that evening, Captain Nemo ought to
open the taps of his reservoirs, and let some pure air into the interior of
the Nautilus; without this precaution we could not get rid of the sense of
suffocation. The next day, March 26th, I resumed my miner's work in
beginning the fifth yard. The side walls and the lower surface of the
iceberg thickened visibly. It was evident that they would meet before the
Nautilus was able to disengage itself. Despair seized me for an instant; my
pickaxe nearly fell from my bands. What was the good of digging if I must
be suffocated, crushed by the water that was turning into stone? -- a
punishment that the ferocity of
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the savages even would not have invented! Just then Captain Nemo passed
near me. I touched his hand and showed him the walls of our prison. The
wall to port had advanced to at least four yards from the hull of the
Nautilus. The Captain understood me, and signed me to follow him. We went
on board. I took off my cork-jacket and accompanied him into the
drawing-room.
"M. Aronnax, we must attempt some desperate means, or we shall be
sealed up in this solidified water as in cement."
"Yes; but what is to be done?"
"Ah! if my Nautilus were strong enough to bear this pressure without
being crushed!"
"Well?" I asked, not catching the Captain's idea.
"Do you not understand," he replied, "that this congelation of water
will help us? Do you not see that by its solidification, it would burst
through this field of ice that imprisons us, as, when it freezes, it bursts
the hardest stones? Do you not perceive that it would be an agent of safety
instead of destruction?"
"Yes, Captain, perhaps. But, whatever resistance to crushing the
Nautilus possesses, it could not support this terrible pressure, and would
be flattened like an iron plate."
"I know it, sir. Therefore we must not reckon on the aid of nature,
but on our own exertions. We must stop this solidification. Not only will
the side walls be pressed together; but there is not ten feet of water
before or behind the Nautilus. The congelation gains on us on all sides."
"How long will the air in the reservoirs last for us to breathe on
board?"
The Captain looked in my face. "After to-morrow they will be empty!"
A cold sweat came over me. However, ought I to have been astonished at
the answer? On March 22, the Nautilus was in the open polar seas. We were
at 26°. For five days we had lived on the reserve on board. And what was
left of the respirable air must be kept for the workers. Even now, as I
write, my recollection is still so vivid that an involuntary terror seizes
me and my lungs seem to be without air. Meanwhile, Captain Nemo reflected
silently, and evidently
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an idea had struck him; but he seemed to reject it. At last, these words
escaped his lips:
"Boiling water!" he muttered.
"Boiling water?" I cried.
"Yes, sir. We are enclosed in a space that is relatively confined.
Would not jets of boiling water, constantly injected by the pumps, raise
the temperature in this part and stay the congelation?"
"Let us try it," I said resolutely.
"Let us try it, Professor."
The thermometer then stood at 7° outside. Captain Nemo took me to the
galleys, where the vast distillatory machines stood that furnished the
drinkable water by evaporation. They filled these with water, and all the
electric heat from the piles was thrown through the worms bathed in the
liquid. In a few minutes this water reached 100°. It was directed towards
the pumps, while fresh water replaced it in proportion. The heat developed
by the troughs was such that cold water, drawn up from the sea after only
having gone through the machines, came boiling into the body of the pump.
The injection was begun, and three hours after the thermometer marked 6°
below zero outside. One degree was gained. Two hours later the thermometer
only marked 4°.
"We shall succeed," I said to the Captain, after having anxiously
watched the result of the operation.
"I think," he answered, "that we shall not be crushed. We have no more
suffocation to fear."
During the night the temperature of the water rose to 1° below zero.
The injections could not carry it to a higher point. But, as the
congelation of the sea-water produces at least 2°, I was at least reassured
against the dangers of solidification.
The next day, March 27th, six yards of ice had been cleared, twelve
feet only remaining to be cleared away. There was yet forty-eight hours'
work. The air could not be renewed in the interior of the Nautilus. And
this day would make it worse. An intolerable weight oppressed me. Towards
three o'clock in the evening this feeling rose to a violent degree. Yawns
dislocated my jaws. My lungs panted
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as they inhaled this burning fluid, which became rarefied more and more. A
moral torpor took hold of me. I was powerless, almost unconscious. My brave
Conseil, though exhibiting the same symptoms and suffering in the same
manner, never left me. He took my hand and encouraged me, and I heard him
murmur, "Oh! if I could only not breathe, so as to leave more air for my
master!"
Tears came into my eyes on hearing him speak thus. If our situation to
all was intolerable in the interior, with what haste and gladness would we
put on our cork-jackets to work in our turn! Pickaxes sounded on the frozen
ice- beds. Our arms ached, the skin was torn off our hands. But what were
these fatigues, what did the wounds matter? Vital air came to the lungs! We
breathed! we breathed!
All this time no one prolonged his voluntary task beyond the
prescribed time. His task accomplished, each one handed in turn to his
panting companions the apparatus that supplied him with life. Captain Nemo
set the example, and submitted first to this severe discipline. When the
time came, he gave up his apparatus to another and returned to the vitiated
air on board, calm, unflinching, unmurmuring.
On that day the ordinary work was accomplished with unusual vigour.
Only two yards remained to be raised from the surface. Two yards only
separated us from the open sea. But the reservoirs were nearly emptied of
air. The little that remained ought to be kept for the workers; not a
particle for the Nautilus. When I went back on board, I was half
suffocated. What a night! I know not how to describe it. The next day my
breathing was oppressed. Dizziness accompanied the pain in my head and made
me like a drunken man. My companions showed the same symptoms. Some of the
crew had rattling in the throat.
On that day, the sixth of our imprisonment, Captain Nemo, finding the
pickaxes work too slowly, resolved to crush the ice-bed that still
separated us from the liquid sheet. This man's coolness and energy never
forsook him. He subdued his physical pains by moral force.
By his orders the vessel was lightened, that is to say, raised from
the ice-bed by a change of specific gravity.
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When it floated they towed it so as to bring it above the immense trench
made on the level of the water-line. Then, filling his reservoirs of water,
he descended and shut himself up in the hole.
Just then all the crew came on board, and the double door of
communication was shut. The Nautilus then rested on the bed of ice, which
was not one yard thick, and which the sounding leads had perforated in a
thousand places. The taps of the reservoirs were then opened, and a hundred
cubic yards of water was let in, increasing the weight of the Nautilus to
1,800 tons. We waited, we listened, forgetting our sufferings in hope. Our
safety depended on this last chance. Notwithstanding the buzzing in my
head, I soon heard the humming sound under the hull of the Nautilus. The
ice cracked with a singular noise, like tearing paper, and the Nautilus
sank.
"We are off!" murmured Conseil in my ear.
I could not answer him. I seized his hand, and pressed it
convulsively. All at once, carried away by its frightful overcharge, the
Nautilus sank like a bullet under the waters, that is to say, it fell as if
it was in a vacuum. Then all the electric force was put on the pumps, that
soon began to let the water out of the reservoirs. After some minutes, our
fall was stopped. Soon, too, the manometer indicated an ascending movement.
The screw, going at full speed, made the iron hull tremble to its very
bolts and drew us towards the north. But if this floating under the iceberg
is to last another day before we reach the open sea, I shall be dead first.
Half stretched upon a divan in the library, I was suffocating. My face
was purple, my lips blue, my faculties suspended. I neither saw nor heard.
All notion of time had gone from my mind. My muscles could not contract. I
do not know how many hours passed thus, but I was conscious of the agony
that was coming over me. I felt as if I was going to die. Suddenly I came
to. Some breaths of air penetrated my lungs. Had we risen to the surface of
the waves? Were we free of the iceberg? No! Ned and Conseil, my two brave
friends, were sacrificing themselves to save me. Some particles of air
still remained at the bottom of one apparatus.
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Instead of using it, they had kept it for me, and, while they were being
suffocated, they gave me life, drop by drop. I wanted to push back the
thing; they held my hands, and for some moments I breathed freely. I looked
at the clock; it was eleven in the morning. It ought to be the 28th of
March. The Nautilus went at a frightful pace, forty miles an hour. It
literally tore through the water. Where was Captain Nemo? Had he succumbed?
Were his companions dead with him? At the moment the manometer indicated
that we were not more than twenty feet from the surface. A mere plate of
ice separated us from the atmosphere. Could we not break it? Perhaps. In
any case the Nautilus was going to attempt it. I felt that it was in an
oblique position, lowering the stern, and raising the bows. The
introduction of water had been the means of disturbing its equilibrium.
Then, impelled by its powerful screw, it attacked the ice-field from
beneath like a formidable battering-ram. It broke it by backing and then
rushing forward against the field, which gradually gave way; and at last,
dashing suddenly against it, shot forwards on the ice-field, that crushed
beneath its weight. The panel was opened -- one might say torn off -- and
the pure air came in in abundance to all parts of the Nautilus.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.17
FROM CAPE HORN TO THE AMAZON
How I got on to the platform, I have no idea; perhaps the Canadian had
carried me there. But I breathed, I inhaled the vivifying sea-air. My two
companions were getting drunk with the fresh particles. The other unhappy
men had been so long without food, that they could not with impunity
indulge in the simplest aliments that were given them. We, on the contrary,
had no end to restrain ourselves; we could draw this air freely into our
lungs, and it was the breeze, the breeze alone, that filled us with this
keen enjoyment.
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"Ah!" said Conseil, "how delightful this oxygen is! Master need not
fear to breathe it. There is enough for everybody."
Ned Land did not speak, but he opened his jaws wide enough to frighten
a shark. Our strength soon returned, and, when I looked round me, I saw we
were alone on the platform. The foreign seamen in the Nautilus were
contented with the air that circulated in the interior; none of them had
come to drink in the open air.
The first words I spoke were words of gratitude and thankfulness to my
two companions. Ned and Conseil had prolonged my life during the last hours
of this long agony. All my gratitude could not repay such devotion.
"My friends," said I, "we are bound one to the other for ever, and I
am under infinite obligations to you."
"Which I shall take advantage of," exclaimed the Canadian.
"What do you mean?" said Conseil.
"I mean that I shall take you with me when I leave this infernal
Nautilus."
"Well," said Conseil, "after all this, are we going right?"
"Yes," I replied, "for we are going the way of the sun, and here the
sun is in the north."
"No doubt," said Ned Land; "but it remains to be seen whether he will
bring the ship into the Pacific or the Atlantic Ocean, that is, into
frequented or deserted seas."
I could not answer that question, and I feared that Captain Nemo would
rather take us to the vast ocean that touches the coasts of Asia and
America at the same time. He would thus complete the tour round the
submarine world, and return to those waters in which the Nautilus could
sail freely. We ought, before long, to settle this important point. The
Nautilus went at a rapid pace. The polar circle was soon passed, and the
course shaped for Cape Horn. We were off the American point, March 31st, at
seven o'clock in the evening. Then all our past sufferings were forgotten.
The remembrance of that imprisonment in the ice was effaced from our minds.
We only thought of the
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future. Captain Nemo did not appear again either in the drawing-room or on
the platform. The point shown each day on the planisphere, and, marked by
the lieutenant, showed me the exact direction of the Nautilus. Now, on that
evening, it was evident, to, my great satisfaction, that we were going back
to the North by the Atlantic. The next day, April 1st, when the Nautilus
ascended to the surface some minutes before noon, we sighted land to the
west. It was Terra del Fuego, which the first navigators named thus from
seeing the quantity of smoke that rose from the natives' huts. The coast
seemed low to me, but in the distance rose high mountains. I even thought I
had a glimpse of Mount Sarmiento, that rises 2,070 yards above the level of
the sea, with a very pointed summit, which, according as it is misty or
clear, is a sign of fine or of wet weather. At this moment the peak was
clearly defined against the sky. The Nautilus, diving again under the
water, approached the coast, which was only some few miles off. From the
glass windows in the drawing-room, I saw long seaweeds and gigantic fuci
and varech, of which the open polar sea contains so many specimens, with
their sharp polished filaments; they measured about 300 yards in length --
real cables, thicker than one's thumb; and, having great tenacity, they are
often used as ropes for vessels. Another weed known as velp, with leaves
four feet long, buried in the coral concretions, hung at the bottom. It
served as nest and food for myriads of crustacea and molluscs, crabs, and
cuttlefish. There seals and otters had splendid repasts, eating the flesh
of fish with sea-vegetables, according to the English fashion. Over this
fertile and luxuriant ground the Nautilus passed with great rapidity.
Towards evening it approached the Falkland group, the rough summits of
which I recognised the following day. The depth of the sea was moderate. On
the shores our nets brought in beautiful specimens of seaweed, and
particularly a certain fucus, the roots of which were filled with the best
mussels in the world. Geese and ducks fell by dozens on the platform, and
soon took their places in the pantry on board.
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When the last heights of the Falklands had disappeared from the
horizon, the Nautilus sank to between twenty and twenty-five yards, and
followed the American coast. Captain Nemo did not show himself. Until the
3rd of April we did not quit the shores of Patagonia, sometimes under the
ocean, sometimes at the surface. The Nautilus passed beyond the large
estuary formed by the Uraguay. Its direction was northwards, and followed
the long windings of the coast of South America. We had then made 1,600
miles since our embarkation in the seas of Japan. About eleven o'clock in
the morning the Tropic of Capricorn was crossed on the thirty-seventh
meridian, and we passed Cape Frio standing out to sea. Captain Nemo, to Ned
Land's great displeasure, did not like the neighbourhood of the inhabited
coasts of Brazil, for we went at a giddy speed. Not a fish, not a bird of
the swiftest kind could follow us, and the natural curiosities of these
seas escaped all observation.
This speed was kept up for several days, and in the evening of the 9th
of April we sighted the most westerly point of South America that forms
Cape San Roque. But then the Nautilus swerved again, and sought the lowest
depth of a submarine valley which is between this Cape and Sierra Leone on
the African coast. This valley bifurcates to the parallel of the Antilles,
and terminates at the mouth by the enormous depression of 9,000 yards. In
this place, the geological basin of the ocean forms, as far as the Lesser
Antilles, a cliff to three and a half miles perpendicular in height, and,
at the parallel of the Cape Verde Islands, another wall not less
considerable, that encloses thus all the sunk continent of the Atlantic.
The bottom of this immense valley is dotted with some mountains, that give
to these submarine places a picturesque aspect. I speak, moreover, from the
manuscript charts that were in the library of the Nautilus -- charts
evidently due to Captain Nemo's hand, and made after his personal
observations. For two days the desert and deep waters were visited by means
of the inclined planes. The Nautilus was furnished with long diagonal
broadsides which carried it to all elevations. But on the
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11th of April it rose suddenly, and land appeared at the mouth of the
Amazon River, a vast estuary, the embouchure of which is so considerable
that it freshens the sea-water for the distance of several leagues.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.18
THE POULPS
FOR several days the Nautilus kept off from the American coast.
Evidently it did not wish to risk the tides of the Gulf of Mexico or of the
sea of the Antilles. April 16th, we sighted Martinique and Guadaloupe from
a distance of about thirty miles. I saw their tall peaks for an instant.
The Canadian, who counted on carrying out his projects in the Gulf, by
either landing or hailing one of the numerous boats that coast from one
island to another, was quite disheartened. Flight would have been quite
practicable, if Ned Land had been able to take possession of the boat
without the Captain's knowledge. But in the open sea it could not be
thought of. The Canadian, Conseil, and I had a long conversation on this
subject. For six months we had been prisoners on board the Nautilus. We had
travelled 17,000 leagues; and, as Ned Land said, there was no reason why it
should come to an end. We could hope nothing from the Captain of the
Nautilus, but only from ourselves. Besides, for some time past he had
become graver, more retired, less sociable. He seemed to shun me. I met him
rarely. Formerly he was pleased to explain the submarine marvels to me; now
he left me to my studies, and came no more to the saloon. What change had
come over him? For what cause? For my part, I did not wish to bury with me
my curious and novel studies. I had now the power to write the true book of
the sea; and this book, sooner or later, I wished to see daylight. The land
nearest us was the archipelago of the Bahamas. There rose high submarine
cliffs covered with large weeds. It was about eleven o'clock when Ned Land
drew my attention to a formidable pricking,
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like the sting of an ant, which was produced by means of large seaweeds.
"Well," I said, "these are proper caverns for poulps, and I should not
be astonished to see some of these monsters."
"What!" said Conseil; "cuttlefish, real cuttlefish of the cephalopod
class?"
"No," I said, "poulps of huge dimensions."
"I will never believe that such animals exist," said Ned.
"Well," said Conseil, with the most serious air in the world, "I
remember perfectly to have seen a large vessel drawn under the waves by an
octopus's arm."
"You saw that?" said the Canadian.
"Yes, Ned."
"With your own eyes?"
"With my own eyes."
"Where, pray, might that be?"
"At St. Malo," answered Conseil.
"In the port?" said Ned, ironically.
"No; in a church," replied Conseil.
"In a church!" cried the Canadian.
"Yes; friend Ned. In a picture representing the poulp in question."
"Good!" said Ned Land, bursting out laughing.
"He is quite right," I said. "I have heard of this picture; but the
subject represented is taken from a legend, and you know what to think of
legends in the matter of natural history. Besides, when it is a question of
monsters, the imagination is apt to run wild. Not only is it supposed that
these poulps can draw down vessels, but a certain Olaus Magnus speaks of an
octopus a mile long that is more like an island than an animal. It is also
said that the Bishop of Nidros was building an altar on an immense rock.
Mass finished, the rock began to walk, and returned to the sea. The rock
was a poulp. Another Bishop, Pontoppidan, speaks also of a poulp on which a
regiment of cavalry could manoeuvre. Lastly, the ancient naturalists speak
of monsters whose mouths were like gulfs, and which were too large to pass
through the Straits of Gibraltar."
"But how much is true of these stories?" asked Conseil.
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"Nothing, my friends; at least of that which passes the limit of truth
to get to fable or legend. Nevertheless, there must be some ground for the
imagination of the story-tellers. One cannot deny that poulps and
cuttlefish exist of a large species, inferior, however, to the cetaceans.
Aristotle has stated the dimensions of a cuttlefish as five cubits, or nine
feet two inches. Our fishermen frequently see some that are more than four
feet long. Some skeletons of poulps are preserved in the museums of Trieste
and Montpelier, that measure two yards in length. Besides, according to the
calculations of some naturalists, one of these animals only six feet long
would have tentacles twenty-seven feet long. That would suffice to make a
formidable monster."
"Do they fish for them in these days?" asked Ned.
"If they do not fish for them, sailors see them at least. One of my
friends, Captain Paul Bos of Havre, has often affirmed that he met one of
these monsters of colossal dimensions in the Indian seas. But the most
astonishing fact, and which does not permit of the denial of the existence
of these gigantic animals, happened some years ago, in 1861."
"What is the fact?" asked Ned Land.
"This is it. In 1861, to the north-east of Teneriffe, very nearly in
the same latitude we are in now, the crew of the despatch-boat Alector
perceived a monstrous cuttlefish swimming in the waters. Captain Bouguer
went near to the animal, and attacked it with harpoon and guns, without
much success, for balls and harpoons glided over the soft flesh. After
several fruitless attempts the crew tried to pass a slip-knot round the
body of the mollusc. The noose slipped as far as the tail fins and there
stopped. They tried then to haul it on board, but its weight was so
considerable that the tightness of the cord separated the tail from the,
body, and, deprived of this ornament, he disappeared under the water."
"Indeed! is that a fact?"
"An indisputable fact, my good Ned. They proposed to name this poulp
'Bouguer's cuttlefish.'"
"What length was it?" asked the Canadian.
"Did it not measure about six yards?" said Conseil, who,
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posted at the window, was examining again the irregular windings of the
cliff.
"Precisely," I replied.
"Its head," rejoined Conseil, "was it not crowned with eight
tentacles, that beat the water like a nest of serpents?"
"Precisely."
"Had not its eyes, placed at the back of its head, considerable
development?"
"Yes, Conseil."
"And was not its mouth like a parrot's beak?"
"Exactly, Conseil."
"Very well! no offence to master," be replied, quietly; "if this is
not Bouguer's cuttlefish, it is, at least, one of its brothers."
I looked at Conseil. Ned Land hurried to the window.
"What a horrible beast!" he cried.
I looked in my turn, and could not repress a gesture of disgust.
Before my eyes was a horrible monster worthy to figure in the legends of
the marvellous. It was an immense cuttlefish, being eight yards long. It
swam crossways in the direction of the Nautilus with great speed, watching
us with its enormous staring green eyes. Its eight arms, or rather feet,
fixed to its head, that have given the name of cephalopod to these animals,
were twice as long as its body, and were twisted like the furies' hair. One
could see the 250 air- holes on the inner side of the tentacles. The
monster's mouth, a horned beak like a parrot's, opened and shut vertically.
Its tongue, a horned substance, furnished with several rows of pointed
teeth, came out quivering from this veritable pair of shears. What a freak
of nature, a bird's beak on a mollusc! Its spindle-like body formed a
fleshy mass that might weigh 4,000 to 5,000 lb.; the, varying colour
changing with great rapidity, according to the irritation of the animal,
passed successively from livid grey to reddish brown. What irritated this
mollusc? No doubt the presence of the Nautilus, more formidable than
itself, and on which its suckers or its jaws had no hold. Yet, what
monsters these poulps are! what vitality the Creator has given them! what
vigour in their movements! and they possess three hearts! Chance
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had brought us in presence of this cuttlefish, and I did not wish to lose
the opportunity of carefully studying this specimen of cephalopods. I
overcame the horror that inspired me, and, taking a pencil, began to draw
it.
"Perhaps this is the same which the Alector saw," said Conseil.
"No," replied the Canadian; "for this is whole, and the other had lost
its tail."
"That is no reason," I replied. "The arms and tails of these animals
are re-formed by renewal; and in seven years the tail of Bouguer's
cuttlefish has no doubt had time to grow."
By this time other poulps appeared at the port light. I counted seven.
They formed a procession after the Nautilus, and I heard their beaks
gnashing against the iron hull. I continued my work. These monsters kept in
the water with such precision that they seemed immovable. Suddenly the
Nautilus stopped. A shock made it tremble in every plate.
"Have we struck anything?" I asked.
"In any case," replied the Canadian, "we shall be free, for we are
floating."
The Nautilus was floating, no doubt, but it did not move. A minute
passed. Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant, entered the drawing-room.
I had not seen him for some time. He seemed dull. Without noticing or
speaking to us, he went to the panel, looked at the poulps, and said
something to his lieutenant. The latter went out. Soon the panels were
shut. The ceiling was lighted. I went towards the Captain.
"A curious collection of poulps?" I said.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Naturalist," he replied; "and we are going to fight
them, man to beast."
I looked at him. I thought I had not heard aright.
"Man to beast?" I repeated.
"Yes, sir. The screw is stopped. I think that the horny jaws of one of
the cuttlefish is entangled in the blades. That is what prevents our
moving."
"What are you going to do?"
"Rise to the surface, and slaughter this vermin."
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"A difficult enterprise."
"Yes, indeed. The electric bullets are powerless against the soft
flesh, where they do not find resistance enough to go off. But we shall
attack them with the hatchet."
"And the harpoon, sir," said the Canadian, "if you do not refuse my
help."
"I will accept it, Master Land."
"We will follow you," I said, and, following Captain Nemo, we went
towards the central staircase.
There, about ten men with boarding-hatchets were ready for the attack.
Conseil and I took two hatchets; Ned Land seized a harpoon. The Nautilus
had then risen to the surface. One of the sailors, posted on the top
ladderstep, unscrewed the bolts of the panels. But hardly were the screws
loosed, when the panel rose with great violence, evidently drawn by the
suckers of a poulp's arm. Immediately one of these arms slid like a serpent
down the opening and twenty others were above. With one blow of the axe,
Captain Nemo cut this formidable tentacle, that slid wriggling down the
ladder. Just as we were pressing one on the other to reach the platform,
two other arms, lashing the air, came down on the seaman placed before
Captain Nemo, and lifted him up with irresistible power. Captain Nemo
uttered a cry, and rushed out. We hurried after him.
What a scene! The unhappy man, seized by the tentacle and fixed to the
suckers, was balanced in the air at the caprice of this enormous trunk. He
rattled in his throat, he was stifled, he cried, "Help! help!" These words,
spoken in French, startled me! I had a fellow-countryman on board, perhaps
several! That heart-rending cry! I shall hear it all my life. The
unfortunate man was lost. Who could rescue him from that powerful pressure?
However, Captain Nemo had rushed to the poulp, and with one blow of the axe
had cut through one arm. His lieutenant struggled furiously against other
monsters that crept on the flanks of the Nautilus. The crew fought with
their axes. The Canadian, Conseil, and I buried our weapons in the fleshy
masses; a strong smell of musk penetrated the atmosphere. It was horrible!
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For one instant, I thought the unhappy man, entangled with the poulp,
would be torn from its powerful suction. Seven of the eight arms had been
cut off. One only wriggled in the air, brandishing the victim like a
feather. But just as Captain Nemo and his lieutenant threw themselves on
it, the animal ejected a stream of black liquid. We were blinded with it.
When the cloud dispersed, the cuttlefish had disappeared, and my
unfortunate countryman with it. Ten or twelve poulps now invaded the
platform and sides of the Nautilus. We rolled pell-mell into the midst of
this nest of serpents, that wriggled on the platform in the waves of blood
and ink. It seemed as though these slimy tentacles sprang up like the
hydra's heads. Ned Land's harpoon, at each stroke, was plunged into the
staring eyes of the cuttlefish. But my bold companion was suddenly
overturned by the tentacles of a monster he had not been able to avoid.
Ah! how my heart beat with emotion and horror! The formidable beak of
a cuttlefish was open over Ned Land. The unhappy man would be cut in two. I
rushed to his succour. But Captain Nemo was before me; his axe disappeared
between the two enormous jaws, and, miraculously saved, the Canadian,
rising, plunged his harpoon deep into the triple heart of the poulp.
"I owed myself this revenge!" said the Captain to the Canadian.
Ned bowed without replying. The combat had lasted a quarter of an
hour. The monsters, vanquished and mutilated, left us at last, and
disappeared under the waves. Captain Nemo, covered with blood, nearly
exhausted, gazed upon the sea that had swallowed up one of his companions,
and great tears gathered in his eyes.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.19
THE GULF STREAM
THIS terrible scene of the 20th of April none of us can ever forget. I
have written it under the influence of violent
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emotion. Since then I have revised the recital; I have read it to Conseil
and to the Canadian. They found it exact as to facts, but insufficient as
to effect. To paint such pictures, one must have the pen of the most
illustrious of our poets, the author of The Toilers of the Deep.
I have said that Captain Nemo wept while watching the waves; his grief
was great. It was the second companion he had lost since our arrival on
board, and what a death! That friend, crushed, stifled, bruised by the
dreadful arms of a poulp, pounded by his iron jaws, would not rest with his
comrades in the peaceful coral cemetery! In the midst of the struggle, it
was the despairing cry uttered by the unfortunate man that had torn my
heart. The poor Frenchman, forgetting his conventional language, had taken
to his own mother tongue, to utter a last appeal! Amongst the crew of the
Nautilus, associated with the body and soul of the Captain, recoiling like
him from all contact with men, I had a fellow-countryman. Did be alone
represent France in this mysterious association, evidently composed of
individuals of divers nationalities? It was one of these insoluble problems
that rose up unceasingly before my mind!
Captain Nemo entered his room, and I saw him no more for some time.
But that he was sad and irresolute I could see by the vessel, of which he
was the soul, and which received all his impressions. The Nautilus did not
keep on in its settled course; it floated about like a corpse at the will
of the waves. It went at random. He could not tear himself away from the
scene of the last struggle, from this sea that had devoured one of his men.
Ten days passed thus. It was not till the 1st of May that the Nautilus
resumed its northerly course, after having sighted the Bahamas at the mouth
of the Bahama Canal. We were then following the current from the largest
river to the sea, that has its banks, its fish, and its proper
temperatures. I mean the Gulf Stream. It is really a river, that flows
freely to the middle of the Atlantic, and whose waters do not mix with the
ocean waters. It is a salt river, salter than the surrounding sea. Its mean
depth is 1,500 fathoms, its mean breadth ten miles. In certain places the
current flows with the speed of two miles and a
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half an hour. The body of its waters is more considerable than that of all
the rivers in the globe. It was on this ocean river that the Nautilus then
sailed.
I must add that, during the night, the phosphorescent waters of the
Gulf Stream rivalled the electric power of our watch-light, especially in
the stormy weather that threatened us so frequently. May 8th, we were still
crossing Cape Hatteras, at the height of the North Caroline. The width of
the Gulf Stream there is seventy-five miles, and its depth 210 yards. The
Nautilus still went at random; all supervision seemed abandoned. I thought
that, under these circumstances, escape would be possible. Indeed, the
inhabited shores offered anywhere an easy refuge. The sea was incessantly
ploughed by the steamers that ply between New York or Boston and the Gulf
of Mexico, and overrun day and night by the little schooners coasting about
the several parts of the American coast. We could hope to be picked up. It
was a favourable opportunity, notwithstanding the thirty miles that
separated the Nautilus from the coasts of the Union. One unfortunate
circumstance thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was very bad. We
were nearing those shores where tempests are so frequent, that country of
waterspouts and cyclones actually engendered by the current of the Gulf
Stream. To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned Land
owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight only
could cure.
"Master," he said that day to me, "this must come to an end. I must
make a clean breast of it. This Nemo is leaving land and going up to the
north. But I declare to you that I have had enough of the South Pole, and I
will not follow him to the North."
"What is to be done, Ned, since flight is impracticable just now?"
"We must speak to the Captain," said he; "you said nothing when we
were in your native seas. I will speak, now we are in mine. When I think
that before long the Nautilus will be by Nova Scotia, and that there near
Newfoundland is a large bay, and into that bay the St. Lawrence
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empties itself, and that the St. Lawrence is my river, the river by Quebec,
my native town -- when I think of this, I feel furious, it makes my hair
stand on end. Sir, I would rather throw myself into the sea! I will not
stay here! I am stifled!"
The Canadian was evidently losing all patience. His vigorous nature
could not stand this prolonged imprisonment. His face altered daily; his
temper became more surly. I knew what he must suffer, for I was seized with
home- sickness myself. Nearly seven months had passed without our having
had any news from land; Captain Nemo's isolation, his altered spirits,
especially since the fight with the poulps, his taciturnity, all made me
view things in a different light.
"Well, sir?" said Ned, seeing I did not reply.
"Well, Ned, do you wish me to ask Captain Nemo his intentions
concerning us?"
"Yes, sir."
"Although he has already made them known?"
"Yes; I wish it settled finally. Speak for me, in my name only, if you
like."
"But I so seldom meet him. He avoids me."
"That is all the more reason for you to go to see him."
I went to my room. From thence I meant to go to Captain Nemo's. It
would not do to let this opportunity of meeting him slip. I knocked at the
door. No answer. I knocked again, then turned the handle. The door opened,
I went in. The Captain was there. Bending over his work-table, he had not
heard me. Resolved not to go without having spoken, I approached him. He
raised his head quickly, frowned, and said roughly, "You here! What do you
want?"
"To speak to you, Captain."
"But I am busy, sir; I am working. I leave you at liberty to shut
yourself up; cannot I be allowed the same?"
This reception was not encouraging; but I was determined to hear and
answer everything.
"Sir," I said coldly, "I have to speak to you on a matter that admits
of no delay."
"What is that, sir?" he replied, ironically. "Have you discovered
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something that has escaped me, or has the sea delivered up any new
secrets?"
We were at cross-purposes. But, before I could reply, he showed me an
open manuscript on his table, and said, in a more serious tone, "Here, M.
Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains the sum
of my studies of the sea; and, if it please God, it shall not perish with
me. This manuscript, signed with my name, complete with the history of my
life, will be shut up in a little floating case. The last survivor of all
of us on board the Nautilus will throw this case into the sea, and it will
go whither it is borne by the waves."
This man's name! his history written by himself! His mystery would
then be revealed some day.
"Captain," I said, "I can but approve of the idea that makes you act
thus. The result of your studies must not be lost. But the means you employ
seem to me to be primitive. Who knows where the winds will carry this case,
and in whose hands it will fall? Could you not use some other means? Could
not you, or one of yours -- "
"Never, sir!" he said, hastily interrupting me.
"But I and my companions are ready to keep this manuscript in store;
and, if you will put us at liberty -- "
"At liberty?" said the Captain, rising.
"Yes, sir; that is the subject on which I wish to question you. For
seven months we have been here on board, and I ask you to-day, in the name
of my companions and in my own, if your intention is to keep us here
always?"
"M. Aronnax, I will answer you to-day as I did seven months ago:
Whoever enters the Nautilus, must never quit it."
"You impose actual slavery upon us!"
"Give it what name you please."
"But everywhere the slave has the right to regain his liberty."
"Who denies you this right? Have I ever tried to chain you with an
oath?"
He looked at me with his arms crossed.
"Sir," I said, "to return a second time to this subject
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will be neither to your nor to my taste; but, as we have entered upon it,
let us go through with it. I repeat, it is not only myself whom it
concerns. Study is to me a relief, a diversion, a passion that could make
me forget everything. Like you, I am willing to live obscure, in the frail
hope of bequeathing one day, to future time, the result of my labours. But
it is otherwise with Ned Land. Every man, worthy of the name, deserves some
consideration. Have you thought that love of liberty, hatred of slavery,
can give rise to schemes of revenge in a nature like the Canadian's; that
he could think, attempt, and try -- "
I was silenced; Captain Nemo rose.
"Whatever Ned Land thinks of, attempts, or tries, what does it matter
to me? I did not seek him! It is not for my pleasure that I keep him on
board! As for you, M. Aronnax, you are one of those who can understand
everything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this first
time you have come to treat of this subject be the last, for a second time
I will not listen to you."
I retired. Our situation was critical. I related my conversation to my
two companions.
"We know now," said Ned, "that we can expect nothing from this man.
The Nautilus is nearing Long Island. We will escape, whatever the weather
may be."
But the sky became more and more threatening. Symptoms of a hurricane
became manifest. The atmosphere was becoming white and misty. On the
horizon fine streaks of cirrhous clouds were succeeded by masses of cumuli.
Other low clouds passed swiftly by. The swollen sea rose in huge billows.
The birds disappeared with the exception of the petrels, those friends of
the storm. The barometer fell sensibly, and indicated an extreme extension
of the vapours. The mixture of the storm glass was decomposed under the
influence of the electricity that pervaded the atmosphere. The tempest
burst on the 18th of May, just as the Nautilus was floating off Long
Island, some miles from the port of New York. I can describe this strife of
the elements! for, instead of fleeing to the depths of the sea, Captain
Nemo, by an unaccountable caprice, would brave it at the surface.
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The wind blew from the south-west at first. Captain Nemo, during the
squalls, had taken his place on the platform. He had made himself fast, to
prevent being washed overboard by the monstrous waves. I had hoisted myself
up, and made myself fast also, dividing my admiration between the tempest
and this extraordinary man who was coping with it. The raging sea was swept
by huge cloud-drifts, which were actually saturated with the waves. The
Nautilus, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing up like a mast,
rolled and pitched terribly. About five o'clock a torrent of rain fell,
that lulled neither sea nor wind. The hurricane blew nearly forty leagues
an hour. It is under these conditions that it overturns houses, breaks iron
gates, displaces twenty-four pounders. However, the Nautilus, in the midst
of the tempest, confirmed the words of a clever engineer, "There is no
well-constructed hull that cannot defy the sea." This was not a resisting
rock; it was a steel spindle, obedient and movable, without rigging or
masts, that braved its fury with impunity. However, I watched these raging
waves attentively. They measured fifteen feet in height, and 150 to 175
yards long, and their speed of propagation was thirty feet per second.
Their bulk and power increased with the depth of the water. Such waves as
these, at the Hebrides, have displaced a mass weighing 8,400 lb. They are
they which, in the tempest of December 23rd, 1864, after destroying the
town of Yeddo, in Japan, broke the same day on the shores of America. The
intensity of the tempest increased with the night. The barometer, as in
1860 at Reunion during a cyclone, fell seven-tenths at the close of day. I
saw a large vessel pass the horizon struggling painfully. She was trying to
lie to under half steam, to keep up above the waves. It was probably one of
the steamers of the line from New York to Liverpool, or Havre. It soon
disappeared in the gloom. At ten o'clock in the evening the sky was on
fire. The atmosphere was streaked with vivid lightning. I could not bear
the brightness of it; while the captain, looking at it, seemed to envy the
spirit of the tempest. A terrible noise filled the air, a complex noise,
made up of the howls of the crushed waves,
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the roaring of the wind, and the claps of thunder. The wind veered suddenly
to all points of the horizon; and the cyclone, rising in the east, returned
after passing by the north, west, and south, in the inverse course pursued
by the circular storm of the southern hemisphere. Ah, that Gulf Stream! It
deserves its name of the King of Tempests. It is that which causes those
formidable cyclones, by the difference of temperature between its air and
its currents. A shower of fire had succeeded the rain. The drops of water
were changed to sharp spikes. One would have thought that Captain Nemo was
courting a death worthy of himself, a death by lightning. As the Nautilus,
pitching dreadfully, raised its steel spur in the air, it seemed to act as
a conductor, and I saw long sparks burst from it. Crushed and without
strength I crawled to the panel, opened it, and descended to the saloon.
The storm was then at its height. It was impossible to stand upright in the
interior of the Nautilus. Captain Nemo came down about twelve. I heard the
reservoirs filling by degrees, and the Nautilus sank slowly beneath the
waves. Through the open windows in the saloon I saw large fish terrified,
passing like phantoms in the water. Some were struck before my eyes. The
Nautilus was still descending. I thought that at about eight fathoms deep
we should find a calm. But no! the upper beds were too violently agitated
for that. We had to seek repose at more than twenty-five fathoms in the
bowels of the deep. But there, what quiet, what silence, what peace! Who
could have told that such a hurricane had been let loose on the surface of
that ocean?
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.20
FROM LATITUDE 47° 24' TO LONGITUDE 170° 28'
IN CONSEQUENCE of the storm, we had been thrown eastward once more.
All hope of escape on the shores of New York or St. Lawrence had faded
away; and poor Ned, in despair, had isolated himself like Captain Nemo.
Conseil
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and I, however, never left each other. I said that the Nautilus had gone
aside to the east. I should have said (to be more exact) the north-east.
For some days, it wandered first on the surface, and then beneath it, amid
those fogs so dreaded by sailors. What accidents are due to these thick
fogs! What shocks upon these reefs when the wind drowns the breaking of the
waves! What collisions between vessels, in spite of their warning lights,
whistles, and alarm bells! And the bottoms of these seas look like a field
of battle, where still lie all the conquered of the ocean; some old and
already encrusted, others fresh and reflecting from their iron bands and
copper plates the brilliancy of our lantern.
On the 15th of May we were at the extreme south of the Bank of
Newfoundland. This bank consists of alluvia, or large heaps of organic
matter, brought either from the Equator by the Gulf Stream, or from the
North Pole by the counter-current of cold water which skirts the American
coast. There also are heaped up those erratic blocks which are carried
along by the broken ice; and close by, a vast charnel-house of molluscs,
which perish here by millions. The depth of the sea is not great at
Newfoundland -- not more than some hundreds of fathoms; but towards the
south is a depression of 1,500 fathoms. There the Gulf Stream widens. It
loses some of its speed and some of its temperature, but it becomes a sea.
It was on the 17th of May, about 500 miles from Heart's Content, at a
depth of more than 1,400 fathoms, that I saw the electric cable lying on
the bottom. Conseil, to whom I had not mentioned it, thought at first that
it was a gigantic sea-serpent. But I undeceived the worthy fellow, and by
way of consolation related several particulars in the laying of this cable.
The first one was laid in the years 1857 and 1858; but, after transmitting
about 400 telegrams, would not act any longer. In 1863 the engineers
constructed another one, measuring 2,000 miles in length, and weighing
4,500 tons, which was embarked on the Great Eastern. This attempt also
failed.
On the 25th of May the Nautilus, being at a depth of
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more than 1,918 fathoms, was on the precise spot where the rupture occurred
which ruined the enterprise. It was within 638 miles of the coast of
Ireland; and at half-past two in the afternoon they discovered that
communication with Europe had ceased. The electricians on board resolved to
cut the cable before fishing it up, and at eleven o'clock at night they had
recovered the damaged part. They made another point and spliced it, and it
was once more submerged. But some days after it broke again, and in the
depths of the ocean could not be recaptured. The Americans, however, were
not discouraged. Cyrus Field, the bold promoter of the enterprise, as he
had 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
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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
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than ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his proximity 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,
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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-Vertrieux, 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 47° 24', longitude 17° 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 2.21
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,
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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 2.22
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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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!
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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.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.23
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
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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
THE year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious
ReplyDeleteand puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to
mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the
public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were
particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels,
skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries, and
the Governments of several States on the two continents, were deeply
interested in the matter.
For some time past vessels had been met by "an enormous thing," a long
object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely larger
and more rapid in its movements than a whale.
The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books)
agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in
question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power of
locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If it was a
whale, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in science.
Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at divers times --
rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to this object a length
of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated opinions which set it
down as a mile in width and three in length -- we might fairly conclude
that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all dimensions admitted by the
learned ones of the day, if it existed at all. And that it did exist was an
undeniable fact; and, with that tendency which disposes the human mind in
favour of the
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marvellous, we can understand the excitement produced in the entire world
by this supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the list of fables,
the idea was out of the question.
On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the
Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass
five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at first
that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even prepared to
determine its exact position when two columns of water, projected by the
mysterious object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred and fifty feet up
into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had been submitted to the
intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor Higginson had to do neither
more nor less than with an aquatic mammal, unknown till then, which threw
up from its blow-boles columns of water mixed with air and vapour.
Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in
the Pacific Ocean, by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam
Navigation Company. But this extraordinary creature could transport itself
from one place to another with surprising velocity; as, in an interval of
three days, the Governor Higginson and the Columbus had observed it at two
different points of the chart, separated by a distance of more than seven
hundred nautical leagues.
Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the Helvetia, of
the Compagnie-Nationale, and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship
Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying between
the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the monster to each
other in 42° 15' N. lat. and 60° 35' W. long. In these simultaneous
observations they thought themselves justified in estimating the minimum
length of the mammal at more than three hundred and fifty feet, as the
Shannon and Helvetia were of smaller dimensions than it, though they
measured three hundred feet over all.
Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea
round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich
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islands, have never exceeded the length of sixty yards, if they attain
that.
In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion. They sang
of it in the cafes, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on the
stage. All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it. There appeared in
the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary creature, from the
white whale, the terrible "Moby Dick" of sub-arctic regions, to the immense
kraken, whose tentacles could entangle a ship of five hundred tons and
hurry it into the abyss of the ocean. The legends of ancient times were
even revived.
Then burst forth the unending argument between the believers and the
unbelievers in the societies of the wise and the scientific journals. "The
question of the monster" inflamed all minds. Editors of scientific
journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural, spilled seas of
ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing blood; for from the
sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.
During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried,
never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public. It was then
no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger seriously to
be avoided. The question took quite another shape. The monster became a
small island, a rock, a reef, but a reef of indefinite and shifting
proportions.
On the 5th of March, 1867, the Moravian, of the Montreal Ocean
Company, finding herself during the night in 27° 30' lat. and 72° 15'
long., struck on her starboard quarter a rock, marked in no chart for that
part of the sea. Under the combined efforts of the wind and its four
hundred horse- power, it was going at the rate of thirteen knots. Had it
not been for the superior strength of the hull of the Moravian, she would
have been broken by the shock and gone down with the 237 passengers she was
bringing home from Canada.
The accident happened about five o'clock in the morning, as the day
was breaking. The officers of the quarter-deck hurried to the after-part of
the vessel. They examined the sea with the most careful attention. They saw
nothing but a strong eddy about three cables' length distant, as if the
surface
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had been violently agitated. The bearings of the place were taken exactly,
and the Moravian continued its route without apparent damage. Had it struck
on a submerged rock, or on an enormous wreck? They could not tell; but, on
examination of the ship's bottom when undergoing repairs, it was found that
part of her keel was broken.
This fact, so grave in itself, might perhaps have been forgotten like
many others if, three weeks after, it had not been re-enacted under similar
circumstances. But, thanks to the nationality of the victim of the shock,
thanks to the reputation of the company to which the vessel belonged, the
circumstance became extensively circulated.
The 13th of April, 1867, the sea being beautiful, the breeze
favourable, the Scotia, of the Cunard Company's line, found herself in 15°
12' long. and 45° 37' lat. She was going at the speed of thirteen knots and
a half.
At seventeen minutes past four in the afternoon, whilst the passengers
were assembled at lunch in the great saloon, a slight shock was felt on the
hull of the Scotia, on her quarter, a little aft of the port-paddle.
The Scotia had not struck, but she had been struck, and seemingly by
something rather sharp and penetrating than blunt. The shock had been so
slight that no one had been alarmed, had it not been for the shouts of the
carpenter's watch, who rushed on to the bridge, exclaiming, "We are
sinking! we are sinking!" At first the passengers were much frightened, but
Captain Anderson hastened to reassure them. The danger could not be
imminent. The Scotia, divided into seven compartments by strong partitions,
could brave with impunity any leak. Captain Anderson went down immediately
into the hold. He found that the sea was pouring into the fifth
compartment; and the rapidity of the influx proved that the force of the
water was considerable. Fortunately this compartment did not hold the
boilers, or the fires would have been immediately extinguished. Captain
Anderson ordered the engines to be stopped at once, and one of the men went
down to ascertain the extent of the injury. Some minutes afterwards they
discovered the existence of a large hole, two yards in diameter, in the
ship's bottom. Such a
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leak could not be stopped; and the Scotia, her paddles half submerged, was
obliged to continue her course. She was then three hundred miles from Cape
Clear, and, after three days' delay, which caused great uneasiness in
Liverpool, she entered the basin of the company.
The engineers visited the Scotia, which was put in dry dock. They
could scarcely believe it possible; at two yards and a half below
water-mark was a regular rent, in the form of an isosceles triangle. The
broken place in the iron plates was so perfectly defined that it could not
have been more neatly done by a punch. It was clear, then, that the
instrument producing the perforation was not of a common stamp and, after
having been driven with prodigious strength, and piercing an iron plate 1
3/8 inches thick, had withdrawn itself by a backward motion.
Such was the last fact, which resulted in exciting once more the
torrent of public opinion. From this moment all unlucky casualties which
could not be otherwise accounted for were put down to the monster.
Upon this imaginary creature rested the responsibility of all these
shipwrecks, which unfortunately were considerable; for of three thousand
ships whose loss was annually recorded at Lloyd's, the number of sailing
and steam-ships supposed to be totally lost, from the absence of all news,
amounted to not less than two hundred!
Now, it was the "monster" who, justly or unjustly, was accused of
their disappearance, and, thanks to it, communication between the different
continents became more and more dangerous. The public demanded sharply that
the seas should at any price be relieved from this formidable cetacean. 1.
1. Member of the whale family.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.2
PRO AND CON
AT THE period when these events took place, I had just returned from a
scientific research in the disagreeable territory
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Page 12
of Nebraska, in the United States. In virtue of my office as Assistant
Professor in the Museum of Natural History in Paris, the French Government
had attached me to that expedition. After six months in Nebraska, I arrived
in New York towards the end of March, laden with a precious collection. My
departure for France was fixed for the first days in May. Meanwhile I was
occupying myself in classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and zoological
riches, when the accident happened to the Scotia.
I was perfectly up in the subject which was the question of the day.
How could I be otherwise? I had read and reread all the American and
European papers without being any nearer a conclusion. This mystery puzzled
me. Under the impossibility of forming an opinion, I jumped from one
extreme to the other. That there really was something could not be doubted,
and the incredulous were invited to put their finger on the wound of the
Scotia.
On my arrival at New York the question was at its height. The theory
of the floating island, and the unapproachable sandbank, supported by minds
little competent to form a judgment, was abandoned. And, indeed, unless
this shoal had a machine in its stomach, how could it change its position
with such astonishing rapidity?
From the same cause, the idea of a floating hull of an enormous wreck
was given up.
There remained, then, only two possible solutions of the question,
which created two distinct parties: on one side, those who were for a
monster of colossal strength; on the other, those who were for a submarine
vessel of enormous motive power.
But this last theory, plausible as it was, could not stand against
inquiries made in both worlds. That a private gentleman should have such a
machine at his command was not likely. Where, when, and how was it built?
and how could its construction have been kept secret? Certainly a
Government might possess such a destructive machine. And in these
disastrous times, when the ingenuity of man has multiplied the power of
weapons of war, it was possible that, without the
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knowledge of others, a State might try to work such a formidable engine.
But the idea of a war machine fell before the declaration of
Governments. As public interest was in question, and transatlantic
communications suffered, their veracity could not be doubted. But how admit
that the construction of this submarine boat had escaped the public eye?
For a private gentleman to keep the secret under such circumstances would
be very difficult, and for a State whose every act is persistently watched
by powerful rivals, certainly impossible.
Upon my arrival in New York several persons did me the honour of
consulting me on the phenomenon in question. I had published in France a
work in quarto, in two volumes, entitled Mysteries of the Great Submarine
Grounds. This book, highly approved of in the learned world, gained for me
a special reputation in this rather obscure branch of Natural History. My
advice was asked. As long as I could deny the reality of the fact, I
confined myself to a decided negative. But soon, finding myself driven into
a corner, I was obliged to explain myself point by point. I discussed the
question in all its forms, politically and scientifically; and I give here
an extract from a carefully-studied article which I published in the number
of the 30th of April. It ran as follows:
"After examining one by one the different theories, rejecting all
other suggestions, it becomes necessary to admit the existence of a marine
animal of enormous power.
"The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us. Soundings
cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths -- what beings live,
or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the waters --
what is the organisation of these animals, we can scarcely conjecture.
However, the solution of the problem submitted to me may modify the form of
the dilemma. Either we do know all the varieties of beings which people our
planet, or we do not. If we do not know them all -- if Nature has still
secrets in the deeps for us, nothing is more conformable to reason than to
admit the existence of fishes, or cetaceans of other kinds,
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or even of new species, of an organisation formed to inhabit the strata
inaccessible to soundings, and which an accident of some sort has brought
at long intervals to the upper level of the ocean.
"If, on the contrary, we do know all living kinds, we must necessarily
seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings already
classed; and, in that case, I should be disposed to admit the existence of
a gigantic narwhal.
"The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, often attains a length of
sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength
proportionate to its size, lengthen its destructive weapons, and you obtain
the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by the
officers of the Shannon, the instrument required by the perforation of the
Scotia, and the power necessary to pierce the hull of the steamer.
"Indeed, the narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd,
according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk has
the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried in the
bodies of whales, which the unicorn always attacks with success. Others
have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of ships, which
they bad pierced through and through, as a gimlet pierces a barrel. The
Museum of the Faculty of Medicine of Paris possesses one of these defensive
weapons, two yards and a quarter in length, and fifteen inches in diameter
at the base.
"Very well! suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the
animal ten times more powerful; launch it at the rate of twenty miles an
hour, and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required.
Until further information, therefore, I shall maintain it to be a
sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with a
real spur, as the armoured frigates, or the 'rams' of war, whose
massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time. Thus may
this puzzling phenomenon be explained, unless there be something over and
above all that one has ever conjectured, seen, perceived, or experienced;
which is just within the bounds of possibility."
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These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point,
I wished to shelter my dignity as professor, and not give too much cause
for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well when they do laugh. I
reserved for myself a way of escape. In effect, however, I admitted the
existence of the "monster." My article was warmly discussed, which procured
it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of partisans.
The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the imagination.
The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings. And
the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the only medium through which
these giants (against which terrestrial animals, such as elephants or
rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be produced or developed.
The industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from
this point of view. The Shipping and Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd's List,
the Packet-Boat, and the Maritime and Colonial Review, all papers devoted
to insurance companies which threatened to raise their rates of premium,
were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been pronounced. The
United States were the first in the field; and in New York they made
preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this narwhal. A frigate
of great speed, the Abraham Lincoln, was put in commission as soon as
possible. The arsenals were opened to Commander Farragut, who hastened the
arming of his frigate; but, as it always happens, the moment it was decided
to pursue the monster, the monster did not appear. For two months no one
heard it spoken of. No ship met with it. It seemed as if this unicorn knew
of the plots weaving around it. It had been so much talked of, even through
the Atlantic cable, that jesters pretended that this slender fly had
stopped a telegram on its passage and was making the most of it.
So when the frigate had been armed for a long campaign, and provided
with formidable fishing apparatus, no one could tell what course to pursue.
Impatience grew apace, when, on the 2nd of July, they learned that a
steamer of the line of San Francisco, from California to Shanghai, had
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seen the animal three weeks before in the North Pacific Ocean. The
excitement caused by this news was extreme. The ship was revictualled and
well stocked with coal.
Three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left Brooklyn pier, I received
a letter worded as follows: To M. ARONNAX,
Professor in the Museum of Paris,
Fifth Avenue Hotel,
New York.
SIR, -- If you will consent to join the Abraham Lincoln in this
expedition, the Government of the United States will with pleasure see
France represented in the enterprise. Commander Farragut has a cabin at
your disposal. Very cordially yours,
J.B. HOBSON,
Secretary of Marine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.3
I FORM MY RESOLUTION
THREE seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson's letter I no more
thought of pursuing the unicorn than of attempting the passage of the North
Sea. Three seconds after reading the letter of the honourable Secretary of
Marine, I felt that my true vocation, the sole end of my life, was to chase
this disturbing monster and purge it from the world.
But I had just returned from a fatiguing journey, weary and longing
for repose. I aspired to nothing more than again seeing my country, my
friends, my little lodging by the Jardin des Plantes, my dear and precious
collections -- but nothing could keep me back! I forgot all -- fatigue,
friends and collections -- and accepted without hesitation the offer of the
American Government.
"Besides," thought I, "all roads lead back to Europe; and the unicorn
may be amiable enough to hurry me towards the coast of France. This worthy
animal may allow
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Page 17
itself to be caught in the seas of Europe (for my particular benefit), and
I will not bring back less than half a yard of his ivory halberd to the
Museum of Natural History." But in the meanwhile I must seek this narwhal
in the North Pacific Ocean, which, to return to France, was taking the road
to the antipodes.
"Conseil," I called in an impatient voice.
Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had
accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the liking
well. He was quiet by nature, regular from principle, zealous from habit,
evincing little disturbance at the different surprises of life, very quick
with his hands, and apt at any service required of him; and, despite his
name, never giving advice -- even when asked for it.
Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led.
Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never
make an objection to pack his portmanteau for whatever country it might be,
or however far away, whether China or Congo. Besides all this, he had good
health, which defied all sickness, and solid muscles, but no nerves; good
morals are understood. This boy was thirty years old, and his age to that
of his master as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused for saying that I was
forty years old?
But Conseil had one fault: he was ceremonious to a degree, and would
never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes provoking.
"Conseil," said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make
preparations for my departure.
Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him
if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but this
time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the enterprise
might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of sinking a frigate as
easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for reflection even to the most
impassive man in the world. What would Conseil say?
"Conseil," I called a third time.
Conseil appeared.
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"Did you call, sir?" said he, entering.
"Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in
two hours."
"As you please, sir," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Not an instant to lose; lock in my trunk all travelling utensils,
coats, shirts, and stockings -- without counting, as many as you can, and
make haste."
"And your collections, sir?" observed Conseil.
"They will keep them at the hotel."
"We are not returning to Paris, then?" said Conseil.
"Oh! certainly," I answered, evasively, "by making a curve."
"Will the curve please you, sir?"
"Oh! it will be nothing; not quite so direct a road, that is all. We
take our passage in the Abraham, Lincoln."
"As you think proper, sir," coolly replied Conseil.
"You see, my friend, it has to do with the monster -- the famous
narwhal. We are going to purge it from the seas. A glorious mission, but a
dangerous one! We cannot tell where we may go; these animals can be very
capricious. But we will go whether or no; we have got a captain who is
pretty wide-awake."
Our luggage was transported to the deck of the frigate immediately. I
hastened on board and asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors
conducted me to the poop, where I found myself in the presence of a
good-looking officer, who held out his hand to me.
"Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?" said he.
"Himself," replied I. "Commander Farragut?"
"You are welcome, Professor; your cabin is ready for you."
I bowed, and desired to be conducted to the cabin destined for me.
The Abraham Lincoln had been well chosen and equipped for her new
destination. She was a frigate of great speed, fitted with high-pressure
engines which admitted a pressure of seven atmospheres. Under this the
Abraham Lincoln attained the mean speed of nearly eighteen knots and a
third
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an hour -- a considerable speed, but, nevertheless, insufficient to grapple
with this gigantic cetacean.
The interior arrangements of the frigate corresponded to its nautical
qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was in the after part,
opening upon the gunroom.
"We shall be well off here," said I to Conseil.
"As well, by your honour's leave, as a hermit-crab in the shell of a
whelk," said Conseil.
I left Conseil to stow our trunks conveniently away, and remounted the
poop in order to survey the preparations for departure.
At that moment Commander Farragut was ordering the last moorings to be
cast loose which held the Abraham Lincoln to the pier of Brooklyn. So in a
quarter of an hour, perhaps less, the frigate would have sailed without me.
I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and incredible
expedition, the recital of which may well meet with some suspicion.
But Commander Farragut would not lose a day nor an hour in scouring
the seas in which the animal had been sighted. He sent for the engineer.
"Is the steam full on?" asked he.
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
"Go ahead," cried Commander Farragut.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.4
NED LAND
CAPTAIN FARRAGUT was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he
commanded. His vessel and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the
question of the monster there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not
allow the existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in
it, as certain good women believe in the leviathan -- by faith, not by
reason. The monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it.
Either Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal,
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or the narwhal would kill the captain. There was no third course.
The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were
ever chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances of a
meeting, watching narrowly the vast surface of the ocean. More than one
took up his quarters voluntarily in the cross-trees, who would have cursed
such a berth under any other circumstances. As long as the sun described
its daily course, the rigging was crowded with sailors, whose feet were
burnt to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render it unbearable;
still the Abraham Lincoln had not yet breasted the suspected waters of the
Pacific. As to the ship's company, they desired nothing better than to meet
the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist it on board, and despatch it. They
watched the sea with eager attention.
Besides, Captain Farragut had spoken of a certain sum of two thousand
dollars, set apart for whoever should first sight the monster, were he
cabin-boy, common seaman, or officer.
I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the Abraham Lincoln.
For my own part I was not behind the others, and, left to no one my
share of daily observations. The frigate might have been called the Argus,
for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to protest by
his indifference against the question which so interested us all, and
seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on board.
I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with
every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever been
better armed. We possessed every known engine, from the harpoon thrown by
the hand to the barbed arrows of the blunderbuss, and the explosive balls
of the duck-gun. On the forecastle lay the perfection of a breech-loading
gun, very thick at the breech, and very narrow in the bore, the model of
which had been in the Exhibition of 1867. This precious weapon of American
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origin could throw with ease a conical projectile of nine pounds to a mean
distance of ten miles.
Thus the Abraham Lincoln wanted for no means of destruction; and, what
was better still she had on board Ned Land, the prince of harpooners.
Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who
knew no equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity, and
cunning he possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning whale
to escape the stroke of his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years of age; he was a tall man (more than
six feet high), strongly built, grave and taciturn, occasionally violent,
and very passionate when contradicted. His person attracted attention, but
above all the boldness of his look, which gave a singular expression to his
face.
Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little
communicative as Ned Land was, I must admit that he took a certain liking
for me. My nationality drew him to me, no doubt. It was an opportunity for
him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of Rabelais, which is
still in use in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner's family was
originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe of hardy fishermen when
this town belonged to France.
Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved
to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related his
fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his recital
took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to a Canadian
Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.
I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old
friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and
cemented amidst extreme dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to live
a hundred years longer, that I may have more time to dwell the longer on
your memory.
Now, what was Ned Land's opinion upon the question of the marine
monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was the
only one on board who did not share
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that universal conviction. He even avoided the subject, which I one day
thought it my duty to press upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th
July (that is to say, three weeks after our departure), the frigate was
abreast of Cape Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia.
We had crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan opened
less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were over the
Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.
Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and
another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up to
this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up the
conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various chances of
success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let me
speak without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.
"Well, Ned," said I, "is it possible that you are not convinced of the
existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any particular
reason for being so incredulous?"
The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering,
struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to collect
himself, and said at last, "Perhaps I have, Mr. Aronnax."
"But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the
great marine mammalia -- you ought to be the last to doubt under such
circumstances!"
"That is just what deceives you, Professor," replied Ned. "As a whaler
I have followed many a cetacean, harpooned a great number, and killed
several; but, however strong or well-armed they may have been, neither
their tails nor their weapons would have been able even to scratch the iron
plates of a steamer."
"But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhal have
pierced through and through."
"Wooden ships -- that is possible," replied the Canadian, "but I have
never seen it done; and, until further proof, I
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deny that whales, cetaceans, or sea-unicorns could ever produce the effect
you describe."
"Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction resting on the logic of
facts. I believe in the existence of a mammal powerfully organised,
belonging to the branch of vertebrata, like the whales, the cachalots, or
the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defence of great penetrating
power."
"Hum!" said the harpooner, shaking his head with the air of a man who
would not be convinced.
"Notice one thing, my worthy Canadian," I resumed. "If such an animal
is in existence, if it inhabits the depths of the ocean, if it frequents
the strata lying miles below the surface of the water, it must necessarily
possess an organisation the strength of which would defy all comparison."
"And why this powerful organisation?" demanded Ned.
"Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one's self in these
strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me. Let us admit that the
pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of
water thirty-two feet high. In reality the column of water would be
shorter, as we are speaking of sea water, the density of which is greater
than that of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as many times 32
feet of water as there are above you, so many times does your body bear a
pressure equal to that of the atmosphere, that is to say, 15 lb. for each
square inch of its surface. It follows, then, that at 320 feet this
pressure equals that of 10 atmospheres, of 100 atmospheres at 3,200 feet,
and of 1,000 atmospheres at 32,000 feet, that is, about 6 miles; which is
equivalent to saying that if you could attain this depth in the ocean, each
square three-eighths of an inch of the surface of your body would bear a
pressure of 5,600 lb. Ah! my brave Ned, do you know how many square inches
you carry on the surface of your body?"
"I have no idea, Mr. Aronnax."
"About 6,500; and as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15
lb. to the square inch, your 6,500 square inches bear at this moment a
pressure of 97,500 lb."
"Without my perceiving it?"
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Page 24
"Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed by such a
pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interior of your body with
equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibrium between the interior and exterior
pressure, which thus neutralise each other, and which allows you to bear it
without inconvenience. But in the water it is another thing."
"Yes, I understand," replied Ned, becoming more attentive; "because
the water surrounds me, but does not penetrate."
"Precisely, Ned: so that at 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea you
would undergo a pressure of 97,500 lb.; at 320 feet, ten times that
pressure; at 3,200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at 32,000
feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000 lb. -- that is to
say, that you would be flattened as if you had been drawn from the plates
of a hydraulic machine!"
"The devil!" exclaimed Ned.
"Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundred
yards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such depths --
of those whose surface is represented by millions of square inches, that is
by tens of millions of pounds, we must estimate the pressure they undergo.
Consider, then, what must be the resistance of their bony structure, and
the strength of their organisation to withstand such pressure!"
"Why!" exclaimed Ned Land, "they must be made of iron plates eight
inches thick, like the armoured frigates."
"As you say, Ned. And think what destruction such a mass would cause,
if hurled with the speed of an express train against the hull of a vessel."
"Yes -- certainly -- perhaps," replied the Canadian, shaken by these
figures, but not yet willing to give in.
"Well, have I convinced you?"
"You have convinced me of one thing, sir, which is that, if such
animals do exist at the bottom of the seas, they must necessarily be as
strong as you say."
"But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explain the
accident to the Scotia?"
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.5
AT A VENTURE
THE voyage of the Abraham Lincoln was for a long time marked by no
special incident. But one circumstance happened which showed the wonderful
dexterity of Ned Land, and proved what confidence we might place in him.
The 30th of June, the frigate spoke some American whalers, from whom
we learned that they knew nothing about the narwhal. But one of them, the
captain of the Monroe, knowing that Ned Land had shipped on board the
Abraham Lincoln, begged for his help in chasing a whale they had in sight.
Commander Farragut, desirous of seeing Ned Land at work, gave him
permission to go on board the Monroe. And fate served our Canadian so well
that, instead of one whale, he harpooned two with a double blow, striking
one straight to the heart, and catching the other after some minutes'
pursuit.
Decidedly, if the monster ever had to do with Ned Land's harpoon, I
would not bet in its favour.
The frigate skirted the south-east coast of America with great
rapidity. The 3rd of July we were at the opening of the Straits of
Magellan, level with Cape Vierges. But Commander Farragut would not take a
tortuous passage, but doubled Cape Horn.
The ship's crew agreed with him. And certainly it was possible that
they might meet the narwhal in this narrow pass. Many of the sailors
affirmed that the monster could not pass there, "that he was too big for
that!"
The 6th of July, about three o'clock in the afternoon, the Abraham
Lincoln, at fifteen miles to the south, doubled the solitary island, this
lost rock at the extremity of the American continent, to which some Dutch
sailors gave the name of their native town, Cape Horn. The course was taken
towards the north-west, and the next day the screw of the frigate was at
last beating the waters of the Pacific.
"Keep your eyes open!" called out the sailors.
And they were opened widely. Both eyes and glasses, a
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little dazzled, it is true, by the prospect of two thousand dollars, had
not an instant's repose.
I myself, for whom money had no charms, was not the least attentive on
board. Giving but few minutes to my meals, but a few hours to sleep,
indifferent to either rain or sunshine, I did not leave the poop of the
vessel. Now leaning on the netting of the forecastle, now on the taffrail,
I devoured with eagerness the soft foam which whitened the sea as far as
the eye could reach; and how often have I shared the emotion of the
majority of the crew, when some capricious whale raised its black back
above the waves! The poop of the vessel was crowded on a moment. The cabins
poured forth a torrent of sailors and officers, each with heaving breast
and troubled eye watching the course of the cetacean. I looked and looked
till I was nearly blind, whilst Conseil kept repeating in a calm voice:
"If, sir, you would not squint so much, you would see better!"
But vain excitement! The Abraham Lincoln checked its speed and made
for the animal signalled, a simple whale, or common cachalot, which soon
disappeared amidst a storm of abuse.
But the weather was good. The voyage was being accomplished under the
most favourable auspices. It was then the bad season in Australia, the July
of that zone corresponding to our January in Europe, but the sea was
beautiful and easily scanned round a vast circumference.
The 20th of July, the tropic of Capricorn was cut by 105° of
longitude, and the 27th of the same month we crossed the Equator on the
110th meridian. This passed, the frigate took a more decided westerly
direction, and scoured the central waters of the Pacific. Commander
Farragut thought, and with reason, that it was better to remain in deep
water, and keep clear of continents or islands, which the beast itself
seemed to shun (perhaps because there was not enough water for him!
suggested the greater part of the crew). The frigate passed at some
distance from the Marquesas and the Sandwich Islands, crossed the tropic of
Cancer, and made for the China Seas. We were on the theatre of the last
diversions
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of the monster: and, to say truth, we no longer lived on board. The entire
ship's crew were undergoing a nervous excitement, of which I can give no
idea: they could not eat, they could not sleep -- twenty times a day, a
misconception or an optical illusion of some sailor seated on the taff
rail, would cause dreadful perspirations, and these emotions, twenty times
repeated, kept us in a state of excitement so violent that a reaction was
unavoidable.
And truly, reaction soon showed itself. For three months, during which
a day seemed an age, the Abraham Lincoln furrowed all the waters of the
Northern Pacific, running at whales, making sharp deviations from her
course, veering suddenly from one tack to another, stopping suddenly,
putting on steam, and backing ever and anon at the risk of deranging her
machinery, and not one point of the Japanese or American coast was left
unexplored.
The warmest partisans of the enterprise now became its most ardent
detractors. Reaction mounted from the crew to the captain himself, and
certainly, had it not been for the resolute determination on the part of
Captain Farragut, the frigate would have headed due southward. This useless
search could not last much longer. The Abraham Lincoln had nothing to
reproach herself with, she had done her best to succeed. Never had an
American ship's crew shown more zeal or patience; its failure could not be
placed to their charge -- there remained nothing but to return.
This was represented to the commander. The sailors could not hide
their discontent, and the service suffered. I will not say there was a
mutiny on board, but after a reasonable period of obstinacy, Captain
Farragut (as Columbus did) asked for three days' patience. If in three days
the monster did not appear, the man at the helm should give three turns of
the wheel, and the Abraham Lincoln would make for the European seas.
This promise was made on the 2nd of November. It had the effect of
rallying the ship's crew. The ocean was watched with renewed attention.
Each one wished for a last glance in which to sum up his remembrance.
Glasses were used with feverish activity. It was a grand defiance given to
the giant
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narwhal, and he could scarcely fail to answer the summons and "appear."
Two days passed, the steam was at half pressure; a thousand schemes
were tried to attract the attention and stimulate the apathy of the animal
in case it should be met in those parts. Large quantities of bacon were
trailed in the wake of the ship, to the great satisfaction (I must say) of
the sharks. Small craft radiated in all directions round the Abraham
Lincoln as she lay to, and did not leave a spot of the sea unexplored. But
the night of the 4th of November arrived without the unveiling of this
submarine mystery.
The next day, the 5th of November, at twelve, the delay would (morally
speaking) expire; after that time, Commander Farragut, faithful to his
promise, was to turn the course to the south-east and abandon for ever the
northern regions of the Pacific.
The frigate was then in 31° 15' N. lat. and 136° 42' E. long. The
coast of Japan still remained less than two hundred miles to leeward. Night
was approaching. They had just struck eight bells; large clouds veiled the
face of the moon, then in its first quarter. The sea undulated peaceably
under the stern of the vessel.
At that moment I was leaning forward on the starboard netting.
Conseil, standing near me, was looking straight before him. The crew,
perched in the ratlines, examined the horizon which contracted and darkened
by degrees. Officers with their night glasses scoured the growing darkness:
sometimes the ocean sparkled under the rays of the moon, which darted
between two clouds, then all trace of light was lost in the darkness.
In looking at Conseil, I could see he was undergoing a little of the
general influence. At least I thought so. Perhaps for the first time his
nerves vibrated to a sentiment of curiosity.
"Come, Conseil," said I, "this is the last chance of pocketing the two
thousand dollars."
"May I be permitted to say, sir," replied Conseil, "that I never
reckoned on getting the prize; and, had the government
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Page 29
of the Union offered a hundred thousand dollars, it would have been none
the poorer."
"You are right, Conseil. It is a foolish affair after all, and one
upon which we entered too lightly. What time lost, what useless emotions!
We should have been back in France six months ago."
"In your little room, sir," replied Conseil, "and in your museum, sir;
and I should have already classed all your fossils, sir. And the Babiroussa
would have been installed in its cage in the Jardin des Plantes, and have
drawn all the curious people of the capital!"
"As you say, Conseil. I fancy we shall run a fair chance of being
laughed at for our pains."
"That's tolerably certain," replied Conseil, quietly; "I think they
will make fun of you, sir. And, must I say it -- ?"
"Go on, my good friend."
"Well, sir, you will only get your deserts."
"Indeed!"
"When one has the honour of being a savant as you are, sir, one should
not expose one's self to -- "
Conseil had not time to finish his compliment. In the midst of general
silence a voice had just been heard. It was the voice of Ned Land shouting:
"Look out there! The very thing we are looking for -- on our weather
beam!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.6
AT FULL STEAM
AT THIS cry the whole ship's crew hurried towards the harpooner --
commander, officers, masters, sailors, cabin- boys; even the engineers left
their engines, and the stokers their furnaces.
The order to stop her had been given, and the frigate now simply went
on by her own momentum. The darkness was then profound, and, however good
the Canadian's eyes
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were, I asked myself how he had managed to see, and what he had been able
to see. My heart beat as if it would break. But Ned Land was not mistaken,
and we all perceived the object he pointed to. At two cables' length from
the Abraham Lincoln, on the starboard quarter, the sea seemed to be
illuminated all over. It was not a mere phosphoric phenomenon. The monster
emerged some fathoms from the water, and then threw out that very intense
but mysterious light mentioned in the report of several captains. This
magnificent irradiation must have been produced by an agent of great
shining power. The luminous part traced on the sea an immense oval, much
elongated, the centre of which condensed a burning heat, whose overpowering
brilliancy died out by successive gradations.
"It is only a massing of phosphoric particles," cried one of the
officers.
"No, sir, certainly not," I replied. "That brightness is of an
essentially electrical nature. Besides, see, see! it moves; it is moving
forwards, backwards; it is darting towards us!"
A general cry arose from the frigate.
"Silence!" said the captain. "Up with the helm, reverse the engines."
The steam was shut off, and the Abraham Lincoln, beating to port,
described a semicircle.
"Right the helm, go ahead," cried the captain.
These orders were executed, and the frigate moved rapidly from the
burning light.
I was mistaken. She tried to sheer off, but the supernatural animal
approached with a velocity double her own.
We gasped for breath. Stupefaction more than fear made us dumb and
motionless. The animal gained on us, sporting with the waves. It made the
round of the frigate, which was then making fourteen knots, and enveloped
it with its electric rings like luminous dust.
Then it moved away two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent track,
like those volumes of steam that the express trains leave behind. All at
once from the dark line of the horizon whither it retired to gain its
momentum, the monster rushed suddenly towards the Abraham Lincoln with
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alarming rapidity, stopped suddenly about twenty feet from the hull, and
died out -- not diving under the water, for its brilliancy did not abate --
but suddenly, and as if the source of this brilliant emanation was
exhausted. Then it re- appeared on the other side of the vessel, as if it
had turned and slid under the hull. Any moment a collision might have
occurred which would have been fatal to us. However, I was astonished at
the manoeuvres of the frigate. She fled and did not attack.
On the captain's face, generally so impassive, was an expression of
unaccountable astonishment.
"Mr. Aronnax," he said, "I do not know with what formidable being I
have to deal, and I will not imprudently risk my frigate in the midst of
this darkness. Besides, how attack this unknown thing, how defend one's
self from it? Wait for daylight, and the scene will change."
"You have no further doubt, captain, of the nature of the animal?"
"No, sir; it is evidently a gigantic narwhal, and an electric one."
"Perhaps," added I, "one can only approach it with a torpedo."
"Undoubtedly," replied the captain, "if it possesses such dreadful
power, it is the most terrible animal that ever was created. That is why,
sir, I must be on my guard."
The crew were on their feet all night. No one thought of sleep. The
Abraham Lincoln, not being able to struggle with such velocity, had
moderated its pace, and sailed at half speed. For its part, the narwhal,
imitating the frigate, let the waves rock it at will, and seemed decided
not to leave the scene of the struggle. Towards midnight, however, it
disappeared, or, to use a more appropriate term, it "died out" like a large
glow-worm. Had it fled? One could only fear, not hope it. But at seven
minutes to one o'clock in the morning a deafening whistling was heard, like
that produced by a body of water rushing with great violence.
The captain, Ned Land, and I were then on the poop, eagerly peering
through the profound darkness.
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"Ned Land," asked the commander, "you have often heard the roaring of
whales?"
"Often, sir; but never such whales the sight of which brought me in
two thousand dollars. If I can only approach within four harpoons' length
of it!"
"But to approach it," said the commander, "I ought to put a whaler at
your disposal?"
"Certainly, sir."
"That will be trifling with the lives of my men."
"And mine too," simply said the harpooner.
Towards two o'clock in the morning, the burning light reappeared, not
less intense, about five miles to windward of the Abraham Lincoln.
Notwithstanding the distance, and the noise of the wind and sea, one heard
distinctly the loud strokes of the animal's tail, and even its panting
breath. It seemed that, at the moment that the enormous narwhal had come to
take breath at the surface of the water, the air was engulfed in its lungs,
like the steam in the vast cylinders of a machine of two thousand
horse-power.
"Hum!" thought I, "a whale with the strength of a cavalry regiment
would be a pretty whale!"
We were on the qui vive till daylight, and prepared for the combat.
The fishing implements were laid along the hammock nettings. The second
lieutenant loaded the blunder- busses, which could throw harpoons to the
distance of a mile, and long duck-guns, with explosive bullets, which
inflicted mortal wounds even to the most terrible animals. Ned Land
contented himself with sharpening his harpoon -- a terrible weapon in his
hands.
At six o'clock day began to break; and, with the first glimmer of
light, the electric light of the narwhal disappeared. At seven o'clock the
day was sufficiently advanced, but a very thick sea fog obscured our view,
and the best spy- glasses could not pierce it. That caused disappointment
and anger.
I climbed the mizzen-mast. Some officers were already perched on the
mast-heads. At eight o'clock the fog lay heavily on the waves, and its
thick scrolls rose little by little.
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The horizon grew wider and clearer at the same time. Suddenly, just as on
the day before, Ned Land's voice was heard:
"The thing itself on the port quarter!" cried the harpooner.
Every eye was turned towards the point indicated. There, a mile and a
half from the frigate, a long blackish body emerged a yard above the waves.
Its tail, violently agitated, produced a considerable eddy. Never did a
tail beat the sea with such violence. An immense track, of dazzling
whiteness, marked the passage of the animal, and described a long curve.
The frigate approached the cetacean. I examined it thoroughly.
The reports of the Shannon and of the Helvetia had rather exaggerated
its size, and I estimated its length at only two hundred and fifty feet. As
to its dimensions, I could only conjecture them to be admirably
proportioned. While I watched this phenomenon, two jets of steam and water
were ejected from its vents, and rose to the height of 120 feet; thus I
ascertained its way of breathing. I concluded definitely that it belonged
to the vertebrate branch, class mammalia.
The crew waited impatiently for their chief's orders. The latter,
after having observed the animal attentively, called the engineer. The
engineer ran to him.
"Sir," said the commander, "you have steam up?"
"Yes, sir," answered the engineer.
"Well, make up your fires and put on all steam."
Three hurrahs greeted this order. The time for the struggle had
arrived. Some moments after, the two funnels of the frigate vomited
torrents of black smoke, and the bridge quaked under the trembling of the
boilers.
The Abraham Lincoln, propelled by her wonderful screw, went straight
at the animal. The latter allowed it to come within half a cable's length;
then, as if disdaining to dive, it took a little turn, and stopped a short
distance off.
This pursuit lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour, without the
frigate gaining two yards on the cetacean. it
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Page 34
was quite evident that at that rate we should never come up with it.
"Well, Mr. Land," asked the captain, "do you advise me to put the
boats out to sea?"
"No, sir," replied Ned Land; "because we shall not take that beast
easily."
"What shall we do then?"
"Put on more steam if you can, sir. With your leave, I mean to post
myself under the bowsprit, and, if we get within harpooning distance, I
shall throw my harpoon."
"Go, Ned," said the captain. "Engineer, put on more pressure."
Ned Land went to his post. The fires were increased, the screw
revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the
valves. We heaved the log, and calculated that the Abraham Lincoln was
going at the rate of 18 1/2 miles an hour.
But the accursed animal swam at the same speed.
For a whole hour the frigate kept up this pace, without gaining six
feet. It was humiliating for one of the swiftest sailers in the American
navy. A stubborn anger seized the crew; the sailors abused the monster,
who, as before, disdained to answer them; the captain no longer contented
himself with twisting his beard -- he gnawed it.
The engineer was called again.
"You have turned full steam on?"
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
The speed of the Abraham Lincoln increased. Its masts trembled down to
their stepping holes, and the clouds of smoke could hardly find way out of
the narrow funnels.
They heaved the log a second time.
"Well?" asked the captain of the man at the wheel.
"Nineteen miles and three-tenths, sir."
"Clap on more steam."
The engineer obeyed. The manometer showed ten degrees. But the
cetacean grew warm itself, no doubt; for without straining itself, it made
19 3/10 miles.
What a pursuit! No, I cannot describe the emotion that vibrated
through me. Ned Land kept his post, harpoon in
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Page 35
hand. Several times the animal let us gain upon it. -- "We shall catch it!
we shall catch it!" cried the Canadian. But just as he was going to strike,
the cetacean stole away with a rapidity that could not be estimated at less
than thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied
the frigate, going round and round it. A cry of fury broke from everyone!
At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o'clock in the
morning.
The captain then decided to take more direct means.
"Ah!" said he, "that animal goes quicker than the Abraham Lincoln.
Very well! we will see whether it will escape these conical bullets. Send
your men to the forecastle, sir."
The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and slewed round. But the
shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.
"Another, more to the right," cried the commander, "and five dollars
to whoever will hit that infernal beast."
An old gunner with a grey beard -- that I can see now -- with steady
eye and grave face, went up to the gun and took a long aim. A loud report
was heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew.
The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, and, sliding off the
rounded surface, was lost in two miles depth of sea.
The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said:
"I will pursue that beast till my frigate bursts up."
"Yes," answered I; "and you will be quite right to do it."
I wished the beast would exhaust itself, and not be insensible to
fatigue like a steam engine. But it was of no use. Hours passed, without
its showing any signs of exhaustion.
However, it must be said in praise of the Abraham Lincoln that she
struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance she made under
three hundred miles during this unlucky day, November the 6th. But night
came on, and overshadowed the rough ocean.
Now I thought our expedition was at an end, and that we should never
again see the extraordinary animal. I was mistaken. At ten minutes to
eleven in the evening, the electric
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Page 36
light reappeared three miles to windward of the frigate, as pure, as
intense as during the preceding night.
The narwhal seemed motionless; perhaps, tired with its day's work, it
slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. Now was a
chance of which the captain resolved to take advantage.
He gave his orders. The Abraham Lincoln kept up half- steam, and
advanced cautiously so as not to awake its adversary. It is no rare thing
to meet in the middle of the ocean whales so sound asleep that they can be
successfully attacked, and Ned Land had harpooned more than one during its
sleep. The Canadian went to take his place again under the bowsprit.
The frigate approached noiselessly, stopped at two cables' lengths
from the animal, and following its track. No one breathed; a deep silence
reigned on the bridge. We were not a hundred feet from the burning focus,
the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.
At this moment, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw below me Ned
Land grappling the martingale in one hand, brandishing his terrible harpoon
in the other, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal. Suddenly his
arm straightened, and the harpoon was thrown; I heard the sonorous stroke
of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body. The electric light
went out suddenly, and two enormous waterspouts broke over the bridge of
the frigate, rushing like a torrent from stem to stern, overthrowing men,
and breaking the lashings of the spars. A fearful shock followed, and,
thrown over the rail without having time to stop myself, I fell into the
sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.7
AN UNKNOWN SPECIES OF WHALE
THIS unexpected fall so stunned me that I have no clear recollection
of my sensations at the time. I was at first drawn down to a depth of about
twenty feet. I am a good swimmer
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Page 37
(though without pretending to rival Byron or Edgar Poe, who were masters of
the art), and in that plunge I did not lose my presence of mind. Two
vigorous strokes brought me to the surface of the water. My first care was
to look for the frigate. Had the crew seen me disappear? Had the Abraham
Lincoln veered round? Would the captain put out a boat? Might I hope to be
saved?
The darkness was intense. I caught a glimpse of a black mass
disappearing in the east, its beacon lights dying out in the distance. It
was the frigate! I was lost.
"Help, help!" I shouted, swimming towards the Abraham Lincoln in
desperation.
My clothes encumbered me; they seemed glued to my body, and paralysed
my movements.
I was sinking! I was suffocating!
"Help!"
This was my last cry. My mouth filled with water; I struggled against
being drawn down the abyss. Suddenly my clothes were seized by a strong
hand, and I felt myself quickly drawn up to the surface of the sea; and I
heard, yes, I heard these words pronounced in my ear:
"If master would be so good as to lean on my shoulder, master would
swim with much greater ease."
I seized with one hand my faithful Conseil's arm.
"Is it you?" said I, "you?"
"Myself," answered Conseil; "and waiting master's orders."
"That shock threw you as well as me into the sea?"
"No; but, being in my master's service, I followed him."
The worthy fellow thought that was but natural.
"And the frigate?" I asked.
"The frigate?" replied Conseil, turning on his back; "I think that
master had better not count too much on her."
"You think so?"
"I say that, at the time I threw myself into the sea, I heard the men
at the wheel say, 'The screw and the rudder are broken.'
"Broken?"
"Yes, broken by the monster's teeth. It is the only injury
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the Abraham Lincoln has sustained. But it is a bad look-out for us -- she
no longer answers her helm."
"Then we are lost!"
"Perhaps so," calmly answered Conseil. "However, we have still several
hours before us, and one can do a good deal in some hours."
Conseil's imperturbable coolness set me up again. I swam more
vigorously; but, cramped by my clothes, which stuck to me like a leaden
weight, I felt great difficulty in bearing up. Conseil saw this.
"Will master let me make a slit?" said he; and, slipping an open knife
under my clothes, he ripped them up from top to bottom very rapidly. Then
he cleverly slipped them off me, while I swam for both of us.
Then I did the same for Conseil, and we continued to swim near to each
other.
Nevertheless, our situation was no less terrible. Perhaps our
disappearance had not been noticed; and, if it had been, the frigate could
not tack, being without its helm. Conseil argued on this supposition, and
laid his plans accordingly. This quiet boy was perfectly self-possessed. We
then decided that, as our only chance of safety was being picked up by the
Abraham Lincoln's boats, we ought to manage so as to wait for them as long
as possible. I resolved then to husband our strength, so that both should
not be exhausted at the same time; and this is how we managed: while one of
us lay on our back, quite still, with arms crossed, and legs stretched out,
the other would swim and push the other on in front. This towing business
did not last more than ten minutes each; and relieving each other thus, we
could swim on for some hours, perhaps till day-break. Poor chance! but hope
is so firmly rooted in the heart of man! Moreover, there were two of us.
Indeed I declare (though it may seem improbable) if I sought to destroy all
hope -- if I wished to despair, I could not.
The collision of the frigate with the cetacean had occurred about
eleven o'clock in the evening before. I reckoned then we should have eight
hours to swim before sunrise, an operation quite practicable if we relieved
each other. The
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sea, very calm, was in our favour. Sometimes I tried to pierce the intense
darkness that was only dispelled by the phosphorescence caused by our
movements. I watched the luminous waves that broke over my hand, whose
mirror-like surface was spotted with silvery rings. One might have said
that we were in a bath of quicksilver.
Near one o'clock in the morning, I was seized with dreadful fatigue.
My limbs stiffened under the strain of violent cramp. Conseil was obliged
to keep me up, and our preservation devolved on him alone. I heard the poor
boy pant; his breathing became short and hurried. I found that he could not
keep up much longer.
"Leave me! leave me!" I said to him.
"Leave my master? Never!" replied he. "I would drown first."
Just then the moon appeared through the fringes of a thick cloud that
the wind was driving to the east. The surface of the sea glittered with its
rays. This kindly light reanimated us. My head got better again. I looked
at all points of the horizon. I saw the frigate! She was five miles from
us, and looked like a dark mass, hardly discernible. But no boats!
I would have cried out. But what good would it have been at such a
distance! My swollen lips could utter no sounds. Conseil could articulate
some words, and I heard him repeat at intervals, "Help! help!"
Our movements were suspended for an instant; we listened. It might be
only a singing in the ear, but it seemed to me as if a cry answered the cry
from Conseil.
"Did you hear?" I murmured.
"Yes! Yes!"
And Conseil gave one more despairing cry.
This time there was no mistake! A human voice responded to ours! Was
it the voice of another unfortunate creature, abandoned in the middle of
the ocean, some other victim of the shock sustained by the vessel? Or
rather was it a boat from the frigate, that was hailing us in the darkness?
Conseil made a last effort, and, leaning on my shoulder, while I
struck out in a desperate effort, he raised himself half out of the water,
then fell back exhausted.
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"What did you see?"
"I saw -- " murmured he; "I saw -- but do not talk -- reserve all your
strength!"
What had he seen? Then, I know not why, the thought of the monster
came into my head for the first time! But that voice! The time is past for
Jonahs to take refuge in whales' bellies! However, Conseil was towing me
again. He raised his head sometimes, looked before us, and uttered a cry of
recognition, which was responded to by a voice that came nearer and nearer.
I scarcely heard it. My strength was exhausted; my fingers stiffened; my
hand afforded me support no longer; my mouth, convulsively opening, filled
with salt water. Cold crept over me. I raised my head for the last time,
then I sank.
At this moment a hard body struck me. I clung to it: then I felt that
I was being drawn up, that I was brought to the surface of the water, that
my chest collapsed -- I fainted.
It is certain that I soon came to, thanks to the vigorous rubbings
that I received. I half opened my eyes.
"Conseil!" I murmured.
"Does master call me?" asked Conseil.
Just then, by the waning light of the moon which was sinking down to
the horizon, I saw a face which was not Conseil's and which I immediately
recognised.
"Ned!" I cried.
"The same, sir, who is seeking his prize!" replied the Canadian.
"Were you thrown into the sea by the shock to the frigate?"
"Yes, Professor; but more fortunate than you, I was able to find a
footing almost directly upon a floating island."
"An island?"
"Or, more correctly speaking, on our gigantic narwhal."
"Explain yourself, Ned!"
"Only I soon found out why my harpoon had not entered its skin and was
blunted."
"Why, Ned, why?"
"Because, Professor, that beast is made of sheet iron."
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The Canadian's last words produced a sudden revolution in my brain. I
wriggled myself quickly to the top of the being, or object, half out of the
water, which served us for a refuge. I kicked it. It was evidently a hard,
impenetrable body, and not the soft substance that forms the bodies of the
great marine mammalia. But this hard body might be a bony covering, like
that of the antediluvian animals; and I should be free to class this
monster among amphibious reptiles, such as tortoises or alligators.
Well, no! the blackish back that supported me was smooth, polished,
without scales. The blow produced a metallic sound; and, incredible though
it may be, it seemed, I might say, as if it was made of riveted plates.
There was no doubt about it! This monster, this natural phenomenon
that had puzzled the learned world, and overthrown and misled the
imagination of seamen of both hemispheres, it must be owned was a still
more astonishing phenomenon, inasmuch as it was a simply human
construction.
We had no time to lose, however. We were lying upon the back of a sort
of submarine boat, which appeared (as far as I could judge) like a huge
fish of steel. Ned Land's mind was made up on this point. Conseil and I
could only agree with him.
Just then a bubbling began at the back of this strange thing (which
was evidently propelled by a screw), and it began to move. We had only just
time to seize hold of the upper part, which rose about seven feet out of
the water, and happily its speed was not great.
"As long as it sails horizontally," muttered Ned Land, "I do not mind;
but, if it takes a fancy to dive, I would not give two straws for my life."
The Canadian might have said still less. It became really necessary to
communicate with the beings, whatever they were, shut up inside the
machine. I searched all over the outside for an aperture, a panel, or a
manhole, to use a technical expression; but the lines of the iron rivets,
solidly driven into the joints of the iron plates, were clear and
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Page 42
uniform. Besides, the moon disappeared then, and left us in total darkness.
At last this long night passed. My indistinct remembrance prevents my
describing all the impressions it made. I can only recall one circumstance.
During some lulls of the wind and sea, I fancied I heard several times
vague sounds, a sort of fugitive harmony produced by words of command. What
was, then, the mystery of this submarine craft, of which the whole world
vainly sought an explanation? What kind of beings existed in this strange
boat? What mechanical agent caused its prodigious speed?
Daybreak appeared. The morning mists surrounded us, but they soon
cleared off. I was about to examine the hull, which formed on deck a kind
of horizontal platform, when I felt it gradually sinking.
"Oh! confound it!" cried Ned Land, kicking the resounding plate.
"Open, you inhospitable rascals!"
Happily the sinking movement ceased. Suddenly a noise, like iron works
violently pushed aside, came from the interior of the boat. One iron plate
was moved, a man appeared, uttered an odd cry, and disappeared immediately.
Some moments after, eight strong men, with masked faces, appeared
noiselessly, and drew us down into their formidable machine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.8
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
THIS forcible abduction, so roughly carried out, was accomplished with
the rapidity of lightning. I shivered all over. Whom had we to deal with?
No doubt some new sort of pirates, who explored the sea in their own way.
Hardly had the narrow panel closed upon me, when I was enveloped in
darkness. My eyes, dazzled with the outer light, could distinguish nothing.
I felt my naked feet cling to the rungs of an iron ladder. Ned Land and
Conseil, firmly seized, followed
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me. At the bottom of the ladder, a door opened, and shut after us
immediately with a bang.
We were alone. Where, I could not say, hardly imagine. All was black,
and such a dense black that, after some minutes, my eyes had not been able
to discern even the faintest glimmer.
Meanwhile, Ned Land, furious at these proceedings, gave free vent to
his indignation.
"Confound it!" cried he, "here are people who come up to the Scotch
for hospitality. They only just miss being cannibals. I should not be
surprised at it, but I declare that they shall not eat me without my
protesting."
"Calm yourself, friend Ned, calm yourself," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Do not cry out before you are hurt. We are not quite done for yet."
"Not quite," sharply replied the Canadian, "but pretty near, at all
events. Things look black. Happily, my bowie- knife I have still, and I can
always see well enough to use it. The first of these pirates who lays a
hand on me -- "
"Do not excite yourself, Ned," I said to the harpooner, "and do not
compromise us by useless violence. Who knows that they will not listen to
us? Let us rather try to find out where we are."
I groped about. In five steps I came to an iron wall, made of plates
bolted together. Then turning back I struck against a wooden table, near
which were ranged several stools. The boards of this prison were concealed
under a thick mat, which deadened the noise of the feet. The bare walls
revealed no trace of window or door. Conseil, going round the reverse way,
met me, and we went back to the middle of the cabin, which measured about
twenty feet by ten. As to its height, Ned Land, in spite of his own great
height, could not measure it.
Half an hour had already passed without our situation being bettered,
when the dense darkness suddenly gave way to extreme light. Our prison was
suddenly lighted, that is to say, it became filled with a luminous matter,
so strong that I could not bear it at first. In its whiteness and intensity
I recognised that electric light which played round the
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submarine boat like a magnificent phenomenon of phosphorescence. After
shutting my eyes involuntarily, I opened them, and saw that this luminous
agent came from a half globe, unpolished, placed in the roof of the cabin.
"At last one can see," cried Ned Land, who, knife in hand, stood on
the defensive.
"Yes," said I; "but we are still in the dark about ourselves."
"Let master have patience," said the imperturbable Conseil.
The sudden lighting of the cabin enabled me to examine it minutely. It
only contained a table and five stools. The invisible door might be
hermetically sealed. No noise was heard. All seemed dead in the interior of
this boat. Did it move, did it float on the surface of the ocean, or did it
dive into its depths? I could not guess.
A noise of bolts was now heard, the door opened, and two men appeared.
One was short, very muscular, broad-shouldered, with robust limbs,
strong head, an abundance of black hair, thick moustache, a quick
penetrating look, and the vivacity which characterises the population of
Southern France.
The second stranger merits a more detailed description. I made out his
prevailing qualities directly: self-confidence -- because his head was well
set on his shoulders, and his black eyes looked around with cold assurance;
calmness -- for his skin, rather pale, showed his coolness of blood; energy
-- evinced by the rapid contraction of his lofty brows; and courage --
because his deep breathing denoted great power of lungs.
Whether this person was thirty-five or fifty years of age, I could not
say. He was tall, had a large forehead, straight nose, a clearly cut mouth,
beautiful teeth, with fine taper hands, indicative of a highly nervous
temperament. This man was certainly the most admirable specimen I had ever
met. One particular feature was his eyes, rather far from each other, and
which could take in nearly a quarter of the horizon at once.
This faculty -- (I verified it later) -- gave him a range of
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vision far superior to Ned Land's. When this stranger fixed upon an object,
his eyebrows met, his large eyelids closed around so as to contract the
range of his vision, and he looked as if he magnified the objects lessened
by distance, as if he pierced those sheets of water so opaque to our eyes,
and as if he read the very depths of the seas.
The two strangers, with caps made from the fur of the sea otter, and
shod with sea boots of seal's skin, were dressed in clothes of a particular
texture, which allowed free movement of the limbs. The taller of the two,
evidently the chief on board, examined us with great attention, without
saying a word; then, turning to his companion, talked with him in an
unknown tongue. It was a sonorous, harmonious, and flexible dialect, the
vowels seeming to admit of very varied accentuation.
The other replied by a shake of the head, and added two or three
perfectly incomprehensible words. Then he seemed to question me by a look.
I replied in good French that I did not know his language; but he
seemed not to understand me, and my situation became more embarrassing.
"If master were to tell our story," said Conseil, "perhaps these
gentlemen may understand some words."
I began to tell our adventures, articulating each syllable clearly,
and without omitting one single detail. I announced our names and rank,
introducing in person Professor Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and master
Ned Land, the harpooner.
The man with the soft calm eyes listened to me quietly, even politely,
and with extreme attention; but nothing in his countenance indicated that
he had understood my story. When I finished, he said not a word.
There remained one resource, to speak English. Perhaps they would know
this almost universal language. I knew it -- as well as the German language
-- well enough to read it fluently, but not to speak it correctly. But,
anyhow, we must make ourselves understood.
"Go on in your turn," I said to the harpooner; "speak your best
Anglo-Saxon, and try to do better than I."
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Ned did not beg off, and recommenced our story.
To his great disgust, the harpooner did not seem to have made himself
more intelligible than I had. Our visitors did not stir. They evidently
understood neither the language of England nor of France.
Very much embarrassed, after having vainly exhausted our speaking
resources, I knew not what part to take, when Conseil said:
"If master will permit me, I will relate it in German."
But in spite of the elegant terms and good accent of the narrator, the
German language had no success. At last, nonplussed, I tried to remember my
first lessons, and to narrate our adventures in Latin, but with no better
success. This last attempt being of no avail, the two strangers exchanged
some words in their unknown language, and retired.
The door shut.
"It is an infamous shame," cried Ned Land, who broke out for the
twentieth time. "We speak to those rogues in French, English, German, and
Latin, and not one of them has the politeness to answer!"
"Calm yourself," I said to the impetuous Ned; "anger will do no good."
"But do you see, Professor," replied our irascible companion, "that we
shall absolutely die of hunger in this iron cage?"
"Bah!" said Conseil, philosophically; "we can hold out some time yet."
"My friends," I said, "we must not despair. We have been worse off
than this. Do me the favour to wait a little before forming an opinion upon
the commander and crew of this boat."
"My opinion is formed," replied Ned Land, sharply. "They are rascals."
"Good! and from what country?"
"From the land of rogues!"
"My brave Ned, that country is not clearly indicated on the map of the
world; but I admit that the nationality of the two strangers is hard to
determine. Neither English, French, nor German, that is quite certain.
However, I am
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inclined to think that the commander and his companion were born in low
latitudes. There is southern blood in them. But I cannot decide by their
appearance whether they are Spaniards, Turks, Arabians, or Indians. As to
their language, it is quite incomprehensible."
"There is the disadvantage of not knowing all languages," said
Conseil, "or the disadvantage of not having one universal language."
As he said these words, the door opened. A steward entered. He brought
us clothes, coats and trousers, made of a stuff I did not know. I hastened
to dress myself, and my companions followed my example. During that time,
the steward -- dumb, perhaps deaf -- had arranged the table, and laid three
plates.
"This is something like!" said Conseil.
"Bah!" said the angry harpooner, "what do you suppose they eat here?
Tortoise liver, filleted shark, and beef- steaks from seadogs."
"We shall see," said Conseil.
The dishes, of bell metal, were placed on the table, and we took our
places. Undoubtedly we had to do with civilised people, and, had it not
been for the electric light which flooded us, I could have fancied I was in
the dining-room of the Adelphi Hotel at Liverpool, or at the Grand Hotel in
Paris. I must say, however, that there was neither bread nor wine. The
water was fresh and clear, but it was water and did not suit Ned Land's
taste. Amongst the dishes which were brought to us, I recognised several
fish delicately dressed; but of some, although excellent, I could give no
opinion, neither could I tell to what kingdom they belonged, whether animal
or vegetable. As to the dinner-service, it was elegant, and in perfect
taste. Each utensil -- spoon, fork, knife, plate -- had a letter engraved
on it, with a motto above it, of which this is an exact facsimile:
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
N
The letter N was no doubt the initial of the name of the enigmatical
person who commanded at the bottom of the seas.
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Ned and Conseil did not reflect much. They devoured the food, and I
did likewise. I was, besides, reassured as to our fate; and it seemed
evident that our hosts would not let us die of want.
However, everything has an end, everything passes away, even the
hunger of people who have not eaten for fifteen hours. Our appetites
satisfied, we felt overcome with sleep.
"Faith! I shall sleep well," said Conseil.
"So shall I," replied Ned Land.
My two companions stretched themselves on the cabin carpet, and were
soon sound asleep. For my own part, too many thoughts crowded my brain, too
many insoluble questions pressed upon me, too many fancies kept my eyes
half open. Where were we? What strange power carried us on? I felt -- or
rather fancied I felt -- the machine sinking down to the lowest beds of the
sea. Dreadful nightmares beset me; I saw in these mysterious asylums a
world of unknown animals, amongst which this submarine boat seemed to be of
the same kind, living, moving, and formidable as they. Then my brain grew
calmer, my imagination wandered into vague unconsciousness, and I soon fell
into a deep sleep.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.9
NED LAND'S TEMPERS
How long we slept I do not know; but our sleep must have lasted long,
for it rested us completely from our fatigues. I woke first. My companions
had not moved, and were still stretched in their corner.
Hardly roused from my somewhat hard couch, I felt my brain freed, my
mind clear. I then began an attentive examination of our cell. Nothing was
changed inside. The prison was still a prison -- the prisoners, prisoners.
However, the steward, during our sleep, had cleared the table. I breathed
with difficulty. The heavy air seemed to oppress my lungs. Although the
cell was large, we had evidently
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consumed a great part of the oxygen that it contained. Indeed, each man
consumes, in one hour, the oxygen contained in more than 176 pints of air,
and this air, charged (as then) with a nearly equal quantity of carbonic
acid, becomes unbreathable.
It became necessary to renew the atmosphere of our prison, and no
doubt the whole in the submarine boat. That gave rise to a question in my
mind. How would the commander of this floating dwelling-place proceed?
Would he obtain air by chemical means, in getting by heat the oxygen
contained in chlorate of potash, and in absorbing carbonic acid by caustic
potash? Or -- a more convenient, economical, and consequently more probable
alternative -- would he be satisfied to rise and take breath at the surface
of the water, like a whale, and so renew for twenty-four hours the
atmospheric provision?
In fact, I was already obliged to increase my respirations to eke out
of this cell the little oxygen it contained, when suddenly I was refreshed
by a current of pure air, and perfumed with saline emanations. It was an
invigorating sea breeze, charged with iodine. I opened my mouth wide, and
my lungs saturated themselves with fresh particles.
At the same time I felt the boat rolling. The iron-plated monster had
evidently just risen to the surface of the ocean to breathe, after the
fashion of whales. I found out from that the mode of ventilating the boat.
When I had inhaled this air freely, I sought the conduit pipe, which
conveyed to us the beneficial whiff, and I was not long in finding it.
Above the door was a ventilator, through which volumes of fresh air renewed
the impoverished atmosphere of the cell.
I was making my observations, when Ned and Conseil awoke almost at the
same time, under the influence of this reviving air. They rubbed their
eyes, stretched themselves, and were on their feet in an instant.
"Did master sleep well?" asked Conseil, with his usual politeness.
"Very well, my brave boy. And you, Mr. Land?"
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"Soundly, Professor. But, I don't know if I am right or not, there
seems to be a sea breeze!"
A seaman could not be mistaken, and I told the Canadian all that had
passed during his sleep.
"Good!" said he. "That accounts for those roarings we heard, when the
supposed narwhal sighted the Abraham Lincoln."
"Quite so, Master Land; it was taking breath."
"Only, Mr. Aronnax, I have no idea what o'clock it is, unless it is
dinner-time."
"Dinner-time! my good fellow? Say rather breakfast-time, for we
certainly have begun another day."
"So," said Conseil, "we have slept twenty-four hours?"
"That is my opinion."
"I will not contradict you," replied Ned Land. "But, dinner or
breakfast, the steward will be welcome, whichever he brings."
"Master Land, we must conform to the rules on board, and I suppose our
appetites are in advance of the dinner- hour."
"That is just like you, friend Conseil," said Ned, impatiently. "You
are never out of temper, always calm; you would return thanks before grace,
and die of hunger rather than complain!"
Time was getting on, and we were fearfully hungry; and this time the
steward did not appear. It was rather too long to leave us, if they really
had good intentions towards us. Ned Land, tormented by the cravings of
hunger, got still more angry; and, notwithstanding his promise, I dreaded
an explosion when he found himself with one of the crew.
For two hours more Ned Land's temper increased; he cried, he shouted,
but in vain. The walls were deaf. There was no sound to be heard in the
boat; all was still as death. It did not move, for I should have felt the
trembling motion of the hull under the influence of the screw. Plunged in
the depths of the waters, it belonged no longer to earth: this silence was
dreadful.
I felt terrified, Conseil was calm, Ned Land roared.
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Just then a noise was heard outside. Steps sounded on the metal flags.
The locks were turned, the door opened, and the steward appeared.
Before I could rush forward to stop him, the Canadian had thrown him
down, and held him by the throat. The steward was choking under the grip of
his powerful hand.
Conseil was already trying to unclasp the harpooner's hand from his
half-suffocated victim, and I was going to fly to the rescue, when suddenly
I was nailed to the spot by hearing these words in French:
"Be quiet, Master Land; and you, Professor, will you be so good as to
listen to me?"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.10
THE MAN OF THE SEAS
IT WAS the commander of the vessel who thus spoke.
At these words, Ned Land rose suddenly. The steward, nearly strangled,
tottered out on a sign from his master. But such was the power of the
commander on board, that not a gesture betrayed the resentment which this
man must have felt towards the Canadian. Conseil interested in spite of
himself, I stupefied, awaited in silence the result of this scene.
The commander, leaning against the corner of a table with his arms
folded, scanned us with profound attention. Did he hesitate to speak? Did
he regret the words which he had just spoken in French? One might almost
think so.
After some moments of silence, which not one of us dreamed of
breaking, "Gentlemen," said he, in a calm and penetrating voice, "I speak
French, English, German, and Latin equally well. I could, therefore, have
answered you at our first interview, but I wished to know you first, then
to reflect. The story told by each one, entirely agreeing in the main
points, convinced me of your identity. I know now that chance has brought
before me M. Pierre Aronnax, Professor of Natural History at the Museum of
Paris,
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entrusted with a scientific mission abroad, Conseil, his servant, and Ned
Land, of Canadian origin, harpooner on board the frigate Abraham Lincoln of
the navy of the United States of America."
I bowed assent. It was not a question that the commander put to me.
Therefore there was no answer to be made. This man expressed himself with
perfect ease, without any accent. His sentences were well turned, his words
clear, and his fluency of speech remarkable. Yet, I did not recognise in
him a fellow-countryman.
He continued the conversation in these terms:
"You have doubtless thought, sir, that I have delayed long in paying
you this second visit. The reason is that, your identity recognised, I
wished to weigh maturely what part to act towards you. I have hesitated
much. Most annoying circumstances have brought you into the presence of a
man who has broken all the ties of humanity. You have come to trouble my
existence."
"Unintentionally!" said I.
"Unintentionally?" replied the stranger, raising his voice a little.
"Was it unintentionally that the Abraham Lincoln pursued me all over the
seas? Was it unintentionally that you took passage in this frigate? Was it
unintentionally that your cannon-balls rebounded off the plating of my
vessel? Was it unintentionally that Mr. Ned Land struck me with his
harpoon?"
I detected a restrained irritation in these words. But to these
recriminations I had a very natural answer to make, and I made it.
"Sir," said I, "no doubt you are ignorant of the discussions which
have taken place concerning you in America and Europe. You do not know that
divers accidents, caused by collisions with your submarine machine, have
excited public feeling in the two continents. I omit the theories without
number by which it was sought to explain that of which you alone possess
the secret. But you must understand that, in pursuing you over the high
seas of the Pacific, the Abraham Lincoln believed itself to be chasing some
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powerful sea-monster, of which it was necessary to rid the ocean at any
price."
A half-smile curled the lips of the commander: then, in a calmer tone:
"M. Aronnax," he replied, "dare you affirm that your frigate would not
as soon have pursued and cannonaded a submarine boat as a monster?"
This question embarrassed me, for certainly Captain Farragut might not
have hesitated. He might have thought it his duty to destroy a contrivance
of this kind, as he would a gigantic narwhal.
"You understand then, sir," continued the stranger, "that I have the
right to treat you as enemies?"
I answered nothing, purposely. For what good would it be to discuss
such a proposition, when force could destroy the best arguments?
"I have hesitated some time," continued the commander; nothing obliged
me to show you hospitality. If I chose to separate myself from you, I
should have no interest in seeing you again; I could place you upon the
deck of this vessel which has served you as a refuge, I could sink beneath
the waters, and forget that you had ever existed. Would not that be my
right?"
"It might be the right of a savage," I answered, "but not that of a
civilised man."
"Professor," replied the commander, quickly, "I am not what you call a
civilised man! I have done with society entirely, for reasons which I alone
have the right of appreciating. I do not, therefore, obey its laws, and I
desire you never to allude to them before me again!"
This was said plainly. A flash of anger and disdain kindled in the
eyes of the Unknown, and I had a glimpse of a terrible past in the life of
this man. Not only had he put himself beyond the pale of human laws, but he
had made himself independent of them, free in the strictest acceptation of
the word, quite beyond their reach! Who then would dare to pursue him at
the bottom of the sea, when, on its surface, he defied all attempts made
against him?
What vessel could resist the shock of his submarine monitor?
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What cuirass, however thick, could withstand the blows of his spur? No man
could demand from him an account of his actions; God, if he believed in one
-- his conscience, if he had one -- were the sole judges to whom he was
answerable.
These reflections crossed my mind rapidly, whilst the stranger
personage was silent, absorbed, and as if wrapped up in himself. I regarded
him with fear mingled with interest, as, doubtless, OEdiphus regarded the
Sphinx.
After rather a long silence, the commander resumed the conversation.
"I have hesitated," said he, "but I have thought that my interest
might be reconciled with that pity to which every human being has a right.
You will remain on board my vessel, since fate has cast you there. You will
be free; and, in exchange for this liberty, I shall only impose one single
condition. Your word of honour to submit to it will suffice."
"Speak, sir," I answered. "I suppose this condition is one which a man
of honour may accept?"
"Yes, sir; it is this: It is possible that certain events, unforeseen,
may oblige me to consign you to your cabins for some hours or some days, as
the case may be. As I desire never to use violence, I expect from you, more
than all the others, a passive obedience. In thus acting, I take all the
responsibility: I acquit you entirely, for I make it an impossibility for
you to see what ought not to be seen. Do you accept this condition?"
Then things took place on board which, to say the least, were
singular, and which ought not to be seen by people who were not placed
beyond the pale of social laws. Amongst the surprises which the future was
preparing for me, this might not be the least.
"We accept," I answered; "only I will ask your permission, sir, to
address one question to you -- one only."
"Speak, sir."
"You said that we should be free on board."
"Entirely."
"I ask you, then, what you mean by this liberty?"
"Just the liberty to go, to come, to see, to observe even all that
passes here save under rare circumstances -- the
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liberty, in short, which we enjoy ourselves, my companions and I."
It was evident that we did not understand one another.
"Pardon me, sir," I resumed, "but this liberty is only what every
prisoner has of pacing his prison. It cannot suffice us."
"It must suffice you, however."
"What! we must renounce for ever seeing our country, our friends, our
relations again?"
"Yes, sir. But to renounce that unendurable worldly yoke which men
believe to be liberty is not perhaps so painful as you think."
"Well," exclaimed Ned Land, "never will I give my word of honour not
to try to escape."
"I did not ask you for your word of honour, Master Land," answered the
commander, coldly.
"Sir," I replied, beginning to get angry in spite of myself, "you
abuse your situation towards us; it is cruelty."
"No, sir, it is clemency. You are my prisoners of war. I keep you,
when I could, by a word, plunge you into the depths of the ocean. You
attacked me. You came to surprise a secret which no man in the world must
penetrate -- the secret of my whole existence. And you think that I am
going to send you back to that world which must know me no more? Never! In
retaining you, it is not you whom I guard -- it is myself."
These words indicated a resolution taken on the part of the commander,
against which no arguments would prevail.
"So, sir," I rejoined, "you give us simply the choice between life and
death?"
"Simply."
"My friends," said I, "to a question thus put, there is nothing to
answer. But no word of honour binds us to the master of this vessel."
"None, sir," answered the Unknown.
Then, in a gentler tone, he continued:
"Now, permit me to finish what I have to say to you. I know you, M.
Aronnax. You and your companions will not, perhaps, have so much to
complain of in the chance
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which has bound you to my fate. You will find amongst the books which are
my favourite study the work which you have published on 'the depths of the
sea.' I have often read it. You have carried out your work as far as
terrestrial science permitted you. But you do not know all -- you have not
seen all. Let me tell you then, Professor, that you will not regret the
time passed on board my vessel. You are going to visit the land of
marvels."
These words of the commander had a great effect upon me. I cannot deny
it. My weak point was touched; and I forgot, for a moment, that the
contemplation of these sublime subjects was not worth the loss of liberty.
Besides, I trusted to the future to decide this grave question. So I
contented myself with saying:
"By what name ought I to address you?"
"Sir," replied the commander, "I am nothing to you but Captain Nemo;
and you and your companions are nothing to me but the passengers of the
Nautilus."
Captain Nemo called. A steward appeared. The captain gave him his
orders in that strange language which I did not understand. Then, turning
towards the Canadian and Conseil:
"A repast awaits you in your cabin," said he. "Be so good as to follow
this man.
"And now, M. Aronnax, our breakfast is ready. Permit me to lead the
way."
"I am at your service, Captain."
I followed Captain Nemo; and as soon as I had passed through the door,
I found myself in a kind of passage lighted by electricity, similar to the
waist of a ship. After we had proceeded a dozen yards, a second door opened
before me.
I then entered a dining-room, decorated and furnished in severe taste.
High oaken sideboards, inlaid with ebony, stood at the two extremities of
the room, and upon their shelves glittered china, porcelain, and glass of
inestimable value. The plate on the table sparkled in the rays which the
luminous ceiling shed around, while the light was tempered and softened by
exquisite paintings.
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In the centre of the room was a table richly laid out. Captain Nemo
indicated the place I was to occupy.
The breakfast consisted of a certain number of dishes, the contents of
which were furnished by the sea alone; and I was ignorant of the nature and
mode of preparation of some of them. I acknowledged that they were good,
but they had a peculiar flavour, which I easily became accustomed to. These
different aliments appeared to me to be rich in phosphorus, and I thought
they must have a marine origin.
Captain Nemo looked at me. I asked him no questions, but he guessed my
thoughts, and answered of his own accord the questions which I was burning
to address to him.
"The greater part of these dishes are unknown to you," he said to me.
"However, you may partake of them without fear. They are wholesome and
nourishing. For a long time I have renounced the food of the earth, and I
am never ill now. My crew, who are healthy, are fed on the same food."
"So," said I, "all these eatables are the produce of the sea?"
"Yes, Professor, the sea supplies all my wants. Sometimes I cast my
nets in tow, and I draw them in ready to break. Sometimes I hunt in the
midst of this element, which appears to be inaccessible to man, and quarry
the game which dwells in my submarine forests. My flocks, like those of
Neptune's old shepherds, graze fearlessly in the immense prairies of the
ocean. I have a vast property there, which I cultivate myself, and which is
always sown by the hand of the Creator of all things."
"I can understand perfectly, sir, that your nets furnish excellent
fish for your table; I can understand also that you hunt aquatic game in
your submarine forests; but I cannot understand at all how a particle of
meat, no matter how small, can figure in your bill of fare."
"This, which you believe to be meat, Professor, is nothing else than
fillet of turtle. Here are also some dolphins' livers, which you take to be
ragout of pork. My cook is a clever fellow, who excels in dressing these
various products of the ocean. Taste all these dishes. Here is a preserve
of
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sea-cucumber, which a Malay would declare to be unrivalled in the world;
here is a cream, of which the milk has been furnished by the cetacea, and
the sugar by the great fucus of the North Sea; and, lastly, permit me to
offer you some preserve of anemones, which is equal to that of the most
delicious fruits."
I tasted, more from curiosity than as a connoisseur, whilst Captain
Nemo enchanted me with his extraordinary stories.
"You like the sea, Captain?"
"Yes; I love it! The sea is everything. It covers seven- tenths of the
terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert,
where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides. The sea
is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence. It is
nothing but love and emotion; it is the 'Living Infinite,' as one of your
poets has said. In fact, Professor, Nature manifests herself in it by her
three kingdoms -- mineral, vegetable, and animal. The sea is the vast
reservoir of Nature. The globe began with sea, so to speak; and who knows
if it will not end with it? In it is supreme tranquillity. The sea does not
belong to despots. Upon its surface men can still exercise unjust laws,
fight, tear one another to pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial
horrors. But at thirty feet below its level, their reign ceases, their
influence is quenched, and their power disappears. Ah! sir, live -- live in
the bosom of the waters! There only is independence! There I recognise no
masters! There I am free!"
Captain Nemo suddenly became silent in the midst of this enthusiasm,
by which he was quite carried away. For a few moments he paced up and down,
much agitated. Then he became more calm, regained his accustomed coldness
of expression, and turning towards me:
"Now, Professor," said he, "if you wish to go over the Nautilus, I am
at your service."
Captain Nemo rose. I followed him. A double door, contrived at the
back of the dining-room, opened, and I entered a room equal in dimensions
to that which I had just quitted.
It was a library. High pieces of furniture, of black violet ebony
inlaid with brass, supported upon their wide shelves
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a great number of books uniformly bound. They followed the shape of the
room, terminating at the lower part in huge divans, covered with brown
leather, which were curved, to afford the greatest comfort. Light movable
desks, made to slide in and out at will, allowed one to rest one's book
while reading. In the centre stood an immense table, covered with
pamphlets, amongst which were some newspapers, already of old date. The
electric light flooded everything; it was shed from four unpolished globes
half sunk in the volutes of the ceiling. I looked with real admiration at
this room, so ingeniously fitted up, and I could scarcely believe my eyes.
"Captain Nemo," said I to my host, who had just thrown himself on one
of the divans, "this is a library which would do honour to more than one of
the continental palaces, and I am absolutely astounded when I consider that
it can follow you to the bottom of the seas."
"Where could one find greater solitude or silence, Professor?" replied
Captain Nemo. "Did your study in the Museum afford you such perfect quiet?"
"No, sir; and I must confess that it is a very poor one after yours.
You must have six or seven thousand volumes here."
"Twelve thousand, M. Aronnax. These are the only ties which bind me to
the earth. But I had done with the world on the day when my Nautilus
plunged for the first time beneath the waters. That day I bought my last
volumes, my last pamphlets, my last papers, and from that time I wish to
think that men no longer think or write. These books, Professor, are at
your service besides, and you can make use of them freely."
I thanked Captain Nemo, and went up to the shelves of the library.
Works on science, morals, and literature abounded in every language; but I
did not see one single work on political economy; that subject appeared to
be strictly proscribed. Strange to say, all these books were irregularly
arranged, in whatever language they were written; and this medley proved
that the Captain of the Nautilus must have read indiscriminately the books
which he took up by chance.
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"Sir," said I to the Captain, "I thank you for having placed this
library at my disposal. It contains treasures of science, and I shall
profit by them."
"This room is not only a library," said Captain Nemo, "it is also a
smoking-room."
"A smoking-room!" I cried. "Then one may smoke on board?"
"Certainly."
"Then, sir, I am forced to believe that you have kept up a
communication with Havannah."
"Not any," answered the Captain. "Accept this cigar, M. Aronnax; and,
though it does not come from Havannah, you will be pleased with it, if you
are a connoisseur."
I took the cigar which was offered me; its shape recalled the London
ones, but it seemed to be made of leaves of gold. I lighted it at a little
brazier, which was supported upon an elegant bronze stem, and drew the
first whiffs with the delight of a lover of smoking who has not smoked for
two days.
"It is excellent, but it is not tobacco."
"No!" answered the Captain, "this tobacco comes neither from Havannah
nor from the East. It is a kind of sea-weed, rich in nicotine, with which
the sea provides me, but somewhat sparingly."
At that moment Captain Nemo opened a door which stood opposite to that
by which I had entered the library, and I passed into an immense
drawing-room splendidly lighted.
It was a vast, four-sided room, thirty feet long, eighteen wide, and
fifteen high. A luminous ceiling, decorated with light arabesques, shed a
soft clear light over all the marvels accumulated in this museum. For it
was in fact a museum, in which an intelligent and prodigal hand had
gathered all the treasures of nature and art, with the artistic confusion
which distinguishes a painter's studio.
Thirty first-rate pictures, uniformly framed, separated by bright
drapery, ornamented the walls, which were hung with tapestry of severe
design. I saw works of great value, the greater part of which I had admired
in the special collections of Europe, and in the exhibitions of paintings.
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Some admirable statues in marble and bronze, after the finest antique
models, stood upon pedestals in the corners of this magnificent museum.
Amazement, as the Captain of the Nautilus had predicted, had already begun
to take possession of me.
"Professor," said this strange man, "you must excuse the unceremonious
way in which I receive you, and the disorder of this room."
"Sir," I answered, "without seeking to know who you are, I recognise
in you an artist."
An amateur, nothing more, sir. Formerly I loved to collect these
beautiful works created by the hand of man. I sought them greedily, and
ferreted them out indefatigably, and I have been able to bring together
some objects of great value. These are my last souvenirs of that world
which is dead to me. In my eyes, your modern artists are already old; they
have two or three thousand years of existence; I confound them in my own
mind. Masters have no age."
Under elegant glass cases, fixed by copper rivets, were classed and
labelled the most precious productions of the sea which had ever been
presented to the eye of a naturalist. My delight as a professor may be
conceived.
Apart, in separate compartments, were spread out chaplets of pearls of
the greatest beauty, which reflected the electric light in little sparks of
fire; pink pearls, torn from the pinna-marina of the Red Sea; green pearls,
yellow, blue, and black pearls, the curious productions of the divers
molluscs of every ocean, and certain mussels of the water- courses of the
North; lastly, several specimens of inestimable value. Some of these pearls
were larger than a pigeon's egg, and were worth millions.
Therefore, to estimate the value of this collection was simply
impossible. Captain Nemo must have expended millions in the acquirement of
these various specimens, and I was thinking what source he could have drawn
from, to have been able thus to gratify his fancy for collecting, when I
was interrupted by these words:
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"You are examining my shells, Professor? Unquestionably they must be
interesting to a naturalist; but for me they have a far greater charm, for
I have collected them all with my own hand, and there is not a sea on the
face of the globe which has escaped my researches."
"I can understand, Captain, the delight of wandering about in the
midst of such riches. You are one of those who have collected their
treasures themselves. No museum in Europe possesses such a collection of
the produce of the ocean. But if I exhaust all my admiration upon it, I
shall have none left for the vessel which carries it. I do not wish to pry
into your secrets: but I must confess that this Nautilus, with the motive
power which is confined in it, the contrivances which enable it to be
worked, the powerful agent which propels it, all excite my curiosity to the
highest pitch. I see suspended on the walls of this room instruments of
whose use I am ignorant."
"You will find these same instruments in my own room, Professor, where
I shall have much pleasure in explaining their use to you. But first come
and inspect the cabin which is set apart for your own use. You must see how
you will be accommodated on board the Nautilus."
I followed Captain Nemo who, by one of the doors opening from each
panel of the drawing-room, regained the waist. He conducted me towards the
bow, and there I found, not a cabin, but an elegant room, with a bed,
dressing- table, and several other pieces of excellent furniture.
I could only thank my host.
"Your room adjoins mine," said he, opening a door, "and mine opens
into the drawing-room that we have just quitted."
I entered the Captain's room: it had a severe, almost a monkish
aspect. A small iron bedstead, a table, some articles for the toilet; the
whole lighted by a skylight. No comforts, the strictest necessaries only.
Captain Nemo pointed to a seat.
"Be so good as to sit down," he said. I seated myself, and he began
thus:
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.11
ALL BY ELECTRICITY
SIR," said Captain Nemo, showing me the instruments hanging on the
walls of his room, "here are the contrivances required for the navigation
of the Nautilus. Here, as in the drawing-room, I have them always under my
eyes, and they indicate my position and exact direction in the middle of
the ocean. Some are known to you, such as the thermometer, which gives the
internal temperature of the Nautilus; the barometer, which indicates the
weight of the air and foretells the changes of the weather; the hygrometer,
which marks the dryness of the atmosphere; the storm-glass, the contents of
which, by decomposing, announce the approach of tempests; the compass,
which guides my course; the sextant, which shows the latitude by the
altitude of the sun; chronometers, by which I calculate the longitude; and
glasses for day and night, which I use to examine the points of the
horizon, when the Nautilus rises to the surface of the waves."
"These are the usual nautical instruments," I replied, "and I know the
use of them. But these others, no doubt, answer to the particular
requirements of the Nautilus. This dial with movable needle is a manometer,
is it not?"
"It is actually a manometer. But by communication with the water,
whose external pressure it indicates, it gives our depth at the same time."
"And these other instruments, the use of which I cannot guess?"
"Here, Professor, I ought to give you some explanations. Will you be
kind enough to listen to me?"
He was silent for a few moments, then he said:
"There is a powerful agent, obedient, rapid, easy, which conforms to
every use, and reigns supreme on board my vessel. Everything is done by
means of it. It lights, warms it, and is the soul of my mechanical
apparatus. This agent is electricity."
"Electricity?" I cried in surprise.
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"Yes, sir."
"Nevertheless, Captain, you possess an extreme rapidity of movement,
which does not agree well with the power of electricity. Until now, its
dynamic force has remained under restraint, and has only been able to
produce a small amount of power."
"Professor," said Captain Nemo, "my electricity is not everybody's.
You know what sea-water is composed of. In a thousand grammes are found 96
1/2 per cent. of water, and about 2 2/3 per cent. of chloride of sodium;
then, in a smaller quantity, chlorides of magnesium and of potassium,
bromide of magnesium, sulphate of magnesia, sulphate and carbonate of lime.
You see, then, that chloride of sodium forms a large part of it. So it is
this sodium that I extract from the sea-water, and of which I compose my
ingredients. I owe all to the ocean; it produces electricity, and
electricity gives heat, light, motion, and, in a word, life to the
Nautilus."
"But not the air you breathe?"
"Oh! I could manufacture the air necessary for my consumption, but it
is useless, because I go up to the surface of the water when I please.
However, if electricity does not furnish me with air to breathe, it works
at least the powerful pumps that are stored in spacious reservoirs, and
which enable me to prolong at need, and as long as I will, my stay in the
depths of the sea. It gives a uniform and unintermittent light, which the
sun does not. Now look at this clock; it is electrical, and goes with a
regularity that defies the best chronometers. I have divided it into
twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, because for me there is neither
night nor day, sun nor moon, but only that factitious light that I take
with me to the bottom of the sea. Look! just now, it is ten o'clock in the
morning."
"Exactly."
"Another application of electricity. This dial hanging in front of us
indicates the speed of the Nautilus. An electric thread puts it in
communication with the screw, and the needle indicates the real speed.
Look! now we are spinning along with a uniform speed of fifteen miles an
hour."
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"It is marvelous! And I see, Captain, you were right to make use of
this agent that takes the place of wind, water, and steam."
"We have not finished, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo, rising. "If you
will allow me, we will examine the stern of the Nautilus."
Really, I knew already the anterior part of this submarine boat, of
which this is the exact division, starting from the ship's head: the
dining-room, five yards long, separated from the library by a water-tight
partition; the library, five yards long; the large drawing-room, ten yards
long, separated from the Captain's room by a second water-tight partition;
the said room, five yards in length; mine, two and a half yards; and,
lastly a reservoir of air, seven and a half yards, that extended to the
bows. Total length thirty- five yards, or one hundred and five feet. The
partitions had doors that were shut hermetically by means of india-rubber
instruments, and they ensured the safety of the Nautilus in case of a leak.
I followed Captain Nemo through the waist, and arrived at the centre
of the boat. There was a sort of well that opened between two partitions.
An iron ladder, fastened with an iron hook to the partition, led to the
upper end. I asked the Captain what the ladder was used for.
"It leads to the small boat," he said.
"What! have you a boat?" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"Of course; an excellent vessel, light and insubmersible, that serves
either as a fishing or as a pleasure boat."
"But then, when you wish to embark, you are obliged to come to the
surface of the water?"
"Not at all. This boat is attached to the upper part of the hull of
the Nautilus, and occupies a cavity made for it. It is decked, quite
water-tight, and held together by solid bolts. This ladder leads to a
man-hole made in the hull of the Nautilus, that corresponds with a similar
hole made in the side of the boat. By this double opening I get into the
small vessel. They shut the one belonging to the Nautilus; I shut the other
by means of screw pressure. I undo the bolts, and the little boat goes up
to the surface of the sea
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with prodigious rapidity. I then open the panel of the bridge, carefully
shut till then; I mast it, hoist my sail, take my oars, and I'm off."
"But how do you get back on board?"
"I do not come back, M. Aronnax; the Nautilus comes to me."
"By your orders?"
"By my orders. An electric thread connects us. I telegraph to it, and
that is enough."
"Really," I said, astonished at these marvels, "nothing can be more
simple."
After having passed by the cage of the staircase that led to the
platform, I saw a cabin six feet long, in which Conseil and Ned Land,
enchanted with their repast, were devouring it with avidity. Then a door
opened into a kitchen nine feet long, situated between the large
store-rooms. There electricity, better than gas itself, did all the
cooking. The streams under the furnaces gave out to the sponges of platina
a heat which was regularly kept up and distributed. They also heated a
distilling apparatus, which, by evaporation, furnished excellent drinkable
water. Near this kitchen was a bathroom comfortably furnished, with hot and
cold water taps.
Next to the kitchen was the berth-room of the vessel, sixteen feet
long. But the door was shut, and I could not see the management of it,
which might have given me an idea of the number of men employed on board
the Nautilus.
At the bottom was a fourth partition that separated this office from
the engine-room. A door opened, and I found myself in the compartment where
Captain Nemo -- certainly an engineer of a very high order -- had arranged
his locomotive machinery. This engine-room, clearly lighted, did not
measure less than sixty-five feet in length. It was divided into two parts;
the first contained the materials for producing electricity, and the second
the machinery that connected it with the screw. I examined it with great
interest, in order to understand the machinery of the Nautilus.
"You see," said the Captain, "I use Bunsen's contrivances, not
Ruhmkorff's. Those would not have been powerful
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enough. Bunsen's are fewer in number, but strong and large, which
experience proves to be the best. The electricity produced passes forward,
where it works, by electro- magnets of great size, on a system of levers
and cog-wheels that transmit the movement to the axle of the screw. This
one, the diameter of which is nineteen feet, and the thread twenty-three
feet, performs about 120 revolutions in a second."
"And you get then?"
"A speed of fifty miles an hour."
"I have seen the Nautilus manoeuvre before the Abraham Lincoln, and I
have my own ideas as to its speed. But this is not enough. We must see
where we go. We must be able to direct it to the right, to the left, above,
below. How do you get to the great depths, where you find an increasing
resistance, which is rated by hundreds of atmospheres? How do you return to
the surface of the ocean? And how do you maintain yourselves in the
requisite medium? Am I asking too much?"
"Not at all, Professor," replied the Captain, with some hesitation;
"since you may never leave this submarine boat. Come into the saloon, it is
our usual study, and there you will learn all you want to know about the
Nautilus."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.12
SOME FIGURES
A MOMENT after we were seated on a divan in the saloon smoking. The
Captain showed me a sketch that gave the plan, section, and elevation of
the Nautilus. Then he began his description in these words:
"Here, M. Aronnax, are the several dimensions of the boat you are in.
It is an elongated cylinder with conical ends. It is very like a cigar in
shape, a shape already adopted in London in several constructions of the
same sort. The length of this cylinder, from stem to stern, is exactly 232
feet, and its maximum breadth is twenty-six
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feet. It is not built quite like your long-voyage steamers, but its lines
are sufficiently long, and its curves prolonged enough, to allow the water
to slide off easily, and oppose no obstacle to its passage. These two
dimensions enable you to obtain by a simple calculation the surface and
cubic contents of the Nautilus. Its area measures 6,032 feet; and its
contents about 1,500 cubic yards; that is to say, when completely immersed
it displaces 50,000 feet of water, or weighs 1,500 tons.
"When I made the plans for this submarine vessel, I meant that
nine-tenths should be submerged: consequently it ought only to displace
nine-tenths of its bulk, that is to say, only to weigh that number of tons.
I ought not, therefore, to have exceeded that weight, constructing it on
the aforesaid dimensions.
"The Nautilus is composed of two hulls, one inside, the other outside,
joined by T-shaped irons, which render it very strong. Indeed, owing to
this cellular arrangement it resists like a block, as if it were solid. Its
sides cannot yield; it coheres spontaneously, and not by the closeness of
its rivets; and its perfect union of the materials enables it to defy the
roughest seas.
"These two hulls are composed of steel plates, whose density is from
.7 to .8 that of water. The first is not less than two inches and a half
thick and weighs 394 tons. The second envelope, the keel, twenty inches
high and ten thick, weighs only sixty-two tons. The engine, the ballast,
the several accessories and apparatus appendages, the partitions and
bulkheads, weigh 961.62 tons. Do you follow all this?"
"I do."
"Then, when the Nautilus is afloat under these circumstances,
one-tenth is out of the water. Now, if I have made reservoirs of a size
equal to this tenth, or capable of holding 150 tons, and if I fill them
with water, the boat, weighing then 1,507 tons, will be completely
immersed. That would happen, Professor. These reservoirs are in the lower
part of the Nautilus. I turn on taps and they fill, and the vessel sinks
that had just been level with the surface."
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"Well, Captain, but now we come to the real difficulty. I can
understand your rising to the surface; but, diving below the surface, does
not your submarine contrivance encounter a pressure, and consequently
undergo an upward thrust of one atmosphere for every thirty feet of water,
just about fifteen pounds per square inch?"
"Just so, sir."
"Then, unless you quite fill the Nautilus, I do not see how you can
draw it down to those depths."
"Professor, you must not confound statics with dynamics or you will be
exposed to grave errors. There is very little labour spent in attaining the
lower regions of the ocean, for all bodies have a tendency to sink. When I
wanted to find out the necessary increase of weight required to sink the
Nautilus, I had only to calculate the reduction of volume that sea-water
acquires according to the depth."
"That is evident."
"Now, if water is not absolutely incompressible, it is at least
capable of very slight compression. Indeed, after the most recent
calculations this reduction is only .000436 of an atmosphere for each
thirty feet of depth. If we want to sink 3,000 feet, I should keep account
of the reduction of bulk under a pressure equal to that of a column of
water of a thousand feet. The calculation is easily verified. Now, I have
supplementary reservoirs capable of holding a hundred tons. Therefore I can
sink to a considerable depth. When I wish to rise to the level of the sea,
I only let off the water, and empty all the reservoirs if I want the
Nautilus to emerge from the tenth part of her total capacity."
I had nothing to object to these reasonings.
"I admit your calculations, Captain," I replied; "I should be wrong to
dispute them since daily experience confirms them; but I foresee a real
difficulty in the way."
"What, sir?"
"When you are about 1,000 feet deep, the walls of the Nautilus bear a
pressure of 100 atmospheres. If, then, just now you were to empty the
supplementary reservoirs, to lighten the vessel, and to go up to the
surface, the pumps
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must overcome the pressure of 100 atmospheres, which is 1,500 lbs. per
square inch. From that a power -- "
"That electricity alone can give," said the Captain, hastily. "I
repeat, sir, that the dynamic power of my engines is almost infinite. The
pumps of the Nautilus have an enormous power, as you must have observed
when their jets of water burst like a torrent upon the Abraham Lincoln.
Besides, I use subsidiary reservoirs only to attain a mean depth of 750 to
1,000 fathoms, and that with a view of managing my machines. Also, when I
have a mind to visit the depths of the ocean five or six mlles below the
surface, I make use of slower but not less infallible means."
"What are they, Captain?"
"That involves my telling you how the Nautilus is worked."
"I am impatient to learn."
"To steer this boat to starboard or port, to turn, in a word,
following a horizontal plan, I use an ordinary rudder fixed on the back of
the stern-post, and with one wheel and some tackle to steer by. But I can
also make the Nautilus rise and sink, and sink and rise, by a vertical
movement by means of two inclined planes fastened to its sides, opposite
the centre of flotation, planes that move in every direction, and that are
worked by powerful levers from the interior. If the planes are kept
parallel with the boat, it moves horizontally. If slanted, the Nautilus,
according to this inclination, and under the influence of the screw, either
sinks diagonally or rises diagonally as it suits me. And even if I wish to
rise more quickly to the surface, I ship the screw, and the pressure of the
water causes the Nautilus to rise vertically like a balloon filled with
hydrogen."
"Bravo, Captain! But how can the steersman follow the route in the
middle of the waters?"
"The steersman is placed in a glazed box, that is raised about the
hull of the Nautilus, and furnished with lenses."
"Are these lenses capable of resisting such pressure?"
"Perfectly. Glass, which breaks at a blow, is, nevertheless, capable
of offering considerable resistance. During some experiments of fishing by
electric light in 1864 in the
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Northern Seas, we saw plates less than a third of an inch thick resist a
pressure of sixteen atmospheres. Now, the glass that I use is not less than
thirty times thicker."
"Granted. But, after all, in order to see, the light must exceed the
darkness, and in the midst of the darkness in the water, how can you see?"
"Behind the steersman's cage is placed a powerful electric reflector,
the rays from which light up the sea for half a mile in front."
"Ah! bravo, bravo, Captain! Now I can account for this phosphorescence
in the supposed narwhal that puzzled us so. I now ask you if the boarding
of the Nautilus* and of the Scotia, that has made such a noise, has been
the result of a chance rencontre?"
"Quite accidental, sir. I was sailing only one fathom below the
surface of the water when the shock came. It had no bad result."
"None, sir. But now, about your rencontre with the Abraham Lincoln?"
"Professor, I am sorry for one of the best vessels in the American
navy; but they attacked me, and I was bound to defend myself. I contented
myself, however, with putting the frigate hors de combat; she will not have
any difficulty in getting repaired at the next port."
"Ah, Commander! your Nautilus is certainly a marvellous boat."
"Yes, Professor; and I love it as if it were part of myself. If danger
threatens one of your vessels on the ocean, the first impression is the
feeling of an abyss above and below. On the Nautilus men's hearts never
fail them. No defects to be afraid of, for the double shell is as firm as
iron; no rigging to attend to; no sails for the wind to carry away; no
boilers to burst; no fire to fear, for the vessel is made of iron, not of
wood; no coal to run short, for electricity is the only mechanical agent;
no collision to fear, for it alone swims in deep water; no tempest to
brave, for when it dives below the water it reaches absolute tranquillity.
There, sir! that is the perfection of vessels! And if it is true that the
engineer has more confidence in the vessel than the
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builder, and the builder than the captain himself, you understand the trust
I repose in my Nautilus; for I am at once captain, builder, and engineer."
"But how could you construct this wonderful Nautilus in secret?"
"Each separate portion, M. Aronnax, was brought from different parts
of the globe."
"But these parts had to be put together and arranged?"
"Professor, I had set up my workshops upon a desert island in the
ocean. There my workmen, that is to say, the brave men that I instructed
and educated, and myself have put together our Nautilus. Then, when the
work was finished, fire destroyed all trace of our proceedings on this
island, that I could have jumped over if I had liked."
"Then the cost of this vessel is great?"
"M. Aronnax, an iron vessel costs L145 per ton. Now the Nautilus
weighed 1,500. It came therefore to L67,500, and L80,000 more for fitting
it up, and about L200,000, with the works of art and the collections it
contains."
"One last question, Captain Nemo."
"Ask it, Professor."
"You are rich?"
"Immensely rich, sir; and I could, without missing it, pay the
national debt of France."
I stared at the singular person who spoke thus. Was he playing upon my
credulity? The future would decide that.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.13
THE BLACK RIVER
THE portion of the terrestrial globe which is covered by water is
estimated at upwards of eighty millions of acres. This fluid mass comprises
two billions two hundred and fifty millions of cubic miles, forming a
spherical body of a diameter of sixty leagues, the weight of which would be
three quintillions of tons. To comprehend the meaning of these figures, it
is necessary to observe that a quintillion is
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to a billion as a billion is to unity; in other words, there are as many
billions in a quintillion as there are units in a billion. This mass of
fluid is equal to about the quantity of water which would be discharged by
all the rivers of the earth in forty thousand years.
During the geological epochs the ocean originally prevailed
everywhere. Then by degrees, in the silurian period, the tops of the
mountains began to appear, the islands emerged, then disappeared in partial
deluges, reappeared, became settled, formed continents, till at length the
earth became geographically arranged, as we see in the present day. The
solid had wrested from the liquid thirty-seven million six hundred and
fifty-seven square miles, equal to twelve billions nine hundred and sixty
millions of acres.
The shape of continents allows us to divide the waters into five great
portions: the Arctic or Frozen Ocean, the Antarctic, or Frozen Ocean, the
Indian, the Atlantic, and the Pacific Oceans.
The Pacific Ocean extends from north to south between the two Polar
Circles, and from east to west between Asia and America, over an extent of
145 degrees of longitude. It is the quietest of seas; its currents are
broad and slow, it has medium tides, and abundant rain. Such was the ocean
that my fate destined me first to travel over under these strange
conditions.
"Sir," said Captain Nemo, "we will, if you please, take our bearings
and fix the starting-point of this voyage. It is a quarter to twelve; I
will go up again to the surface."
The Captain pressed an electric clock three times. The pumps began to
drive the water from the tanks; the needle of the manometer marked by a
different pressure the ascent of the Nautilus, then it stopped.
"We have arrived," said the Captain.
I went to the central staircase which opened on to the platform,
clambered up the iron steps, and found myself on the upper part of the
Nautilus.
The platform was only three feet out of water. The front and back of
the Nautilus was of that spindle-shape which caused it justly to be
compared to a cigar. I noticed that its
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iron plates, slightly overlaying each other, resembled the shell which
clothes the bodies of our large terrestrial reptiles. It explained to me
how natural it was, in spite of all glasses, that this boat should have
been taken for a marine animal.
Toward the middle of the platform the longboat, half buried in the
hull of the vessel, formed a slight excrescence. Fore and aft rose two
cages of medium height with inclined sides, and partly closed by thick
lenticular glasses; one destined for the steersman who directed the
Nautilus, the other containing a brilliant lantern to give light on the
road.
The sea was beautiful, the sky pure. Scarcely could the long vehicle
feel the broad undulations of the ocean. A light breeze from the east
rippled the surface of the waters. The horizon, free from fog, made
observation easy. Nothing was in sight. Not a quicksand, not an island. A
vast desert.
Captain Nemo, by the help of his sextant, took the altitude of the
sun, which ought also to give the latitude. He waited for some moments till
its disc touched the horizon. Whilst taking observations not a muscle
moved, the instrument could not have been more motionless in a hand of
marble.
"Twelve o'clock, sir," said he. "When you like -- "
I cast a last look upon the sea, slightly yellowed by the Japanese
coast, and descended to the saloon.
"And now, sir, I leave you to your studies," added the Captain; "our
course is E.N.E., our depth is twenty-six fathoms. Here are maps on a large
scale by which you may follow it. The saloon is at your disposal, and, with
your permission, I will retire." Captain Nemo bowed, and I remained alone,
lost in thoughts all bearing on the commander of the Nautilus.
For a whole hour was I deep in these reflections, seeking to pierce
this mystery so interesting to me. Then my eyes fell upon the vast
planisphere spread upon the table, and I placed my finger on the very spot
where the given latitude and longitude crossed.
The sea has its large rivers like the continents. They are
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special currents known by their temperature and their colour. The most
remarkable of these is known by the name of the Gulf Stream. Science has
decided on the globe the direction of five principal currents: one in the
North Atlantic, a second in the South, a third in the North Pacific, a
fourth in the South, and a fifth in the Southern Indian Ocean. It is even
probable that a sixth current existed at one time or another in the
Northern Indian Ocean, when the Caspian and Aral Seas formed but one vast
sheet of water.
At this point indicated on the planisphere one of these currents was
rolling, the Kuro-Scivo of the Japanese, the Black River, which, leaving
the Gulf of Bengal, where it is warmed by the perpendicular rays of a
tropical sun, crosses the Straits of Malacca along the coast of Asia, turns
into the North Pacific to the Aleutian Islands, carrying with it trunks of
camphor-trees and other indigenous productions, and edging the waves of the
ocean with the pure indigo of its warm water. It was this current that the
Nautilus was to follow. I followed it with my eye; saw it lose itself in
the vastness of the Pacific, and felt myself drawn with it, when Ned Land
and Conseil appeared at the door of the saloon.
My two brave companions remained petrified at the sight of the wonders
spread before them.
"Where are we, where are we?" exclaimed the Canadian. "In the museum
at Quebec?"
"My friends," I answered, making a sign for them to enter, "you are
not in Canada, but on board the Nautilus, fifty yards below the level of
the sea."
"But, M. Aronnax," said Ned Land, "can you tell me how many men there
are on board? Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred?"
"I cannot answer you, Mr. Land; it is better to abandon for a time all
idea of seizing the Nautilus or escaping from it. This ship is a
masterpiece of modern industry, and I should be sorry not to have seen it.
Many people would accept the situation forced upon us, if only to move
amongst such wonders. So be quiet and let us try and see what passes around
us."
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"See!" exclaimed the harpooner, "but we can see nothing in this iron
prison! We are walking -- we are sailing -- blindly."
Ned Land had scarcely pronounced these words when all was suddenly
darkness. The luminous ceiling was gone, and so rapidly that my eyes
received a painful impression.
We remained mute, not stirring, and not knowing what surprise awaited
us, whether agreeable or disagreeable. A sliding noise was heard: one would
have said that panels were working at the sides of the Nautilus.
"It is the end of the end!" said Ned Land.
Suddenly light broke at each side of the saloon, through two oblong
openings. The liquid mass appeared vividly lit up by the electric gleam.
Two crystal plates separated us from the sea. At first I trembled at the
thought that this frail partition might break, but strong bands of copper
bound them, giving an almost infinite power of resistance.
The sea was distinctly visible for a mile all round the Nautilus. What
a spectacle! What pen can describe it? Who could paint the effects of the
light through those transparent sheets of water, and the softness of the
successive gradations from the lower to the superior strata of the ocean?
We know the transparency of the sea and that its clearness is far
beyond that of rock-water. The mineral and organic substances which it
holds in suspension heightens its transparency. In certain parts of the
ocean at the Antilles, under seventy-five fathoms of water, can be seen
with surprising clearness a bed of sand. The penetrating power of the solar
rays does not seem to cease for a depth of one hundred and fifty fathoms.
But in this middle fluid travelled over by the Nautilus, the electric
brightness was produced even in the bosom of the waves. It was no longer
luminous water, but liquid light.
On each side a window opened into this unexplored abyss. The obscurity
of the saloon showed to advantage the brightness outside, and we looked out
as if this pure crystal had been the glass of an immense aquarium.
"You wished to see, friend Ned; well, you see now."
"Curious! curious!" muttered the Canadian, who, forgetting
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his ill-temper, seemed to submit to some irresistible attraction; "and one
would come further than this to admire such a sight!"
"Ah!" thought I to myself, "I understand the life of this man; he has
made a world apart for himself, in which he treasures all his greatest
wonders."
For two whole hours an aquatic army escorted the Nautilus. During
their games, their bounds, while rivalling each other in beauty,
brightness, and velocity, I distinguished the green labre; the banded
mullet, marked by a double line of black; the round-tailed goby, of a white
colour, with violet spots on the back; the Japanese scombrus, a beautiful
mackerel of these seas, with a blue body and silvery head; the brilliant
azurors, whose name alone defies description; some banded spares, with
variegated fins of blue and yellow; the woodcocks of the seas, some
specimens of which attain a yard in length; Japanese salamanders, spider
lampreys, serpents six feet long, with eyes small and lively, and a huge
mouth bristling with teeth; with many other species.
Our imagination was kept at its height, interjections followed quickly
on each other. Ned named the fish, and Conseil classed them. I was in
ecstasies with the vivacity of their movements and the beauty of their
forms. Never had it been given to me to surprise these animals, alive and
at liberty, in their natural element. I will not mention all the varieties
which passed before my dazzled eyes, all the collection of the seas of
China and Japan. These fish, more numerous than the birds of the air, came,
attracted, no doubt, by the brilliant focus of the electric light.
Suddenly there was daylight in the saloon, the iron panels closed
again, and the enchanting vision disappeared. But for a long time I dreamt
on, till my eyes fell on the instruments hanging on the partition. The
compass still showed the course to be E.N.E., the manometer indicated a
pressure of five atmospheres, equivalent to a depth of twenty- five
fathoms, and the electric log gave a speed of fifteen miles an hour. I
expected Captain Nemo, but he did not appear. The clock marked the hour of
five.
Ned Land and Conseil returned to their cabin, and I
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retired to my chamber. My dinner was ready. It was composed of turtle soup
made of the most delicate hawks- bills, of a surmullet served with puff
paste (the liver of which, prepared by itself, was most delicious), and
fillets of the emperor-holocanthus, the savour of which seemed to me
superior even to salmon.
I passed the evening reading, writing, and thinking. Then sleep
overpowered me, and I stretched myself on my couch of zostera, and slept
profoundly, whilst the Nautilus was gliding rapidly through the current of
the Black River.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.14
A NOTE OF INVITATION
THE next day was the 9th of November. I awoke after a long sleep of
twelve hours. Conseil came, according to custom, to know "how I passed the
night," and to offer his services. He had left his friend the Canadian
sleeping like a man who had never done anything else all his life. I let
the worthy fellow chatter as be pleased, without caring to answer him. I
was preoccupied by the absence of the Captain during our sitting of the day
before, and hoping to see him to-day.
As soon as I was dressed I went into the saloon. It was deserted. I
plunged into the study of the shell treasures hidden behind the glasses.
The whole day passed without my being honoured by a visit from Captain
Nemo. The panels of the saloon did not open. Perhaps they did not wish us
to tire of these beautiful things.
The course of the Nautilus was E.N.E., her speed twelve knots, the
depth below the surface between twenty-five and thirty fathoms.
The next day, 10th of November, the same desertion, the same solitude.
I did not see one of the ship's crew: Ned and Conseil spent the greater
part of the day with me. They were astonished at the puzzling absence of
the Captain. Was
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this singular man ill? -- had he altered his intentions with regard to us?
After all, as Conseil said, we enjoyed perfect liberty, we were
delicately and abundantly fed. Our host kept to his terms of the treaty. We
could not complain, and, indeed, the singularity of our fate reserved such
wonderful compensation for us that we had no right to accuse it as yet.
That day I commenced the journal of these adventures which has enabled
me to relate them with more scrupulous exactitude and minute detail.
11th November, early in the morning. The fresh air spreading over the
interior of the Nautilus told me that we had come to the surface of the
ocean to renew our supply of oxygen. I directed my steps to the central
staircase, and mounted the platform.
It was six o'clock, the weather was cloudy, the sea grey, but calm.
Scarcely a billow. Captain Nemo, whom I hoped to meet, would he be there? I
saw no one but the steersman imprisoned in his glass cage. Seated upon the
projection formed by the hull of the pinnace, I inhaled the salt breeze
with delight.
By degrees the fog disappeared under the action of the sun's rays, the
radiant orb rose from behind the eastern horizon. The sea flamed under its
glance like a train of gunpowder. The clouds scattered in the heights were
coloured with lively tints of beautiful shades, and numerous "mare's
tails," which betokened wind for that day. But what was wind to this
Nautilus, which tempests could not frighten!
I was admiring this joyous rising of the sun, so gay, and so
life-giving, when I heard steps approaching the platform. I was prepared to
salute Captain Nemo, but it was his second (whom I had already seen on the
Captain's first visit) who appeared. He advanced on the platform, not
seeming to see me. With his powerful glass to his eye, he scanned every
point of the horizon with great attention. This examination over, he
approached the panel and pronounced a sentence in exactly these terms. I
have remembered
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it, for every morning it was repeated under exactly the same conditions. It
was thus worded:
"Nautron respoc lorni virch."
What it meant I could not say.
These words pronounced, the second descended. I thought that the
Nautilus was about to return to its submarine navigation. I regained the
panel and returned to my chamber.
Five days sped thus, without any change in our situation. Every
morning I mounted the platform. The same phrase was pronounced by the same
individual. But Captain Nemo did not appear.
I had made up my mind that I should never see him again, when, on the
16th November, on returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found upon
my table a note addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was written in
a bold, clear hand, the characters rather pointed, recalling the German
type. The note was worded as follows: TO PROFESSOR ARONNAX,
On board the Nautilus.
16th of November, 1867.
Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting- party, which will
take place to-morrow morning in the forests of the Island of Crespo. He
hopes that nothing will prevent the Professor from being present, and he
will with pleasure see him joined by his companions. CAPTAIN NEMO,
Commander of the Nautilus.
"A hunt!" exclaimed Ned.
"And in the forests of the Island of Crespo!" added Conseil.
"Oh! then the gentleman is going on terra firma?" replied Ned Land.
"That seems to me to be clearly indicated," said I, reading the letter
once more.
"Well, we must accept," said the Canadian. "But once more on dry
ground, we shall know what to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a
piece of fresh venison."
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Without seeking to reconcile what was contradictory between Captain
Nemo's manifest aversion to islands and continents, and his invitation to
hunt in a forest, I contented myself with replying:
"Let us first see where the Island of Crespo is."
I consulted the planisphere, and in 32° 40' N. lat. and 157° 50' W.
long., I found a small island, recognised in 1801 by Captain Crespo, and
marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la Plata, the meaning of
which is The Silver Rock. We were then about eighteen hundred miles from
our starting-point, and the course of the Nautilus, a little changed, was
bringing it back towards the southeast.
I showed this little rock, lost in the midst of the North Pacific, to
my companions.
"If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground," said I, "he at
least chooses desert islands."
Ned Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he
left me.
After supper, which was served by the steward, mute and impassive, I
went to bed, not without some anxiety.
The next morning, the 17th of November, on awakening, I felt that the
Nautilus was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the saloon.
Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and asked me
if it was convenient for me to accompany him. As he made no allusion to his
absence during the last eight days, I did not mention it, and simply
answered that my companions and myself were ready to follow him.
We entered the dining-room, where breakfast was served.
"M. Aronnax," said the Captain, "pray, share my breakfast without
ceremony; we will chat as we eat. For, though I promised you a walk in the
forest, I did not undertake to find hotels there. So breakfast as a man who
will most likely not have his dinner till very late."
I did honour to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish,
and slices of sea-cucumber, and different sorts of seaweed. Our drink
consisted of pure water, to which the Captain added some drops of a
fermented liquor, extracted
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by the Kamschatcha method from a seaweed known under the name of Rhodomenia
palmata. Captain Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began:
"Sir, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of Crespo,
you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge lightly of any
man."
"But Captain, believe me -- "
"Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any
cause to accuse me of folly and contradiction."
"I listen."
"You know as well as I do, Professor, that man can live under water,
providing he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In
submarine works, the workman, clad in an impervious dress, with his head in
a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of forcing pumps and
regulators."
"That is a diving apparatus," said I.
"Just so, but under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is
attached to the pump which sends him air through an india-rubber tube, and
if we were obliged to be thus held to the Nautilus, we could not go far."
"And the means of getting free?" I asked.
"It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own
countrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use, and which
will allow you to risk yourself under these new physiological conditions
without any organ whatever suffering. It consists of a reservoir of thick
iron plates, in which I store the air under a pressure of fifty
atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on the back by means of braces, like a
soldier's knapsack. Its upper part forms a box in which the air is kept by
means of a bellows, and therefore cannot escape unless at its normal
tension. In the Rouquayrol apparatus such as we use, two india- rubber
pipes leave this box and join a sort of tent which holds the nose and
mouth; one is to introduce fresh air, the other to let out the foul, and
the tongue closes one or the other according to the wants of the
respirator. But I, in encountering great pressures at the bottom of the
sea, was obliged to shut my head, like that of a diver in a ball
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of copper; and it is to this ball of copper that the two pipes, the
inspirator and the expirator, open."
"Perfectly, Captain Nemo; but the air that you carry with you must
soon be used; when it only contains fifteen per cent. of oxygen it is no
longer fit to breathe."
"Right! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the Nautilus
allow me to store the air under considerable pressure, and on those
conditions the reservoir of the apparatus can furnish breathable air for
nine or ten hours."
"I have no further objections to make," I answered. "I will only ask
you one thing, Captain -- how can you light your road at the bottom of the
sea?"
"With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax; one is carried on the back,
the other is fastened to the waist. It is composed of a Bunsen pile, which
I do not work with bichromate of potash, but with sodium. A wire is
introduced which collects the electricity produced, and directs it towards
a particularly made lantern. In this lantern is a spiral glass which
contains a small quantity of carbonic gas. When the apparatus is at work
this gas becomes luminous, giving out a white and continuous light. Thus
provided, I can breathe and I can see."
"Captain Nemo, to all my objections you make such crushing answers
that I dare no longer doubt. But, if I am forced to admit the Rouquayrol
and Ruhmkorff apparatus, I must be allowed some reservations with regard to
the gun I am to carry."
"But it is not a gun for powder," answered the Captain.
"Then it is an air-gun."
"Doubtless! How would you have me manufacture gunpowder on board,
without either saltpetre, sulphur, or charcoal?"
"Besides," I added, "to fire under water in a medium eight hundred and
fifty-five times denser than the air, we must conquer very considerable
resistance."
"That would be no difficulty. There exist guns, according to Fulton,
perfected in England by Philip Coles and Burley, in France by Furcy, and in
Italy by Landi, which are furnished with a peculiar system of closing,
which can fire
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under these conditions. But I repeat, having no powder, I use air under
great pressure, which the pumps of the Nautilus furnish abundantly."
"But this air must be rapidly used?"
"Well, have I not my Rouquayrol reservoir, which can furnish it at
need? A tap is all that is required. Besides M. Aronnax, you must see
yourself that, during our submarine hunt, we can spend but little air and
but few balls."
"But it seems to me that in this twilight, and in the midst of this
fluid, which is very dense compared with the atmosphere, shots could not go
far, nor easily prove mortal."
"Sir, on the contrary, with this gun every blow is mortal; and,
however lightly the animal is touched, it falls as if struck by a
thunderbolt."
"Why?"
"Because the balls sent by this gun are not ordinary balls, but little
cases of glass. These glass cases are covered with a case of steel, and
weighted with a pellet of lead; they are real Leyden bottles, into which
the electricity is forced to a very high tension. With the slightest shock
they are discharged, and the animal, however strong it may be, falls dead.
I must tell you that these cases are size number four, and that the charge
for an ordinary gun would be ten."
"I will argue no longer," I replied, rising from the table. "I have
nothing left me but to take my gun. At all events, I will go where you go."
Captain Nemo then led me aft; and in passing before Ned's and
Conseil's cabin, I called my two companions, who followed promptly. We then
came to a cell near the machinery-room, in which we put on our
walking-dress.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.15
A WALK ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA
THIS cell was, to speak correctly, the arsenal and wardrobe of the
Nautilus. A dozen diving apparatuses hung from the partition waiting our
use.
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Ned Land, on seeing them, showed evident repugnance to dress himself
in one.
"But, my worthy Ned, the forests of the Island of Crespo are nothing
but submarine forests."
"Good!" said the disappointed harpooner, who saw his dreams of fresh
meat fade away. "And you, M. Aronnax, are you going to dress yourself in
those clothes?"
"There is no alternative, Master Ned."
"As you please, sir," replied the harpooner, shrugging his shoulders;
"but, as for me, unless I am forced, I will never get into one."
"No one will force you, Master Ned," said Captain Nemo.
"Is Conseil going to risk it?" asked Ned.
"I follow my master wherever he goes," replied Conseil.
At the Captain's call two of the ship's crew came to help us dress in
these heavy and impervious clothes, made of india-rubber without seam, and
constructed expressly to resist considerable pressure. One would have
thought it a suit of armour, both supple and resisting. This suit formed
trousers and waistcoat. The trousers were finished off with thick boots,
weighted with heavy leaden soles. The texture of the waistcoat was held
together by bands of copper, which crossed the chest, protecting it from
the great pressure of the water, and leaving the lungs free to act; the
sleeves ended in gloves, which in no way restrained the movement of the
hands. There was a vast difference noticeable between these consummate
apparatuses and the old cork breastplates, jackets, and other contrivances
in vogue during the eighteenth century.
Captain Nemo and one of his companions (a sort of Hercules, who must
have possessed great strength), Conseil and myself were soon enveloped in
the dresses. There remained nothing more to be done but to enclose our
heads in the metal box. But, before proceeding to this operation, I asked
the Captain's permission to examine the guns.
One of the Nautilus men gave me a simple gun, the butt end of which,
made of steel, hollow in the centre, was rather large. It served as a
reservoir for compressed air, which a valve, worked by a spring, allowed to
escape into
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a metal tube. A box of projectiles in a groove in the thickness of the butt
end contained about twenty of these electric balls, which, by means of a
spring, were forced into the barrel of the gun. As soon as one shot was
fired, another was ready.
"Captain Nemo," said I, "this arm is perfect, and easily handled: I
only ask to be allowed to try it. But how shall we gain the bottom of the
sea?"
"At this moment, Professor, the Nautilus is stranded in five fathoms,
and we have nothing to do but to start."
"But how shall we get off?"
"You shall see."
Captain Nemo thrust his head into the helmet, Conseil and I did the
same, not without hearing an ironical "Good sport!" from the Canadian. The
upper part of our dress terminated in a copper collar upon which was
screwed the metal helmet. Three holes, protected by thick glass, allowed us
to see in all directions, by simply turning our head in the interior of the
head-dress. As soon as it was in position, the Rouquayrol apparatus on our
backs began to act; and, for my part, I could breathe with ease.
With the Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, and the gun in my hand,
I was ready to set out. But to speak the truth, imprisoned in these heavy
garments, and glued to the deck by my leaden soles, it was impossible for
me to take a step.
But this state of things was provided for. I felt myself being pushed
into a little room contiguous to the wardrobe- room. My companions
followed, towed along in the same way. I heard a water-tight door,
furnished with stopper- plates, close upon us, and we were wrapped in
profound darkness.
After some minutes, a loud hissing was heard. I felt the cold mount
from my feet to my chest. Evidently from some part of the vessel they had,
by means of a tap, given entrance to the water, which was invading us, and
with which the room was soon filled. A second door cut in the side of the
Nautilus then opened. We saw a faint light. In another instant our feet
trod the bottom of the sea.
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And now, how can I retrace the impression left upon me by that walk
under the waters? Words are impotent to relate such wonders! Captain Nemo
walked in front, his companion followed some steps behind. Conseil and I
remained near each other, as if an exchange of words had been possible
through our metallic cases. I no longer felt the weight of my clothing, or
of my shoes, of my reservoir of air, or my thick helmet, in the midst of
which my head rattled like an almond in its shell.
The light, which lit the soil thirty feet below the surface of the
ocean, astonished me by its power. The solar rays shone through the watery
mass easily, and dissipated all colour, and I clearly distinguished objects
at a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Beyond that the tints darkened
into fine gradations of ultramarine, and faded into vague obscurity. Truly
this water which surrounded me was but another air denser than the
terrestrial atmosphere, but almost as transparent. Above me was the calm
surface of the sea. We were walking on fine, even sand, not wrinkled, as on
a flat shore, which retains the impression of the billows. This dazzling
carpet, really a reflector, repelled the rays of the sun with wonderful
intensity, which accounted for the vibration which penetrated every atom of
liquid. Shall I be believed when I say that, at the depth of thirty feet, I
could see as if I was in broad daylight?
For a quarter of an hour I trod on this sand, sown with the impalpable
dust of shells. The hull of the Nautilus, resembling a long shoal,
disappeared by degrees; but its lantern, when darkness should overtake us
in the waters, would help to guide us on board by its distinct rays.
Soon forms of objects outlined in the distance were discernible. I
recognised magnificent rocks, hung with a tapestry of zoophytes of the most
beautiful kind, and I was at first struck by the peculiar effect of this
medium.
It was then ten in the morning; the rays of the sun struck the surface
of the waves at rather an oblique angle, and at the touch of their light,
decomposed by refraction as through a prism, flowers, rocks, plants,
shells, and polypi were shaded at the edges by the seven solar colours. It
was marvellous,
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a feast for the eyes, this complication of coloured tints, a perfect
kaleidoscope of green, yellow, orange, violet, indigo, and blue; in one
word, the whole palette of an enthusiastic colourist! Why could I not
communicate to Conseil the lively sensations which were mounting to my
brain, and rival him in expressions of admiration? For aught I knew,
Captain Nemo and his companion might be able to exchange thoughts by means
of signs previously agreed upon. So, for want of better, I talked to
myself; I declaimed in the copper box which covered my head, thereby
expending more air in vain words than was perhaps wise.
Various kinds of isis, clusters of pure tuft-coral, prickly fungi, and
anemones formed a brilliant garden of flowers, decked with their
collarettes of blue tentacles, sea-stars studding the sandy bottom. It was
a real grief to me to crush under my feet the brilliant specimens of
molluscs which strewed the ground by thousands, of hammerheads, donaciae
(veritable bounding shells), of staircases, and red helmet-shells,
angel-wings, and many others produced by this inexhaustible ocean. But we
were bound to walk, so we went on, whilst above our heads waved medusae
whose umbrellas of opal or rose-pink, escalloped with a band of blue,
sheltered us from the rays of the sun and fiery pelagiae, which, in the
darkness, would have strewn our path with phosphorescent light.
All these wonders I saw in the space of a quarter of a mile, scarcely
stopping, and following Captain Nemo, who beckoned me on by signs. Soon the
nature of the soil changed; to the sandy plain succeeded an extent of slimy
mud which the Americans call "ooze," composed of equal parts of silicious
and calcareous shells. We then travelled over a plain of seaweed of wild
and luxuriant vegetation. This sward was of close texture, and soft to the
feet, and rivalled the softest carpet woven by the hand of man. But whilst
verdure was spread at our feet, it did not abandon our heads. A light
network of marine plants, of that inexhaustible family of seaweeds of which
more than two thousand kinds are known, grew on the surface of the water.
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I noticed that the green plants kept nearer the top of the sea, whilst the
red were at a greater depth, leaving to the black or brown the care of
forming gardens and parterres in the remote beds of the ocean.
We had quitted the Nautilus about an hour and a half. It was near
noon; I knew by the perpendicularity of the sun's rays, which were no
longer refracted. The magical colours disappeared by degrees, and the
shades of emerald and sapphire were effaced. We walked with a regular step,
which rang upon the ground with astonishing intensity; the slightest noise
was transmitted with a quickness to which the ear is unaccustomed on the
earth; indeed, water is a better conductor of sound than air, in the ratio
of four to one. At this period the earth sloped downwards; the light took a
uniform tint. We were at a depth of a hundred and five yards and twenty
inches, undergoing a pressure of six atmospheres.
At this depth I could still see the rays of the sun, though feebly; to
their intense brilliancy had succeeded a reddish twilight, the lowest state
between day and night; but we could still see well enough; it was not
necessary to resort to the Ruhmkorff apparatus as yet. At this moment
Captain Nemo stopped; he waited till I joined him, and then pointed to an
obscure mass, looming in the shadow, at a short distance.
"It is the forest of the Island of Crespo," thought I; and I was not
mistaken.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.16
A SUBMARINE FOREST
WE HAD at last arrived on the borders of this forest, doubtless one of
the finest of Captain Nemo's immense domains. He looked upon it as his own,
and considered he had the same right over it that the first men had in the
first days of the world. And, indeed, who would have disputed with him the
possession of this submarine property? What other
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hardier pioneer would come, hatchet in hand, to cut down the dark copses?
This forest was composed of large tree-plants; and the moment we
penetrated under its vast arcades, I was struck by the singular position of
their branches -- a position I had not yet observed.
Not an herb which carpeted the ground, not a branch which clothed the
trees, was either broken or bent, nor did they extend horizontally; all
stretched up to the surface of the ocean. Not a filament, not a ribbon,
however thin they might be, but kept as straight as a rod of iron. The fuci
and llianas grew in rigid perpendicular lines, due to the density of the
element which had produced them. Motionless yet, when bent to one side by
the hand, they directly resumed their former position. Truly it was the
region of perpendicularity!
I soon accustomed myself to this fantastic position, as well as to the
comparative darkness which surrounded us. The soil of the forest seemed
covered with sharp blocks, difficult to avoid. The submarine flora struck
me as being very perfect, and richer even than it would have been in the
arctic or tropical zones, where these productions are not so plentiful. But
for some minutes I involuntarily confounded the genera, taking animals for
plants; and who would not have been mistaken? The fauna and the flora are
too closely allied in this submarine world.
These plants are self-propagated, and the principle of their existence
is in the water, which upholds and nourishes them. The greater number,
instead of leaves, shoot forth blades of capricious shapes, comprised
within a scale of colours pink, carmine, green, olive, fawn, and brown.
"Curious anomaly, fantastic element!" said an ingenious naturalist,
"in which the animal kingdom blossoms, and the vegetable does not!"
In about an hour Captain Nemo gave the signal to halt; I, for my part,
was not sorry, and we stretched ourselves under an arbour of alariae, the
long thin blades of which stood up like arrows.
This short rest seemed delicious to me; there was nothing
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wanting but the charm of conversation; but, impossible to speak, impossible
to answer, I only put my great copper head to Conseil's. I saw the worthy
fellow's eyes glistening with delight, and, to show his satisfaction, he
shook himself in his breastplate of air, in the most comical way in the
world.
After four hours of this walking, I was surprised not to find myself
dreadfully hungry. How to account for this state of the stomach I could not
tell. But instead I felt an insurmountable desire to sleep, which happens
to all divers. And my eyes soon closed behind the thick glasses, and I fell
into a heavy slumber, which the movement alone had prevented before.
Captain Nemo and his robust companion, stretched in the clear crystal, set
us the example.
How long I remained buried in this drowsiness I cannot judge, but,
when I woke, the sun seemed sinking towards the horizon. Captain Nemo had
already risen, and I was beginning to stretch my limbs, when an unexpected
apparition brought me briskly to my feet.
A few steps off, a monstrous sea-spider, about thirty- eight inches
high, was watching me with squinting eyes, ready to spring upon me. Though
my diver's dress was thick enough to defend me from the bite of this
animal, I could not help shuddering with horror. Conseil and the sailor of
the Nautilus awoke at this moment. Captain Nemo pointed out the hideous
crustacean, which a blow from the butt end of the gun knocked over, and I
saw the horrible claws of the monster writhe in terrible convulsions. This
incident reminded me that other animals more to be feared might haunt these
obscure depths, against whose attacks my diving-dress would not protect me.
I had never thought of it before, but I now resolved to be upon my guard.
Indeed, I thought that this halt would mark the termination of our walk;
but I was mistaken, for, instead of returning to the Nautilus, Captain Nemo
continued his bold excursion. The ground was still on the incline, its
declivity seemed to be getting greater, and to be leading us to greater
depths. It must have been about three o'clock when we reached a narrow
valley, between high perpendicular walls, situated about
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seventy-five fathoms deep. Thanks to the perfection of our apparatus, we
were forty-five fathoms below the limit which nature seems to have imposed
on man as to his submarine excursions.
I say seventy-five fathoms, though I had no instrument by which to
judge the distance. But I knew that even in the clearest waters the solar
rays could not penetrate further. And accordingly the darkness deepened. At
ten paces not an object was visible. I was groping my way, when I suddenly
saw a brilliant white light. Captain Nemo had just put his electric
apparatus into use; his companion did the same, and Conseil and I followed
their example. By turning a screw I established a communication between the
wire and the spiral glass, and the sea, lit by our four lanterns, was
illuminated for a circle of thirty-six yards.
As we walked I thought the light of our Ruhmkorff apparatus could not
fail to draw some inhabitant from its dark couch. But if they did approach
us, they at least kept at a respectful distance from the hunters. Several
times I saw Captain Nemo stop, put his gun to his shoulder, and after some
moments drop it and walk on. At last, after about four hours, this
marvellous excursion came to an end. A wall of superb rocks, in an imposing
mass, rose before us, a heap of gigantic blocks, an enormous, steep granite
shore, forming dark grottos, but which presented no practicable slope; it
was the prop of the Island of Crespo. It was the earth! Captain Nemo
stopped suddenly. A gesture of his brought us all to a halt; and, however
desirous I might be to scale the wall, I was obliged to stop. Here ended
Captain Nemo's domains. And he would not go beyond them. Further on was a
portion of the globe he might not trample upon.
The return began. Captain Nemo had returned to the head of his little
band, directing their course without hesitation. I thought we were not
following the same road to return to the Nautilus. The new road was very
steep, and consequently very painful. We approached the surface of the sea
rapidly. But this return to the upper strata was not so sudden as to cause
relief from the pressure too rapidly,
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which might have produced serious disorder in our organisation, and brought
on internal lesions, so fatal to divers. Very soon light reappeared and
grew, and, the sun being low on the horizon, the refraction edged the
different objects with a spectral ring. At ten yards and a half deep, we
walked amidst a shoal of little fishes of all kinds, more numerous than the
birds of the air, and also more agile; but no aquatic game worthy of a shot
had as yet met our gaze, when at that moment I saw the Captain shoulder his
gun quickly, and follow a moving object into the shrubs. He fired; I heard
a slight hissing, and a creature fell stunned at some distance from us. It
was a magnificent sea-otter, an enhydrus, the only exclusively marine
quadruped. This otter was five feet long, and must have been very valuable.
Its skin, chestnut- brown above and silvery underneath, would have made one
of those beautiful furs so sought after in the Russian and Chinese markets:
the fineness and the lustre of its coat would certainly fetch L80. I
admired this curious mammal, with its rounded head ornamented with short
ears, its round eyes, and white whiskers like those of a cat, with webbed
feet and nails, and tufted tail. This precious animal, hunted and tracked
by fishermen, has now become very rare, and taken refuge chiefly in the
northern parts of the Pacific, or probably its race would soon become
extinct.
Captain Nemo's companion took the beast, threw it over his shoulder,
and we continued our journey. For one hour a plain of sand lay stretched
before us. Sometimes it rose to within two yards and some inches of the
surface of the water. I then saw our image clearly reflected, drawn
inversely, and above us appeared an identical group reflecting our
movements and our actions; in a word, like us in every point, except that
they walked with their heads downward and their feet in the air.
Another effect I noticed, which was the passage of thick clouds which
formed and vanished rapidly; but on reflection I understood that these
seeming clouds were due to the varying thickness of the reeds at the
bottom, and I could even see the fleecy foam which their broken tops
multiplied on the water, and the shadows of large birds
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passing above our heads, whose rapid flight I could discern on the surface
of the sea.
On this occasion I was witness to one of the finest gunshots which
ever made the nerves of a hunter thrill. A large bird of great breadth of
wing, clearly visible, approached, hovering over us. Captain Nemo's
companion shouldered his gun and fired, when it was only a few yards above
the waves. The creature fell stunned, and the force of its fall brought it
within the reach of dexterous hunter's grasp. It was an albatross of the
finest kind.
Our march had not been interrupted by this incident. For two hours we
followed these sandy plains, then fields of algae very disagreeable to
cross. Candidly, I could do no more when I saw a glimmer of light, which,
for a half mile, broke the darkness of the waters. It was the lantern of
the Nautilus. Before twenty minutes were over we should be on board, and I
should be able to breathe with ease, for it seemed that my reservoir
supplied air very deficient in oxygen. But I did not reckon on an
accidental meeting which delayed our arrival for some time.
I had remained some steps behind, when I presently saw Captain Nemo
coming hurriedly towards me. With his strong hand he bent me to the ground,
his companion doing the same to Conseil. At first I knew not what to think
of this sudden attack, but I was soon reassured by seeing the Captain lie
down beside me, and remain immovable.
I was stretched on the ground, just under the shelter of a bush of
algae, when, raising my head, I saw some enormous mass, casting
phosphorescent gleams, pass blusteringly by.
My blood froze in my veins as I recognised two formidable sharks which
threatened us. It was a couple of tintoreas, terrible creatures, with
enormous tails and a dun glassy stare, the phosphorescent matter ejected
from holes pierced around the muzzle. Monstrous brutes! which would crush a
whole man in their iron jaws. I did not know whether Conseil stopped to
classify them; for my part, I noticed their silver bellies, and their huge
mouths bristling with teeth,
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from a very unscientific point of view, and more as a possible victim than
as a naturalist.
Happily the voracious creatures do not see well. They passed without
seeing us, brushing us with their brownish fins, and we escaped by a
miracle from a danger certainly greater than meeting a tiger full-face in
the forest. Half an hour after, guided by the electric light we reached the
Nautilus. The outside door had been left open, and Captain Nemo closed it
as soon as we had entered the first cell. He then pressed a knob. I heard
the pumps working in the midst of the vessel, I felt the water sinking from
around me, and in a few moments the cell was entirely empty. The inside
door then opened, and we entered the vestry.
There our diving-dress was taken off, not without some trouble, and,
fairly worn out from want of food and sleep, I returned to my room, in
great wonder at this surprising excursion at the bottom of the sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.17
FOUR THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE PACIFIC
THE next morning, the 18th of November, I had quite recovered from my
fatigues of the day before, and I went up on to the platform, just as the
second lieutenant was uttering his daily phrase.
I was admiring the magnificent aspect of the ocean when Captain Nemo
appeared. He did not seem to be aware of my presence, and began a series of
astronomical observations. Then, when he had finished, he went and leant on
the cage of the watch-light, and gazed abstractedly on the ocean. In the
meantime, a number of the sailors of the Nautilus, all strong and healthy
men, had come up onto the platform. They came to draw up the nets that had
been laid all night. These sailors were evidently of different nations,
although the European type was visible in all of them. I recognised some
unmistakable Irishmen, Frenchmen, some Sclaves, and a Greek, or a Candiote.
They were civil,
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and only used that odd language among themselves, the origin of which I
could not guess, neither could I question them.
The nets were hauled in. They were a large kind of "chaluts," like
those on the Normandy coasts, great pockets that the waves and a chain
fixed in the smaller meshes kept open. These pockets, drawn by iron poles,
swept through the water, and gathered in everything in their way. That day
they brought up curious specimens from those productive coasts.
I reckoned that the haul had brought in more than nine hundredweight
of fish. It was a fine haul, but not to be wondered at. Indeed, the nets
are let down for several hours, and enclose in their meshes an infinite
variety. We had no lack of excellent food, and the rapidity of the Nautilus
and the attraction of the electric light could always renew our supply.
These several productions of the sea were immediately lowered through the
panel to the steward's room, some to be eaten fresh, and others pickled.
The fishing ended, the provision of air renewed, I thought that the
Nautilus was about to continue its submarine excursion, and was preparing
to return to my room, when, without further preamble, the Captain turned to
me, saying:
"Professor, is not this ocean gifted with real life? It has its
tempers and its gentle moods. Yesterday it slept as we did, and now it has
woke after a quiet night. Look!" he continued, "it wakes under the caresses
of the sun. It is going to renew its diurnal existence. It is an
interesting study to watch the play of its organisation. It has a pulse,
arteries, spasms; and I agree with the learned Maury, who discovered in it
a circulation as real as the circulation of blood in animals.
"Yes, the ocean has indeed circulation, and to promote it, the Creator
has caused things to multiply in it -- caloric, salt, and animalculae."
When Captain Nemo spoke thus, he seemed altogether changed, and
aroused an extraordinary emotion in me.
"Also," he added, "true existence is there; and I can imagine the
foundations of nautical towns, clusters of submarine
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houses, which, like the Nautilus, would ascend every morning to breathe at
the surface of the water, free towns, independent cities. Yet who knows
whether some despot -- "
Captain Nemo finished his sentence with a violent gesture. Then,
addressing me as if to chase away some sorrowful thought:
"M. Aronnax," he asked. "do you know the depth of the ocean?"
"I only know, Captain, what the principal soundings have taught us."
"Could you tell me them, so that I can suit them to my purpose?"
"These are some," I replied, "that I remember. If I am not mistaken, a
depth of 8,000 yards has been found in the North Atlantic, and 2,500 yards
in the Mediterranean. The most remarkable soundings have been made in the
South Atlantic, near the thirty-fifth parallel, and they gave 12,000 yards,
14,000 yards, and 15,000 yards. To sum up all, it is reckoned that if the
bottom of the sea were levelled, its mean depth would be about one and
three-quarter leagues."
"Well, Professor," replied the Captain, "we shall show you better than
that I hope. As to the mean depth of this part of the Pacific, I tell you
it is only 4,000 yards."
Having said this, Captain Nemo went towards the panel, and disappeared
down the ladder. I followed him, and went into the large drawing-room. The
screw was immediately put in motion, and the log gave twenty miles an hour.
During the days and weeks that passed, Captain Nemo was very sparing
of his visits. I seldom saw him. The lieutenant pricked the ship's course
regularly on the chart, so I could always tell exactly the route of the
Nautilus.
Nearly every day, for some time, the panels of the drawing-room were
opened, and we were never tired of penetrating the mysteries of the
submarine world.
The general direction of the Nautilus was south-east, and it kept
between 100 and 150 yards of depth. One day, however, I do not know why,
being drawn diagonally by
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means of the inclined planes, it touched the bed of the sea. The
thermometer indicated a temperature of 4.25 (cent.): a temperature that at
this depth seemed common to all latitudes.
At three o'clock in the morning of the 26th of November the Nautilus
crossed the tropic of Cancer at 172° long. On 27th instant it sighted the
Sandwich Islands, where Cook died, February 14, 1779. We had then gone
4,860 leagues from our starting-point. In the morning, when I went on the
platform, I saw two miles to windward, Hawaii, the largest of the seven
islands that form the group. I saw clearly the cultivated ranges, and the
several mountain- chains that run parallel with the side, and the volcanoes
that overtop Mouna-Rea, which rise 5,000 yards above the level of the sea.
Besides other things the nets brought up, were several flabellariae and
graceful polypi, that are peculiar to that part of the ocean. The direction
of the Nautilus was still to the south-east. It crossed the equator
December 1, in 142° long.; and on the 4th of the same month, after crossing
rapidly and without anything in particular occurring, we sighted the
Marquesas group. I saw, three miles off, Martin's peak in Nouka-Hiva, the
largest of the group that belongs to France. I only saw the woody mountains
against the horizon, because Captain Nemo did not wish to bring the ship to
the wind. There the nets brought up beautiful specimens of fish: some with
azure fins and tails like gold, the flesh of which is unrivalled; some
nearly destitute of scales, but of exquisite flavour; others, with bony
jaws, and yellow-tinged gills, as good as bonitos; all fish that would be
of use to us. After leaving these charming islands protected by the French
flag, from the 4th to the 11th of December the Nautilus sailed over about
2,000 miles.
During the daytime of the 11th of December I was busy reading in the
large drawing-room. Ned Land and Conseil watched the luminous water through
the half-open panels. The Nautilus was immovable. While its reservoirs were
filled, it kept at a depth of 1,000 yards, a region rarely visited in the
ocean, and in which large fish were seldom seen.
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I was then reading a charming book by Jean Mace, The Slaves of the
Stomach, and I was learning some valuable lessons from it, when Conseil
interrupted me.
"Will master come here a moment?" he said, in a curious voice.
"What is the matter, Conseil?"
"I want master to look."
I rose, went, and leaned on my elbows before the panes and watched.
In a full electric light, an enormous black mass, quite immovable, was
suspended in the midst of the waters. I watched it attentively, seeking to
find out the nature of this gigantic cetacean. But a sudden thought crossed
my mind. "A vessel!" I said, half aloud.
"Yes," replied the Canadian, "a disabled ship that has sunk
perpendicularly."
Ned Land was right; we were close to a vessel of which the tattered
shrouds still hung from their chains. The keel seemed to be in good order,
and it had been wrecked at most some few hours. Three stumps of masts,
broken off about two feet above the bridge, showed that the vessel had had
to sacrifice its masts. But, lying on its side, it had filled, and it was
heeling over to port. This skeleton of what it had once been was a sad
spectacle as it lay lost under the waves, but sadder still was the sight of
the bridge, where some corpses, bound with ropes, were still lying. I
counted five -- four men, one of whom was standing at the helm, and a woman
standing by the poop, holding an infant in her arms. She was quite young. I
could distinguish her features, which the water had not decomposed, by the
brilliant light from the Nautilus. In one despairing effort, she had raised
her infant above her head -- poor little thing! -- whose arms encircled its
mother's neck. The attitude of the four sailors was frightful, distorted as
they were by their convulsive movements, whilst making a last effort to
free themselves from the cords that bound them to the vessel. The steersman
alone, calm, with a grave, clear face, his grey hair glued to his forehead,
and his hand clutching the wheel of
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the helm, seemed even then to be guiding the three broken masts through the
depths of the ocean.
What a scene! We were dumb; our hearts beat fast before this
shipwreck, taken as it were from life and photographed in its last moments.
And I saw already, coming towards it with hungry eyes, enormous sharks,
attracted by the human flesh.
However, the Nautilus, turning, went round the submerged vessel, and
in one instant I read on the stern -- "The Florida, Sunderland."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.18
VANIKORO
THIS terrible spectacle was the forerunner of the series of maritime
catastrophes that the Nautilus was destined to meet with in its route. As
long as it went through more frequented waters, we often saw the hulls of
shipwrecked vessels that were rotting in the depths, and deeper down
cannons, bullets, anchors, chains, and a thousand other iron materials
eaten up by rust. However, on the 11th of December we sighted the Pomotou
Islands, the old "dangerous group" of Bougainville, that extend over a
space of 500 leagues at E.S.E. to W.N.W., from the Island Ducie to that of
Lazareff. This group covers an area of 370 square leagues, and it is formed
of sixty groups of islands, among which the Gambier group is remarkable,
over which France exercises sway. These are coral islands, slowly raised,
but continuous, created by the daily work of polypi. Then this new island
will be joined later on to the neighboring groups, and a fifth continent
will stretch from New Zealand and New Caledonia, and from thence to the
Marquesas.
One day, when I was suggesting this theory to Captain Nemo, he replied
coldly:
"The earth does not want new continents, but new men."
On 15th of December, we left to the east the bewitching group of the
Societies and the graceful Tahiti, queen of the
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Pacific. I saw in the morning, some miles to the windward, the elevated
summits of the island. These waters furnished our table with excellent
fish, mackerel, bonitos, and some varieties of a sea-serpent.
On the 25th of December the Nautilus sailed into the midst of the New
Hebrides, discovered by Quiros in 1606, and that Bougainville explored in
1768, and to which Cook gave its present name in 1773. This group is
composed principally of nine large islands, that form a band of 120 leagues
N.N.S. to S.S.W., between 15° and 2° S. lat., and 164° and 168° long. We
passed tolerably near to the Island of Aurou, that at noon looked like a
mass of green woods, surmounted by a peak of great height.
That day being Christmas Day, Ned Land seemed to regret sorely the
non-celebration of "Christmas," the family fete of which Protestants are so
fond. I had not seen Captain Nemo for a week, when, on the morning of the
27th, he came into the large drawing-room, always seeming as if he had seen
you five minutes before. I was busily tracing the route of the Nautilus on
the planisphere. The Captain came up to me, put his finger on one spot on
the chart, and said this single word.
"Vanikoro."
The effect was magical! It was the name of the islands on which La
Perouse had been lost! I rose suddenly.
"The Nautilus has brought us to Vanikoro?" I asked.
"Yes, Professor," said the Captain.
"And I can visit the celebrated islands where the Boussole and the
Astrolabe struck?"
"If you like, Professor."
"When shall we be there?"
"We are there now."
Followed by Captain Nemo, I went up on to the platform, and greedily
scanned the horizon.
To the N.E. two volcanic islands emerged of unequal size, surrounded
by a coral reef that measured forty miles in circumference. We were close
to Vanikoro, really the one to which Dumont d'Urville gave the name of Isle
de la Recherche, and exactly facing the little harbour of Vanou,
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situated in 16° 4' S. lat., and 164° 32' E. long. The earth seemed covered
with verdure from the shore to the summits in the interior, that were
crowned by Mount Kapogo, 476 feet high. The Nautilus, having passed the
outer belt of rocks by a narrow strait, found itself among breakers where
the sea was from thirty to forty fathoms deep. Under the verdant shade of
some mangroves I perceived some savages, who appeared greatly surprised at
our approach. In the long black body, moving between wind and water, did
they not see some formidable cetacean that they regarded with suspicion?
Just then Captain Nemo asked me what I knew about the wreck of La
Perouse.
"Only what everyone knows, Captain," I replied.
"And could you tell me what everyone knows about it?" be inquired,
ironically.
"Easily."
I related to him all that the last works of Dumont d'Urville had made
known -- works from which the following is a brief account.
La Perouse, and his second, Captain de Langle, were sent by Louis XVI,
in 1785, on a voyage of circumnavigation. They embarked in the corvettes
Boussole and the Astrolabe, neither of which were again heard of. In 1791,
the French Government, justly uneasy as to the fate of these two sloops,
manned two large merchantmen, the Recherche and the Esperance, which left
Brest the 28th of September under the command of Bruni d'Entrecasteaux.
Two months after, they learned from Bowen, commander of the Albemarle,
that the debris of shipwrecked vessels had been seen on the coasts of New
Georgia. But D'Entrecasteaux, ignoring this communication -- rather
uncertain, besides -- directed his course towards the Admiralty Islands,
mentioned in a report of Captain Hunter's as being the place where La
Perouse was wrecked.
They sought in vain. The Esperance and the Recherche passed before
Vanikoro without stopping there, and, in fact, this voyage was most
disastrous, as it cost D'Entrecasteaux
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his life, and those of two of his lieutenants, besides several of his crew.
Captain Dillon, a shrewd old Pacific sailor, was the first to find
unmistakable traces of the wrecks. On the 15th of May, 1824, his vessel,
the St. Patrick, passed close to Tikopia, one of the New Hebrides. There a
Lascar came alongside in a canoe, sold him the handle of a sword in silver
that bore the print of characters engraved on the hilt. The Lascar
pretended that six years before, during a stay at Vanikoro, he had seen two
Europeans that belonged to some vessels that had run aground on the reefs
some years ago.
Dillon guessed that he meant La Perouse, whose disappearance had
troubled the whole world. He tried to get on to Vanikoro, where, according
to the Lascar, he would find numerous debris of the wreck, but winds and
tides prevented him.
Dillon returned to Calcutta. There he interested the Asiatic Society
and the Indian Company in his discovery. A vessel, to which was given the
name of the Recherche, was put at his disposal, and he set out, 23rd
January, 1827, accompanied by a French agent.
The Recherche, after touching at several points in the Pacific, cast
anchor before Vanikoro, 7th July, 1827, in that same harbour of Vanou where
the Nautilus was at this time.
There it collected numerous relics of the wreck -- iron utensils,
anchors, pulley-strops, swivel-guns, an 18 lb. shot, fragments of
astronomical instruments, a piece of crown- work, and a bronze clock,
bearing this inscription -- "Bazin m'a fait," the mark of the foundry of
the arsenal at Brest about 1785. There could be no further doubt.
Dillon, having made all inquiries, stayed in the unlucky place till
October. Then he quitted Vanikoro, and directed his course towards New
Zealand; put into Calcutta, 7th April, 1828, and returned to France, where
he was warmly welcomed by Charles X.
But at the same time, without knowing Dillon's movements, Dumont
d'Urville had already set out to find the scene of the wreck. And they had
learned from a whaler
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that some medals and a cross of St. Louis had been found in the hands of
some savages of Louisiade and New Caledonia. Dumont d'Urville, commander of
the Astrolabe, had then sailed, and two months after Dillon had left
Vanikoro he put into Hobart Town. There he learned the results of Dillon's
inquiries, and found that a certain James Hobbs, second lieutenant of the
Union of Calcutta, after landing on an island situated 8° 18' S. lat., and
156° 30' E. long., had seen some iron bars and red stuffs used by the
natives of these parts. Dumont d'Urville, much perplexed, and not knowing
how to credit the reports of low-class journals, decided to follow Dillon's
track.
On the 10th of February, 1828, the Astrolabe appeared off Tikopia, and
took as guide and interpreter a deserter found on the island; made his way
to Vanikoro, sighted it on the 12th inst., lay among the reefs until the
14th, and not until the 20th did he cast anchor within the barrier in the
harbour of Vanou.
On the 23rd, several officers went round the island and brought back
some unimportant trifles. The natives, adopting a system of denials and
evasions, refused to take them to the unlucky place. This ambiguous conduct
led them to believe that the natives had ill-treated the castaways, and
indeed they seemed to fear that Dumont d'Urville had come to avenge La
Perouse and his unfortunate crew.
However, on the 26th, appeased by some presents, and understanding
that they had no reprisals to fear, they led M. Jacquireot to the scene of
the wreck.
There, in three or four fathoms of water, between the reefs of Pacou
and Vanou, lay anchors, cannons, pigs of lead and iron, embedded in the
limy concretions. The large boat and the whaler belonging to the Astrolabe
were sent to this place, and, not without some difficulty, their crews
hauled up an anchor weighing 1,800 lbs., a brass gun, some pigs of iron,
and two copper swivel-guns.
Dumont d'Urville, questioning the natives, learned too that La
Perouse, after losing both his vessels on the reefs of this island, had
constructed a smaller boat, only to be lost a second time. Where, no one
knew.
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But the French Government, fearing that Dumont d'Urville was not
acquainted with Dillon's movements, had sent the sloop Bayonnaise,
commanded by Legoarant de Tromelin, to Vanikoro, which had been stationed
on the west coast of America. The Bayonnaise cast her anchor before
Vanikoro some months after the departure of the Astrolabe, but found no new
document; but stated that the savages had respected the monument to La
Perouse. That is the substance of what I told Captain Nemo.
"So," he said, "no one knows now where the third vessel perished that
was constructed by the castaways on the island of Vanikoro?"
"No one knows."
Captain Nemo said nothing, but signed to me to follow him into the
large saloon. The Nautilus sank several yards below the waves, and the
panels were opened.
I hastened to the aperture, and under the crustations of coral,
covered with fungi, I recognised certain debris that the drags had not been
able to tear up -- iron stirrups, anchors, cannons, bullets, capstan
fittings, the stem of a ship, all objects clearly proving the wreck of some
vessel, and now carpeted with living flowers. While I was looking on this
desolate scene, Captain Nemo said, in a sad voice:
"Commander La Perouse set out 7th December, 1785, with his vessels La
Boussole and the Astrolabe. He first cast anchor at Botany Bay, visited the
Friendly Isles, New Caledonia, then directed his course towards Santa Cruz,
and put into Namouka, one of the Hapai group. Then his vessels struck on
the unknown reefs of Vanikoro. The Boussole, which went first, ran aground
on the southerly coast. The Astrolabe went to its help, and ran aground
too. The first vessel was destroyed almost immediately. The second,
stranded under the wind, resisted some days. The natives made the castaways
welcome. They installed themselves in the island, and constructed a smaller
boat with the debris of the two large ones. Some sailors stayed willingly
at Vanikoro; the others, weak and ill, set out with La Perouse. They
directed their course towards the Solomon Islands, and there perished, with
everything, on the westerly coast of the
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chief island of the group, between Capes Deception and Satisfaction."
"How do you know that?"
"By this, that I found on the spot where was the last wreck."
Captain Nemo showed me a tin-plate box, stamped with the French arms,
and corroded by the salt water. He opened it, and I saw a bundle of papers,
yellow but still readable.
They were the instructions of the naval minister to Commander La
Perouse, annotated in the margin in Louis XVI's handwriting.
"Ah! it is a fine death for a sailor!" said Captain Nemo, at last. "A
coral tomb makes a quiet grave; and I trust that I and my comrades will
find no other."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.19
TORRES STRAITS
DURING the night of the 27th or 28th of December, the Nautilus left
the shores of Vanikoro with great speed. Her course was south-westerly, and
in three days she had gone over the 750 leagues that separated it from La
Perouse's group and the south-east point of Papua.
Early on the 1st of January, 1863, Conseil joined me on the platform.
"Master, will you permit me to wish you a happy New Year?"
"What! Conseil; exactly as if I was at Paris in my study at the Jardin
des Plantes? Well, I accept your good wishes, and thank you for them. Only,
I will ask you what you mean by a 'Happy New Year' under our circumstances?
Do you mean the year that will bring us to the end of our imprisonment, or
the year that sees us continue this strange voyage?"
"Really, I do not know how to answer, master. We are sure to see
curious things, and for the last two months we
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have not had time for dullness. The last marvel is always the most
astonishing; and, if we continue this progression, I do not know how it
will end. It is my opinion that we shall never again see the like. I think
then, with no offence to master, that a happy year would be one in which we
could see everything."
On 2nd January we had made 11,340 miles, or 5,250 French leagues,
since our starting-point in the Japan Seas. Before the ship's head
stretched the dangerous shores of the coral sea, on the north-east coast of
Australia. Our boat lay along some miles from the redoubtable bank on which
Cook's vessel was lost, 10th June, 1770. The boat in which Cook was struck
on a rock, and, if it did not sink, it was owing to a piece of coral that
was broken by the shock, and fixed itself in the broken keel.
I had wished to visit the reef, 360 leagues long, against which the
sea, always rough, broke with great violence, with a noise like thunder.
But just then the inclined planes drew the Nautilus down to a great depth,
and I could see nothing of the high coral walls. I had to content myself
with the different specimens of fish brought up by the nets. I remarked,
among others, some germons, a species of mackerel as large as a tunny, with
bluish sides, and striped with transverse bands, that disappear with the
animal's life. These fish followed us in shoals, and furnished us with very
delicate food. We took also a large number of giltheads, about one and a
half inches long, tasting like dorys; and flying fire-fish like submarine
swallows, which, in dark nights, light alternately the air and water with
their phosphorescent light.
Two days after crossing the coral sea, 4th January, we sighted the
Papuan coasts. On this occasion, Captain Nemo informed me that his
intention was to get into the Indian Ocean by the Strait of Torres. His
communication ended there.
The Torres Straits are nearly thirty-four leagues wide; but they are
obstructed by an innumerable quantity of islands, islets, breakers, and
rocks, that make its navigation almost impracticable; so that Captain Nemo
took all needful precautions to cross them. The Nautilus, floating betwixt
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wind and water, went at a moderate pace. Her screw, like a cetacean's tail,
beat the waves slowly.
Profiting by this, I and my two companions went up on to the deserted
platform. Before us was the steersman's cage, and I expected that Captain
Nemo was there directing the course of the Nautilus. I had before me the
excellent charts of the Straits of Torres, and I consulted them
attentively. Round the Nautilus the sea dashed furiously. The course of the
waves, that went from south-east to north-west at the rate of two and a
half miles, broke on the coral that showed itself here and there.
"This is a bad sea!" remarked Ned Land.
"Detestable indeed, and one that does not suit a boat like the
Nautilus."
"The Captain must be very sure of his route, for I see there pieces of
coral that would do for its keel if it only touched them slightly."
Indeed the situation was dangerous, but the Nautilus seemed to slide
like magic off these rocks. It did not follow the routes of the Astrolabe
and the Zelee exactly, for they proved fatal to Dumont d'Urville. It bore
more northwards, coasted the Islands of Murray, and came back to the
southwest towards Cumberland Passage. I thought it was going to pass it by,
when, going back to north-west, it went through a large quantity of islands
and islets little known, towards the Island Sound and Canal Mauvais.
I wondered if Captain Nemo, foolishly imprudent, would steer his
vessel into that pass where Dumont d'Urville's two corvettes touched; when,
swerving again, and cutting straight through to the west, he steered for
the Island of Gilboa.
It was then three in the afternoon. The tide began to recede, being
quite full. The Nautilus approached the island, that I still saw, with its
remarkable border of screw-pines. He stood off it at about two miles
distant. Suddenly a shock overthrew me. The Nautilus just touched a rock,
and stayed immovable, laying lightly to port side.
When I rose, I perceived Captain Nemo and his lieutenant on the
platform. They were examining the situation
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of the vessel, and exchanging words in their incomprehensible dialect.
She was situated thus: Two miles, on the starboard side, appeared
Gilboa, stretching from north to west like an immense arm. Towards the
south and east some coral showed itself, left by the ebb. We had run
aground, and in one of those seas where the tides are middling -- a sorry
matter for the floating of the Nautilus. However, the vessel had not
suffered, for her keel was solidly joined. But, if she could neither glide
off nor move, she ran the risk of being for ever fastened to these rocks,
and then Captain Nemo's submarine vessel would be done for.
I was reflecting thus, when the Captain, cool and calm, always master
of himself, approached me.
"An accident?" I asked.
"No; an incident."
"But an incident that will oblige you perhaps to become an inhabitant
of this land from which you flee?"
Captain Nemo looked at me curiously, and made a negative gesture, as
much as to say that nothing would force him to set foot on terra firma
again. Then he said:
"Besides, M. Aronnax, the Nautilus is not lost; it will carry you yet
into the midst of the marvels of the ocean. Our voyage is only begun, and I
do not wish to be deprived so soon of the honour of your company."
"However, Captain Nemo," I replied, without noticing the ironical turn
of his phrase, "the Nautilus ran aground in open sea. Now the tides are not
strong in the Pacific; and, if you cannot lighten the Nautilus, I do not
see how it will be reinflated."
"The tides are not strong in the Pacific: you are right there,
Professor; but in Torres Straits one finds still a difference of a yard and
a half between the level of high and low seas. To-day is 4th January, and
in five days the moon will be full. Now, I shall be very much astonished if
that satellite does not raise these masses of water sufficiently, and
render me a service that I should be indebted to her for."
Having said this, Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant,
redescended to the interior of the Nautilus. As to
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the vessel, it moved not, and was immovable, as if the coralline polypi had
already walled it up with their indestructible cement.
"Well, sir?" said Ned Land, who came up to me after the departure of
the Captain.
"Well, friend Ned, we will wait patiently for the tide on the 9th
instant; for it appears that the moon will have the goodness to put it off
again."
"Really?"
"Really."
"And this Captain is not going to cast anchor at all since the tide
will suffice?" said Conseil, simply.
The Canadian looked at Conseil, then shrugged his shoulders.
"Sir, you may believe me when I tell you that this piece of iron will
navigate neither on nor under the sea again; it is only fit to be sold for
its weight. I think, therefore, that the time has come to part company with
Captain Nemo."
"Friend Ned, I do not despair of this stout Nautilus, as you do; and
in four days we shall know what to hold to on the Pacific tides. Besides,
flight might be possible if we were in sight of the English or Provencal
coast; but on the Papuan shores, it is another thing; and it will be time
enough to come to that extremity if the Nautilus does not recover itself
again, which I look upon as a grave event."
"But do they know, at least, how to act circumspectly? There is an
island; on that island there are trees; under those trees, terrestrial
animals, bearers of cutlets and roast- beef, to which I would willingly
give a trial."
"In this, friend Ned is right," said Conseil, "and I agree with him.
Could not master obtain permission from his friend Captain Nemo to put us
on land, if only so as not to lose the habit of treading on the solid parts
of our planet?"
"I can ask him, but he will refuse."
"Will master risk it?" asked Conseil, "and we shall know how to rely
upon the Captain's amiability."
To my great surprise, Captain Nemo gave me the permission I asked for,
and he gave it very agreeably, without
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even exacting from me a promise to return to the vessel; but flight across
New Guinea might be very perilous, and I should not have counselled Ned
Land to attempt it. Better to be a prisoner on board the Nautilus than to
fall into the hands of the natives.
At eight o'clock, armed with guns and hatchets, we got off the
Nautilus. The sea was pretty calm; a slight breeze blew on land. Conseil
and I rowing, we sped along quickly, and Ned steered in the straight
passage that the breakers left between them. The boat was well handled, and
moved rapidly.
Ned Land could not restrain his joy. He was like a prisoner that had
escaped from prison, and knew not that it was necessary to re-enter it.
"Meat! We are going to eat some meat; and what meat!" he replied.
"Real game! no, bread, indeed."
"I do not say that fish is not good; we must not abuse it; but a piece
of fresh venison, grilled on live coals, will agreeably vary our ordinary
course."
"Glutton!" said Conseil, "he makes my mouth water."
"It remains to be seen," I said, "if these forests are full of game,
and if the game is not such as will hunt the hunter himself."
"Well said, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, whose teeth seemed
sharpened like the edge of a hatchet; "but I will eat tiger -- loin of
tiger -- if there is no other quadruped on this island."
"Friend Ned is uneasy about it," said Conseil.
"Whatever it may be," continued Ned Land, "every animal with four paws
without feathers, or with two paws without feathers, will be saluted by my
first shot."
"Very well! Master Land's imprudences are beginning."
"Never fear, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian; "I do not want
twenty-five minutes to offer you a dish, of my sort."
At half-past eight the Nautilus boat ran softly aground on a heavy
sand, after having happily passed the coral reef that surrounds the Island
of Gilboa.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.20
A FEW DAYS ON LAND
I WAS much impressed on touching land. Ned Land tried the soil with
his feet, as if to take possession of it. However, it was only two months
before that we had become, according to Captain Nemo, "passengers on board
the Nautilus," but, in reality, prisoners of its commander.
In a few minutes we were within musket-shot of the coast. The whole
horizon was hidden behind a beautiful curtain of forests. Enormous trees,
the trunks of which attained a height of 200 feet, were tied to each other
by garlands of bindweed, real natural hammocks, which a light breeze
rocked. They were mimosas, figs, hibisci, and palm trees, mingled together
in profusion; and under the shelter of their verdant vault grew orchids,
leguminous plants, and ferns.
But, without noticing all these beautiful specimens of Papuan flora,
the Canadian abandoned the agreeable for the useful. He discovered a
coco-tree, beat down some of the fruit, broke them, and we drunk the milk
and ate the nut with a satisfaction that protested against the ordinary
food on the Nautilus.
"Excellent!" said Ned Land.
"Exquisite!" replied Conseil.
"And I do not think," said the Canadian, "that he would object to our
introducing a cargo of coco-nuts on board."
"I do not think he would, but he would not taste them."
"So much the worse for him," said Conseil.
"And so much the better for us," replied Ned Land. "There will be more
for us."
"One word only, Master Land," I said to the harpooner, who was
beginning to ravage another coco-nut tree. "Coconuts are good things, but
before filling the canoe with them it would be wise to reconnoitre and see
if the island does not produce some substance not less useful. Fresh
vegetables would be welcome on board the Nautilus."
"Master is right," replied Conseil; "and I propose to
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reserve three places in our vessel, one for fruits, the other for
vegetables, and the third for the venison, of which I have not yet seen the
smallest specimen."
"Conseil, we must not despair," said the Canadian.
"Let us continue," I returned, "and lie in wait. Although the island
seems uninhabited, it might still contain some individuals that would be
less hard than we on the nature of game."
"Ho! ho!" said Ned Land, moving his jaws significantly.
"Well, Ned!" said Conseil.
"My word!" returned the Canadian, "I begin to understand the charms of
anthropophagy."
"Ned! Ned! what are you saying? You, a man-eater? I should not feel
safe with you, especially as I share your cabin. I might perhaps wake one
day to find myself half devoured."
"Friend Conseil, I like you much, but not enough to eat you
unnecessarily."
"I would not trust you," replied Conseil. "But enough. We must
absolutely bring down some game to satisfy this cannibal, or else one of
these fine mornings, master will find only pieces of his servant to serve
him."
While we were talking thus, we were penetrating the sombre arches of
the forest, and for two hours we surveyed it in all directions.
Chance rewarded our search for eatable vegetables, and one of the most
useful products of the tropical zones furnished us with precious food that
we missed on board. I would speak of the bread-fruit tree, very abundant in
the island of Gilboa; and I remarked chiefly the variety destitute of
seeds, which bears in Malaya the name of "rima."
Ned Land knew these fruits well. He had already eaten many during his
numerous voyages, and he knew how to prepare the eatable substance.
Moreover, the sight of them excited him, and he could contain himself no
longer.
"Master," he said, "I shall die if I do not taste a little of this
bread-fruit pie."
"Taste it, friend Ned -- taste it as you want. We are here to make
experiments -- make them."
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"It won't take long," said the Canadian.
And, provided with a lentil, he lighted a fire of dead wood that
crackled joyously. During this time, Conseil and I chose the best fruits of
the bread-fruit. Some had not then attained a sufficient degree of
maturity; and their thick skin covered a white but rather fibrous pulp.
Others, the greater number yellow and gelatinous, waited only to be picked.
These fruits enclosed no kernel. Conseil brought a dozen to Ned Land,
who placed them on a coal fire, after having cut them in thick slices, and
while doing this repeating:
"You will see, master, how good this bread is. More so when one has
been deprived of it so long. It is not even bread," added he, "but a
delicate pastry. You have eaten none, master?"
"No, Ned."
"Very well, prepare yourself for a juicy thing. If you do not come for
more, I am no longer the king of harpooners."
After some minutes, the part of the fruits that was exposed to the
fire was completely roasted. The interior looked like a white pasty, a sort
of soft crumb, the flavour of which was like that of an artichoke.
It must be confessed this bread was excellent, and I ate of it with
great relish.
"What time is it now?" asked the Canadian.
"Two o'clock at least," replied Conseil.
"How time flies on firm ground!" sighed Ned Land.
"Let us be off," replied Conseil.
We returned through the forest, and completed our collection by a raid
upon the cabbage-palms, that we gathered from the tops of the trees, little
beans that I recognised as the "abrou" of the Malays, and yams of a
superior quality.
We were loaded when we reached the boat. But Ned Land did not find his
provisions sufficient. Fate, however, favoured us. Just as we were pushing
off, he perceived several trees, from twenty-five to thirty feet high, a
species of palm-tree.
At last, at five o'clock in the evening, loaded with our riches, we
quitted the shore, and half an hour after we hailed
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the Nautilus. No one appeared on our arrival. The enormous iron-plated
cylinder seemed deserted. The provisions embarked, I descended to my
chamber, and after supper slept soundly.
The next day, 6th January, nothing new on board. Not a sound inside,
not a sign of life. The boat rested along the edge, in the same place in
which we had left it. We resolved to return to the island. Ned Land hoped
to be more fortunate than on the day before with regard to the hunt, and
wished to visit another part of the forest.
At dawn we set off. The boat, carried on by the waves that flowed to
shore, reached the island in a few minutes.
We landed, and, thinking that it was better to give in to the
Canadian, we followed Ned Land, whose long limbs threatened to distance us.
He wound up the coast towards the west: then, fording some torrents, he
gained the high plain that was bordered with admirable forests. Some
kingfishers were rambling along the water-courses, but they would not let
themselves be approached. Their circumspection proved to me that these
birds knew what to expect from bipeds of our species, and I concluded that,
if the island was not inhabited, at least human beings occasionally
frequented it.
After crossing a rather large prairie, we arrived at the skirts of a
little wood that was enlivened by the songs and flight of a large number of
birds.
"There are only birds," said Conseil.
"But they are eatable," replied the harpooner.
"I do not agree with you, friend Ned, for I see only parrots there."
"Friend Conseil," said Ned, gravely, "the parrot is like pheasant to
those who have nothing else."
"And," I added, "this bird, suitably prepared, is worth knife and
fork."
Indeed, under the thick foliage of this wood, a world of parrots were
flying from branch to branch, only needing a careful education to speak the
human language. For the moment, they were chattering with parrots of all
colours, and grave cockatoos, who seemed to meditate upon some
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philosophical problem, whilst brilliant red lories passed like a piece of
bunting carried away by the breeze, papuans, with the finest azure colours,
and in all a variety of winged things most charming to behold, but few
eatable.
However, a bird peculiar to these lands, and which has never passed
the limits of the Arrow and Papuan islands, was wanting in this collection.
But fortune reserved it for me before long.
After passing through a moderately thick copse, we found a plain
obstructed with bushes. I saw then those magnificent birds, the disposition
of whose long feathers obliges them to fly against the wind. Their
undulating flight, graceful aerial curves, and the shading of their
colours, attracted and charmed one's looks. I had no trouble in recognising
them.
"Birds of paradise!" I exclaimed.
The Malays, who carry on a great trade in these birds with the
Chinese, have several means that we could not employ for taking them.
Sometimes they put snares on the top of high trees that the birds of
paradise prefer to frequent. Sometimes they catch them with a viscous
birdlime that paralyses their movements. They even go so far as to poison
the fountains that the birds generally drink from. But we were obliged to
fire at them during flight, which gave us few chances to bring them down;
and, indeed, we vainly exhausted one half our ammunition.
About eleven o'clock in the morning, the first range of mountains that
form the centre of the island was traversed, and we had killed nothing.
Hunger drove us on. The hunters had relied on the products of the chase,
and they were wrong. Happily Conseil, to his great surprise, made a double
shot and secured breakfast. He brought down a white pigeon and a
wood-pigeon, which, cleverly plucked and suspended from a skewer, was
roasted before a red fire of dead wood. While these interesting birds were
cooking, Ned prepared the fruit of the bread-tree. Then the wood-pigeons
were devoured to the bones, and declared excellent. The nutmeg, with which
they are in the habit of stuffing their crops, flavours their flesh and
renders it delicious eating.
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"Now, Ned, what do you miss now?"
"Some four-footed game, M. Aronnax. All these pigeons are only
side-dishes and trifles; and until I have killed an animal with cutlets I
shall not be content."
"Nor I, Ned, if I do not catch a bird of paradise."
"Let us continue hunting," replied Conseil. "Let us go towards the
sea. We have arrived at the first declivities of the mountains, and I think
we had better regain the region of forests."
That was sensible advice, and was followed out. After walking for one
hour we had attained a forest of sago-trees. Some inoffensive serpents
glided away from us. The birds of paradise fled at our approach, and truly
I despaired of getting near one when Conseil, who was walking in front,
suddenly bent down, uttered a triumphal cry, and came back to me bringing a
magnificent specimen.
"Ah! bravo, Conseil!"
"Master is very good."
"No, my boy; you have made an excellent stroke. Take one of these
living birds, and carry it in your hand."
"If master will examine it, he will see that I have not deserved great
merit."
"Why, Conseil?"
"Because this bird is as drunk as a quail."
"Drunk!"
"Yes, sir; drunk with the nutmegs that it devoured under the
nutmeg-tree, under which I found it. See, friend Ned, see the monstrous
effects of intemperance!"
"By Jove!" exclaimed the Canadian, "because I have drunk gin for two
months, you must needs reproach me!"
However, I examined the curious bird. Conseil was right. The bird,
drunk with the juice, was quite powerless. It could not fly; it could
hardly walk.
This bird belonged to the most beautiful of the eight species that are
found in Papua and in the neighbouring islands. It was the "large emerald
bird, the most rare kind." It measured three feet in length. Its head was
comparatively small, its eyes placed near the opening of the beak, and also
small. But the shades of colour were beautiful, having
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a yellow beak, brown feet and claws, nut-coloured wings with purple tips,
pale yellow at the back of the neck and head, and emerald colour at the
throat, chestnut on the breast and belly. Two horned, downy nets rose from
below the tail, that prolonged the long light feathers of admirable
fineness, and they completed the whole of this marvellous bird, that the
natives have poetically named the "bird of the sun."
But if my wishes were satisfied by the possession of the bird of
paradise, the Canadian's were not yet. Happily, about two o'clock, Ned Land
brought down a magnificent hog; from the brood of those the natives call
"bari-outang." The animal came in time for us to procure real quadruped
meat, and he was well received. Ned Land was very proud of his shot. The
hog, hit by the electric ball, fell stone dead. The Canadian skinned and
cleaned it properly, after having taken half a dozen cutlets, destined to
furnish us with a grilled repast in the evening. Then the hunt was resumed,
which was still more marked by Ned and Conseil's exploits.
Indeed, the two friends, beating the bushes, roused a herd of
kangaroos that fled and bounded along on their elastic paws. But these
animals did not take to flight so rapidly but what the electric capsule
could stop their course.
"Ah, Professor!" cried Ned Land, who was carried away by the delights
of the chase, "what excellent game, and stewed, too! What a supply for the
Nautilus! Two! three! five down! And to think that we shall eat that flesh,
and that the idiots on board shall not have a crumb!"
I think that, in the excess of his joy, the Canadian, if he had not
talked so much, would have killed them all. But he contented himself with a
single dozen of these interesting marsupians. These animals were small.
They were a species of those "kangaroo rabbits" that live habitually in the
hollows of trees, and whose speed is extreme; but they are moderately fat,
and furnish, at least, estimable food. We were very satisfied with the
results of the hunt. Happy Ned proposed to return to this enchanting island
the next day, for he wished to depopulate it of all the eatable quadrupeds.
But he had reckoned without his host.
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At six o'clock in the evening we had regained the shore; our boat was
moored to the usual place. The Nautilus, like a long rock, emerged from the
waves two miles from the beach. Ned Land, without waiting, occupied himself
about the important dinner business. He understood all about cooking well.
The "bari-outang," grilled on the coals, soon scented the air with a
delicious odour.
Indeed, the dinner was excellent. Two wood-pigeons completed this
extraordinary menu. The sago pasty, the artocarpus bread, some mangoes,
half a dozen pineapples, and the liquor fermented from some coco-nuts,
overjoyed us. I even think that my worthy companions' ideas had not all the
plainness desirable.
"Suppose we do not return to the Nautilus this evening?" said Conseil.
"Suppose we never return?" added Ned Land.
Just then a stone fell at our feet and cut short the harpooner's
proposition.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.21
CAPTAIN NEMO'S THUNDERBOLT
WE LOOKED at the edge of the forest without rising, my hand stopping
in the action of putting it to my mouth, Ned Land's completing its office.
"Stones do not fall from the sky," remarked Conseil, "or they would
merit the name aerolites."
A second stone, carefully aimed, that made a savoury pigeon's leg fall
from Conseil's hand, gave still more weight to his observation. We all
three arose, shouldered our guns, and were ready to reply to any attack.
"Are they apes?" cried Ned Land.
"Very nearly -- they are savages."
"To the boat!" I said, hurrying to the sea.
It was indeed necessary to beat a retreat, for about twenty natives
armed with bows and slings appeared on the skirts
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of a copse that masked the horizon to the right, hardly a hundred steps
from us.
Our boat was moored about sixty feet from us. The savages approached
us, not running, but making hostile demonstrations. Stones and arrows fell
thickly.
Ned Land had not wished to leave his provisions; and, in spite of his
imminent danger, his pig on one side and kangaroos on the other, he went
tolerably fast. In two minutes we were on the shore. To load the boat with
provisions and arms, to push it out to sea, and ship the oars, was the work
of an instant. We had not gone two cable-lengths, when a hundred savages,
howling and gesticulating, entered the water up to their waists. I watched
to see if their apparition would attract some men from the Nautilus on to
the platform. But no. The enormous machine, lying off, was absolutely
deserted.
Twenty minutes later we were on board. The panels were open. After
making the boat fast, we entered into the interior of the Nautilus.
I descended to the drawing-room, from whence I heard some chords.
Captain Nemo was there, bending over his organ, and plunged in a musical
ecstasy.
"Captain!"
He did not hear me.
"Captain!" I said, touching his hand.
He shuddered, and, turning round, said, "Ah! it is you, Professor?
Well, have you had a good hunt, have you botanised successfully?"
"Yes Captain; but we have unfortunately brought a troop of bipeds,
whose vicinity troubles me."
"What bipeds?"
"Savages."
"Savages!" he echoed, ironically. "So you are astonished, Professor,
at having set foot on a strange land and finding savages? Savages! where
are there not any? Besides, are they worse than others, these whom you call
savages?"
"But Captain -- "
"How many have you counted?"
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"A hundred at least."
"M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, placing his fingers on the organ
stops, "when all the natives of Papua are assembled on this shore, the
Nautilus will have nothing to fear from their attacks."
The Captain's fingers were then running over the keys of the
instrument, and I remarked that he touched only the black keys, which gave
his melodies an essentially Scotch character. Soon he had forgotten my
presence, and had plunged into a reverie that I did not disturb. I went up
again on to the platform: night had already fallen; for, in this low
latitude, the sun sets rapidly and without twilight. I could only see the
island indistinctly; but the numerous fires, lighted on the beach, showed
that the natives did not think of leaving it. I was alone for several
hours, sometimes thinking of the natives -- but without any dread of them,
for the imperturbable confidence of the Captain was catching -- sometimes
forgetting them to admire the splendours of the night in the tropics. My
remembrances went to France in the train of those zodiacal stars that would
shine in some hours' time. The moon shone in the midst of the
constellations of the zenith.
The night slipped away without any mischance, the islanders frightened
no doubt at the sight of a monster aground in the bay. The panels were
open, and would have offered an easy access to the interior of the
Nautilus.
At six o'clock in the morning of the 8th January I went up on to the
platform. The dawn was breaking. The island soon showed itself through the
dissipating fogs, first the shore, then the summits.
The natives were there, more numerous than on the day before -- five
or six hundred perhaps -- some of them, profiting by the low water, had
come on to the coral, at less than two cable-lengths from the Nautilus. I
distinguished them easily; they were true Papuans, with athletic figures,
men of good race, large high foreheads, large, but not broad and flat, and
white teeth. Their woolly hair, with a reddish tinge, showed off on their
black shining bodies like those of
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the Nubians. From the lobes of their ears, cut and distended, hung chaplets
of bones. Most of these savages were naked. Amongst them, I remarked some
women, dressed from the hips to knees in quite a crinoline of herbs, that
sustained a vegetable waistband. Some chiefs had ornamented their necks
with a crescent and collars of glass beads, red and white; nearly all were
armed with bows, arrows, and shields and carried on their shoulders a sort
of net containing those round stones which they cast from their slings with
great skill. One of these chiefs, rather near to the Nautilus, examined it
attentively. He was, perhaps, a "mado" of high rank, for he was draped in a
mat of banana-leaves, notched round the edges, and set off with brilliant
colours.
I could easily have knocked down this native, who was within a short
length; but I thought that it was better to wait for real hostile
demonstrations. Between Europeans and savages, it is proper for the
Europeans to parry sharply, not to attack.
During low water the natives roamed about near the Nautilus, but were
not troublesome; I heard them frequently repeat the word "Assai," and by
their gestures I understood that they invited me to go on land, an
invitation that I declined.
So that, on that day, the boat did not push off, to the great
displeasure of Master Land, who could not complete his provisions.
This adroit Canadian employed his time in preparing the viands and
meat that he had brought off the island. As for the savages, they returned
to the shore about eleven o'clock in the morning, as soon as the coral tops
began to disappear under the rising tide; but I saw their numbers had
increased considerably on the shore. Probably they came from the
neighbouring islands, or very likely from Papua. However, I had not seen a
single native canoe. Having nothing better to do, I thought of dragging
these beautiful limpid waters, under which I saw a profusion of shells,
zoophytes, and marine plants. Moreover, it was the last day that the
Nautilus would pass in these parts, if it float
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in open sea the next day, according to Captain Nemo's promise.
I therefore called Conseil, who brought me a little light drag, very
like those for the oyster fishery. Now to work! For two hours we fished
unceasingly, but without bringing up any rarities. The drag was filled with
midas-ears, harps, melames, and particularly the most beautiful hammers I
have ever seen. We also brought up some sea-slugs, pearl- oysters, and a
dozen little turtles that were reserved for the pantry on board.
But just when I expected it least, I put my hand on a wonder, I might
say a natural deformity, very rarely met with. Conseil was just dragging,
and his net came up filled with divers ordinary shells, when, all at once,
he saw me plunge my arm quickly into the net, to draw out a shell, and
heard me utter a cry.
"What is the matter, sir?" he asked in surprise. "Has master been
bitten?"
"No, my boy; but I would willingly have given a finger for my
discovery."
"What discovery?"
"This shell," I said, holding up the object of my triumph.
"It is simply an olive porphyry."
"Yes, Conseil; but, instead of being rolled from right to left, this
olive turns from left to right."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, my boy; it is a left shell."
Shells are all right-handed, with rare exceptions; and, when by chance
their spiral is left, amateurs are ready to pay their weight in gold.
Conseil and I were absorbed in the contemplation of our treasure, and
I was promising myself to enrich the museum with it, when a stone
unfortunately thrown by a native struck against, and broke, the precious
object in Conseil's hand. I uttered a cry of despair! Conseil took up his
gun, and aimed at a savage who was poising his sling at ten yards from him.
I would have stopped him, but his blow took effect and broke the bracelet
of amulets which encircled the arm of the savage.
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"Conseil!" cried I. "Conseil!"
"Well, sir! do you not see that the cannibal has commenced the
attack?"
"A shell is not worth the life of a man," said I.
"Ah! the scoundrel!" cried Conseil; "I would rather he had broken my
shoulder!"
Conseil was in earnest, but I was not of his opinion. However, the
situation had changed some minutes before, and we had not perceived. A
score of canoes surrounded the Nautilus. These canoes, scooped out of the
trunk of a tree, long, narrow, well adapted for speed, were balanced by
means of a long bamboo pole, which floated on the water. They were managed
by skilful, half-naked paddlers, and I watched their advance with some
uneasiness. It was evident that these Papuans had already had dealings with
the Europeans and knew their ships. But this long iron cylinder anchored in
the bay, without masts or chimneys, what could they think of it? Nothing
good, for at first they kept at a respectful distance. However, seeing it
motionless, by degrees they took courage, and sought to familiarise
themselves with it. Now this familiarity was precisely what it was
necessary to avoid. Our arms, which were noiseless, could only produce a
moderate effect on the savages, who have little respect for aught but
blustering things. The thunderbolt without the reverberations of thunder
would frighten man but little, though the danger lies in the lightning, not
in the noise.
At this moment the canoes approached the Nautilus, and a shower of
arrows alighted on her.
I went down to the saloon, but found no one there. I ventured to knock
at the door that opened into the Captain's room. "Come in," was the answer.
I entered, and found Captain Nemo deep in algebraical calculations of
x and other quantities.
"I am disturbing you," said I, for courtesy's sake.
"That is true, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain; "but I think you have
serious reasons for wishing to see me?"
"Very grave ones; the natives are surrounding us in their
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canoes, and in a few minutes we shall certainly be attacked by many
hundreds of savages."
"Ah!," said Captain Nemo quietly, "they are come with their canoes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, sir, we must close the hatches."
"Exactly, and I came to say to you -- "
"Nothing can be more simple," said Captain Nemo. And, pressing an
electric button, he transmitted an order to the ship's crew.
"It is all done, sir," said he, after some moments. "The pinnace is
ready, and the hatches are closed. You do not fear, I imagine, that these
gentlemen could stave in walls on which the balls of your frigate have had
no effect?"
"No, Captain; but a danger still exists."
"What is that, sir?"
"It is that to-morrow, at about this hour, we must open the hatches to
renew the air of the Nautilus. Now, if, at this moment, the Papuans should
occupy the platform, I do not see how you could prevent them from
entering."
"Then, sir, you suppose that they will board us?"
"I am certain of it."
"Well, sir, let them come. I see no reason for hindering them. After
all, these Papuans are poor creatures, and I am unwilling that my visit to
the island should cost the life of a single one of these wretches."
Upon that I was going away; But Captain Nemo detained me, and asked me
to sit down by him. He questioned me with interest about our excursions on
shore, and our hunting; and seemed not to understand the craving for meat
that possessed the Canadian. Then the conversation turned on various
subjects, and, without being more communicative, Captain Nemo showed
himself more amiable.
Amongst other things, we happened to speak of the situation of the
Nautilus, run aground in exactly the same spot in this strait where Dumont
d'Urville was nearly lost. Apropos of this:
"This D'Urville was one of your great sailors," said the
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Captain to me, "one of your most intelligent navigators. He is the Captain
Cook of you Frenchmen. Unfortunate man of science, after having braved the
icebergs of the South Pole, the coral reefs of Oceania, the cannibals of
the Pacific, to perish miserably in a railway train! If this energetic man
could have reflected during the last moments of his life, what must have
been uppermost in his last thoughts, do you suppose?"
So speaking, Captain Nemo seemed moved, and his emotion gave me a
better opinion of him. Then, chart in hand, we reviewed the travels of the
French navigator, his voyages of circumnavigation, his double detention at
the South Pole, which led to the discovery of Adelaide and Louis Philippe,
and fixing the hydrographical bearings of the principal islands of Oceania.
"That which your D'Urville has done on the surface of the seas," said
Captain Nemo, "that have I done under them, and more easily, more
completely than he. The Astrolabe and the Zelee, incessantly tossed about
by the hurricane, could not be worth the Nautilus, quiet repository of
labour that she is, truly motionless in the midst of the waters.
"To-morrow," added the Captain, rising, "to-morrow, at twenty minutes
to three p.m., the Nautilus shall float, and leave the Strait of Torres
uninjured."
Having curtly pronounced these words, Captain Nemo bowed slightly.
This was to dismiss me, and I went back to my room.
There I found Conseil, who wished to know the result of my interview
with the Captain.
"My boy," said I, "when I feigned to believe that his Nautilus was
threatened by the natives of Papua, the Captain answered me very
sarcastically. I have but one thing to say to you: Have confidence in him,
and go to sleep in peace."
"Have you no need of my services, sir?"
"No, my friend. What is Ned Land doing?"
"If you will excuse me, sir," answered Conseil, "friend Ned is busy
making a kangaroo-pie which will be a marvel."
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I remained alone and went to bed, but slept indifferently. I heard the
noise of the savages, who stamped on the platform, uttering deafening
cries. The night passed thus, without disturbing the ordinary repose of the
crew. The presence of these cannibals affected them no more than the
soldiers of a masked battery care for the ants that crawl over its front.
At six in the morning I rose. The hatches had not been opened. The
inner air was not renewed, but the reservoirs, filled ready for any
emergency, were now resorted to, and discharged several cubic feet of
oxygen into the exhausted atmosphere of the Nautilus.
I worked in my room till noon, without having seen Captain Nemo, even
for an instant. On board no preparations for departure were visible.
I waited still some time, then went into the large saloon. The clock
marked half-past two. In ten minutes it would be high-tide: and, if Captain
Nemo had not made a rash promise, the Nautilus would be immediately
detached. If not, many months would pass ere she could leave her bed of
coral.
However, some warning vibrations began to be felt in the vessel. I
heard the keel grating against the rough calcareous bottom of the coral
reef.
At five-and-twenty minutes to three, Captain Nemo appeared in the
saloon.
"We are going to start," said he.
"Ah!" replied I.
"I have given the order to open the hatches."
"And the Papuans?"
"The Papuans?" answered Captain Nemo, slightly shrugging his
shoulders.
"Will they not come inside the Nautilus?"
"How?"
"Only by leaping over the hatches you have opened."
"M. Aronnax," quietly answered Captain Nemo, "they will not enter the
hatches of the Nautilus in that way, even if they were open."
I looked at the Captain.
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"You do not understand?" said he.
"Hardly."
"Well, come and you will see."
I directed my steps towards the central staircase. There Ned Land and
Conseil were slyly watching some of the ship's crew, who were opening the
hatches, while cries of rage and fearful vociferations resounded outside.
The port lids were pulled down outside. Twenty horrible faces
appeared. But the first native who placed his hand on the stair-rail,
struck from behind by some invisible force, I know not what, fled, uttering
the most fearful cries and making the wildest contortions.
Ten of his companions followed him. They met with the same fate.
Conseil was in ecstasy. Ned Land, carried away by his violent
instincts, rushed on to the staircase. But the moment he seized the rail
with both hands, he, in his turn, was overthrown.
"I am struck by a thunderbolt," cried he, with an oath.
This explained all. It was no rail; but a metallic cable charged with
electricity from the deck communicating with the platform. Whoever touched
it felt a powerful shock -- and this shock would have been mortal if
Captain Nemo had discharged into the conductor the whole force of the
current. It might truly be said that between his assailants and himself he
had stretched a network of electricity which none could pass with impunity.
Meanwhile, the exasperated Papuans bad beaten a retreat paralysed with
terror. As for us, half laughing, we consoled and rubbed the unfortunate
Ned Land, who swore like one possessed.
But at this moment the Nautilus, raised by the last waves of the tide,
quitted her coral bed exactly at the fortieth minute fixed by the Captain.
Her screw swept the waters slowly and majestically. Her speed increased
gradually, and, sailing on the surface of the ocean, she quitted safe and
sound the dangerous passes of the Straits of Torres.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.22
"AEGRI SOMNIA"
THE following day 10th January, the Nautilus continued her course
between two seas, but with such remarkable speed that I could not estimate
it at less than thirty-five miles an hour. The rapidity of her screw was
such that I could neither follow nor count its revolutions. When I
reflected that this marvellous electric agent, after having afforded
motion, heat, and light to the Nautilus, still protected her from outward
attack, and transformed her into an ark of safety which no profane hand
might touch without being thunderstricken, my admiration was unbounded, and
from the structure it extended to the engineer who had called it into
existence.
Our course was directed to the west, and on the 11th of January we
doubled Cape Wessel, situation in 135° long. and 10° S. lat., which forms
the east point of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The reefs were still numerous,
but more equalised, and marked on the chart with extreme precision. The
Nautilus easily avoided the breakers of Money to port and the Victoria
reefs to starboard, placed at 130° long. and on the 10th parallel, which we
strictly followed.
On the 13th of January, Captain Nemo arrived in the Sea of Timor, and
recognised the island of that name in 122° long.
From this point the direction of the Nautilus inclined towards the
south-west. Her head was set for the Indian Ocean. Where would the fancy of
Captain Nemo carry us next? Would he return to the coast of Asia or would
he approach again the shores of Europe? Improbable conjectures both, to a
man who fled from inhabited continents. Then would he descend to the south?
Was he going to double the Cape of Good Hope, then Cape Horn, and finally
go as far as the Antarctic pole? Would he come back at last to the Pacific,
where his Nautilus could sail free and independently? Time would show.
After having skirted the sands of Cartier, of Hibernia,
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Seringapatam, and Scott, last efforts of the solid against the liquid
element, on the 14th of January we lost sight of land altogether. The speed
of the Nautilus was considerably abated, and with irregular course she
sometimes swam in the bosom of the waters, sometimes floated on their
surface.
During this period of the voyage, Captain Nemo made some interesting
experiments on the varied temperature of the sea, in different beds. Under
ordinary conditions these observations are made by means of rather
complicated instruments, and with somewhat doubtful results, by means of
thermometrical sounding-leads, the glasses often breaking under the
pressure of the water, or an apparatus grounded on the variations of the
resistance of metals to the electric currents. Results so obtained could
not be correctly calculated. On the contrary, Captain Nemo went himself to
test the temperature in the depths of the sea, and his thermometer, placed
in communication with the different sheets of water, gave him the required
degree immediately and accurately.
It was thus that, either by overloading her reservoirs or by
descending obliquely by means of her inclined planes, the Nautilus
successively attained the depth of three, four, five, seven, nine, and ten
thousand yards, and the definite result of this experience was that the sea
preserved an average temperature of four degrees and a half at a depth of
five thousand fathoms under all latitudes.
On the 16th of January, the Nautilus seemed becalmed only a few yards
beneath the surface of the waves. Her electric apparatus remained inactive
and her motionless screw left her to drift at the mercy of the currents. I
supposed that the crew was occupied with interior repairs, rendered
necessary by the violence of the mechanical movements of the machine.
My companions and I then witnessed a curious spectacle. The hatches of
the saloon were open, and, as the beacon- light of the Nautilus was not in
action, a dim obscurity reigned in the midst of the waters. I observed the
state of the sea, under these conditions, and the largest fish appeared to
me no more than scarcely defined shadows, when the Nautilus
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found herself suddenly transported into full light. I thought at first that
the beacon had been lighted, and was casting its electric radiance into the
liquid mass. I was mistaken, and after a rapid survey perceived my error.
The Nautilus floated in the midst of a phosphorescent bed which, in
this obscurity, became quite dazzling. It was produced by myriads of
luminous animalculae, whose brilliancy was increased as they glided over
the metallic hull of the vessel. I was surprised by lightning in the midst
of these luminous sheets, as though they bad been rivulets of lead melted
in an ardent furnace or metallic masses brought to a white heat, so that,
by force of contrast, certain portions of light appeared to cast a shade in
the midst of the general ignition, from which all shade seemed banished.
No; this was not the calm irradiation of our ordinary lightning. There was
unusual life and vigour: this was truly living light!
In reality, it was an infinite agglomeration of coloured infusoria, of
veritable globules of jelly, provided with a threadlike tentacle, and of
which as many as twenty-five thousand have been counted in less than two
cubic half- inches of water.
During several hours the Nautilus floated in these brilliant waves,
and our admiration increased as we watched the marine monsters disporting
themselves like salamanders. I saw there in the midst of this fire that
burns not the swift and elegant porpoise (the indefatigable clown of the
ocean), and some swordfish ten feet long, those prophetic heralds of the
hurricane whose formidable sword would now and then strike the glass of the
saloon. Then appeared the smaller fish, the balista, the leaping mackerel,
wolf-thorn- tails, and a hundred others which striped the luminous
atmosphere as they swam. This dazzling spectacle was enchanting! Perhaps
some atmospheric condition increased the intensity of this phenomenon.
Perhaps some storm agitated the surface of the waves. But at this depth of
some yards, the Nautilus was unmoved by its fury and reposed peacefully in
still water.
So we progressed, incessantly charmed by some new marvel. The days
passed rapidly away, and I took no account
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of them. Ned, according to habit, tried to vary the diet on board. Like
snails, we were fixed to our shells, and I declare it is easy to lead a
snail's life.
Thus this life seemed easy and natural, and we thought no longer of
the life we led on land; but something happened to recall us to the
strangeness of our situation.
On the 18th of January, the Nautilus was in 105° long. and 15° S. lat.
The weather was threatening, the sea rough and rolling. There was a strong
east wind. The barometer, which had been going down for some days,
foreboded a coming storm. I went up on to the platform just as the second
lieutenant was taking the measure of the horary angles, and waited,
according to habit till the daily phrase was said. But on this day it was
exchanged for another phrase not less incomprehensible. Almost directly, I
saw Captain Nemo appear with a glass, looking towards the horizon.
For some minutes be was immovable, without taking his eye off the
point of observation. Then he lowered his glass and exchanged a few words
with his lieutenant. The latter seemed to be a victim to some emotion that
he tried in vain to repress. Captain Nemo, having more command over
himself, was cool. He seemed, too, to be making some objections to which
the lieutenant replied by formal assurances. At least I concluded so by the
difference of their tones and gestures. For myself, I had looked carefully
in the direction indicated without seeing anything. The sky and water were
lost in the clear line of the horizon.
However, Captain Nemo walked from one end of the platform to the
other, without looking at me, perhaps without seeing me. His step was firm,
but less regular than usual. He stopped sometimes, crossed his arms, and
observed the sea. What could he be looking for on that immense expanse?
The Nautilus was then some hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.
The lieutenant had taken up the glass and examined the horizon
steadfastly, going and coming, stamping his foot and showing more nervous
agitation than his superior officer. Beside, this mystery must necessarily
be solved, and before
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long; for, upon an order from Captain Nemo, the engine, increasing its
propelling power, made the screw turn more rapidly.
Just then the lieutenant drew the Captain's attention again. The
latter stopped walking and directed his glass towards the place indicated.
He looked long. I felt very much puzzled, and descended to the
drawing-room, and took out an excellent telescope that I generally used.
Then, leaning on the cage of the watch-light that jutted out from the front
of the platform, set myself to look over all the line of the sky and sea.
But my eye was no sooner applied to the glass than it was quickly
snatched out of my hands.
I turned round. Captain Nemo was before me, but I did not know him.
His face was transfigured. His eyes flashed sullenly; his teeth were set;
his stiff body, clenched fists, and head shrunk between his shoulders,
betrayed the violent agitation that pervaded his whole frame. He did not
move. My glass, fallen from his hands, had rolled at his feet.
Had I unwittingly provoked this fit of anger? Did this
incomprehensible person imagine that I had discovered some forbidden
secret? No; I was not the object of this hatred, for he was not looking at
me; his eye was steadily fixed upon the impenetrable point of the horizon.
At last Captain Nemo recovered himself. His agitation subsided. He
addressed some words in a foreign language to his lieutenant, then turned
to me. "M. Aronnax," he said, in rather an imperious tone, "I require you
to keep one of the conditions that bind you to me."
"What is it, Captain?"
"You must be confined, with your companions, until I think fit to
release you."
"You are the master," I replied, looking steadily at him. "But may I
ask you one question?"
"None, sir."
There was no resisting this imperious command, it would have been
useless. I went down to the cabin occupied by Ned Land and Conseil, and
told them the Captain's determination.
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You may judge how this communication was received by the Canadian.
But there was not time for altercation. Four of the crew waited at the
door, and conducted us to that cell where we had passed our first night on
board the Nautilus.
Ned Land would have remonstrated, but the door was shut upon him.
"Will master tell me what this means?" asked Conseil.
I told my companions what had passed. They were as much astonished as
I, and equally at a loss how to account for it.
Meanwhile, I was absorbed in my own reflections, and could think of
nothing but the strange fear depicted in the Captain's countenance. I was
utterly at a loss to account for it, when my cogitations were disturbed by
these words from Ned Land:
"Hallo! breakfast is ready."
And indeed the table was laid. Evidently Captain Nemo had given this
order at the same time that he had hastened the speed of the Nautilus.
"Will master permit me to make a recommendation?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy."
"Well, it is that master breakfasts. It is prudent, for we do not know
what may happen."
"You are right, Conseil."
"Unfortunately," said Ned Land, "they have only given us the ship's
fare."
"Friend Ned," asked Conseil, "what would you have said if the
breakfast had been entirely forgotten?"
This argument cut short the harpooner's recriminations.
We sat down to table. The meal was eaten in silence.
Just then the luminous globe that lighted the cell went out, and left
us in total darkness. Ned Land was soon asleep, and what astonished me was
that Conseil went off into a heavy slumber. I was thinking what could have
caused his irresistible drowsiness, when I felt my brain becoming
stupefied. In spite of my efforts to keep my eyes open, they would close. A
painful suspicion seized me. Evidently
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soporific substances had been mixed with the food we had just taken.
Imprisonment was not enough to conceal Captain Nemo's projects from us,
sleep was more necessary. I then heard the panels shut. The undulations of
the sea, which caused a slight rolling motion, ceased. Had the Nautilus
quitted the surface of the ocean? Had it gone back to the motionless bed of
water? I tried to resist sleep. It was impossible. My breathing grew weak.
I felt a mortal cold freeze my stiffened and half-paralysed limbs. My
eyelids, like leaden caps, fell over my eyes. I could not raise them; a
morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, bereft me of my being. Then the
visions disappeared, and left me in complete insensibility.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.23
THE CORAL KINGDOM
THE next day I woke with my head singularly clear. To my great
surprise, I was in my own room. My companions, no doubt, had been
reinstated in their cabin, without having perceived it any more than I. Of
what had passed during the night they were as ignorant as I was, and to
penetrate this mystery I only reckoned upon the chances of the future.
I then thought of quitting my room. Was I free again or a prisoner?
Quite free. I opened the door, went to the half-deck, went up the central
stairs. The panels, shut the evening before, were open. I went on to the
platform.
Ned Land and Conseil waited there for me. I questioned them; they knew
nothing. Lost in a heavy sleep in which they had been totally unconscious,
they had been astonished at finding themselves in their cabin.
As for the Nautilus, it seemed quiet and mysterious as ever. It
floated on the surface of the waves at a moderate pace. Nothing seemed
changed on board.
The second lieutenant then came on to the platform, and gave the usual
order below.
As for Captain Nemo, he did not appear.
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Of the people on board, I only saw the impassive steward, who served
me with his usual dumb regularity.
About two o'clock, I was in the drawing-room, busied in arranging my
notes, when the Captain opened the door and appeared. I bowed. He made a
slight inclination in return, without speaking. I resumed my work, hoping
that he would perhaps give me some explanation of the events of the
preceding night. He made none. I looked at him. He seemed fatigued; his
heavy eyes had not been refreshed by sleep; his face looked very sorrowful.
He walked to and fro, sat down and got up again, took a chance book, put it
down, consulted his instruments without taking his habitual notes, and
seemed restless and uneasy. At last, he came up to me, and said:
"Are you a doctor, M. Aronnax?"
I so little expected such a question that I stared some time at him
without answering.
"Are you a doctor?" he repeated. "Several of your colleagues have
studied medicine."
"Well," said I, "I am a doctor and resident surgeon to the hospital. I
practised several years before entering the museum."
"Very well, sir."
My answer had evidently satisfied the Captain. But, not knowing what
he would say next, I waited for other questions, reserving my answers
according to circumstances.
"M. Aronnax, will you consent to prescribe for one of my men?" be
asked.
"Is he ill?"
"Yes."
"I am ready to follow you."
"Come, then."
I own my heart beat, I do not know why. I saw certain connection
between the illness of one of the crew and the events of the day before;
and this mystery interested me at least as much as the sick man.
Captain Nemo conducted me to the poop of the Nautilus, and took me
into a cabin situated near the sailors' quarters.
There, on a bed, lay a man about forty years of age,
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with a resolute expression of countenance, a true type of an Anglo-Saxon.
I leant over him. He was not only ill, he was wounded. His head,
swathed in bandages covered with blood, lay on a pillow. I undid the
bandages, and the wounded man looked at me with his large eyes and gave no
sign of pain as I did it. It was a horrible wound. The skull, shattered by
some deadly weapon, left the brain exposed, which was much injured. Clots
of blood had formed in the bruised and broken mass, in colour like the
dregs of wine.
There was both contusion and suffusion of the brain. His breathing was
slow, and some spasmodic movements of the muscles agitated his face. I felt
his pulse. It was intermittent. The extremities of the body were growing
cold already, and I saw death must inevitably ensue. After dressing the
unfortunate man's wounds, I readjusted the bandages on his head, and turned
to Captain Nemo.
"What caused this wound?" I asked.
"What does it signify?" he replied, evasively. "A shock has broken one
of the levers of the engine, which struck myself. But your opinion as to
his state?"
I hesitated before giving it.
"You may speak," said the Captain. "This man does not understand
French."
I gave a last look at the wounded man.
"He will be dead in two hours."
"Can nothing save him?"
"Nothing."
Captain Nemo's hand contracted, and some tears glistened in his eyes,
which I thought incapable of shedding any.
For some moments I still watched the dying man, whose life ebbed
slowly. His pallor increased under the electric light that was shed over
his death-bed. I looked at his intelligent forehead, furrowed with
premature wrinkles, produced probably by misfortune and sorrow. I tried to
learn the secret of his life from the last words that escaped his lips.
"You can go now, M. Aronnax," said the Captain.
I left him in the dying man's cabin, and returned to my
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room much affected by this scene. During the whole day, I was haunted by
uncomfortable suspicions, and at night I slept badly, and between my broken
dreams I fancied I heard distant sighs like the notes of a funeral psalm.
Were they the prayers of the dead, murmured in that language that I could
not understand?
The next morning I went on to the bridge. Captain Nemo was there
before me. As soon as he perceived me he came to me.
"Professor, will it be convenient to you to make a submarine excursion
to-day?"
"With my companions?" I asked.
"If they like."
"We obey your orders, Captain."
"Will you be so good then as to put on your cork jackets?"
It was not a question of dead or dying. I rejoined Ned Land and
Conseil, and told them of Captain Nemo's proposition. Conseil hastened to
accept it, and this time the Canadian seemed quite willing to follow our
example.
It was eight o'clock in the morning. At half-past eight we were
equipped for this new excursion, and provided with two contrivances for
light and breathing. The double door was open; and, accompanied by Captain
Nemo, who was followed by a dozen of the crew, we set foot, at a depth of
about thirty feet, on the solid bottom on which the Nautilus rested.
A slight declivity ended in an uneven bottom, at fifteen fathoms
depth. This bottom differed entirely from the one I had visited on my first
excursion under the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Here, there was no fine
sand, no submarine prairies, no sea-forest. I immediately recognised that
marvellous region in which, on that day, the Captain did the honours to us.
It was the coral kingdom.
The light produced a thousand charming varieties, playing in the midst
of the branches that were so vividly coloured. I seemed to see the
membraneous and cylindrical tubes tremble beneath the undulation of the
waters. I was tempted to gather their fresh petals, ornamented with
delicate
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tentacles, some just blown, the others budding, while a small fish,
swimming swiftly, touched them slightly, like flights of birds. But if my
hand approached these living flowers, these animated, sensitive plants, the
whole colony took alarm. The white petals re-entered their red cases, the
flowers faded as I looked, and the bush changed into a block of stony
knobs.
Chance had thrown me just by the most precious specimens of the
zoophyte. This coral was more valuable than that found in the
Mediterranean, on the coasts of France, Italy and Barbary. Its tints
justified the poetical names of "Flower of Blood," and "Froth of Blood,"
that trade has given to its most beautiful productions. Coral is sold for
L20 per ounce; and in this place the watery beds would make the fortunes of
a company of coral-divers. This precious matter, often confused with other
polypi, formed then the inextricable plots called "macciota," and on which
I noticed several beautiful specimens of pink coral.
Real petrified thickets, long joints of fantastic architecture, were
disclosed before us. Captain Nemo placed himself under a dark gallery,
where by a slight declivity we reached a depth of a hundred yards. The
light from our lamps produced sometimes magical effects, following the
rough outlines of the natural arches and pendants disposed like lustres,
that were tipped with points of fire.
At last, after walking two hours, we had attained a depth of about
three hundred yards, that is to say, the extreme limit on which coral
begins to form. But there was no isolated bush, nor modest brushwood, at
the bottom of lofty trees. It was an immense forest of large mineral
vegetations, enormous petrified trees, united by garlands of elegant sea-
bindweed, all adorned with clouds and reflections. We passed freely under
their high branches, lost in the shade of the waves.
Captain Nemo had stopped. I and my companions halted, and, turning
round, I saw his men were forming a semi- circle round their chief.
Watching attentively, I observed that four of them carried on their
shoulders an object of an oblong shape.
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We occupied, in this place, the centre of a vast glade surrounded by
the lofty foliage of the submarine forest. Our lamps threw over this place
a sort of clear twilight that singularly elongated the shadows on the
ground. At the end of the glade the darkness increased, and was only
relieved by little sparks reflected by the points of coral.
Ned Land and Conseil were near me. We watched, and I thought I was
going to witness a strange scene. On observing the ground, I saw that it
was raised in certain places by slight excrescences encrusted with limy
deposits, and disposed with a regularity that betrayed the hand of man.
In the midst of the glade, on a pedestal of rocks roughly piled up,
stood a cross of coral that extended its long arms that one might have
thought were made of petrified blood. Upon a sign from Captain Nemo one of
the men advanced; and at some feet from the cross he began to dig a hole
with a pickaxe that he took from his belt. I understood all! This glade was
a cemetery, this hole a tomb, this oblong object the body of the man who
had died in the night! The Captain and his men had come to bury their
companion in this general resting-place, at the bottom of this inaccessible
ocean!
The grave was being dug slowly; the fish fled on all sides while their
retreat was being thus disturbed; I heard the strokes of the pickaxe, which
sparkled when it hit upon some flint lost at the bottom of the waters. The
hole was soon large and deep enough to receive the body. Then the bearers
approached; the body, enveloped in a tissue of white linen, was lowered
into the damp grave. Captain Nemo, with his arms crossed on his breast, and
all the friends of him who had loved them, knelt in prayer.
The grave was then filled in with the rubbish taken from the ground,
which formed a slight mound. When this was done, Captain Nemo and his men
rose; then, approaching the grave, they knelt again, and all extended their
hands in sign of a last adieu. Then the funeral procession returned to the
Nautilus, passing under the arches of the forest, in the midst of thickets,
along the coral bushes, and still on the ascent. At last the light of the
ship appeared, and its
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luminous track guided us to the Nautilus. At one o'clock we had returned.
As soon as I had changed my clothes I went up on to the platform, and,
a prey to conflicting emotions, I sat down near the binnacle. Captain Nemo
joined me. I rose and said to him:
"So, as I said he would, this man died in the night?"
"Yes, M. Aronnax."
"And he rests now, near his companions, in the coral cemetery?"
"Yes, forgotten by all else, but not by us. We dug the grave, and the
polypi undertake to seal our dead for eternity." And, burying his face
quickly in his hands, he tried in vain to suppress a sob. Then he added:
"Our peaceful cemetery is there, some hundred feet below the surface of the
waves."
"Your dead sleep quietly, at least, Captain, out of the reach of
sharks."
"Yes, sir, of sharks and men," gravely replied the Captain.
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Chapter 2.1
THE INDIAN OCEAN
WE NOW come to the second part of our journey under the sea. The first
ended with the moving scene in the coral cemetery which left such a deep
impression on my mind. Thus, in the midst of this great sea, Captain Nemo's
life was passing, even to his grave, which he had prepared in one of its
deepest abysses. There, not one of the ocean's monsters could trouble the
last sleep of the crew of the Nautilus, of those friends riveted to each
other in death as in life. "Nor any man, either," had added the Captain.
Still the same fierce, implacable defiance towards human society!
I could no longer content myself with the theory which satisfied
Conseil.
That worthy fellow persisted in seeing in the Commander of the
Nautilus one of those unknown servants who return mankind contempt for
indifference. For him, he was a misunderstood genius who, tired of earth's
deceptions, had taken refuge in this inaccessible medium, where he might
follow his instincts freely. To my mind, this explains but one side of
Captain Nemo's character. Indeed, the mystery of that last night during
which we had been chained in prison, the sleep, and the precaution so
violently taken by the Captain of snatching from my eyes the glass I had
raised to sweep the horizon, the mortal wound of the man, due to an
unaccountable shock of the Nautilus, all put me on a new track. No; Captain
Nemo was not satisfied with shunning man. His formidable apparatus not only
suited his instinct of freedom, but perhaps also the design of some
terrible retaliation.
At this moment nothing is clear to me; I catch but a glimpse of light
amidst all the darkness, and I must confine myself to writing as events
shall dictate.
That day, the 24th of January, 1868, at noon, the second
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officer came to take the altitude of the sun. I mounted the platform, lit a
cigar, and watched the operation. It seemed to me that the man did not
understand French; for several times I made remarks in a loud voice, which
must have drawn from him some involuntary sign of attention, if he had
understood them; but he remained undisturbed and dumb.
As he was taking observations with the sextant, one of the sailors of
the Nautilus (the strong man who had accompanied us on our first submarine
excursion to the Island of Crespo) came to clean the glasses of the
lantern. I examined the fittings of the apparatus, the strength of which
was increased a hundredfold by lenticular rings, placed similar to those in
a lighthouse, and which projected their brilliance in a horizontal plane.
The electric lamp was combined in such a way as to give its most powerful
light. Indeed, it was produced in vacuo, which insured both its steadiness
and its intensity. This vacuum economised the graphite points between which
the luminous arc was developed -- an important point of economy for Captain
Nemo, who could not easily have replaced them; and under these conditions
their waste was imperceptible. When the Nautilus was ready to continue its
submarine journey, I went down to the saloon. The panel was closed, and the
course marked direct west.
We were furrowing the waters of the Indian Ocean, a vast liquid plain,
with a surface of 1,200,000,000 of acres, and whose waters are so clear and
transparent that any one leaning over them would turn giddy. The Nautilus
usually floated between fifty and a hundred fathoms deep. We went on so for
some days. To anyone but myself, who had a great love for the sea, the
hours would have seemed long and monotonous; but the daily walks on the
platform, when I steeped myself in the reviving air of the ocean, the sight
of the rich waters through the windows of the saloon, the books in the
library, the compiling of my memoirs, took up all my time, and left me not
a moment of ennui or weariness.
For some days we saw a great number of aquatic birds, sea-mews or
gulls. Some were cleverly killed and, prepared
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in a certain way, made very acceptable water-game. Amongst large-winged
birds, carried a long distance from all lands and resting upon the waves
from the fatigue of their flight, I saw some magnificent albatrosses,
uttering discordant cries like the braying of an ass, and birds belonging
to the family of the long-wings.
As to the fish, they always provoked our admiration when we surprised
the secrets of their aquatic life through the open panels. I saw many kinds
which I never before had a chance of observing.
From the 21st to the 23rd of January the Nautilus went at the rate of
two hundred and fifty leagues in twenty-four hours, being five hundred and
forty miles, or twenty-two miles an hour. If we recognised so many
different varieties of fish, it was because, attracted by the electric
light, they tried to follow us; the greater part, however, were soon
distanced by our speed, though some kept their place in the waters of the
Nautilus for a time. The morning of the 24th, in 12° 5' S. lat., and 94°
33' long., we observed Keeling Island, a coral formation, planted with
magnificent cocos, and which bad been visited by Mr. Darwin and Captain
Fitzroy. The Nautilus skirted the shores of this desert island for a little
distance. Its nets brought up numerous specimens of polypi and curious
shells of mollusca.
Soon Keeling Island disappeared from the horizon, and our course was
directed to the north-west in the direction of the Indian Peninsula.
From Keeling Island our course was slower and more variable, often
taking us into great depths. Several times they made use of the inclined
planes, which certain internal levers placed obliquely to the waterline. In
that way we went about two miles, but without ever obtaining the greatest
depths of the Indian Sea, which soundings of seven thousand fathoms have
never reached. As to the temperature of the lower strata, the thermometer
invariably indicated 4° above zero. I only observed that in the upper
regions the water was always colder in the high levels than at the surface
of the sea.
On the 25th of January the ocean was entirely deserted;
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the Nautilus passed the day on the surface, beating the waves with its
powerful screw and making them rebound to a great height. Who under such
circumstances would not have taken it for a gigantic cetacean? Three parts
of this day I spent on the platform. I watched the sea. Nothing on the
horizon, till about four o'clock a steamer running west on our counter. Her
masts were visible for an instant, but she could not see the Nautilus,
being too low in the water. I fancied this steamboat belonged to the P.O.
Company, which runs from Ceylon to Sydney, touching at King George's Point
and Melbourne.
At five o'clock in the evening, before that fleeting twilight which
binds night to day in tropical zones, Conseil and I were astonished by a
curious spectacle.
It was a shoal of argonauts travelling along on the surface of the
ocean. We could count several hundreds. They belonged to the tubercle kind
which are peculiar to the Indian seas.
These graceful molluscs moved backwards by means of their locomotive
tube, through which they propelled the water already drawn in. Of their
eight tentacles, six were elongated, and stretched out floating on the
water, whilst the other two, rolled up flat, were spread to the wing like a
light sail. I saw their spiral-shaped and fluted shells, which Cuvier
justly compares to an elegant skiff. A boat indeed! It bears the creature
which secretes it without its adhering to it.
For nearly an hour the Nautilus floated in the midst of this shoal of
molluscs. Then I know not what sudden fright they took. But as if at a
signal every sail was furled, the arms folded, the body drawn in, the
shells turned over, changing their centre of gravity, and the whole fleet
disappeared under the waves. Never did the ships of a squadron manoeuvre
with more unity.
At that moment night fell suddenly, and the reeds, scarcely raised by
the breeze, lay peaceably under the sides of the Nautilus.
The next day, 26th of January, we cut the equator at the eighty-second
meridian and entered the northern hemisphere.
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During the day a formidable troop of sharks accompanied us, terrible
creatures, which multiply in these seas and make them very dangerous. They
were "cestracio philippi" sharks, with brown backs and whitish bellies,
armed with eleven rows of teeth -- eyed sharks -- their throat being marked
with a large black spot surrounded with white like an eye. There were also
some Isabella sharks, with rounded snouts marked with dark spots. These
powerful creatures often hurled themselves at the windows of the saloon
with such violence as to make us feel very insecure. At such times Ned Land
was no longer master of himself. He wanted to go to the surface and harpoon
the monsters, particularly certain smooth-hound sharks, whose mouth is
studded with teeth like a mosaic; and large tiger-sharks nearly six yards
long, the last named of which seemed to excite him more particularly. But
the Nautilus, accelerating her speed, easily left the most rapid of them
behind.
The 27th of January, at the entrance of the vast Bay of Bengal, we met
repeatedly a forbidding spectacle, dead bodies floating on the surface of
the water. They were the dead of the Indian villages, carried by the Ganges
to the level of the sea, and which the vultures, the only undertakers of
the country, had not been able to devour. But the sharks did not fail to
help them at their funeral work.
About seven o'clock in the evening, the Nautilus, half- immersed, was
sailing in a sea of milk. At first sight the ocean seemed lactified. Was it
the effect of the lunar rays? No; for the moon, scarcely two days old, was
still lying hidden under the horizon in the rays of the sun. The whole sky,
though lit by the sidereal rays, seemed black by contrast with the
whiteness of the waters.
Conseil could not believe his eyes, and questioned me as to the cause
of this strange phenomenon. Happily I was able to answer him.
"It is called a milk sea," I explained. "A large extent of white
wavelets often to be seen on the coasts of Amboyna, and in these parts of
the sea."
"But, sir," said Conseil, "can you tell me what causes
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such an effect? for I suppose the water is not really turned into milk."
"No, my boy; and the whiteness which surprises you is caused only by
the presence of myriads of infusoria, a sort of luminous little worm,
gelatinous and without colour, of the thickness of a hair, and whose length
is not more than seven-thousandths of an inch. These insects adhere to one
another sometimes for several leagues."
"Several leagues!" exclaimed Conseil.
"Yes, my boy; and you need not try to compute the number of these
infusoria. You will not be able, for, if I am not mistaken, ships have
floated on these milk seas for more than forty miles."
Towards midnight the sea suddenly resumed its usual colour; but behind
us, even to the limits of the horizon, the sky reflected the whitened
waves, and for a long time seemed impregnated with the vague glimmerings of
an aurora borealis.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.2
A NOVEL PROPOSAL OF CAPTAIN NEMO'S
ON THE 28th of February, when at noon the Nautilus came to the surface
of the sea, in 9° 4' N. lat., there was land in sight about eight miles to
westward. The first thing I noticed was a range of mountains about two
thousand feet high, the shapes of which were most capricious. On taking the
bearings, I knew that we were nearing the island of Ceylon, the pearl which
hangs from the lobe of the Indian Peninsula.
Captain Nemo and his second appeared at this moment. The Captain
glanced at the map. Then turning to me, said:
"The Island of Ceylon, noted for its pearl-fisheries. Would you like
to visit one of them, M. Aronnax?"
"Certainly, Captain."
"Well, the thing is easy. Though, if we see the fisheries, we shall
not see the fishermen. The annual exportation has
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not yet begun. Never mind, I will give orders to make for the Gulf of
Manaar, where we shall arrive in the night."
The Captain said something to his second, who immediately went out.
Soon the Nautilus returned to her native element, and the manometer showed
that she was about thirty feet deep.
"Well, sir," said Captain Nemo, "you and your companions shall visit
the Bank of Manaar, and if by chance some fisherman should be there, we
shall see him at work."
"Agreed, Captain!"
"By the bye, M. Aronnax you are not afraid of sharks?"
"Sharks!" exclaimed I.
This question seemed a very hard one.
"Well?" continued Captain Nemo.
"I admit, Captain, that I am not yet very familiar with that kind of
fish."
"We are accustomed to them," replied Captain Nemo, "and in time you
will be too. However, we shall be armed, and on the road we may be able to
hunt some of the tribe. It is interesting. So, till to-morrow, sir, and
early."
This said in a careless tone, Captain Nemo left the saloon. Now, if
you were invited to hunt the bear in the mountains of Switzerland, what
would you say?
"Very well! to-morrow we will go and hunt the bear." If you were asked
to hunt the lion in the plains of Atlas, or the tiger in the Indian
jungles, what would you say?
"Ha! ha! it seems we are going to hunt the tiger or the lion!" But
when you are invited to hunt the shark in its natural element, you would
perhaps reflect before accepting the invitation. As for myself, I passed my
hand over my forehead, on which stood large drops of cold perspiration.
"Let us reflect," said I, "and take our time. Hunting otters in submarine
forests, as we did in the Island of Crespo, will pass; but going up and
down at the bottom of the sea, where one is almost certain to meet sharks,
is quite another thing! I know well that in certain countries, particularly
in the Andaman Islands, the negroes never hesitate to attack them with a
dagger in one hand and a running noose in the other; but I also know that
few who affront those
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creatures ever return alive. However, I am not a negro, and if I were I
think a little hesitation in this case would not be ill-timed."
At this moment Conseil and the Canadian entered, quite composed, and
even joyous. They knew not what awaited them.
"Faith, sir," said Ned Land, "your Captain Nemo -- the devil take him!
-- has just made us a very pleasant offer."
"Ah!" said I, "you know?"
"If agreeable to you, sir," interrupted Conseil, "the commander of the
Nautilus has invited us to visit the magnificent Ceylon fisheries
to-morrow, in your company; he did it kindly, and behaved like a real
gentleman."
"He said nothing more?"
"Nothing more, sir, except that he had already spoken to you of this
little walk."
"Sir," said Conseil, "would you give us some details of the pearl
fishery?"
"As to the fishing itself," I asked, "or the incidents, which?"
"On the fishing," replied the Canadian; "before entering upon the
ground, it is as well to know something about it."
"Very well; sit down, my friends, and I will teach you."
Ned and Conseil seated themselves on an ottoman, and the first thing
the Canadian asked was:
"Sir, what is a pearl?"
"My worthy Ned," I answered, "to the poet, a pearl is a tear of the
sea; to the Orientals, it is a drop of dew solidified; to the ladies, it is
a jewel of an oblong shape, of a brilliancy of mother-of-pearl substance,
which they wear on their fingers, their necks, or their ears; for the
chemist it is a mixture of phosphate and carbonate of lime, with a little
gelatine; and lastly, for naturalists, it is simply a morbid secretion of
the organ that produces the mother- of-pearl amongst certain bivalves."
"Branch of molluscs," said Conseil.
"Precisely so, my learned Conseil; and, amongst these testacea the
earshell, the tridacnae, the turbots, in a word, all those which secrete
mother-of-pearl, that is, the blue,
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bluish, violet, or white substance which lines the interior of their
shells, are capable of producing pearls."
"Mussels too?" asked the Canadian.
"Yes, mussels of certain waters in Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Saxony,
Bohemia, and France."
"Good! For the future I shall pay attention," replied the Canadian.
"But," I continued, "the particular mollusc which secretes the pearl
is the pearl-oyster. The pearl is nothing but a formation deposited in a
globular form, either adhering to the oyster-shell or buried in the folds
of the creature. On the shell it is fast: in the flesh it is loose; but
always has for a kernel a small hard substance, maybe a barren egg, maybe a
grain of sand, around which the pearly matter deposits itself year after
year successively, and by thin concentric layers."
"Are many pearls found in the same oyster?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy. Some are a perfect casket. One oyster has been
mentioned, though I allow myself to doubt it, as having contained no less
than a hundred and fifty sharks."
"A hundred and fifty sharks!" exclaimed Ned Land.
"Did I say sharks?" said I hurriedly. "I meant to say a hundred and
fifty pearls. Sharks would not be sense."
"Certainly not," said Conseil; "but will you tell us now by what means
they extract these pearls?"
"They proceed in various ways. When they adhere to the shell, the
fishermen often pull them off with pincers; but the most common way is to
lay the oysters on mats of the seaweed which covers the banks. Thus they
die in the open air; and at the end of ten days they are in a forward state
of decomposition. They are then plunged into large reservoirs of sea-water;
then they are opened and washed."
"The price of these pearls varies according to their size?" asked
Conseil.
"Not only according to their size," I answered, "but also according to
their shape, their water (that is, their colour), and their lustre: that
is, that bright and diapered sparkle which makes them so charming to the
eye. The most beautiful
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are called virgin pearls, or paragons. They are formed alone in the tissue
of the mollusc, are white, often opaque, and sometimes have the
transparency of an opal; they are generally round or oval. The round are
made into bracelets, the oval into pendants, and, being more precious, are
sold singly. Those adhering to the shell of the oyster are more irregular
in shape, and are sold by weight. Lastly, in a lower order are classed
those small pearls known under the name of seed-pearls; they are sold by
measure, and are especially used in embroidery for church ornaments."
"But," said Conseil, "is this pearl-fishery dangerous?"
"No," I answered, quickly; "particularly if certain precautions are
taken."
"What does one risk in such a calling?" said Ned Land, "the swallowing
of some mouthfuls of sea-water?"
"As you say, Ned. By the bye," said I, trying to take Captain Nemo's
careless tone, "are you afraid of sharks, brave Ned?"
"I!" replied the Canadian; "a harpooner by profession? It is my trade
to make light of them."
"But," said I, "it is not a question of fishing for them with an
iron-swivel, hoisting them into the vessel, cutting off their tails with a
blow of a chopper, ripping them up, and throwing their heart into the sea!"
"Then, it is a question of -- "
"Precisely."
"In the water?"
"In the water."
"Faith, with a good harpoon! You know, sir, these sharks are
ill-fashioned beasts. They turn on their bellies to seize you, and in that
time -- "
Ned Land had a way of saying "seize" which made my blood run cold.
"Well, and you, Conseil, what do you think of sharks?"
"Me!" said Conseil. "I will be frank, sir."
"So much the better," thought I.
"If you, sir, mean to face the sharks, I do not see why your faithful
servant should not face them with you."
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.3
A PEARL OF TEN MILLIONS
THE next morning at four o'clock I was awakened by the steward whom
Captain Nemo had placed at my service. I rose hurriedly, dressed, and went
into the saloon.
Captain Nemo was awaiting me.
"M. Aronnax," said he, "are you ready to start?"
"I am ready."
"Then please to follow me."
"And my companions, Captain?"
"They have been told and are waiting."
"Are we not to put on our diver's dresses?" asked I.
"Not yet. I have not allowed the Nautilus to come too near this coast,
and we are some distance from the Manaar Bank; but the boat is ready, and
will take us to the exact point of disembarking, which will save us a long
way. It carries our diving apparatus, which we will put on when we begin
our submarine journey."
Captain Nemo conducted me to the central staircase, which led on the
platform. Ned and Conseil were already there, delighted at the idea of the
"pleasure party" which was preparing. Five sailors from the Nautilus, with
their oars, waited in the boat, which had been made fast against the side.
The night was still dark. Layers of clouds covered the sky, allowing
but few stars to be seen. I looked on the side where the land lay, and saw
nothing but a dark line enclosing three parts of the horizon, from
south-west to north- west. The Nautilus, having returned during the night
up the western coast of Ceylon, was now west of the bay, or rather gulf,
formed by the mainland and the Island of Manaar. There, under the dark
waters, stretched the pintadine bank, an inexhaustible field of pearls, the
length of which is more than twenty miles.
Captain Nemo, Ned Land, Conseil, and I took our places in the stern of
the boat. The master went to the tiller; his
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four companions leaned on their oars, the painter was cast off, and we
sheered off.
The boat went towards the south; the oarsmen did not hurry. I noticed
that their strokes, strong in the water, only followed each other every ten
seconds, according to the method generally adopted in the navy. Whilst the
craft was running by its own velocity, the liquid drops struck the dark
depths of the waves crisply like spats of melted lead. A little billow,
spreading wide, gave a slight roll to the boat, and some samphire reeds
flapped before it.
We were silent. What was Captain Nemo thinking of? Perhaps of the land
he was approaching, and which he found too near to him, contrary to the
Canadian's opinion, who thought it too far off. As to Conseil, he was
merely there from curiosity.
About half-past five the first tints on the horizon showed the upper
line of coast more distinctly. Flat enough in the east, it rose a little to
the south. Five miles still lay between us, and it was indistinct owing to
the mist on the water. At six o'clock it became suddenly daylight, with
that rapidity peculiar to tropical regions, which know neither dawn nor
twilight. The solar rays pierced the curtain of clouds, piled up on the
eastern horizon, and the radiant orb rose rapidly. I saw land distinctly,
with a few trees scattered here and there. The boat neared Manaar Island,
which was rounded to the south. Captain Nemo rose from his seat and watched
the sea.
At a sign from him the anchor was dropped, but the chain scarcely ran,
for it was little more than a yard deep, and this spot was one of the
highest points of the bank of pintadines.
"Here we are, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "You see that enclosed
bay? Here, in a month will be assembled the numerous fishing boats of the
exporters, and these are the waters their divers will ransack so boldly.
Happily, this bay is well situated for that kind of fishing. It is
sheltered from the strongest winds; the sea is never very rough here, which
makes it favourable for the diver's work. We will now put on our dresses,
and begin our walk."
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I did not answer, and, while watching the suspected waves, began with
the help of the sailors to put on my heavy sea-dress. Captain Nemo and my
companions were also dressing. None of the Nautilus men were to accompany
us on this new excursion.
Soon we were enveloped to the throat in india-rubber clothing; the air
apparatus fixed to our backs by braces. As to the Ruhmkorff apparatus,
there was no necessity for it. Before putting my head into the copper cap,
I had asked the question of the Captain.
"They would be useless," he replied. "We are going to no great depth,
and the solar rays will be enough to light our walk. Besides, it would not
be prudent to carry the electric light in these waters; its brilliancy
might attract some of the dangerous inhabitants of the coast most
inopportunely."
As Captain Nemo pronounced these words, I turned to Conseil and Ned
Land. But my two friends had already encased their heads in the metal cap,
and they could neither hear nor answer.
One last question remained to ask of Captain Nemo.
"And our arms?" asked I; "our guns?"
"Guns! What for? Do not mountaineers attack the bear with a dagger in
their hand, and is not steel surer than lead? Here is a strong blade; put
it in your belt, and we start."
I looked at my companions; they were armed like us, and, more than
that, Ned Land was brandishing an enormous harpoon, which he had placed in
the boat before leaving the Nautilus.
Then, following the Captain's example, I allowed myself to be dressed
in the heavy copper helmet, and our reservoirs of air were at once in
activity. An instant after we were landed, one after the other, in about
two yards of water upon an even sand. Captain Nemo made a sign with his
hand, and we followed him by a gentle declivity till we disappeared under
the waves.
At about seven o'clock we found ourselves at last surveying
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the oyster-banks on which the pearl-oysters are reproduced by millions.
Captain Nemo pointed with his hand to the enormous heap of oysters;
and I could well understand that this mine was inexhaustible, for Nature's
creative power is far beyond man's instinct of destruction. Ned Land,
faithful to his instinct, hastened to fill a net which he carried by his
side with some of the finest specimens. But we could not stop. We must
follow the Captain, who seemed to guide himself by paths known only to
himself. The ground was sensibly rising, and sometimes, on holding up my
arm, it was above the surface of the sea. Then the level of the bank would
sink capriciously. Often we rounded high rocks scarped into pyramids. In
their dark fractures huge crustacea, perched upon their high claws like
some war-machine, watched us with fixed eyes, and under our feet crawled
various kinds of annelides.
At this moment there opened before us a large grotto dug in a
picturesque heap of rocks and carpeted with all the thick warp of the
submarine flora. At first it seemed very dark to me. The solar rays seemed
to be extinguished by successive gradations, until its vague transparency
became nothing more than drowned light. Captain Nemo entered; we followed.
My eyes soon accustomed themselves to this relative state of darkness. I
could distinguish the arches springing capriciously from natural pillars,
standing broad upon their granite base, like the heavy columns of Tuscan
architecture. Why had our incomprehensible guide led us to the bottom of
this submarine crypt? I was soon to know. After descending a rather sharp
declivity, our feet trod the bottom of a kind of circular pit. There
Captain Nemo stopped, and with his hand indicated an object I had not yet
perceived. It was an oyster of extraordinary dimensions, a gigantic
tridacne, a goblet which could have contained a whole lake of holy-water, a
basin the breadth of which was more than two yards and a half, and
consequently larger than that ornamenting the saloon of the Nautilus. I
approached this extraordinary mollusc. It adhered by its filaments to a
table of granite, and there, isolated, it developed
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itself in the calm waters of the grotto. I estimated the weight of this
tridacne at 600 lb. Such an oyster would contain 30 lb. of meat; and one
must have the stomach of a Gargantua to demolish some dozens of them.
Captain Nemo was evidently acquainted with the existence of this
bivalve, and seemed to have a particular motive in verifying the actual
state of this tridacne. The shells were a little open; the Captain came
near and put his dagger between to prevent them from closing; then with his
hand he raised the membrane with its fringed edges, which formed a cloak
for the creature. There, between the folded plaits, I saw a loose pearl,
whose size equalled that of a coco-nut. Its globular shape, perfect
clearness, and admirable lustre made it altogether a jewel of inestimable
value. Carried away by my curiosity, I stretched out my hand to seize it,
weigh it, and touch it; but the Captain stopped me, made a sign of refusal,
and quickly withdrew his dagger, and the two shells closed suddenly. I then
understood Captain Nemo's intention. In leaving this pearl hidden in the
mantle of the tridacne he was allowing it to grow slowly. Each year the
secretions of the mollusc would add new concentric circles. I estimated its
value at L500,000 at least.
After ten minutes Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. I thought he had
halted previously to returning. No; by a gesture be bade us crouch beside
him in a deep fracture of the rock, his hand pointed to one part of the
liquid mass, which I watched attentively.
About five yards from me a shadow appeared, and sank to the ground.
The disquieting idea of sharks shot through my mind, but I was mistaken;
and once again it was not a monster of the ocean that we had anything to do
with.
It was a man, a living man, an Indian, a fisherman, a poor devil who,
I suppose, had come to glean before the harvest. I could see the bottom of
his canoe anchored some feet above his head. He dived and went up
successively. A stone held between his feet, cut in the shape of a sugar
loaf, whilst a rope fastened him to his boat, helped him to descend more
rapidly. This was all his apparatus. Reaching the bottom,
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about five yards deep, he went on his knees and filled his bag with oysters
picked up at random. Then he went up, emptied it, pulled up his stone, and
began the operation once more, which lasted thirty seconds.
The diver did not see us. The shadow of the rock hid us from sight.
And how should this poor Indian ever dream that men, beings like himself,
should be there under the water watching his movements and losing no detail
of the fishing? Several times he went up in this way, and dived again. He
did not carry away more than ten at each plunge, for he was obliged to pull
them from the bank to which they adhered by means of their strong byssus.
And how many of those oysters for which he risked his life had no pearl in
them! I watched him closely; his manoeuvres were regular; and for the space
of half an hour no danger appeared to threaten him.
I was beginning to accustom myself to the sight of this interesting
fishing, when suddenly, as the Indian was on the ground, I saw him make a
gesture of terror, rise, and make a spring to return to the surface of the
sea.
I understood his dread. A gigantic shadow appeared just above the
unfortunate diver. It was a shark of enormous size advancing diagonally,
his eyes on fire, and his jaws open. I was mute with horror and unable to
move.
The voracious creature shot towards the Indian, who threw himself on
one side to avoid the shark's fins; but not its tail, for it struck his
chest and stretched him on the ground.
This scene lasted but a few seconds: the shark returned, and, turning
on his back, prepared himself for cutting the Indian in two, when I saw
Captain Nemo rise suddenly, and then, dagger in hand, walk straight to the
monster, ready to fight face to face with him. The very moment the shark
was going to snap the unhappy fisherman in two, he perceived his new
adversary, and, turning over, made straight towards him.
I can still see Captain Nemo's position. Holding himself well
together, he waited for the shark with admirable coolness; and, when it
rushed at him, threw himself on one side
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with wonderful quickness, avoiding the shock, and burying his dagger deep
into its side. But it was not all over. A terrible combat ensued.
The shark had seemed to roar, if I might say so. The blood rushed in
torrents from its wound. The sea was dyed red, and through the opaque
liquid I could distinguish nothing more. Nothing more until the moment
when, like lightning, I saw the undaunted Captain hanging on to one of the
creature's fins, struggling, as it were, hand to hand with the monster, and
dealing successive blows at his enemy, yet still unable to give a decisive
one.
The shark's struggles agitated the water with such fury that the
rocking threatened to upset me.
I wanted to go to the Captain's assistance, but, nailed to the spot
with horror, I could not stir.
I saw the haggard eye; I saw the different phases of the fight. The
Captain fell to the earth, upset by the enormous mass which leant upon him.
The shark's jaws opened wide, like a pair of factory shears, and it would
have been all over with the Captain; but, quick as thought, harpoon in
hand, Ned Land rushed towards the shark and struck it with its sharp point.
The waves were impregnated with a mass of blood. They rocked under the
shark's movements, which beat them with indescribable fury. Ned Land had
not missed his aim. It was the monster's death-rattle. Struck to the heart,
it struggled in dreadful convulsions, the shock of which overthrew Conseil.
But Ned Land had disentangled the Captain, who, getting up without any
wound, went straight to the Indian, quickly cut the cord which held him to
his stone, took him in his arms, and, with a sharp blow of his heel,
mounted to the surface.
We all three followed in a few seconds, saved by a miracle, and
reached the fisherman's boat.
Captain Nemo's first care was to recall the unfortunate man to life
again. I did not think he could succeed. I hoped so, for the poor
creature's immersion was not long; but the blow from the shark's tail might
have been his death-blow.
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Happily, with the Captain's and Conseil's sharp friction, I saw
consciousness return by degrees. He opened his eyes. What was his surprise,
his terror even, at seeing four great copper heads leaning over him! And,
above all, what must he have thought when Captain Nemo, drawing from the
pocket of his dress a bag of pearls, placed it in his hand! This munificent
charity from the man of the waters to the poor Cingalese was accepted with
a trembling hand. His wondering eyes showed that he knew not to what super-
human beings he owed both fortune and life.
At a sign from the Captain we regained the bank, and, following the
road already traversed, came in about half an hour to the anchor which held
the canoe of the Nautilus to the earth.
Once on board, we each, with the help of the sailors, got rid of the
heavy copper helmet.
Captain Nemo's first word was to the Canadian.
"Thank you, Master Land," said he.
"It was in revenge, Captain," replied Ned Land. "I owed you that."
A ghastly smile passed across the Captain's lips, and that was all.
"To the Nautilus," said he.
The boat flew over the waves. Some minutes after we met the shark's
dead body floating. By the black marking of the extremity of its fins, I
recognised the terrible melanopteron of the Indian Seas, of the species of
shark so properly called. It was more than twenty-five feet long; its
enormous mouth occupied one-third of its body. It was an adult, as was
known by its six rows of teeth placed in an isosceles triangle in the upper
jaw.
Whilst I was contemplating this inert mass, a dozen of these voracious
beasts appeared round the boat; and, without noticing us, threw themselves
upon the dead body and fought with one another for the pieces.
At half-past eight we were again on board the Nautilus. There I
reflected on the incidents which had taken place in our excursion to the
Manaar Bank.
Two conclusions I must inevitably draw from it -- one
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bearing upon the unparalleled courage of Captain Nemo, the other upon his
devotion to a human being, a representative of that race from which he fled
beneath the sea. Whatever he might say, this strange man had not yet
succeeded in entirely crushing his heart.
When I made this observation to him, he answered in a slightly moved
tone:
"That Indian, sir, is an inhabitant of an oppressed country; and I am
still, and shall be, to my last breath, one of them!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.4
THE RED SEA
IN THE course of the day of the 29th of January, the island of Ceylon
disappeared under the horizon, and the Nautilus, at a speed of twenty miles
an hour, slid into the labyrinth of canals which separate the Maldives from
the Laccadives. It coasted even the Island of Kiltan, a land originally
coraline, discovered by Vasco da Gama in 1499, and one of the nineteen
principal islands of the Laccadive Archipelago, situated between 10° and
14° 30' N. lat., and 69° 50' 72" E. long.
We had made 16,220 miles, or 7,500 (French) leagues from our
starting-point in the Japanese Seas.
The next day (30th January), when the Nautilus went to the surface of
the ocean there was no land in sight. Its course was N.N.E., in the
direction of the Sea of Oman, between Arabia and the Indian Peninsula,
which serves as an outlet to the Persian Gulf. It was evidently a block
without any possible egress. Where was Captain Nemo taking us to? I could
not say. This, however, did not satisfy the Canadian, who that day came to
me asking where we were going.
"We are going where our Captain's fancy takes us, Master Ned."
"His fancy cannot take us far, then," said the Canadian.
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"The Persian Gulf has no outlet: and, if we do go in, it will not be long
before we are out again."
"Very well, then, we will come out again, Master Land; and if, after
the Persian Gulf, the Nautilus would like to visit the Red Sea, the Straits
of Bab-el-mandeb are there to give us entrance."
"I need not tell you, sir," said Ned Land, "that the Red Sea is as
much closed as the Gulf, as the Isthmus of Suez is not yet cut; and, if it
was, a boat as mysterious as ours would not risk itself in a canal cut with
sluices. And again, the Red Sea is not the road to take us back to Europe."
"But I never said we were going back to Europe."
"What do you suppose, then?"
"I suppose that, after visiting the curious coasts of Arabia and
Egypt, the Nautilus will go down the Indian Ocean again, perhaps cross the
Channel of Mozambique, perhaps off the Mascarenhas, so as to gain the Cape
of Good Hope."
"And once at the Cape of Good Hope?" asked the Canadian, with peculiar
emphasis.
"Well, we shall penetrate into that Atlantic which we do not yet know.
Ah! friend Ned, you are getting tired of this journey under the sea; you
are surfeited with the incessantly varying spectacle of submarine wonders.
For my part, I shall be sorry to see the end of a voyage which it is given
to so few men to make."
For four days, till the 3rd of February, the Nautilus scoured the Sea
of Oman, at various speeds and at various depths. It seemed to go at
random, as if hesitating as to which road it should follow, but we never
passed the Tropic of Cancer.
In quitting this sea we sighted Muscat for an instant, one of the most
important towns of the country of Oman. I admired its strange aspect,
surrounded by black rocks upon which its white houses and forts stood in
relief. I saw the rounded domes of its mosques, the elegant points of its
minarets, its fresh and verdant terraces. But it was only a vision! The
Nautilus soon sank under the waves of that part of the sea.
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We passed along the Arabian coast of Mahrah and Hadramaut, for a
distance of six miles, its undulating line of mountains being occasionally
relieved by some ancient ruin. The 5th of February we at last entered the
Gulf of Aden, a perfect funnel introduced into the neck of Bab-el- mandeb,
through which the Indian waters entered the Red Sea.
The 6th of February, the Nautilus floated in sight of Aden, perched
upon a promontory which a narrow isthmus joins to the mainland, a kind of
inaccessible Gibraltar, the fortifications of which were rebuilt by the
English after taking possession in 1839. I caught a glimpse of the octagon
minarets of this town, which was at one time the richest commercial
magazine on the coast.
I certainly thought that Captain Nemo, arrived at this point, would
back out again; but I was mistaken, for be did no such thing, much to my
surprise.
The next day, the 7th of February, we entered the Straits of
Bab-el-mandeb, the name of which, in the Arab tongue, means The Gate of
Tears.
To twenty miles in breadth, it is only thirty-two in length. And for
the Nautilus, starting at full speed, the crossing was scarcely the work of
an hour. But I saw nothing, not even the Island of Perim, with which the
British Government has fortified the position of Aden. There were too many
English or French steamers of the line of Suez to Bombay, Calcutta to
Melbourne, and from Bourbon to the Mauritius, furrowing this narrow
passage, for the Nautilus to venture to show itself. So it remained
prudently below. At last about noon, we were in the waters of the Red Sea.
I would not even seek to understand the caprice which had decided
Captain Nemo upon entering the gulf. But I quite approved of the Nautilus
entering it. Its speed was lessened: sometimes it kept on the surface,
sometimes it dived to avoid a vessel, and thus I was able to observe the
upper and lower parts of this curious sea.
The 8th of February, from the first dawn of day, Mocha came in sight,
now a ruined town, whose walls would fall at a gunshot, yet which shelters
here and there some verdant
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date-trees; once an important city, containing six public markets, and
twenty-six mosques, and whose walls, defended by fourteen forts, formed a
girdle of two miles in circumference.
The Nautilus then approached the African shore, where the depth of the
sea was greater. There, between two waters clear as crystal, through the
open panels we were allowed to contemplate the beautiful bushes of
brilliant coral and large blocks of rock clothed with a splendid fur of
green variety of sites and landscapes along these sandbanks and algae and
fuci. What an indescribable spectacle, and what variety of sites and
landscapes along these sandbanks and volcanic islands which bound the
Libyan coast! But where these shrubs appeared in all their beauty was on
the eastern coast, which the Nautilus soon gained. It was on the coast of
Tehama, for there not only did this display of zoophytes flourish beneath
the level of the sea, but they also formed picturesque interlacings which
unfolded themselves about sixty feet above the surface, more capricious but
less highly coloured than those whose freshness was kept up by the vital
power of the waters.
What charming hours I passed thus at the window of the saloon! What
new specimens of submarine flora and fauna did I admire under the
brightness of our electric lantern!
The 9th of February the Nautilus floated in the broadest part of the
Red Sea, which is comprised between Souakin, on the west coast, and
Komfidah, on the east coast, with a diameter of ninety miles.
That day at noon, after the bearings were taken, Captain Nemo mounted
the platform, where I happened to be, and I was determined not to let him
go down again without at least pressing him regarding his ulterior
projects. As soon as he saw me he approached and graciously offered me a
cigar.
"Well, sir, does this Red Sea please you? Have you sufficiently
observed the wonders it covers, its fishes, its zoophytes, its parterres of
sponges, and its forests of coral? Did you catch a glimpse of the towns on
its borders?"
"Yes, Captain Nemo," I replied; "and the Nautilus is
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wonderfully fitted for such a study. Ah! it is an intelligent boat!"
"Yes, sir, intelligent and invulnerable. It fears neither the terrible
tempests of the Red Sea, nor its currents, nor its sandbanks."
"Certainly," said I, "this sea is quoted as one of the worst, and in
the time of the ancients, if I am not mistaken, its reputation was
detestable."
"Detestable, M. Aronnax. The Greek and Latin historians do not speak
favourably of it, and Strabo says it is very dangerous during the Etesian
winds and in the rainy season. The Arabian Edrisi portrays it under the
name of the Gulf of Colzoum, and relates that vessels perished there in
great numbers on the sandbanks and that no one would risk sailing in the
night. It is, he pretends, a sea subject to fearful hurricanes, strewn with
inhospitable islands, and 'which offers nothing good either on its surface
or in its depths.'"
"One may see," I replied, "that these historians never sailed on board
the Nautilus."
"Just so," replied the Captain, smiling; "and in that respect moderns
are not more advanced than the ancients. It required many ages to find out
the mechanical power of steam. Who knows if, in another hundred years, we
may not see a second Nautilus? Progress is slow, M. Aronnax."
"It is true," I answered; "your boat is at least a century before its
time, perhaps an era. What a misfortune that the secret of such an
invention should die with its inventor!"
Captain Nemo did not reply. After some minutes' silence he continued:
"You were speaking of the opinions of ancient historians upon the
dangerous navigation of the Red Sea."
"It is true," said I; "but were not their fears exaggerated?"
"Yes and no, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, who seemed to know the
Red Sea by heart. "That which is no longer dangerous for a modern vessel,
well rigged, strongly built, and master of its own course, thanks to
obedient steam, offered all sorts of perils to the ships of the ancients,
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Picture to yourself those first navigators venturing in ships made of
planks sewn with the cords of the palmtree, saturated with the grease of
the seadog, and covered with powdered resin! They had not even instruments
wherewith to take their bearings, and they went by guess amongst currents
of which they scarcely knew anything. Under such conditions shipwrecks
were, and must have been, numerous. But in our time, steamers running
between Suez and the South Seas have nothing more to fear from the fury of
this gulf, in spite of contrary trade-winds. The captain and passengers do
not prepare for their departure by offering propitiatory sacrifices; and,
on their return, they no longer go ornamented with wreaths and gilt fillets
to thank the gods in the neighbouring temple."
"I agree with you," said I; "and steam seems to have killed all
gratitude in the hearts of sailors. But, Captain, since you seem to have
especially studied this sea, can you tell me the origin of its name?"
"There exist several explanations on the subject, M. Aronnax. Would
you like to know the opinion of a chronicler of the fourteenth century?"
"Willingly."
"This fanciful writer pretends that its name was given to it after the
passage of the Israelites, when Pharaoh perished in the waves which closed
at the voice of Moses."
"A poet's explanation, Captain Nemo," I replied; "but I cannot content
myself with that. I ask you for your personal opinion."
"Here it is, M. Aronnax. According to my idea, we must see in this
appellation of the Red Sea a translation of the Hebrew word 'Edom'; and if
the ancients gave it that name, it was on account of the particular colour
of its waters."
"But up to this time I have seen nothing but transparent waves and
without any particular colour."
"Very likely; but as we advance to the bottom of the gulf, you will
see this singular appearance. I remember seeing the Bay of Tor entirely
red, like a sea of blood."
"And you attribute this colour to the presence of a microscopic
seaweed?"
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"Yes."
"So, Captain Nemo, it is not the first time you have overrun the Red
Sea on board the Nautilus?"
"No, sir."
"As you spoke a while ago of the passage of the Israelites and of the
catastrophe to the Egyptians, I will ask whether you have met with the
traces under the water of this great historical fact?"
"No, sir; and for a good reason."
"What is it?"
"It is that the spot where Moses and his people passed is now so
blocked up with sand that the camels can barely bathe their legs there. You
can well understand that there would not be water enough for my Nautilus."
"And the spot?" I asked.
"The spot is situated a little above the Isthmus of Suez, in the arm
which formerly made a deep estuary, when the Red Sea extended to the Salt
Lakes. Now, whether this passage were miraculous or not, the Israelites,
nevertheless, crossed there to reach the Promised Land, and Pharaoh's army
perished precisely on that spot; and I think that excavations made in the
middle of the sand would bring to light a large number of arms and
instruments of Egyptian origin."
"That is evident," I replied; "and for the sake of archaeologists let
us hope that these excavations will be made sooner or later, when new towns
are established on the isthmus, after the construction of the Suez Canal; a
canal, however, very useless to a vessel like the Nautilus."
"Very likely; but useful to the whole world," said Captain Nemo. "The
ancients well understood the utility of a communication between the Red Sea
and the Mediterranean for their commercial affairs: but they did not think
of digging a canal direct, and took the Nile as an intermediate. Very
probably the canal which united the Nile to the Red Sea was begun by
Sesostris, if we may believe tradition. One thing is certain, that in the
year 615 before Jesus Christ, Necos undertook the works of an alimentary
canal to the waters of the Nile across the plain of Egypt, looking towards
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Arabia. It took four days to go up this canal, and it was so wide that two
triremes could go abreast. It was carried on by Darius, the son of
Hystaspes, and probably finished by Ptolemy II. Strabo saw it navigated:
but its decline from the point of departure, near Bubastes, to the Red Sea
was so slight that it was only navigable for a few months in the year. This
canal answered all commercial purposes to the age of Antonius, when it was
abandoned and blocked up with sand. Restored by order of the Caliph Omar,
it was definitely destroyed in 761 or 762 by Caliph Al-Mansor, who wished
to prevent the arrival of provisions to Mohammed-ben-Abdallah, who had
revolted against him. During the expedition into Egypt, your General
Bonaparte discovered traces of the works in the Desert of Suez; and,
surprised by the tide, he nearly perished before regaining Hadjaroth, at
the very place where Moses had encamped three thousand years before him."
"Well, Captain, what the ancients dared not undertake, this junction
between the two seas, which will shorten the road from Cadiz to India, M.
Lesseps has succeeded in doing; and before long he will have changed Africa
into an immense island."
"Yes, M. Aronnax; you have the right to be proud of your countryman.
Such a man brings more honour to a nation than great captains. He began,
like so many others, with disgust and rebuffs; but he has triumphed, for he
has the genius of will. And it is sad to think that a work like that, which
ought to have been an international work and which would have sufficed to
make a reign illustrious, should have succeeded by the energy of one man.
All honour to M. Lesseps!"
"Yes! honour to the great citizen," I replied, surprised by the manner
in which Captain Nemo had just spoken.
"Unfortunately," he continued, "I cannot take you through the Suez
Canal; but you will be able to see the long jetty of Port Said after
to-morrow, when we shall be in the Mediterranean."
"The Mediterranean!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir; does that astonish you?"
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"What astonishes me is to think that we shall be there the day after
to-morrow."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, Captain, although by this time I ought to have accustomed myself
to be surprised at nothing since I have been on board your boat."
"But the cause of this surprise?"
"Well! it is the fearful speed you will have to put on the Nautilus,
if the day after to-morrow she is to be in the Mediterranean, having made
the round of Africa, and doubled the Cape of Good Hope!"
"Who told you that she would make the round of Africa and double the
Cape of Good Hope, sir?"
"Well, unless the Nautilus sails on dry land, and passes above the
isthmus -- "
"Or beneath it, M. Aronnax."
"Beneath it?"
"Certainly," replied Captain Nemo quietly. "A long time ago Nature
made under this tongue of land what man has this day made on its surface."
"What! such a passage exists?"
"Yes; a subterranean passage, which I have named the Arabian Tunnel.
It takes us beneath Suez and opens into the Gulf of Pelusium."
"But this isthmus is composed of nothing but quicksands?"
"To a certain depth. But at fifty-five yards only there is a solid
layer of rock."
"Did you discover this passage by chance?" I asked more and more
surprised.
"Chance and reasoning, sir; and by reasoning even more than by chance.
Not only does this passage exist, but I have profited by it several times.
Without that I should not have ventured this day into the impassable Red
Sea. I noticed that in the Red Sea and in the Mediterranean there existed a
certain number of fishes of a kind perfectly identical. Certain of the
fact, I asked myself was it possible that there was no communication
between the two seas? If
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there was, the subterranean current must necessarily run from the Red Sea
to the Mediterranean, from the sole cause of difference of level. I caught
a large number of fishes in the neighbourhood of Suez. I passed a copper
ring through their tails, and threw them back into the sea. Some months
later, on the coast of Syria, I caught some of my fish ornamented with the
ring. Thus the communication between the two was proved. I then sought for
it with my Nautilus; I discovered it, ventured into it, and before long,
sir, you too will have passed through my Arabian tunnel!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.5
THE ARABIAN TUNNEL
THAT same evening, in 21° 30' N. lat., the Nautilus floated on the
surface of the sea, approaching the Arabian coast. I saw Djeddah, the most
important counting-house of Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and India. I
distinguished clearly enough its buildings, the vessels anchored at the
quays, and those whose draught of water obliged them to anchor in the
roads. The sun, rather low on the horizon, struck full on the houses of the
town, bringing out their whiteness. Outside, some wooden cabins, and some
made of reeds, showed the quarter inhabited by the Bedouins. Soon Djeddah
was shut out from view by the shadows of night, and the Nautilus found
herself under water slightly phosphorescent.
The next day, the 10th of February, we sighted several ships running
to windward. The Nautilus returned to its submarine navigation; but at
noon, when her bearings were taken, the sea being deserted, she rose again
to her waterline.
Accompanied by Ned and Conseil, I seated myself on the platform. The
coast on the eastern side looked like a mass faintly printed upon a damp
fog.
We were leaning on the sides of the pinnace, talking of
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one thing and another, when Ned Land, stretching out his hand towards a
spot on the sea, said:
"Do you see anything there, sir?"
"No, Ned," I replied; "but I have not your eyes, you know."
"Look well," said Ned, "there, on the starboard beam, about the height
of the lantern! Do you not see a mass which seems to move?"
"Certainly," said I, after close attention; "I see something like a
long black body on the top of the water."
And certainly before long the black object was not more than a mile
from us. It looked like a great sandbank deposited in the open sea. It was
a gigantic dugong!
Ned Land looked eagerly. His eyes shone with covetousness at the sight
of the animal. His hand seemed ready to harpoon it. One would have thought
he was awaiting the moment to throw himself into the sea and attack it in
its element.
At this instant Captain Nemo appeared on the platform. He saw the
dugong, understood the Canadian's attitude, and, addressing him, said:
"If you held a harpoon just now, Master Land, would it not burn your
hand?"
"Just so, sir."
"And you would not be sorry to go back, for one day, to your trade of
a fisherman and to add this cetacean to the list of those you have already
killed?"
"I should not, sir."
"Well, you can try."
"Thank you, sir," said Ned Land, his eyes flaming.
"Only," continued the Captain, "I advise you for your own sake not to
miss the creature."
"Is the dugong dangerous to attack?" I asked, in spite of the
Canadian's shrug of the shoulders.
"Yes," replied the Captain; "sometimes the animal turns upon its
assailants and overturns their boat. But for Master Land this danger is not
to be feared. His eye is prompt, his arm sure."
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At this moment seven men of the crew, mute and immovable as ever,
mounted the platform. One carried a harpoon and a line similar to those
employed in catching whales. The pinnace was lifted from the bridge, pulled
from its socket, and let down into the sea. Six oarsmen took their seats,
and the coxswain went to the tiller. Ned, Conseil, and I went to the back
of the boat.
"You are not coming, Captain?" I asked.
"No, sir; but I wish you good sport."
The boat put off, and, lifted by the six rowers, drew rapidly towards
the dugong, which floated about two miles from the Nautilus.
Arrived some cables-length from the cetacean, the speed slackened, and
the oars dipped noiselessly into the quiet waters. Ned Land, harpoon in
hand, stood in the fore part of the boat. The harpoon used for striking the
whale is generally attached to a very long cord which runs out rapidly as
the wounded creature draws it after him. But here the cord was not more
than ten fathoms long, and the extremity was attached to a small barrel
which, by floating, was to show the course the dugong took under the water.
I stood and carefully watched the Canadian's adversary. This dugong,
which also bears the name of the halicore, closely resembles the manatee;
its oblong body terminated in a lengthened tall, and its lateral fins in
perfect fingers. Its difference from the manatee consisted in its upper
jaw, which was armed with two long and pointed teeth which formed on each
side diverging tusks.
This dugong which Ned Land was preparing to attack was of colossal
dimensions; it was more than seven yards long. It did not move, and seemed
to be sleeping on the waves, which circumstance made it easier to capture.
The boat approached within six yards of the animal. The oars rested on
the rowlocks. I half rose. Ned Land, his body thrown a little back,
brandished the harpoon in his experienced hand.
Suddenly a hissing noise was heard, and the dugong disappeared.
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The harpoon, although thrown with great force; had apparently only struck
the water.
"Curse it!" exclaimed the Canadian furiously; "I have missed it!"
"No," said I; "the creature is wounded -- look at the blood; but your
weapon has not stuck in his body."
"My harpoon! my harpoon!" cried Ned Land.
The sailors rowed on, and the coxswain made for the floating barrel.
The harpoon regained, we followed in pursuit of the animal.
The latter came now and then to the surface to breathe. Its wound had
not weakened it, for it shot onwards with great rapidity.
The boat, rowed by strong arms, flew on its track. Several times it
approached within some few yards, and the Canadian was ready to strike, but
the dugong made off with a sudden plunge, and it was impossible to reach
it.
Imagine the passion which excited impatient Ned Land! He hurled at the
unfortunate creature the most energetic expletives in the English tongue.
For my part, I was only vexed to see the dugong escape all our attacks.
We pursued it without relaxation for an hour, and I began to think it
would prove difficult to capture, when the animal, possessed with the
perverse idea of vengeance of which he had cause to repent, turned upon the
pinnace and assailed us in its turn.
This manoeuvre did not escape the Canadian.
"Look out!" he cried.
The coxswain said some words in his outlandish tongue, doubtless
warning the men to keep on their guard.
The dugong came within twenty feet of the boat, stopped, sniffed the
air briskly with its large nostrils (not pierced at the extremity, but in
the upper part of its muzzle). Then, taking a spring, he threw himself upon
us.
The pinnace could not avoid the shock, and half upset, shipped at
least two tons of water, which had to be emptied; but, thanks to the
coxswain, we caught it sideways, not full front, so we were not quite
overturned. While Ned Land,
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clinging to the bows, belaboured the gigantic animal with blows from his
harpoon, the creature's teeth were buried in the gunwale, and it lifted the
whole thing out of the water, as a lion does a roebuck. We were upset over
one another, and I know not how the adventure would have ended, if the
Canadian, still enraged with the beast, had not struck it to the heart.
I heard its teeth grind on the iron plate, and the dugong disappeared,
carrying the harpoon with him. But the barrel soon returned to the surface,
and shortly after the body of the animal, turned on its back. The boat came
up with it, took it in tow, and made straight for the Nautilus.
It required tackle of enormous strength to hoist the dugong on to the
platform. It weighed 10,000 lb.
The next day, 11th February, the larder of the Nautilus was enriched
by some more delicate game. A flight of sea- swallows rested on the
Nautilus. It was a species of the Sterna nilotica, peculiar to Egypt; its
beak is black, head grey and pointed, the eye surrounded by white spots,
the back, wings, and tail of a greyish colour, the belly and throat white,
and claws red. They also took some dozen of Nile ducks, a wild bird of high
flavour, its throat and upper part of the head white with black spots.
About five o'clock in the evening we sighted to the north the Cape of
Ras-Mohammed. This cape forms the extremity of Arabia Petraea, comprised
between the Gulf of Suez and the Gulf of Acabah.
The Nautilus penetrated into the Straits of Jubal, which leads to the
Gulf of Suez. I distinctly saw a high mountain, towering between the two
gulfs of Ras-Mohammed. It was Mount Horeb, that Sinai at the top of which
Moses saw God face to face.
At six o'clock the Nautilus, sometimes floating, sometimes immersed,
passed some distance from Tor, situated at the end of the bay, the waters
of which seemed tinted with red, an observation already made by Captain
Nemo. Then night fell in the midst of a heavy silence, sometimes broken by
the cries of the pelican and other night-birds, and the noise of the waves
breaking upon the shore, chafing against the
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rocks, or the panting of some far-off steamer beating the waters of the
Gulf with its noisy paddles.
From eight to nine o'clock the Nautilus remained some fathoms under
the water. According to my calculation we must have been very near Suez.
Through the panel of the saloon I saw the bottom of the rocks brilliantly
lit up by our electric lamp. We seemed to be leaving the Straits behind us
more and more.
At a quarter-past nine, the vessel having returned to the surface, I
mounted the platform. Most impatient to pass through Captain Nemo's tunnel,
I could not stay in one place, so came to breathe the fresh night air.
Soon in the shadow I saw a pale light, half discoloured by the fog,
shining about a mile from us.
"A floating lighthouse!" said someone near me.
I turned, and saw the Captain.
"It is the floating light of Suez," he continued. "It will not be long
before we gain the entrance of the tunnel."
"The entrance cannot be easy?"
"No, sir; for that reason I am accustomed to go into the steersman's
cage and myself direct our course. And now, if you will go down, M.
Aronnax, the Nautilus is going under the waves, and will not return to the
surface until we have passed through the Arabian Tunnel."
Captain Nemo led me towards the central staircase; half- way down he
opened a door, traversed the upper deck, and landed in the pilot's cage,
which it may be remembered rose at the extremity of the platform. It was a
cabin measuring six feet square, very much like that occupied by the pilot
on the steamboats of the Mississippi or Hudson. In the midst worked a
wheel, placed vertically, and caught to the tiller-rope, which ran to the
back of the Nautilus. Four light-ports with lenticular glasses, let in a
groove in the partition of the cabin, allowed the man at the wheel to see
in all directions.
This cabin was dark; but soon my eyes accustomed themselves to the
obscurity, and I perceived the pilot, a strong man, with his hands resting
on the spokes of the wheel. Outside, the sea appeared vividly lit up by the
lantern,
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which shed its rays from the back of the cabin to the other extremity of
the platform.
"Now," said Captain Nemo, "let us try to make our passage."
Electric wires connected the pilot's cage with the machinery room, and
from there the Captain could communicate simultaneously to his Nautilus the
direction and the speed. He pressed a metal knob, and at once the speed of
the screw diminished.
I looked in silence at the high straight wall we were running by at
this moment, the immovable base of a massive sandy coast. We followed it
thus for an hour only some few yards off.
Captain Nemo did not take his eye from the knob, suspended by its two
concentric circles in the cabin. At a simple gesture, the pilot modified
the course of the Nautilus every instant.
I had placed myself at the port-scuttle, and saw some magnificent
substructures of coral, zoophytes, seaweed, and fucus, agitating their
enormous claws, which stretched out from the fissures of the rock.
At a quarter-past ten, the Captain himself took the helm. A large
gallery, black and deep, opened before us. The Nautilus went boldly into
it. A strange roaring was heard round its sides. It was the waters of the
Red Sea, which the incline of the tunnel precipitated violently towards the
Mediterranean. The Nautilus went with the torrent, rapid as an arrow, in
spite of the efforts of the machinery, which, in order to offer more
effective resistance, beat the waves with reversed screw.
On the walls of the narrow passage I could see nothing but brilliant
rays, straight lines, furrows of fire, traced by the great speed, under the
brilliant electric light. My heart beat fast.
At thirty-five minutes past ten, Captain Nemo quitted the helm, and,
turning to me, said:
"The Mediterranean!"
In less than twenty minutes, the Nautilus, carried along by the
torrent, had passed through the Isthmus of Suez.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.6
THE GRECIAN ARCHIPELAGO
THE next day, the 12th of February, at the dawn of day, the Nautilus
rose to the surface. I hastened on to the platform. Three miles to the
south the dim outline of Pelusium was to be seen. A torrent had carried us
from one sea to another. About seven o'clock Ned and Conseil joined me.
"Well, Sir Naturalist," said the Canadian, in a slightly jovial tone,
"and the Mediterranean?"
"We are floating on its surface, friend Ned."
"What!" said Conseil, "this very night."
"Yes, this very night; in a few minutes we have passed this impassable
isthmus."
"I do not believe it," replied the Canadian.
"Then you are wrong, Master Land," I continued; "this low coast which
rounds off to the south is the Egyptian coast. And you who have such good
eyes, Ned, you can see the jetty of Port Said stretching into the sea."
The Canadian looked attentively.
"Certainly you are right, sir, and your Captain is a first- rate man.
We are in the Mediterranean. Good! Now, if you please, let us talk of our
own little affair, but so that no one hears us."
I saw what the Canadian wanted, and, in any case, I thought it better
to let him talk, as he wished it; so we all three went and sat down near
the lantern, where we were less exposed to the spray of the blades.
"Now, Ned, we listen; what have you to tell us?"
"What I have to tell you is very simple. We are in Europe; and before
Captain Nemo's caprices drag us once more to the bottom of the Polar Seas,
or lead us into Oceania, I ask to leave the Nautilus."
I wished in no way to shackle the liberty of my companions, but I
certainly felt no desire to leave Captain Nemo.
Thanks to him, and thanks to his apparatus, I was each day nearer the
completion of my submarine studies; and
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I was rewriting my book of submarine depths in its very element. Should I
ever again have such an opportunity of observing the wonders of the ocean?
No, certainly not! And I could not bring myself to the idea of abandoning
the Nautilus before the cycle of investigation was accomplished.
"Friend Ned, answer me frankly, are you tired of being on board? Are
you sorry that destiny has thrown us into Captain Nemo's hands?"
The Canadian remained some moments without answering. Then, crossing
his arms, he said:
"Frankly, I do not regret this journey under the seas. I shall be glad
to have made it; but, now that it is made, let us have done with it. That
is my idea."
"It will come to an end, Ned."
"Where and when?"
"Where I do not know -- when I cannot say; or, rather, I suppose it
will end when these seas have nothing more to teach us."
"Then what do you hope for?" demanded the Canadian.
"That circumstances may occur as well six months hence as now by which
we may and ought to profit."
"Oh!" said Ned Land, "and where shall we be in six months, if you
please, Sir Naturalist?"
"Perhaps in China; you know the Nautilus is a rapid traveller. It goes
through water as swallows through the air, or as an express on the land. It
does not fear frequented seas; who can say that it may not beat the coasts
of France, England, or America, on which flight may be attempted as
advantageously as here."
"M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, "your arguments are rotten at the
foundation. You speak in the future, 'We shall be there! we shall be here!'
I speak in the present, 'We are here, and we must profit by it.'"
Ned Land's logic pressed me hard, and I felt myself beaten on that
ground. I knew not what argument would now tell in my favour.
"Sir," continued Ned, "let us suppose an impossibility: if Captain
Nemo should this day offer you your liberty; would you accept it?"
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"I do not know," I answered.
"And if," he added, "the offer made you this day was never to be
renewed, would you accept it?"
"Friend Ned, this is my answer. Your reasoning is against me. We must
not rely on Captain Nemo's good-will. Common prudence forbids him to set us
at liberty. On the other side, prudence bids us profit by the first
opportunity to leave the Nautilus."
"Well, M. Aronnax, that is wisely said."
"Only one observation -- just one. The occasion must be serious, and
our first attempt must succeed; if it fails, we shall never find another,
and Captain Nemo will never forgive us."
"All that is true," replied the Canadian. "But your observation
applies equally to all attempts at flight, whether in two years' time, or
in two days'. But the question is still this: If a favourable opportunity
presents itself, it must be seized."
"Agreed! And now, Ned, will you tell me what you mean by a favourable
opportunity?"
"It will be that which, on a dark night, will bring the Nautilus a
short distance from some European coast."
"And you will try and save yourself by swimming?"
"Yes, if we were near enough to the bank, and if the vessel was
floating at the time. Not if the bank was far away, and the boat was under
the water."
"And in that case?"
"In that case, I should seek to make myself master of the pinnace. I
know how it is worked. We must get inside, and the bolts once drawn, we
shall come to the surface of the water, without even the pilot, who is in
the bows, perceiving our flight."
"Well, Ned, watch for the opportunity; but do not forget that a hitch
will ruin us."
"I will not forget, sir."
"And now, Ned, would you like to know what I think of your project?"
"Certainly, M. Aronnax."
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"Well, I think -- I do not say I hope -- I think that this favourable
opportunity will never present itself."
"Why not?"
"Because Captain Nemo cannot hide from himself that we have not given
up all hope of regaining our liberty, and he will be on his guard, above
all, in the seas and in the sight of European coasts."
"We shall see," replied Ned Land, shaking his head determinedly.
"And now, Ned Land," I added, "let us stop here. Not another word on
the subject. The day that you are ready, come and let us know, and we will
follow you. I rely entirely upon you."
Thus ended a conversation which, at no very distant time, led to such
grave results. I must say here that facts seemed to confirm my foresight,
to the Canadian's great despair. Did Captain Nemo distrust us in these
frequented seas? or did he only wish to hide himself from the numerous
vessels, of all nations, which ploughed the Mediterranean? I could not
tell; but we were oftener between waters and far from the coast. Or, if the
Nautilus did emerge, nothing was to be seen but the pilot's cage; and
sometimes it went to great depths, for, between the Grecian Archipelago and
Asia Minor we could not touch the bottom by more than a thousand fathoms.
Thus I only knew we were near the Island of Carpathos, one of the
Sporades, by Captain Nemo reciting these lines from Virgil:
"Est Carpathio Neptuni gurgite vates,
Caeruleus Proteus," as he pointed to a spot on the planisphere.
It was indeed the ancient abode of Proteus, the old shepherd of
Neptune's flocks, now the Island of Scarpanto, situated between Rhodes and
Crete. I saw nothing but the granite base through the glass panels of the
saloon.
The next day, the 14th of February, I resolved to employ some hours in
studying the fishes of the Archipelago; but for some reason or other the
panels remained hermetically sealed. Upon taking the course of the
Nautilus, I found that
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we were going towards Candia, the ancient Isle of Crete. At the time I
embarked on the Abraham Lincoln, the whole of this island had risen in
insurrection against the despotism of the Turks. But how the insurgents had
fared since that time I was absolutely ignorant, and it was not Captain
Nemo, deprived of all land communications, who could tell me.
I made no allusion to this event when that night I found myself alone
with him in the saloon. Besides, he seemed to be taciturn and preoccupied.
Then, contrary to his custom, he ordered both panels to be opened, and,
going from one to the other, observed the mass of waters attentively. To
what end I could not guess; so, on my side, I employed my time in studying
the fish passing before my eyes.
In the midst of the waters a man appeared, a diver, carrying at his
belt a leathern purse. It was not a body abandoned to the waves; it was a
living man, swimming with a strong hand, disappearing occasionally to take
breath at the surface.
I turned towards Captain Nemo, and in an agitated voice exclaimed:
"A man shipwrecked! He must be saved at any price!"
The Captain did not answer me, but came and leaned against the panel.
The man had approached, and, with his face flattened against the
glass, was looking at us.
To my great amazement, Captain Nemo signed to him. The diver answered
with his hand, mounted immediately to the surface of the water, and did not
appear again.
"Do not be uncomfortable," said Captain Nemo. "It is Nicholas of Cape
Matapan, surnamed Pesca. He is well known in all the Cyclades. A bold
diver! water is his element, and he lives more in it than on land, going
continually from one island to another, even as far as Crete."
"You know him, Captain?"
"Why not, M. Aronnax?"
Saying which, Captain Nemo went towards a piece of furniture standing
near the left panel of the saloon. Near this piece of furniture, I saw a
chest bound with iron, on
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the cover of which was a copper plate, bearing the cypher of the Nautilus
with its device.
At that moment, the Captain, without noticing my presence, opened the
piece of furniture, a sort of strong box, which held a great many ingots.
They were ingots of gold. From whence came this precious metal, which
represented an enormous sum? Where did the Captain gather this gold from?
and what was he going to do with it?
I did not say one word. I looked. Captain Nemo took the ingots one by
one, and arranged them methodically in the chest, which he filled entirely.
I estimated the contents at more than 4,000 lb. weight of gold, that is to
say, nearly L200,000.
The chest was securely fastened, and the Captain wrote an address on
the lid, in characters which must have belonged to Modern Greece.
This done, Captain Nemo pressed a knob, the wire of which communicated
with the quarters of the crew. Four men appeared, and, not without some
trouble, pushed the chest out of the saloon. Then I heard them hoisting it
up the iron staircase by means of pulleys.
At that moment, Captain Nemo turned to me.
"And you were saying, sir?" said he.
"I was saying nothing, Captain."
"Then, sir, if you will allow me, I will wish you good night."
Whereupon he turned and left the saloon.
I returned to my room much troubled, as one may believe. I vainly
tried to sleep -- I sought the connecting link between the apparition of
the diver and the chest filled with gold. Soon, I felt by certain movements
of pitching and tossing that the Nautilus was leaving the depths and
returning to the surface.
Then I heard steps upon the platform; and I knew they were unfastening
the pinnace and launching it upon the waves. For one instant it struck the
side of the Nautilus, then all noise ceased.
Two hours after, the same noise, the same going and coming
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was renewed; the boat was hoisted on board, replaced in its socket, and the
Nautilus again plunged under the waves.
So these millions had been transported to their address. To what point
of the continent? Who was Captain Nemo's correspondent?
The next day I related to Conseil and the Canadian the events of the
night, which had excited my curiosity to the highest degree. My companions
were not less surprised than myself.
"But where does he take his millions to?" asked Ned Land.
To that there was no possible answer. I returned to the saloon after
having breakfast and set to work. Till five o'clock in the evening I
employed myself in arranging my notes. At that moment -- (ought I to
attribute it to some peculiar idiosyncrasy) -- I felt so great a heat that
I was obliged to take off my coat. It was strange, for we were under low
latitudes; and even then the Nautilus, submerged as it was, ought to
experience no change of temperature. I looked at the manometer; it showed a
depth of sixty feet, to which atmospheric heat could never attain.
I continued my work, but the temperature rose to such a pitch as to be
intolerable.
"Could there be fire on board?" I asked myself.
I was leaving the saloon, when Captain Nemo entered; he approached the
thermometer, consulted it, and, turning to me, said:
"Forty-two degrees."
"I have noticed it, Captain," I replied; "and if it gets much hotter
we cannot bear it."
"Oh, sir, it will not get better if we do not wish it."
"You can reduce it as you please, then?"
"No; but I can go farther from the stove which produces it."
"It is outward, then!"
"Certainly; we are floating in a current of boiling water."
"Is it possible!" I exclaimed.
"Look."
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The panels opened, and I saw the sea entirely white all round. A
sulphurous smoke was curling amid the waves, which boiled like water in a
copper. I placed my band on one of the panes of glass, but the heat was so
great that I quickly took it off again.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Near the Island of Santorin, sir," replied the Captain. "I wished to
give you a sight of the curious spectacle of a submarine eruption."
"I thought," said I, "that the formation of these new islands was
ended."
"Nothing is ever ended in the volcanic parts of the sea," replied
Captain Nemo; "and the globe is always being worked by subterranean fires.
Already, in the nineteenth year of our era, according to Cassiodorus and
Pliny, a new island, Theia (the divine), appeared in the very place where
these islets have recently been formed. Then they sank under the waves, to
rise again in the year 69, when they again subsided. Since that time to our
days the Plutonian work has been suspended. But on the 3rd of February,
1866, a new island, which they named George Island, emerged from the midst
of the sulphurous vapour near Nea Kamenni, and settled again the 6th of the
same month. Seven days after, the 13th of February, the Island of Aphroessa
appeared, leaving between Nea Kamenni and itself a canal ten yards broad. I
was in these seas when the phenomenon occurred, and I was able therefore to
observe all the different phases. The Island of Aphroessa, of round form,
measured 300 feet in diameter, and 30 feet in height. It was composed of
black and vitreous lava, mixed with fragments of felspar. And lastly, on
the 10th of March, a smaller island, called Reka, showed itself near Nea
Kamenni, and since then these three have joined together, forming but one
and the same island."
"And the canal in which we are at this moment?" I asked.
"Here it is," replied Captain Nemo, showing me a map of the
Archipelago. "You see, I have marked the new islands."
I returned to the glass. The Nautilus was no longer moving,
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the heat was becoming unbearable. The sea, which till now had been white,
was red, owing to the presence of salts of iron. In spite of the ship's
being hermetically sealed, an insupportable smell of sulphur filled the
saloon, and the brilliancy of the electricity was entirely extinguished by
bright scarlet flames. I was in a bath, I was choking, I was broiled.
"We can remain no longer in this boiling water," said I to the
Captain.
"It would not be prudent," replied the impassive Captain Nemo.
An order was given; the Nautilus tacked about and left the furnace it
could not brave with impunity. A quarter of an hour after we were breathing
fresh air on the surface. The thought then struck me that, if Ned Land had
chosen this part of the sea for our flight, we should never have come alive
out of this sea of fire.
The next day, the 16th of February, we left the basin which, between
Rhodes and Alexandria, is reckoned about 1,500 fathoms in depth, and the
Nautilus, passing some distance from Cerigo, quitted the Grecian
Archipelago after having doubled Cape Matapan.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.7
THE MEDITERRANEAN IN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS
THE Mediterranean, the blue sea par excellence, "the great sea" of the
Hebrews, "the sea" of the Greeks, the "mare nostrum" of the Romans,
bordered by orange-trees, aloes, cacti, and sea-pines; embalmed with the
perfume of the myrtle, surrounded by rude mountains, saturated with pure
and transparent air, but incessantly worked by under- ground fires; a
perfect battlefield in which Neptune and Pluto still dispute the empire of
the world!
It is upon these banks, and on these waters, says Michelet, that man
is renewed in one of the most powerful climates of the globe. But,
beautiful as it was, I could only take a
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rapid glance at the basin whose superficial area is two million of square
yards. Even Captain Nemo's knowledge was lost to me, for this puzzling
person did not appear once during our passage at full speed. I estimated
the course which the Nautilus took under the waves of the sea at about six
hundred leagues, and it was accomplished in forty-eight hours. Starting on
the morning of the 16th of February from the shores of Greece, we had
crossed the Straits of Gibraltar by sunrise on the 18th.
It was plain to me that this Mediterranean, enclosed in the midst of
those countries which he wished to avoid, was distasteful to Captain Nemo.
Those waves and those breezes brought back too many remembrances, if not
too many regrets. Here he had no longer that independence and that liberty
of gait which he had when in the open seas, and his Nautilus felt itself
cramped between the close shores of Africa and Europe.
Our speed was now twenty-five miles an hour. It may be well understood
that Ned Land, to his great disgust, was obliged to renounce his intended
flight. He could not launch the pinnace, going at the rate of twelve or
thirteen yards every second. To quit the Nautilus under such conditions
would be as bad as jumping from a train going at full speed -- an imprudent
thing, to say the least of it. Besides, our vessel only mounted to the
surface of the waves at night to renew its stock of air; it was steered
entirely by the compass and the log.
I saw no more of the interior of this Mediterranean than a traveller
by express train perceives of the landscape which flies before his eyes;
that is to say, the distant horizon, and not the nearer objects which pass
like a flash of lightning.
We were then passing between Sicily and the coast of Tunis. In the
narrow space between Cape Bon and the Straits of Messina the bottom of the
sea rose almost suddenly. There was a perfect bank, on which there was not
more than nine fathoms of water, whilst on either side the depth was ninety
fathoms.
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The Nautilus had to manoeuvre very carefully so as not to strike
against this submarine barrier.
I showed Conseil, on the map of the Mediterranean, the spot occupied
by this reef.
"But if you please, sir," observed Conseil, "it is like a real isthmus
joining Europe to Africa."
"Yes, my boy, it forms a perfect bar to the Straits of Lybia, and the
soundings of Smith have proved that in former times the continents between
Cape Boco and Cape Furina were joined."
"I can well believe it," said Conseil.
"I will add," I continued, "that a similar barrier exists between
Gibraltar and Ceuta, which in geological times formed the entire
Mediterranean."
"What if some volcanic burst should one day raise these two barriers
above the waves?"
"It is not probable, Conseil."
"Well, but allow me to finish, please, sir; if this phenomenon should
take place, it will be troublesome for M. Lesseps, who has taken so much
pains to pierce the isthmus."
"I agree with you; but I repeat, Conseil, this phenomenon will never
happen. The violence of subterranean force is ever diminishing. Volcanoes,
so plentiful in the first days of the world, are being extinguished by
degrees; the internal heat is weakened, the temperature of the lower strata
of the globe is lowered by a perceptible quantity every century to the
detriment of our globe, for its heat is its life."
"But the sun?"
"The sun is not sufficient, Conseil. Can it give heat to a dead body?"
"Not that I know of."
"Well, my friend, this earth will one day be that cold corpse; it will
become uninhabitable and uninhabited like the moon, which has long since
lost all its vital heat."
"In how many centuries?"
"In some hundreds of thousands of years, my boy."
"Then," said Conseil, "we shall have time to finish our journey --
that is, if Ned Land does not interfere with it."
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And Conseil, reassured, returned to the study of the bank, which the
Nautilus was skirting at a moderate speed.
During the night of the 16th and 17th February we had entered the
second Mediterranean basin, the greatest depth of which was 1,450 fathoms.
The Nautilus, by the action of its crew, slid down the inclined planes and
buried itself in the lowest depths of the sea.
On the 18th of February, about three o'clock in the morning, we were
at the entrance of the Straits of Gibraltar. There once existed two
currents: an upper one, long since recognised, which conveys the waters of
the ocean into the basin of the Mediterranean; and a lower counter-current,
which reasoning has now shown to exist. Indeed, the volume of water in the
Mediterranean, incessantly added to by the waves of the Atlantic and by
rivers falling into it, would each year raise the level of this sea, for
its evaporation is not sufficient to restore the equilibrium. As it is not
so, we must necessarily admit the existence of an under-current, which
empties into the basin of the Atlantic through the Straits of Gibraltar the
surplus waters of the Mediterranean. A fact indeed; and it was this
counter-current by which the Nautilus profited. It advanced rapidly by the
narrow pass. For one instant I caught a glimpse of the beautiful ruins of
the temple of Hercules, buried in the ground, according to Pliny, and with
the low island which supports it; and a few minutes later we were floating
on the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.8
VIGO BAY
THE Atlantic! a vast sheet of water whose superficial area covers
twenty-five millions of square miles, the length of which is nine thousand
miles, with a mean breadth of two thousand seven hundred -- an ocean whose
parallel winding shores embrace an immense circumference, watered by the
largest rivers of the world, the St. Lawrence, the Mississippi, the Amazon,
the Plata, the Orinoco, the Niger, the Senegal,
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the Elbe, the Loire, and the Rhine, which carry water from the most
civilised, as well as from the most savage, countries! Magnificent field of
water, incessantly ploughed by vessels of every nation, sheltered by the
flags of every nation, and which terminates in those two terrible points so
dreaded by mariners, Cape Horn and the Cape of Tempests.
The Nautilus was piercing the water with its sharp spur, after having
accomplished nearly ten thousand leagues in three months and a half, a
distance greater than the great circle of the earth. Where were we going
now, and what was reserved for the future? The Nautilus, leaving the
Straits of Gibraltar, had gone far out. It returned to the surface of the
waves, and our daily walks on the platform were restored to us.
I mounted at once, accompanied by Ned Land and Conseil. At a distance
of about twelve miles, Cape St. Vincent was dimly to be seen, forming the
south-western point of the Spanish peninsula. A strong southerly gale was
blowing. The sea was swollen and billowy; it made the Nautilus rock
violently. It was almost impossible to keep one's foot on the platform,
which the heavy rolls of the sea beat over every instant. So we descended
after inhaling some mouthfuls of fresh air.
I returned to my room, Conseil to his cabin; but the Canadian, with a
preoccupied air, followed me. Our rapid passage across the Mediterranean
had not allowed him to put his project into execution, and he could not
help showing his disappointment. When the door of my room was shut, he sat
down and looked at me silently.
"Friend Ned," said I, "I understand you; but you cannot reproach
yourself. To have attempted to leave the Nautilus under the circumstances
would have been folly."
Ned Land did not answer; his compressed lips and frowning brow showed
with him the violent possession this fixed idea had taken of his mind.
"Let us see," I continued; "we need not despair yet. We are going up
the coast of Portugal again; France and England are not far off, where we
can easily find refuge. Now if the Nautilus, on leaving the Straits of
Gibraltar, had
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gone to the south, if it had carried us towards regions where there were no
continents, I should share your uneasiness. But we know now that Captain
Nemo does not fly from civilised seas, and in some days I think you can act
with security."
Ned Land still looked at me fixedly; at length his fixed lips parted,
and he said, "It is for to-night."
I drew myself up suddenly. I was, I admit, little prepared for this
communication. I wanted to answer the Canadian, but words would not come.
"We agreed to wait for an opportunity," continued Ned Land, "and the
opportunity has arrived. This night we shall be but a few miles from the
Spanish coast. It is cloudy. The wind blows freely. I have your word, M.
Aronnax, and I rely upon you."
As I was silent, the Canadian approached me.
"To-night, at nine o'clock," said he. "I have warned Conseil. At that
moment Captain Nemo will be shut up in his room, probably in bed. Neither
the engineers nor the ship's crew can see us. Conseil and I will gain the
central staircase, and you, M. Aronnax, will remain in the library, two
steps from us, waiting my signal. The oars, the mast, and the sail are in
the canoe. I have even succeeded in getting some provisions. I have
procured an English wrench, to unfasten the bolts which attach it to the
shell of the Nautilus. So all is ready, till to-night."
"The sea is bad."
"That I allow," replied the Canadian; "but we must risk that. Liberty
is worth paying for; besides, the boat is strong, and a few miles with a
fair wind to carry us is no great thing. Who knows but by to-morrow we may
be a hundred leagues away? Let circumstances only favour us, and by ten or
eleven o'clock we shall have landed on some spot of terra firma, alive or
dead. But adieu now till to-night."
With these words the Canadian withdrew, leaving me almost dumb. I had
imagined that, the chance gone, I should have time to reflect and discuss
the matter. My obstinate companion had given me no time; and, after all,
what could
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I have said to him? Ned Land was perfectly right. There was almost the
opportunity to profit by. Could I retract my word, and take upon myself the
responsibility of compromising the future of my companions? To-morrow
Captain Nemo might take us far from all land.
At that moment a rather loud hissing noise told me that the reservoirs
were filling, and that the Nautilus was sinking under the waves of the
Atlantic.
A sad day I passed, between the desire of regaining my liberty of
action and of abandoning the wonderful Nautilus, and leaving my submarine
studies incomplete.
What dreadful hours I passed thus! Sometimes seeing myself and
companions safely landed, sometimes wishing, in spite of my reason, that
some unforeseen circumstance, would prevent the realisation of Ned Land's
project.
Twice I went to the saloon. I wished to consult the compass. I wished
to see if the direction the Nautilus was taking was bringing us nearer or
taking us farther from the coast. But no; the Nautilus kept in Portuguese
waters.
I must therefore take my part and prepare for flight. My luggage was
not heavy; my notes, nothing more.
As to Captain Nemo, I asked myself what he would think of our escape;
what trouble, what wrong it might cause him and what he might do in case of
its discovery or failure. Certainly I had no cause to complain of him; on
the contrary, never was hospitality freer than his. In leaving him I could
not be taxed with ingratitude. No oath bound us to him. It was on the
strength of circumstances he relied, and not upon our word, to fix us for
ever.
I had not seen the Captain since our visit to the Island of Santorin.
Would chance bring me to his presence before our departure? I wished it,
and I feared it at the same time. I listened if I could hear him walking
the room contiguous to mine. No sound reached my ear. I felt an unbearable
uneasiness. This day of waiting seemed eternal. Hours struck too slowly to
keep pace with my impatience.
My dinner was served in my room as usual. I ate but little; I was too
preoccupied. I left the table at seven o'clock. A hundred and twenty
minutes (I counted them) still separated
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me from the moment in which I was to join Ned Land. My agitation redoubled.
My pulse beat violently. I could not remain quiet. I went and came, hoping
to calm my troubled spirit by constant movement. The idea of failure in our
bold enterprise was the least painful of my anxieties; but the thought of
seeing our project discovered before leaving the Nautilus, of being brought
before Captain Nemo, irritated, or (what was worse) saddened, at my
desertion, made my heart beat.
I wanted to see the saloon for the last time. I descended the stairs
and arrived in the museum, where I had passed so many useful and agreeable
hours. I looked at all its riches, all its treasures, like a man on the eve
of an eternal exile, who was leaving never to return.
These wonders of Nature, these masterpieces of art, amongst which for
so many days my life had been concentrated, I was going to abandon them for
ever! I should like to have taken a last look through the windows of the
saloon into the waters of the Atlantic: but the panels were hermetically
closed, and a cloak of steel separated me from that ocean which I had not
yet explored.
In passing through the saloon, I came near the door let into the angle
which opened into the Captain's room. To my great surprise, this door was
ajar. I drew back involuntarily. If Captain Nemo should be in his room, he
could see me. But, hearing no sound, I drew nearer. The room was deserted.
I pushed open the door and took some steps forward. Still the same monklike
severity of aspect.
Suddenly the clock struck eight. The first beat of the hammer on the
bell awoke me from my dreams. I trembled as if an invisible eye had plunged
into my most secret thoughts, and I hurried from the room.
There my eye fell upon the compass. Our course was still north. The
log indicated moderate speed, the manometer a depth of about sixty feet.
I returned to my room, clothed myself warmly -- sea- boots, an
otterskin cap, a great coat of byssus, lined with sealskin; I was ready, I
was waiting. The vibration of the screw alone broke the deep silence which
reigned on board.
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I listened attentively. Would no loud voice suddenly inform me that Ned
Land had been surprised in his projected flight. A mortal dread hung over
me, and I vainly tried to regain my accustomed coolness.
At a few minutes to nine, I put my ear to the Captain's door. No
noise. I left my room and returned to the saloon, which was half in
obscurity, but deserted.
I opened the door communicating with the library. The same
insufficient light, the same solitude. I placed myself near the door
leading to the central staircase, and there waited for Ned Land's signal.
At that moment the trembling of the screw sensibly diminished, then it
stopped entirely. The silence was now only disturbed by the beatings of my
own heart. Suddenly a slight shock was felt; and I knew that the Nautilus
had stopped at the bottom of the ocean. My uneasiness increased. The
Canadian's signal did not come. I felt inclined to join Ned Land and beg of
him to put off his attempt. I felt that we were not sailing under our usual
conditions.
At this moment the door of the large saloon opened, and Captain Nemo
appeared. He saw me, and without further preamble began in an amiable tone
of voice:
"Ah, sir! I have been looking for you. Do you know the history of
Spain?"
Now, one might know the history of one's own country by heart; but in
the condition I was at the time, with troubled mind and head quite lost, I
could not have said a word of it.
"Well," continued Captain Nemo, "you heard my question! Do you know
the history of Spain?"
"Very slightly," I answered.
"Well, here are learned men having to learn," said the Captain. "Come,
sit down, and I will tell you a curious episode in this history. Sir,
listen well," said he; "this history will interest you on one side, for it
will answer a question which doubtless you have not been able to solve."
"I listen, Captain," said I, not knowing what my interlocutor was
driving at, and asking myself if this incident was bearing on our projected
flight.
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"Sir, if you have no objection, we will go back to 1702. You cannot be
ignorant that your king, Louis XIV, thinking that the gesture of a
potentate was sufficient to bring the Pyrenees under his yoke, had imposed
the Duke of Anjou, his grandson, on the Spaniards. This prince reigned more
or less badly under the name of Philip V, and had a strong party against
him abroad. Indeed, the preceding year, the royal houses of Holland,
Austria, and England had concluded a treaty of alliance at the Hague, with
the intention of plucking the crown of Spain from the head of Philip V, and
placing it on that of an archduke to whom they prematurely gave the title
of Charles III.
"Spain must resist this coalition; but she was almost entirely
unprovided with either soldiers or sailors. However, money would not fail
them, provided that their galleons, laden with gold and silver from
America, once entered their ports. And about the end of 1702 they expected
a rich convoy which France was escorting with a fleet of twenty-three
vessels, commanded by Admiral Chateau- Renaud, for the ships of the
coalition were already beating the Atlantic. This convoy was to go to
Cadiz, but the Admiral, hearing that an English fleet was cruising in those
waters, resolved to make for a French port.
"The Spanish commanders of the convoy objected to this decision. They
wanted to be taken to a Spanish port, and, if not to Cadiz, into Vigo Bay,
situated on the northwest coast of Spain, and which was not blocked.
"Admiral Chateau-Renaud had the rashness to obey this injunction, and
the galleons entered Vigo Bay.
"Unfortunately, it formed an open road which could not be defended in
any way. They must therefore hasten to unload the galleons before the
arrival of the combined fleet; and time would not have failed them had not
a miserable question of rivalry suddenly arisen.
"You are following the chain of events?" asked Captain Nemo.
"Perfectly," said I, not knowing the end proposed by this historical
lesson.
"I will continue. This is what passed. The merchants of
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Cadiz had a privilege by which they had the right of receiving all
merchandise coming from the West Indies. Now, to disembark these ingots at
the port of Vigo was depriving them of their rights. They complained at
Madrid, and obtained the consent of the weak-minded Philip that the convoy,
without discharging its cargo, should remain sequestered in the roads of
Vigo until the enemy had disappeared.
"But whilst coming to this decision, on the 22nd of October, 1702, the
English vessels arrived in Vigo Bay, when Admiral Chateau-Renaud, in spite
of inferior forces, fought bravely. But, seeing that the treasure must fall
into the enemy's hands, he burnt and scuttled every galleon, which went to
the bottom with their immense riches."
Captain Nemo stopped. I admit I could not see yet why this history
should interest me.
"Well?" I asked.
"Well, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, "we are in that Vigo Bay;
and it rests with yourself whether you will penetrate its mysteries."
The Captain rose, telling me to follow him. I had had time to recover.
I obeyed. The saloon was dark, but through the transparent glass the waves
were sparkling. I looked.
For half a mile around the Nautilus, the waters seemed bathed in
electric light. The sandy bottom was clean and bright. Some of the ship's
crew in their diving-dresses were clearing away half-rotten barrels and
empty cases from the midst of the blackened wrecks. From these cases and
from these barrels escaped ingots of gold and silver, cascades of piastres
and jewels. The sand was heaped up with them. Laden with their precious
booty, the men returned to the Nautilus, disposed of their burden, and went
back to this inexhaustible fishery of gold and silver.
I understood now. This was the scene of the battle of the 22nd of
October, 1702. Here on this very spot the galleons laden for the Spanish
Government had sunk. Here Captain Nemo came, according to his wants, to
pack up those millions with which he burdened the Nautilus. It was for him
and him alone America had given up her precious metals. He was
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heir direct, without anyone to share, in those treasures torn from the
Incas and from the conquered of Ferdinand Cortez.
"Did you know, sir," he asked, smiling, "that the sea contained such
riches?"
"I knew," I answered, "that they value money held in suspension in
these waters at two millions."
"Doubtless; but to extract this money the expense would be greater
than the profit. Here, on the contrary, I have but to pick up what man has
lost -- and not only in Vigo Bay, but in a thousand other ports where
shipwrecks have happened, and which are marked on my submarine map. Can you
understand now the source of the millions I am worth?"
"I understand, Captain. But allow me to tell you that in exploring
Vigo Bay you have only been beforehand with a rival society."
"And which?"
"A society which has received from the Spanish Government the
privilege of seeking those buried galleons. The shareholders are led on by
the allurement of an enormous bounty, for they value these rich shipwrecks
at five hundred millions."
"Five hundred millions they were," answered Captain Nemo, "but they
are so no longer."
"Just so," said I; "and a warning to those shareholders would be an
act of charity. But who knows if it would be well received? What gamblers
usually regret above all is less the loss of their money than of their
foolish hopes. After all, I pity them less than the thousands of
unfortunates to whom so much riches well-distributed would have been
profitable, whilst for them they will be for ever barren."
I had no sooner expressed this regret than I felt that it must have
wounded Captain Nemo.
"Barren!" he exclaimed, with animation. "Do you think then, sir, that
these riches are lost because I gather them? Is it for myself alone,
according to your idea, that I take the trouble to collect these treasures?
Who told you that I did not make a good use of it? Do you think I am
ignorant that there are suffering beings and oppressed races on this
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earth, miserable creatures to console, victims to avenge? Do you not
understand?"
Captain Nemo stopped at these last words, regretting perhaps that he
had spoken so much. But I had guessed that, whatever the motive which had
forced him to seek independence under the sea, it had left him still a man,
that his heart still beat for the sufferings of humanity, and that his
immense charity was for oppressed races as well as individuals. And I then
understood for whom those millions were destined which were forwarded by
Captain Nemo when the Nautilus was cruising in the waters of Crete.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.9
A VANISHED CONTINENT
THE next morning, the 19th of February, I saw the Canadian enter my
room. I expected this visit. He looked very disappointed.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"Well, Ned, fortune was against us yesterday."
"Yes; that Captain must needs stop exactly at the hour we intended
leaving his vessel."
"Yes, Ned, he had business at his bankers."
"His bankers!"
"Or rather his banking-house; by that I mean the ocean, where his
riches are safer than in the chests of the State."
I then related to the Canadian the incidents of the preceding night,
hoping to bring him back to the idea of not abandoning the Captain; but my
recital had no other result than an energetically expressed regret from Ned
that he had not been able to take a walk on the battlefield of Vigo on his
own account.
"However," said he, "all is not ended. It is only a blow of the
harpoon lost. Another time we must succeed; and to-night, if necessary -- "
"In what direction is the Nautilus going?" I asked.
"I do not know," replied Ned.
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"Well, at noon we shall see the point."
The Canadian returned to Conseil. As soon as I was dressed, I went
into the saloon. The compass was not reassuring. The course of the Nautilus
was S.S.W. We were turning our backs on Europe.
I waited with some impatience till the ship's place was pricked on the
chart. At about half-past eleven the reservoirs were emptied, and our
vessel rose to the surface of the ocean. I rushed towards the platform. Ned
Land had preceded me. No more land in sight. Nothing but an immense sea.
Some sails on the horizon, doubtless those going to San Roque in search of
favourable winds for doubling the Cape of Good Hope. The weather was
cloudy. A gale of wind was preparing. Ned raved, and tried to pierce the
cloudy horizon. He still hoped that behind all that fog stretched the land
he so longed for.
At noon the sun showed itself for an instant. The second profited by
this brightness to take its height. Then, the sea becoming more billowy, we
descended, and the panel closed.
An hour after, upon consulting the chart, I saw the position of the
Nautilus was marked at 16° 17' long., and 33° 22' lat., at 150 leagues from
the nearest coast. There was no means of flight, and I leave you to imagine
the rage of the Canadian when I informed him of our situation.
For myself, I was not particularly sorry. I felt lightened of the load
which had oppressed me, and was able to return with some degree of calmness
to my accustomed work.
That night, about eleven o'clock, I received a most unexpected visit
from Captain Nemo. He asked me very graciously if I felt fatigued from my
watch of the preceding night. I answered in the negative.
"Then, M. Aronnax, I propose a curious excursion."
"Propose, Captain?"
"You have hitherto only visited the submarine depths by daylight,
under the brightness of the sun. Would it suit you to see them in the
darkness of the night?"
"Most willingly."
"I warn you, the way will be tiring. We shall have far
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to walk, and must climb a mountain. The roads are not well kept."
"What you say, Captain, only heightens my curiosity; I am ready to
follow you."
"Come then, sir, we will put on our diving-dresses."
Arrived at the robing-room, I saw that neither of my companions nor
any of the ship's crew were to follow us on this excursion. Captain Nemo
had not even proposed my taking with me either Ned or Conseil.
In a few moments we had put on our diving-dresses; they placed on our
backs the reservoirs, abundantly filled with air, but no electric lamps
were prepared. I called the Captain's attention to the fact.
"They will be useless," he replied.
I thought I had not heard aright, but I could not repeat my
observation, for the Captain's head had already disappeared in its metal
case. I finished harnessing myself. I felt them put an iron-pointed stick
into my hand, and some minutes later, after going through the usual form,
we set foot on the bottom of the Atlantic at a depth of 150 fathoms.
Midnight was near. The waters were profoundly dark, but Captain Nemo
pointed out in the distance a reddish spot, a sort of large light shining
brilliantly about two miles from the Nautilus. What this fire might be,
what could feed it, why and how it lit up the liquid mass, I could not say.
In any case, it did light our way, vaguely, it is true, but I soon
accustomed myself to the peculiar darkness, and I understood, under such
circumstances, the uselessness of the Ruhmkorff apparatus.
As we advanced, I heard a kind of pattering above my head. The noise
redoubling, sometimes producing a continual shower, I soon understood the
cause. It was rain falling violently, and crisping the surface of the
waves. Instinctively the thought flashed across my mind that I should be
wet through! By the water! in the midst of the water! I could not help
laughing at the odd idea. But, indeed, in the thick diving-dress, the
liquid element is no longer felt, and one only seems to be in an atmosphere
somewhat denser than the terrestrial atmosphere. Nothing more.
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After half an hour's walk the soil became stony. Medusae, microscopic
crustacea, and pennatules lit it slightly with their phosphorescent gleam.
I caught a glimpse of pieces of stone covered with millions of zoophytes
and masses of seaweed. My feet often slipped upon this sticky carpet of
seaweed, and without my iron-tipped stick I should have fallen more than
once. In turning round, I could still see the whitish lantern of the
Nautilus beginning to pale in the distance.
But the rosy light which guided us increased and lit up the horizon.
The presence of this fire under water puzzled me in the highest degree. Was
I going towards a natural phenomenon as yet unknown to the savants of the
earth? Or even (for this thought crossed my brain) had the hand of man
aught to do with this conflagration? Had he fanned this flame? Was I to
meet in these depths companions and friends of Captain Nemo whom he was
going to visit, and who, like him, led this strange existence? Should I
find down there a whole colony of exiles who, weary of the miseries of this
earth, had sought and found independence in the deep ocean? All these
foolish and unreasonable ideas pursued me. And in this condition of mind,
over-excited by the succession of wonders continually passing before my
eyes, I should not have been surprised to meet at the bottom of the sea one
of those submarine towns of which Captain Nemo dreamed.
Our road grew lighter and lighter. The white glimmer came in rays from
the summit of a mountain about 800 feet high. But what I saw was simply a
reflection, developed by the clearness of the waters. The source of this
inexplicable light was a fire on the opposite side of the mountain.
In the midst of this stony maze furrowing the bottom of the Atlantic,
Captain Nemo advanced without hesitation. He knew this dreary road.
Doubtless he had often travelled over it, and could not lose himself. I
followed him with unshaken confidence. He seemed to me like a genie of the
sea; and, as he walked before me, I could not help admiring his stature,
which was outlined in black on the luminous horizon.
It was one in the morning when we arrived at the first
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slopes of the mountain; but to gain access to them we must venture through
the difficult paths of a vast copse.
Yes; a copse of dead trees, without leaves, without sap, trees
petrified by the action of the water and here and there overtopped by
gigantic pines. It was like a coal-pit still standing, holding by the roots
to the broken soil, and whose branches, like fine black paper cuttings,
showed distinctly on the watery ceiling. Picture to yourself a forest in
the Hartz hanging on to the sides of the mountain, but a forest swallowed
up. The paths were encumbered with seaweed and fucus, between which
grovelled a whole world of crustacea. I went along, climbing the rocks,
striding over extended trunks, breaking the sea bind-weed which hung from
one tree to the other; and frightening the fishes, which flew from branch
to branch. Pressing onward, I felt no fatigue. I followed my guide, who was
never tired. What a spectacle! How can I express it? how paint the aspect
of those woods and rocks in this medium -- their under parts dark and wild,
the upper coloured with red tints, by that light which the reflecting
powers of the waters doubled? We climbed rocks which fell directly after
with gigantic bounds and the low growling of an avalanche. To right and
left ran long, dark galleries, where sight was lost. Here opened vast
glades which the hand of man seemed to have worked; and I sometimes asked
myself if some inhabitant of these submarine regions would not suddenly
appear to me.
But Captain Nemo was still mounting. I could not stay behind. I
followed boldly. My stick gave me good help. A false step would have been
dangerous on the narrow passes sloping down to the sides of the gulfs; but
I walked with firm step, without feeling any giddiness. Now I jumped a
crevice, the depth of which would have made me hesitate had it been among
the glaciers on the land; now I ventured on the unsteady trunk of a tree
thrown across from one abyss to the other, without looking under my feet,
having only eyes to admire the wild sites of this region.
There, monumental rocks, leaning on their regularly-cut bases, seemed
to defy all laws of equilibrium. From between their stony knees trees
sprang, like a jet under heavy pressure,
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and upheld others which upheld them. Natural towers, large scarps, cut
perpendicularly, like a "curtain," inclined at an angle which the laws of
gravitation could never have tolerated in terrestrial regions.
Two hours after quitting the Nautilus we had crossed the line of
trees, and a hundred feet above our heads rose the top of the mountain,
which cast a shadow on the brilliant irradiation of the opposite slope.
Some petrified shrubs ran fantastically here and there. Fishes got up under
our feet like birds in the long grass. The massive rocks were rent with
impenetrable fractures, deep grottos, and unfathomable holes, at the bottom
of which formidable creatures might be heard moving. My blood curdled when
I saw enormous antennae blocking my road, or some frightful claw closing
with a noise in the shadow of some cavity. Millions of luminous spots shone
brightly in the midst of the darkness. They were the eyes of giant
crustacea crouched in their holes; giant lobsters setting themselves up
like halberdiers, and moving their claws with the clicking sound of
pincers; titanic crabs, pointed like a gun on its carriage; and frightful-
looking poulps, interweaving their tentacles like a living nest of
serpents.
We had now arrived on the first platform, where other surprises
awaited me. Before us lay some picturesque ruins, which betrayed the hand
of man and not that of the Creator. There were vast heaps of stone, amongst
which might be traced the vague and shadowy forms of castles and temples,
clothed with a world of blossoming zoophytes, and over which, instead of
ivy, sea-weed and fucus threw a thick vegetable mantle. But what was this
portion of the globe which had been swallowed by cataclysms? Who had placed
those rocks and stones like cromlechs of prehistoric times? Where was I?
Whither had Captain Nemo's fancy hurried me?
I would fain have asked him; not being able to, I stopped him -- I
seized his arm. But, shaking his head, and pointing to the highest point of
the mountain, he seemed to say:
"Come, come along; come higher!"
I followed, and in a few minutes I had climbed to the
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top, which for a circle of ten yards commanded the whole mass of rock.
I looked down the side we had just climbed. The mountain did not rise
more than seven or eight hundred feet above the level of the plain; but on
the opposite side it commanded from twice that height the depths of this
part of the Atlantic. My eyes ranged far over a large space lit by a
violent fulguration. In fact, the mountain was a volcano.
At fifty feet above the peak, in the midst of a rain of stones and
scoriae, a large crater was vomiting forth torrents of lava which fell in a
cascade of fire into the bosom of the liquid mass. Thus situated, this
volcano lit the lower plain like an immense torch, even to the extreme
limits of the horizon. I said that the submarine crater threw up lava, but
no flames. Flames require the oxygen of the air to feed upon and cannot be
developed under water; but streams of lava, having in themselves the
principles of their incandescence, can attain a white heat, fight
vigorously against the liquid element, and turn it to vapour by contact.
Rapid currents bearing all these gases in diffusion and torrents of
lava slid to the bottom of the mountain like an eruption of Vesuvius on
another Terra del Greco.
There indeed under my eyes, ruined, destroyed, lay a town -- its roofs
open to the sky, its temples fallen, its arches dislocated, its columns
lying on the ground, from which one would still recognise the massive
character of Tuscan architecture. Further on, some remains of a gigantic
aqueduct; here the high base of an Acropolis, with the floating outline of
a Parthenon; there traces of a quay, as if an ancient port had formerly
abutted on the borders of the ocean, and disappeared with its merchant
vessels and its war-galleys. Farther on again, long lines of sunken walls
and broad, deserted streets -- a perfect Pompeii escaped beneath the
waters. Such was the sight that Captain Nemo brought before my eyes!
Where was I? Where was I? I must know at any cost. I tried to speak,
but Captain Nemo stopped me by a
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gesture, and, picking up a piece of chalk-stone, advanced to a rock of
black basalt, and traced the one word:
ATLANTIS
What a light shot through my mind! Atlantis! the Atlantis of Plato,
that continent denied by Origen and Humbolt, who placed its disappearance
amongst the legendary tales. I had it there now before my eyes, bearing
upon it the unexceptionable testimony of its catastrophe. The region thus
engulfed was beyond Europe, Asia, and Lybia, beyond the columns of
Hercules, where those powerful people, the Atlantides, lived, against whom
the first wars of ancient Greeks were waged.
Thus, led by the strangest destiny, I was treading under foot the
mountains of this continent, touching with my hand those ruins a thousand
generations old and contemporary with the geological epochs. I was walking
on the very spot where the contemporaries of the first man had walked.
Whilst I was trying to fix in my mind every detail of this grand
landscape, Captain Nemo remained motionless, as if petrified in mute
ecstasy, leaning on a mossy stone. Was he dreaming of those generations
long since disappeared? Was he asking them the secret of human destiny? Was
it here this strange man came to steep himself in historical recollections,
and live again this ancient life -- he who wanted no modern one? What would
I not have given to know his thoughts, to share them, to understand them!
We remained for an hour at this place, contemplating the vast plains under
the brightness of the lava, which was sometimes wonderfully intense. Rapid
tremblings ran along the mountain caused by internal bubblings, deep noise,
distinctly transmitted through the liquid medium were echoed with majestic
grandeur. At this moment the moon appeared through the mass of waters and
threw her pale rays on the buried continent. It was but a gleam, but what
an indescribable effect! The Captain rose, cast one last look on the
immense plain, and then bade me follow him.
We descended the mountain rapidly, and, the mineral forest once
passed, I saw the lantern of the Nautilus shining
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like a star. The Captain walked straight to it, and we got on board as the
first rays of light whitened the surface of the ocean.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.10
THE SUBMARINE COAL-MINES
THE next day, the 20th of February, I awoke very late: the fatigues of
the previous night had prolonged my sleep until eleven o'clock. I dressed
quickly, and hastened to find the course the Nautilus was taking. The
instruments showed it to be still toward the south, with a speed of twenty
miles an hour and a depth of fifty fathoms.
The species of fishes here did not differ much from those already
noticed. There were rays of giant size, five yards long, and endowed with
great muscular strength, which enabled them to shoot above the waves;
sharks of many kinds; amongst others, one fifteen feet long, with
triangular sharp teeth, and whose transparency rendered it almost invisible
in the water.
Amongst bony fish Conseil noticed some about three yards long, armed
at the upper jaw with a piercing sword; other bright-coloured creatures,
known in the time of Aristotle by the name of the sea-dragon, which are
dangerous to capture on account of the spikes on their back.
About four o'clock, the soil, generally composed of a thick mud mixed
with petrified wood, changed by degrees, and it became more stony, and
seemed strewn with conglomerate and pieces of basalt, with a sprinkling of
lava. I thought that a mountainous region was succeeding the long plains;
and accordingly, after a few evolutions of the Nautilus, I saw the
southerly horizon blocked by a high wall which seemed to close all exit.
Its summit evidently passed the level of the ocean. It must be a continent,
or at least an island -- one of the Canaries, or of the Cape Verde Islands.
The bearings not being yet taken, perhaps designedly, I was ignorant of our
exact position. In any case, such
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a wall seemed to me to mark the limits of that Atlantis, of which we had in
reality passed over only the smallest part.
Much longer should I have remained at the window admiring the beauties
of sea and sky, but the panels closed. At this moment the Nautilus arrived
at the side of this high, perpendicular wall. What it would do, I could not
guess. I returned to my room; it no longer moved. I laid myself down with
the full intention of waking after a few hours' sleep; but it was eight
o'clock the next day when I entered the saloon. I looked at the manometer.
It told me that the Nautilus was floating on the surface of the ocean.
Besides, I heard steps on the platform. I went to the panel. It was open;
but, instead of broad daylight, as I expected, I was surrounded by profound
darkness. Where were we? Was I mistaken? Was it still night? No; not a star
was shining and night has not that utter darkness.
I knew not what to think, when a voice near me said:
"Is that you, Professor?"
"Ah! Captain," I answered, "where are we?"
"Underground, sir."
"Underground!" I exclaimed. "And the Nautilus floating still?"
"It always floats."
"But I do not understand."
"Wait a few minutes, our lantern will be lit, and, if you like light
places, you will be satisfied."
I stood on the platform and waited. The darkness was so complete that
I could not even see Captain Nemo; but, looking to the zenith, exactly
above my head, I seemed to catch an undecided gleam, a kind of twilight
filling a circular hole. At this instant the lantern was lit, and its
vividness dispelled the faint light. I closed my dazzled eyes for an
instant, and then looked again. The Nautilus was stationary, floating near
a mountain which formed a sort of quay. The lake, then, supporting it was a
lake imprisoned by a circle of walls, measuring two miles in diameter and
six in circumference. Its level (the manometer showed) could only be the
same as the outside level, for there must necessarily be a communication
between the lake and the sea. The high partitions,
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leaning forward on their base, grew into a vaulted roof bearing the shape
of an immense funnel turned upside down, the height being about five or six
hundred yards. At the summit was a circular orifice, by which I had caught
the slight gleam of light, evidently daylight.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"In the very heart of an extinct volcano, the interior of which has
been invaded by the sea, after some great convulsion of the earth. Whilst
you were sleeping, Professor, the Nautilus penetrated to this lagoon by a
natural canal, which opens about ten yards beneath the surface of the
ocean. This is its harbour of refuge, a sure, commodious, and mysterious
one, sheltered from all gales. Show me, if you can, on the coasts of any of
your continents or islands, a road which can give such perfect refuge from
all storms."
"Certainly," I replied, "you are in safety here, Captain Nemo. Who
could reach you in the heart of a volcano? But did I not see an opening at
its summit?"
"Yes; its crater, formerly filled with lava, vapour, and flames, and
which now gives entrance to the life-giving air we breathe."
"But what is this volcanic mountain?"
"It belongs to one of the numerous islands with which this sea is
strewn -- to vessels a simple sandbank -- to us an immense cavern. Chance
led me to discover it, and chance served me well."
"But of what use is this refuge, Captain? The Nautilus wants no port."
"No, sir; but it wants electricity to make it move, and the
wherewithal to make the electricity -- sodium to feed the elements, coal
from which to get the sodium, and a coal-mine to supply the coal. And
exactly on this spot the sea covers entire forests embedded during the
geological periods, now mineralised and transformed into coal; for me they
are an inexhaustible mine."
"Your men follow the trade of miners here, then, Captain?"
"Exactly so. These mines extend under the waves like the mines of
Newcastle. Here, in their diving-dresses, pick-
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axe and shovel in hand, my men extract the coal, which I do not even ask
from the mines of the earth. When I burn this combustible for the
manufacture of sodium, the smoke, escaping from the crater of the mountain,
gives it the appearance of a still-active volcano."
"And we shall see your companions at work?"
"No; not this time at least; for I am in a hurry to continue our
submarine tour of the earth. So I shall content myself with drawing from
the reserve of sodium I already possess. The time for loading is one day
only, and we continue our voyage. So, if you wish to go over the cavern and
make the round of the lagoon, you must take advantage of to-day, M.
Aronnax."
I thanked the Captain and went to look for my companions, who had not
yet left their cabin. I invited them to follow me without saying where we
were. They mounted the platform. Conseil, who was astonished at nothing,
seemed to look upon it as quite natural that he should wake under a
mountain, after having fallen asleep under the waves. But Ned Land thought
of nothing but finding whether the cavern had any exit. After breakfast,
about ten o'clock, we went down on to the mountain.
"Here we are, once more on land," said Conseil.
"I do not call this land," said the Canadian. "And besides, we are not
on it, but beneath it."
Between the walls of the mountains and the waters of the lake lay a
sandy shore which, at its greatest breadth, measured five hundred feet. On
this soil one might easily make the tour of the lake. But the base of the
high partitions was stony ground, with volcanic locks and enormous pumice-
stones lying in picturesque heaps. All these detached masses, covered with
enamel, polished by the action of the subterraneous fires, shone
resplendent by the light of our electric lantern. The mica dust from the
shore, rising under our feet, flew like a cloud of sparks. The bottom now
rose sensibly, and we soon arrived at long circuitous slopes, or inclined
planes, which took us higher by degrees; but we were obliged to walk
carefully among these conglomerates,
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bound by no cement, the feet slipping on the glassy crystal, felspar, and
quartz.
The volcanic nature of this enormous excavation was confirmed on all
sides, and I pointed it out to my companions.
"Picture to yourselves," said I, "what this crater must have been when
filled with boiling lava, and when the level of the incandescent liquid
rose to the orifice of the mountain, as though melted on the top of a hot
plate."
"I can picture it perfectly," said Conseil. "But, sir, will you tell
me why the Great Architect has suspended operations, and how it is that the
furnace is replaced by the quiet waters of the lake?"
"Most probably, Conseil, because some convulsion beneath the ocean
produced that very opening which has served as a passage for the Nautilus.
Then the waters of the Atlantic rushed into the interior of the mountain.
There must have been a terrible struggle between the two elements, a
struggle which ended in the victory of Neptune. But many ages have run out
since then, and the submerged volcano is now a peaceable grotto."
"Very well," replied Ned Land; "I accept the explanation, sir; but, in
our own interests, I regret that the opening of which you speak was not
made above the level of the sea."
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "if the passage had not been under
the sea, the Nautilus could not have gone through it."
We continued ascending. The steps became more and more perpendicular
and narrow. Deep excavations, which we were obliged to cross, cut them here
and there; sloping masses had to be turned. We slid upon our knees and
crawled along. But Conseil's dexterity and the Canadian's strength
surmounted all obstacles. At a height of about 31 feet the nature of the
ground changed without becoming more practicable. To the conglomerate and
trachyte succeeded black basalt, the first dispread in layers full of
bubbles, the latter forming regular prisms, placed like a colonnade
supporting the spring of the immense vault, an admirable specimen of
natural architecture. Between the blocks of basalt wound long streams of
lava, long since
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grown cold, encrusted with bituminous rays; and in some places there were
spread large carpets of sulphur. A more powerful light shone through the
upper crater, shedding a vague glimmer over these volcanic depressions for
ever buried in the bosom of this extinguished mountain. But our upward
march was soon stopped at a height of about two hundred and fifty feet by
impassable obstacles. There was a complete vaulted arch overhanging us, and
our ascent was changed to a circular walk. At the last change vegetable
life began to struggle with the mineral. Some shrubs, and even some trees,
grew from the fractures of the walls. I recognised some euphorbias, with
the caustic sugar coming from them; heliotropes, quite incapable of
justifying their name, sadly drooped their clusters of flowers, both their
colour and perfume half gone. Here and there some chrysanthemums grew
timidly at the foot of an aloe with long, sickly-looking leaves. But
between the streams of lava, I saw some little violets still slightly
perfumed, and I admit that I smelt them with delight. Perfume is the soul
of the flower, and sea-flowers have no soul.
We had arrived at the foot of some sturdy dragon-trees, which had
pushed aside the rocks with their strong roots, when Ned Land exclaimed:
"Ah! sir, a hive! a hive!"
"A hive!" I replied, with a gesture of incredulity.
"Yes, a hive," repeated the Canadian, "and bees humming round it."
I approached, and was bound to believe my own eyes. There at a hole
bored in one of the dragon-trees were some thousands of these ingenious
insects, so common in all the Canaries, and whose produce is so much
esteemed. Naturally enough, the Canadian wished to gather the honey, and I
could not well oppose his wish. A quantity of dry leaves, mixed with
sulphur, he lit with a spark from his flint, and he began to smoke out the
bees. The humming ceased by degrees, and the hive eventually yielded
several pounds of the sweetest honey, with which Ned Land filled his
haversack.
"When I have mixed this honey with the paste of the
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bread-fruit," said he, "I shall be able to offer you a succulent cake."
"'Pon my word," said Conseil, "it will be gingerbread."
"Never mind the gingerbread," said I; "let us continue our interesting
walk."
At every turn of the path we were following, the lake appeared in all
its length and breadth. The lantern lit up the whole of its peaceable
surface, which knew neither ripple nor wave. The Nautilus remained
perfectly immovable. On the platform, and on the mountain, the ship's crew
were working like black shadows clearly carved against the luminous
atmosphere. We were now going round the highest crest of the first layers
of rock which upheld the roof. I then saw that bees were not the only
representatives of the animal kingdom in the interior of this volcano.
Birds of prey hovered here and there in the shadows, or fled from their
nests on the top of the rocks. There were sparrow- hawks, with white
breasts, and kestrels, and down the slopes scampered, with their long legs,
several fine fat bustards. I leave anyone to imagine the covetousness of
the Canadian at the sight of this savoury game, and whether he did not
regret having no gun. But he did his best to replace the lead by stones,
and, after several fruitless attempts, he succeeded in wounding a
magnificent bird. To say that he risked his life twenty times before
reaching it is but the truth; but he managed so well that the creature
joined the honey-cakes in his bag. We were now obliged to descend toward
the shore, the crest becoming impracticable. Above us the crater seemed to
gape like the mouth of a well. From this place the sky could be clearly
seen, and clouds, dissipated by the west wind, leaving behind them, even on
the summit of the mountain, their misty remnants -- certain proof that they
were only moderately high, for the volcano did not rise more than eight
hundred feet above the level of the ocean. Half an hour after the
Canadian's last exploit we had regained the inner shore. Here the flora was
represented by large carpets of marine crystal, a little umbelliferous
plant very good to pickle, which also bears the name of pierce-stone and
sea-fennel. Conseil gathered some
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bundles of it. As to the fauna, it might be counted by thousands of
crustacea of all sorts, lobsters, crabs, spider-crabs, chameleon shrimps,
and a large number of shells, rockfish, and limpets. Three-quarters of an
hour later we had finished our circuitous walk and were on board. The crew
had just finished loading the sodium, and the Nautilus could have left that
instant. But Captain Nemo gave no order. Did be wish to wait until night,
and leave the submarine passage secretly? Perhaps so. Whatever it might be,
the next day, the Nautilus, having left its port, steered clear of all land
at a few yards beneath the waves of the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.11
THE SARGASSO SEA
THAT day the Nautilus crossed a singular part of the Atlantic Ocean.
No one can be ignorant of the existence of a current of warm water known by
the name of the Gulf Stream. After leaving the Gulf of Florida, we went in
the direction of Spitzbergen. But before entering the Gulf of Mexico, about
45° of N. lat., this current divides into two arms, the principal one going
towards the coast of Ireland and Norway, whilst the second bends to the
south about the height of the Azores; then, touching the African shore, and
describing a lengthened oval, returns to the Antilles. This second arm --
it is rather a collar than an arm -- surrounds with its circles of warm
water that portion of the cold, quiet, immovable ocean called the Sargasso
Sea, a perfect lake in the open Atlantic: it takes no less than three years
for the great current to pass round it. Such was the region the Nautilus
was now visiting, a perfect meadow, a close carpet of seaweed, fucus, and
tropical berries, so thick and so compact that the stem of a vessel could
hardly tear its way through it. And Captain Nemo, not wishing to entangle
his screw in this herbaceous mass, kept some yards beneath the surface of
the waves. The name Sargasso comes from the Spanish word "sargazzo" which
signifies kelp.
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This kelp, or berry-plant, is the principal formation of this immense bank.
And this is the reason why these plants unite in the peaceful basin of the
Atlantic. The only explanation which can be given, he says, seems to me to
result from the experience known to all the world. Place in a vase some
fragments of cork or other floating body, and give to the water in the vase
a circular movement, the scattered fragments will unite in a group in the
centre of the liquid surface, that is to say, in the part least agitated.
In the phenomenon we are considering, the Atlantic is the vase, the Gulf
Stream the circular current, and the Sargasso Sea the central point at
which the floating bodies unite.
I share Maury's opinion, and I was able to study the phenomenon in the
very midst, where vessels rarely penetrate. Above us floated products of
all kinds, heaped up among these brownish plants; trunks of trees torn from
the Andes or the Rocky Mountains, and floated by the Amazon or the
Mississippi; numerous wrecks, remains of keels, or ships' bottoms,
side-planks stove in, and so weighted with shells and barnacles that they
could not again rise to the surface. And time will one day justify Maury's
other opinion, that these substances thus accumulated for ages will become
petrified by the action of the water and will then form inexhaustible
coal-mines -- a precious reserve prepared by far-seeing Nature for the
moment when men shall have exhausted the mines of continents.
In the midst of this inextricable mass of plants and seaweed, I
noticed some charming pink halcyons and actiniae, with their long tentacles
trailing after them, and medusae, green, red, and blue.
All the day of the 22nd of February we passed in the Sargasso Sea,
where such fish as are partial to marine plants find abundant nourishment.
The next, the ocean had returned to its accustomed aspect. From this time
for nineteen days, from the 23rd of February to the 12th of March, the
Nautilus kept in the middle of the Atlantic, carrying us at a constant
speed of a hundred leagues in twenty-four hours. Captain Nemo evidently
intended accomplishing his submarine programme, and I imagined that he
intended,
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after doubling Cape Horn, to return to the Australian seas of the Pacific.
Ned Land had cause for fear. In these large seas, void of islands, we could
not attempt to leave the boat. Nor had we any means of opposing Captain
Nemo's will. Our only course was to submit; but what we could neither gain
by force nor cunning, I liked to think might be obtained by persuasion.
This voyage ended, would he not consent to restore our liberty, under an
oath never to reveal his existence? -- an oath of honour which we should
have religiously kept. But we must consider that delicate question with the
Captain. But was I free to claim this liberty? Had he not himself said from
the beginning, in the firmest manner, that the secret of his life exacted
from him our lasting imprisonment on board the Nautilus? And would not my
four months' silence appear to him a tacit acceptance of our situation? And
would not a return to the subject result in raising suspicions which might
be hurtful to our projects, if at some future time a favourable opportunity
offered to return to them?
During the nineteen days mentioned above, no incident of any kind
happened to signalise our voyage. I saw little of the Captain; he was at
work. In the library I often found his books left open, especially those on
natural history. My work on submarine depths, conned over by him, was
covered with marginal notes, often contradicting my theories and systems;
but the Captain contented himself with thus purging my work; it was very
rare for him to discuss it with me. Sometimes I heard the melancholy tones
of his organ; but only at night, in the midst of the deepest obscurity,
when the Nautilus slept upon the deserted ocean. During this part of our
voyage we sailed whole days on the surface of the waves. The sea seemed
abandoned. A few sailing-vessels, on the road to India, were making for the
Cape of Good Hope. One day we were followed by the boats of a whaler, who,
no doubt, took us for some enormous whale of great price; but Captain Nemo
did not wish the worthy fellows to lose their time and trouble, so ended
the chase by plunging under the water. Our navigation continued until the
13th of March; that day the Nautilus was employed in
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taking soundings, which greatly interested me. We had then made about
13,000 leagues since our departure from the high seas of the Pacific. The
bearings gave us 45° 37' S. lat., and 37° 53' W. long. It was the same
water in which Captain Denham of the Herald sounded 7,000 fathoms without
finding the bottom. There, too, Lieutenant Parker, of the American frigate
Congress, could not touch the bottom with 15,140 fathoms. Captain Nemo
intended seeking the bottom of the ocean by a diagonal sufficiently
lengthened by means of lateral planes placed at an angle of 45° with the
water-line of the Nautilus. Then the screw set to work at its maximum
speed, its four blades beating the waves with indescribable force. Under
this powerful pressure, the hull of the Nautilus quivered like a sonorous
chord and sank regularly under the water.
At 7,000 fathoms I saw some blackish tops rising from the midst of the
waters; but these summits might belong to high mountains like the Himalayas
or Mont Blanc, even higher; and the depth of the abyss remained
incalculable. The Nautilus descended still lower, in spite of the great
pressure. I felt the steel plates tremble at the fastenings of the bolts;
its bars bent, its partitions groaned; the windows of the saloon seemed to
curve under the pressure of the waters. And this firm structure would
doubtless have yielded, if, as its Captain had said, it had not been
capable of resistance like a solid block. We had attained a depth of 16,000
yards (four leagues), and the sides of the Nautilus then bore a pressure of
1,600 atmospheres, that is to say, 3,200 lb. to each square two-fifths of
an inch of its surface.
"What a situation to be in!" I exclaimed. "To overrun these deep
regions where man has never trod! Look, Captain, look at these magnificent
rocks, these uninhabited grottoes, these lowest receptacles of the globe,
where life is no longer possible! What unknown sights are here! Why should
we be unable to preserve a remembrance of them?"
"Would you like to carry away more than the remembrance?" said Captain
Nemo.
"What do you mean by those words?"
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"I mean to say that nothing is easier than to make a photographic view
of this submarine region."
I had not time to express my surprise at this new proposition, when,
at Captain Nemo's call, an objective was brought into the saloon. Through
the widely-opened panel, the liquid mass was bright with electricity, which
was distributed with such uniformity that not a shadow, not a gradation,
was to be seen in our manufactured light. The Nautilus remained motionless,
the force of its screw subdued by the inclination of its planes: the
instrument was propped on the bottom of the oceanic site, and in a few
seconds we had obtained a perfect negative.
But, the operation being over, Captain Nemo said, "Let us go up; we
must not abuse our position, nor expose the Nautilus too long to such great
pressure."
"Go up again!" I exclaimed.
"Hold well on."
I had not time to understand why the Captain cautioned me thus, when I
was thrown forward on to the carpet. At a signal from the Captain, its
screw was shipped, and its blades raised vertically; the Nautilus shot into
the air like a balloon, rising with stunning rapidity, and cutting the mass
of waters with a sonorous agitation. Nothing was visible; and in four
minutes it had shot through the four leagues which separated it from the
ocean, and, after emerging like a flying-fish, fell, making the waves
rebound to an enormous height.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.12
CACHALOTS AND WHALES
DURING the nights of the 13th and 14th of March, the Nautilus returned
to its southerly course. I fancied that, when on a level with Cape Horn, he
would turn the helm westward, in order to beat the Pacific seas, and so
complete the tour of the world. He did nothing of the kind, but continued
on his way to the southern regions. Where was
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he going to? To the pole? It was madness! I began to think that the
Captain's temerity justified Ned Land's fears. For some time past the
Canadian had not spoken to me of his projects of flight; he was less
communicative, almost silent. I could see that this lengthened imprisonment
was weighing upon him, and I felt that rage was burning within him. When he
met the Captain, his eyes lit up with suppressed anger; and I feared that
his natural violence would lead him into some extreme. That day, the 14th
of March, Conseil and he came to me in my room. I inquired the cause of
their visit.
"A simple question to ask you, sir," replied the Canadian.
"Speak, Ned."
"How many men are there on board the Nautilus, do you think?"
"I cannot tell, my friend."
"I should say that its working does not require a large crew."
"Certainly, under existing conditions, ten men, at the most, ought to
be enough."
"Well, why should there be any more?"
"Why?" I replied, looking fixedly at Ned Land, whose meaning was easy
to guess. "Because," I added, "if my surmises are correct, and if I have
well understood the Captain's existence, the Nautilus is not only a vessel:
it is also a place of refuge for those who, like its commander, have broken
every tie upon earth."
"Perhaps so," said Conseil; "but, in any case, the Nautilus can only
contain a certain number of men. Could not you, sir, estimate their
maximum?"
"How, Conseil?"
"By calculation; given the size of the vessel, which you know, sir,
and consequently the quantity of air it contains, knowing also how much
each man expends at a breath, and comparing these results with the fact
that the Nautilus is obliged to go to the surface every twenty-four hours."
Conseil had not finished the sentence before I saw what he was driving
at.
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"I understand," said I; "but that calculation, though simple enough,
can give but a very uncertain result."
"Never mind," said Ned Land urgently.
"Here it is, then," said I. "In one hour each man consumes the oxygen
contained in twenty gallons of air; and in twenty-four, that contained in
480 gallons. We must, therefore find how many times 480 gallons of air the
Nautilus contains."
"Just so," said Conseil.
"Or," I continued, "the size of the Nautilus being 1,500 tons; and one
ton holding 200 gallons, it contains 300,000 gallons of air, which, divided
by 480, gives a quotient of 625. Which means to say, strictly speaking,
that the air contained in the Nautilus would suffice for 625 men for
twenty-four hours."
"Six hundred and twenty-five!" repeated Ned.
"But remember that all of us, passengers, sailors, and officers
included, would not form a tenth part of that number."
"Still too many for three men," murmured Conseil.
The Canadian shook his head, passed his hand across his forehead, and
left the room without answering.
"Will you allow me to make one observation, sir?" said Conseil. "Poor
Ned is longing for everything that he cannot have. His past life is always
present to him; everything that we are forbidden he regrets. His head is
full of old recollections. And we must understand him. What has he to do
here? Nothing; he is not learned like you, sir; and has not the same taste
for the beauties of the sea that we have. He would risk everything to be
able to go once more into a tavern in his own country."
Certainly the monotony on board must seem intolerable to the Canadian,
accustomed as he was to a life of liberty and activity. Events were rare
which could rouse him to any show of spirit; but that day an event did
happen which recalled the bright days of the harpooner. About eleven in the
morning, being on the surface of the ocean, the Nautilus fell in with a
troop of whales -- an encounter which did not
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astonish me, knowing that these creatures, hunted to death, had taken
refuge in high latitudes.
We were seated on the platform, with a quiet sea. The month of October
in those latitudes gave us some lovely autumnal days. It was the Canadian
-- he could not be mistaken -- who signalled a whale on the eastern
horizon. Looking attentively, one might see its black back rise and fall
with the waves five miles from the Nautilus.
"Ah!" exclaimed Ned Land, "if I was on board a whaler, now such a
meeting would give me pleasure. It is one of large size. See with what
strength its blow-holes throw up columns of air and steam! Confound it, why
am I bound to these steel plates?"
"What, Ned," said I, "you have not forgotten your old ideas of
fishing?"
"Can a whale-fisher ever forget his old trade, sir? Can he ever tire
of the emotions caused by such a chase?"
"You have never fished in these seas, Ned?"
"Never, sir; in the northern only, and as much in Behring as in Davis
Straits."
"Then the southern whale is still unknown to you. It is the Greenland
whale you have hunted up to this time, and that would not risk passing
through the warm waters of the equator. Whales are localised, according to
their kinds, in certain seas which they never leave. And if one of these
creatures went from Behring to Davis Straits, it must be simply because
there is a passage from one sea to the other, either on the American or the
Asiatic side."
"In that case, as I have never fished in these seas, I do not know the
kind of whale frequenting them!"
"I have told you, Ned."
"A greater reason for making their acquaintance," said Conseil.
"Look! look!" exclaimed the Canadian, "they approach: they aggravate
me; they know that I cannot get at them!"
Ned stamped his feet. His hand trembled, as he grasped an imaginary
harpoon.
"Are these cetaceans as large as those of the northern seas?" asked
he.
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"Very nearly, Ned."
"Because I have seen large whales, sir, whales measuring a hundred
feet. I have even been told that those of Hullamoch and Umgallick, of the
Aleutian Islands, are sometimes a hundred and fifty feet long."
"That seems to me exaggeration. These creatures are generally much
smaller than the Greenland whale."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Canadian, whose eyes had never left the ocean,
"they are coming nearer; they are in the same water as the Nautilus."
Then, returning to the conversation, he said:
"You spoke of the cachalot as a small creature. I have heard of
gigantic ones. They are intelligent cetacea. It is said of some that they
cover themselves with seaweed and fucus, and then are taken for islands.
People encamp upon them, and settle there; lights a fire -- "
"And build houses," said Conseil.
"Yes, joker," said Ned Land. "And one fine day the creature plunges,
carrying with it all the inhabitants to the bottom of the sea."
"Something like the travels of Sinbad the Sailor," I replied,
laughing.
"Ah!" suddenly exclaimed Ned Land, "it is not one whale; there are ten
-- there are twenty -- it is a whole troop! And I not able to do anything!
hands and feet tied!"
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "why do you not ask Captain Nemo's
permission to chase them?"
Conseil bad not finished his sentence when Ned Land had lowered
himself through the panel to seek the Captain. A few minutes afterwards the
two appeared together on the platform.
Captain Nemo watched the troop of cetacea playing on the waters about
a mile from the Nautilus.
"They are southern whales," said he; "there goes the fortune of a
whole fleet of whalers."
"Well, sir," asked the Canadian, "can I not chase them, if only to
remind me of my old trade of harpooner?"
"And to what purpose?" replied Captain Nemo; "only
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to destroy! We have nothing to do with the whale-oil on board."
"But, sir," continued the Canadian, "in the Red Sea you allowed us to
follow the dugong."
"Then it was to procure fresh meat for my crew. Here it would be
killing for killing's sake. I know that is a privilege reserved for man,
but I do not approve of such murderous pastime. In destroying the southern
whale (like the Greenland whale, an inoffensive creature), your traders do
a culpable action, Master Land. They have already depopulated the whole of
Baffin's Bay, and are annihilating a class of useful animals. Leave the
unfortunate cetacea alone. They have plenty of natural enemies --
cachalots, swordfish, and sawfish -- without you troubling them."
The Captain was right. The barbarous and inconsiderate greed of these
fishermen will one day cause the disappearance of the last whale in the
ocean. Ned Land whistled "Yankee-doodle" between his teeth, thrust his
hands into his pockets, and turned his back upon us. But Captain Nemo
watched the troop of cetacea, and, addressing me, said:
"I was right in saying that whales had natural enemies enough, without
counting man. These will have plenty to do before long. Do you see, M.
Aronnax, about eight miles to leeward, those blackish moving points?"
"Yes, Captain," I replied.
"Those are cachalots -- terrible animals, which I have met in troops
of two or three hundred. As to those, they are cruel, mischievous
creatures; they would be right in exterminating them."
The Canadian turned quickly at the last words.
"Well, Captain," said he, "it is still time, in the interest of the
whales."
"It is useless to expose one's self, Professor. The Nautilus will
disperse them. It is armed with a steel spur as good as Master Land's
harpoon, I imagine."
The Canadian did not put himself out enough to shrug his shoulders.
Attack cetacea with blows of a spur! Who had ever heard of such a thing?
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"Wait, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "We will show you something you
have never yet seen. We have no pity for these ferocious creatures. They
are nothing but mouth and teeth."
Mouth and teeth! No one could better describe the macrocephalous
cachalot, which is sometimes more than seventy- five feet long. Its
enormous head occupies one-third of its entire body. Better armed than the
whale, whose upper jaw is furnished only with whalebone, it is supplied
with twenty- five large tusks, about eight inches long, cylindrical and
conical at the top, each weighing two pounds. It is in the upper part of
this enormous head, in great cavities divided by cartilages, that is to be
found from six to eight hundred pounds of that precious oil called
spermaceti. The cachalot is a disagreeable creature, more tadpole than
fish, according to Fredol's description. It is badly formed, the whole of
its left side being (if we may say it), a "failure," and being only able to
see with its right eye. But the formidable troop was nearing us. They had
seen the whales and were preparing to attack them. One could judge
beforehand that the cachalots would be victorious, not only because they
were better built for attack than their inoffensive adversaries, but also
because they could remain longer under water without coming to the surface.
There was only just time to go to the help of the whales. The Nautilus went
under water. Conseil, Ned Land, and I took our places before the window in
the saloon, and Captain Nemo joined the pilot in his cage to work his
apparatus as an engine of destruction. Soon I felt the beatings of the
screw quicken, and our speed increased. The battle between the cachalots
and the whales had already begun when the Nautilus arrived. They did not at
first show any fear at the sight of this new monster joining in the
conflict. But they soon had to guard against its blows. What a battle! The
Nautilus was nothing but a formidable harpoon, brandished by the hand of
its Captain. It hurled itself against the fleshy mass, passing through from
one part to the other, leaving behind it two quivering halves of the
animal. It could not feel the formidable blows from their tails upon its
sides, nor the
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shock which it produced itself, much more. One cachalot killed, it ran at
the next, tacked on the spot that it might not miss its prey, going
forwards and backwards, answering to its helm, plunging when the cetacean
dived into the deep waters, coming up with it when it returned to the
surface, striking it front or sideways, cutting or tearing in all
directions and at any pace, piercing it with its terrible spur. What
carnage! What a noise on the surface of the waves! What sharp hissing, and
what snorting peculiar to these enraged animals! In the midst of these
waters, generally so peaceful, their tails made perfect billows. For one
hour this wholesale massacre continued, from which the cachalots could not
escape. Several times ten or twelve united tried to crush the Nautilus by
their weight. From the window we could see their enormous mouths, studded
with tusks, and their formidable eyes. Ned Land could not contain himself;
he threatened and swore at them. We could feel them clinging to our vessel
like dogs worrying a wild boar in a copse. But the Nautilus, working its
screw, carried them here and there, or to the upper levels of the ocean,
without caring for their enormous weight, nor the powerful strain on the
vessel. At length the mass of cachalots broke up, the waves became quiet,
and I felt that we were rising to the surface. The panel opened, and we
hurried on to the platform. The sea was covered with mutilated bodies. A
formidable explosion could not have divided and torn this fleshy mass with
more violence. We were floating amid gigantic bodies, bluish on the back
and white underneath, covered with enormous protuberances. Some terrified
cachalots were flying towards the horizon. The waves were dyed red for
several miles, and the Nautilus floated in a sea of blood: Captain Nemo
joined us.
"Well, Master Land?" said he.
"Well, sir," replied the Canadian, whose enthusiasm had somewhat
calmed; "it is a terrible spectacle, certainly. But I am not a butcher. I
am a hunter, and I call this a butchery."
"It is a massacre of mischievous creatures," replied the Captain; "and
the Nautilus is not a butcher's knife."
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"I like my harpoon better," said the Canadian.
"Every one to his own," answered the Captain, looking fixedly at Ned
Land.
I feared he would commit some act of violence, which would end in sad
consequences. But his anger was turned by the sight of a whale which the
Nautilus had just come up with. The creature had not quite escaped from the
cachalot's teeth. I recognised the southern whale by its flat head, which
is entirely black. Anatomically, it is distinguished from the white whale
and the North Cape whale by the seven cervical vertebrae, and it has two
more ribs than its congeners. The unfortunate cetacean was lying on its
side, riddled with holes from the bites, and quite dead. From its mutilated
fin still hung a young whale which it could not save from the massacre. Its
open mouth let the water flow in and out, murmuring like the waves breaking
on the shore. Captain Nemo steered close to the corpse of the creature. Two
of his men mounted its side, and I saw, not without surprise, that they
were drawing from its breasts all the milk which they contained, that is to
say, about two or three tons. The Captain offered me a cup of the milk,
which was still warm. I could not help showing my repugnance to the drink;
but he assured me that it was excellent, and not to be distinguished from
cow's milk. I tasted it, and was of his opinion. It was a useful reserve to
us, for in the shape of salt butter or cheese it would form an agreeable
variety from our ordinary food. From that day I noticed with uneasiness
that Ned Land's ill-will towards Captain Nemo increased, and I resolved to
watch the Canadian's gestures closely.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.13
THE ICEBERG
THE Nautilus was steadily pursuing its southerly course, following the
fiftieth meridian with considerable speed. Did he wish to reach the pole? I
did not think so, for every
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attempt to reach that point had hitherto failed. Again, the season was far
advanced, for in the Antarctic regions the 13th of March corresponds with
the 13th of September of northern regions, which begin at the equinoctial
season. On the 14th of March I saw floating ice in latitude 55°, merely
pale bits of debris from twenty to twenty-five feet long, forming banks
over which the sea curled. The Nautilus remained on the surface of the
ocean. Ned Land, who had fished in the Arctic Seas, was familiar with its
icebergs; but Conseil and I admired them for the first time. In the
atmosphere towards the southern horizon stretched a white dazzling band.
English whalers have given it the name of "ice blink." However thick the
clouds may be, it is always visible, and announces the presence of an ice
pack or bank. Accordingly, larger blocks soon appeared, whose brilliancy
changed with the caprices of the fog. Some of these masses showed green
veins, as if long undulating lines had been traced with sulphate of copper;
others resembled enormous amethysts with the light shining through them.
Some reflected the light of day upon a thousand crystal facets. Others
shaded with vivid calcareous reflections resembled a perfect town of
marble. The more we neared the south the more these floating islands
increased both in number and importance.
At 60° lat. every pass had disappeared. But, seeking carefully,
Captain Nemo soon found a narrow opening, through which he boldly slipped,
knowing, however, that it would close behind him. Thus, guided by this
clever hand, the Nautilus passed through all the ice with a precision which
quite charmed Conseil; icebergs or mountains, ice- fields or smooth plains,
seeming to have no limits, drift-ice or floating ice-packs, plains broken
up, called palchs when they are circular, and streams when they are made up
of long strips. The temperature was very low; the thermometer exposed to
the air marked 2° or 3° below zero, but we were warmly clad with fur, at
the expense of the sea-bear and seal. The interior of the Nautilus, warmed
regularly by its electric apparatus, defied the most intense cold. Besides,
it would only have been necessary to go some
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yards beneath the waves to find a more bearable temperature. Two months
earlier we should have had perpetual daylight in these latitudes; but
already we had had three or four hours of night, and by and by there would
be six months of darkness in these circumpolar regions. On the 15th of
March we were in the latitude of New Shetland and South Orkney. The Captain
told me that formerly numerous tribes of seals inhabited them; but that
English and American whalers, in their rage for destruction, massacred both
old and young; thus, where there was once life and animation, they had left
silence and death.
About eight o'clock on the morning of the 16th of March the Nautilus,
following the fifty-fifth meridian, cut the Antarctic polar circle. Ice
surrounded us on all sides, and closed the horizon. But Captain Nemo went
from one opening to another, still going higher. I cannot express my
astonishment at the beauties of these new regions. The ice took most
surprising forms. Here the grouping formed an oriental town, with
innumerable mosques and minarets; there a fallen city thrown to the earth,
as it were, by some convulsion of nature. The whole aspect was constantly
changed by the oblique rays of the sun, or lost in the greyish fog amidst
hurricanes of snow. Detonations and falls were heard on all sides, great
overthrows of icebergs, which altered the whole landscape like a diorama.
Often seeing no exit, I thought we were definitely prisoners; but, instinct
guiding him at the slightest indication, Captain Nemo would discover a new
pass. He was never mistaken when he saw the thin threads of bluish water
trickling along the ice- fields; and I had no doubt that he had already
ventured into the midst of these Antarctic seas before. On the 16th of
March, however, the ice-fields absolutely blocked our road. It was not the
iceberg itself, as yet, but vast fields cemented by the cold. But this
obstacle could not stop Captain Nemo: be hurled himself against it with
frightful violence. The Nautilus entered the brittle mass like a wedge, and
split it with frightful crackings. It was the battering ram of the ancients
hurled by infinite strength. The ice, thrown high in the air, fell like
hail around us. By its own power of
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impulsion our apparatus made a canal for itself; sometimes carried away by
its own impetus, it lodged on the ice-field, crushing it with its weight,
and sometimes buried beneath it, dividing it by a simple pitching movement,
producing large rents in it. Violent gales assailed us at this time,
accompanied by thick fogs, through which, from one end of the platform to
the other, we could see nothing. The wind blew sharply from all parts of
the compass, and the snow lay in such hard heaps that we had to break it
with blows of a pickaxe. The temperature was always at 5° below zero; every
outward part of the Nautilus was covered with ice. A rigged vessel would
have been entangled in the blocked up gorges. A vessel without sails, with
electricity for its motive power, and wanting no coal, could alone brave
such high latitudes. At length, on the 18th of March, after many useless
assaults, the Nautilus was positively blocked. It was no longer either
streams, packs, or ice-fields, but an interminable and immovable barrier,
formed by mountains soldered together.
"An iceberg!" said the Canadian to me.
I knew that to Ned Land, as well as to all other navigators who had
preceded us, this was an inevitable obstacle. The sun appearing for an
instant at noon, Captain Nemo took an observation as near as possible,
which gave our situation at 51° 30' long. and 67° 39' of S. lat. We had
advanced one degree more in this Antarctic region. Of the liquid surface of
the sea there was no longer a glimpse. Under the spur of the Nautilus lay
stretched a vast plain, entangled with confused blocks. Here and there
sharp points and slender needles rising to a height of 200 feet; further on
a steep shore, hewn as it were with an axe and clothed with greyish tints;
huge mirrors, reflecting a few rays of sunshine, half drowned in the fog.
And over this desolate face of nature a stern silence reigned, scarcely
broken by the flapping of the wings of petrels and puffins. Everything was
frozen -- even the noise. The Nautilus was then obliged to stop in its
adventurous course amid these fields of ice. In spite of our efforts, in
spite of the powerful means employed to break up the ice, the Nautilus
remained immovable.
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Generally, when we can proceed no further, we have return still open to us;
but here return was as impossible as advance, for every pass had closed
behind us; and for the few moments when we were stationary, we were likely
to be entirely blocked, which did indeed happen about two o'clock in the
afternoon, the fresh ice forming around its sides with astonishing
rapidity. I was obliged to admit that Captain Nemo was more than imprudent.
I was on the platform at that moment. The Captain had been observing our
situation for some time past, when he said to me:
"Well, sir, what do you think of this?"
"I think that we are caught, Captain."
"So, M. Aronnax, you really think that the Nautilus cannot disengage
itself?"
"With difficulty, Captain; for the season is already too far advanced
for you to reckon on the breaking of the ice."
"Ah! sir," said Captain Nemo, in an ironical tone, "you will always be
the same. You see nothing but difficulties and obstacles. I affirm that not
only can the Nautilus disengage itself, but also that it can go further
still."
"Further to the South?" I asked, looking at the Captain.
"Yes, sir; it shall go to the pole."
"To the pole!" I exclaimed, unable to repress a gesture of
incredulity.
"Yes," replied the Captain, coldly, "to the Antarctic pole -- to that
unknown point from whence springs every meridian of the globe. You know
whether I can do as I please with the Nautilus!"
Yes, I knew that. I knew that this man was bold, even to rashness. But
to conquer those obstacles which bristled round the South Pole, rendering
it more inaccessible than the North, which had not yet been reached by the
boldest navigators -- was it not a mad enterprise, one which only a maniac
would have conceived? It then came into my head to ask Captain Nemo if he
had ever discovered that pole which had never yet been trodden by a human
creature?
"No, sir," he replied; "but we will discover it together. Where others
have failed, I will not fail. I have never yet
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led my Nautilus so far into southern seas; but, I repeat, it shall go
further yet."
"I can well believe you, Captain," said I, in a slightly ironical
tone. "I believe you! Let us go ahead! There are no obstacles for us! Let
us smash this iceberg! Let us blow it up; and, if it resists, let us give
the Nautilus wings to fly over it!"
"Over it, sir!!" said Captain Nemo, quietly; "no, not over it, but
under it!"
"Under it!" I exclaimed, a sudden idea of the Captain's projects
flashing upon my mind. I understood; the wonderful qualities of the
Nautilus were going to serve us in this superhuman enterprise.
"I see we are beginning to understand one another, sir," said the
Captain, half smiling. "You begin to see the possibility -- I should say
the success -- of this attempt. That which is impossible for an ordinary
vessel is easy to the Nautilus. If a continent lies before the pole, it
must stop before the continent; but if, on the contrary, the pole is washed
by open sea, it will go even to the pole."
"Certainly," said I, carried away by the Captain's reasoning; "if the
surface of the sea is solidified by the ice, the lower depths are free by
the Providential law which has placed the maximum of density of the waters
of the ocean one degree higher than freezing-point; and, if I am not
mistaken, the portion of this iceberg which is above the water is as one to
four to that which is below."
"Very nearly, sir; for one foot of iceberg above the sea there are
three below it. If these ice mountains are not more than 300 feet above the
surface, they are not more than 900 beneath. And what are 900 feet to the
Nautilus?"
"Nothing, sir."
"It could even seek at greater depths that uniform temperature of
sea-water, and there brave with impunity the thirty or forty degrees of
surface cold."
"Just so, sir -- just so," I replied, getting animated.
"The only difficulty," continued Captain Nemo, "is that of remaining
several days without renewing our provision of air."
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"Is that all? The Nautilus has vast reservoirs; we can fill them, and
they will supply us with all the oxygen we want."
"Well thought of, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain, smiling. "But, not
wishing you to accuse me of rashness, I will first give you all my
objections."
"Have you any more to make?"
"Only one. It is possible, if the sea exists at the South Pole, that
it may be covered; and, consequently, we shall be unable to come to the
surface."
"Good, sir! but do you forget that the Nautilus is armed with a
powerful spur, and could we not send it diagonally against these fields of
ice, which would open at the shocks."
"Ah! sir, you are full of ideas to-day."
"Besides, Captain," I added, enthusiastically, "why should we not find
the sea open at the South Pole as well as at the North? The frozen poles of
the earth do not coincide, either in the southern or in the northern
regions; and, until it is proved to the contrary, we may suppose either a
continent or an ocean free from ice at these two points of the globe."
"I think so too, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo. "I only wish you
to observe that, after having made so many objections to my project, you
are now crushing me with arguments in its favour!"
The preparations for this audacious attempt now began. The powerful
pumps of the Nautilus were working air into the reservoirs and storing it
at high pressure. About four o'clock, Captain Nemo announced the closing of
the panels on the platform. I threw one last look at the massive iceberg
which we were going to cross. The weather was clear, the atmosphere pure
enough, the cold very great, being 12° below zero; but, the wind having
gone down, this temperature was not so unbearable. About ten men mounted
the sides of the Nautilus, armed with pickaxes to break the ice around the
vessel, which was soon free. The operation was quickly performed, for the
fresh ice was still very thin. We all went below. The usual reservoirs were
filled with the newly-liberated water, and the Nautilus soon descended. I
had taken my place with Conseil in the saloon; through the
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open window we could see the lower beds of the Southern Ocean. The
thermometer went up, the needle of the compass deviated on the dial. At
about 900 feet, as Captain Nemo had foreseen, we were floating beneath the
undulating bottom of the iceberg. But the Nautilus went lower still -- it
went to the depth of four hundred fathoms. The temperature of the water at
the surface showed twelve degrees, it was now only ten; we had gained two.
I need not say the temperature of the Nautilus was raised by its heating
apparatus to a much higher degree; every manoeuvre was accomplished with
wonderful precision.
"We shall pass it, if you please, sir," said Conseil.
"I believe we shall," I said, in a tone of firm conviction.
In this open sea, the Nautilus had taken its course direct to the
pole, without leaving the fifty-second meridian. From 67° 30' to 90°,
twenty-two degrees and a half of latitude remained to travel; that is,
about five hundred leagues. The Nautilus kept up a mean speed of twenty-six
miles an hour -- the speed of an express train. If that was kept up, in
forty hours we should reach the pole.
For a part of the night the novelty of the situation kept us at the
window. The sea was lit with the electric lantern; but it was deserted;
fishes did not sojourn in these imprisoned waters; they only found there a
passage to take them from the Antarctic Ocean to the open polar sea. Our
pace was rapid; we could feel it by the quivering of the long steel body.
About two in the morning I took some hours' repose, and Conseil did the
same. In crossing the waist I did not meet Captain Nemo: I supposed him to
be in the pilot's cage. The next morning, the 19th of March, I took my post
once more in the saloon. The electric log told me that the speed of the
Nautilus had been slackened. It was then going towards the surface; but
prudently emptying its reservoirs very slowly. My heart beat fast. Were we
going to emerge and regain the open polar atmosphere? No! A shock told me
that the Nautilus had struck the bottom of the iceberg, still very thick,
judging from the deadened sound. We had indeed "struck," to use a sea
expression, but in an inverse sense, and at a thousand feet deep. This
would give three
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thousand feet of ice above us; one thousand being above the water-mark. The
iceberg was then higher than at its borders -- not a very reassuring fact.
Several times that day the Nautilus tried again, and every time it struck
the wall which lay like a ceiling above it. Sometimes it met with but 900
yards, only 200 of which rose above the surface. It was twice the height it
was when the Nautilus had gone under the waves. I carefully noted the
different depths, and thus obtained a submarine profile of the chain as it
was developed under the water. That night no change had taken place in our
situation. Still ice between four and five hundred yards in depth! It was
evidently diminishing, but, still, what a thickness between us and the
surface of the ocean! It was then eight. According to the daily custom on
board the Nautilus, its air should have been renewed four hours ago; but I
did not suffer much, although Captain Nemo had not yet made any demand upon
his reserve of oxygen. My sleep was painful that night; hope and fear
besieged me by turns: I rose several times. The groping of the Nautilus
continued. About three in the morning, I noticed that the lower surface of
the iceberg was only about fifty feet deep. One hundred and fifty feet now
separated us from the surface of the waters. The iceberg was by degrees
becoming an ice-field, the mountain a plain. My eyes never left the
manometer. We were still rising diagonally to the surface, which sparkled
under the electric rays. The iceberg was stretching both above and beneath
into lengthening slopes; mile after mile it was getting thinner. At length,
at six in the morning of that memorable day, the 19th of March, the door of
the saloon opened, and Captain Nemo appeared.
"The sea is open!!" was all he said.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.14
THE SOUTH POLE
I RUSHED on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few
scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs -- a long
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stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under
those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to
the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively
spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was
dimly seen on our northern horizon.
"Are we at the pole?" I asked the Captain, with a beating heart.
"I do not know," he replied. "At noon I will take our bearings."
"But will the sun show himself through this fog?" said I, looking at
the leaden sky.
"However little it shows, it will be enough," replied the Captain.
About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one
hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be
strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later
we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in
circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of
land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence
of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury's theory. The ingenious
American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth
parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is
never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the
conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as
icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to
these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a
vast cap, the circumference. of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But
the Nautilus, for fear of running aground, had stopped about three
cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The
boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments,
Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen
Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the
South Pole. A few strokes of the oar
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brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on
to the land, when I held him back.
"Sir," said I to Captain Nemo, "to you belongs the honour of first
setting foot on this land."
"Yes, sir," said the Captain, "and if I do not hesitate to tread this
South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace
there."
Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with
emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with
his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to
take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in
this ecstasy, he turned to us.
"When you like, sir."
I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a
long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like
crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not
mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a
sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their
expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no
volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic
countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full
activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32'. The vegetation of this
desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the
black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells
placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported
on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the
shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was
strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of
northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would
swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies,
animating the waters on the skirts of the shore.
There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind
which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic
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seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little
kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most
was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds,
deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we
passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There
were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the
ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture,
but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of
their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the
vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of
small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were
a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others
blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that
the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting
them but to put a wick in.
"A little more," said Conseil, "and they would be perfect lamps! After
that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with
wicks!"
About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs' nests, a
sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo
had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass,
were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath,
with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be
killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and
at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy.
Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide
whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him
leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient
and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not
command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day
showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind
the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow.
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"Till to-morrow," said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the
Nautilus amid these atmospheric disturbances.
The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to
remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of
incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could
hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this
violent storm. The Nautilus did not remain motionless, but skirted the
coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the
sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March,
the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing
2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our
observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat
took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic
nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater
which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent
was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large
troops of sea- mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were
several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice,
many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never
having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were
provisions there for hundreds of vessels.
"Sir," said Conseil, "will you tell me the names of these creatures?"
"They are seals and morses."
It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the
sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast
bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice
were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I
involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched
these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else,
forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his
family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong
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enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took
little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly
enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins,
forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their
element -- the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close
skin and webbed feet -- they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they
take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft
and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look
a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions,
and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton
and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable
development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No
mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also
capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily
domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught
they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them
slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called,
which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose
ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards
long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four
incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in
the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of
seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured
twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move
as we approached.
"These creatures are not dangerous?" asked Conseil.
"No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young
their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the
fishing-boats to pieces."
"They are quite right," said Conseil.
"I do not say they are not."
Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters
the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it
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we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce.
"Good!" said Conseil; "a concert of bulls!"
"No; a concert of morses."
"They are fighting!"
"They are either fighting or playing."
We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles,
and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over
at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not
stumble, and helped me up, saying:
"If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would
preserve your equilibrium better."
Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain
covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we
heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger.
As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for
they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint,
approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four
yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the
north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of
their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of
returning. It was eleven o'clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions
favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We
followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At
half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run
aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his
instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which
the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him,
and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not
appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not
accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were
indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the
equinox; the sun would
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disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the
long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged
from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of
December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it
had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I
communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo.
"You are right, M. Aronnax," said he; "if to-morrow I cannot take the
altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But
precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March,
my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun."
"Why, Captain?"
"Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it
is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave
errors may be made with instruments."
"What will you do then?"
"I shall only use my chronometer," replied Captain Nemo. "If
to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction,
is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South
Pole."
"Just so," said I. "But this statement is not mathematically correct,
because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon."
"Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do
not want more. Till to-morrow, then!"
Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the
shore, observing and studying until five o'clock. Then I went to bed, not,
however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb.
The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the
platform. I found Captain Nemo there.
"The weather is lightening a little," said he. "I have some hope.
After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation."
That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me.
But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I
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saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I
was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were
too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this
unreflecting fisherman's way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The
Nautilus had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league
from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards
high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the
instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a
barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three
kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English "right
whale," which has no dorsal fin; the "humpback," with reeved chest and
large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and
the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This
powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height
columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These
different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters;
and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of
refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed
large medusae floating between the reeds.
At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to
the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters.
Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his
observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-
stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the
smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed
the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter
would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak,
which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast
sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the
sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale
azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun
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seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon.
From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the
distance lay the Nautilus like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us,
to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and
ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit
Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would
have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve
the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding
its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet
ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means
of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the
horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the
chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of
the sun coincided with twelve o'clock on the chronometer, we were at the
pole itself.
"Twelve!" I exclaimed.
"The South Pole!" replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me
the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon.
I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting
by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his
hand on my shoulder, said:
"I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the
South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of
the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents."
"In whose name, Captain?"
"In my own, sir!"
Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an "N" in
gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose
last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:
"Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea,
and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!"
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.15
ACCIDENT OR INCIDENT?
THE next day, the 22nd of March, at six in the morning, preparations
for departure were begun. The last gleams of twilight were melting into
night. The cold was great, the constellations shone with wonderful
intensity. In the zenith glittered that wondrous Southern Cross -- the
polar bear of Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 120 below zero, and
when the wind freshened it was most biting. Flakes of ice increased on the
open water. The sea seemed everywhere alike. Numerous blackish patches
spread on the surface, showing the formation of fresh ice. Evidently the
southern basin, frozen during the six winter months, was absolutely
inaccessible. What became of the whales in that time? Doubtless they went
beneath the icebergs, seeking more practicable seas. As to the seals and
morses, accustomed to live in a hard climate, they remained on these icy
shores. These creatures have the instinct to break holes in the ice-field
and to keep them open. To these holes they come for breath; when the birds,
driven away by the cold, have emigrated to the north, these sea mammals
remain sole masters of the polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling
with water, and the Nautilus was slowly descending. At 1,000 feet deep it
stopped; its screw beat the waves, and it advanced straight towards the
north at a speed of fifteen miles an hour. Towards night it was already
floating under the immense body of the iceberg. At three in the morning I
was awakened by a violent shock. I sat up in my bed and listened in the
darkness, when I was thrown into the middle of the room. The Nautilus,
after having struck, had rebounded violently. I groped along the partition,
and by the staircase to the saloon, which was lit by the luminous ceiling.
The furniture was upset. Fortunately the windows were firmly set, and had
held fast. The pictures on the starboard side, from being no longer
vertical, were clinging to the paper, whilst those of the port side were
hanging at least a foot from the wall. The Nautilus was lying on its
starboard side perfectly motionless.
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I heard footsteps, and a confusion of voices; but Captain Nemo did not
appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil entered.
"What is the matter?" said I, at once.
"I came to ask you, sir," replied Conseil.
"Confound it!" exclaimed the Canadian, "I know well enough! The
Nautilus has struck; and, judging by the way she lies, I do not think she
will right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits."
"But," I asked, "has she at least come to the surface of the sea?"
"We do not know," said Conseil.
"It is easy to decide," I answered. I consulted the manometer. To my
great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. "What does that
mean?" I exclaimed.
"We must ask Captain Nemo," said Conseil.
"But where shall we find him?" said Ned Land.
"Follow me," said I, to my companions.
We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. At the centre
staircase, by the berths of the ship's crew, there was no one. I thought
that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot's cage. It was best to wait. We all
returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained thus, trying to hear
the slightest noise which might be made on board the Nautilus, when Captain
Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his face, generally so impassive,
showed signs of uneasiness. He watched the compass silently, then the
manometer; and, going to the planisphere, placed his finger on a spot
representing the southern seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some
minutes later, when he turned towards me, I said, using one of his own
expressions in the Torres Straits:
"An incident, Captain?"
"No, sir; an accident this time."
"Serious?"
"Perhaps."
"Is the danger immediate?"
"No."
"The Nautilus has stranded?"
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"Yes."
"And this has happened -- how?"
"From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a
mistake has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium
from producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist
natural ones."
Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this
philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.
"May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?"
"An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over," he
replied. "When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or
reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing turns
over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell, struck
the Nautilus, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with irresistible
force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where it is lying on
its side."
"But can we not get the Nautilus off by emptying its reservoirs, that
it might regain its equilibrium?"
"That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump
working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the Nautilus is
rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and, until some obstacle
stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be altered."
Indeed, the Nautilus still held the same position to starboard;
doubtless it would right itself when the block stopped. But at this moment
who knows if we may not be frightfully crushed between the two glassy
surfaces? I reflected on all the consequences of our position. Captain Nemo
never took his eyes off the manometer. Since the fall of the iceberg, the
Nautilus had risen about a hundred and fifty feet, but it still made the
same angle with the perpendicular. Suddenly a slight movement was felt in
the hold. Evidently it was righting a little. Things hanging in the saloon
were sensibly returning to their normal position. The partitions were
nearing the upright. No one spoke. With beating hearts we watched and felt
the straightening.
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The boards became horizontal under our feet. Ten minutes passed.
"At last we have righted!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said Captain Nemo, going to the door of the saloon.
"But are we floating?" I asked.
"Certainly," he replied; "since the reservoirs are not empty; and,
when empty, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea."
We were in open sea; but at a distance of about ten yards, on either
side of the Nautilus, rose a dazzling wall of ice. Above and beneath the
same wall. Above, because the lower surface of the iceberg stretched over
us like an immense ceiling. Beneath, because the overturned block, having
slid by degrees, had found a resting-place on the lateral walls, which kept
it in that position. The Nautilus was really imprisoned in a perfect tunnel
of ice more than twenty yards in breadth, filled with quiet water. It was
easy to get out of it by going either forward or backward, and then make a
free passage under the iceberg, some hundreds of yards deeper. The luminous
ceiling had been extinguished, but the saloon was still resplendent with
intense light. It was the powerful reflection from the glass partition sent
violently back to the sheets of the lantern. I cannot describe the effect
of the voltaic rays upon the great blocks so capriciously cut; upon every
angle, every ridge, every facet was thrown a different light, according to
the nature of the veins running through the ice; a dazzling mine of gems,
particularly of sapphires, their blue rays crossing with the green of the
emerald. Here and there were opal shades of wonderful softness, running
through bright spots like diamonds of fire, the brilliancy of which the eye
could not bear. The power of the lantern seemed increased a hundredfold,
like a lamp through the lenticular plates of a first-class lighthouse.
"How beautiful! how beautiful!" cried Conseil.
"Yes," I said, "it is a wonderful sight. Is it not, Ned?"
"Yes, confound it! Yes," answered Ned Land, "it is superb! I am mad at
being obliged to admit it. No one
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has ever seen anything like it; but the sight may cost us dear. And, if I
must say all, I think we are seeing here things which God never intended
man to see."
Ned was right, it was too beautiful. Suddenly a cry from Conseil made
me turn.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Shut your eyes, sir! Do not look, sir!" Saying which, Conseil clapped
his hands over his eyes.
"But what is the matter, my boy?"
"I am dazzled, blinded."
My eyes turned involuntarily towards the glass, but I could not stand
the fire which seemed to devour them. I understood what had happened. The
Nautilus had put on full speed. All the quiet lustre of the ice-walls was
at once changed into flashes of lightning. The fire from these myriads of
diamonds was blinding. It required some time to calm our troubled looks. At
last the hands were taken down.
"Faith, I should never have believed it," said Conseil.
It was then five in the morning; and at that moment a shock was felt
at the bows of the Nautilus. I knew that its spur had struck a block of
ice. It must have been a false manoeuvre, for this submarine tunnel,
obstructed by blocks, was not very easy navigation. I thought that Captain
Nemo, by changing his course, would either turn these obstacles or else
follow the windings of the tunnel. In any case, the road before us could
not be entirely blocked. But, contrary to my expectations, the Nautilus
took a decided retrograde motion.
"We are going backwards?" said Conseil.
"Yes," I replied. "This end of the tunnel can have no egress."
"And then?"
"Then," said I, "the working is easy. We must go back again, and go
out at the southern opening. That is all."
In speaking thus, I wished to appear more confident than I really was.
But the retrograde motion of the Nautilus was increasing; and, reversing
the screw, it carried us at great speed.
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"It will be a hindrance," said Ned.
"What does it matter, some hours more or less, provided we get out at
last?"
"Yes," repeated Ned Land, "provided we do get out at last!"
For a short time I walked from the saloon to the library. My
companions were silent. I soon threw myself on an ottoman, and took a book,
which my eyes overran mechanically. A quarter of an hour after, Conseil,
approaching me, said, "Is what you are reading very interesting, sir?"
"Very interesting!" I replied.
"I should think so, sir. It is your own book you are reading."
"My book?"
And indeed I was holding in my hand the work on the Great Submarine
Depths. I did not even dream of it. I closed the book and returned to my
walk. Ned and Conseil rose to go.
"Stay here, my friends," said I, detaining them. "Let us remain
together until we are out of this block."
"As you please, sir," Conseil replied.
Some hours passed. I often looked at the instruments hanging from the
partition. The manometer showed that the Nautilus kept at a constant depth
of more than three hundred yards; the compass still pointed to south; the
log indicated a speed of twenty miles an hour, which, in such a cramped
space, was very great. But Captain Nemo knew that he could not hasten too
much, and that minutes were worth ages to us. At twenty-five minutes past
eight a second shock took place, this time from behind. I turned pale. My
companions were close by my side. I seized Conseil's hand. Our looks
expressed our feelings better than words. At this moment the Captain
entered the saloon. I went up to him.
"Our course is barred southward?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. The iceberg has shifted and closed every outlet."
"We are blocked up then?"
"Yes.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.16
WANT OF AIR
THUS around the Nautilus, above and below, was an impenetrable wall of
ice. We were prisoners to the iceberg. I watched the Captain. His
countenance had resumed its habitual imperturbability.
"Gentlemen," he said calmly, "there are two ways of dying in the
circumstances in which we are placed." (This puzzling person had the air of
a mathematical professor lecturing to his pupils.) "The first is to be
crushed; the second is to die of suffocation. I do not speak of the
possibility of dying of hunger, for the supply of provisions in the
Nautilus will certainly last longer than we shall. Let us, then, calculate
our chances."
"As to suffocation, Captain," I replied, "that is not to be feared,
because our reservoirs are full."
"Just so; but they will only yield two days' supply of air. Now, for
thirty-six hours we have been hidden under the water, and already the heavy
atmosphere of the Nautilus requires renewal. In forty-eight hours our
reserve will be exhausted."
"Well, Captain, can we be delivered before forty-eight hours?"
"We will attempt it, at least, by piercing the wall that surrounds
us."
"On which side?"
"Sound will tell us. I am going to run the Nautilus aground on the
lower bank, and my men will attack the iceberg on the side that is least
thick."
Captain Nemo went out. Soon I discovered by a hissing noise that the
water was entering the reservoirs. The Nautilus sank slowly, and rested on
the ice at a depth of 350 yards, the depth at which the lower bank was
immersed.
"My friends," I said, "our situation is serious, but I rely on your
courage and energy."
"Sir," replied the Canadian, "I am ready to do anything for the
general safety."
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"Good! Ned," and I held out my hand to the Canadian.
"I will add," he continued, "that, being as handy with the pickaxe as
with the harpoon, if I can be useful to the Captain, he can command my
services."
"He will not refuse your help. Come, Ned!"
I led him to the room where the crew of the Nautilus were putting on
their cork-jackets. I told the Captain of Ned's proposal, which he
accepted. The Canadian put on his sea-costume, and was ready as soon as his
companions. When Ned was dressed, I re-entered the drawing-room, where the
panes of glass were open, and, posted near Conseil, I examined the ambient
beds that supported the Nautilus. Some instants after, we saw a dozen of
the crew set foot on the bank of ice, and among them Ned Land, easily known
by his stature. Captain Nemo was with them. Before proceeding to dig the
walls, he took the soundings, to be sure of working in the right direction.
Long sounding lines were sunk in the side walls, but after fifteen yards
they were again stopped by the thick wall. It was useless to attack it on
the ceiling-like surface, since the iceberg itself measured more than 400
yards in height. Captain Nemo then sounded the lower surface. There ten
yards of wall separated us from the water, so great was the thickness of
the ice-field. It was necessary, therefore, to cut from it a piece equal in
extent to the waterline of the Nautilus. There were about 6,000 cubic yards
to detach, so as to dig a hole by which we could descend to the ice-field.
The work had begun immediately and carried on with indefatigable energy.
Instead of digging round the Nautilus which would have involved greater
difficulty, Captain Nemo had an immense trench made at eight yards from the
port-quarter. Then the men set to work simultaneously with their screws on
several points of its circumference. Presently the pickaxe attacked this
compact matter vigorously, and large blocks were detached from the mass. By
a curious effect of specific gravity, these blocks, lighter than water,
fled, so to speak, to the vault of the tunnel, that increased in thickness
at the top in proportion as it diminished at the base. But that mattered
little, so long as the lower part grew thinner. After two
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hours' hard work, Ned Land came in exhausted. He and his comrades were
replaced by new workers, whom Conseil and I joined. The second lieutenant
of the Nautilus superintended us. The water seemed singularly cold, but I
soon got warm handling the pickaxe. My movements were free enough, although
they were made under a pressure of thirty atmospheres. When I re-entered,
after working two hours, to take some food and rest, I found a perceptible
difference between the pure fluid with which the Rouquayrol engine supplied
me and the atmosphere of the Nautilus, already charged with carbonic acid.
The air had not been renewed for forty-eight hours, and its vivifying
qualities were considerably enfeebled. However, after a lapse of twelve
hours, we had only raised a block of ice one yard thick, on the marked
surface, which was about 600 cubic yards! Reckoning that it took twelve
hours to accomplish this much it would take five nights and four days to
bring this enterprise to a satisfactory conclusion. Five nights and four
days! And we have only air enough for two days in the reservoirs! "Without
taking into account," said Ned, "that, even if we get out of this infernal
prison, we shall also be imprisoned under the iceberg, shut out from all
possible communication with the atmosphere." True enough! Who could then
foresee the minimum of time necessary for our deliverance? We might be
suffocated before the Nautilus could regain the surface of the waves? Was
it destined to perish in this ice-tomb, with all those it enclosed? The
situation was terrible. But everyone had looked the danger in the face, and
each was determined to do his duty to the last.
As I expected, during the night a new block a yard square was carried
away, and still further sank the immense hollow. But in the morning when,
dressed in my cork-jacket, I traversed the slushy mass at a temperature of
six or seven degrees below zero, I remarked that the side walls were
gradually closing in. The beds of water farthest from the trench, that were
not warmed by the men's work, showed a tendency to solidification. In
presence of this new and imminent danger, what would become of our chances
of safety,
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and how hinder the solidification of this liquid medium, that would burst
the partitions of the Nautilus like glass?
I did not tell my companions of this new danger. What was the good of
damping the energy they displayed in the painful work of escape? But when I
went on board again, I told Captain Nemo of this grave complication.
"I know it," he said, in that calm tone which could counteract the
most terrible apprehensions. "It is one danger more; but I see no way of
escaping it; the only chance of safety is to go quicker than
solidification. We must be beforehand with it, that is all."
On this day for several hours I used my pickaxe vigorously. The work
kept me up. Besides, to work was to quit the Nautilus, and breathe directly
the pure air drawn from the reservoirs, and supplied by our apparatus, and
to quit the impoverished and vitiated atmosphere. Towards evening the
trench was dug one yard deeper. When I returned on board, I was nearly
suffocated by the carbonic acid with which the air was filled -- ah! if we
had only the chemical means to drive away this deleterious gas. We had
plenty of oxygen; all this water contained a considerable quantity, and by
dissolving it with our powerful piles, it would restore the vivifying
fluid. I had thought well over it; but of what good was that, since the
carbonic acid produced by our respiration had invaded every part of the
vessel? To absorb it, it was necessary to fill some jars with caustic
potash, and to shake them incessantly. Now this substance was wanting on
board, and nothing could replace it. On that evening, Captain Nemo ought to
open the taps of his reservoirs, and let some pure air into the interior of
the Nautilus; without this precaution we could not get rid of the sense of
suffocation. The next day, March 26th, I resumed my miner's work in
beginning the fifth yard. The side walls and the lower surface of the
iceberg thickened visibly. It was evident that they would meet before the
Nautilus was able to disengage itself. Despair seized me for an instant; my
pickaxe nearly fell from my bands. What was the good of digging if I must
be suffocated, crushed by the water that was turning into stone? -- a
punishment that the ferocity of
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the savages even would not have invented! Just then Captain Nemo passed
near me. I touched his hand and showed him the walls of our prison. The
wall to port had advanced to at least four yards from the hull of the
Nautilus. The Captain understood me, and signed me to follow him. We went
on board. I took off my cork-jacket and accompanied him into the
drawing-room.
"M. Aronnax, we must attempt some desperate means, or we shall be
sealed up in this solidified water as in cement."
"Yes; but what is to be done?"
"Ah! if my Nautilus were strong enough to bear this pressure without
being crushed!"
"Well?" I asked, not catching the Captain's idea.
"Do you not understand," he replied, "that this congelation of water
will help us? Do you not see that by its solidification, it would burst
through this field of ice that imprisons us, as, when it freezes, it bursts
the hardest stones? Do you not perceive that it would be an agent of safety
instead of destruction?"
"Yes, Captain, perhaps. But, whatever resistance to crushing the
Nautilus possesses, it could not support this terrible pressure, and would
be flattened like an iron plate."
"I know it, sir. Therefore we must not reckon on the aid of nature,
but on our own exertions. We must stop this solidification. Not only will
the side walls be pressed together; but there is not ten feet of water
before or behind the Nautilus. The congelation gains on us on all sides."
"How long will the air in the reservoirs last for us to breathe on
board?"
The Captain looked in my face. "After to-morrow they will be empty!"
A cold sweat came over me. However, ought I to have been astonished at
the answer? On March 22, the Nautilus was in the open polar seas. We were
at 26°. For five days we had lived on the reserve on board. And what was
left of the respirable air must be kept for the workers. Even now, as I
write, my recollection is still so vivid that an involuntary terror seizes
me and my lungs seem to be without air. Meanwhile, Captain Nemo reflected
silently, and evidently
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an idea had struck him; but he seemed to reject it. At last, these words
escaped his lips:
"Boiling water!" he muttered.
"Boiling water?" I cried.
"Yes, sir. We are enclosed in a space that is relatively confined.
Would not jets of boiling water, constantly injected by the pumps, raise
the temperature in this part and stay the congelation?"
"Let us try it," I said resolutely.
"Let us try it, Professor."
The thermometer then stood at 7° outside. Captain Nemo took me to the
galleys, where the vast distillatory machines stood that furnished the
drinkable water by evaporation. They filled these with water, and all the
electric heat from the piles was thrown through the worms bathed in the
liquid. In a few minutes this water reached 100°. It was directed towards
the pumps, while fresh water replaced it in proportion. The heat developed
by the troughs was such that cold water, drawn up from the sea after only
having gone through the machines, came boiling into the body of the pump.
The injection was begun, and three hours after the thermometer marked 6°
below zero outside. One degree was gained. Two hours later the thermometer
only marked 4°.
"We shall succeed," I said to the Captain, after having anxiously
watched the result of the operation.
"I think," he answered, "that we shall not be crushed. We have no more
suffocation to fear."
During the night the temperature of the water rose to 1° below zero.
The injections could not carry it to a higher point. But, as the
congelation of the sea-water produces at least 2°, I was at least reassured
against the dangers of solidification.
The next day, March 27th, six yards of ice had been cleared, twelve
feet only remaining to be cleared away. There was yet forty-eight hours'
work. The air could not be renewed in the interior of the Nautilus. And
this day would make it worse. An intolerable weight oppressed me. Towards
three o'clock in the evening this feeling rose to a violent degree. Yawns
dislocated my jaws. My lungs panted
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as they inhaled this burning fluid, which became rarefied more and more. A
moral torpor took hold of me. I was powerless, almost unconscious. My brave
Conseil, though exhibiting the same symptoms and suffering in the same
manner, never left me. He took my hand and encouraged me, and I heard him
murmur, "Oh! if I could only not breathe, so as to leave more air for my
master!"
Tears came into my eyes on hearing him speak thus. If our situation to
all was intolerable in the interior, with what haste and gladness would we
put on our cork-jackets to work in our turn! Pickaxes sounded on the frozen
ice- beds. Our arms ached, the skin was torn off our hands. But what were
these fatigues, what did the wounds matter? Vital air came to the lungs! We
breathed! we breathed!
All this time no one prolonged his voluntary task beyond the
prescribed time. His task accomplished, each one handed in turn to his
panting companions the apparatus that supplied him with life. Captain Nemo
set the example, and submitted first to this severe discipline. When the
time came, he gave up his apparatus to another and returned to the vitiated
air on board, calm, unflinching, unmurmuring.
On that day the ordinary work was accomplished with unusual vigour.
Only two yards remained to be raised from the surface. Two yards only
separated us from the open sea. But the reservoirs were nearly emptied of
air. The little that remained ought to be kept for the workers; not a
particle for the Nautilus. When I went back on board, I was half
suffocated. What a night! I know not how to describe it. The next day my
breathing was oppressed. Dizziness accompanied the pain in my head and made
me like a drunken man. My companions showed the same symptoms. Some of the
crew had rattling in the throat.
On that day, the sixth of our imprisonment, Captain Nemo, finding the
pickaxes work too slowly, resolved to crush the ice-bed that still
separated us from the liquid sheet. This man's coolness and energy never
forsook him. He subdued his physical pains by moral force.
By his orders the vessel was lightened, that is to say, raised from
the ice-bed by a change of specific gravity.
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When it floated they towed it so as to bring it above the immense trench
made on the level of the water-line. Then, filling his reservoirs of water,
he descended and shut himself up in the hole.
Just then all the crew came on board, and the double door of
communication was shut. The Nautilus then rested on the bed of ice, which
was not one yard thick, and which the sounding leads had perforated in a
thousand places. The taps of the reservoirs were then opened, and a hundred
cubic yards of water was let in, increasing the weight of the Nautilus to
1,800 tons. We waited, we listened, forgetting our sufferings in hope. Our
safety depended on this last chance. Notwithstanding the buzzing in my
head, I soon heard the humming sound under the hull of the Nautilus. The
ice cracked with a singular noise, like tearing paper, and the Nautilus
sank.
"We are off!" murmured Conseil in my ear.
I could not answer him. I seized his hand, and pressed it
convulsively. All at once, carried away by its frightful overcharge, the
Nautilus sank like a bullet under the waters, that is to say, it fell as if
it was in a vacuum. Then all the electric force was put on the pumps, that
soon began to let the water out of the reservoirs. After some minutes, our
fall was stopped. Soon, too, the manometer indicated an ascending movement.
The screw, going at full speed, made the iron hull tremble to its very
bolts and drew us towards the north. But if this floating under the iceberg
is to last another day before we reach the open sea, I shall be dead first.
Half stretched upon a divan in the library, I was suffocating. My face
was purple, my lips blue, my faculties suspended. I neither saw nor heard.
All notion of time had gone from my mind. My muscles could not contract. I
do not know how many hours passed thus, but I was conscious of the agony
that was coming over me. I felt as if I was going to die. Suddenly I came
to. Some breaths of air penetrated my lungs. Had we risen to the surface of
the waves? Were we free of the iceberg? No! Ned and Conseil, my two brave
friends, were sacrificing themselves to save me. Some particles of air
still remained at the bottom of one apparatus.
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Instead of using it, they had kept it for me, and, while they were being
suffocated, they gave me life, drop by drop. I wanted to push back the
thing; they held my hands, and for some moments I breathed freely. I looked
at the clock; it was eleven in the morning. It ought to be the 28th of
March. The Nautilus went at a frightful pace, forty miles an hour. It
literally tore through the water. Where was Captain Nemo? Had he succumbed?
Were his companions dead with him? At the moment the manometer indicated
that we were not more than twenty feet from the surface. A mere plate of
ice separated us from the atmosphere. Could we not break it? Perhaps. In
any case the Nautilus was going to attempt it. I felt that it was in an
oblique position, lowering the stern, and raising the bows. The
introduction of water had been the means of disturbing its equilibrium.
Then, impelled by its powerful screw, it attacked the ice-field from
beneath like a formidable battering-ram. It broke it by backing and then
rushing forward against the field, which gradually gave way; and at last,
dashing suddenly against it, shot forwards on the ice-field, that crushed
beneath its weight. The panel was opened -- one might say torn off -- and
the pure air came in in abundance to all parts of the Nautilus.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.17
FROM CAPE HORN TO THE AMAZON
How I got on to the platform, I have no idea; perhaps the Canadian had
carried me there. But I breathed, I inhaled the vivifying sea-air. My two
companions were getting drunk with the fresh particles. The other unhappy
men had been so long without food, that they could not with impunity
indulge in the simplest aliments that were given them. We, on the contrary,
had no end to restrain ourselves; we could draw this air freely into our
lungs, and it was the breeze, the breeze alone, that filled us with this
keen enjoyment.
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"Ah!" said Conseil, "how delightful this oxygen is! Master need not
fear to breathe it. There is enough for everybody."
Ned Land did not speak, but he opened his jaws wide enough to frighten
a shark. Our strength soon returned, and, when I looked round me, I saw we
were alone on the platform. The foreign seamen in the Nautilus were
contented with the air that circulated in the interior; none of them had
come to drink in the open air.
The first words I spoke were words of gratitude and thankfulness to my
two companions. Ned and Conseil had prolonged my life during the last hours
of this long agony. All my gratitude could not repay such devotion.
"My friends," said I, "we are bound one to the other for ever, and I
am under infinite obligations to you."
"Which I shall take advantage of," exclaimed the Canadian.
"What do you mean?" said Conseil.
"I mean that I shall take you with me when I leave this infernal
Nautilus."
"Well," said Conseil, "after all this, are we going right?"
"Yes," I replied, "for we are going the way of the sun, and here the
sun is in the north."
"No doubt," said Ned Land; "but it remains to be seen whether he will
bring the ship into the Pacific or the Atlantic Ocean, that is, into
frequented or deserted seas."
I could not answer that question, and I feared that Captain Nemo would
rather take us to the vast ocean that touches the coasts of Asia and
America at the same time. He would thus complete the tour round the
submarine world, and return to those waters in which the Nautilus could
sail freely. We ought, before long, to settle this important point. The
Nautilus went at a rapid pace. The polar circle was soon passed, and the
course shaped for Cape Horn. We were off the American point, March 31st, at
seven o'clock in the evening. Then all our past sufferings were forgotten.
The remembrance of that imprisonment in the ice was effaced from our minds.
We only thought of the
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future. Captain Nemo did not appear again either in the drawing-room or on
the platform. The point shown each day on the planisphere, and, marked by
the lieutenant, showed me the exact direction of the Nautilus. Now, on that
evening, it was evident, to, my great satisfaction, that we were going back
to the North by the Atlantic. The next day, April 1st, when the Nautilus
ascended to the surface some minutes before noon, we sighted land to the
west. It was Terra del Fuego, which the first navigators named thus from
seeing the quantity of smoke that rose from the natives' huts. The coast
seemed low to me, but in the distance rose high mountains. I even thought I
had a glimpse of Mount Sarmiento, that rises 2,070 yards above the level of
the sea, with a very pointed summit, which, according as it is misty or
clear, is a sign of fine or of wet weather. At this moment the peak was
clearly defined against the sky. The Nautilus, diving again under the
water, approached the coast, which was only some few miles off. From the
glass windows in the drawing-room, I saw long seaweeds and gigantic fuci
and varech, of which the open polar sea contains so many specimens, with
their sharp polished filaments; they measured about 300 yards in length --
real cables, thicker than one's thumb; and, having great tenacity, they are
often used as ropes for vessels. Another weed known as velp, with leaves
four feet long, buried in the coral concretions, hung at the bottom. It
served as nest and food for myriads of crustacea and molluscs, crabs, and
cuttlefish. There seals and otters had splendid repasts, eating the flesh
of fish with sea-vegetables, according to the English fashion. Over this
fertile and luxuriant ground the Nautilus passed with great rapidity.
Towards evening it approached the Falkland group, the rough summits of
which I recognised the following day. The depth of the sea was moderate. On
the shores our nets brought in beautiful specimens of seaweed, and
particularly a certain fucus, the roots of which were filled with the best
mussels in the world. Geese and ducks fell by dozens on the platform, and
soon took their places in the pantry on board.
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When the last heights of the Falklands had disappeared from the
horizon, the Nautilus sank to between twenty and twenty-five yards, and
followed the American coast. Captain Nemo did not show himself. Until the
3rd of April we did not quit the shores of Patagonia, sometimes under the
ocean, sometimes at the surface. The Nautilus passed beyond the large
estuary formed by the Uraguay. Its direction was northwards, and followed
the long windings of the coast of South America. We had then made 1,600
miles since our embarkation in the seas of Japan. About eleven o'clock in
the morning the Tropic of Capricorn was crossed on the thirty-seventh
meridian, and we passed Cape Frio standing out to sea. Captain Nemo, to Ned
Land's great displeasure, did not like the neighbourhood of the inhabited
coasts of Brazil, for we went at a giddy speed. Not a fish, not a bird of
the swiftest kind could follow us, and the natural curiosities of these
seas escaped all observation.
This speed was kept up for several days, and in the evening of the 9th
of April we sighted the most westerly point of South America that forms
Cape San Roque. But then the Nautilus swerved again, and sought the lowest
depth of a submarine valley which is between this Cape and Sierra Leone on
the African coast. This valley bifurcates to the parallel of the Antilles,
and terminates at the mouth by the enormous depression of 9,000 yards. In
this place, the geological basin of the ocean forms, as far as the Lesser
Antilles, a cliff to three and a half miles perpendicular in height, and,
at the parallel of the Cape Verde Islands, another wall not less
considerable, that encloses thus all the sunk continent of the Atlantic.
The bottom of this immense valley is dotted with some mountains, that give
to these submarine places a picturesque aspect. I speak, moreover, from the
manuscript charts that were in the library of the Nautilus -- charts
evidently due to Captain Nemo's hand, and made after his personal
observations. For two days the desert and deep waters were visited by means
of the inclined planes. The Nautilus was furnished with long diagonal
broadsides which carried it to all elevations. But on the
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11th of April it rose suddenly, and land appeared at the mouth of the
Amazon River, a vast estuary, the embouchure of which is so considerable
that it freshens the sea-water for the distance of several leagues.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.18
THE POULPS
FOR several days the Nautilus kept off from the American coast.
Evidently it did not wish to risk the tides of the Gulf of Mexico or of the
sea of the Antilles. April 16th, we sighted Martinique and Guadaloupe from
a distance of about thirty miles. I saw their tall peaks for an instant.
The Canadian, who counted on carrying out his projects in the Gulf, by
either landing or hailing one of the numerous boats that coast from one
island to another, was quite disheartened. Flight would have been quite
practicable, if Ned Land had been able to take possession of the boat
without the Captain's knowledge. But in the open sea it could not be
thought of. The Canadian, Conseil, and I had a long conversation on this
subject. For six months we had been prisoners on board the Nautilus. We had
travelled 17,000 leagues; and, as Ned Land said, there was no reason why it
should come to an end. We could hope nothing from the Captain of the
Nautilus, but only from ourselves. Besides, for some time past he had
become graver, more retired, less sociable. He seemed to shun me. I met him
rarely. Formerly he was pleased to explain the submarine marvels to me; now
he left me to my studies, and came no more to the saloon. What change had
come over him? For what cause? For my part, I did not wish to bury with me
my curious and novel studies. I had now the power to write the true book of
the sea; and this book, sooner or later, I wished to see daylight. The land
nearest us was the archipelago of the Bahamas. There rose high submarine
cliffs covered with large weeds. It was about eleven o'clock when Ned Land
drew my attention to a formidable pricking,
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like the sting of an ant, which was produced by means of large seaweeds.
"Well," I said, "these are proper caverns for poulps, and I should not
be astonished to see some of these monsters."
"What!" said Conseil; "cuttlefish, real cuttlefish of the cephalopod
class?"
"No," I said, "poulps of huge dimensions."
"I will never believe that such animals exist," said Ned.
"Well," said Conseil, with the most serious air in the world, "I
remember perfectly to have seen a large vessel drawn under the waves by an
octopus's arm."
"You saw that?" said the Canadian.
"Yes, Ned."
"With your own eyes?"
"With my own eyes."
"Where, pray, might that be?"
"At St. Malo," answered Conseil.
"In the port?" said Ned, ironically.
"No; in a church," replied Conseil.
"In a church!" cried the Canadian.
"Yes; friend Ned. In a picture representing the poulp in question."
"Good!" said Ned Land, bursting out laughing.
"He is quite right," I said. "I have heard of this picture; but the
subject represented is taken from a legend, and you know what to think of
legends in the matter of natural history. Besides, when it is a question of
monsters, the imagination is apt to run wild. Not only is it supposed that
these poulps can draw down vessels, but a certain Olaus Magnus speaks of an
octopus a mile long that is more like an island than an animal. It is also
said that the Bishop of Nidros was building an altar on an immense rock.
Mass finished, the rock began to walk, and returned to the sea. The rock
was a poulp. Another Bishop, Pontoppidan, speaks also of a poulp on which a
regiment of cavalry could manoeuvre. Lastly, the ancient naturalists speak
of monsters whose mouths were like gulfs, and which were too large to pass
through the Straits of Gibraltar."
"But how much is true of these stories?" asked Conseil.
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"Nothing, my friends; at least of that which passes the limit of truth
to get to fable or legend. Nevertheless, there must be some ground for the
imagination of the story-tellers. One cannot deny that poulps and
cuttlefish exist of a large species, inferior, however, to the cetaceans.
Aristotle has stated the dimensions of a cuttlefish as five cubits, or nine
feet two inches. Our fishermen frequently see some that are more than four
feet long. Some skeletons of poulps are preserved in the museums of Trieste
and Montpelier, that measure two yards in length. Besides, according to the
calculations of some naturalists, one of these animals only six feet long
would have tentacles twenty-seven feet long. That would suffice to make a
formidable monster."
"Do they fish for them in these days?" asked Ned.
"If they do not fish for them, sailors see them at least. One of my
friends, Captain Paul Bos of Havre, has often affirmed that he met one of
these monsters of colossal dimensions in the Indian seas. But the most
astonishing fact, and which does not permit of the denial of the existence
of these gigantic animals, happened some years ago, in 1861."
"What is the fact?" asked Ned Land.
"This is it. In 1861, to the north-east of Teneriffe, very nearly in
the same latitude we are in now, the crew of the despatch-boat Alector
perceived a monstrous cuttlefish swimming in the waters. Captain Bouguer
went near to the animal, and attacked it with harpoon and guns, without
much success, for balls and harpoons glided over the soft flesh. After
several fruitless attempts the crew tried to pass a slip-knot round the
body of the mollusc. The noose slipped as far as the tail fins and there
stopped. They tried then to haul it on board, but its weight was so
considerable that the tightness of the cord separated the tail from the,
body, and, deprived of this ornament, he disappeared under the water."
"Indeed! is that a fact?"
"An indisputable fact, my good Ned. They proposed to name this poulp
'Bouguer's cuttlefish.'"
"What length was it?" asked the Canadian.
"Did it not measure about six yards?" said Conseil, who,
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posted at the window, was examining again the irregular windings of the
cliff.
"Precisely," I replied.
"Its head," rejoined Conseil, "was it not crowned with eight
tentacles, that beat the water like a nest of serpents?"
"Precisely."
"Had not its eyes, placed at the back of its head, considerable
development?"
"Yes, Conseil."
"And was not its mouth like a parrot's beak?"
"Exactly, Conseil."
"Very well! no offence to master," be replied, quietly; "if this is
not Bouguer's cuttlefish, it is, at least, one of its brothers."
I looked at Conseil. Ned Land hurried to the window.
"What a horrible beast!" he cried.
I looked in my turn, and could not repress a gesture of disgust.
Before my eyes was a horrible monster worthy to figure in the legends of
the marvellous. It was an immense cuttlefish, being eight yards long. It
swam crossways in the direction of the Nautilus with great speed, watching
us with its enormous staring green eyes. Its eight arms, or rather feet,
fixed to its head, that have given the name of cephalopod to these animals,
were twice as long as its body, and were twisted like the furies' hair. One
could see the 250 air- holes on the inner side of the tentacles. The
monster's mouth, a horned beak like a parrot's, opened and shut vertically.
Its tongue, a horned substance, furnished with several rows of pointed
teeth, came out quivering from this veritable pair of shears. What a freak
of nature, a bird's beak on a mollusc! Its spindle-like body formed a
fleshy mass that might weigh 4,000 to 5,000 lb.; the, varying colour
changing with great rapidity, according to the irritation of the animal,
passed successively from livid grey to reddish brown. What irritated this
mollusc? No doubt the presence of the Nautilus, more formidable than
itself, and on which its suckers or its jaws had no hold. Yet, what
monsters these poulps are! what vitality the Creator has given them! what
vigour in their movements! and they possess three hearts! Chance
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had brought us in presence of this cuttlefish, and I did not wish to lose
the opportunity of carefully studying this specimen of cephalopods. I
overcame the horror that inspired me, and, taking a pencil, began to draw
it.
"Perhaps this is the same which the Alector saw," said Conseil.
"No," replied the Canadian; "for this is whole, and the other had lost
its tail."
"That is no reason," I replied. "The arms and tails of these animals
are re-formed by renewal; and in seven years the tail of Bouguer's
cuttlefish has no doubt had time to grow."
By this time other poulps appeared at the port light. I counted seven.
They formed a procession after the Nautilus, and I heard their beaks
gnashing against the iron hull. I continued my work. These monsters kept in
the water with such precision that they seemed immovable. Suddenly the
Nautilus stopped. A shock made it tremble in every plate.
"Have we struck anything?" I asked.
"In any case," replied the Canadian, "we shall be free, for we are
floating."
The Nautilus was floating, no doubt, but it did not move. A minute
passed. Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant, entered the drawing-room.
I had not seen him for some time. He seemed dull. Without noticing or
speaking to us, he went to the panel, looked at the poulps, and said
something to his lieutenant. The latter went out. Soon the panels were
shut. The ceiling was lighted. I went towards the Captain.
"A curious collection of poulps?" I said.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Naturalist," he replied; "and we are going to fight
them, man to beast."
I looked at him. I thought I had not heard aright.
"Man to beast?" I repeated.
"Yes, sir. The screw is stopped. I think that the horny jaws of one of
the cuttlefish is entangled in the blades. That is what prevents our
moving."
"What are you going to do?"
"Rise to the surface, and slaughter this vermin."
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"A difficult enterprise."
"Yes, indeed. The electric bullets are powerless against the soft
flesh, where they do not find resistance enough to go off. But we shall
attack them with the hatchet."
"And the harpoon, sir," said the Canadian, "if you do not refuse my
help."
"I will accept it, Master Land."
"We will follow you," I said, and, following Captain Nemo, we went
towards the central staircase.
There, about ten men with boarding-hatchets were ready for the attack.
Conseil and I took two hatchets; Ned Land seized a harpoon. The Nautilus
had then risen to the surface. One of the sailors, posted on the top
ladderstep, unscrewed the bolts of the panels. But hardly were the screws
loosed, when the panel rose with great violence, evidently drawn by the
suckers of a poulp's arm. Immediately one of these arms slid like a serpent
down the opening and twenty others were above. With one blow of the axe,
Captain Nemo cut this formidable tentacle, that slid wriggling down the
ladder. Just as we were pressing one on the other to reach the platform,
two other arms, lashing the air, came down on the seaman placed before
Captain Nemo, and lifted him up with irresistible power. Captain Nemo
uttered a cry, and rushed out. We hurried after him.
What a scene! The unhappy man, seized by the tentacle and fixed to the
suckers, was balanced in the air at the caprice of this enormous trunk. He
rattled in his throat, he was stifled, he cried, "Help! help!" These words,
spoken in French, startled me! I had a fellow-countryman on board, perhaps
several! That heart-rending cry! I shall hear it all my life. The
unfortunate man was lost. Who could rescue him from that powerful pressure?
However, Captain Nemo had rushed to the poulp, and with one blow of the axe
had cut through one arm. His lieutenant struggled furiously against other
monsters that crept on the flanks of the Nautilus. The crew fought with
their axes. The Canadian, Conseil, and I buried our weapons in the fleshy
masses; a strong smell of musk penetrated the atmosphere. It was horrible!
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For one instant, I thought the unhappy man, entangled with the poulp,
would be torn from its powerful suction. Seven of the eight arms had been
cut off. One only wriggled in the air, brandishing the victim like a
feather. But just as Captain Nemo and his lieutenant threw themselves on
it, the animal ejected a stream of black liquid. We were blinded with it.
When the cloud dispersed, the cuttlefish had disappeared, and my
unfortunate countryman with it. Ten or twelve poulps now invaded the
platform and sides of the Nautilus. We rolled pell-mell into the midst of
this nest of serpents, that wriggled on the platform in the waves of blood
and ink. It seemed as though these slimy tentacles sprang up like the
hydra's heads. Ned Land's harpoon, at each stroke, was plunged into the
staring eyes of the cuttlefish. But my bold companion was suddenly
overturned by the tentacles of a monster he had not been able to avoid.
Ah! how my heart beat with emotion and horror! The formidable beak of
a cuttlefish was open over Ned Land. The unhappy man would be cut in two. I
rushed to his succour. But Captain Nemo was before me; his axe disappeared
between the two enormous jaws, and, miraculously saved, the Canadian,
rising, plunged his harpoon deep into the triple heart of the poulp.
"I owed myself this revenge!" said the Captain to the Canadian.
Ned bowed without replying. The combat had lasted a quarter of an
hour. The monsters, vanquished and mutilated, left us at last, and
disappeared under the waves. Captain Nemo, covered with blood, nearly
exhausted, gazed upon the sea that had swallowed up one of his companions,
and great tears gathered in his eyes.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.19
THE GULF STREAM
THIS terrible scene of the 20th of April none of us can ever forget. I
have written it under the influence of violent
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emotion. Since then I have revised the recital; I have read it to Conseil
and to the Canadian. They found it exact as to facts, but insufficient as
to effect. To paint such pictures, one must have the pen of the most
illustrious of our poets, the author of The Toilers of the Deep.
I have said that Captain Nemo wept while watching the waves; his grief
was great. It was the second companion he had lost since our arrival on
board, and what a death! That friend, crushed, stifled, bruised by the
dreadful arms of a poulp, pounded by his iron jaws, would not rest with his
comrades in the peaceful coral cemetery! In the midst of the struggle, it
was the despairing cry uttered by the unfortunate man that had torn my
heart. The poor Frenchman, forgetting his conventional language, had taken
to his own mother tongue, to utter a last appeal! Amongst the crew of the
Nautilus, associated with the body and soul of the Captain, recoiling like
him from all contact with men, I had a fellow-countryman. Did be alone
represent France in this mysterious association, evidently composed of
individuals of divers nationalities? It was one of these insoluble problems
that rose up unceasingly before my mind!
Captain Nemo entered his room, and I saw him no more for some time.
But that he was sad and irresolute I could see by the vessel, of which he
was the soul, and which received all his impressions. The Nautilus did not
keep on in its settled course; it floated about like a corpse at the will
of the waves. It went at random. He could not tear himself away from the
scene of the last struggle, from this sea that had devoured one of his men.
Ten days passed thus. It was not till the 1st of May that the Nautilus
resumed its northerly course, after having sighted the Bahamas at the mouth
of the Bahama Canal. We were then following the current from the largest
river to the sea, that has its banks, its fish, and its proper
temperatures. I mean the Gulf Stream. It is really a river, that flows
freely to the middle of the Atlantic, and whose waters do not mix with the
ocean waters. It is a salt river, salter than the surrounding sea. Its mean
depth is 1,500 fathoms, its mean breadth ten miles. In certain places the
current flows with the speed of two miles and a
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half an hour. The body of its waters is more considerable than that of all
the rivers in the globe. It was on this ocean river that the Nautilus then
sailed.
I must add that, during the night, the phosphorescent waters of the
Gulf Stream rivalled the electric power of our watch-light, especially in
the stormy weather that threatened us so frequently. May 8th, we were still
crossing Cape Hatteras, at the height of the North Caroline. The width of
the Gulf Stream there is seventy-five miles, and its depth 210 yards. The
Nautilus still went at random; all supervision seemed abandoned. I thought
that, under these circumstances, escape would be possible. Indeed, the
inhabited shores offered anywhere an easy refuge. The sea was incessantly
ploughed by the steamers that ply between New York or Boston and the Gulf
of Mexico, and overrun day and night by the little schooners coasting about
the several parts of the American coast. We could hope to be picked up. It
was a favourable opportunity, notwithstanding the thirty miles that
separated the Nautilus from the coasts of the Union. One unfortunate
circumstance thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was very bad. We
were nearing those shores where tempests are so frequent, that country of
waterspouts and cyclones actually engendered by the current of the Gulf
Stream. To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned Land
owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight only
could cure.
"Master," he said that day to me, "this must come to an end. I must
make a clean breast of it. This Nemo is leaving land and going up to the
north. But I declare to you that I have had enough of the South Pole, and I
will not follow him to the North."
"What is to be done, Ned, since flight is impracticable just now?"
"We must speak to the Captain," said he; "you said nothing when we
were in your native seas. I will speak, now we are in mine. When I think
that before long the Nautilus will be by Nova Scotia, and that there near
Newfoundland is a large bay, and into that bay the St. Lawrence
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empties itself, and that the St. Lawrence is my river, the river by Quebec,
my native town -- when I think of this, I feel furious, it makes my hair
stand on end. Sir, I would rather throw myself into the sea! I will not
stay here! I am stifled!"
The Canadian was evidently losing all patience. His vigorous nature
could not stand this prolonged imprisonment. His face altered daily; his
temper became more surly. I knew what he must suffer, for I was seized with
home- sickness myself. Nearly seven months had passed without our having
had any news from land; Captain Nemo's isolation, his altered spirits,
especially since the fight with the poulps, his taciturnity, all made me
view things in a different light.
"Well, sir?" said Ned, seeing I did not reply.
"Well, Ned, do you wish me to ask Captain Nemo his intentions
concerning us?"
"Yes, sir."
"Although he has already made them known?"
"Yes; I wish it settled finally. Speak for me, in my name only, if you
like."
"But I so seldom meet him. He avoids me."
"That is all the more reason for you to go to see him."
I went to my room. From thence I meant to go to Captain Nemo's. It
would not do to let this opportunity of meeting him slip. I knocked at the
door. No answer. I knocked again, then turned the handle. The door opened,
I went in. The Captain was there. Bending over his work-table, he had not
heard me. Resolved not to go without having spoken, I approached him. He
raised his head quickly, frowned, and said roughly, "You here! What do you
want?"
"To speak to you, Captain."
"But I am busy, sir; I am working. I leave you at liberty to shut
yourself up; cannot I be allowed the same?"
This reception was not encouraging; but I was determined to hear and
answer everything.
"Sir," I said coldly, "I have to speak to you on a matter that admits
of no delay."
"What is that, sir?" he replied, ironically. "Have you discovered
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something that has escaped me, or has the sea delivered up any new
secrets?"
We were at cross-purposes. But, before I could reply, he showed me an
open manuscript on his table, and said, in a more serious tone, "Here, M.
Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains the sum
of my studies of the sea; and, if it please God, it shall not perish with
me. This manuscript, signed with my name, complete with the history of my
life, will be shut up in a little floating case. The last survivor of all
of us on board the Nautilus will throw this case into the sea, and it will
go whither it is borne by the waves."
This man's name! his history written by himself! His mystery would
then be revealed some day.
"Captain," I said, "I can but approve of the idea that makes you act
thus. The result of your studies must not be lost. But the means you employ
seem to me to be primitive. Who knows where the winds will carry this case,
and in whose hands it will fall? Could you not use some other means? Could
not you, or one of yours -- "
"Never, sir!" he said, hastily interrupting me.
"But I and my companions are ready to keep this manuscript in store;
and, if you will put us at liberty -- "
"At liberty?" said the Captain, rising.
"Yes, sir; that is the subject on which I wish to question you. For
seven months we have been here on board, and I ask you to-day, in the name
of my companions and in my own, if your intention is to keep us here
always?"
"M. Aronnax, I will answer you to-day as I did seven months ago:
Whoever enters the Nautilus, must never quit it."
"You impose actual slavery upon us!"
"Give it what name you please."
"But everywhere the slave has the right to regain his liberty."
"Who denies you this right? Have I ever tried to chain you with an
oath?"
He looked at me with his arms crossed.
"Sir," I said, "to return a second time to this subject
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will be neither to your nor to my taste; but, as we have entered upon it,
let us go through with it. I repeat, it is not only myself whom it
concerns. Study is to me a relief, a diversion, a passion that could make
me forget everything. Like you, I am willing to live obscure, in the frail
hope of bequeathing one day, to future time, the result of my labours. But
it is otherwise with Ned Land. Every man, worthy of the name, deserves some
consideration. Have you thought that love of liberty, hatred of slavery,
can give rise to schemes of revenge in a nature like the Canadian's; that
he could think, attempt, and try -- "
I was silenced; Captain Nemo rose.
"Whatever Ned Land thinks of, attempts, or tries, what does it matter
to me? I did not seek him! It is not for my pleasure that I keep him on
board! As for you, M. Aronnax, you are one of those who can understand
everything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this first
time you have come to treat of this subject be the last, for a second time
I will not listen to you."
I retired. Our situation was critical. I related my conversation to my
two companions.
"We know now," said Ned, "that we can expect nothing from this man.
The Nautilus is nearing Long Island. We will escape, whatever the weather
may be."
But the sky became more and more threatening. Symptoms of a hurricane
became manifest. The atmosphere was becoming white and misty. On the
horizon fine streaks of cirrhous clouds were succeeded by masses of cumuli.
Other low clouds passed swiftly by. The swollen sea rose in huge billows.
The birds disappeared with the exception of the petrels, those friends of
the storm. The barometer fell sensibly, and indicated an extreme extension
of the vapours. The mixture of the storm glass was decomposed under the
influence of the electricity that pervaded the atmosphere. The tempest
burst on the 18th of May, just as the Nautilus was floating off Long
Island, some miles from the port of New York. I can describe this strife of
the elements! for, instead of fleeing to the depths of the sea, Captain
Nemo, by an unaccountable caprice, would brave it at the surface.
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The wind blew from the south-west at first. Captain Nemo, during the
squalls, had taken his place on the platform. He had made himself fast, to
prevent being washed overboard by the monstrous waves. I had hoisted myself
up, and made myself fast also, dividing my admiration between the tempest
and this extraordinary man who was coping with it. The raging sea was swept
by huge cloud-drifts, which were actually saturated with the waves. The
Nautilus, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing up like a mast,
rolled and pitched terribly. About five o'clock a torrent of rain fell,
that lulled neither sea nor wind. The hurricane blew nearly forty leagues
an hour. It is under these conditions that it overturns houses, breaks iron
gates, displaces twenty-four pounders. However, the Nautilus, in the midst
of the tempest, confirmed the words of a clever engineer, "There is no
well-constructed hull that cannot defy the sea." This was not a resisting
rock; it was a steel spindle, obedient and movable, without rigging or
masts, that braved its fury with impunity. However, I watched these raging
waves attentively. They measured fifteen feet in height, and 150 to 175
yards long, and their speed of propagation was thirty feet per second.
Their bulk and power increased with the depth of the water. Such waves as
these, at the Hebrides, have displaced a mass weighing 8,400 lb. They are
they which, in the tempest of December 23rd, 1864, after destroying the
town of Yeddo, in Japan, broke the same day on the shores of America. The
intensity of the tempest increased with the night. The barometer, as in
1860 at Reunion during a cyclone, fell seven-tenths at the close of day. I
saw a large vessel pass the horizon struggling painfully. She was trying to
lie to under half steam, to keep up above the waves. It was probably one of
the steamers of the line from New York to Liverpool, or Havre. It soon
disappeared in the gloom. At ten o'clock in the evening the sky was on
fire. The atmosphere was streaked with vivid lightning. I could not bear
the brightness of it; while the captain, looking at it, seemed to envy the
spirit of the tempest. A terrible noise filled the air, a complex noise,
made up of the howls of the crushed waves,
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the roaring of the wind, and the claps of thunder. The wind veered suddenly
to all points of the horizon; and the cyclone, rising in the east, returned
after passing by the north, west, and south, in the inverse course pursued
by the circular storm of the southern hemisphere. Ah, that Gulf Stream! It
deserves its name of the King of Tempests. It is that which causes those
formidable cyclones, by the difference of temperature between its air and
its currents. A shower of fire had succeeded the rain. The drops of water
were changed to sharp spikes. One would have thought that Captain Nemo was
courting a death worthy of himself, a death by lightning. As the Nautilus,
pitching dreadfully, raised its steel spur in the air, it seemed to act as
a conductor, and I saw long sparks burst from it. Crushed and without
strength I crawled to the panel, opened it, and descended to the saloon.
The storm was then at its height. It was impossible to stand upright in the
interior of the Nautilus. Captain Nemo came down about twelve. I heard the
reservoirs filling by degrees, and the Nautilus sank slowly beneath the
waves. Through the open windows in the saloon I saw large fish terrified,
passing like phantoms in the water. Some were struck before my eyes. The
Nautilus was still descending. I thought that at about eight fathoms deep
we should find a calm. But no! the upper beds were too violently agitated
for that. We had to seek repose at more than twenty-five fathoms in the
bowels of the deep. But there, what quiet, what silence, what peace! Who
could have told that such a hurricane had been let loose on the surface of
that ocean?
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.20
FROM LATITUDE 47° 24' TO LONGITUDE 170° 28'
IN CONSEQUENCE of the storm, we had been thrown eastward once more.
All hope of escape on the shores of New York or St. Lawrence had faded
away; and poor Ned, in despair, had isolated himself like Captain Nemo.
Conseil
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and I, however, never left each other. I said that the Nautilus had gone
aside to the east. I should have said (to be more exact) the north-east.
For some days, it wandered first on the surface, and then beneath it, amid
those fogs so dreaded by sailors. What accidents are due to these thick
fogs! What shocks upon these reefs when the wind drowns the breaking of the
waves! What collisions between vessels, in spite of their warning lights,
whistles, and alarm bells! And the bottoms of these seas look like a field
of battle, where still lie all the conquered of the ocean; some old and
already encrusted, others fresh and reflecting from their iron bands and
copper plates the brilliancy of our lantern.
On the 15th of May we were at the extreme south of the Bank of
Newfoundland. This bank consists of alluvia, or large heaps of organic
matter, brought either from the Equator by the Gulf Stream, or from the
North Pole by the counter-current of cold water which skirts the American
coast. There also are heaped up those erratic blocks which are carried
along by the broken ice; and close by, a vast charnel-house of molluscs,
which perish here by millions. The depth of the sea is not great at
Newfoundland -- not more than some hundreds of fathoms; but towards the
south is a depression of 1,500 fathoms. There the Gulf Stream widens. It
loses some of its speed and some of its temperature, but it becomes a sea.
It was on the 17th of May, about 500 miles from Heart's Content, at a
depth of more than 1,400 fathoms, that I saw the electric cable lying on
the bottom. Conseil, to whom I had not mentioned it, thought at first that
it was a gigantic sea-serpent. But I undeceived the worthy fellow, and by
way of consolation related several particulars in the laying of this cable.
The first one was laid in the years 1857 and 1858; but, after transmitting
about 400 telegrams, would not act any longer. In 1863 the engineers
constructed another one, measuring 2,000 miles in length, and weighing
4,500 tons, which was embarked on the Great Eastern. This attempt also
failed.
On the 25th of May the Nautilus, being at a depth of
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more than 1,918 fathoms, was on the precise spot where the rupture occurred
which ruined the enterprise. It was within 638 miles of the coast of
Ireland; and at half-past two in the afternoon they discovered that
communication with Europe had ceased. The electricians on board resolved to
cut the cable before fishing it up, and at eleven o'clock at night they had
recovered the damaged part. They made another point and spliced it, and it
was once more submerged. But some days after it broke again, and in the
depths of the ocean could not be recaptured. The Americans, however, were
not discouraged. Cyrus Field, the bold promoter of the enterprise, as he
had 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
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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
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than ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his proximity 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,
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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-Vertrieux, 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 47° 24', longitude 17° 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 2.21
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,
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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 2.22
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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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!
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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.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.23
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
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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
THE year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious
ReplyDeleteand puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to
mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the
public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were
particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels,
skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries, and
the Governments of several States on the two continents, were deeply
interested in the matter.
For some time past vessels had been met by "an enormous thing," a long
object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely larger
and more rapid in its movements than a whale.
The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books)
agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in
question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power of
locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If it was a
whale, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in science.
Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at divers times --
rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to this object a length
of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated opinions which set it
down as a mile in width and three in length -- we might fairly conclude
that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all dimensions admitted by the
learned ones of the day, if it existed at all. And that it did exist was an
undeniable fact; and, with that tendency which disposes the human mind in
favour of the
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Page 8
marvellous, we can understand the excitement produced in the entire world
by this supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the list of fables,
the idea was out of the question.
On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the
Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass
five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at first
that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even prepared to
determine its exact position when two columns of water, projected by the
mysterious object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred and fifty feet up
into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had been submitted to the
intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor Higginson had to do neither
more nor less than with an aquatic mammal, unknown till then, which threw
up from its blow-boles columns of water mixed with air and vapour.
Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in
the Pacific Ocean, by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam
Navigation Company. But this extraordinary creature could transport itself
from one place to another with surprising velocity; as, in an interval of
three days, the Governor Higginson and the Columbus had observed it at two
different points of the chart, separated by a distance of more than seven
hundred nautical leagues.
Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the Helvetia, of
the Compagnie-Nationale, and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship
Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying between
the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the monster to each
other in 42° 15' N. lat. and 60° 35' W. long. In these simultaneous
observations they thought themselves justified in estimating the minimum
length of the mammal at more than three hundred and fifty feet, as the
Shannon and Helvetia were of smaller dimensions than it, though they
measured three hundred feet over all.
Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea
round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich
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Page 9
islands, have never exceeded the length of sixty yards, if they attain
that.
In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion. They sang
of it in the cafes, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on the
stage. All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it. There appeared in
the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary creature, from the
white whale, the terrible "Moby Dick" of sub-arctic regions, to the immense
kraken, whose tentacles could entangle a ship of five hundred tons and
hurry it into the abyss of the ocean. The legends of ancient times were
even revived.
Then burst forth the unending argument between the believers and the
unbelievers in the societies of the wise and the scientific journals. "The
question of the monster" inflamed all minds. Editors of scientific
journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural, spilled seas of
ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing blood; for from the
sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.
During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried,
never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public. It was then
no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger seriously to
be avoided. The question took quite another shape. The monster became a
small island, a rock, a reef, but a reef of indefinite and shifting
proportions.
On the 5th of March, 1867, the Moravian, of the Montreal Ocean
Company, finding herself during the night in 27° 30' lat. and 72° 15'
long., struck on her starboard quarter a rock, marked in no chart for that
part of the sea. Under the combined efforts of the wind and its four
hundred horse- power, it was going at the rate of thirteen knots. Had it
not been for the superior strength of the hull of the Moravian, she would
have been broken by the shock and gone down with the 237 passengers she was
bringing home from Canada.
The accident happened about five o'clock in the morning, as the day
was breaking. The officers of the quarter-deck hurried to the after-part of
the vessel. They examined the sea with the most careful attention. They saw
nothing but a strong eddy about three cables' length distant, as if the
surface
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Page 10
had been violently agitated. The bearings of the place were taken exactly,
and the Moravian continued its route without apparent damage. Had it struck
on a submerged rock, or on an enormous wreck? They could not tell; but, on
examination of the ship's bottom when undergoing repairs, it was found that
part of her keel was broken.
This fact, so grave in itself, might perhaps have been forgotten like
many others if, three weeks after, it had not been re-enacted under similar
circumstances. But, thanks to the nationality of the victim of the shock,
thanks to the reputation of the company to which the vessel belonged, the
circumstance became extensively circulated.
The 13th of April, 1867, the sea being beautiful, the breeze
favourable, the Scotia, of the Cunard Company's line, found herself in 15°
12' long. and 45° 37' lat. She was going at the speed of thirteen knots and
a half.
At seventeen minutes past four in the afternoon, whilst the passengers
were assembled at lunch in the great saloon, a slight shock was felt on the
hull of the Scotia, on her quarter, a little aft of the port-paddle.
The Scotia had not struck, but she had been struck, and seemingly by
something rather sharp and penetrating than blunt. The shock had been so
slight that no one had been alarmed, had it not been for the shouts of the
carpenter's watch, who rushed on to the bridge, exclaiming, "We are
sinking! we are sinking!" At first the passengers were much frightened, but
Captain Anderson hastened to reassure them. The danger could not be
imminent. The Scotia, divided into seven compartments by strong partitions,
could brave with impunity any leak. Captain Anderson went down immediately
into the hold. He found that the sea was pouring into the fifth
compartment; and the rapidity of the influx proved that the force of the
water was considerable. Fortunately this compartment did not hold the
boilers, or the fires would have been immediately extinguished. Captain
Anderson ordered the engines to be stopped at once, and one of the men went
down to ascertain the extent of the injury. Some minutes afterwards they
discovered the existence of a large hole, two yards in diameter, in the
ship's bottom. Such a
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Page 11
leak could not be stopped; and the Scotia, her paddles half submerged, was
obliged to continue her course. She was then three hundred miles from Cape
Clear, and, after three days' delay, which caused great uneasiness in
Liverpool, she entered the basin of the company.
The engineers visited the Scotia, which was put in dry dock. They
could scarcely believe it possible; at two yards and a half below
water-mark was a regular rent, in the form of an isosceles triangle. The
broken place in the iron plates was so perfectly defined that it could not
have been more neatly done by a punch. It was clear, then, that the
instrument producing the perforation was not of a common stamp and, after
having been driven with prodigious strength, and piercing an iron plate 1
3/8 inches thick, had withdrawn itself by a backward motion.
Such was the last fact, which resulted in exciting once more the
torrent of public opinion. From this moment all unlucky casualties which
could not be otherwise accounted for were put down to the monster.
Upon this imaginary creature rested the responsibility of all these
shipwrecks, which unfortunately were considerable; for of three thousand
ships whose loss was annually recorded at Lloyd's, the number of sailing
and steam-ships supposed to be totally lost, from the absence of all news,
amounted to not less than two hundred!
Now, it was the "monster" who, justly or unjustly, was accused of
their disappearance, and, thanks to it, communication between the different
continents became more and more dangerous. The public demanded sharply that
the seas should at any price be relieved from this formidable cetacean. 1.
1. Member of the whale family.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.2
PRO AND CON
AT THE period when these events took place, I had just returned from a
scientific research in the disagreeable territory
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Page 12
of Nebraska, in the United States. In virtue of my office as Assistant
Professor in the Museum of Natural History in Paris, the French Government
had attached me to that expedition. After six months in Nebraska, I arrived
in New York towards the end of March, laden with a precious collection. My
departure for France was fixed for the first days in May. Meanwhile I was
occupying myself in classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and zoological
riches, when the accident happened to the Scotia.
I was perfectly up in the subject which was the question of the day.
How could I be otherwise? I had read and reread all the American and
European papers without being any nearer a conclusion. This mystery puzzled
me. Under the impossibility of forming an opinion, I jumped from one
extreme to the other. That there really was something could not be doubted,
and the incredulous were invited to put their finger on the wound of the
Scotia.
On my arrival at New York the question was at its height. The theory
of the floating island, and the unapproachable sandbank, supported by minds
little competent to form a judgment, was abandoned. And, indeed, unless
this shoal had a machine in its stomach, how could it change its position
with such astonishing rapidity?
From the same cause, the idea of a floating hull of an enormous wreck
was given up.
There remained, then, only two possible solutions of the question,
which created two distinct parties: on one side, those who were for a
monster of colossal strength; on the other, those who were for a submarine
vessel of enormous motive power.
But this last theory, plausible as it was, could not stand against
inquiries made in both worlds. That a private gentleman should have such a
machine at his command was not likely. Where, when, and how was it built?
and how could its construction have been kept secret? Certainly a
Government might possess such a destructive machine. And in these
disastrous times, when the ingenuity of man has multiplied the power of
weapons of war, it was possible that, without the
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Page 13
knowledge of others, a State might try to work such a formidable engine.
But the idea of a war machine fell before the declaration of
Governments. As public interest was in question, and transatlantic
communications suffered, their veracity could not be doubted. But how admit
that the construction of this submarine boat had escaped the public eye?
For a private gentleman to keep the secret under such circumstances would
be very difficult, and for a State whose every act is persistently watched
by powerful rivals, certainly impossible.
Upon my arrival in New York several persons did me the honour of
consulting me on the phenomenon in question. I had published in France a
work in quarto, in two volumes, entitled Mysteries of the Great Submarine
Grounds. This book, highly approved of in the learned world, gained for me
a special reputation in this rather obscure branch of Natural History. My
advice was asked. As long as I could deny the reality of the fact, I
confined myself to a decided negative. But soon, finding myself driven into
a corner, I was obliged to explain myself point by point. I discussed the
question in all its forms, politically and scientifically; and I give here
an extract from a carefully-studied article which I published in the number
of the 30th of April. It ran as follows:
"After examining one by one the different theories, rejecting all
other suggestions, it becomes necessary to admit the existence of a marine
animal of enormous power.
"The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us. Soundings
cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths -- what beings live,
or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the waters --
what is the organisation of these animals, we can scarcely conjecture.
However, the solution of the problem submitted to me may modify the form of
the dilemma. Either we do know all the varieties of beings which people our
planet, or we do not. If we do not know them all -- if Nature has still
secrets in the deeps for us, nothing is more conformable to reason than to
admit the existence of fishes, or cetaceans of other kinds,
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or even of new species, of an organisation formed to inhabit the strata
inaccessible to soundings, and which an accident of some sort has brought
at long intervals to the upper level of the ocean.
"If, on the contrary, we do know all living kinds, we must necessarily
seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings already
classed; and, in that case, I should be disposed to admit the existence of
a gigantic narwhal.
"The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, often attains a length of
sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength
proportionate to its size, lengthen its destructive weapons, and you obtain
the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by the
officers of the Shannon, the instrument required by the perforation of the
Scotia, and the power necessary to pierce the hull of the steamer.
"Indeed, the narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd,
according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk has
the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried in the
bodies of whales, which the unicorn always attacks with success. Others
have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of ships, which
they bad pierced through and through, as a gimlet pierces a barrel. The
Museum of the Faculty of Medicine of Paris possesses one of these defensive
weapons, two yards and a quarter in length, and fifteen inches in diameter
at the base.
"Very well! suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the
animal ten times more powerful; launch it at the rate of twenty miles an
hour, and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required.
Until further information, therefore, I shall maintain it to be a
sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with a
real spur, as the armoured frigates, or the 'rams' of war, whose
massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time. Thus may
this puzzling phenomenon be explained, unless there be something over and
above all that one has ever conjectured, seen, perceived, or experienced;
which is just within the bounds of possibility."
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Page 15
These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point,
I wished to shelter my dignity as professor, and not give too much cause
for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well when they do laugh. I
reserved for myself a way of escape. In effect, however, I admitted the
existence of the "monster." My article was warmly discussed, which procured
it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of partisans.
The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the imagination.
The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings. And
the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the only medium through which
these giants (against which terrestrial animals, such as elephants or
rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be produced or developed.
The industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from
this point of view. The Shipping and Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd's List,
the Packet-Boat, and the Maritime and Colonial Review, all papers devoted
to insurance companies which threatened to raise their rates of premium,
were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been pronounced. The
United States were the first in the field; and in New York they made
preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this narwhal. A frigate
of great speed, the Abraham Lincoln, was put in commission as soon as
possible. The arsenals were opened to Commander Farragut, who hastened the
arming of his frigate; but, as it always happens, the moment it was decided
to pursue the monster, the monster did not appear. For two months no one
heard it spoken of. No ship met with it. It seemed as if this unicorn knew
of the plots weaving around it. It had been so much talked of, even through
the Atlantic cable, that jesters pretended that this slender fly had
stopped a telegram on its passage and was making the most of it.
So when the frigate had been armed for a long campaign, and provided
with formidable fishing apparatus, no one could tell what course to pursue.
Impatience grew apace, when, on the 2nd of July, they learned that a
steamer of the line of San Francisco, from California to Shanghai, had
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seen the animal three weeks before in the North Pacific Ocean. The
excitement caused by this news was extreme. The ship was revictualled and
well stocked with coal.
Three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left Brooklyn pier, I received
a letter worded as follows: To M. ARONNAX,
Professor in the Museum of Paris,
Fifth Avenue Hotel,
New York.
SIR, -- If you will consent to join the Abraham Lincoln in this
expedition, the Government of the United States will with pleasure see
France represented in the enterprise. Commander Farragut has a cabin at
your disposal. Very cordially yours,
J.B. HOBSON,
Secretary of Marine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.3
I FORM MY RESOLUTION
THREE seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson's letter I no more
thought of pursuing the unicorn than of attempting the passage of the North
Sea. Three seconds after reading the letter of the honourable Secretary of
Marine, I felt that my true vocation, the sole end of my life, was to chase
this disturbing monster and purge it from the world.
But I had just returned from a fatiguing journey, weary and longing
for repose. I aspired to nothing more than again seeing my country, my
friends, my little lodging by the Jardin des Plantes, my dear and precious
collections -- but nothing could keep me back! I forgot all -- fatigue,
friends and collections -- and accepted without hesitation the offer of the
American Government.
"Besides," thought I, "all roads lead back to Europe; and the unicorn
may be amiable enough to hurry me towards the coast of France. This worthy
animal may allow
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itself to be caught in the seas of Europe (for my particular benefit), and
I will not bring back less than half a yard of his ivory halberd to the
Museum of Natural History." But in the meanwhile I must seek this narwhal
in the North Pacific Ocean, which, to return to France, was taking the road
to the antipodes.
"Conseil," I called in an impatient voice.
Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had
accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the liking
well. He was quiet by nature, regular from principle, zealous from habit,
evincing little disturbance at the different surprises of life, very quick
with his hands, and apt at any service required of him; and, despite his
name, never giving advice -- even when asked for it.
Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led.
Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never
make an objection to pack his portmanteau for whatever country it might be,
or however far away, whether China or Congo. Besides all this, he had good
health, which defied all sickness, and solid muscles, but no nerves; good
morals are understood. This boy was thirty years old, and his age to that
of his master as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused for saying that I was
forty years old?
But Conseil had one fault: he was ceremonious to a degree, and would
never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes provoking.
"Conseil," said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make
preparations for my departure.
Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him
if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but this
time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the enterprise
might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of sinking a frigate as
easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for reflection even to the most
impassive man in the world. What would Conseil say?
"Conseil," I called a third time.
Conseil appeared.
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Page 18
"Did you call, sir?" said he, entering.
"Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in
two hours."
"As you please, sir," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Not an instant to lose; lock in my trunk all travelling utensils,
coats, shirts, and stockings -- without counting, as many as you can, and
make haste."
"And your collections, sir?" observed Conseil.
"They will keep them at the hotel."
"We are not returning to Paris, then?" said Conseil.
"Oh! certainly," I answered, evasively, "by making a curve."
"Will the curve please you, sir?"
"Oh! it will be nothing; not quite so direct a road, that is all. We
take our passage in the Abraham, Lincoln."
"As you think proper, sir," coolly replied Conseil.
"You see, my friend, it has to do with the monster -- the famous
narwhal. We are going to purge it from the seas. A glorious mission, but a
dangerous one! We cannot tell where we may go; these animals can be very
capricious. But we will go whether or no; we have got a captain who is
pretty wide-awake."
Our luggage was transported to the deck of the frigate immediately. I
hastened on board and asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors
conducted me to the poop, where I found myself in the presence of a
good-looking officer, who held out his hand to me.
"Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?" said he.
"Himself," replied I. "Commander Farragut?"
"You are welcome, Professor; your cabin is ready for you."
I bowed, and desired to be conducted to the cabin destined for me.
The Abraham Lincoln had been well chosen and equipped for her new
destination. She was a frigate of great speed, fitted with high-pressure
engines which admitted a pressure of seven atmospheres. Under this the
Abraham Lincoln attained the mean speed of nearly eighteen knots and a
third
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an hour -- a considerable speed, but, nevertheless, insufficient to grapple
with this gigantic cetacean.
The interior arrangements of the frigate corresponded to its nautical
qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was in the after part,
opening upon the gunroom.
"We shall be well off here," said I to Conseil.
"As well, by your honour's leave, as a hermit-crab in the shell of a
whelk," said Conseil.
I left Conseil to stow our trunks conveniently away, and remounted the
poop in order to survey the preparations for departure.
At that moment Commander Farragut was ordering the last moorings to be
cast loose which held the Abraham Lincoln to the pier of Brooklyn. So in a
quarter of an hour, perhaps less, the frigate would have sailed without me.
I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and incredible
expedition, the recital of which may well meet with some suspicion.
But Commander Farragut would not lose a day nor an hour in scouring
the seas in which the animal had been sighted. He sent for the engineer.
"Is the steam full on?" asked he.
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
"Go ahead," cried Commander Farragut.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.4
NED LAND
CAPTAIN FARRAGUT was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he
commanded. His vessel and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the
question of the monster there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not
allow the existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in
it, as certain good women believe in the leviathan -- by faith, not by
reason. The monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it.
Either Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal,
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or the narwhal would kill the captain. There was no third course.
The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were
ever chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances of a
meeting, watching narrowly the vast surface of the ocean. More than one
took up his quarters voluntarily in the cross-trees, who would have cursed
such a berth under any other circumstances. As long as the sun described
its daily course, the rigging was crowded with sailors, whose feet were
burnt to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render it unbearable;
still the Abraham Lincoln had not yet breasted the suspected waters of the
Pacific. As to the ship's company, they desired nothing better than to meet
the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist it on board, and despatch it. They
watched the sea with eager attention.
Besides, Captain Farragut had spoken of a certain sum of two thousand
dollars, set apart for whoever should first sight the monster, were he
cabin-boy, common seaman, or officer.
I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the Abraham Lincoln.
For my own part I was not behind the others, and, left to no one my
share of daily observations. The frigate might have been called the Argus,
for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to protest by
his indifference against the question which so interested us all, and
seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on board.
I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with
every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever been
better armed. We possessed every known engine, from the harpoon thrown by
the hand to the barbed arrows of the blunderbuss, and the explosive balls
of the duck-gun. On the forecastle lay the perfection of a breech-loading
gun, very thick at the breech, and very narrow in the bore, the model of
which had been in the Exhibition of 1867. This precious weapon of American
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Page 21
origin could throw with ease a conical projectile of nine pounds to a mean
distance of ten miles.
Thus the Abraham Lincoln wanted for no means of destruction; and, what
was better still she had on board Ned Land, the prince of harpooners.
Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who
knew no equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity, and
cunning he possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning whale
to escape the stroke of his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years of age; he was a tall man (more than
six feet high), strongly built, grave and taciturn, occasionally violent,
and very passionate when contradicted. His person attracted attention, but
above all the boldness of his look, which gave a singular expression to his
face.
Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little
communicative as Ned Land was, I must admit that he took a certain liking
for me. My nationality drew him to me, no doubt. It was an opportunity for
him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of Rabelais, which is
still in use in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner's family was
originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe of hardy fishermen when
this town belonged to France.
Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved
to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related his
fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his recital
took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to a Canadian
Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.
I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old
friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and
cemented amidst extreme dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to live
a hundred years longer, that I may have more time to dwell the longer on
your memory.
Now, what was Ned Land's opinion upon the question of the marine
monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was the
only one on board who did not share
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Page 22
that universal conviction. He even avoided the subject, which I one day
thought it my duty to press upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th
July (that is to say, three weeks after our departure), the frigate was
abreast of Cape Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia.
We had crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan opened
less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were over the
Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.
Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and
another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up to
this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up the
conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various chances of
success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let me
speak without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.
"Well, Ned," said I, "is it possible that you are not convinced of the
existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any particular
reason for being so incredulous?"
The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering,
struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to collect
himself, and said at last, "Perhaps I have, Mr. Aronnax."
"But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the
great marine mammalia -- you ought to be the last to doubt under such
circumstances!"
"That is just what deceives you, Professor," replied Ned. "As a whaler
I have followed many a cetacean, harpooned a great number, and killed
several; but, however strong or well-armed they may have been, neither
their tails nor their weapons would have been able even to scratch the iron
plates of a steamer."
"But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhal have
pierced through and through."
"Wooden ships -- that is possible," replied the Canadian, "but I have
never seen it done; and, until further proof, I
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deny that whales, cetaceans, or sea-unicorns could ever produce the effect
you describe."
"Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction resting on the logic of
facts. I believe in the existence of a mammal powerfully organised,
belonging to the branch of vertebrata, like the whales, the cachalots, or
the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defence of great penetrating
power."
"Hum!" said the harpooner, shaking his head with the air of a man who
would not be convinced.
"Notice one thing, my worthy Canadian," I resumed. "If such an animal
is in existence, if it inhabits the depths of the ocean, if it frequents
the strata lying miles below the surface of the water, it must necessarily
possess an organisation the strength of which would defy all comparison."
"And why this powerful organisation?" demanded Ned.
"Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one's self in these
strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me. Let us admit that the
pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of
water thirty-two feet high. In reality the column of water would be
shorter, as we are speaking of sea water, the density of which is greater
than that of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as many times 32
feet of water as there are above you, so many times does your body bear a
pressure equal to that of the atmosphere, that is to say, 15 lb. for each
square inch of its surface. It follows, then, that at 320 feet this
pressure equals that of 10 atmospheres, of 100 atmospheres at 3,200 feet,
and of 1,000 atmospheres at 32,000 feet, that is, about 6 miles; which is
equivalent to saying that if you could attain this depth in the ocean, each
square three-eighths of an inch of the surface of your body would bear a
pressure of 5,600 lb. Ah! my brave Ned, do you know how many square inches
you carry on the surface of your body?"
"I have no idea, Mr. Aronnax."
"About 6,500; and as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15
lb. to the square inch, your 6,500 square inches bear at this moment a
pressure of 97,500 lb."
"Without my perceiving it?"
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Page 24
"Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed by such a
pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interior of your body with
equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibrium between the interior and exterior
pressure, which thus neutralise each other, and which allows you to bear it
without inconvenience. But in the water it is another thing."
"Yes, I understand," replied Ned, becoming more attentive; "because
the water surrounds me, but does not penetrate."
"Precisely, Ned: so that at 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea you
would undergo a pressure of 97,500 lb.; at 320 feet, ten times that
pressure; at 3,200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at 32,000
feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000 lb. -- that is to
say, that you would be flattened as if you had been drawn from the plates
of a hydraulic machine!"
"The devil!" exclaimed Ned.
"Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundred
yards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such depths --
of those whose surface is represented by millions of square inches, that is
by tens of millions of pounds, we must estimate the pressure they undergo.
Consider, then, what must be the resistance of their bony structure, and
the strength of their organisation to withstand such pressure!"
"Why!" exclaimed Ned Land, "they must be made of iron plates eight
inches thick, like the armoured frigates."
"As you say, Ned. And think what destruction such a mass would cause,
if hurled with the speed of an express train against the hull of a vessel."
"Yes -- certainly -- perhaps," replied the Canadian, shaken by these
figures, but not yet willing to give in.
"Well, have I convinced you?"
"You have convinced me of one thing, sir, which is that, if such
animals do exist at the bottom of the seas, they must necessarily be as
strong as you say."
"But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explain the
accident to the Scotia?"
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Page 25
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.5
AT A VENTURE
THE voyage of the Abraham Lincoln was for a long time marked by no
special incident. But one circumstance happened which showed the wonderful
dexterity of Ned Land, and proved what confidence we might place in him.
The 30th of June, the frigate spoke some American whalers, from whom
we learned that they knew nothing about the narwhal. But one of them, the
captain of the Monroe, knowing that Ned Land had shipped on board the
Abraham Lincoln, begged for his help in chasing a whale they had in sight.
Commander Farragut, desirous of seeing Ned Land at work, gave him
permission to go on board the Monroe. And fate served our Canadian so well
that, instead of one whale, he harpooned two with a double blow, striking
one straight to the heart, and catching the other after some minutes'
pursuit.
Decidedly, if the monster ever had to do with Ned Land's harpoon, I
would not bet in its favour.
The frigate skirted the south-east coast of America with great
rapidity. The 3rd of July we were at the opening of the Straits of
Magellan, level with Cape Vierges. But Commander Farragut would not take a
tortuous passage, but doubled Cape Horn.
The ship's crew agreed with him. And certainly it was possible that
they might meet the narwhal in this narrow pass. Many of the sailors
affirmed that the monster could not pass there, "that he was too big for
that!"
The 6th of July, about three o'clock in the afternoon, the Abraham
Lincoln, at fifteen miles to the south, doubled the solitary island, this
lost rock at the extremity of the American continent, to which some Dutch
sailors gave the name of their native town, Cape Horn. The course was taken
towards the north-west, and the next day the screw of the frigate was at
last beating the waters of the Pacific.
"Keep your eyes open!" called out the sailors.
And they were opened widely. Both eyes and glasses, a
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Page 26
little dazzled, it is true, by the prospect of two thousand dollars, had
not an instant's repose.
I myself, for whom money had no charms, was not the least attentive on
board. Giving but few minutes to my meals, but a few hours to sleep,
indifferent to either rain or sunshine, I did not leave the poop of the
vessel. Now leaning on the netting of the forecastle, now on the taffrail,
I devoured with eagerness the soft foam which whitened the sea as far as
the eye could reach; and how often have I shared the emotion of the
majority of the crew, when some capricious whale raised its black back
above the waves! The poop of the vessel was crowded on a moment. The cabins
poured forth a torrent of sailors and officers, each with heaving breast
and troubled eye watching the course of the cetacean. I looked and looked
till I was nearly blind, whilst Conseil kept repeating in a calm voice:
"If, sir, you would not squint so much, you would see better!"
But vain excitement! The Abraham Lincoln checked its speed and made
for the animal signalled, a simple whale, or common cachalot, which soon
disappeared amidst a storm of abuse.
But the weather was good. The voyage was being accomplished under the
most favourable auspices. It was then the bad season in Australia, the July
of that zone corresponding to our January in Europe, but the sea was
beautiful and easily scanned round a vast circumference.
The 20th of July, the tropic of Capricorn was cut by 105° of
longitude, and the 27th of the same month we crossed the Equator on the
110th meridian. This passed, the frigate took a more decided westerly
direction, and scoured the central waters of the Pacific. Commander
Farragut thought, and with reason, that it was better to remain in deep
water, and keep clear of continents or islands, which the beast itself
seemed to shun (perhaps because there was not enough water for him!
suggested the greater part of the crew). The frigate passed at some
distance from the Marquesas and the Sandwich Islands, crossed the tropic of
Cancer, and made for the China Seas. We were on the theatre of the last
diversions
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Page 27
of the monster: and, to say truth, we no longer lived on board. The entire
ship's crew were undergoing a nervous excitement, of which I can give no
idea: they could not eat, they could not sleep -- twenty times a day, a
misconception or an optical illusion of some sailor seated on the taff
rail, would cause dreadful perspirations, and these emotions, twenty times
repeated, kept us in a state of excitement so violent that a reaction was
unavoidable.
And truly, reaction soon showed itself. For three months, during which
a day seemed an age, the Abraham Lincoln furrowed all the waters of the
Northern Pacific, running at whales, making sharp deviations from her
course, veering suddenly from one tack to another, stopping suddenly,
putting on steam, and backing ever and anon at the risk of deranging her
machinery, and not one point of the Japanese or American coast was left
unexplored.
The warmest partisans of the enterprise now became its most ardent
detractors. Reaction mounted from the crew to the captain himself, and
certainly, had it not been for the resolute determination on the part of
Captain Farragut, the frigate would have headed due southward. This useless
search could not last much longer. The Abraham Lincoln had nothing to
reproach herself with, she had done her best to succeed. Never had an
American ship's crew shown more zeal or patience; its failure could not be
placed to their charge -- there remained nothing but to return.
This was represented to the commander. The sailors could not hide
their discontent, and the service suffered. I will not say there was a
mutiny on board, but after a reasonable period of obstinacy, Captain
Farragut (as Columbus did) asked for three days' patience. If in three days
the monster did not appear, the man at the helm should give three turns of
the wheel, and the Abraham Lincoln would make for the European seas.
This promise was made on the 2nd of November. It had the effect of
rallying the ship's crew. The ocean was watched with renewed attention.
Each one wished for a last glance in which to sum up his remembrance.
Glasses were used with feverish activity. It was a grand defiance given to
the giant
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narwhal, and he could scarcely fail to answer the summons and "appear."
Two days passed, the steam was at half pressure; a thousand schemes
were tried to attract the attention and stimulate the apathy of the animal
in case it should be met in those parts. Large quantities of bacon were
trailed in the wake of the ship, to the great satisfaction (I must say) of
the sharks. Small craft radiated in all directions round the Abraham
Lincoln as she lay to, and did not leave a spot of the sea unexplored. But
the night of the 4th of November arrived without the unveiling of this
submarine mystery.
The next day, the 5th of November, at twelve, the delay would (morally
speaking) expire; after that time, Commander Farragut, faithful to his
promise, was to turn the course to the south-east and abandon for ever the
northern regions of the Pacific.
The frigate was then in 31° 15' N. lat. and 136° 42' E. long. The
coast of Japan still remained less than two hundred miles to leeward. Night
was approaching. They had just struck eight bells; large clouds veiled the
face of the moon, then in its first quarter. The sea undulated peaceably
under the stern of the vessel.
At that moment I was leaning forward on the starboard netting.
Conseil, standing near me, was looking straight before him. The crew,
perched in the ratlines, examined the horizon which contracted and darkened
by degrees. Officers with their night glasses scoured the growing darkness:
sometimes the ocean sparkled under the rays of the moon, which darted
between two clouds, then all trace of light was lost in the darkness.
In looking at Conseil, I could see he was undergoing a little of the
general influence. At least I thought so. Perhaps for the first time his
nerves vibrated to a sentiment of curiosity.
"Come, Conseil," said I, "this is the last chance of pocketing the two
thousand dollars."
"May I be permitted to say, sir," replied Conseil, "that I never
reckoned on getting the prize; and, had the government
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Page 29
of the Union offered a hundred thousand dollars, it would have been none
the poorer."
"You are right, Conseil. It is a foolish affair after all, and one
upon which we entered too lightly. What time lost, what useless emotions!
We should have been back in France six months ago."
"In your little room, sir," replied Conseil, "and in your museum, sir;
and I should have already classed all your fossils, sir. And the Babiroussa
would have been installed in its cage in the Jardin des Plantes, and have
drawn all the curious people of the capital!"
"As you say, Conseil. I fancy we shall run a fair chance of being
laughed at for our pains."
"That's tolerably certain," replied Conseil, quietly; "I think they
will make fun of you, sir. And, must I say it -- ?"
"Go on, my good friend."
"Well, sir, you will only get your deserts."
"Indeed!"
"When one has the honour of being a savant as you are, sir, one should
not expose one's self to -- "
Conseil had not time to finish his compliment. In the midst of general
silence a voice had just been heard. It was the voice of Ned Land shouting:
"Look out there! The very thing we are looking for -- on our weather
beam!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.6
AT FULL STEAM
AT THIS cry the whole ship's crew hurried towards the harpooner --
commander, officers, masters, sailors, cabin- boys; even the engineers left
their engines, and the stokers their furnaces.
The order to stop her had been given, and the frigate now simply went
on by her own momentum. The darkness was then profound, and, however good
the Canadian's eyes
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were, I asked myself how he had managed to see, and what he had been able
to see. My heart beat as if it would break. But Ned Land was not mistaken,
and we all perceived the object he pointed to. At two cables' length from
the Abraham Lincoln, on the starboard quarter, the sea seemed to be
illuminated all over. It was not a mere phosphoric phenomenon. The monster
emerged some fathoms from the water, and then threw out that very intense
but mysterious light mentioned in the report of several captains. This
magnificent irradiation must have been produced by an agent of great
shining power. The luminous part traced on the sea an immense oval, much
elongated, the centre of which condensed a burning heat, whose overpowering
brilliancy died out by successive gradations.
"It is only a massing of phosphoric particles," cried one of the
officers.
"No, sir, certainly not," I replied. "That brightness is of an
essentially electrical nature. Besides, see, see! it moves; it is moving
forwards, backwards; it is darting towards us!"
A general cry arose from the frigate.
"Silence!" said the captain. "Up with the helm, reverse the engines."
The steam was shut off, and the Abraham Lincoln, beating to port,
described a semicircle.
"Right the helm, go ahead," cried the captain.
These orders were executed, and the frigate moved rapidly from the
burning light.
I was mistaken. She tried to sheer off, but the supernatural animal
approached with a velocity double her own.
We gasped for breath. Stupefaction more than fear made us dumb and
motionless. The animal gained on us, sporting with the waves. It made the
round of the frigate, which was then making fourteen knots, and enveloped
it with its electric rings like luminous dust.
Then it moved away two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent track,
like those volumes of steam that the express trains leave behind. All at
once from the dark line of the horizon whither it retired to gain its
momentum, the monster rushed suddenly towards the Abraham Lincoln with
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Page 31
alarming rapidity, stopped suddenly about twenty feet from the hull, and
died out -- not diving under the water, for its brilliancy did not abate --
but suddenly, and as if the source of this brilliant emanation was
exhausted. Then it re- appeared on the other side of the vessel, as if it
had turned and slid under the hull. Any moment a collision might have
occurred which would have been fatal to us. However, I was astonished at
the manoeuvres of the frigate. She fled and did not attack.
On the captain's face, generally so impassive, was an expression of
unaccountable astonishment.
"Mr. Aronnax," he said, "I do not know with what formidable being I
have to deal, and I will not imprudently risk my frigate in the midst of
this darkness. Besides, how attack this unknown thing, how defend one's
self from it? Wait for daylight, and the scene will change."
"You have no further doubt, captain, of the nature of the animal?"
"No, sir; it is evidently a gigantic narwhal, and an electric one."
"Perhaps," added I, "one can only approach it with a torpedo."
"Undoubtedly," replied the captain, "if it possesses such dreadful
power, it is the most terrible animal that ever was created. That is why,
sir, I must be on my guard."
The crew were on their feet all night. No one thought of sleep. The
Abraham Lincoln, not being able to struggle with such velocity, had
moderated its pace, and sailed at half speed. For its part, the narwhal,
imitating the frigate, let the waves rock it at will, and seemed decided
not to leave the scene of the struggle. Towards midnight, however, it
disappeared, or, to use a more appropriate term, it "died out" like a large
glow-worm. Had it fled? One could only fear, not hope it. But at seven
minutes to one o'clock in the morning a deafening whistling was heard, like
that produced by a body of water rushing with great violence.
The captain, Ned Land, and I were then on the poop, eagerly peering
through the profound darkness.
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"Ned Land," asked the commander, "you have often heard the roaring of
whales?"
"Often, sir; but never such whales the sight of which brought me in
two thousand dollars. If I can only approach within four harpoons' length
of it!"
"But to approach it," said the commander, "I ought to put a whaler at
your disposal?"
"Certainly, sir."
"That will be trifling with the lives of my men."
"And mine too," simply said the harpooner.
Towards two o'clock in the morning, the burning light reappeared, not
less intense, about five miles to windward of the Abraham Lincoln.
Notwithstanding the distance, and the noise of the wind and sea, one heard
distinctly the loud strokes of the animal's tail, and even its panting
breath. It seemed that, at the moment that the enormous narwhal had come to
take breath at the surface of the water, the air was engulfed in its lungs,
like the steam in the vast cylinders of a machine of two thousand
horse-power.
"Hum!" thought I, "a whale with the strength of a cavalry regiment
would be a pretty whale!"
We were on the qui vive till daylight, and prepared for the combat.
The fishing implements were laid along the hammock nettings. The second
lieutenant loaded the blunder- busses, which could throw harpoons to the
distance of a mile, and long duck-guns, with explosive bullets, which
inflicted mortal wounds even to the most terrible animals. Ned Land
contented himself with sharpening his harpoon -- a terrible weapon in his
hands.
At six o'clock day began to break; and, with the first glimmer of
light, the electric light of the narwhal disappeared. At seven o'clock the
day was sufficiently advanced, but a very thick sea fog obscured our view,
and the best spy- glasses could not pierce it. That caused disappointment
and anger.
I climbed the mizzen-mast. Some officers were already perched on the
mast-heads. At eight o'clock the fog lay heavily on the waves, and its
thick scrolls rose little by little.
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The horizon grew wider and clearer at the same time. Suddenly, just as on
the day before, Ned Land's voice was heard:
"The thing itself on the port quarter!" cried the harpooner.
Every eye was turned towards the point indicated. There, a mile and a
half from the frigate, a long blackish body emerged a yard above the waves.
Its tail, violently agitated, produced a considerable eddy. Never did a
tail beat the sea with such violence. An immense track, of dazzling
whiteness, marked the passage of the animal, and described a long curve.
The frigate approached the cetacean. I examined it thoroughly.
The reports of the Shannon and of the Helvetia had rather exaggerated
its size, and I estimated its length at only two hundred and fifty feet. As
to its dimensions, I could only conjecture them to be admirably
proportioned. While I watched this phenomenon, two jets of steam and water
were ejected from its vents, and rose to the height of 120 feet; thus I
ascertained its way of breathing. I concluded definitely that it belonged
to the vertebrate branch, class mammalia.
The crew waited impatiently for their chief's orders. The latter,
after having observed the animal attentively, called the engineer. The
engineer ran to him.
"Sir," said the commander, "you have steam up?"
"Yes, sir," answered the engineer.
"Well, make up your fires and put on all steam."
Three hurrahs greeted this order. The time for the struggle had
arrived. Some moments after, the two funnels of the frigate vomited
torrents of black smoke, and the bridge quaked under the trembling of the
boilers.
The Abraham Lincoln, propelled by her wonderful screw, went straight
at the animal. The latter allowed it to come within half a cable's length;
then, as if disdaining to dive, it took a little turn, and stopped a short
distance off.
This pursuit lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour, without the
frigate gaining two yards on the cetacean. it
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was quite evident that at that rate we should never come up with it.
"Well, Mr. Land," asked the captain, "do you advise me to put the
boats out to sea?"
"No, sir," replied Ned Land; "because we shall not take that beast
easily."
"What shall we do then?"
"Put on more steam if you can, sir. With your leave, I mean to post
myself under the bowsprit, and, if we get within harpooning distance, I
shall throw my harpoon."
"Go, Ned," said the captain. "Engineer, put on more pressure."
Ned Land went to his post. The fires were increased, the screw
revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the
valves. We heaved the log, and calculated that the Abraham Lincoln was
going at the rate of 18 1/2 miles an hour.
But the accursed animal swam at the same speed.
For a whole hour the frigate kept up this pace, without gaining six
feet. It was humiliating for one of the swiftest sailers in the American
navy. A stubborn anger seized the crew; the sailors abused the monster,
who, as before, disdained to answer them; the captain no longer contented
himself with twisting his beard -- he gnawed it.
The engineer was called again.
"You have turned full steam on?"
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
The speed of the Abraham Lincoln increased. Its masts trembled down to
their stepping holes, and the clouds of smoke could hardly find way out of
the narrow funnels.
They heaved the log a second time.
"Well?" asked the captain of the man at the wheel.
"Nineteen miles and three-tenths, sir."
"Clap on more steam."
The engineer obeyed. The manometer showed ten degrees. But the
cetacean grew warm itself, no doubt; for without straining itself, it made
19 3/10 miles.
What a pursuit! No, I cannot describe the emotion that vibrated
through me. Ned Land kept his post, harpoon in
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hand. Several times the animal let us gain upon it. -- "We shall catch it!
we shall catch it!" cried the Canadian. But just as he was going to strike,
the cetacean stole away with a rapidity that could not be estimated at less
than thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied
the frigate, going round and round it. A cry of fury broke from everyone!
At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o'clock in the
morning.
The captain then decided to take more direct means.
"Ah!" said he, "that animal goes quicker than the Abraham Lincoln.
Very well! we will see whether it will escape these conical bullets. Send
your men to the forecastle, sir."
The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and slewed round. But the
shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.
"Another, more to the right," cried the commander, "and five dollars
to whoever will hit that infernal beast."
An old gunner with a grey beard -- that I can see now -- with steady
eye and grave face, went up to the gun and took a long aim. A loud report
was heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew.
The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, and, sliding off the
rounded surface, was lost in two miles depth of sea.
The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said:
"I will pursue that beast till my frigate bursts up."
"Yes," answered I; "and you will be quite right to do it."
I wished the beast would exhaust itself, and not be insensible to
fatigue like a steam engine. But it was of no use. Hours passed, without
its showing any signs of exhaustion.
However, it must be said in praise of the Abraham Lincoln that she
struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance she made under
three hundred miles during this unlucky day, November the 6th. But night
came on, and overshadowed the rough ocean.
Now I thought our expedition was at an end, and that we should never
again see the extraordinary animal. I was mistaken. At ten minutes to
eleven in the evening, the electric
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light reappeared three miles to windward of the frigate, as pure, as
intense as during the preceding night.
The narwhal seemed motionless; perhaps, tired with its day's work, it
slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. Now was a
chance of which the captain resolved to take advantage.
He gave his orders. The Abraham Lincoln kept up half- steam, and
advanced cautiously so as not to awake its adversary. It is no rare thing
to meet in the middle of the ocean whales so sound asleep that they can be
successfully attacked, and Ned Land had harpooned more than one during its
sleep. The Canadian went to take his place again under the bowsprit.
The frigate approached noiselessly, stopped at two cables' lengths
from the animal, and following its track. No one breathed; a deep silence
reigned on the bridge. We were not a hundred feet from the burning focus,
the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.
At this moment, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw below me Ned
Land grappling the martingale in one hand, brandishing his terrible harpoon
in the other, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal. Suddenly his
arm straightened, and the harpoon was thrown; I heard the sonorous stroke
of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body. The electric light
went out suddenly, and two enormous waterspouts broke over the bridge of
the frigate, rushing like a torrent from stem to stern, overthrowing men,
and breaking the lashings of the spars. A fearful shock followed, and,
thrown over the rail without having time to stop myself, I fell into the
sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.7
AN UNKNOWN SPECIES OF WHALE
THIS unexpected fall so stunned me that I have no clear recollection
of my sensations at the time. I was at first drawn down to a depth of about
twenty feet. I am a good swimmer
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(though without pretending to rival Byron or Edgar Poe, who were masters of
the art), and in that plunge I did not lose my presence of mind. Two
vigorous strokes brought me to the surface of the water. My first care was
to look for the frigate. Had the crew seen me disappear? Had the Abraham
Lincoln veered round? Would the captain put out a boat? Might I hope to be
saved?
The darkness was intense. I caught a glimpse of a black mass
disappearing in the east, its beacon lights dying out in the distance. It
was the frigate! I was lost.
"Help, help!" I shouted, swimming towards the Abraham Lincoln in
desperation.
My clothes encumbered me; they seemed glued to my body, and paralysed
my movements.
I was sinking! I was suffocating!
"Help!"
This was my last cry. My mouth filled with water; I struggled against
being drawn down the abyss. Suddenly my clothes were seized by a strong
hand, and I felt myself quickly drawn up to the surface of the sea; and I
heard, yes, I heard these words pronounced in my ear:
"If master would be so good as to lean on my shoulder, master would
swim with much greater ease."
I seized with one hand my faithful Conseil's arm.
"Is it you?" said I, "you?"
"Myself," answered Conseil; "and waiting master's orders."
"That shock threw you as well as me into the sea?"
"No; but, being in my master's service, I followed him."
The worthy fellow thought that was but natural.
"And the frigate?" I asked.
"The frigate?" replied Conseil, turning on his back; "I think that
master had better not count too much on her."
"You think so?"
"I say that, at the time I threw myself into the sea, I heard the men
at the wheel say, 'The screw and the rudder are broken.'
"Broken?"
"Yes, broken by the monster's teeth. It is the only injury
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the Abraham Lincoln has sustained. But it is a bad look-out for us -- she
no longer answers her helm."
"Then we are lost!"
"Perhaps so," calmly answered Conseil. "However, we have still several
hours before us, and one can do a good deal in some hours."
Conseil's imperturbable coolness set me up again. I swam more
vigorously; but, cramped by my clothes, which stuck to me like a leaden
weight, I felt great difficulty in bearing up. Conseil saw this.
"Will master let me make a slit?" said he; and, slipping an open knife
under my clothes, he ripped them up from top to bottom very rapidly. Then
he cleverly slipped them off me, while I swam for both of us.
Then I did the same for Conseil, and we continued to swim near to each
other.
Nevertheless, our situation was no less terrible. Perhaps our
disappearance had not been noticed; and, if it had been, the frigate could
not tack, being without its helm. Conseil argued on this supposition, and
laid his plans accordingly. This quiet boy was perfectly self-possessed. We
then decided that, as our only chance of safety was being picked up by the
Abraham Lincoln's boats, we ought to manage so as to wait for them as long
as possible. I resolved then to husband our strength, so that both should
not be exhausted at the same time; and this is how we managed: while one of
us lay on our back, quite still, with arms crossed, and legs stretched out,
the other would swim and push the other on in front. This towing business
did not last more than ten minutes each; and relieving each other thus, we
could swim on for some hours, perhaps till day-break. Poor chance! but hope
is so firmly rooted in the heart of man! Moreover, there were two of us.
Indeed I declare (though it may seem improbable) if I sought to destroy all
hope -- if I wished to despair, I could not.
The collision of the frigate with the cetacean had occurred about
eleven o'clock in the evening before. I reckoned then we should have eight
hours to swim before sunrise, an operation quite practicable if we relieved
each other. The
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sea, very calm, was in our favour. Sometimes I tried to pierce the intense
darkness that was only dispelled by the phosphorescence caused by our
movements. I watched the luminous waves that broke over my hand, whose
mirror-like surface was spotted with silvery rings. One might have said
that we were in a bath of quicksilver.
Near one o'clock in the morning, I was seized with dreadful fatigue.
My limbs stiffened under the strain of violent cramp. Conseil was obliged
to keep me up, and our preservation devolved on him alone. I heard the poor
boy pant; his breathing became short and hurried. I found that he could not
keep up much longer.
"Leave me! leave me!" I said to him.
"Leave my master? Never!" replied he. "I would drown first."
Just then the moon appeared through the fringes of a thick cloud that
the wind was driving to the east. The surface of the sea glittered with its
rays. This kindly light reanimated us. My head got better again. I looked
at all points of the horizon. I saw the frigate! She was five miles from
us, and looked like a dark mass, hardly discernible. But no boats!
I would have cried out. But what good would it have been at such a
distance! My swollen lips could utter no sounds. Conseil could articulate
some words, and I heard him repeat at intervals, "Help! help!"
Our movements were suspended for an instant; we listened. It might be
only a singing in the ear, but it seemed to me as if a cry answered the cry
from Conseil.
"Did you hear?" I murmured.
"Yes! Yes!"
And Conseil gave one more despairing cry.
This time there was no mistake! A human voice responded to ours! Was
it the voice of another unfortunate creature, abandoned in the middle of
the ocean, some other victim of the shock sustained by the vessel? Or
rather was it a boat from the frigate, that was hailing us in the darkness?
Conseil made a last effort, and, leaning on my shoulder, while I
struck out in a desperate effort, he raised himself half out of the water,
then fell back exhausted.
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"What did you see?"
"I saw -- " murmured he; "I saw -- but do not talk -- reserve all your
strength!"
What had he seen? Then, I know not why, the thought of the monster
came into my head for the first time! But that voice! The time is past for
Jonahs to take refuge in whales' bellies! However, Conseil was towing me
again. He raised his head sometimes, looked before us, and uttered a cry of
recognition, which was responded to by a voice that came nearer and nearer.
I scarcely heard it. My strength was exhausted; my fingers stiffened; my
hand afforded me support no longer; my mouth, convulsively opening, filled
with salt water. Cold crept over me. I raised my head for the last time,
then I sank.
At this moment a hard body struck me. I clung to it: then I felt that
I was being drawn up, that I was brought to the surface of the water, that
my chest collapsed -- I fainted.
It is certain that I soon came to, thanks to the vigorous rubbings
that I received. I half opened my eyes.
"Conseil!" I murmured.
"Does master call me?" asked Conseil.
Just then, by the waning light of the moon which was sinking down to
the horizon, I saw a face which was not Conseil's and which I immediately
recognised.
"Ned!" I cried.
"The same, sir, who is seeking his prize!" replied the Canadian.
"Were you thrown into the sea by the shock to the frigate?"
"Yes, Professor; but more fortunate than you, I was able to find a
footing almost directly upon a floating island."
"An island?"
"Or, more correctly speaking, on our gigantic narwhal."
"Explain yourself, Ned!"
"Only I soon found out why my harpoon had not entered its skin and was
blunted."
"Why, Ned, why?"
"Because, Professor, that beast is made of sheet iron."
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The Canadian's last words produced a sudden revolution in my brain. I
wriggled myself quickly to the top of the being, or object, half out of the
water, which served us for a refuge. I kicked it. It was evidently a hard,
impenetrable body, and not the soft substance that forms the bodies of the
great marine mammalia. But this hard body might be a bony covering, like
that of the antediluvian animals; and I should be free to class this
monster among amphibious reptiles, such as tortoises or alligators.
Well, no! the blackish back that supported me was smooth, polished,
without scales. The blow produced a metallic sound; and, incredible though
it may be, it seemed, I might say, as if it was made of riveted plates.
There was no doubt about it! This monster, this natural phenomenon
that had puzzled the learned world, and overthrown and misled the
imagination of seamen of both hemispheres, it must be owned was a still
more astonishing phenomenon, inasmuch as it was a simply human
construction.
We had no time to lose, however. We were lying upon the back of a sort
of submarine boat, which appeared (as far as I could judge) like a huge
fish of steel. Ned Land's mind was made up on this point. Conseil and I
could only agree with him.
Just then a bubbling began at the back of this strange thing (which
was evidently propelled by a screw), and it began to move. We had only just
time to seize hold of the upper part, which rose about seven feet out of
the water, and happily its speed was not great.
"As long as it sails horizontally," muttered Ned Land, "I do not mind;
but, if it takes a fancy to dive, I would not give two straws for my life."
The Canadian might have said still less. It became really necessary to
communicate with the beings, whatever they were, shut up inside the
machine. I searched all over the outside for an aperture, a panel, or a
manhole, to use a technical expression; but the lines of the iron rivets,
solidly driven into the joints of the iron plates, were clear and
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uniform. Besides, the moon disappeared then, and left us in total darkness.
At last this long night passed. My indistinct remembrance prevents my
describing all the impressions it made. I can only recall one circumstance.
During some lulls of the wind and sea, I fancied I heard several times
vague sounds, a sort of fugitive harmony produced by words of command. What
was, then, the mystery of this submarine craft, of which the whole world
vainly sought an explanation? What kind of beings existed in this strange
boat? What mechanical agent caused its prodigious speed?
Daybreak appeared. The morning mists surrounded us, but they soon
cleared off. I was about to examine the hull, which formed on deck a kind
of horizontal platform, when I felt it gradually sinking.
"Oh! confound it!" cried Ned Land, kicking the resounding plate.
"Open, you inhospitable rascals!"
Happily the sinking movement ceased. Suddenly a noise, like iron works
violently pushed aside, came from the interior of the boat. One iron plate
was moved, a man appeared, uttered an odd cry, and disappeared immediately.
Some moments after, eight strong men, with masked faces, appeared
noiselessly, and drew us down into their formidable machine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.8
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
THIS forcible abduction, so roughly carried out, was accomplished with
the rapidity of lightning. I shivered all over. Whom had we to deal with?
No doubt some new sort of pirates, who explored the sea in their own way.
Hardly had the narrow panel closed upon me, when I was enveloped in
darkness. My eyes, dazzled with the outer light, could distinguish nothing.
I felt my naked feet cling to the rungs of an iron ladder. Ned Land and
Conseil, firmly seized, followed
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me. At the bottom of the ladder, a door opened, and shut after us
immediately with a bang.
We were alone. Where, I could not say, hardly imagine. All was black,
and such a dense black that, after some minutes, my eyes had not been able
to discern even the faintest glimmer.
Meanwhile, Ned Land, furious at these proceedings, gave free vent to
his indignation.
"Confound it!" cried he, "here are people who come up to the Scotch
for hospitality. They only just miss being cannibals. I should not be
surprised at it, but I declare that they shall not eat me without my
protesting."
"Calm yourself, friend Ned, calm yourself," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Do not cry out before you are hurt. We are not quite done for yet."
"Not quite," sharply replied the Canadian, "but pretty near, at all
events. Things look black. Happily, my bowie- knife I have still, and I can
always see well enough to use it. The first of these pirates who lays a
hand on me -- "
"Do not excite yourself, Ned," I said to the harpooner, "and do not
compromise us by useless violence. Who knows that they will not listen to
us? Let us rather try to find out where we are."
I groped about. In five steps I came to an iron wall, made of plates
bolted together. Then turning back I struck against a wooden table, near
which were ranged several stools. The boards of this prison were concealed
under a thick mat, which deadened the noise of the feet. The bare walls
revealed no trace of window or door. Conseil, going round the reverse way,
met me, and we went back to the middle of the cabin, which measured about
twenty feet by ten. As to its height, Ned Land, in spite of his own great
height, could not measure it.
Half an hour had already passed without our situation being bettered,
when the dense darkness suddenly gave way to extreme light. Our prison was
suddenly lighted, that is to say, it became filled with a luminous matter,
so strong that I could not bear it at first. In its whiteness and intensity
I recognised that electric light which played round the
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submarine boat like a magnificent phenomenon of phosphorescence. After
shutting my eyes involuntarily, I opened them, and saw that this luminous
agent came from a half globe, unpolished, placed in the roof of the cabin.
"At last one can see," cried Ned Land, who, knife in hand, stood on
the defensive.
"Yes," said I; "but we are still in the dark about ourselves."
"Let master have patience," said the imperturbable Conseil.
The sudden lighting of the cabin enabled me to examine it minutely. It
only contained a table and five stools. The invisible door might be
hermetically sealed. No noise was heard. All seemed dead in the interior of
this boat. Did it move, did it float on the surface of the ocean, or did it
dive into its depths? I could not guess.
A noise of bolts was now heard, the door opened, and two men appeared.
One was short, very muscular, broad-shouldered, with robust limbs,
strong head, an abundance of black hair, thick moustache, a quick
penetrating look, and the vivacity which characterises the population of
Southern France.
The second stranger merits a more detailed description. I made out his
prevailing qualities directly: self-confidence -- because his head was well
set on his shoulders, and his black eyes looked around with cold assurance;
calmness -- for his skin, rather pale, showed his coolness of blood; energy
-- evinced by the rapid contraction of his lofty brows; and courage --
because his deep breathing denoted great power of lungs.
Whether this person was thirty-five or fifty years of age, I could not
say. He was tall, had a large forehead, straight nose, a clearly cut mouth,
beautiful teeth, with fine taper hands, indicative of a highly nervous
temperament. This man was certainly the most admirable specimen I had ever
met. One particular feature was his eyes, rather far from each other, and
which could take in nearly a quarter of the horizon at once.
This faculty -- (I verified it later) -- gave him a range of
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vision far superior to Ned Land's. When this stranger fixed upon an object,
his eyebrows met, his large eyelids closed around so as to contract the
range of his vision, and he looked as if he magnified the objects lessened
by distance, as if he pierced those sheets of water so opaque to our eyes,
and as if he read the very depths of the seas.
The two strangers, with caps made from the fur of the sea otter, and
shod with sea boots of seal's skin, were dressed in clothes of a particular
texture, which allowed free movement of the limbs. The taller of the two,
evidently the chief on board, examined us with great attention, without
saying a word; then, turning to his companion, talked with him in an
unknown tongue. It was a sonorous, harmonious, and flexible dialect, the
vowels seeming to admit of very varied accentuation.
The other replied by a shake of the head, and added two or three
perfectly incomprehensible words. Then he seemed to question me by a look.
I replied in good French that I did not know his language; but he
seemed not to understand me, and my situation became more embarrassing.
"If master were to tell our story," said Conseil, "perhaps these
gentlemen may understand some words."
I began to tell our adventures, articulating each syllable clearly,
and without omitting one single detail. I announced our names and rank,
introducing in person Professor Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and master
Ned Land, the harpooner.
The man with the soft calm eyes listened to me quietly, even politely,
and with extreme attention; but nothing in his countenance indicated that
he had understood my story. When I finished, he said not a word.
There remained one resource, to speak English. Perhaps they would know
this almost universal language. I knew it -- as well as the German language
-- well enough to read it fluently, but not to speak it correctly. But,
anyhow, we must make ourselves understood.
"Go on in your turn," I said to the harpooner; "speak your best
Anglo-Saxon, and try to do better than I."
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Ned did not beg off, and recommenced our story.
To his great disgust, the harpooner did not seem to have made himself
more intelligible than I had. Our visitors did not stir. They evidently
understood neither the language of England nor of France.
Very much embarrassed, after having vainly exhausted our speaking
resources, I knew not what part to take, when Conseil said:
"If master will permit me, I will relate it in German."
But in spite of the elegant terms and good accent of the narrator, the
German language had no success. At last, nonplussed, I tried to remember my
first lessons, and to narrate our adventures in Latin, but with no better
success. This last attempt being of no avail, the two strangers exchanged
some words in their unknown language, and retired.
The door shut.
"It is an infamous shame," cried Ned Land, who broke out for the
twentieth time. "We speak to those rogues in French, English, German, and
Latin, and not one of them has the politeness to answer!"
"Calm yourself," I said to the impetuous Ned; "anger will do no good."
"But do you see, Professor," replied our irascible companion, "that we
shall absolutely die of hunger in this iron cage?"
"Bah!" said Conseil, philosophically; "we can hold out some time yet."
"My friends," I said, "we must not despair. We have been worse off
than this. Do me the favour to wait a little before forming an opinion upon
the commander and crew of this boat."
"My opinion is formed," replied Ned Land, sharply. "They are rascals."
"Good! and from what country?"
"From the land of rogues!"
"My brave Ned, that country is not clearly indicated on the map of the
world; but I admit that the nationality of the two strangers is hard to
determine. Neither English, French, nor German, that is quite certain.
However, I am
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Page 47
inclined to think that the commander and his companion were born in low
latitudes. There is southern blood in them. But I cannot decide by their
appearance whether they are Spaniards, Turks, Arabians, or Indians. As to
their language, it is quite incomprehensible."
"There is the disadvantage of not knowing all languages," said
Conseil, "or the disadvantage of not having one universal language."
As he said these words, the door opened. A steward entered. He brought
us clothes, coats and trousers, made of a stuff I did not know. I hastened
to dress myself, and my companions followed my example. During that time,
the steward -- dumb, perhaps deaf -- had arranged the table, and laid three
plates.
"This is something like!" said Conseil.
"Bah!" said the angry harpooner, "what do you suppose they eat here?
Tortoise liver, filleted shark, and beef- steaks from seadogs."
"We shall see," said Conseil.
The dishes, of bell metal, were placed on the table, and we took our
places. Undoubtedly we had to do with civilised people, and, had it not
been for the electric light which flooded us, I could have fancied I was in
the dining-room of the Adelphi Hotel at Liverpool, or at the Grand Hotel in
Paris. I must say, however, that there was neither bread nor wine. The
water was fresh and clear, but it was water and did not suit Ned Land's
taste. Amongst the dishes which were brought to us, I recognised several
fish delicately dressed; but of some, although excellent, I could give no
opinion, neither could I tell to what kingdom they belonged, whether animal
or vegetable. As to the dinner-service, it was elegant, and in perfect
taste. Each utensil -- spoon, fork, knife, plate -- had a letter engraved
on it, with a motto above it, of which this is an exact facsimile:
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
N
The letter N was no doubt the initial of the name of the enigmatical
person who commanded at the bottom of the seas.
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Page 48
Ned and Conseil did not reflect much. They devoured the food, and I
did likewise. I was, besides, reassured as to our fate; and it seemed
evident that our hosts would not let us die of want.
However, everything has an end, everything passes away, even the
hunger of people who have not eaten for fifteen hours. Our appetites
satisfied, we felt overcome with sleep.
"Faith! I shall sleep well," said Conseil.
"So shall I," replied Ned Land.
My two companions stretched themselves on the cabin carpet, and were
soon sound asleep. For my own part, too many thoughts crowded my brain, too
many insoluble questions pressed upon me, too many fancies kept my eyes
half open. Where were we? What strange power carried us on? I felt -- or
rather fancied I felt -- the machine sinking down to the lowest beds of the
sea. Dreadful nightmares beset me; I saw in these mysterious asylums a
world of unknown animals, amongst which this submarine boat seemed to be of
the same kind, living, moving, and formidable as they. Then my brain grew
calmer, my imagination wandered into vague unconsciousness, and I soon fell
into a deep sleep.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.9
NED LAND'S TEMPERS
How long we slept I do not know; but our sleep must have lasted long,
for it rested us completely from our fatigues. I woke first. My companions
had not moved, and were still stretched in their corner.
Hardly roused from my somewhat hard couch, I felt my brain freed, my
mind clear. I then began an attentive examination of our cell. Nothing was
changed inside. The prison was still a prison -- the prisoners, prisoners.
However, the steward, during our sleep, had cleared the table. I breathed
with difficulty. The heavy air seemed to oppress my lungs. Although the
cell was large, we had evidently
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Page 49
consumed a great part of the oxygen that it contained. Indeed, each man
consumes, in one hour, the oxygen contained in more than 176 pints of air,
and this air, charged (as then) with a nearly equal quantity of carbonic
acid, becomes unbreathable.
It became necessary to renew the atmosphere of our prison, and no
doubt the whole in the submarine boat. That gave rise to a question in my
mind. How would the commander of this floating dwelling-place proceed?
Would he obtain air by chemical means, in getting by heat the oxygen
contained in chlorate of potash, and in absorbing carbonic acid by caustic
potash? Or -- a more convenient, economical, and consequently more probable
alternative -- would he be satisfied to rise and take breath at the surface
of the water, like a whale, and so renew for twenty-four hours the
atmospheric provision?
In fact, I was already obliged to increase my respirations to eke out
of this cell the little oxygen it contained, when suddenly I was refreshed
by a current of pure air, and perfumed with saline emanations. It was an
invigorating sea breeze, charged with iodine. I opened my mouth wide, and
my lungs saturated themselves with fresh particles.
At the same time I felt the boat rolling. The iron-plated monster had
evidently just risen to the surface of the ocean to breathe, after the
fashion of whales. I found out from that the mode of ventilating the boat.
When I had inhaled this air freely, I sought the conduit pipe, which
conveyed to us the beneficial whiff, and I was not long in finding it.
Above the door was a ventilator, through which volumes of fresh air renewed
the impoverished atmosphere of the cell.
I was making my observations, when Ned and Conseil awoke almost at the
same time, under the influence of this reviving air. They rubbed their
eyes, stretched themselves, and were on their feet in an instant.
"Did master sleep well?" asked Conseil, with his usual politeness.
"Very well, my brave boy. And you, Mr. Land?"
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"Soundly, Professor. But, I don't know if I am right or not, there
seems to be a sea breeze!"
A seaman could not be mistaken, and I told the Canadian all that had
passed during his sleep.
"Good!" said he. "That accounts for those roarings we heard, when the
supposed narwhal sighted the Abraham Lincoln."
"Quite so, Master Land; it was taking breath."
"Only, Mr. Aronnax, I have no idea what o'clock it is, unless it is
dinner-time."
"Dinner-time! my good fellow? Say rather breakfast-time, for we
certainly have begun another day."
"So," said Conseil, "we have slept twenty-four hours?"
"That is my opinion."
"I will not contradict you," replied Ned Land. "But, dinner or
breakfast, the steward will be welcome, whichever he brings."
"Master Land, we must conform to the rules on board, and I suppose our
appetites are in advance of the dinner- hour."
"That is just like you, friend Conseil," said Ned, impatiently. "You
are never out of temper, always calm; you would return thanks before grace,
and die of hunger rather than complain!"
Time was getting on, and we were fearfully hungry; and this time the
steward did not appear. It was rather too long to leave us, if they really
had good intentions towards us. Ned Land, tormented by the cravings of
hunger, got still more angry; and, notwithstanding his promise, I dreaded
an explosion when he found himself with one of the crew.
For two hours more Ned Land's temper increased; he cried, he shouted,
but in vain. The walls were deaf. There was no sound to be heard in the
boat; all was still as death. It did not move, for I should have felt the
trembling motion of the hull under the influence of the screw. Plunged in
the depths of the waters, it belonged no longer to earth: this silence was
dreadful.
I felt terrified, Conseil was calm, Ned Land roared.
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Just then a noise was heard outside. Steps sounded on the metal flags.
The locks were turned, the door opened, and the steward appeared.
Before I could rush forward to stop him, the Canadian had thrown him
down, and held him by the throat. The steward was choking under the grip of
his powerful hand.
Conseil was already trying to unclasp the harpooner's hand from his
half-suffocated victim, and I was going to fly to the rescue, when suddenly
I was nailed to the spot by hearing these words in French:
"Be quiet, Master Land; and you, Professor, will you be so good as to
listen to me?"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.10
THE MAN OF THE SEAS
IT WAS the commander of the vessel who thus spoke.
At these words, Ned Land rose suddenly. The steward, nearly strangled,
tottered out on a sign from his master. But such was the power of the
commander on board, that not a gesture betrayed the resentment which this
man must have felt towards the Canadian. Conseil interested in spite of
himself, I stupefied, awaited in silence the result of this scene.
The commander, leaning against the corner of a table with his arms
folded, scanned us with profound attention. Did he hesitate to speak? Did
he regret the words which he had just spoken in French? One might almost
think so.
After some moments of silence, which not one of us dreamed of
breaking, "Gentlemen," said he, in a calm and penetrating voice, "I speak
French, English, German, and Latin equally well. I could, therefore, have
answered you at our first interview, but I wished to know you first, then
to reflect. The story told by each one, entirely agreeing in the main
points, convinced me of your identity. I know now that chance has brought
before me M. Pierre Aronnax, Professor of Natural History at the Museum of
Paris,
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entrusted with a scientific mission abroad, Conseil, his servant, and Ned
Land, of Canadian origin, harpooner on board the frigate Abraham Lincoln of
the navy of the United States of America."
I bowed assent. It was not a question that the commander put to me.
Therefore there was no answer to be made. This man expressed himself with
perfect ease, without any accent. His sentences were well turned, his words
clear, and his fluency of speech remarkable. Yet, I did not recognise in
him a fellow-countryman.
He continued the conversation in these terms:
"You have doubtless thought, sir, that I have delayed long in paying
you this second visit. The reason is that, your identity recognised, I
wished to weigh maturely what part to act towards you. I have hesitated
much. Most annoying circumstances have brought you into the presence of a
man who has broken all the ties of humanity. You have come to trouble my
existence."
"Unintentionally!" said I.
"Unintentionally?" replied the stranger, raising his voice a little.
"Was it unintentionally that the Abraham Lincoln pursued me all over the
seas? Was it unintentionally that you took passage in this frigate? Was it
unintentionally that your cannon-balls rebounded off the plating of my
vessel? Was it unintentionally that Mr. Ned Land struck me with his
harpoon?"
I detected a restrained irritation in these words. But to these
recriminations I had a very natural answer to make, and I made it.
"Sir," said I, "no doubt you are ignorant of the discussions which
have taken place concerning you in America and Europe. You do not know that
divers accidents, caused by collisions with your submarine machine, have
excited public feeling in the two continents. I omit the theories without
number by which it was sought to explain that of which you alone possess
the secret. But you must understand that, in pursuing you over the high
seas of the Pacific, the Abraham Lincoln believed itself to be chasing some
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powerful sea-monster, of which it was necessary to rid the ocean at any
price."
A half-smile curled the lips of the commander: then, in a calmer tone:
"M. Aronnax," he replied, "dare you affirm that your frigate would not
as soon have pursued and cannonaded a submarine boat as a monster?"
This question embarrassed me, for certainly Captain Farragut might not
have hesitated. He might have thought it his duty to destroy a contrivance
of this kind, as he would a gigantic narwhal.
"You understand then, sir," continued the stranger, "that I have the
right to treat you as enemies?"
I answered nothing, purposely. For what good would it be to discuss
such a proposition, when force could destroy the best arguments?
"I have hesitated some time," continued the commander; nothing obliged
me to show you hospitality. If I chose to separate myself from you, I
should have no interest in seeing you again; I could place you upon the
deck of this vessel which has served you as a refuge, I could sink beneath
the waters, and forget that you had ever existed. Would not that be my
right?"
"It might be the right of a savage," I answered, "but not that of a
civilised man."
"Professor," replied the commander, quickly, "I am not what you call a
civilised man! I have done with society entirely, for reasons which I alone
have the right of appreciating. I do not, therefore, obey its laws, and I
desire you never to allude to them before me again!"
This was said plainly. A flash of anger and disdain kindled in the
eyes of the Unknown, and I had a glimpse of a terrible past in the life of
this man. Not only had he put himself beyond the pale of human laws, but he
had made himself independent of them, free in the strictest acceptation of
the word, quite beyond their reach! Who then would dare to pursue him at
the bottom of the sea, when, on its surface, he defied all attempts made
against him?
What vessel could resist the shock of his submarine monitor?
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What cuirass, however thick, could withstand the blows of his spur? No man
could demand from him an account of his actions; God, if he believed in one
-- his conscience, if he had one -- were the sole judges to whom he was
answerable.
These reflections crossed my mind rapidly, whilst the stranger
personage was silent, absorbed, and as if wrapped up in himself. I regarded
him with fear mingled with interest, as, doubtless, OEdiphus regarded the
Sphinx.
After rather a long silence, the commander resumed the conversation.
"I have hesitated," said he, "but I have thought that my interest
might be reconciled with that pity to which every human being has a right.
You will remain on board my vessel, since fate has cast you there. You will
be free; and, in exchange for this liberty, I shall only impose one single
condition. Your word of honour to submit to it will suffice."
"Speak, sir," I answered. "I suppose this condition is one which a man
of honour may accept?"
"Yes, sir; it is this: It is possible that certain events, unforeseen,
may oblige me to consign you to your cabins for some hours or some days, as
the case may be. As I desire never to use violence, I expect from you, more
than all the others, a passive obedience. In thus acting, I take all the
responsibility: I acquit you entirely, for I make it an impossibility for
you to see what ought not to be seen. Do you accept this condition?"
Then things took place on board which, to say the least, were
singular, and which ought not to be seen by people who were not placed
beyond the pale of social laws. Amongst the surprises which the future was
preparing for me, this might not be the least.
"We accept," I answered; "only I will ask your permission, sir, to
address one question to you -- one only."
"Speak, sir."
"You said that we should be free on board."
"Entirely."
"I ask you, then, what you mean by this liberty?"
"Just the liberty to go, to come, to see, to observe even all that
passes here save under rare circumstances -- the
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liberty, in short, which we enjoy ourselves, my companions and I."
It was evident that we did not understand one another.
"Pardon me, sir," I resumed, "but this liberty is only what every
prisoner has of pacing his prison. It cannot suffice us."
"It must suffice you, however."
"What! we must renounce for ever seeing our country, our friends, our
relations again?"
"Yes, sir. But to renounce that unendurable worldly yoke which men
believe to be liberty is not perhaps so painful as you think."
"Well," exclaimed Ned Land, "never will I give my word of honour not
to try to escape."
"I did not ask you for your word of honour, Master Land," answered the
commander, coldly.
"Sir," I replied, beginning to get angry in spite of myself, "you
abuse your situation towards us; it is cruelty."
"No, sir, it is clemency. You are my prisoners of war. I keep you,
when I could, by a word, plunge you into the depths of the ocean. You
attacked me. You came to surprise a secret which no man in the world must
penetrate -- the secret of my whole existence. And you think that I am
going to send you back to that world which must know me no more? Never! In
retaining you, it is not you whom I guard -- it is myself."
These words indicated a resolution taken on the part of the commander,
against which no arguments would prevail.
"So, sir," I rejoined, "you give us simply the choice between life and
death?"
"Simply."
"My friends," said I, "to a question thus put, there is nothing to
answer. But no word of honour binds us to the master of this vessel."
"None, sir," answered the Unknown.
Then, in a gentler tone, he continued:
"Now, permit me to finish what I have to say to you. I know you, M.
Aronnax. You and your companions will not, perhaps, have so much to
complain of in the chance
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Page 56
which has bound you to my fate. You will find amongst the books which are
my favourite study the work which you have published on 'the depths of the
sea.' I have often read it. You have carried out your work as far as
terrestrial science permitted you. But you do not know all -- you have not
seen all. Let me tell you then, Professor, that you will not regret the
time passed on board my vessel. You are going to visit the land of
marvels."
These words of the commander had a great effect upon me. I cannot deny
it. My weak point was touched; and I forgot, for a moment, that the
contemplation of these sublime subjects was not worth the loss of liberty.
Besides, I trusted to the future to decide this grave question. So I
contented myself with saying:
"By what name ought I to address you?"
"Sir," replied the commander, "I am nothing to you but Captain Nemo;
and you and your companions are nothing to me but the passengers of the
Nautilus."
Captain Nemo called. A steward appeared. The captain gave him his
orders in that strange language which I did not understand. Then, turning
towards the Canadian and Conseil:
"A repast awaits you in your cabin," said he. "Be so good as to follow
this man.
"And now, M. Aronnax, our breakfast is ready. Permit me to lead the
way."
"I am at your service, Captain."
I followed Captain Nemo; and as soon as I had passed through the door,
I found myself in a kind of passage lighted by electricity, similar to the
waist of a ship. After we had proceeded a dozen yards, a second door opened
before me.
I then entered a dining-room, decorated and furnished in severe taste.
High oaken sideboards, inlaid with ebony, stood at the two extremities of
the room, and upon their shelves glittered china, porcelain, and glass of
inestimable value. The plate on the table sparkled in the rays which the
luminous ceiling shed around, while the light was tempered and softened by
exquisite paintings.
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In the centre of the room was a table richly laid out. Captain Nemo
indicated the place I was to occupy.
The breakfast consisted of a certain number of dishes, the contents of
which were furnished by the sea alone; and I was ignorant of the nature and
mode of preparation of some of them. I acknowledged that they were good,
but they had a peculiar flavour, which I easily became accustomed to. These
different aliments appeared to me to be rich in phosphorus, and I thought
they must have a marine origin.
Captain Nemo looked at me. I asked him no questions, but he guessed my
thoughts, and answered of his own accord the questions which I was burning
to address to him.
"The greater part of these dishes are unknown to you," he said to me.
"However, you may partake of them without fear. They are wholesome and
nourishing. For a long time I have renounced the food of the earth, and I
am never ill now. My crew, who are healthy, are fed on the same food."
"So," said I, "all these eatables are the produce of the sea?"
"Yes, Professor, the sea supplies all my wants. Sometimes I cast my
nets in tow, and I draw them in ready to break. Sometimes I hunt in the
midst of this element, which appears to be inaccessible to man, and quarry
the game which dwells in my submarine forests. My flocks, like those of
Neptune's old shepherds, graze fearlessly in the immense prairies of the
ocean. I have a vast property there, which I cultivate myself, and which is
always sown by the hand of the Creator of all things."
"I can understand perfectly, sir, that your nets furnish excellent
fish for your table; I can understand also that you hunt aquatic game in
your submarine forests; but I cannot understand at all how a particle of
meat, no matter how small, can figure in your bill of fare."
"This, which you believe to be meat, Professor, is nothing else than
fillet of turtle. Here are also some dolphins' livers, which you take to be
ragout of pork. My cook is a clever fellow, who excels in dressing these
various products of the ocean. Taste all these dishes. Here is a preserve
of
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sea-cucumber, which a Malay would declare to be unrivalled in the world;
here is a cream, of which the milk has been furnished by the cetacea, and
the sugar by the great fucus of the North Sea; and, lastly, permit me to
offer you some preserve of anemones, which is equal to that of the most
delicious fruits."
I tasted, more from curiosity than as a connoisseur, whilst Captain
Nemo enchanted me with his extraordinary stories.
"You like the sea, Captain?"
"Yes; I love it! The sea is everything. It covers seven- tenths of the
terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert,
where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides. The sea
is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence. It is
nothing but love and emotion; it is the 'Living Infinite,' as one of your
poets has said. In fact, Professor, Nature manifests herself in it by her
three kingdoms -- mineral, vegetable, and animal. The sea is the vast
reservoir of Nature. The globe began with sea, so to speak; and who knows
if it will not end with it? In it is supreme tranquillity. The sea does not
belong to despots. Upon its surface men can still exercise unjust laws,
fight, tear one another to pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial
horrors. But at thirty feet below its level, their reign ceases, their
influence is quenched, and their power disappears. Ah! sir, live -- live in
the bosom of the waters! There only is independence! There I recognise no
masters! There I am free!"
Captain Nemo suddenly became silent in the midst of this enthusiasm,
by which he was quite carried away. For a few moments he paced up and down,
much agitated. Then he became more calm, regained his accustomed coldness
of expression, and turning towards me:
"Now, Professor," said he, "if you wish to go over the Nautilus, I am
at your service."
Captain Nemo rose. I followed him. A double door, contrived at the
back of the dining-room, opened, and I entered a room equal in dimensions
to that which I had just quitted.
It was a library. High pieces of furniture, of black violet ebony
inlaid with brass, supported upon their wide shelves
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a great number of books uniformly bound. They followed the shape of the
room, terminating at the lower part in huge divans, covered with brown
leather, which were curved, to afford the greatest comfort. Light movable
desks, made to slide in and out at will, allowed one to rest one's book
while reading. In the centre stood an immense table, covered with
pamphlets, amongst which were some newspapers, already of old date. The
electric light flooded everything; it was shed from four unpolished globes
half sunk in the volutes of the ceiling. I looked with real admiration at
this room, so ingeniously fitted up, and I could scarcely believe my eyes.
"Captain Nemo," said I to my host, who had just thrown himself on one
of the divans, "this is a library which would do honour to more than one of
the continental palaces, and I am absolutely astounded when I consider that
it can follow you to the bottom of the seas."
"Where could one find greater solitude or silence, Professor?" replied
Captain Nemo. "Did your study in the Museum afford you such perfect quiet?"
"No, sir; and I must confess that it is a very poor one after yours.
You must have six or seven thousand volumes here."
"Twelve thousand, M. Aronnax. These are the only ties which bind me to
the earth. But I had done with the world on the day when my Nautilus
plunged for the first time beneath the waters. That day I bought my last
volumes, my last pamphlets, my last papers, and from that time I wish to
think that men no longer think or write. These books, Professor, are at
your service besides, and you can make use of them freely."
I thanked Captain Nemo, and went up to the shelves of the library.
Works on science, morals, and literature abounded in every language; but I
did not see one single work on political economy; that subject appeared to
be strictly proscribed. Strange to say, all these books were irregularly
arranged, in whatever language they were written; and this medley proved
that the Captain of the Nautilus must have read indiscriminately the books
which he took up by chance.
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"Sir," said I to the Captain, "I thank you for having placed this
library at my disposal. It contains treasures of science, and I shall
profit by them."
"This room is not only a library," said Captain Nemo, "it is also a
smoking-room."
"A smoking-room!" I cried. "Then one may smoke on board?"
"Certainly."
"Then, sir, I am forced to believe that you have kept up a
communication with Havannah."
"Not any," answered the Captain. "Accept this cigar, M. Aronnax; and,
though it does not come from Havannah, you will be pleased with it, if you
are a connoisseur."
I took the cigar which was offered me; its shape recalled the London
ones, but it seemed to be made of leaves of gold. I lighted it at a little
brazier, which was supported upon an elegant bronze stem, and drew the
first whiffs with the delight of a lover of smoking who has not smoked for
two days.
"It is excellent, but it is not tobacco."
"No!" answered the Captain, "this tobacco comes neither from Havannah
nor from the East. It is a kind of sea-weed, rich in nicotine, with which
the sea provides me, but somewhat sparingly."
At that moment Captain Nemo opened a door which stood opposite to that
by which I had entered the library, and I passed into an immense
drawing-room splendidly lighted.
It was a vast, four-sided room, thirty feet long, eighteen wide, and
fifteen high. A luminous ceiling, decorated with light arabesques, shed a
soft clear light over all the marvels accumulated in this museum. For it
was in fact a museum, in which an intelligent and prodigal hand had
gathered all the treasures of nature and art, with the artistic confusion
which distinguishes a painter's studio.
Thirty first-rate pictures, uniformly framed, separated by bright
drapery, ornamented the walls, which were hung with tapestry of severe
design. I saw works of great value, the greater part of which I had admired
in the special collections of Europe, and in the exhibitions of paintings.
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Some admirable statues in marble and bronze, after the finest antique
models, stood upon pedestals in the corners of this magnificent museum.
Amazement, as the Captain of the Nautilus had predicted, had already begun
to take possession of me.
"Professor," said this strange man, "you must excuse the unceremonious
way in which I receive you, and the disorder of this room."
"Sir," I answered, "without seeking to know who you are, I recognise
in you an artist."
An amateur, nothing more, sir. Formerly I loved to collect these
beautiful works created by the hand of man. I sought them greedily, and
ferreted them out indefatigably, and I have been able to bring together
some objects of great value. These are my last souvenirs of that world
which is dead to me. In my eyes, your modern artists are already old; they
have two or three thousand years of existence; I confound them in my own
mind. Masters have no age."
Under elegant glass cases, fixed by copper rivets, were classed and
labelled the most precious productions of the sea which had ever been
presented to the eye of a naturalist. My delight as a professor may be
conceived.
Apart, in separate compartments, were spread out chaplets of pearls of
the greatest beauty, which reflected the electric light in little sparks of
fire; pink pearls, torn from the pinna-marina of the Red Sea; green pearls,
yellow, blue, and black pearls, the curious productions of the divers
molluscs of every ocean, and certain mussels of the water- courses of the
North; lastly, several specimens of inestimable value. Some of these pearls
were larger than a pigeon's egg, and were worth millions.
Therefore, to estimate the value of this collection was simply
impossible. Captain Nemo must have expended millions in the acquirement of
these various specimens, and I was thinking what source he could have drawn
from, to have been able thus to gratify his fancy for collecting, when I
was interrupted by these words:
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"You are examining my shells, Professor? Unquestionably they must be
interesting to a naturalist; but for me they have a far greater charm, for
I have collected them all with my own hand, and there is not a sea on the
face of the globe which has escaped my researches."
"I can understand, Captain, the delight of wandering about in the
midst of such riches. You are one of those who have collected their
treasures themselves. No museum in Europe possesses such a collection of
the produce of the ocean. But if I exhaust all my admiration upon it, I
shall have none left for the vessel which carries it. I do not wish to pry
into your secrets: but I must confess that this Nautilus, with the motive
power which is confined in it, the contrivances which enable it to be
worked, the powerful agent which propels it, all excite my curiosity to the
highest pitch. I see suspended on the walls of this room instruments of
whose use I am ignorant."
"You will find these same instruments in my own room, Professor, where
I shall have much pleasure in explaining their use to you. But first come
and inspect the cabin which is set apart for your own use. You must see how
you will be accommodated on board the Nautilus."
I followed Captain Nemo who, by one of the doors opening from each
panel of the drawing-room, regained the waist. He conducted me towards the
bow, and there I found, not a cabin, but an elegant room, with a bed,
dressing- table, and several other pieces of excellent furniture.
I could only thank my host.
"Your room adjoins mine," said he, opening a door, "and mine opens
into the drawing-room that we have just quitted."
I entered the Captain's room: it had a severe, almost a monkish
aspect. A small iron bedstead, a table, some articles for the toilet; the
whole lighted by a skylight. No comforts, the strictest necessaries only.
Captain Nemo pointed to a seat.
"Be so good as to sit down," he said. I seated myself, and he began
thus:
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.11
ALL BY ELECTRICITY
SIR," said Captain Nemo, showing me the instruments hanging on the
walls of his room, "here are the contrivances required for the navigation
of the Nautilus. Here, as in the drawing-room, I have them always under my
eyes, and they indicate my position and exact direction in the middle of
the ocean. Some are known to you, such as the thermometer, which gives the
internal temperature of the Nautilus; the barometer, which indicates the
weight of the air and foretells the changes of the weather; the hygrometer,
which marks the dryness of the atmosphere; the storm-glass, the contents of
which, by decomposing, announce the approach of tempests; the compass,
which guides my course; the sextant, which shows the latitude by the
altitude of the sun; chronometers, by which I calculate the longitude; and
glasses for day and night, which I use to examine the points of the
horizon, when the Nautilus rises to the surface of the waves."
"These are the usual nautical instruments," I replied, "and I know the
use of them. But these others, no doubt, answer to the particular
requirements of the Nautilus. This dial with movable needle is a manometer,
is it not?"
"It is actually a manometer. But by communication with the water,
whose external pressure it indicates, it gives our depth at the same time."
"And these other instruments, the use of which I cannot guess?"
"Here, Professor, I ought to give you some explanations. Will you be
kind enough to listen to me?"
He was silent for a few moments, then he said:
"There is a powerful agent, obedient, rapid, easy, which conforms to
every use, and reigns supreme on board my vessel. Everything is done by
means of it. It lights, warms it, and is the soul of my mechanical
apparatus. This agent is electricity."
"Electricity?" I cried in surprise.
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"Yes, sir."
"Nevertheless, Captain, you possess an extreme rapidity of movement,
which does not agree well with the power of electricity. Until now, its
dynamic force has remained under restraint, and has only been able to
produce a small amount of power."
"Professor," said Captain Nemo, "my electricity is not everybody's.
You know what sea-water is composed of. In a thousand grammes are found 96
1/2 per cent. of water, and about 2 2/3 per cent. of chloride of sodium;
then, in a smaller quantity, chlorides of magnesium and of potassium,
bromide of magnesium, sulphate of magnesia, sulphate and carbonate of lime.
You see, then, that chloride of sodium forms a large part of it. So it is
this sodium that I extract from the sea-water, and of which I compose my
ingredients. I owe all to the ocean; it produces electricity, and
electricity gives heat, light, motion, and, in a word, life to the
Nautilus."
"But not the air you breathe?"
"Oh! I could manufacture the air necessary for my consumption, but it
is useless, because I go up to the surface of the water when I please.
However, if electricity does not furnish me with air to breathe, it works
at least the powerful pumps that are stored in spacious reservoirs, and
which enable me to prolong at need, and as long as I will, my stay in the
depths of the sea. It gives a uniform and unintermittent light, which the
sun does not. Now look at this clock; it is electrical, and goes with a
regularity that defies the best chronometers. I have divided it into
twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, because for me there is neither
night nor day, sun nor moon, but only that factitious light that I take
with me to the bottom of the sea. Look! just now, it is ten o'clock in the
morning."
"Exactly."
"Another application of electricity. This dial hanging in front of us
indicates the speed of the Nautilus. An electric thread puts it in
communication with the screw, and the needle indicates the real speed.
Look! now we are spinning along with a uniform speed of fifteen miles an
hour."
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"It is marvelous! And I see, Captain, you were right to make use of
this agent that takes the place of wind, water, and steam."
"We have not finished, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo, rising. "If you
will allow me, we will examine the stern of the Nautilus."
Really, I knew already the anterior part of this submarine boat, of
which this is the exact division, starting from the ship's head: the
dining-room, five yards long, separated from the library by a water-tight
partition; the library, five yards long; the large drawing-room, ten yards
long, separated from the Captain's room by a second water-tight partition;
the said room, five yards in length; mine, two and a half yards; and,
lastly a reservoir of air, seven and a half yards, that extended to the
bows. Total length thirty- five yards, or one hundred and five feet. The
partitions had doors that were shut hermetically by means of india-rubber
instruments, and they ensured the safety of the Nautilus in case of a leak.
I followed Captain Nemo through the waist, and arrived at the centre
of the boat. There was a sort of well that opened between two partitions.
An iron ladder, fastened with an iron hook to the partition, led to the
upper end. I asked the Captain what the ladder was used for.
"It leads to the small boat," he said.
"What! have you a boat?" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"Of course; an excellent vessel, light and insubmersible, that serves
either as a fishing or as a pleasure boat."
"But then, when you wish to embark, you are obliged to come to the
surface of the water?"
"Not at all. This boat is attached to the upper part of the hull of
the Nautilus, and occupies a cavity made for it. It is decked, quite
water-tight, and held together by solid bolts. This ladder leads to a
man-hole made in the hull of the Nautilus, that corresponds with a similar
hole made in the side of the boat. By this double opening I get into the
small vessel. They shut the one belonging to the Nautilus; I shut the other
by means of screw pressure. I undo the bolts, and the little boat goes up
to the surface of the sea
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with prodigious rapidity. I then open the panel of the bridge, carefully
shut till then; I mast it, hoist my sail, take my oars, and I'm off."
"But how do you get back on board?"
"I do not come back, M. Aronnax; the Nautilus comes to me."
"By your orders?"
"By my orders. An electric thread connects us. I telegraph to it, and
that is enough."
"Really," I said, astonished at these marvels, "nothing can be more
simple."
After having passed by the cage of the staircase that led to the
platform, I saw a cabin six feet long, in which Conseil and Ned Land,
enchanted with their repast, were devouring it with avidity. Then a door
opened into a kitchen nine feet long, situated between the large
store-rooms. There electricity, better than gas itself, did all the
cooking. The streams under the furnaces gave out to the sponges of platina
a heat which was regularly kept up and distributed. They also heated a
distilling apparatus, which, by evaporation, furnished excellent drinkable
water. Near this kitchen was a bathroom comfortably furnished, with hot and
cold water taps.
Next to the kitchen was the berth-room of the vessel, sixteen feet
long. But the door was shut, and I could not see the management of it,
which might have given me an idea of the number of men employed on board
the Nautilus.
At the bottom was a fourth partition that separated this office from
the engine-room. A door opened, and I found myself in the compartment where
Captain Nemo -- certainly an engineer of a very high order -- had arranged
his locomotive machinery. This engine-room, clearly lighted, did not
measure less than sixty-five feet in length. It was divided into two parts;
the first contained the materials for producing electricity, and the second
the machinery that connected it with the screw. I examined it with great
interest, in order to understand the machinery of the Nautilus.
"You see," said the Captain, "I use Bunsen's contrivances, not
Ruhmkorff's. Those would not have been powerful
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enough. Bunsen's are fewer in number, but strong and large, which
experience proves to be the best. The electricity produced passes forward,
where it works, by electro- magnets of great size, on a system of levers
and cog-wheels that transmit the movement to the axle of the screw. This
one, the diameter of which is nineteen feet, and the thread twenty-three
feet, performs about 120 revolutions in a second."
"And you get then?"
"A speed of fifty miles an hour."
"I have seen the Nautilus manoeuvre before the Abraham Lincoln, and I
have my own ideas as to its speed. But this is not enough. We must see
where we go. We must be able to direct it to the right, to the left, above,
below. How do you get to the great depths, where you find an increasing
resistance, which is rated by hundreds of atmospheres? How do you return to
the surface of the ocean? And how do you maintain yourselves in the
requisite medium? Am I asking too much?"
"Not at all, Professor," replied the Captain, with some hesitation;
"since you may never leave this submarine boat. Come into the saloon, it is
our usual study, and there you will learn all you want to know about the
Nautilus."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.12
SOME FIGURES
A MOMENT after we were seated on a divan in the saloon smoking. The
Captain showed me a sketch that gave the plan, section, and elevation of
the Nautilus. Then he began his description in these words:
"Here, M. Aronnax, are the several dimensions of the boat you are in.
It is an elongated cylinder with conical ends. It is very like a cigar in
shape, a shape already adopted in London in several constructions of the
same sort. The length of this cylinder, from stem to stern, is exactly 232
feet, and its maximum breadth is twenty-six
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feet. It is not built quite like your long-voyage steamers, but its lines
are sufficiently long, and its curves prolonged enough, to allow the water
to slide off easily, and oppose no obstacle to its passage. These two
dimensions enable you to obtain by a simple calculation the surface and
cubic contents of the Nautilus. Its area measures 6,032 feet; and its
contents about 1,500 cubic yards; that is to say, when completely immersed
it displaces 50,000 feet of water, or weighs 1,500 tons.
"When I made the plans for this submarine vessel, I meant that
nine-tenths should be submerged: consequently it ought only to displace
nine-tenths of its bulk, that is to say, only to weigh that number of tons.
I ought not, therefore, to have exceeded that weight, constructing it on
the aforesaid dimensions.
"The Nautilus is composed of two hulls, one inside, the other outside,
joined by T-shaped irons, which render it very strong. Indeed, owing to
this cellular arrangement it resists like a block, as if it were solid. Its
sides cannot yield; it coheres spontaneously, and not by the closeness of
its rivets; and its perfect union of the materials enables it to defy the
roughest seas.
"These two hulls are composed of steel plates, whose density is from
.7 to .8 that of water. The first is not less than two inches and a half
thick and weighs 394 tons. The second envelope, the keel, twenty inches
high and ten thick, weighs only sixty-two tons. The engine, the ballast,
the several accessories and apparatus appendages, the partitions and
bulkheads, weigh 961.62 tons. Do you follow all this?"
"I do."
"Then, when the Nautilus is afloat under these circumstances,
one-tenth is out of the water. Now, if I have made reservoirs of a size
equal to this tenth, or capable of holding 150 tons, and if I fill them
with water, the boat, weighing then 1,507 tons, will be completely
immersed. That would happen, Professor. These reservoirs are in the lower
part of the Nautilus. I turn on taps and they fill, and the vessel sinks
that had just been level with the surface."
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"Well, Captain, but now we come to the real difficulty. I can
understand your rising to the surface; but, diving below the surface, does
not your submarine contrivance encounter a pressure, and consequently
undergo an upward thrust of one atmosphere for every thirty feet of water,
just about fifteen pounds per square inch?"
"Just so, sir."
"Then, unless you quite fill the Nautilus, I do not see how you can
draw it down to those depths."
"Professor, you must not confound statics with dynamics or you will be
exposed to grave errors. There is very little labour spent in attaining the
lower regions of the ocean, for all bodies have a tendency to sink. When I
wanted to find out the necessary increase of weight required to sink the
Nautilus, I had only to calculate the reduction of volume that sea-water
acquires according to the depth."
"That is evident."
"Now, if water is not absolutely incompressible, it is at least
capable of very slight compression. Indeed, after the most recent
calculations this reduction is only .000436 of an atmosphere for each
thirty feet of depth. If we want to sink 3,000 feet, I should keep account
of the reduction of bulk under a pressure equal to that of a column of
water of a thousand feet. The calculation is easily verified. Now, I have
supplementary reservoirs capable of holding a hundred tons. Therefore I can
sink to a considerable depth. When I wish to rise to the level of the sea,
I only let off the water, and empty all the reservoirs if I want the
Nautilus to emerge from the tenth part of her total capacity."
I had nothing to object to these reasonings.
"I admit your calculations, Captain," I replied; "I should be wrong to
dispute them since daily experience confirms them; but I foresee a real
difficulty in the way."
"What, sir?"
"When you are about 1,000 feet deep, the walls of the Nautilus bear a
pressure of 100 atmospheres. If, then, just now you were to empty the
supplementary reservoirs, to lighten the vessel, and to go up to the
surface, the pumps
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must overcome the pressure of 100 atmospheres, which is 1,500 lbs. per
square inch. From that a power -- "
"That electricity alone can give," said the Captain, hastily. "I
repeat, sir, that the dynamic power of my engines is almost infinite. The
pumps of the Nautilus have an enormous power, as you must have observed
when their jets of water burst like a torrent upon the Abraham Lincoln.
Besides, I use subsidiary reservoirs only to attain a mean depth of 750 to
1,000 fathoms, and that with a view of managing my machines. Also, when I
have a mind to visit the depths of the ocean five or six mlles below the
surface, I make use of slower but not less infallible means."
"What are they, Captain?"
"That involves my telling you how the Nautilus is worked."
"I am impatient to learn."
"To steer this boat to starboard or port, to turn, in a word,
following a horizontal plan, I use an ordinary rudder fixed on the back of
the stern-post, and with one wheel and some tackle to steer by. But I can
also make the Nautilus rise and sink, and sink and rise, by a vertical
movement by means of two inclined planes fastened to its sides, opposite
the centre of flotation, planes that move in every direction, and that are
worked by powerful levers from the interior. If the planes are kept
parallel with the boat, it moves horizontally. If slanted, the Nautilus,
according to this inclination, and under the influence of the screw, either
sinks diagonally or rises diagonally as it suits me. And even if I wish to
rise more quickly to the surface, I ship the screw, and the pressure of the
water causes the Nautilus to rise vertically like a balloon filled with
hydrogen."
"Bravo, Captain! But how can the steersman follow the route in the
middle of the waters?"
"The steersman is placed in a glazed box, that is raised about the
hull of the Nautilus, and furnished with lenses."
"Are these lenses capable of resisting such pressure?"
"Perfectly. Glass, which breaks at a blow, is, nevertheless, capable
of offering considerable resistance. During some experiments of fishing by
electric light in 1864 in the
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Northern Seas, we saw plates less than a third of an inch thick resist a
pressure of sixteen atmospheres. Now, the glass that I use is not less than
thirty times thicker."
"Granted. But, after all, in order to see, the light must exceed the
darkness, and in the midst of the darkness in the water, how can you see?"
"Behind the steersman's cage is placed a powerful electric reflector,
the rays from which light up the sea for half a mile in front."
"Ah! bravo, bravo, Captain! Now I can account for this phosphorescence
in the supposed narwhal that puzzled us so. I now ask you if the boarding
of the Nautilus* and of the Scotia, that has made such a noise, has been
the result of a chance rencontre?"
"Quite accidental, sir. I was sailing only one fathom below the
surface of the water when the shock came. It had no bad result."
"None, sir. But now, about your rencontre with the Abraham Lincoln?"
"Professor, I am sorry for one of the best vessels in the American
navy; but they attacked me, and I was bound to defend myself. I contented
myself, however, with putting the frigate hors de combat; she will not have
any difficulty in getting repaired at the next port."
"Ah, Commander! your Nautilus is certainly a marvellous boat."
"Yes, Professor; and I love it as if it were part of myself. If danger
threatens one of your vessels on the ocean, the first impression is the
feeling of an abyss above and below. On the Nautilus men's hearts never
fail them. No defects to be afraid of, for the double shell is as firm as
iron; no rigging to attend to; no sails for the wind to carry away; no
boilers to burst; no fire to fear, for the vessel is made of iron, not of
wood; no coal to run short, for electricity is the only mechanical agent;
no collision to fear, for it alone swims in deep water; no tempest to
brave, for when it dives below the water it reaches absolute tranquillity.
There, sir! that is the perfection of vessels! And if it is true that the
engineer has more confidence in the vessel than the
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builder, and the builder than the captain himself, you understand the trust
I repose in my Nautilus; for I am at once captain, builder, and engineer."
"But how could you construct this wonderful Nautilus in secret?"
"Each separate portion, M. Aronnax, was brought from different parts
of the globe."
"But these parts had to be put together and arranged?"
"Professor, I had set up my workshops upon a desert island in the
ocean. There my workmen, that is to say, the brave men that I instructed
and educated, and myself have put together our Nautilus. Then, when the
work was finished, fire destroyed all trace of our proceedings on this
island, that I could have jumped over if I had liked."
"Then the cost of this vessel is great?"
"M. Aronnax, an iron vessel costs L145 per ton. Now the Nautilus
weighed 1,500. It came therefore to L67,500, and L80,000 more for fitting
it up, and about L200,000, with the works of art and the collections it
contains."
"One last question, Captain Nemo."
"Ask it, Professor."
"You are rich?"
"Immensely rich, sir; and I could, without missing it, pay the
national debt of France."
I stared at the singular person who spoke thus. Was he playing upon my
credulity? The future would decide that.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.13
THE BLACK RIVER
THE portion of the terrestrial globe which is covered by water is
estimated at upwards of eighty millions of acres. This fluid mass comprises
two billions two hundred and fifty millions of cubic miles, forming a
spherical body of a diameter of sixty leagues, the weight of which would be
three quintillions of tons. To comprehend the meaning of these figures, it
is necessary to observe that a quintillion is
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to a billion as a billion is to unity; in other words, there are as many
billions in a quintillion as there are units in a billion. This mass of
fluid is equal to about the quantity of water which would be discharged by
all the rivers of the earth in forty thousand years.
During the geological epochs the ocean originally prevailed
everywhere. Then by degrees, in the silurian period, the tops of the
mountains began to appear, the islands emerged, then disappeared in partial
deluges, reappeared, became settled, formed continents, till at length the
earth became geographically arranged, as we see in the present day. The
solid had wrested from the liquid thirty-seven million six hundred and
fifty-seven square miles, equal to twelve billions nine hundred and sixty
millions of acres.
The shape of continents allows us to divide the waters into five great
portions: the Arctic or Frozen Ocean, the Antarctic, or Frozen Ocean, the
Indian, the Atlantic, and the Pacific Oceans.
The Pacific Ocean extends from north to south between the two Polar
Circles, and from east to west between Asia and America, over an extent of
145 degrees of longitude. It is the quietest of seas; its currents are
broad and slow, it has medium tides, and abundant rain. Such was the ocean
that my fate destined me first to travel over under these strange
conditions.
"Sir," said Captain Nemo, "we will, if you please, take our bearings
and fix the starting-point of this voyage. It is a quarter to twelve; I
will go up again to the surface."
The Captain pressed an electric clock three times. The pumps began to
drive the water from the tanks; the needle of the manometer marked by a
different pressure the ascent of the Nautilus, then it stopped.
"We have arrived," said the Captain.
I went to the central staircase which opened on to the platform,
clambered up the iron steps, and found myself on the upper part of the
Nautilus.
The platform was only three feet out of water. The front and back of
the Nautilus was of that spindle-shape which caused it justly to be
compared to a cigar. I noticed that its
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iron plates, slightly overlaying each other, resembled the shell which
clothes the bodies of our large terrestrial reptiles. It explained to me
how natural it was, in spite of all glasses, that this boat should have
been taken for a marine animal.
Toward the middle of the platform the longboat, half buried in the
hull of the vessel, formed a slight excrescence. Fore and aft rose two
cages of medium height with inclined sides, and partly closed by thick
lenticular glasses; one destined for the steersman who directed the
Nautilus, the other containing a brilliant lantern to give light on the
road.
The sea was beautiful, the sky pure. Scarcely could the long vehicle
feel the broad undulations of the ocean. A light breeze from the east
rippled the surface of the waters. The horizon, free from fog, made
observation easy. Nothing was in sight. Not a quicksand, not an island. A
vast desert.
Captain Nemo, by the help of his sextant, took the altitude of the
sun, which ought also to give the latitude. He waited for some moments till
its disc touched the horizon. Whilst taking observations not a muscle
moved, the instrument could not have been more motionless in a hand of
marble.
"Twelve o'clock, sir," said he. "When you like -- "
I cast a last look upon the sea, slightly yellowed by the Japanese
coast, and descended to the saloon.
"And now, sir, I leave you to your studies," added the Captain; "our
course is E.N.E., our depth is twenty-six fathoms. Here are maps on a large
scale by which you may follow it. The saloon is at your disposal, and, with
your permission, I will retire." Captain Nemo bowed, and I remained alone,
lost in thoughts all bearing on the commander of the Nautilus.
For a whole hour was I deep in these reflections, seeking to pierce
this mystery so interesting to me. Then my eyes fell upon the vast
planisphere spread upon the table, and I placed my finger on the very spot
where the given latitude and longitude crossed.
The sea has its large rivers like the continents. They are
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special currents known by their temperature and their colour. The most
remarkable of these is known by the name of the Gulf Stream. Science has
decided on the globe the direction of five principal currents: one in the
North Atlantic, a second in the South, a third in the North Pacific, a
fourth in the South, and a fifth in the Southern Indian Ocean. It is even
probable that a sixth current existed at one time or another in the
Northern Indian Ocean, when the Caspian and Aral Seas formed but one vast
sheet of water.
At this point indicated on the planisphere one of these currents was
rolling, the Kuro-Scivo of the Japanese, the Black River, which, leaving
the Gulf of Bengal, where it is warmed by the perpendicular rays of a
tropical sun, crosses the Straits of Malacca along the coast of Asia, turns
into the North Pacific to the Aleutian Islands, carrying with it trunks of
camphor-trees and other indigenous productions, and edging the waves of the
ocean with the pure indigo of its warm water. It was this current that the
Nautilus was to follow. I followed it with my eye; saw it lose itself in
the vastness of the Pacific, and felt myself drawn with it, when Ned Land
and Conseil appeared at the door of the saloon.
My two brave companions remained petrified at the sight of the wonders
spread before them.
"Where are we, where are we?" exclaimed the Canadian. "In the museum
at Quebec?"
"My friends," I answered, making a sign for them to enter, "you are
not in Canada, but on board the Nautilus, fifty yards below the level of
the sea."
"But, M. Aronnax," said Ned Land, "can you tell me how many men there
are on board? Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred?"
"I cannot answer you, Mr. Land; it is better to abandon for a time all
idea of seizing the Nautilus or escaping from it. This ship is a
masterpiece of modern industry, and I should be sorry not to have seen it.
Many people would accept the situation forced upon us, if only to move
amongst such wonders. So be quiet and let us try and see what passes around
us."
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"See!" exclaimed the harpooner, "but we can see nothing in this iron
prison! We are walking -- we are sailing -- blindly."
Ned Land had scarcely pronounced these words when all was suddenly
darkness. The luminous ceiling was gone, and so rapidly that my eyes
received a painful impression.
We remained mute, not stirring, and not knowing what surprise awaited
us, whether agreeable or disagreeable. A sliding noise was heard: one would
have said that panels were working at the sides of the Nautilus.
"It is the end of the end!" said Ned Land.
Suddenly light broke at each side of the saloon, through two oblong
openings. The liquid mass appeared vividly lit up by the electric gleam.
Two crystal plates separated us from the sea. At first I trembled at the
thought that this frail partition might break, but strong bands of copper
bound them, giving an almost infinite power of resistance.
The sea was distinctly visible for a mile all round the Nautilus. What
a spectacle! What pen can describe it? Who could paint the effects of the
light through those transparent sheets of water, and the softness of the
successive gradations from the lower to the superior strata of the ocean?
We know the transparency of the sea and that its clearness is far
beyond that of rock-water. The mineral and organic substances which it
holds in suspension heightens its transparency. In certain parts of the
ocean at the Antilles, under seventy-five fathoms of water, can be seen
with surprising clearness a bed of sand. The penetrating power of the solar
rays does not seem to cease for a depth of one hundred and fifty fathoms.
But in this middle fluid travelled over by the Nautilus, the electric
brightness was produced even in the bosom of the waves. It was no longer
luminous water, but liquid light.
On each side a window opened into this unexplored abyss. The obscurity
of the saloon showed to advantage the brightness outside, and we looked out
as if this pure crystal had been the glass of an immense aquarium.
"You wished to see, friend Ned; well, you see now."
"Curious! curious!" muttered the Canadian, who, forgetting
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his ill-temper, seemed to submit to some irresistible attraction; "and one
would come further than this to admire such a sight!"
"Ah!" thought I to myself, "I understand the life of this man; he has
made a world apart for himself, in which he treasures all his greatest
wonders."
For two whole hours an aquatic army escorted the Nautilus. During
their games, their bounds, while rivalling each other in beauty,
brightness, and velocity, I distinguished the green labre; the banded
mullet, marked by a double line of black; the round-tailed goby, of a white
colour, with violet spots on the back; the Japanese scombrus, a beautiful
mackerel of these seas, with a blue body and silvery head; the brilliant
azurors, whose name alone defies description; some banded spares, with
variegated fins of blue and yellow; the woodcocks of the seas, some
specimens of which attain a yard in length; Japanese salamanders, spider
lampreys, serpents six feet long, with eyes small and lively, and a huge
mouth bristling with teeth; with many other species.
Our imagination was kept at its height, interjections followed quickly
on each other. Ned named the fish, and Conseil classed them. I was in
ecstasies with the vivacity of their movements and the beauty of their
forms. Never had it been given to me to surprise these animals, alive and
at liberty, in their natural element. I will not mention all the varieties
which passed before my dazzled eyes, all the collection of the seas of
China and Japan. These fish, more numerous than the birds of the air, came,
attracted, no doubt, by the brilliant focus of the electric light.
Suddenly there was daylight in the saloon, the iron panels closed
again, and the enchanting vision disappeared. But for a long time I dreamt
on, till my eyes fell on the instruments hanging on the partition. The
compass still showed the course to be E.N.E., the manometer indicated a
pressure of five atmospheres, equivalent to a depth of twenty- five
fathoms, and the electric log gave a speed of fifteen miles an hour. I
expected Captain Nemo, but he did not appear. The clock marked the hour of
five.
Ned Land and Conseil returned to their cabin, and I
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retired to my chamber. My dinner was ready. It was composed of turtle soup
made of the most delicate hawks- bills, of a surmullet served with puff
paste (the liver of which, prepared by itself, was most delicious), and
fillets of the emperor-holocanthus, the savour of which seemed to me
superior even to salmon.
I passed the evening reading, writing, and thinking. Then sleep
overpowered me, and I stretched myself on my couch of zostera, and slept
profoundly, whilst the Nautilus was gliding rapidly through the current of
the Black River.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.14
A NOTE OF INVITATION
THE next day was the 9th of November. I awoke after a long sleep of
twelve hours. Conseil came, according to custom, to know "how I passed the
night," and to offer his services. He had left his friend the Canadian
sleeping like a man who had never done anything else all his life. I let
the worthy fellow chatter as be pleased, without caring to answer him. I
was preoccupied by the absence of the Captain during our sitting of the day
before, and hoping to see him to-day.
As soon as I was dressed I went into the saloon. It was deserted. I
plunged into the study of the shell treasures hidden behind the glasses.
The whole day passed without my being honoured by a visit from Captain
Nemo. The panels of the saloon did not open. Perhaps they did not wish us
to tire of these beautiful things.
The course of the Nautilus was E.N.E., her speed twelve knots, the
depth below the surface between twenty-five and thirty fathoms.
The next day, 10th of November, the same desertion, the same solitude.
I did not see one of the ship's crew: Ned and Conseil spent the greater
part of the day with me. They were astonished at the puzzling absence of
the Captain. Was
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this singular man ill? -- had he altered his intentions with regard to us?
After all, as Conseil said, we enjoyed perfect liberty, we were
delicately and abundantly fed. Our host kept to his terms of the treaty. We
could not complain, and, indeed, the singularity of our fate reserved such
wonderful compensation for us that we had no right to accuse it as yet.
That day I commenced the journal of these adventures which has enabled
me to relate them with more scrupulous exactitude and minute detail.
11th November, early in the morning. The fresh air spreading over the
interior of the Nautilus told me that we had come to the surface of the
ocean to renew our supply of oxygen. I directed my steps to the central
staircase, and mounted the platform.
It was six o'clock, the weather was cloudy, the sea grey, but calm.
Scarcely a billow. Captain Nemo, whom I hoped to meet, would he be there? I
saw no one but the steersman imprisoned in his glass cage. Seated upon the
projection formed by the hull of the pinnace, I inhaled the salt breeze
with delight.
By degrees the fog disappeared under the action of the sun's rays, the
radiant orb rose from behind the eastern horizon. The sea flamed under its
glance like a train of gunpowder. The clouds scattered in the heights were
coloured with lively tints of beautiful shades, and numerous "mare's
tails," which betokened wind for that day. But what was wind to this
Nautilus, which tempests could not frighten!
I was admiring this joyous rising of the sun, so gay, and so
life-giving, when I heard steps approaching the platform. I was prepared to
salute Captain Nemo, but it was his second (whom I had already seen on the
Captain's first visit) who appeared. He advanced on the platform, not
seeming to see me. With his powerful glass to his eye, he scanned every
point of the horizon with great attention. This examination over, he
approached the panel and pronounced a sentence in exactly these terms. I
have remembered
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it, for every morning it was repeated under exactly the same conditions. It
was thus worded:
"Nautron respoc lorni virch."
What it meant I could not say.
These words pronounced, the second descended. I thought that the
Nautilus was about to return to its submarine navigation. I regained the
panel and returned to my chamber.
Five days sped thus, without any change in our situation. Every
morning I mounted the platform. The same phrase was pronounced by the same
individual. But Captain Nemo did not appear.
I had made up my mind that I should never see him again, when, on the
16th November, on returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found upon
my table a note addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was written in
a bold, clear hand, the characters rather pointed, recalling the German
type. The note was worded as follows: TO PROFESSOR ARONNAX,
On board the Nautilus.
16th of November, 1867.
Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting- party, which will
take place to-morrow morning in the forests of the Island of Crespo. He
hopes that nothing will prevent the Professor from being present, and he
will with pleasure see him joined by his companions. CAPTAIN NEMO,
Commander of the Nautilus.
"A hunt!" exclaimed Ned.
"And in the forests of the Island of Crespo!" added Conseil.
"Oh! then the gentleman is going on terra firma?" replied Ned Land.
"That seems to me to be clearly indicated," said I, reading the letter
once more.
"Well, we must accept," said the Canadian. "But once more on dry
ground, we shall know what to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a
piece of fresh venison."
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Without seeking to reconcile what was contradictory between Captain
Nemo's manifest aversion to islands and continents, and his invitation to
hunt in a forest, I contented myself with replying:
"Let us first see where the Island of Crespo is."
I consulted the planisphere, and in 32° 40' N. lat. and 157° 50' W.
long., I found a small island, recognised in 1801 by Captain Crespo, and
marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la Plata, the meaning of
which is The Silver Rock. We were then about eighteen hundred miles from
our starting-point, and the course of the Nautilus, a little changed, was
bringing it back towards the southeast.
I showed this little rock, lost in the midst of the North Pacific, to
my companions.
"If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground," said I, "he at
least chooses desert islands."
Ned Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he
left me.
After supper, which was served by the steward, mute and impassive, I
went to bed, not without some anxiety.
The next morning, the 17th of November, on awakening, I felt that the
Nautilus was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the saloon.
Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and asked me
if it was convenient for me to accompany him. As he made no allusion to his
absence during the last eight days, I did not mention it, and simply
answered that my companions and myself were ready to follow him.
We entered the dining-room, where breakfast was served.
"M. Aronnax," said the Captain, "pray, share my breakfast without
ceremony; we will chat as we eat. For, though I promised you a walk in the
forest, I did not undertake to find hotels there. So breakfast as a man who
will most likely not have his dinner till very late."
I did honour to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish,
and slices of sea-cucumber, and different sorts of seaweed. Our drink
consisted of pure water, to which the Captain added some drops of a
fermented liquor, extracted
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by the Kamschatcha method from a seaweed known under the name of Rhodomenia
palmata. Captain Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began:
"Sir, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of Crespo,
you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge lightly of any
man."
"But Captain, believe me -- "
"Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any
cause to accuse me of folly and contradiction."
"I listen."
"You know as well as I do, Professor, that man can live under water,
providing he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In
submarine works, the workman, clad in an impervious dress, with his head in
a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of forcing pumps and
regulators."
"That is a diving apparatus," said I.
"Just so, but under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is
attached to the pump which sends him air through an india-rubber tube, and
if we were obliged to be thus held to the Nautilus, we could not go far."
"And the means of getting free?" I asked.
"It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own
countrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use, and which
will allow you to risk yourself under these new physiological conditions
without any organ whatever suffering. It consists of a reservoir of thick
iron plates, in which I store the air under a pressure of fifty
atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on the back by means of braces, like a
soldier's knapsack. Its upper part forms a box in which the air is kept by
means of a bellows, and therefore cannot escape unless at its normal
tension. In the Rouquayrol apparatus such as we use, two india- rubber
pipes leave this box and join a sort of tent which holds the nose and
mouth; one is to introduce fresh air, the other to let out the foul, and
the tongue closes one or the other according to the wants of the
respirator. But I, in encountering great pressures at the bottom of the
sea, was obliged to shut my head, like that of a diver in a ball
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of copper; and it is to this ball of copper that the two pipes, the
inspirator and the expirator, open."
"Perfectly, Captain Nemo; but the air that you carry with you must
soon be used; when it only contains fifteen per cent. of oxygen it is no
longer fit to breathe."
"Right! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the Nautilus
allow me to store the air under considerable pressure, and on those
conditions the reservoir of the apparatus can furnish breathable air for
nine or ten hours."
"I have no further objections to make," I answered. "I will only ask
you one thing, Captain -- how can you light your road at the bottom of the
sea?"
"With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax; one is carried on the back,
the other is fastened to the waist. It is composed of a Bunsen pile, which
I do not work with bichromate of potash, but with sodium. A wire is
introduced which collects the electricity produced, and directs it towards
a particularly made lantern. In this lantern is a spiral glass which
contains a small quantity of carbonic gas. When the apparatus is at work
this gas becomes luminous, giving out a white and continuous light. Thus
provided, I can breathe and I can see."
"Captain Nemo, to all my objections you make such crushing answers
that I dare no longer doubt. But, if I am forced to admit the Rouquayrol
and Ruhmkorff apparatus, I must be allowed some reservations with regard to
the gun I am to carry."
"But it is not a gun for powder," answered the Captain.
"Then it is an air-gun."
"Doubtless! How would you have me manufacture gunpowder on board,
without either saltpetre, sulphur, or charcoal?"
"Besides," I added, "to fire under water in a medium eight hundred and
fifty-five times denser than the air, we must conquer very considerable
resistance."
"That would be no difficulty. There exist guns, according to Fulton,
perfected in England by Philip Coles and Burley, in France by Furcy, and in
Italy by Landi, which are furnished with a peculiar system of closing,
which can fire
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under these conditions. But I repeat, having no powder, I use air under
great pressure, which the pumps of the Nautilus furnish abundantly."
"But this air must be rapidly used?"
"Well, have I not my Rouquayrol reservoir, which can furnish it at
need? A tap is all that is required. Besides M. Aronnax, you must see
yourself that, during our submarine hunt, we can spend but little air and
but few balls."
"But it seems to me that in this twilight, and in the midst of this
fluid, which is very dense compared with the atmosphere, shots could not go
far, nor easily prove mortal."
"Sir, on the contrary, with this gun every blow is mortal; and,
however lightly the animal is touched, it falls as if struck by a
thunderbolt."
"Why?"
"Because the balls sent by this gun are not ordinary balls, but little
cases of glass. These glass cases are covered with a case of steel, and
weighted with a pellet of lead; they are real Leyden bottles, into which
the electricity is forced to a very high tension. With the slightest shock
they are discharged, and the animal, however strong it may be, falls dead.
I must tell you that these cases are size number four, and that the charge
for an ordinary gun would be ten."
"I will argue no longer," I replied, rising from the table. "I have
nothing left me but to take my gun. At all events, I will go where you go."
Captain Nemo then led me aft; and in passing before Ned's and
Conseil's cabin, I called my two companions, who followed promptly. We then
came to a cell near the machinery-room, in which we put on our
walking-dress.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.15
A WALK ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA
THIS cell was, to speak correctly, the arsenal and wardrobe of the
Nautilus. A dozen diving apparatuses hung from the partition waiting our
use.
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Ned Land, on seeing them, showed evident repugnance to dress himself
in one.
"But, my worthy Ned, the forests of the Island of Crespo are nothing
but submarine forests."
"Good!" said the disappointed harpooner, who saw his dreams of fresh
meat fade away. "And you, M. Aronnax, are you going to dress yourself in
those clothes?"
"There is no alternative, Master Ned."
"As you please, sir," replied the harpooner, shrugging his shoulders;
"but, as for me, unless I am forced, I will never get into one."
"No one will force you, Master Ned," said Captain Nemo.
"Is Conseil going to risk it?" asked Ned.
"I follow my master wherever he goes," replied Conseil.
At the Captain's call two of the ship's crew came to help us dress in
these heavy and impervious clothes, made of india-rubber without seam, and
constructed expressly to resist considerable pressure. One would have
thought it a suit of armour, both supple and resisting. This suit formed
trousers and waistcoat. The trousers were finished off with thick boots,
weighted with heavy leaden soles. The texture of the waistcoat was held
together by bands of copper, which crossed the chest, protecting it from
the great pressure of the water, and leaving the lungs free to act; the
sleeves ended in gloves, which in no way restrained the movement of the
hands. There was a vast difference noticeable between these consummate
apparatuses and the old cork breastplates, jackets, and other contrivances
in vogue during the eighteenth century.
Captain Nemo and one of his companions (a sort of Hercules, who must
have possessed great strength), Conseil and myself were soon enveloped in
the dresses. There remained nothing more to be done but to enclose our
heads in the metal box. But, before proceeding to this operation, I asked
the Captain's permission to examine the guns.
One of the Nautilus men gave me a simple gun, the butt end of which,
made of steel, hollow in the centre, was rather large. It served as a
reservoir for compressed air, which a valve, worked by a spring, allowed to
escape into
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a metal tube. A box of projectiles in a groove in the thickness of the butt
end contained about twenty of these electric balls, which, by means of a
spring, were forced into the barrel of the gun. As soon as one shot was
fired, another was ready.
"Captain Nemo," said I, "this arm is perfect, and easily handled: I
only ask to be allowed to try it. But how shall we gain the bottom of the
sea?"
"At this moment, Professor, the Nautilus is stranded in five fathoms,
and we have nothing to do but to start."
"But how shall we get off?"
"You shall see."
Captain Nemo thrust his head into the helmet, Conseil and I did the
same, not without hearing an ironical "Good sport!" from the Canadian. The
upper part of our dress terminated in a copper collar upon which was
screwed the metal helmet. Three holes, protected by thick glass, allowed us
to see in all directions, by simply turning our head in the interior of the
head-dress. As soon as it was in position, the Rouquayrol apparatus on our
backs began to act; and, for my part, I could breathe with ease.
With the Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, and the gun in my hand,
I was ready to set out. But to speak the truth, imprisoned in these heavy
garments, and glued to the deck by my leaden soles, it was impossible for
me to take a step.
But this state of things was provided for. I felt myself being pushed
into a little room contiguous to the wardrobe- room. My companions
followed, towed along in the same way. I heard a water-tight door,
furnished with stopper- plates, close upon us, and we were wrapped in
profound darkness.
After some minutes, a loud hissing was heard. I felt the cold mount
from my feet to my chest. Evidently from some part of the vessel they had,
by means of a tap, given entrance to the water, which was invading us, and
with which the room was soon filled. A second door cut in the side of the
Nautilus then opened. We saw a faint light. In another instant our feet
trod the bottom of the sea.
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And now, how can I retrace the impression left upon me by that walk
under the waters? Words are impotent to relate such wonders! Captain Nemo
walked in front, his companion followed some steps behind. Conseil and I
remained near each other, as if an exchange of words had been possible
through our metallic cases. I no longer felt the weight of my clothing, or
of my shoes, of my reservoir of air, or my thick helmet, in the midst of
which my head rattled like an almond in its shell.
The light, which lit the soil thirty feet below the surface of the
ocean, astonished me by its power. The solar rays shone through the watery
mass easily, and dissipated all colour, and I clearly distinguished objects
at a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Beyond that the tints darkened
into fine gradations of ultramarine, and faded into vague obscurity. Truly
this water which surrounded me was but another air denser than the
terrestrial atmosphere, but almost as transparent. Above me was the calm
surface of the sea. We were walking on fine, even sand, not wrinkled, as on
a flat shore, which retains the impression of the billows. This dazzling
carpet, really a reflector, repelled the rays of the sun with wonderful
intensity, which accounted for the vibration which penetrated every atom of
liquid. Shall I be believed when I say that, at the depth of thirty feet, I
could see as if I was in broad daylight?
For a quarter of an hour I trod on this sand, sown with the impalpable
dust of shells. The hull of the Nautilus, resembling a long shoal,
disappeared by degrees; but its lantern, when darkness should overtake us
in the waters, would help to guide us on board by its distinct rays.
Soon forms of objects outlined in the distance were discernible. I
recognised magnificent rocks, hung with a tapestry of zoophytes of the most
beautiful kind, and I was at first struck by the peculiar effect of this
medium.
It was then ten in the morning; the rays of the sun struck the surface
of the waves at rather an oblique angle, and at the touch of their light,
decomposed by refraction as through a prism, flowers, rocks, plants,
shells, and polypi were shaded at the edges by the seven solar colours. It
was marvellous,
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a feast for the eyes, this complication of coloured tints, a perfect
kaleidoscope of green, yellow, orange, violet, indigo, and blue; in one
word, the whole palette of an enthusiastic colourist! Why could I not
communicate to Conseil the lively sensations which were mounting to my
brain, and rival him in expressions of admiration? For aught I knew,
Captain Nemo and his companion might be able to exchange thoughts by means
of signs previously agreed upon. So, for want of better, I talked to
myself; I declaimed in the copper box which covered my head, thereby
expending more air in vain words than was perhaps wise.
Various kinds of isis, clusters of pure tuft-coral, prickly fungi, and
anemones formed a brilliant garden of flowers, decked with their
collarettes of blue tentacles, sea-stars studding the sandy bottom. It was
a real grief to me to crush under my feet the brilliant specimens of
molluscs which strewed the ground by thousands, of hammerheads, donaciae
(veritable bounding shells), of staircases, and red helmet-shells,
angel-wings, and many others produced by this inexhaustible ocean. But we
were bound to walk, so we went on, whilst above our heads waved medusae
whose umbrellas of opal or rose-pink, escalloped with a band of blue,
sheltered us from the rays of the sun and fiery pelagiae, which, in the
darkness, would have strewn our path with phosphorescent light.
All these wonders I saw in the space of a quarter of a mile, scarcely
stopping, and following Captain Nemo, who beckoned me on by signs. Soon the
nature of the soil changed; to the sandy plain succeeded an extent of slimy
mud which the Americans call "ooze," composed of equal parts of silicious
and calcareous shells. We then travelled over a plain of seaweed of wild
and luxuriant vegetation. This sward was of close texture, and soft to the
feet, and rivalled the softest carpet woven by the hand of man. But whilst
verdure was spread at our feet, it did not abandon our heads. A light
network of marine plants, of that inexhaustible family of seaweeds of which
more than two thousand kinds are known, grew on the surface of the water.
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I noticed that the green plants kept nearer the top of the sea, whilst the
red were at a greater depth, leaving to the black or brown the care of
forming gardens and parterres in the remote beds of the ocean.
We had quitted the Nautilus about an hour and a half. It was near
noon; I knew by the perpendicularity of the sun's rays, which were no
longer refracted. The magical colours disappeared by degrees, and the
shades of emerald and sapphire were effaced. We walked with a regular step,
which rang upon the ground with astonishing intensity; the slightest noise
was transmitted with a quickness to which the ear is unaccustomed on the
earth; indeed, water is a better conductor of sound than air, in the ratio
of four to one. At this period the earth sloped downwards; the light took a
uniform tint. We were at a depth of a hundred and five yards and twenty
inches, undergoing a pressure of six atmospheres.
At this depth I could still see the rays of the sun, though feebly; to
their intense brilliancy had succeeded a reddish twilight, the lowest state
between day and night; but we could still see well enough; it was not
necessary to resort to the Ruhmkorff apparatus as yet. At this moment
Captain Nemo stopped; he waited till I joined him, and then pointed to an
obscure mass, looming in the shadow, at a short distance.
"It is the forest of the Island of Crespo," thought I; and I was not
mistaken.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.16
A SUBMARINE FOREST
WE HAD at last arrived on the borders of this forest, doubtless one of
the finest of Captain Nemo's immense domains. He looked upon it as his own,
and considered he had the same right over it that the first men had in the
first days of the world. And, indeed, who would have disputed with him the
possession of this submarine property? What other
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hardier pioneer would come, hatchet in hand, to cut down the dark copses?
This forest was composed of large tree-plants; and the moment we
penetrated under its vast arcades, I was struck by the singular position of
their branches -- a position I had not yet observed.
Not an herb which carpeted the ground, not a branch which clothed the
trees, was either broken or bent, nor did they extend horizontally; all
stretched up to the surface of the ocean. Not a filament, not a ribbon,
however thin they might be, but kept as straight as a rod of iron. The fuci
and llianas grew in rigid perpendicular lines, due to the density of the
element which had produced them. Motionless yet, when bent to one side by
the hand, they directly resumed their former position. Truly it was the
region of perpendicularity!
I soon accustomed myself to this fantastic position, as well as to the
comparative darkness which surrounded us. The soil of the forest seemed
covered with sharp blocks, difficult to avoid. The submarine flora struck
me as being very perfect, and richer even than it would have been in the
arctic or tropical zones, where these productions are not so plentiful. But
for some minutes I involuntarily confounded the genera, taking animals for
plants; and who would not have been mistaken? The fauna and the flora are
too closely allied in this submarine world.
These plants are self-propagated, and the principle of their existence
is in the water, which upholds and nourishes them. The greater number,
instead of leaves, shoot forth blades of capricious shapes, comprised
within a scale of colours pink, carmine, green, olive, fawn, and brown.
"Curious anomaly, fantastic element!" said an ingenious naturalist,
"in which the animal kingdom blossoms, and the vegetable does not!"
In about an hour Captain Nemo gave the signal to halt; I, for my part,
was not sorry, and we stretched ourselves under an arbour of alariae, the
long thin blades of which stood up like arrows.
This short rest seemed delicious to me; there was nothing
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wanting but the charm of conversation; but, impossible to speak, impossible
to answer, I only put my great copper head to Conseil's. I saw the worthy
fellow's eyes glistening with delight, and, to show his satisfaction, he
shook himself in his breastplate of air, in the most comical way in the
world.
After four hours of this walking, I was surprised not to find myself
dreadfully hungry. How to account for this state of the stomach I could not
tell. But instead I felt an insurmountable desire to sleep, which happens
to all divers. And my eyes soon closed behind the thick glasses, and I fell
into a heavy slumber, which the movement alone had prevented before.
Captain Nemo and his robust companion, stretched in the clear crystal, set
us the example.
How long I remained buried in this drowsiness I cannot judge, but,
when I woke, the sun seemed sinking towards the horizon. Captain Nemo had
already risen, and I was beginning to stretch my limbs, when an unexpected
apparition brought me briskly to my feet.
A few steps off, a monstrous sea-spider, about thirty- eight inches
high, was watching me with squinting eyes, ready to spring upon me. Though
my diver's dress was thick enough to defend me from the bite of this
animal, I could not help shuddering with horror. Conseil and the sailor of
the Nautilus awoke at this moment. Captain Nemo pointed out the hideous
crustacean, which a blow from the butt end of the gun knocked over, and I
saw the horrible claws of the monster writhe in terrible convulsions. This
incident reminded me that other animals more to be feared might haunt these
obscure depths, against whose attacks my diving-dress would not protect me.
I had never thought of it before, but I now resolved to be upon my guard.
Indeed, I thought that this halt would mark the termination of our walk;
but I was mistaken, for, instead of returning to the Nautilus, Captain Nemo
continued his bold excursion. The ground was still on the incline, its
declivity seemed to be getting greater, and to be leading us to greater
depths. It must have been about three o'clock when we reached a narrow
valley, between high perpendicular walls, situated about
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seventy-five fathoms deep. Thanks to the perfection of our apparatus, we
were forty-five fathoms below the limit which nature seems to have imposed
on man as to his submarine excursions.
I say seventy-five fathoms, though I had no instrument by which to
judge the distance. But I knew that even in the clearest waters the solar
rays could not penetrate further. And accordingly the darkness deepened. At
ten paces not an object was visible. I was groping my way, when I suddenly
saw a brilliant white light. Captain Nemo had just put his electric
apparatus into use; his companion did the same, and Conseil and I followed
their example. By turning a screw I established a communication between the
wire and the spiral glass, and the sea, lit by our four lanterns, was
illuminated for a circle of thirty-six yards.
As we walked I thought the light of our Ruhmkorff apparatus could not
fail to draw some inhabitant from its dark couch. But if they did approach
us, they at least kept at a respectful distance from the hunters. Several
times I saw Captain Nemo stop, put his gun to his shoulder, and after some
moments drop it and walk on. At last, after about four hours, this
marvellous excursion came to an end. A wall of superb rocks, in an imposing
mass, rose before us, a heap of gigantic blocks, an enormous, steep granite
shore, forming dark grottos, but which presented no practicable slope; it
was the prop of the Island of Crespo. It was the earth! Captain Nemo
stopped suddenly. A gesture of his brought us all to a halt; and, however
desirous I might be to scale the wall, I was obliged to stop. Here ended
Captain Nemo's domains. And he would not go beyond them. Further on was a
portion of the globe he might not trample upon.
The return began. Captain Nemo had returned to the head of his little
band, directing their course without hesitation. I thought we were not
following the same road to return to the Nautilus. The new road was very
steep, and consequently very painful. We approached the surface of the sea
rapidly. But this return to the upper strata was not so sudden as to cause
relief from the pressure too rapidly,
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which might have produced serious disorder in our organisation, and brought
on internal lesions, so fatal to divers. Very soon light reappeared and
grew, and, the sun being low on the horizon, the refraction edged the
different objects with a spectral ring. At ten yards and a half deep, we
walked amidst a shoal of little fishes of all kinds, more numerous than the
birds of the air, and also more agile; but no aquatic game worthy of a shot
had as yet met our gaze, when at that moment I saw the Captain shoulder his
gun quickly, and follow a moving object into the shrubs. He fired; I heard
a slight hissing, and a creature fell stunned at some distance from us. It
was a magnificent sea-otter, an enhydrus, the only exclusively marine
quadruped. This otter was five feet long, and must have been very valuable.
Its skin, chestnut- brown above and silvery underneath, would have made one
of those beautiful furs so sought after in the Russian and Chinese markets:
the fineness and the lustre of its coat would certainly fetch L80. I
admired this curious mammal, with its rounded head ornamented with short
ears, its round eyes, and white whiskers like those of a cat, with webbed
feet and nails, and tufted tail. This precious animal, hunted and tracked
by fishermen, has now become very rare, and taken refuge chiefly in the
northern parts of the Pacific, or probably its race would soon become
extinct.
Captain Nemo's companion took the beast, threw it over his shoulder,
and we continued our journey. For one hour a plain of sand lay stretched
before us. Sometimes it rose to within two yards and some inches of the
surface of the water. I then saw our image clearly reflected, drawn
inversely, and above us appeared an identical group reflecting our
movements and our actions; in a word, like us in every point, except that
they walked with their heads downward and their feet in the air.
Another effect I noticed, which was the passage of thick clouds which
formed and vanished rapidly; but on reflection I understood that these
seeming clouds were due to the varying thickness of the reeds at the
bottom, and I could even see the fleecy foam which their broken tops
multiplied on the water, and the shadows of large birds
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passing above our heads, whose rapid flight I could discern on the surface
of the sea.
On this occasion I was witness to one of the finest gunshots which
ever made the nerves of a hunter thrill. A large bird of great breadth of
wing, clearly visible, approached, hovering over us. Captain Nemo's
companion shouldered his gun and fired, when it was only a few yards above
the waves. The creature fell stunned, and the force of its fall brought it
within the reach of dexterous hunter's grasp. It was an albatross of the
finest kind.
Our march had not been interrupted by this incident. For two hours we
followed these sandy plains, then fields of algae very disagreeable to
cross. Candidly, I could do no more when I saw a glimmer of light, which,
for a half mile, broke the darkness of the waters. It was the lantern of
the Nautilus. Before twenty minutes were over we should be on board, and I
should be able to breathe with ease, for it seemed that my reservoir
supplied air very deficient in oxygen. But I did not reckon on an
accidental meeting which delayed our arrival for some time.
I had remained some steps behind, when I presently saw Captain Nemo
coming hurriedly towards me. With his strong hand he bent me to the ground,
his companion doing the same to Conseil. At first I knew not what to think
of this sudden attack, but I was soon reassured by seeing the Captain lie
down beside me, and remain immovable.
I was stretched on the ground, just under the shelter of a bush of
algae, when, raising my head, I saw some enormous mass, casting
phosphorescent gleams, pass blusteringly by.
My blood froze in my veins as I recognised two formidable sharks which
threatened us. It was a couple of tintoreas, terrible creatures, with
enormous tails and a dun glassy stare, the phosphorescent matter ejected
from holes pierced around the muzzle. Monstrous brutes! which would crush a
whole man in their iron jaws. I did not know whether Conseil stopped to
classify them; for my part, I noticed their silver bellies, and their huge
mouths bristling with teeth,
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from a very unscientific point of view, and more as a possible victim than
as a naturalist.
Happily the voracious creatures do not see well. They passed without
seeing us, brushing us with their brownish fins, and we escaped by a
miracle from a danger certainly greater than meeting a tiger full-face in
the forest. Half an hour after, guided by the electric light we reached the
Nautilus. The outside door had been left open, and Captain Nemo closed it
as soon as we had entered the first cell. He then pressed a knob. I heard
the pumps working in the midst of the vessel, I felt the water sinking from
around me, and in a few moments the cell was entirely empty. The inside
door then opened, and we entered the vestry.
There our diving-dress was taken off, not without some trouble, and,
fairly worn out from want of food and sleep, I returned to my room, in
great wonder at this surprising excursion at the bottom of the sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.17
FOUR THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE PACIFIC
THE next morning, the 18th of November, I had quite recovered from my
fatigues of the day before, and I went up on to the platform, just as the
second lieutenant was uttering his daily phrase.
I was admiring the magnificent aspect of the ocean when Captain Nemo
appeared. He did not seem to be aware of my presence, and began a series of
astronomical observations. Then, when he had finished, he went and leant on
the cage of the watch-light, and gazed abstractedly on the ocean. In the
meantime, a number of the sailors of the Nautilus, all strong and healthy
men, had come up onto the platform. They came to draw up the nets that had
been laid all night. These sailors were evidently of different nations,
although the European type was visible in all of them. I recognised some
unmistakable Irishmen, Frenchmen, some Sclaves, and a Greek, or a Candiote.
They were civil,
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and only used that odd language among themselves, the origin of which I
could not guess, neither could I question them.
The nets were hauled in. They were a large kind of "chaluts," like
those on the Normandy coasts, great pockets that the waves and a chain
fixed in the smaller meshes kept open. These pockets, drawn by iron poles,
swept through the water, and gathered in everything in their way. That day
they brought up curious specimens from those productive coasts.
I reckoned that the haul had brought in more than nine hundredweight
of fish. It was a fine haul, but not to be wondered at. Indeed, the nets
are let down for several hours, and enclose in their meshes an infinite
variety. We had no lack of excellent food, and the rapidity of the Nautilus
and the attraction of the electric light could always renew our supply.
These several productions of the sea were immediately lowered through the
panel to the steward's room, some to be eaten fresh, and others pickled.
The fishing ended, the provision of air renewed, I thought that the
Nautilus was about to continue its submarine excursion, and was preparing
to return to my room, when, without further preamble, the Captain turned to
me, saying:
"Professor, is not this ocean gifted with real life? It has its
tempers and its gentle moods. Yesterday it slept as we did, and now it has
woke after a quiet night. Look!" he continued, "it wakes under the caresses
of the sun. It is going to renew its diurnal existence. It is an
interesting study to watch the play of its organisation. It has a pulse,
arteries, spasms; and I agree with the learned Maury, who discovered in it
a circulation as real as the circulation of blood in animals.
"Yes, the ocean has indeed circulation, and to promote it, the Creator
has caused things to multiply in it -- caloric, salt, and animalculae."
When Captain Nemo spoke thus, he seemed altogether changed, and
aroused an extraordinary emotion in me.
"Also," he added, "true existence is there; and I can imagine the
foundations of nautical towns, clusters of submarine
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houses, which, like the Nautilus, would ascend every morning to breathe at
the surface of the water, free towns, independent cities. Yet who knows
whether some despot -- "
Captain Nemo finished his sentence with a violent gesture. Then,
addressing me as if to chase away some sorrowful thought:
"M. Aronnax," he asked. "do you know the depth of the ocean?"
"I only know, Captain, what the principal soundings have taught us."
"Could you tell me them, so that I can suit them to my purpose?"
"These are some," I replied, "that I remember. If I am not mistaken, a
depth of 8,000 yards has been found in the North Atlantic, and 2,500 yards
in the Mediterranean. The most remarkable soundings have been made in the
South Atlantic, near the thirty-fifth parallel, and they gave 12,000 yards,
14,000 yards, and 15,000 yards. To sum up all, it is reckoned that if the
bottom of the sea were levelled, its mean depth would be about one and
three-quarter leagues."
"Well, Professor," replied the Captain, "we shall show you better than
that I hope. As to the mean depth of this part of the Pacific, I tell you
it is only 4,000 yards."
Having said this, Captain Nemo went towards the panel, and disappeared
down the ladder. I followed him, and went into the large drawing-room. The
screw was immediately put in motion, and the log gave twenty miles an hour.
During the days and weeks that passed, Captain Nemo was very sparing
of his visits. I seldom saw him. The lieutenant pricked the ship's course
regularly on the chart, so I could always tell exactly the route of the
Nautilus.
Nearly every day, for some time, the panels of the drawing-room were
opened, and we were never tired of penetrating the mysteries of the
submarine world.
The general direction of the Nautilus was south-east, and it kept
between 100 and 150 yards of depth. One day, however, I do not know why,
being drawn diagonally by
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means of the inclined planes, it touched the bed of the sea. The
thermometer indicated a temperature of 4.25 (cent.): a temperature that at
this depth seemed common to all latitudes.
At three o'clock in the morning of the 26th of November the Nautilus
crossed the tropic of Cancer at 172° long. On 27th instant it sighted the
Sandwich Islands, where Cook died, February 14, 1779. We had then gone
4,860 leagues from our starting-point. In the morning, when I went on the
platform, I saw two miles to windward, Hawaii, the largest of the seven
islands that form the group. I saw clearly the cultivated ranges, and the
several mountain- chains that run parallel with the side, and the volcanoes
that overtop Mouna-Rea, which rise 5,000 yards above the level of the sea.
Besides other things the nets brought up, were several flabellariae and
graceful polypi, that are peculiar to that part of the ocean. The direction
of the Nautilus was still to the south-east. It crossed the equator
December 1, in 142° long.; and on the 4th of the same month, after crossing
rapidly and without anything in particular occurring, we sighted the
Marquesas group. I saw, three miles off, Martin's peak in Nouka-Hiva, the
largest of the group that belongs to France. I only saw the woody mountains
against the horizon, because Captain Nemo did not wish to bring the ship to
the wind. There the nets brought up beautiful specimens of fish: some with
azure fins and tails like gold, the flesh of which is unrivalled; some
nearly destitute of scales, but of exquisite flavour; others, with bony
jaws, and yellow-tinged gills, as good as bonitos; all fish that would be
of use to us. After leaving these charming islands protected by the French
flag, from the 4th to the 11th of December the Nautilus sailed over about
2,000 miles.
During the daytime of the 11th of December I was busy reading in the
large drawing-room. Ned Land and Conseil watched the luminous water through
the half-open panels. The Nautilus was immovable. While its reservoirs were
filled, it kept at a depth of 1,000 yards, a region rarely visited in the
ocean, and in which large fish were seldom seen.
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I was then reading a charming book by Jean Mace, The Slaves of the
Stomach, and I was learning some valuable lessons from it, when Conseil
interrupted me.
"Will master come here a moment?" he said, in a curious voice.
"What is the matter, Conseil?"
"I want master to look."
I rose, went, and leaned on my elbows before the panes and watched.
In a full electric light, an enormous black mass, quite immovable, was
suspended in the midst of the waters. I watched it attentively, seeking to
find out the nature of this gigantic cetacean. But a sudden thought crossed
my mind. "A vessel!" I said, half aloud.
"Yes," replied the Canadian, "a disabled ship that has sunk
perpendicularly."
Ned Land was right; we were close to a vessel of which the tattered
shrouds still hung from their chains. The keel seemed to be in good order,
and it had been wrecked at most some few hours. Three stumps of masts,
broken off about two feet above the bridge, showed that the vessel had had
to sacrifice its masts. But, lying on its side, it had filled, and it was
heeling over to port. This skeleton of what it had once been was a sad
spectacle as it lay lost under the waves, but sadder still was the sight of
the bridge, where some corpses, bound with ropes, were still lying. I
counted five -- four men, one of whom was standing at the helm, and a woman
standing by the poop, holding an infant in her arms. She was quite young. I
could distinguish her features, which the water had not decomposed, by the
brilliant light from the Nautilus. In one despairing effort, she had raised
her infant above her head -- poor little thing! -- whose arms encircled its
mother's neck. The attitude of the four sailors was frightful, distorted as
they were by their convulsive movements, whilst making a last effort to
free themselves from the cords that bound them to the vessel. The steersman
alone, calm, with a grave, clear face, his grey hair glued to his forehead,
and his hand clutching the wheel of
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the helm, seemed even then to be guiding the three broken masts through the
depths of the ocean.
What a scene! We were dumb; our hearts beat fast before this
shipwreck, taken as it were from life and photographed in its last moments.
And I saw already, coming towards it with hungry eyes, enormous sharks,
attracted by the human flesh.
However, the Nautilus, turning, went round the submerged vessel, and
in one instant I read on the stern -- "The Florida, Sunderland."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.18
VANIKORO
THIS terrible spectacle was the forerunner of the series of maritime
catastrophes that the Nautilus was destined to meet with in its route. As
long as it went through more frequented waters, we often saw the hulls of
shipwrecked vessels that were rotting in the depths, and deeper down
cannons, bullets, anchors, chains, and a thousand other iron materials
eaten up by rust. However, on the 11th of December we sighted the Pomotou
Islands, the old "dangerous group" of Bougainville, that extend over a
space of 500 leagues at E.S.E. to W.N.W., from the Island Ducie to that of
Lazareff. This group covers an area of 370 square leagues, and it is formed
of sixty groups of islands, among which the Gambier group is remarkable,
over which France exercises sway. These are coral islands, slowly raised,
but continuous, created by the daily work of polypi. Then this new island
will be joined later on to the neighboring groups, and a fifth continent
will stretch from New Zealand and New Caledonia, and from thence to the
Marquesas.
One day, when I was suggesting this theory to Captain Nemo, he replied
coldly:
"The earth does not want new continents, but new men."
On 15th of December, we left to the east the bewitching group of the
Societies and the graceful Tahiti, queen of the
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Pacific. I saw in the morning, some miles to the windward, the elevated
summits of the island. These waters furnished our table with excellent
fish, mackerel, bonitos, and some varieties of a sea-serpent.
On the 25th of December the Nautilus sailed into the midst of the New
Hebrides, discovered by Quiros in 1606, and that Bougainville explored in
1768, and to which Cook gave its present name in 1773. This group is
composed principally of nine large islands, that form a band of 120 leagues
N.N.S. to S.S.W., between 15° and 2° S. lat., and 164° and 168° long. We
passed tolerably near to the Island of Aurou, that at noon looked like a
mass of green woods, surmounted by a peak of great height.
That day being Christmas Day, Ned Land seemed to regret sorely the
non-celebration of "Christmas," the family fete of which Protestants are so
fond. I had not seen Captain Nemo for a week, when, on the morning of the
27th, he came into the large drawing-room, always seeming as if he had seen
you five minutes before. I was busily tracing the route of the Nautilus on
the planisphere. The Captain came up to me, put his finger on one spot on
the chart, and said this single word.
"Vanikoro."
The effect was magical! It was the name of the islands on which La
Perouse had been lost! I rose suddenly.
"The Nautilus has brought us to Vanikoro?" I asked.
"Yes, Professor," said the Captain.
"And I can visit the celebrated islands where the Boussole and the
Astrolabe struck?"
"If you like, Professor."
"When shall we be there?"
"We are there now."
Followed by Captain Nemo, I went up on to the platform, and greedily
scanned the horizon.
To the N.E. two volcanic islands emerged of unequal size, surrounded
by a coral reef that measured forty miles in circumference. We were close
to Vanikoro, really the one to which Dumont d'Urville gave the name of Isle
de la Recherche, and exactly facing the little harbour of Vanou,
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situated in 16° 4' S. lat., and 164° 32' E. long. The earth seemed covered
with verdure from the shore to the summits in the interior, that were
crowned by Mount Kapogo, 476 feet high. The Nautilus, having passed the
outer belt of rocks by a narrow strait, found itself among breakers where
the sea was from thirty to forty fathoms deep. Under the verdant shade of
some mangroves I perceived some savages, who appeared greatly surprised at
our approach. In the long black body, moving between wind and water, did
they not see some formidable cetacean that they regarded with suspicion?
Just then Captain Nemo asked me what I knew about the wreck of La
Perouse.
"Only what everyone knows, Captain," I replied.
"And could you tell me what everyone knows about it?" be inquired,
ironically.
"Easily."
I related to him all that the last works of Dumont d'Urville had made
known -- works from which the following is a brief account.
La Perouse, and his second, Captain de Langle, were sent by Louis XVI,
in 1785, on a voyage of circumnavigation. They embarked in the corvettes
Boussole and the Astrolabe, neither of which were again heard of. In 1791,
the French Government, justly uneasy as to the fate of these two sloops,
manned two large merchantmen, the Recherche and the Esperance, which left
Brest the 28th of September under the command of Bruni d'Entrecasteaux.
Two months after, they learned from Bowen, commander of the Albemarle,
that the debris of shipwrecked vessels had been seen on the coasts of New
Georgia. But D'Entrecasteaux, ignoring this communication -- rather
uncertain, besides -- directed his course towards the Admiralty Islands,
mentioned in a report of Captain Hunter's as being the place where La
Perouse was wrecked.
They sought in vain. The Esperance and the Recherche passed before
Vanikoro without stopping there, and, in fact, this voyage was most
disastrous, as it cost D'Entrecasteaux
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his life, and those of two of his lieutenants, besides several of his crew.
Captain Dillon, a shrewd old Pacific sailor, was the first to find
unmistakable traces of the wrecks. On the 15th of May, 1824, his vessel,
the St. Patrick, passed close to Tikopia, one of the New Hebrides. There a
Lascar came alongside in a canoe, sold him the handle of a sword in silver
that bore the print of characters engraved on the hilt. The Lascar
pretended that six years before, during a stay at Vanikoro, he had seen two
Europeans that belonged to some vessels that had run aground on the reefs
some years ago.
Dillon guessed that he meant La Perouse, whose disappearance had
troubled the whole world. He tried to get on to Vanikoro, where, according
to the Lascar, he would find numerous debris of the wreck, but winds and
tides prevented him.
Dillon returned to Calcutta. There he interested the Asiatic Society
and the Indian Company in his discovery. A vessel, to which was given the
name of the Recherche, was put at his disposal, and he set out, 23rd
January, 1827, accompanied by a French agent.
The Recherche, after touching at several points in the Pacific, cast
anchor before Vanikoro, 7th July, 1827, in that same harbour of Vanou where
the Nautilus was at this time.
There it collected numerous relics of the wreck -- iron utensils,
anchors, pulley-strops, swivel-guns, an 18 lb. shot, fragments of
astronomical instruments, a piece of crown- work, and a bronze clock,
bearing this inscription -- "Bazin m'a fait," the mark of the foundry of
the arsenal at Brest about 1785. There could be no further doubt.
Dillon, having made all inquiries, stayed in the unlucky place till
October. Then he quitted Vanikoro, and directed his course towards New
Zealand; put into Calcutta, 7th April, 1828, and returned to France, where
he was warmly welcomed by Charles X.
But at the same time, without knowing Dillon's movements, Dumont
d'Urville had already set out to find the scene of the wreck. And they had
learned from a whaler
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that some medals and a cross of St. Louis had been found in the hands of
some savages of Louisiade and New Caledonia. Dumont d'Urville, commander of
the Astrolabe, had then sailed, and two months after Dillon had left
Vanikoro he put into Hobart Town. There he learned the results of Dillon's
inquiries, and found that a certain James Hobbs, second lieutenant of the
Union of Calcutta, after landing on an island situated 8° 18' S. lat., and
156° 30' E. long., had seen some iron bars and red stuffs used by the
natives of these parts. Dumont d'Urville, much perplexed, and not knowing
how to credit the reports of low-class journals, decided to follow Dillon's
track.
On the 10th of February, 1828, the Astrolabe appeared off Tikopia, and
took as guide and interpreter a deserter found on the island; made his way
to Vanikoro, sighted it on the 12th inst., lay among the reefs until the
14th, and not until the 20th did he cast anchor within the barrier in the
harbour of Vanou.
On the 23rd, several officers went round the island and brought back
some unimportant trifles. The natives, adopting a system of denials and
evasions, refused to take them to the unlucky place. This ambiguous conduct
led them to believe that the natives had ill-treated the castaways, and
indeed they seemed to fear that Dumont d'Urville had come to avenge La
Perouse and his unfortunate crew.
However, on the 26th, appeased by some presents, and understanding
that they had no reprisals to fear, they led M. Jacquireot to the scene of
the wreck.
There, in three or four fathoms of water, between the reefs of Pacou
and Vanou, lay anchors, cannons, pigs of lead and iron, embedded in the
limy concretions. The large boat and the whaler belonging to the Astrolabe
were sent to this place, and, not without some difficulty, their crews
hauled up an anchor weighing 1,800 lbs., a brass gun, some pigs of iron,
and two copper swivel-guns.
Dumont d'Urville, questioning the natives, learned too that La
Perouse, after losing both his vessels on the reefs of this island, had
constructed a smaller boat, only to be lost a second time. Where, no one
knew.
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But the French Government, fearing that Dumont d'Urville was not
acquainted with Dillon's movements, had sent the sloop Bayonnaise,
commanded by Legoarant de Tromelin, to Vanikoro, which had been stationed
on the west coast of America. The Bayonnaise cast her anchor before
Vanikoro some months after the departure of the Astrolabe, but found no new
document; but stated that the savages had respected the monument to La
Perouse. That is the substance of what I told Captain Nemo.
"So," he said, "no one knows now where the third vessel perished that
was constructed by the castaways on the island of Vanikoro?"
"No one knows."
Captain Nemo said nothing, but signed to me to follow him into the
large saloon. The Nautilus sank several yards below the waves, and the
panels were opened.
I hastened to the aperture, and under the crustations of coral,
covered with fungi, I recognised certain debris that the drags had not been
able to tear up -- iron stirrups, anchors, cannons, bullets, capstan
fittings, the stem of a ship, all objects clearly proving the wreck of some
vessel, and now carpeted with living flowers. While I was looking on this
desolate scene, Captain Nemo said, in a sad voice:
"Commander La Perouse set out 7th December, 1785, with his vessels La
Boussole and the Astrolabe. He first cast anchor at Botany Bay, visited the
Friendly Isles, New Caledonia, then directed his course towards Santa Cruz,
and put into Namouka, one of the Hapai group. Then his vessels struck on
the unknown reefs of Vanikoro. The Boussole, which went first, ran aground
on the southerly coast. The Astrolabe went to its help, and ran aground
too. The first vessel was destroyed almost immediately. The second,
stranded under the wind, resisted some days. The natives made the castaways
welcome. They installed themselves in the island, and constructed a smaller
boat with the debris of the two large ones. Some sailors stayed willingly
at Vanikoro; the others, weak and ill, set out with La Perouse. They
directed their course towards the Solomon Islands, and there perished, with
everything, on the westerly coast of the
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chief island of the group, between Capes Deception and Satisfaction."
"How do you know that?"
"By this, that I found on the spot where was the last wreck."
Captain Nemo showed me a tin-plate box, stamped with the French arms,
and corroded by the salt water. He opened it, and I saw a bundle of papers,
yellow but still readable.
They were the instructions of the naval minister to Commander La
Perouse, annotated in the margin in Louis XVI's handwriting.
"Ah! it is a fine death for a sailor!" said Captain Nemo, at last. "A
coral tomb makes a quiet grave; and I trust that I and my comrades will
find no other."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.19
TORRES STRAITS
DURING the night of the 27th or 28th of December, the Nautilus left
the shores of Vanikoro with great speed. Her course was south-westerly, and
in three days she had gone over the 750 leagues that separated it from La
Perouse's group and the south-east point of Papua.
Early on the 1st of January, 1863, Conseil joined me on the platform.
"Master, will you permit me to wish you a happy New Year?"
"What! Conseil; exactly as if I was at Paris in my study at the Jardin
des Plantes? Well, I accept your good wishes, and thank you for them. Only,
I will ask you what you mean by a 'Happy New Year' under our circumstances?
Do you mean the year that will bring us to the end of our imprisonment, or
the year that sees us continue this strange voyage?"
"Really, I do not know how to answer, master. We are sure to see
curious things, and for the last two months we
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have not had time for dullness. The last marvel is always the most
astonishing; and, if we continue this progression, I do not know how it
will end. It is my opinion that we shall never again see the like. I think
then, with no offence to master, that a happy year would be one in which we
could see everything."
On 2nd January we had made 11,340 miles, or 5,250 French leagues,
since our starting-point in the Japan Seas. Before the ship's head
stretched the dangerous shores of the coral sea, on the north-east coast of
Australia. Our boat lay along some miles from the redoubtable bank on which
Cook's vessel was lost, 10th June, 1770. The boat in which Cook was struck
on a rock, and, if it did not sink, it was owing to a piece of coral that
was broken by the shock, and fixed itself in the broken keel.
I had wished to visit the reef, 360 leagues long, against which the
sea, always rough, broke with great violence, with a noise like thunder.
But just then the inclined planes drew the Nautilus down to a great depth,
and I could see nothing of the high coral walls. I had to content myself
with the different specimens of fish brought up by the nets. I remarked,
among others, some germons, a species of mackerel as large as a tunny, with
bluish sides, and striped with transverse bands, that disappear with the
animal's life. These fish followed us in shoals, and furnished us with very
delicate food. We took also a large number of giltheads, about one and a
half inches long, tasting like dorys; and flying fire-fish like submarine
swallows, which, in dark nights, light alternately the air and water with
their phosphorescent light.
Two days after crossing the coral sea, 4th January, we sighted the
Papuan coasts. On this occasion, Captain Nemo informed me that his
intention was to get into the Indian Ocean by the Strait of Torres. His
communication ended there.
The Torres Straits are nearly thirty-four leagues wide; but they are
obstructed by an innumerable quantity of islands, islets, breakers, and
rocks, that make its navigation almost impracticable; so that Captain Nemo
took all needful precautions to cross them. The Nautilus, floating betwixt
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wind and water, went at a moderate pace. Her screw, like a cetacean's tail,
beat the waves slowly.
Profiting by this, I and my two companions went up on to the deserted
platform. Before us was the steersman's cage, and I expected that Captain
Nemo was there directing the course of the Nautilus. I had before me the
excellent charts of the Straits of Torres, and I consulted them
attentively. Round the Nautilus the sea dashed furiously. The course of the
waves, that went from south-east to north-west at the rate of two and a
half miles, broke on the coral that showed itself here and there.
"This is a bad sea!" remarked Ned Land.
"Detestable indeed, and one that does not suit a boat like the
Nautilus."
"The Captain must be very sure of his route, for I see there pieces of
coral that would do for its keel if it only touched them slightly."
Indeed the situation was dangerous, but the Nautilus seemed to slide
like magic off these rocks. It did not follow the routes of the Astrolabe
and the Zelee exactly, for they proved fatal to Dumont d'Urville. It bore
more northwards, coasted the Islands of Murray, and came back to the
southwest towards Cumberland Passage. I thought it was going to pass it by,
when, going back to north-west, it went through a large quantity of islands
and islets little known, towards the Island Sound and Canal Mauvais.
I wondered if Captain Nemo, foolishly imprudent, would steer his
vessel into that pass where Dumont d'Urville's two corvettes touched; when,
swerving again, and cutting straight through to the west, he steered for
the Island of Gilboa.
It was then three in the afternoon. The tide began to recede, being
quite full. The Nautilus approached the island, that I still saw, with its
remarkable border of screw-pines. He stood off it at about two miles
distant. Suddenly a shock overthrew me. The Nautilus just touched a rock,
and stayed immovable, laying lightly to port side.
When I rose, I perceived Captain Nemo and his lieutenant on the
platform. They were examining the situation
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of the vessel, and exchanging words in their incomprehensible dialect.
She was situated thus: Two miles, on the starboard side, appeared
Gilboa, stretching from north to west like an immense arm. Towards the
south and east some coral showed itself, left by the ebb. We had run
aground, and in one of those seas where the tides are middling -- a sorry
matter for the floating of the Nautilus. However, the vessel had not
suffered, for her keel was solidly joined. But, if she could neither glide
off nor move, she ran the risk of being for ever fastened to these rocks,
and then Captain Nemo's submarine vessel would be done for.
I was reflecting thus, when the Captain, cool and calm, always master
of himself, approached me.
"An accident?" I asked.
"No; an incident."
"But an incident that will oblige you perhaps to become an inhabitant
of this land from which you flee?"
Captain Nemo looked at me curiously, and made a negative gesture, as
much as to say that nothing would force him to set foot on terra firma
again. Then he said:
"Besides, M. Aronnax, the Nautilus is not lost; it will carry you yet
into the midst of the marvels of the ocean. Our voyage is only begun, and I
do not wish to be deprived so soon of the honour of your company."
"However, Captain Nemo," I replied, without noticing the ironical turn
of his phrase, "the Nautilus ran aground in open sea. Now the tides are not
strong in the Pacific; and, if you cannot lighten the Nautilus, I do not
see how it will be reinflated."
"The tides are not strong in the Pacific: you are right there,
Professor; but in Torres Straits one finds still a difference of a yard and
a half between the level of high and low seas. To-day is 4th January, and
in five days the moon will be full. Now, I shall be very much astonished if
that satellite does not raise these masses of water sufficiently, and
render me a service that I should be indebted to her for."
Having said this, Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant,
redescended to the interior of the Nautilus. As to
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the vessel, it moved not, and was immovable, as if the coralline polypi had
already walled it up with their indestructible cement.
"Well, sir?" said Ned Land, who came up to me after the departure of
the Captain.
"Well, friend Ned, we will wait patiently for the tide on the 9th
instant; for it appears that the moon will have the goodness to put it off
again."
"Really?"
"Really."
"And this Captain is not going to cast anchor at all since the tide
will suffice?" said Conseil, simply.
The Canadian looked at Conseil, then shrugged his shoulders.
"Sir, you may believe me when I tell you that this piece of iron will
navigate neither on nor under the sea again; it is only fit to be sold for
its weight. I think, therefore, that the time has come to part company with
Captain Nemo."
"Friend Ned, I do not despair of this stout Nautilus, as you do; and
in four days we shall know what to hold to on the Pacific tides. Besides,
flight might be possible if we were in sight of the English or Provencal
coast; but on the Papuan shores, it is another thing; and it will be time
enough to come to that extremity if the Nautilus does not recover itself
again, which I look upon as a grave event."
"But do they know, at least, how to act circumspectly? There is an
island; on that island there are trees; under those trees, terrestrial
animals, bearers of cutlets and roast- beef, to which I would willingly
give a trial."
"In this, friend Ned is right," said Conseil, "and I agree with him.
Could not master obtain permission from his friend Captain Nemo to put us
on land, if only so as not to lose the habit of treading on the solid parts
of our planet?"
"I can ask him, but he will refuse."
"Will master risk it?" asked Conseil, "and we shall know how to rely
upon the Captain's amiability."
To my great surprise, Captain Nemo gave me the permission I asked for,
and he gave it very agreeably, without
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even exacting from me a promise to return to the vessel; but flight across
New Guinea might be very perilous, and I should not have counselled Ned
Land to attempt it. Better to be a prisoner on board the Nautilus than to
fall into the hands of the natives.
At eight o'clock, armed with guns and hatchets, we got off the
Nautilus. The sea was pretty calm; a slight breeze blew on land. Conseil
and I rowing, we sped along quickly, and Ned steered in the straight
passage that the breakers left between them. The boat was well handled, and
moved rapidly.
Ned Land could not restrain his joy. He was like a prisoner that had
escaped from prison, and knew not that it was necessary to re-enter it.
"Meat! We are going to eat some meat; and what meat!" he replied.
"Real game! no, bread, indeed."
"I do not say that fish is not good; we must not abuse it; but a piece
of fresh venison, grilled on live coals, will agreeably vary our ordinary
course."
"Glutton!" said Conseil, "he makes my mouth water."
"It remains to be seen," I said, "if these forests are full of game,
and if the game is not such as will hunt the hunter himself."
"Well said, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, whose teeth seemed
sharpened like the edge of a hatchet; "but I will eat tiger -- loin of
tiger -- if there is no other quadruped on this island."
"Friend Ned is uneasy about it," said Conseil.
"Whatever it may be," continued Ned Land, "every animal with four paws
without feathers, or with two paws without feathers, will be saluted by my
first shot."
"Very well! Master Land's imprudences are beginning."
"Never fear, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian; "I do not want
twenty-five minutes to offer you a dish, of my sort."
At half-past eight the Nautilus boat ran softly aground on a heavy
sand, after having happily passed the coral reef that surrounds the Island
of Gilboa.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.20
A FEW DAYS ON LAND
I WAS much impressed on touching land. Ned Land tried the soil with
his feet, as if to take possession of it. However, it was only two months
before that we had become, according to Captain Nemo, "passengers on board
the Nautilus," but, in reality, prisoners of its commander.
In a few minutes we were within musket-shot of the coast. The whole
horizon was hidden behind a beautiful curtain of forests. Enormous trees,
the trunks of which attained a height of 200 feet, were tied to each other
by garlands of bindweed, real natural hammocks, which a light breeze
rocked. They were mimosas, figs, hibisci, and palm trees, mingled together
in profusion; and under the shelter of their verdant vault grew orchids,
leguminous plants, and ferns.
But, without noticing all these beautiful specimens of Papuan flora,
the Canadian abandoned the agreeable for the useful. He discovered a
coco-tree, beat down some of the fruit, broke them, and we drunk the milk
and ate the nut with a satisfaction that protested against the ordinary
food on the Nautilus.
"Excellent!" said Ned Land.
"Exquisite!" replied Conseil.
"And I do not think," said the Canadian, "that he would object to our
introducing a cargo of coco-nuts on board."
"I do not think he would, but he would not taste them."
"So much the worse for him," said Conseil.
"And so much the better for us," replied Ned Land. "There will be more
for us."
"One word only, Master Land," I said to the harpooner, who was
beginning to ravage another coco-nut tree. "Coconuts are good things, but
before filling the canoe with them it would be wise to reconnoitre and see
if the island does not produce some substance not less useful. Fresh
vegetables would be welcome on board the Nautilus."
"Master is right," replied Conseil; "and I propose to
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reserve three places in our vessel, one for fruits, the other for
vegetables, and the third for the venison, of which I have not yet seen the
smallest specimen."
"Conseil, we must not despair," said the Canadian.
"Let us continue," I returned, "and lie in wait. Although the island
seems uninhabited, it might still contain some individuals that would be
less hard than we on the nature of game."
"Ho! ho!" said Ned Land, moving his jaws significantly.
"Well, Ned!" said Conseil.
"My word!" returned the Canadian, "I begin to understand the charms of
anthropophagy."
"Ned! Ned! what are you saying? You, a man-eater? I should not feel
safe with you, especially as I share your cabin. I might perhaps wake one
day to find myself half devoured."
"Friend Conseil, I like you much, but not enough to eat you
unnecessarily."
"I would not trust you," replied Conseil. "But enough. We must
absolutely bring down some game to satisfy this cannibal, or else one of
these fine mornings, master will find only pieces of his servant to serve
him."
While we were talking thus, we were penetrating the sombre arches of
the forest, and for two hours we surveyed it in all directions.
Chance rewarded our search for eatable vegetables, and one of the most
useful products of the tropical zones furnished us with precious food that
we missed on board. I would speak of the bread-fruit tree, very abundant in
the island of Gilboa; and I remarked chiefly the variety destitute of
seeds, which bears in Malaya the name of "rima."
Ned Land knew these fruits well. He had already eaten many during his
numerous voyages, and he knew how to prepare the eatable substance.
Moreover, the sight of them excited him, and he could contain himself no
longer.
"Master," he said, "I shall die if I do not taste a little of this
bread-fruit pie."
"Taste it, friend Ned -- taste it as you want. We are here to make
experiments -- make them."
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"It won't take long," said the Canadian.
And, provided with a lentil, he lighted a fire of dead wood that
crackled joyously. During this time, Conseil and I chose the best fruits of
the bread-fruit. Some had not then attained a sufficient degree of
maturity; and their thick skin covered a white but rather fibrous pulp.
Others, the greater number yellow and gelatinous, waited only to be picked.
These fruits enclosed no kernel. Conseil brought a dozen to Ned Land,
who placed them on a coal fire, after having cut them in thick slices, and
while doing this repeating:
"You will see, master, how good this bread is. More so when one has
been deprived of it so long. It is not even bread," added he, "but a
delicate pastry. You have eaten none, master?"
"No, Ned."
"Very well, prepare yourself for a juicy thing. If you do not come for
more, I am no longer the king of harpooners."
After some minutes, the part of the fruits that was exposed to the
fire was completely roasted. The interior looked like a white pasty, a sort
of soft crumb, the flavour of which was like that of an artichoke.
It must be confessed this bread was excellent, and I ate of it with
great relish.
"What time is it now?" asked the Canadian.
"Two o'clock at least," replied Conseil.
"How time flies on firm ground!" sighed Ned Land.
"Let us be off," replied Conseil.
We returned through the forest, and completed our collection by a raid
upon the cabbage-palms, that we gathered from the tops of the trees, little
beans that I recognised as the "abrou" of the Malays, and yams of a
superior quality.
We were loaded when we reached the boat. But Ned Land did not find his
provisions sufficient. Fate, however, favoured us. Just as we were pushing
off, he perceived several trees, from twenty-five to thirty feet high, a
species of palm-tree.
At last, at five o'clock in the evening, loaded with our riches, we
quitted the shore, and half an hour after we hailed
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the Nautilus. No one appeared on our arrival. The enormous iron-plated
cylinder seemed deserted. The provisions embarked, I descended to my
chamber, and after supper slept soundly.
The next day, 6th January, nothing new on board. Not a sound inside,
not a sign of life. The boat rested along the edge, in the same place in
which we had left it. We resolved to return to the island. Ned Land hoped
to be more fortunate than on the day before with regard to the hunt, and
wished to visit another part of the forest.
At dawn we set off. The boat, carried on by the waves that flowed to
shore, reached the island in a few minutes.
We landed, and, thinking that it was better to give in to the
Canadian, we followed Ned Land, whose long limbs threatened to distance us.
He wound up the coast towards the west: then, fording some torrents, he
gained the high plain that was bordered with admirable forests. Some
kingfishers were rambling along the water-courses, but they would not let
themselves be approached. Their circumspection proved to me that these
birds knew what to expect from bipeds of our species, and I concluded that,
if the island was not inhabited, at least human beings occasionally
frequented it.
After crossing a rather large prairie, we arrived at the skirts of a
little wood that was enlivened by the songs and flight of a large number of
birds.
"There are only birds," said Conseil.
"But they are eatable," replied the harpooner.
"I do not agree with you, friend Ned, for I see only parrots there."
"Friend Conseil," said Ned, gravely, "the parrot is like pheasant to
those who have nothing else."
"And," I added, "this bird, suitably prepared, is worth knife and
fork."
Indeed, under the thick foliage of this wood, a world of parrots were
flying from branch to branch, only needing a careful education to speak the
human language. For the moment, they were chattering with parrots of all
colours, and grave cockatoos, who seemed to meditate upon some
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philosophical problem, whilst brilliant red lories passed like a piece of
bunting carried away by the breeze, papuans, with the finest azure colours,
and in all a variety of winged things most charming to behold, but few
eatable.
However, a bird peculiar to these lands, and which has never passed
the limits of the Arrow and Papuan islands, was wanting in this collection.
But fortune reserved it for me before long.
After passing through a moderately thick copse, we found a plain
obstructed with bushes. I saw then those magnificent birds, the disposition
of whose long feathers obliges them to fly against the wind. Their
undulating flight, graceful aerial curves, and the shading of their
colours, attracted and charmed one's looks. I had no trouble in recognising
them.
"Birds of paradise!" I exclaimed.
The Malays, who carry on a great trade in these birds with the
Chinese, have several means that we could not employ for taking them.
Sometimes they put snares on the top of high trees that the birds of
paradise prefer to frequent. Sometimes they catch them with a viscous
birdlime that paralyses their movements. They even go so far as to poison
the fountains that the birds generally drink from. But we were obliged to
fire at them during flight, which gave us few chances to bring them down;
and, indeed, we vainly exhausted one half our ammunition.
About eleven o'clock in the morning, the first range of mountains that
form the centre of the island was traversed, and we had killed nothing.
Hunger drove us on. The hunters had relied on the products of the chase,
and they were wrong. Happily Conseil, to his great surprise, made a double
shot and secured breakfast. He brought down a white pigeon and a
wood-pigeon, which, cleverly plucked and suspended from a skewer, was
roasted before a red fire of dead wood. While these interesting birds were
cooking, Ned prepared the fruit of the bread-tree. Then the wood-pigeons
were devoured to the bones, and declared excellent. The nutmeg, with which
they are in the habit of stuffing their crops, flavours their flesh and
renders it delicious eating.
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"Now, Ned, what do you miss now?"
"Some four-footed game, M. Aronnax. All these pigeons are only
side-dishes and trifles; and until I have killed an animal with cutlets I
shall not be content."
"Nor I, Ned, if I do not catch a bird of paradise."
"Let us continue hunting," replied Conseil. "Let us go towards the
sea. We have arrived at the first declivities of the mountains, and I think
we had better regain the region of forests."
That was sensible advice, and was followed out. After walking for one
hour we had attained a forest of sago-trees. Some inoffensive serpents
glided away from us. The birds of paradise fled at our approach, and truly
I despaired of getting near one when Conseil, who was walking in front,
suddenly bent down, uttered a triumphal cry, and came back to me bringing a
magnificent specimen.
"Ah! bravo, Conseil!"
"Master is very good."
"No, my boy; you have made an excellent stroke. Take one of these
living birds, and carry it in your hand."
"If master will examine it, he will see that I have not deserved great
merit."
"Why, Conseil?"
"Because this bird is as drunk as a quail."
"Drunk!"
"Yes, sir; drunk with the nutmegs that it devoured under the
nutmeg-tree, under which I found it. See, friend Ned, see the monstrous
effects of intemperance!"
"By Jove!" exclaimed the Canadian, "because I have drunk gin for two
months, you must needs reproach me!"
However, I examined the curious bird. Conseil was right. The bird,
drunk with the juice, was quite powerless. It could not fly; it could
hardly walk.
This bird belonged to the most beautiful of the eight species that are
found in Papua and in the neighbouring islands. It was the "large emerald
bird, the most rare kind." It measured three feet in length. Its head was
comparatively small, its eyes placed near the opening of the beak, and also
small. But the shades of colour were beautiful, having
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a yellow beak, brown feet and claws, nut-coloured wings with purple tips,
pale yellow at the back of the neck and head, and emerald colour at the
throat, chestnut on the breast and belly. Two horned, downy nets rose from
below the tail, that prolonged the long light feathers of admirable
fineness, and they completed the whole of this marvellous bird, that the
natives have poetically named the "bird of the sun."
But if my wishes were satisfied by the possession of the bird of
paradise, the Canadian's were not yet. Happily, about two o'clock, Ned Land
brought down a magnificent hog; from the brood of those the natives call
"bari-outang." The animal came in time for us to procure real quadruped
meat, and he was well received. Ned Land was very proud of his shot. The
hog, hit by the electric ball, fell stone dead. The Canadian skinned and
cleaned it properly, after having taken half a dozen cutlets, destined to
furnish us with a grilled repast in the evening. Then the hunt was resumed,
which was still more marked by Ned and Conseil's exploits.
Indeed, the two friends, beating the bushes, roused a herd of
kangaroos that fled and bounded along on their elastic paws. But these
animals did not take to flight so rapidly but what the electric capsule
could stop their course.
"Ah, Professor!" cried Ned Land, who was carried away by the delights
of the chase, "what excellent game, and stewed, too! What a supply for the
Nautilus! Two! three! five down! And to think that we shall eat that flesh,
and that the idiots on board shall not have a crumb!"
I think that, in the excess of his joy, the Canadian, if he had not
talked so much, would have killed them all. But he contented himself with a
single dozen of these interesting marsupians. These animals were small.
They were a species of those "kangaroo rabbits" that live habitually in the
hollows of trees, and whose speed is extreme; but they are moderately fat,
and furnish, at least, estimable food. We were very satisfied with the
results of the hunt. Happy Ned proposed to return to this enchanting island
the next day, for he wished to depopulate it of all the eatable quadrupeds.
But he had reckoned without his host.
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At six o'clock in the evening we had regained the shore; our boat was
moored to the usual place. The Nautilus, like a long rock, emerged from the
waves two miles from the beach. Ned Land, without waiting, occupied himself
about the important dinner business. He understood all about cooking well.
The "bari-outang," grilled on the coals, soon scented the air with a
delicious odour.
Indeed, the dinner was excellent. Two wood-pigeons completed this
extraordinary menu. The sago pasty, the artocarpus bread, some mangoes,
half a dozen pineapples, and the liquor fermented from some coco-nuts,
overjoyed us. I even think that my worthy companions' ideas had not all the
plainness desirable.
"Suppose we do not return to the Nautilus this evening?" said Conseil.
"Suppose we never return?" added Ned Land.
Just then a stone fell at our feet and cut short the harpooner's
proposition.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.21
CAPTAIN NEMO'S THUNDERBOLT
WE LOOKED at the edge of the forest without rising, my hand stopping
in the action of putting it to my mouth, Ned Land's completing its office.
"Stones do not fall from the sky," remarked Conseil, "or they would
merit the name aerolites."
A second stone, carefully aimed, that made a savoury pigeon's leg fall
from Conseil's hand, gave still more weight to his observation. We all
three arose, shouldered our guns, and were ready to reply to any attack.
"Are they apes?" cried Ned Land.
"Very nearly -- they are savages."
"To the boat!" I said, hurrying to the sea.
It was indeed necessary to beat a retreat, for about twenty natives
armed with bows and slings appeared on the skirts
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of a copse that masked the horizon to the right, hardly a hundred steps
from us.
Our boat was moored about sixty feet from us. The savages approached
us, not running, but making hostile demonstrations. Stones and arrows fell
thickly.
Ned Land had not wished to leave his provisions; and, in spite of his
imminent danger, his pig on one side and kangaroos on the other, he went
tolerably fast. In two minutes we were on the shore. To load the boat with
provisions and arms, to push it out to sea, and ship the oars, was the work
of an instant. We had not gone two cable-lengths, when a hundred savages,
howling and gesticulating, entered the water up to their waists. I watched
to see if their apparition would attract some men from the Nautilus on to
the platform. But no. The enormous machine, lying off, was absolutely
deserted.
Twenty minutes later we were on board. The panels were open. After
making the boat fast, we entered into the interior of the Nautilus.
I descended to the drawing-room, from whence I heard some chords.
Captain Nemo was there, bending over his organ, and plunged in a musical
ecstasy.
"Captain!"
He did not hear me.
"Captain!" I said, touching his hand.
He shuddered, and, turning round, said, "Ah! it is you, Professor?
Well, have you had a good hunt, have you botanised successfully?"
"Yes Captain; but we have unfortunately brought a troop of bipeds,
whose vicinity troubles me."
"What bipeds?"
"Savages."
"Savages!" he echoed, ironically. "So you are astonished, Professor,
at having set foot on a strange land and finding savages? Savages! where
are there not any? Besides, are they worse than others, these whom you call
savages?"
"But Captain -- "
"How many have you counted?"
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"A hundred at least."
"M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, placing his fingers on the organ
stops, "when all the natives of Papua are assembled on this shore, the
Nautilus will have nothing to fear from their attacks."
The Captain's fingers were then running over the keys of the
instrument, and I remarked that he touched only the black keys, which gave
his melodies an essentially Scotch character. Soon he had forgotten my
presence, and had plunged into a reverie that I did not disturb. I went up
again on to the platform: night had already fallen; for, in this low
latitude, the sun sets rapidly and without twilight. I could only see the
island indistinctly; but the numerous fires, lighted on the beach, showed
that the natives did not think of leaving it. I was alone for several
hours, sometimes thinking of the natives -- but without any dread of them,
for the imperturbable confidence of the Captain was catching -- sometimes
forgetting them to admire the splendours of the night in the tropics. My
remembrances went to France in the train of those zodiacal stars that would
shine in some hours' time. The moon shone in the midst of the
constellations of the zenith.
The night slipped away without any mischance, the islanders frightened
no doubt at the sight of a monster aground in the bay. The panels were
open, and would have offered an easy access to the interior of the
Nautilus.
At six o'clock in the morning of the 8th January I went up on to the
platform. The dawn was breaking. The island soon showed itself through the
dissipating fogs, first the shore, then the summits.
The natives were there, more numerous than on the day before -- five
or six hundred perhaps -- some of them, profiting by the low water, had
come on to the coral, at less than two cable-lengths from the Nautilus. I
distinguished them easily; they were true Papuans, with athletic figures,
men of good race, large high foreheads, large, but not broad and flat, and
white teeth. Their woolly hair, with a reddish tinge, showed off on their
black shining bodies like those of
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the Nubians. From the lobes of their ears, cut and distended, hung chaplets
of bones. Most of these savages were naked. Amongst them, I remarked some
women, dressed from the hips to knees in quite a crinoline of herbs, that
sustained a vegetable waistband. Some chiefs had ornamented their necks
with a crescent and collars of glass beads, red and white; nearly all were
armed with bows, arrows, and shields and carried on their shoulders a sort
of net containing those round stones which they cast from their slings with
great skill. One of these chiefs, rather near to the Nautilus, examined it
attentively. He was, perhaps, a "mado" of high rank, for he was draped in a
mat of banana-leaves, notched round the edges, and set off with brilliant
colours.
I could easily have knocked down this native, who was within a short
length; but I thought that it was better to wait for real hostile
demonstrations. Between Europeans and savages, it is proper for the
Europeans to parry sharply, not to attack.
During low water the natives roamed about near the Nautilus, but were
not troublesome; I heard them frequently repeat the word "Assai," and by
their gestures I understood that they invited me to go on land, an
invitation that I declined.
So that, on that day, the boat did not push off, to the great
displeasure of Master Land, who could not complete his provisions.
This adroit Canadian employed his time in preparing the viands and
meat that he had brought off the island. As for the savages, they returned
to the shore about eleven o'clock in the morning, as soon as the coral tops
began to disappear under the rising tide; but I saw their numbers had
increased considerably on the shore. Probably they came from the
neighbouring islands, or very likely from Papua. However, I had not seen a
single native canoe. Having nothing better to do, I thought of dragging
these beautiful limpid waters, under which I saw a profusion of shells,
zoophytes, and marine plants. Moreover, it was the last day that the
Nautilus would pass in these parts, if it float
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in open sea the next day, according to Captain Nemo's promise.
I therefore called Conseil, who brought me a little light drag, very
like those for the oyster fishery. Now to work! For two hours we fished
unceasingly, but without bringing up any rarities. The drag was filled with
midas-ears, harps, melames, and particularly the most beautiful hammers I
have ever seen. We also brought up some sea-slugs, pearl- oysters, and a
dozen little turtles that were reserved for the pantry on board.
But just when I expected it least, I put my hand on a wonder, I might
say a natural deformity, very rarely met with. Conseil was just dragging,
and his net came up filled with divers ordinary shells, when, all at once,
he saw me plunge my arm quickly into the net, to draw out a shell, and
heard me utter a cry.
"What is the matter, sir?" he asked in surprise. "Has master been
bitten?"
"No, my boy; but I would willingly have given a finger for my
discovery."
"What discovery?"
"This shell," I said, holding up the object of my triumph.
"It is simply an olive porphyry."
"Yes, Conseil; but, instead of being rolled from right to left, this
olive turns from left to right."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, my boy; it is a left shell."
Shells are all right-handed, with rare exceptions; and, when by chance
their spiral is left, amateurs are ready to pay their weight in gold.
Conseil and I were absorbed in the contemplation of our treasure, and
I was promising myself to enrich the museum with it, when a stone
unfortunately thrown by a native struck against, and broke, the precious
object in Conseil's hand. I uttered a cry of despair! Conseil took up his
gun, and aimed at a savage who was poising his sling at ten yards from him.
I would have stopped him, but his blow took effect and broke the bracelet
of amulets which encircled the arm of the savage.
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"Conseil!" cried I. "Conseil!"
"Well, sir! do you not see that the cannibal has commenced the
attack?"
"A shell is not worth the life of a man," said I.
"Ah! the scoundrel!" cried Conseil; "I would rather he had broken my
shoulder!"
Conseil was in earnest, but I was not of his opinion. However, the
situation had changed some minutes before, and we had not perceived. A
score of canoes surrounded the Nautilus. These canoes, scooped out of the
trunk of a tree, long, narrow, well adapted for speed, were balanced by
means of a long bamboo pole, which floated on the water. They were managed
by skilful, half-naked paddlers, and I watched their advance with some
uneasiness. It was evident that these Papuans had already had dealings with
the Europeans and knew their ships. But this long iron cylinder anchored in
the bay, without masts or chimneys, what could they think of it? Nothing
good, for at first they kept at a respectful distance. However, seeing it
motionless, by degrees they took courage, and sought to familiarise
themselves with it. Now this familiarity was precisely what it was
necessary to avoid. Our arms, which were noiseless, could only produce a
moderate effect on the savages, who have little respect for aught but
blustering things. The thunderbolt without the reverberations of thunder
would frighten man but little, though the danger lies in the lightning, not
in the noise.
At this moment the canoes approached the Nautilus, and a shower of
arrows alighted on her.
I went down to the saloon, but found no one there. I ventured to knock
at the door that opened into the Captain's room. "Come in," was the answer.
I entered, and found Captain Nemo deep in algebraical calculations of
x and other quantities.
"I am disturbing you," said I, for courtesy's sake.
"That is true, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain; "but I think you have
serious reasons for wishing to see me?"
"Very grave ones; the natives are surrounding us in their
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canoes, and in a few minutes we shall certainly be attacked by many
hundreds of savages."
"Ah!," said Captain Nemo quietly, "they are come with their canoes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, sir, we must close the hatches."
"Exactly, and I came to say to you -- "
"Nothing can be more simple," said Captain Nemo. And, pressing an
electric button, he transmitted an order to the ship's crew.
"It is all done, sir," said he, after some moments. "The pinnace is
ready, and the hatches are closed. You do not fear, I imagine, that these
gentlemen could stave in walls on which the balls of your frigate have had
no effect?"
"No, Captain; but a danger still exists."
"What is that, sir?"
"It is that to-morrow, at about this hour, we must open the hatches to
renew the air of the Nautilus. Now, if, at this moment, the Papuans should
occupy the platform, I do not see how you could prevent them from
entering."
"Then, sir, you suppose that they will board us?"
"I am certain of it."
"Well, sir, let them come. I see no reason for hindering them. After
all, these Papuans are poor creatures, and I am unwilling that my visit to
the island should cost the life of a single one of these wretches."
Upon that I was going away; But Captain Nemo detained me, and asked me
to sit down by him. He questioned me with interest about our excursions on
shore, and our hunting; and seemed not to understand the craving for meat
that possessed the Canadian. Then the conversation turned on various
subjects, and, without being more communicative, Captain Nemo showed
himself more amiable.
Amongst other things, we happened to speak of the situation of the
Nautilus, run aground in exactly the same spot in this strait where Dumont
d'Urville was nearly lost. Apropos of this:
"This D'Urville was one of your great sailors," said the
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Captain to me, "one of your most intelligent navigators. He is the Captain
Cook of you Frenchmen. Unfortunate man of science, after having braved the
icebergs of the South Pole, the coral reefs of Oceania, the cannibals of
the Pacific, to perish miserably in a railway train! If this energetic man
could have reflected during the last moments of his life, what must have
been uppermost in his last thoughts, do you suppose?"
So speaking, Captain Nemo seemed moved, and his emotion gave me a
better opinion of him. Then, chart in hand, we reviewed the travels of the
French navigator, his voyages of circumnavigation, his double detention at
the South Pole, which led to the discovery of Adelaide and Louis Philippe,
and fixing the hydrographical bearings of the principal islands of Oceania.
"That which your D'Urville has done on the surface of the seas," said
Captain Nemo, "that have I done under them, and more easily, more
completely than he. The Astrolabe and the Zelee, incessantly tossed about
by the hurricane, could not be worth the Nautilus, quiet repository of
labour that she is, truly motionless in the midst of the waters.
"To-morrow," added the Captain, rising, "to-morrow, at twenty minutes
to three p.m., the Nautilus shall float, and leave the Strait of Torres
uninjured."
Having curtly pronounced these words, Captain Nemo bowed slightly.
This was to dismiss me, and I went back to my room.
There I found Conseil, who wished to know the result of my interview
with the Captain.
"My boy," said I, "when I feigned to believe that his Nautilus was
threatened by the natives of Papua, the Captain answered me very
sarcastically. I have but one thing to say to you: Have confidence in him,
and go to sleep in peace."
"Have you no need of my services, sir?"
"No, my friend. What is Ned Land doing?"
"If you will excuse me, sir," answered Conseil, "friend Ned is busy
making a kangaroo-pie which will be a marvel."
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I remained alone and went to bed, but slept indifferently. I heard the
noise of the savages, who stamped on the platform, uttering deafening
cries. The night passed thus, without disturbing the ordinary repose of the
crew. The presence of these cannibals affected them no more than the
soldiers of a masked battery care for the ants that crawl over its front.
At six in the morning I rose. The hatches had not been opened. The
inner air was not renewed, but the reservoirs, filled ready for any
emergency, were now resorted to, and discharged several cubic feet of
oxygen into the exhausted atmosphere of the Nautilus.
I worked in my room till noon, without having seen Captain Nemo, even
for an instant. On board no preparations for departure were visible.
I waited still some time, then went into the large saloon. The clock
marked half-past two. In ten minutes it would be high-tide: and, if Captain
Nemo had not made a rash promise, the Nautilus would be immediately
detached. If not, many months would pass ere she could leave her bed of
coral.
However, some warning vibrations began to be felt in the vessel. I
heard the keel grating against the rough calcareous bottom of the coral
reef.
At five-and-twenty minutes to three, Captain Nemo appeared in the
saloon.
"We are going to start," said he.
"Ah!" replied I.
"I have given the order to open the hatches."
"And the Papuans?"
"The Papuans?" answered Captain Nemo, slightly shrugging his
shoulders.
"Will they not come inside the Nautilus?"
"How?"
"Only by leaping over the hatches you have opened."
"M. Aronnax," quietly answered Captain Nemo, "they will not enter the
hatches of the Nautilus in that way, even if they were open."
I looked at the Captain.
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"You do not understand?" said he.
"Hardly."
"Well, come and you will see."
I directed my steps towards the central staircase. There Ned Land and
Conseil were slyly watching some of the ship's crew, who were opening the
hatches, while cries of rage and fearful vociferations resounded outside.
The port lids were pulled down outside. Twenty horrible faces
appeared. But the first native who placed his hand on the stair-rail,
struck from behind by some invisible force, I know not what, fled, uttering
the most fearful cries and making the wildest contortions.
Ten of his companions followed him. They met with the same fate.
Conseil was in ecstasy. Ned Land, carried away by his violent
instincts, rushed on to the staircase. But the moment he seized the rail
with both hands, he, in his turn, was overthrown.
"I am struck by a thunderbolt," cried he, with an oath.
This explained all. It was no rail; but a metallic cable charged with
electricity from the deck communicating with the platform. Whoever touched
it felt a powerful shock -- and this shock would have been mortal if
Captain Nemo had discharged into the conductor the whole force of the
current. It might truly be said that between his assailants and himself he
had stretched a network of electricity which none could pass with impunity.
Meanwhile, the exasperated Papuans bad beaten a retreat paralysed with
terror. As for us, half laughing, we consoled and rubbed the unfortunate
Ned Land, who swore like one possessed.
But at this moment the Nautilus, raised by the last waves of the tide,
quitted her coral bed exactly at the fortieth minute fixed by the Captain.
Her screw swept the waters slowly and majestically. Her speed increased
gradually, and, sailing on the surface of the ocean, she quitted safe and
sound the dangerous passes of the Straits of Torres.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.22
"AEGRI SOMNIA"
THE following day 10th January, the Nautilus continued her course
between two seas, but with such remarkable speed that I could not estimate
it at less than thirty-five miles an hour. The rapidity of her screw was
such that I could neither follow nor count its revolutions. When I
reflected that this marvellous electric agent, after having afforded
motion, heat, and light to the Nautilus, still protected her from outward
attack, and transformed her into an ark of safety which no profane hand
might touch without being thunderstricken, my admiration was unbounded, and
from the structure it extended to the engineer who had called it into
existence.
Our course was directed to the west, and on the 11th of January we
doubled Cape Wessel, situation in 135° long. and 10° S. lat., which forms
the east point of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The reefs were still numerous,
but more equalised, and marked on the chart with extreme precision. The
Nautilus easily avoided the breakers of Money to port and the Victoria
reefs to starboard, placed at 130° long. and on the 10th parallel, which we
strictly followed.
On the 13th of January, Captain Nemo arrived in the Sea of Timor, and
recognised the island of that name in 122° long.
From this point the direction of the Nautilus inclined towards the
south-west. Her head was set for the Indian Ocean. Where would the fancy of
Captain Nemo carry us next? Would he return to the coast of Asia or would
he approach again the shores of Europe? Improbable conjectures both, to a
man who fled from inhabited continents. Then would he descend to the south?
Was he going to double the Cape of Good Hope, then Cape Horn, and finally
go as far as the Antarctic pole? Would he come back at last to the Pacific,
where his Nautilus could sail free and independently? Time would show.
After having skirted the sands of Cartier, of Hibernia,
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Seringapatam, and Scott, last efforts of the solid against the liquid
element, on the 14th of January we lost sight of land altogether. The speed
of the Nautilus was considerably abated, and with irregular course she
sometimes swam in the bosom of the waters, sometimes floated on their
surface.
During this period of the voyage, Captain Nemo made some interesting
experiments on the varied temperature of the sea, in different beds. Under
ordinary conditions these observations are made by means of rather
complicated instruments, and with somewhat doubtful results, by means of
thermometrical sounding-leads, the glasses often breaking under the
pressure of the water, or an apparatus grounded on the variations of the
resistance of metals to the electric currents. Results so obtained could
not be correctly calculated. On the contrary, Captain Nemo went himself to
test the temperature in the depths of the sea, and his thermometer, placed
in communication with the different sheets of water, gave him the required
degree immediately and accurately.
It was thus that, either by overloading her reservoirs or by
descending obliquely by means of her inclined planes, the Nautilus
successively attained the depth of three, four, five, seven, nine, and ten
thousand yards, and the definite result of this experience was that the sea
preserved an average temperature of four degrees and a half at a depth of
five thousand fathoms under all latitudes.
On the 16th of January, the Nautilus seemed becalmed only a few yards
beneath the surface of the waves. Her electric apparatus remained inactive
and her motionless screw left her to drift at the mercy of the currents. I
supposed that the crew was occupied with interior repairs, rendered
necessary by the violence of the mechanical movements of the machine.
My companions and I then witnessed a curious spectacle. The hatches of
the saloon were open, and, as the beacon- light of the Nautilus was not in
action, a dim obscurity reigned in the midst of the waters. I observed the
state of the sea, under these conditions, and the largest fish appeared to
me no more than scarcely defined shadows, when the Nautilus
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found herself suddenly transported into full light. I thought at first that
the beacon had been lighted, and was casting its electric radiance into the
liquid mass. I was mistaken, and after a rapid survey perceived my error.
The Nautilus floated in the midst of a phosphorescent bed which, in
this obscurity, became quite dazzling. It was produced by myriads of
luminous animalculae, whose brilliancy was increased as they glided over
the metallic hull of the vessel. I was surprised by lightning in the midst
of these luminous sheets, as though they bad been rivulets of lead melted
in an ardent furnace or metallic masses brought to a white heat, so that,
by force of contrast, certain portions of light appeared to cast a shade in
the midst of the general ignition, from which all shade seemed banished.
No; this was not the calm irradiation of our ordinary lightning. There was
unusual life and vigour: this was truly living light!
In reality, it was an infinite agglomeration of coloured infusoria, of
veritable globules of jelly, provided with a threadlike tentacle, and of
which as many as twenty-five thousand have been counted in less than two
cubic half- inches of water.
During several hours the Nautilus floated in these brilliant waves,
and our admiration increased as we watched the marine monsters disporting
themselves like salamanders. I saw there in the midst of this fire that
burns not the swift and elegant porpoise (the indefatigable clown of the
ocean), and some swordfish ten feet long, those prophetic heralds of the
hurricane whose formidable sword would now and then strike the glass of the
saloon. Then appeared the smaller fish, the balista, the leaping mackerel,
wolf-thorn- tails, and a hundred others which striped the luminous
atmosphere as they swam. This dazzling spectacle was enchanting! Perhaps
some atmospheric condition increased the intensity of this phenomenon.
Perhaps some storm agitated the surface of the waves. But at this depth of
some yards, the Nautilus was unmoved by its fury and reposed peacefully in
still water.
So we progressed, incessantly charmed by some new marvel. The days
passed rapidly away, and I took no account
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of them. Ned, according to habit, tried to vary the diet on board. Like
snails, we were fixed to our shells, and I declare it is easy to lead a
snail's life.
Thus this life seemed easy and natural, and we thought no longer of
the life we led on land; but something happened to recall us to the
strangeness of our situation.
On the 18th of January, the Nautilus was in 105° long. and 15° S. lat.
The weather was threatening, the sea rough and rolling. There was a strong
east wind. The barometer, which had been going down for some days,
foreboded a coming storm. I went up on to the platform just as the second
lieutenant was taking the measure of the horary angles, and waited,
according to habit till the daily phrase was said. But on this day it was
exchanged for another phrase not less incomprehensible. Almost directly, I
saw Captain Nemo appear with a glass, looking towards the horizon.
For some minutes be was immovable, without taking his eye off the
point of observation. Then he lowered his glass and exchanged a few words
with his lieutenant. The latter seemed to be a victim to some emotion that
he tried in vain to repress. Captain Nemo, having more command over
himself, was cool. He seemed, too, to be making some objections to which
the lieutenant replied by formal assurances. At least I concluded so by the
difference of their tones and gestures. For myself, I had looked carefully
in the direction indicated without seeing anything. The sky and water were
lost in the clear line of the horizon.
However, Captain Nemo walked from one end of the platform to the
other, without looking at me, perhaps without seeing me. His step was firm,
but less regular than usual. He stopped sometimes, crossed his arms, and
observed the sea. What could he be looking for on that immense expanse?
The Nautilus was then some hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.
The lieutenant had taken up the glass and examined the horizon
steadfastly, going and coming, stamping his foot and showing more nervous
agitation than his superior officer. Beside, this mystery must necessarily
be solved, and before
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long; for, upon an order from Captain Nemo, the engine, increasing its
propelling power, made the screw turn more rapidly.
Just then the lieutenant drew the Captain's attention again. The
latter stopped walking and directed his glass towards the place indicated.
He looked long. I felt very much puzzled, and descended to the
drawing-room, and took out an excellent telescope that I generally used.
Then, leaning on the cage of the watch-light that jutted out from the front
of the platform, set myself to look over all the line of the sky and sea.
But my eye was no sooner applied to the glass than it was quickly
snatched out of my hands.
I turned round. Captain Nemo was before me, but I did not know him.
His face was transfigured. His eyes flashed sullenly; his teeth were set;
his stiff body, clenched fists, and head shrunk between his shoulders,
betrayed the violent agitation that pervaded his whole frame. He did not
move. My glass, fallen from his hands, had rolled at his feet.
Had I unwittingly provoked this fit of anger? Did this
incomprehensible person imagine that I had discovered some forbidden
secret? No; I was not the object of this hatred, for he was not looking at
me; his eye was steadily fixed upon the impenetrable point of the horizon.
At last Captain Nemo recovered himself. His agitation subsided. He
addressed some words in a foreign language to his lieutenant, then turned
to me. "M. Aronnax," he said, in rather an imperious tone, "I require you
to keep one of the conditions that bind you to me."
"What is it, Captain?"
"You must be confined, with your companions, until I think fit to
release you."
"You are the master," I replied, looking steadily at him. "But may I
ask you one question?"
"None, sir."
There was no resisting this imperious command, it would have been
useless. I went down to the cabin occupied by Ned Land and Conseil, and
told them the Captain's determination.
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You may judge how this communication was received by the Canadian.
But there was not time for altercation. Four of the crew waited at the
door, and conducted us to that cell where we had passed our first night on
board the Nautilus.
Ned Land would have remonstrated, but the door was shut upon him.
"Will master tell me what this means?" asked Conseil.
I told my companions what had passed. They were as much astonished as
I, and equally at a loss how to account for it.
Meanwhile, I was absorbed in my own reflections, and could think of
nothing but the strange fear depicted in the Captain's countenance. I was
utterly at a loss to account for it, when my cogitations were disturbed by
these words from Ned Land:
"Hallo! breakfast is ready."
And indeed the table was laid. Evidently Captain Nemo had given this
order at the same time that he had hastened the speed of the Nautilus.
"Will master permit me to make a recommendation?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy."
"Well, it is that master breakfasts. It is prudent, for we do not know
what may happen."
"You are right, Conseil."
"Unfortunately," said Ned Land, "they have only given us the ship's
fare."
"Friend Ned," asked Conseil, "what would you have said if the
breakfast had been entirely forgotten?"
This argument cut short the harpooner's recriminations.
We sat down to table. The meal was eaten in silence.
Just then the luminous globe that lighted the cell went out, and left
us in total darkness. Ned Land was soon asleep, and what astonished me was
that Conseil went off into a heavy slumber. I was thinking what could have
caused his irresistible drowsiness, when I felt my brain becoming
stupefied. In spite of my efforts to keep my eyes open, they would close. A
painful suspicion seized me. Evidently
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soporific substances had been mixed with the food we had just taken.
Imprisonment was not enough to conceal Captain Nemo's projects from us,
sleep was more necessary. I then heard the panels shut. The undulations of
the sea, which caused a slight rolling motion, ceased. Had the Nautilus
quitted the surface of the ocean? Had it gone back to the motionless bed of
water? I tried to resist sleep. It was impossible. My breathing grew weak.
I felt a mortal cold freeze my stiffened and half-paralysed limbs. My
eyelids, like leaden caps, fell over my eyes. I could not raise them; a
morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, bereft me of my being. Then the
visions disappeared, and left me in complete insensibility.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.23
THE CORAL KINGDOM
THE next day I woke with my head singularly clear. To my great
surprise, I was in my own room. My companions, no doubt, had been
reinstated in their cabin, without having perceived it any more than I. Of
what had passed during the night they were as ignorant as I was, and to
penetrate this mystery I only reckoned upon the chances of the future.
I then thought of quitting my room. Was I free again or a prisoner?
Quite free. I opened the door, went to the half-deck, went up the central
stairs. The panels, shut the evening before, were open. I went on to the
platform.
Ned Land and Conseil waited there for me. I questioned them; they knew
nothing. Lost in a heavy sleep in which they had been totally unconscious,
they had been astonished at finding themselves in their cabin.
As for the Nautilus, it seemed quiet and mysterious as ever. It
floated on the surface of the waves at a moderate pace. Nothing seemed
changed on board.
The second lieutenant then came on to the platform, and gave the usual
order below.
As for Captain Nemo, he did not appear.
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Of the people on board, I only saw the impassive steward, who served
me with his usual dumb regularity.
About two o'clock, I was in the drawing-room, busied in arranging my
notes, when the Captain opened the door and appeared. I bowed. He made a
slight inclination in return, without speaking. I resumed my work, hoping
that he would perhaps give me some explanation of the events of the
preceding night. He made none. I looked at him. He seemed fatigued; his
heavy eyes had not been refreshed by sleep; his face looked very sorrowful.
He walked to and fro, sat down and got up again, took a chance book, put it
down, consulted his instruments without taking his habitual notes, and
seemed restless and uneasy. At last, he came up to me, and said:
"Are you a doctor, M. Aronnax?"
I so little expected such a question that I stared some time at him
without answering.
"Are you a doctor?" he repeated. "Several of your colleagues have
studied medicine."
"Well," said I, "I am a doctor and resident surgeon to the hospital. I
practised several years before entering the museum."
"Very well, sir."
My answer had evidently satisfied the Captain. But, not knowing what
he would say next, I waited for other questions, reserving my answers
according to circumstances.
"M. Aronnax, will you consent to prescribe for one of my men?" be
asked.
"Is he ill?"
"Yes."
"I am ready to follow you."
"Come, then."
I own my heart beat, I do not know why. I saw certain connection
between the illness of one of the crew and the events of the day before;
and this mystery interested me at least as much as the sick man.
Captain Nemo conducted me to the poop of the Nautilus, and took me
into a cabin situated near the sailors' quarters.
There, on a bed, lay a man about forty years of age,
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with a resolute expression of countenance, a true type of an Anglo-Saxon.
I leant over him. He was not only ill, he was wounded. His head,
swathed in bandages covered with blood, lay on a pillow. I undid the
bandages, and the wounded man looked at me with his large eyes and gave no
sign of pain as I did it. It was a horrible wound. The skull, shattered by
some deadly weapon, left the brain exposed, which was much injured. Clots
of blood had formed in the bruised and broken mass, in colour like the
dregs of wine.
There was both contusion and suffusion of the brain. His breathing was
slow, and some spasmodic movements of the muscles agitated his face. I felt
his pulse. It was intermittent. The extremities of the body were growing
cold already, and I saw death must inevitably ensue. After dressing the
unfortunate man's wounds, I readjusted the bandages on his head, and turned
to Captain Nemo.
"What caused this wound?" I asked.
"What does it signify?" he replied, evasively. "A shock has broken one
of the levers of the engine, which struck myself. But your opinion as to
his state?"
I hesitated before giving it.
"You may speak," said the Captain. "This man does not understand
French."
I gave a last look at the wounded man.
"He will be dead in two hours."
"Can nothing save him?"
"Nothing."
Captain Nemo's hand contracted, and some tears glistened in his eyes,
which I thought incapable of shedding any.
For some moments I still watched the dying man, whose life ebbed
slowly. His pallor increased under the electric light that was shed over
his death-bed. I looked at his intelligent forehead, furrowed with
premature wrinkles, produced probably by misfortune and sorrow. I tried to
learn the secret of his life from the last words that escaped his lips.
"You can go now, M. Aronnax," said the Captain.
I left him in the dying man's cabin, and returned to my
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room much affected by this scene. During the whole day, I was haunted by
uncomfortable suspicions, and at night I slept badly, and between my broken
dreams I fancied I heard distant sighs like the notes of a funeral psalm.
Were they the prayers of the dead, murmured in that language that I could
not understand?
The next morning I went on to the bridge. Captain Nemo was there
before me. As soon as he perceived me he came to me.
"Professor, will it be convenient to you to make a submarine excursion
to-day?"
"With my companions?" I asked.
"If they like."
"We obey your orders, Captain."
"Will you be so good then as to put on your cork jackets?"
It was not a question of dead or dying. I rejoined Ned Land and
Conseil, and told them of Captain Nemo's proposition. Conseil hastened to
accept it, and this time the Canadian seemed quite willing to follow our
example.
It was eight o'clock in the morning. At half-past eight we were
equipped for this new excursion, and provided with two contrivances for
light and breathing. The double door was open; and, accompanied by Captain
Nemo, who was followed by a dozen of the crew, we set foot, at a depth of
about thirty feet, on the solid bottom on which the Nautilus rested.
A slight declivity ended in an uneven bottom, at fifteen fathoms
depth. This bottom differed entirely from the one I had visited on my first
excursion under the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Here, there was no fine
sand, no submarine prairies, no sea-forest. I immediately recognised that
marvellous region in which, on that day, the Captain did the honours to us.
It was the coral kingdom.
The light produced a thousand charming varieties, playing in the midst
of the branches that were so vividly coloured. I seemed to see the
membraneous and cylindrical tubes tremble beneath the undulation of the
waters. I was tempted to gather their fresh petals, ornamented with
delicate
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tentacles, some just blown, the others budding, while a small fish,
swimming swiftly, touched them slightly, like flights of birds. But if my
hand approached these living flowers, these animated, sensitive plants, the
whole colony took alarm. The white petals re-entered their red cases, the
flowers faded as I looked, and the bush changed into a block of stony
knobs.
Chance had thrown me just by the most precious specimens of the
zoophyte. This coral was more valuable than that found in the
Mediterranean, on the coasts of France, Italy and Barbary. Its tints
justified the poetical names of "Flower of Blood," and "Froth of Blood,"
that trade has given to its most beautiful productions. Coral is sold for
L20 per ounce; and in this place the watery beds would make the fortunes of
a company of coral-divers. This precious matter, often confused with other
polypi, formed then the inextricable plots called "macciota," and on which
I noticed several beautiful specimens of pink coral.
Real petrified thickets, long joints of fantastic architecture, were
disclosed before us. Captain Nemo placed himself under a dark gallery,
where by a slight declivity we reached a depth of a hundred yards. The
light from our lamps produced sometimes magical effects, following the
rough outlines of the natural arches and pendants disposed like lustres,
that were tipped with points of fire.
At last, after walking two hours, we had attained a depth of about
three hundred yards, that is to say, the extreme limit on which coral
begins to form. But there was no isolated bush, nor modest brushwood, at
the bottom of lofty trees. It was an immense forest of large mineral
vegetations, enormous petrified trees, united by garlands of elegant sea-
bindweed, all adorned with clouds and reflections. We passed freely under
their high branches, lost in the shade of the waves.
Captain Nemo had stopped. I and my companions halted, and, turning
round, I saw his men were forming a semi- circle round their chief.
Watching attentively, I observed that four of them carried on their
shoulders an object of an oblong shape.
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We occupied, in this place, the centre of a vast glade surrounded by
the lofty foliage of the submarine forest. Our lamps threw over this place
a sort of clear twilight that singularly elongated the shadows on the
ground. At the end of the glade the darkness increased, and was only
relieved by little sparks reflected by the points of coral.
Ned Land and Conseil were near me. We watched, and I thought I was
going to witness a strange scene. On observing the ground, I saw that it
was raised in certain places by slight excrescences encrusted with limy
deposits, and disposed with a regularity that betrayed the hand of man.
In the midst of the glade, on a pedestal of rocks roughly piled up,
stood a cross of coral that extended its long arms that one might have
thought were made of petrified blood. Upon a sign from Captain Nemo one of
the men advanced; and at some feet from the cross he began to dig a hole
with a pickaxe that he took from his belt. I understood all! This glade was
a cemetery, this hole a tomb, this oblong object the body of the man who
had died in the night! The Captain and his men had come to bury their
companion in this general resting-place, at the bottom of this inaccessible
ocean!
The grave was being dug slowly; the fish fled on all sides while their
retreat was being thus disturbed; I heard the strokes of the pickaxe, which
sparkled when it hit upon some flint lost at the bottom of the waters. The
hole was soon large and deep enough to receive the body. Then the bearers
approached; the body, enveloped in a tissue of white linen, was lowered
into the damp grave. Captain Nemo, with his arms crossed on his breast, and
all the friends of him who had loved them, knelt in prayer.
The grave was then filled in with the rubbish taken from the ground,
which formed a slight mound. When this was done, Captain Nemo and his men
rose; then, approaching the grave, they knelt again, and all extended their
hands in sign of a last adieu. Then the funeral procession returned to the
Nautilus, passing under the arches of the forest, in the midst of thickets,
along the coral bushes, and still on the ascent. At last the light of the
ship appeared, and its
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luminous track guided us to the Nautilus. At one o'clock we had returned.
As soon as I had changed my clothes I went up on to the platform, and,
a prey to conflicting emotions, I sat down near the binnacle. Captain Nemo
joined me. I rose and said to him:
"So, as I said he would, this man died in the night?"
"Yes, M. Aronnax."
"And he rests now, near his companions, in the coral cemetery?"
"Yes, forgotten by all else, but not by us. We dug the grave, and the
polypi undertake to seal our dead for eternity." And, burying his face
quickly in his hands, he tried in vain to suppress a sob. Then he added:
"Our peaceful cemetery is there, some hundred feet below the surface of the
waves."
"Your dead sleep quietly, at least, Captain, out of the reach of
sharks."
"Yes, sir, of sharks and men," gravely replied the Captain.
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Chapter 2.1
THE INDIAN OCEAN
WE NOW come to the second part of our journey under the sea. The first
ended with the moving scene in the coral cemetery which left such a deep
impression on my mind. Thus, in the midst of this great sea, Captain Nemo's
life was passing, even to his grave, which he had prepared in one of its
deepest abysses. There, not one of the ocean's monsters could trouble the
last sleep of the crew of the Nautilus, of those friends riveted to each
other in death as in life. "Nor any man, either," had added the Captain.
Still the same fierce, implacable defiance towards human society!
I could no longer content myself with the theory which satisfied
Conseil.
That worthy fellow persisted in seeing in the Commander of the
Nautilus one of those unknown servants who return mankind contempt for
indifference. For him, he was a misunderstood genius who, tired of earth's
deceptions, had taken refuge in this inaccessible medium, where he might
follow his instincts freely. To my mind, this explains but one side of
Captain Nemo's character. Indeed, the mystery of that last night during
which we had been chained in prison, the sleep, and the precaution so
violently taken by the Captain of snatching from my eyes the glass I had
raised to sweep the horizon, the mortal wound of the man, due to an
unaccountable shock of the Nautilus, all put me on a new track. No; Captain
Nemo was not satisfied with shunning man. His formidable apparatus not only
suited his instinct of freedom, but perhaps also the design of some
terrible retaliation.
At this moment nothing is clear to me; I catch but a glimpse of light
amidst all the darkness, and I must confine myself to writing as events
shall dictate.
That day, the 24th of January, 1868, at noon, the second
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officer came to take the altitude of the sun. I mounted the platform, lit a
cigar, and watched the operation. It seemed to me that the man did not
understand French; for several times I made remarks in a loud voice, which
must have drawn from him some involuntary sign of attention, if he had
understood them; but he remained undisturbed and dumb.
As he was taking observations with the sextant, one of the sailors of
the Nautilus (the strong man who had accompanied us on our first submarine
excursion to the Island of Crespo) came to clean the glasses of the
lantern. I examined the fittings of the apparatus, the strength of which
was increased a hundredfold by lenticular rings, placed similar to those in
a lighthouse, and which projected their brilliance in a horizontal plane.
The electric lamp was combined in such a way as to give its most powerful
light. Indeed, it was produced in vacuo, which insured both its steadiness
and its intensity. This vacuum economised the graphite points between which
the luminous arc was developed -- an important point of economy for Captain
Nemo, who could not easily have replaced them; and under these conditions
their waste was imperceptible. When the Nautilus was ready to continue its
submarine journey, I went down to the saloon. The panel was closed, and the
course marked direct west.
We were furrowing the waters of the Indian Ocean, a vast liquid plain,
with a surface of 1,200,000,000 of acres, and whose waters are so clear and
transparent that any one leaning over them would turn giddy. The Nautilus
usually floated between fifty and a hundred fathoms deep. We went on so for
some days. To anyone but myself, who had a great love for the sea, the
hours would have seemed long and monotonous; but the daily walks on the
platform, when I steeped myself in the reviving air of the ocean, the sight
of the rich waters through the windows of the saloon, the books in the
library, the compiling of my memoirs, took up all my time, and left me not
a moment of ennui or weariness.
For some days we saw a great number of aquatic birds, sea-mews or
gulls. Some were cleverly killed and, prepared
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in a certain way, made very acceptable water-game. Amongst large-winged
birds, carried a long distance from all lands and resting upon the waves
from the fatigue of their flight, I saw some magnificent albatrosses,
uttering discordant cries like the braying of an ass, and birds belonging
to the family of the long-wings.
As to the fish, they always provoked our admiration when we surprised
the secrets of their aquatic life through the open panels. I saw many kinds
which I never before had a chance of observing.
From the 21st to the 23rd of January the Nautilus went at the rate of
two hundred and fifty leagues in twenty-four hours, being five hundred and
forty miles, or twenty-two miles an hour. If we recognised so many
different varieties of fish, it was because, attracted by the electric
light, they tried to follow us; the greater part, however, were soon
distanced by our speed, though some kept their place in the waters of the
Nautilus for a time. The morning of the 24th, in 12° 5' S. lat., and 94°
33' long., we observed Keeling Island, a coral formation, planted with
magnificent cocos, and which bad been visited by Mr. Darwin and Captain
Fitzroy. The Nautilus skirted the shores of this desert island for a little
distance. Its nets brought up numerous specimens of polypi and curious
shells of mollusca.
Soon Keeling Island disappeared from the horizon, and our course was
directed to the north-west in the direction of the Indian Peninsula.
From Keeling Island our course was slower and more variable, often
taking us into great depths. Several times they made use of the inclined
planes, which certain internal levers placed obliquely to the waterline. In
that way we went about two miles, but without ever obtaining the greatest
depths of the Indian Sea, which soundings of seven thousand fathoms have
never reached. As to the temperature of the lower strata, the thermometer
invariably indicated 4° above zero. I only observed that in the upper
regions the water was always colder in the high levels than at the surface
of the sea.
On the 25th of January the ocean was entirely deserted;
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the Nautilus passed the day on the surface, beating the waves with its
powerful screw and making them rebound to a great height. Who under such
circumstances would not have taken it for a gigantic cetacean? Three parts
of this day I spent on the platform. I watched the sea. Nothing on the
horizon, till about four o'clock a steamer running west on our counter. Her
masts were visible for an instant, but she could not see the Nautilus,
being too low in the water. I fancied this steamboat belonged to the P.O.
Company, which runs from Ceylon to Sydney, touching at King George's Point
and Melbourne.
At five o'clock in the evening, before that fleeting twilight which
binds night to day in tropical zones, Conseil and I were astonished by a
curious spectacle.
It was a shoal of argonauts travelling along on the surface of the
ocean. We could count several hundreds. They belonged to the tubercle kind
which are peculiar to the Indian seas.
These graceful molluscs moved backwards by means of their locomotive
tube, through which they propelled the water already drawn in. Of their
eight tentacles, six were elongated, and stretched out floating on the
water, whilst the other two, rolled up flat, were spread to the wing like a
light sail. I saw their spiral-shaped and fluted shells, which Cuvier
justly compares to an elegant skiff. A boat indeed! It bears the creature
which secretes it without its adhering to it.
For nearly an hour the Nautilus floated in the midst of this shoal of
molluscs. Then I know not what sudden fright they took. But as if at a
signal every sail was furled, the arms folded, the body drawn in, the
shells turned over, changing their centre of gravity, and the whole fleet
disappeared under the waves. Never did the ships of a squadron manoeuvre
with more unity.
At that moment night fell suddenly, and the reeds, scarcely raised by
the breeze, lay peaceably under the sides of the Nautilus.
The next day, 26th of January, we cut the equator at the eighty-second
meridian and entered the northern hemisphere.
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During the day a formidable troop of sharks accompanied us, terrible
creatures, which multiply in these seas and make them very dangerous. They
were "cestracio philippi" sharks, with brown backs and whitish bellies,
armed with eleven rows of teeth -- eyed sharks -- their throat being marked
with a large black spot surrounded with white like an eye. There were also
some Isabella sharks, with rounded snouts marked with dark spots. These
powerful creatures often hurled themselves at the windows of the saloon
with such violence as to make us feel very insecure. At such times Ned Land
was no longer master of himself. He wanted to go to the surface and harpoon
the monsters, particularly certain smooth-hound sharks, whose mouth is
studded with teeth like a mosaic; and large tiger-sharks nearly six yards
long, the last named of which seemed to excite him more particularly. But
the Nautilus, accelerating her speed, easily left the most rapid of them
behind.
The 27th of January, at the entrance of the vast Bay of Bengal, we met
repeatedly a forbidding spectacle, dead bodies floating on the surface of
the water. They were the dead of the Indian villages, carried by the Ganges
to the level of the sea, and which the vultures, the only undertakers of
the country, had not been able to devour. But the sharks did not fail to
help them at their funeral work.
About seven o'clock in the evening, the Nautilus, half- immersed, was
sailing in a sea of milk. At first sight the ocean seemed lactified. Was it
the effect of the lunar rays? No; for the moon, scarcely two days old, was
still lying hidden under the horizon in the rays of the sun. The whole sky,
though lit by the sidereal rays, seemed black by contrast with the
whiteness of the waters.
Conseil could not believe his eyes, and questioned me as to the cause
of this strange phenomenon. Happily I was able to answer him.
"It is called a milk sea," I explained. "A large extent of white
wavelets often to be seen on the coasts of Amboyna, and in these parts of
the sea."
"But, sir," said Conseil, "can you tell me what causes
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such an effect? for I suppose the water is not really turned into milk."
"No, my boy; and the whiteness which surprises you is caused only by
the presence of myriads of infusoria, a sort of luminous little worm,
gelatinous and without colour, of the thickness of a hair, and whose length
is not more than seven-thousandths of an inch. These insects adhere to one
another sometimes for several leagues."
"Several leagues!" exclaimed Conseil.
"Yes, my boy; and you need not try to compute the number of these
infusoria. You will not be able, for, if I am not mistaken, ships have
floated on these milk seas for more than forty miles."
Towards midnight the sea suddenly resumed its usual colour; but behind
us, even to the limits of the horizon, the sky reflected the whitened
waves, and for a long time seemed impregnated with the vague glimmerings of
an aurora borealis.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.2
A NOVEL PROPOSAL OF CAPTAIN NEMO'S
ON THE 28th of February, when at noon the Nautilus came to the surface
of the sea, in 9° 4' N. lat., there was land in sight about eight miles to
westward. The first thing I noticed was a range of mountains about two
thousand feet high, the shapes of which were most capricious. On taking the
bearings, I knew that we were nearing the island of Ceylon, the pearl which
hangs from the lobe of the Indian Peninsula.
Captain Nemo and his second appeared at this moment. The Captain
glanced at the map. Then turning to me, said:
"The Island of Ceylon, noted for its pearl-fisheries. Would you like
to visit one of them, M. Aronnax?"
"Certainly, Captain."
"Well, the thing is easy. Though, if we see the fisheries, we shall
not see the fishermen. The annual exportation has
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not yet begun. Never mind, I will give orders to make for the Gulf of
Manaar, where we shall arrive in the night."
The Captain said something to his second, who immediately went out.
Soon the Nautilus returned to her native element, and the manometer showed
that she was about thirty feet deep.
"Well, sir," said Captain Nemo, "you and your companions shall visit
the Bank of Manaar, and if by chance some fisherman should be there, we
shall see him at work."
"Agreed, Captain!"
"By the bye, M. Aronnax you are not afraid of sharks?"
"Sharks!" exclaimed I.
This question seemed a very hard one.
"Well?" continued Captain Nemo.
"I admit, Captain, that I am not yet very familiar with that kind of
fish."
"We are accustomed to them," replied Captain Nemo, "and in time you
will be too. However, we shall be armed, and on the road we may be able to
hunt some of the tribe. It is interesting. So, till to-morrow, sir, and
early."
This said in a careless tone, Captain Nemo left the saloon. Now, if
you were invited to hunt the bear in the mountains of Switzerland, what
would you say?
"Very well! to-morrow we will go and hunt the bear." If you were asked
to hunt the lion in the plains of Atlas, or the tiger in the Indian
jungles, what would you say?
"Ha! ha! it seems we are going to hunt the tiger or the lion!" But
when you are invited to hunt the shark in its natural element, you would
perhaps reflect before accepting the invitation. As for myself, I passed my
hand over my forehead, on which stood large drops of cold perspiration.
"Let us reflect," said I, "and take our time. Hunting otters in submarine
forests, as we did in the Island of Crespo, will pass; but going up and
down at the bottom of the sea, where one is almost certain to meet sharks,
is quite another thing! I know well that in certain countries, particularly
in the Andaman Islands, the negroes never hesitate to attack them with a
dagger in one hand and a running noose in the other; but I also know that
few who affront those
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creatures ever return alive. However, I am not a negro, and if I were I
think a little hesitation in this case would not be ill-timed."
At this moment Conseil and the Canadian entered, quite composed, and
even joyous. They knew not what awaited them.
"Faith, sir," said Ned Land, "your Captain Nemo -- the devil take him!
-- has just made us a very pleasant offer."
"Ah!" said I, "you know?"
"If agreeable to you, sir," interrupted Conseil, "the commander of the
Nautilus has invited us to visit the magnificent Ceylon fisheries
to-morrow, in your company; he did it kindly, and behaved like a real
gentleman."
"He said nothing more?"
"Nothing more, sir, except that he had already spoken to you of this
little walk."
"Sir," said Conseil, "would you give us some details of the pearl
fishery?"
"As to the fishing itself," I asked, "or the incidents, which?"
"On the fishing," replied the Canadian; "before entering upon the
ground, it is as well to know something about it."
"Very well; sit down, my friends, and I will teach you."
Ned and Conseil seated themselves on an ottoman, and the first thing
the Canadian asked was:
"Sir, what is a pearl?"
"My worthy Ned," I answered, "to the poet, a pearl is a tear of the
sea; to the Orientals, it is a drop of dew solidified; to the ladies, it is
a jewel of an oblong shape, of a brilliancy of mother-of-pearl substance,
which they wear on their fingers, their necks, or their ears; for the
chemist it is a mixture of phosphate and carbonate of lime, with a little
gelatine; and lastly, for naturalists, it is simply a morbid secretion of
the organ that produces the mother- of-pearl amongst certain bivalves."
"Branch of molluscs," said Conseil.
"Precisely so, my learned Conseil; and, amongst these testacea the
earshell, the tridacnae, the turbots, in a word, all those which secrete
mother-of-pearl, that is, the blue,
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bluish, violet, or white substance which lines the interior of their
shells, are capable of producing pearls."
"Mussels too?" asked the Canadian.
"Yes, mussels of certain waters in Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Saxony,
Bohemia, and France."
"Good! For the future I shall pay attention," replied the Canadian.
"But," I continued, "the particular mollusc which secretes the pearl
is the pearl-oyster. The pearl is nothing but a formation deposited in a
globular form, either adhering to the oyster-shell or buried in the folds
of the creature. On the shell it is fast: in the flesh it is loose; but
always has for a kernel a small hard substance, maybe a barren egg, maybe a
grain of sand, around which the pearly matter deposits itself year after
year successively, and by thin concentric layers."
"Are many pearls found in the same oyster?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy. Some are a perfect casket. One oyster has been
mentioned, though I allow myself to doubt it, as having contained no less
than a hundred and fifty sharks."
"A hundred and fifty sharks!" exclaimed Ned Land.
"Did I say sharks?" said I hurriedly. "I meant to say a hundred and
fifty pearls. Sharks would not be sense."
"Certainly not," said Conseil; "but will you tell us now by what means
they extract these pearls?"
"They proceed in various ways. When they adhere to the shell, the
fishermen often pull them off with pincers; but the most common way is to
lay the oysters on mats of the seaweed which covers the banks. Thus they
die in the open air; and at the end of ten days they are in a forward state
of decomposition. They are then plunged into large reservoirs of sea-water;
then they are opened and washed."
"The price of these pearls varies according to their size?" asked
Conseil.
"Not only according to their size," I answered, "but also according to
their shape, their water (that is, their colour), and their lustre: that
is, that bright and diapered sparkle which makes them so charming to the
eye. The most beautiful
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are called virgin pearls, or paragons. They are formed alone in the tissue
of the mollusc, are white, often opaque, and sometimes have the
transparency of an opal; they are generally round or oval. The round are
made into bracelets, the oval into pendants, and, being more precious, are
sold singly. Those adhering to the shell of the oyster are more irregular
in shape, and are sold by weight. Lastly, in a lower order are classed
those small pearls known under the name of seed-pearls; they are sold by
measure, and are especially used in embroidery for church ornaments."
"But," said Conseil, "is this pearl-fishery dangerous?"
"No," I answered, quickly; "particularly if certain precautions are
taken."
"What does one risk in such a calling?" said Ned Land, "the swallowing
of some mouthfuls of sea-water?"
"As you say, Ned. By the bye," said I, trying to take Captain Nemo's
careless tone, "are you afraid of sharks, brave Ned?"
"I!" replied the Canadian; "a harpooner by profession? It is my trade
to make light of them."
"But," said I, "it is not a question of fishing for them with an
iron-swivel, hoisting them into the vessel, cutting off their tails with a
blow of a chopper, ripping them up, and throwing their heart into the sea!"
"Then, it is a question of -- "
"Precisely."
"In the water?"
"In the water."
"Faith, with a good harpoon! You know, sir, these sharks are
ill-fashioned beasts. They turn on their bellies to seize you, and in that
time -- "
Ned Land had a way of saying "seize" which made my blood run cold.
"Well, and you, Conseil, what do you think of sharks?"
"Me!" said Conseil. "I will be frank, sir."
"So much the better," thought I.
"If you, sir, mean to face the sharks, I do not see why your faithful
servant should not face them with you."
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.3
A PEARL OF TEN MILLIONS
THE next morning at four o'clock I was awakened by the steward whom
Captain Nemo had placed at my service. I rose hurriedly, dressed, and went
into the saloon.
Captain Nemo was awaiting me.
"M. Aronnax," said he, "are you ready to start?"
"I am ready."
"Then please to follow me."
"And my companions, Captain?"
"They have been told and are waiting."
"Are we not to put on our diver's dresses?" asked I.
"Not yet. I have not allowed the Nautilus to come too near this coast,
and we are some distance from the Manaar Bank; but the boat is ready, and
will take us to the exact point of disembarking, which will save us a long
way. It carries our diving apparatus, which we will put on when we begin
our submarine journey."
Captain Nemo conducted me to the central staircase, which led on the
platform. Ned and Conseil were already there, delighted at the idea of the
"pleasure party" which was preparing. Five sailors from the Nautilus, with
their oars, waited in the boat, which had been made fast against the side.
The night was still dark. Layers of clouds covered the sky, allowing
but few stars to be seen. I looked on the side where the land lay, and saw
nothing but a dark line enclosing three parts of the horizon, from
south-west to north- west. The Nautilus, having returned during the night
up the western coast of Ceylon, was now west of the bay, or rather gulf,
formed by the mainland and the Island of Manaar. There, under the dark
waters, stretched the pintadine bank, an inexhaustible field of pearls, the
length of which is more than twenty miles.
Captain Nemo, Ned Land, Conseil, and I took our places in the stern of
the boat. The master went to the tiller; his
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four companions leaned on their oars, the painter was cast off, and we
sheered off.
The boat went towards the south; the oarsmen did not hurry. I noticed
that their strokes, strong in the water, only followed each other every ten
seconds, according to the method generally adopted in the navy. Whilst the
craft was running by its own velocity, the liquid drops struck the dark
depths of the waves crisply like spats of melted lead. A little billow,
spreading wide, gave a slight roll to the boat, and some samphire reeds
flapped before it.
We were silent. What was Captain Nemo thinking of? Perhaps of the land
he was approaching, and which he found too near to him, contrary to the
Canadian's opinion, who thought it too far off. As to Conseil, he was
merely there from curiosity.
About half-past five the first tints on the horizon showed the upper
line of coast more distinctly. Flat enough in the east, it rose a little to
the south. Five miles still lay between us, and it was indistinct owing to
the mist on the water. At six o'clock it became suddenly daylight, with
that rapidity peculiar to tropical regions, which know neither dawn nor
twilight. The solar rays pierced the curtain of clouds, piled up on the
eastern horizon, and the radiant orb rose rapidly. I saw land distinctly,
with a few trees scattered here and there. The boat neared Manaar Island,
which was rounded to the south. Captain Nemo rose from his seat and watched
the sea.
At a sign from him the anchor was dropped, but the chain scarcely ran,
for it was little more than a yard deep, and this spot was one of the
highest points of the bank of pintadines.
"Here we are, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "You see that enclosed
bay? Here, in a month will be assembled the numerous fishing boats of the
exporters, and these are the waters their divers will ransack so boldly.
Happily, this bay is well situated for that kind of fishing. It is
sheltered from the strongest winds; the sea is never very rough here, which
makes it favourable for the diver's work. We will now put on our dresses,
and begin our walk."
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I did not answer, and, while watching the suspected waves, began with
the help of the sailors to put on my heavy sea-dress. Captain Nemo and my
companions were also dressing. None of the Nautilus men were to accompany
us on this new excursion.
Soon we were enveloped to the throat in india-rubber clothing; the air
apparatus fixed to our backs by braces. As to the Ruhmkorff apparatus,
there was no necessity for it. Before putting my head into the copper cap,
I had asked the question of the Captain.
"They would be useless," he replied. "We are going to no great depth,
and the solar rays will be enough to light our walk. Besides, it would not
be prudent to carry the electric light in these waters; its brilliancy
might attract some of the dangerous inhabitants of the coast most
inopportunely."
As Captain Nemo pronounced these words, I turned to Conseil and Ned
Land. But my two friends had already encased their heads in the metal cap,
and they could neither hear nor answer.
One last question remained to ask of Captain Nemo.
"And our arms?" asked I; "our guns?"
"Guns! What for? Do not mountaineers attack the bear with a dagger in
their hand, and is not steel surer than lead? Here is a strong blade; put
it in your belt, and we start."
I looked at my companions; they were armed like us, and, more than
that, Ned Land was brandishing an enormous harpoon, which he had placed in
the boat before leaving the Nautilus.
Then, following the Captain's example, I allowed myself to be dressed
in the heavy copper helmet, and our reservoirs of air were at once in
activity. An instant after we were landed, one after the other, in about
two yards of water upon an even sand. Captain Nemo made a sign with his
hand, and we followed him by a gentle declivity till we disappeared under
the waves.
At about seven o'clock we found ourselves at last surveying
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the oyster-banks on which the pearl-oysters are reproduced by millions.
Captain Nemo pointed with his hand to the enormous heap of oysters;
and I could well understand that this mine was inexhaustible, for Nature's
creative power is far beyond man's instinct of destruction. Ned Land,
faithful to his instinct, hastened to fill a net which he carried by his
side with some of the finest specimens. But we could not stop. We must
follow the Captain, who seemed to guide himself by paths known only to
himself. The ground was sensibly rising, and sometimes, on holding up my
arm, it was above the surface of the sea. Then the level of the bank would
sink capriciously. Often we rounded high rocks scarped into pyramids. In
their dark fractures huge crustacea, perched upon their high claws like
some war-machine, watched us with fixed eyes, and under our feet crawled
various kinds of annelides.
At this moment there opened before us a large grotto dug in a
picturesque heap of rocks and carpeted with all the thick warp of the
submarine flora. At first it seemed very dark to me. The solar rays seemed
to be extinguished by successive gradations, until its vague transparency
became nothing more than drowned light. Captain Nemo entered; we followed.
My eyes soon accustomed themselves to this relative state of darkness. I
could distinguish the arches springing capriciously from natural pillars,
standing broad upon their granite base, like the heavy columns of Tuscan
architecture. Why had our incomprehensible guide led us to the bottom of
this submarine crypt? I was soon to know. After descending a rather sharp
declivity, our feet trod the bottom of a kind of circular pit. There
Captain Nemo stopped, and with his hand indicated an object I had not yet
perceived. It was an oyster of extraordinary dimensions, a gigantic
tridacne, a goblet which could have contained a whole lake of holy-water, a
basin the breadth of which was more than two yards and a half, and
consequently larger than that ornamenting the saloon of the Nautilus. I
approached this extraordinary mollusc. It adhered by its filaments to a
table of granite, and there, isolated, it developed
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itself in the calm waters of the grotto. I estimated the weight of this
tridacne at 600 lb. Such an oyster would contain 30 lb. of meat; and one
must have the stomach of a Gargantua to demolish some dozens of them.
Captain Nemo was evidently acquainted with the existence of this
bivalve, and seemed to have a particular motive in verifying the actual
state of this tridacne. The shells were a little open; the Captain came
near and put his dagger between to prevent them from closing; then with his
hand he raised the membrane with its fringed edges, which formed a cloak
for the creature. There, between the folded plaits, I saw a loose pearl,
whose size equalled that of a coco-nut. Its globular shape, perfect
clearness, and admirable lustre made it altogether a jewel of inestimable
value. Carried away by my curiosity, I stretched out my hand to seize it,
weigh it, and touch it; but the Captain stopped me, made a sign of refusal,
and quickly withdrew his dagger, and the two shells closed suddenly. I then
understood Captain Nemo's intention. In leaving this pearl hidden in the
mantle of the tridacne he was allowing it to grow slowly. Each year the
secretions of the mollusc would add new concentric circles. I estimated its
value at L500,000 at least.
After ten minutes Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. I thought he had
halted previously to returning. No; by a gesture be bade us crouch beside
him in a deep fracture of the rock, his hand pointed to one part of the
liquid mass, which I watched attentively.
About five yards from me a shadow appeared, and sank to the ground.
The disquieting idea of sharks shot through my mind, but I was mistaken;
and once again it was not a monster of the ocean that we had anything to do
with.
It was a man, a living man, an Indian, a fisherman, a poor devil who,
I suppose, had come to glean before the harvest. I could see the bottom of
his canoe anchored some feet above his head. He dived and went up
successively. A stone held between his feet, cut in the shape of a sugar
loaf, whilst a rope fastened him to his boat, helped him to descend more
rapidly. This was all his apparatus. Reaching the bottom,
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about five yards deep, he went on his knees and filled his bag with oysters
picked up at random. Then he went up, emptied it, pulled up his stone, and
began the operation once more, which lasted thirty seconds.
The diver did not see us. The shadow of the rock hid us from sight.
And how should this poor Indian ever dream that men, beings like himself,
should be there under the water watching his movements and losing no detail
of the fishing? Several times he went up in this way, and dived again. He
did not carry away more than ten at each plunge, for he was obliged to pull
them from the bank to which they adhered by means of their strong byssus.
And how many of those oysters for which he risked his life had no pearl in
them! I watched him closely; his manoeuvres were regular; and for the space
of half an hour no danger appeared to threaten him.
I was beginning to accustom myself to the sight of this interesting
fishing, when suddenly, as the Indian was on the ground, I saw him make a
gesture of terror, rise, and make a spring to return to the surface of the
sea.
I understood his dread. A gigantic shadow appeared just above the
unfortunate diver. It was a shark of enormous size advancing diagonally,
his eyes on fire, and his jaws open. I was mute with horror and unable to
move.
The voracious creature shot towards the Indian, who threw himself on
one side to avoid the shark's fins; but not its tail, for it struck his
chest and stretched him on the ground.
This scene lasted but a few seconds: the shark returned, and, turning
on his back, prepared himself for cutting the Indian in two, when I saw
Captain Nemo rise suddenly, and then, dagger in hand, walk straight to the
monster, ready to fight face to face with him. The very moment the shark
was going to snap the unhappy fisherman in two, he perceived his new
adversary, and, turning over, made straight towards him.
I can still see Captain Nemo's position. Holding himself well
together, he waited for the shark with admirable coolness; and, when it
rushed at him, threw himself on one side
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with wonderful quickness, avoiding the shock, and burying his dagger deep
into its side. But it was not all over. A terrible combat ensued.
The shark had seemed to roar, if I might say so. The blood rushed in
torrents from its wound. The sea was dyed red, and through the opaque
liquid I could distinguish nothing more. Nothing more until the moment
when, like lightning, I saw the undaunted Captain hanging on to one of the
creature's fins, struggling, as it were, hand to hand with the monster, and
dealing successive blows at his enemy, yet still unable to give a decisive
one.
The shark's struggles agitated the water with such fury that the
rocking threatened to upset me.
I wanted to go to the Captain's assistance, but, nailed to the spot
with horror, I could not stir.
I saw the haggard eye; I saw the different phases of the fight. The
Captain fell to the earth, upset by the enormous mass which leant upon him.
The shark's jaws opened wide, like a pair of factory shears, and it would
have been all over with the Captain; but, quick as thought, harpoon in
hand, Ned Land rushed towards the shark and struck it with its sharp point.
The waves were impregnated with a mass of blood. They rocked under the
shark's movements, which beat them with indescribable fury. Ned Land had
not missed his aim. It was the monster's death-rattle. Struck to the heart,
it struggled in dreadful convulsions, the shock of which overthrew Conseil.
But Ned Land had disentangled the Captain, who, getting up without any
wound, went straight to the Indian, quickly cut the cord which held him to
his stone, took him in his arms, and, with a sharp blow of his heel,
mounted to the surface.
We all three followed in a few seconds, saved by a miracle, and
reached the fisherman's boat.
Captain Nemo's first care was to recall the unfortunate man to life
again. I did not think he could succeed. I hoped so, for the poor
creature's immersion was not long; but the blow from the shark's tail might
have been his death-blow.
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Happily, with the Captain's and Conseil's sharp friction, I saw
consciousness return by degrees. He opened his eyes. What was his surprise,
his terror even, at seeing four great copper heads leaning over him! And,
above all, what must he have thought when Captain Nemo, drawing from the
pocket of his dress a bag of pearls, placed it in his hand! This munificent
charity from the man of the waters to the poor Cingalese was accepted with
a trembling hand. His wondering eyes showed that he knew not to what super-
human beings he owed both fortune and life.
At a sign from the Captain we regained the bank, and, following the
road already traversed, came in about half an hour to the anchor which held
the canoe of the Nautilus to the earth.
Once on board, we each, with the help of the sailors, got rid of the
heavy copper helmet.
Captain Nemo's first word was to the Canadian.
"Thank you, Master Land," said he.
"It was in revenge, Captain," replied Ned Land. "I owed you that."
A ghastly smile passed across the Captain's lips, and that was all.
"To the Nautilus," said he.
The boat flew over the waves. Some minutes after we met the shark's
dead body floating. By the black marking of the extremity of its fins, I
recognised the terrible melanopteron of the Indian Seas, of the species of
shark so properly called. It was more than twenty-five feet long; its
enormous mouth occupied one-third of its body. It was an adult, as was
known by its six rows of teeth placed in an isosceles triangle in the upper
jaw.
Whilst I was contemplating this inert mass, a dozen of these voracious
beasts appeared round the boat; and, without noticing us, threw themselves
upon the dead body and fought with one another for the pieces.
At half-past eight we were again on board the Nautilus. There I
reflected on the incidents which had taken place in our excursion to the
Manaar Bank.
Two conclusions I must inevitably draw from it -- one
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bearing upon the unparalleled courage of Captain Nemo, the other upon his
devotion to a human being, a representative of that race from which he fled
beneath the sea. Whatever he might say, this strange man had not yet
succeeded in entirely crushing his heart.
When I made this observation to him, he answered in a slightly moved
tone:
"That Indian, sir, is an inhabitant of an oppressed country; and I am
still, and shall be, to my last breath, one of them!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.4
THE RED SEA
IN THE course of the day of the 29th of January, the island of Ceylon
disappeared under the horizon, and the Nautilus, at a speed of twenty miles
an hour, slid into the labyrinth of canals which separate the Maldives from
the Laccadives. It coasted even the Island of Kiltan, a land originally
coraline, discovered by Vasco da Gama in 1499, and one of the nineteen
principal islands of the Laccadive Archipelago, situated between 10° and
14° 30' N. lat., and 69° 50' 72" E. long.
We had made 16,220 miles, or 7,500 (French) leagues from our
starting-point in the Japanese Seas.
The next day (30th January), when the Nautilus went to the surface of
the ocean there was no land in sight. Its course was N.N.E., in the
direction of the Sea of Oman, between Arabia and the Indian Peninsula,
which serves as an outlet to the Persian Gulf. It was evidently a block
without any possible egress. Where was Captain Nemo taking us to? I could
not say. This, however, did not satisfy the Canadian, who that day came to
me asking where we were going.
"We are going where our Captain's fancy takes us, Master Ned."
"His fancy cannot take us far, then," said the Canadian.
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"The Persian Gulf has no outlet: and, if we do go in, it will not be long
before we are out again."
"Very well, then, we will come out again, Master Land; and if, after
the Persian Gulf, the Nautilus would like to visit the Red Sea, the Straits
of Bab-el-mandeb are there to give us entrance."
"I need not tell you, sir," said Ned Land, "that the Red Sea is as
much closed as the Gulf, as the Isthmus of Suez is not yet cut; and, if it
was, a boat as mysterious as ours would not risk itself in a canal cut with
sluices. And again, the Red Sea is not the road to take us back to Europe."
"But I never said we were going back to Europe."
"What do you suppose, then?"
"I suppose that, after visiting the curious coasts of Arabia and
Egypt, the Nautilus will go down the Indian Ocean again, perhaps cross the
Channel of Mozambique, perhaps off the Mascarenhas, so as to gain the Cape
of Good Hope."
"And once at the Cape of Good Hope?" asked the Canadian, with peculiar
emphasis.
"Well, we shall penetrate into that Atlantic which we do not yet know.
Ah! friend Ned, you are getting tired of this journey under the sea; you
are surfeited with the incessantly varying spectacle of submarine wonders.
For my part, I shall be sorry to see the end of a voyage which it is given
to so few men to make."
For four days, till the 3rd of February, the Nautilus scoured the Sea
of Oman, at various speeds and at various depths. It seemed to go at
random, as if hesitating as to which road it should follow, but we never
passed the Tropic of Cancer.
In quitting this sea we sighted Muscat for an instant, one of the most
important towns of the country of Oman. I admired its strange aspect,
surrounded by black rocks upon which its white houses and forts stood in
relief. I saw the rounded domes of its mosques, the elegant points of its
minarets, its fresh and verdant terraces. But it was only a vision! The
Nautilus soon sank under the waves of that part of the sea.
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We passed along the Arabian coast of Mahrah and Hadramaut, for a
distance of six miles, its undulating line of mountains being occasionally
relieved by some ancient ruin. The 5th of February we at last entered the
Gulf of Aden, a perfect funnel introduced into the neck of Bab-el- mandeb,
through which the Indian waters entered the Red Sea.
The 6th of February, the Nautilus floated in sight of Aden, perched
upon a promontory which a narrow isthmus joins to the mainland, a kind of
inaccessible Gibraltar, the fortifications of which were rebuilt by the
English after taking possession in 1839. I caught a glimpse of the octagon
minarets of this town, which was at one time the richest commercial
magazine on the coast.
I certainly thought that Captain Nemo, arrived at this point, would
back out again; but I was mistaken, for be did no such thing, much to my
surprise.
The next day, the 7th of February, we entered the Straits of
Bab-el-mandeb, the name of which, in the Arab tongue, means The Gate of
Tears.
To twenty miles in breadth, it is only thirty-two in length. And for
the Nautilus, starting at full speed, the crossing was scarcely the work of
an hour. But I saw nothing, not even the Island of Perim, with which the
British Government has fortified the position of Aden. There were too many
English or French steamers of the line of Suez to Bombay, Calcutta to
Melbourne, and from Bourbon to the Mauritius, furrowing this narrow
passage, for the Nautilus to venture to show itself. So it remained
prudently below. At last about noon, we were in the waters of the Red Sea.
I would not even seek to understand the caprice which had decided
Captain Nemo upon entering the gulf. But I quite approved of the Nautilus
entering it. Its speed was lessened: sometimes it kept on the surface,
sometimes it dived to avoid a vessel, and thus I was able to observe the
upper and lower parts of this curious sea.
The 8th of February, from the first dawn of day, Mocha came in sight,
now a ruined town, whose walls would fall at a gunshot, yet which shelters
here and there some verdant
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date-trees; once an important city, containing six public markets, and
twenty-six mosques, and whose walls, defended by fourteen forts, formed a
girdle of two miles in circumference.
The Nautilus then approached the African shore, where the depth of the
sea was greater. There, between two waters clear as crystal, through the
open panels we were allowed to contemplate the beautiful bushes of
brilliant coral and large blocks of rock clothed with a splendid fur of
green variety of sites and landscapes along these sandbanks and algae and
fuci. What an indescribable spectacle, and what variety of sites and
landscapes along these sandbanks and volcanic islands which bound the
Libyan coast! But where these shrubs appeared in all their beauty was on
the eastern coast, which the Nautilus soon gained. It was on the coast of
Tehama, for there not only did this display of zoophytes flourish beneath
the level of the sea, but they also formed picturesque interlacings which
unfolded themselves about sixty feet above the surface, more capricious but
less highly coloured than those whose freshness was kept up by the vital
power of the waters.
What charming hours I passed thus at the window of the saloon! What
new specimens of submarine flora and fauna did I admire under the
brightness of our electric lantern!
The 9th of February the Nautilus floated in the broadest part of the
Red Sea, which is comprised between Souakin, on the west coast, and
Komfidah, on the east coast, with a diameter of ninety miles.
That day at noon, after the bearings were taken, Captain Nemo mounted
the platform, where I happened to be, and I was determined not to let him
go down again without at least pressing him regarding his ulterior
projects. As soon as he saw me he approached and graciously offered me a
cigar.
"Well, sir, does this Red Sea please you? Have you sufficiently
observed the wonders it covers, its fishes, its zoophytes, its parterres of
sponges, and its forests of coral? Did you catch a glimpse of the towns on
its borders?"
"Yes, Captain Nemo," I replied; "and the Nautilus is
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wonderfully fitted for such a study. Ah! it is an intelligent boat!"
"Yes, sir, intelligent and invulnerable. It fears neither the terrible
tempests of the Red Sea, nor its currents, nor its sandbanks."
"Certainly," said I, "this sea is quoted as one of the worst, and in
the time of the ancients, if I am not mistaken, its reputation was
detestable."
"Detestable, M. Aronnax. The Greek and Latin historians do not speak
favourably of it, and Strabo says it is very dangerous during the Etesian
winds and in the rainy season. The Arabian Edrisi portrays it under the
name of the Gulf of Colzoum, and relates that vessels perished there in
great numbers on the sandbanks and that no one would risk sailing in the
night. It is, he pretends, a sea subject to fearful hurricanes, strewn with
inhospitable islands, and 'which offers nothing good either on its surface
or in its depths.'"
"One may see," I replied, "that these historians never sailed on board
the Nautilus."
"Just so," replied the Captain, smiling; "and in that respect moderns
are not more advanced than the ancients. It required many ages to find out
the mechanical power of steam. Who knows if, in another hundred years, we
may not see a second Nautilus? Progress is slow, M. Aronnax."
"It is true," I answered; "your boat is at least a century before its
time, perhaps an era. What a misfortune that the secret of such an
invention should die with its inventor!"
Captain Nemo did not reply. After some minutes' silence he continued:
"You were speaking of the opinions of ancient historians upon the
dangerous navigation of the Red Sea."
"It is true," said I; "but were not their fears exaggerated?"
"Yes and no, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, who seemed to know the
Red Sea by heart. "That which is no longer dangerous for a modern vessel,
well rigged, strongly built, and master of its own course, thanks to
obedient steam, offered all sorts of perils to the ships of the ancients,
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Picture to yourself those first navigators venturing in ships made of
planks sewn with the cords of the palmtree, saturated with the grease of
the seadog, and covered with powdered resin! They had not even instruments
wherewith to take their bearings, and they went by guess amongst currents
of which they scarcely knew anything. Under such conditions shipwrecks
were, and must have been, numerous. But in our time, steamers running
between Suez and the South Seas have nothing more to fear from the fury of
this gulf, in spite of contrary trade-winds. The captain and passengers do
not prepare for their departure by offering propitiatory sacrifices; and,
on their return, they no longer go ornamented with wreaths and gilt fillets
to thank the gods in the neighbouring temple."
"I agree with you," said I; "and steam seems to have killed all
gratitude in the hearts of sailors. But, Captain, since you seem to have
especially studied this sea, can you tell me the origin of its name?"
"There exist several explanations on the subject, M. Aronnax. Would
you like to know the opinion of a chronicler of the fourteenth century?"
"Willingly."
"This fanciful writer pretends that its name was given to it after the
passage of the Israelites, when Pharaoh perished in the waves which closed
at the voice of Moses."
"A poet's explanation, Captain Nemo," I replied; "but I cannot content
myself with that. I ask you for your personal opinion."
"Here it is, M. Aronnax. According to my idea, we must see in this
appellation of the Red Sea a translation of the Hebrew word 'Edom'; and if
the ancients gave it that name, it was on account of the particular colour
of its waters."
"But up to this time I have seen nothing but transparent waves and
without any particular colour."
"Very likely; but as we advance to the bottom of the gulf, you will
see this singular appearance. I remember seeing the Bay of Tor entirely
red, like a sea of blood."
"And you attribute this colour to the presence of a microscopic
seaweed?"
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"Yes."
"So, Captain Nemo, it is not the first time you have overrun the Red
Sea on board the Nautilus?"
"No, sir."
"As you spoke a while ago of the passage of the Israelites and of the
catastrophe to the Egyptians, I will ask whether you have met with the
traces under the water of this great historical fact?"
"No, sir; and for a good reason."
"What is it?"
"It is that the spot where Moses and his people passed is now so
blocked up with sand that the camels can barely bathe their legs there. You
can well understand that there would not be water enough for my Nautilus."
"And the spot?" I asked.
"The spot is situated a little above the Isthmus of Suez, in the arm
which formerly made a deep estuary, when the Red Sea extended to the Salt
Lakes. Now, whether this passage were miraculous or not, the Israelites,
nevertheless, crossed there to reach the Promised Land, and Pharaoh's army
perished precisely on that spot; and I think that excavations made in the
middle of the sand would bring to light a large number of arms and
instruments of Egyptian origin."
"That is evident," I replied; "and for the sake of archaeologists let
us hope that these excavations will be made sooner or later, when new towns
are established on the isthmus, after the construction of the Suez Canal; a
canal, however, very useless to a vessel like the Nautilus."
"Very likely; but useful to the whole world," said Captain Nemo. "The
ancients well understood the utility of a communication between the Red Sea
and the Mediterranean for their commercial affairs: but they did not think
of digging a canal direct, and took the Nile as an intermediate. Very
probably the canal which united the Nile to the Red Sea was begun by
Sesostris, if we may believe tradition. One thing is certain, that in the
year 615 before Jesus Christ, Necos undertook the works of an alimentary
canal to the waters of the Nile across the plain of Egypt, looking towards
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Arabia. It took four days to go up this canal, and it was so wide that two
triremes could go abreast. It was carried on by Darius, the son of
Hystaspes, and probably finished by Ptolemy II. Strabo saw it navigated:
but its decline from the point of departure, near Bubastes, to the Red Sea
was so slight that it was only navigable for a few months in the year. This
canal answered all commercial purposes to the age of Antonius, when it was
abandoned and blocked up with sand. Restored by order of the Caliph Omar,
it was definitely destroyed in 761 or 762 by Caliph Al-Mansor, who wished
to prevent the arrival of provisions to Mohammed-ben-Abdallah, who had
revolted against him. During the expedition into Egypt, your General
Bonaparte discovered traces of the works in the Desert of Suez; and,
surprised by the tide, he nearly perished before regaining Hadjaroth, at
the very place where Moses had encamped three thousand years before him."
"Well, Captain, what the ancients dared not undertake, this junction
between the two seas, which will shorten the road from Cadiz to India, M.
Lesseps has succeeded in doing; and before long he will have changed Africa
into an immense island."
"Yes, M. Aronnax; you have the right to be proud of your countryman.
Such a man brings more honour to a nation than great captains. He began,
like so many others, with disgust and rebuffs; but he has triumphed, for he
has the genius of will. And it is sad to think that a work like that, which
ought to have been an international work and which would have sufficed to
make a reign illustrious, should have succeeded by the energy of one man.
All honour to M. Lesseps!"
"Yes! honour to the great citizen," I replied, surprised by the manner
in which Captain Nemo had just spoken.
"Unfortunately," he continued, "I cannot take you through the Suez
Canal; but you will be able to see the long jetty of Port Said after
to-morrow, when we shall be in the Mediterranean."
"The Mediterranean!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir; does that astonish you?"
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"What astonishes me is to think that we shall be there the day after
to-morrow."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, Captain, although by this time I ought to have accustomed myself
to be surprised at nothing since I have been on board your boat."
"But the cause of this surprise?"
"Well! it is the fearful speed you will have to put on the Nautilus,
if the day after to-morrow she is to be in the Mediterranean, having made
the round of Africa, and doubled the Cape of Good Hope!"
"Who told you that she would make the round of Africa and double the
Cape of Good Hope, sir?"
"Well, unless the Nautilus sails on dry land, and passes above the
isthmus -- "
"Or beneath it, M. Aronnax."
"Beneath it?"
"Certainly," replied Captain Nemo quietly. "A long time ago Nature
made under this tongue of land what man has this day made on its surface."
"What! such a passage exists?"
"Yes; a subterranean passage, which I have named the Arabian Tunnel.
It takes us beneath Suez and opens into the Gulf of Pelusium."
"But this isthmus is composed of nothing but quicksands?"
"To a certain depth. But at fifty-five yards only there is a solid
layer of rock."
"Did you discover this passage by chance?" I asked more and more
surprised.
"Chance and reasoning, sir; and by reasoning even more than by chance.
Not only does this passage exist, but I have profited by it several times.
Without that I should not have ventured this day into the impassable Red
Sea. I noticed that in the Red Sea and in the Mediterranean there existed a
certain number of fishes of a kind perfectly identical. Certain of the
fact, I asked myself was it possible that there was no communication
between the two seas? If
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there was, the subterranean current must necessarily run from the Red Sea
to the Mediterranean, from the sole cause of difference of level. I caught
a large number of fishes in the neighbourhood of Suez. I passed a copper
ring through their tails, and threw them back into the sea. Some months
later, on the coast of Syria, I caught some of my fish ornamented with the
ring. Thus the communication between the two was proved. I then sought for
it with my Nautilus; I discovered it, ventured into it, and before long,
sir, you too will have passed through my Arabian tunnel!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.5
THE ARABIAN TUNNEL
THAT same evening, in 21° 30' N. lat., the Nautilus floated on the
surface of the sea, approaching the Arabian coast. I saw Djeddah, the most
important counting-house of Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and India. I
distinguished clearly enough its buildings, the vessels anchored at the
quays, and those whose draught of water obliged them to anchor in the
roads. The sun, rather low on the horizon, struck full on the houses of the
town, bringing out their whiteness. Outside, some wooden cabins, and some
made of reeds, showed the quarter inhabited by the Bedouins. Soon Djeddah
was shut out from view by the shadows of night, and the Nautilus found
herself under water slightly phosphorescent.
The next day, the 10th of February, we sighted several ships running
to windward. The Nautilus returned to its submarine navigation; but at
noon, when her bearings were taken, the sea being deserted, she rose again
to her waterline.
Accompanied by Ned and Conseil, I seated myself on the platform. The
coast on the eastern side looked like a mass faintly printed upon a damp
fog.
We were leaning on the sides of the pinnace, talking of
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one thing and another, when Ned Land, stretching out his hand towards a
spot on the sea, said:
"Do you see anything there, sir?"
"No, Ned," I replied; "but I have not your eyes, you know."
"Look well," said Ned, "there, on the starboard beam, about the height
of the lantern! Do you not see a mass which seems to move?"
"Certainly," said I, after close attention; "I see something like a
long black body on the top of the water."
And certainly before long the black object was not more than a mile
from us. It looked like a great sandbank deposited in the open sea. It was
a gigantic dugong!
Ned Land looked eagerly. His eyes shone with covetousness at the sight
of the animal. His hand seemed ready to harpoon it. One would have thought
he was awaiting the moment to throw himself into the sea and attack it in
its element.
At this instant Captain Nemo appeared on the platform. He saw the
dugong, understood the Canadian's attitude, and, addressing him, said:
"If you held a harpoon just now, Master Land, would it not burn your
hand?"
"Just so, sir."
"And you would not be sorry to go back, for one day, to your trade of
a fisherman and to add this cetacean to the list of those you have already
killed?"
"I should not, sir."
"Well, you can try."
"Thank you, sir," said Ned Land, his eyes flaming.
"Only," continued the Captain, "I advise you for your own sake not to
miss the creature."
"Is the dugong dangerous to attack?" I asked, in spite of the
Canadian's shrug of the shoulders.
"Yes," replied the Captain; "sometimes the animal turns upon its
assailants and overturns their boat. But for Master Land this danger is not
to be feared. His eye is prompt, his arm sure."
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At this moment seven men of the crew, mute and immovable as ever,
mounted the platform. One carried a harpoon and a line similar to those
employed in catching whales. The pinnace was lifted from the bridge, pulled
from its socket, and let down into the sea. Six oarsmen took their seats,
and the coxswain went to the tiller. Ned, Conseil, and I went to the back
of the boat.
"You are not coming, Captain?" I asked.
"No, sir; but I wish you good sport."
The boat put off, and, lifted by the six rowers, drew rapidly towards
the dugong, which floated about two miles from the Nautilus.
Arrived some cables-length from the cetacean, the speed slackened, and
the oars dipped noiselessly into the quiet waters. Ned Land, harpoon in
hand, stood in the fore part of the boat. The harpoon used for striking the
whale is generally attached to a very long cord which runs out rapidly as
the wounded creature draws it after him. But here the cord was not more
than ten fathoms long, and the extremity was attached to a small barrel
which, by floating, was to show the course the dugong took under the water.
I stood and carefully watched the Canadian's adversary. This dugong,
which also bears the name of the halicore, closely resembles the manatee;
its oblong body terminated in a lengthened tall, and its lateral fins in
perfect fingers. Its difference from the manatee consisted in its upper
jaw, which was armed with two long and pointed teeth which formed on each
side diverging tusks.
This dugong which Ned Land was preparing to attack was of colossal
dimensions; it was more than seven yards long. It did not move, and seemed
to be sleeping on the waves, which circumstance made it easier to capture.
The boat approached within six yards of the animal. The oars rested on
the rowlocks. I half rose. Ned Land, his body thrown a little back,
brandished the harpoon in his experienced hand.
Suddenly a hissing noise was heard, and the dugong disappeared.
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The harpoon, although thrown with great force; had apparently only struck
the water.
"Curse it!" exclaimed the Canadian furiously; "I have missed it!"
"No," said I; "the creature is wounded -- look at the blood; but your
weapon has not stuck in his body."
"My harpoon! my harpoon!" cried Ned Land.
The sailors rowed on, and the coxswain made for the floating barrel.
The harpoon regained, we followed in pursuit of the animal.
The latter came now and then to the surface to breathe. Its wound had
not weakened it, for it shot onwards with great rapidity.
The boat, rowed by strong arms, flew on its track. Several times it
approached within some few yards, and the Canadian was ready to strike, but
the dugong made off with a sudden plunge, and it was impossible to reach
it.
Imagine the passion which excited impatient Ned Land! He hurled at the
unfortunate creature the most energetic expletives in the English tongue.
For my part, I was only vexed to see the dugong escape all our attacks.
We pursued it without relaxation for an hour, and I began to think it
would prove difficult to capture, when the animal, possessed with the
perverse idea of vengeance of which he had cause to repent, turned upon the
pinnace and assailed us in its turn.
This manoeuvre did not escape the Canadian.
"Look out!" he cried.
The coxswain said some words in his outlandish tongue, doubtless
warning the men to keep on their guard.
The dugong came within twenty feet of the boat, stopped, sniffed the
air briskly with its large nostrils (not pierced at the extremity, but in
the upper part of its muzzle). Then, taking a spring, he threw himself upon
us.
The pinnace could not avoid the shock, and half upset, shipped at
least two tons of water, which had to be emptied; but, thanks to the
coxswain, we caught it sideways, not full front, so we were not quite
overturned. While Ned Land,
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clinging to the bows, belaboured the gigantic animal with blows from his
harpoon, the creature's teeth were buried in the gunwale, and it lifted the
whole thing out of the water, as a lion does a roebuck. We were upset over
one another, and I know not how the adventure would have ended, if the
Canadian, still enraged with the beast, had not struck it to the heart.
I heard its teeth grind on the iron plate, and the dugong disappeared,
carrying the harpoon with him. But the barrel soon returned to the surface,
and shortly after the body of the animal, turned on its back. The boat came
up with it, took it in tow, and made straight for the Nautilus.
It required tackle of enormous strength to hoist the dugong on to the
platform. It weighed 10,000 lb.
The next day, 11th February, the larder of the Nautilus was enriched
by some more delicate game. A flight of sea- swallows rested on the
Nautilus. It was a species of the Sterna nilotica, peculiar to Egypt; its
beak is black, head grey and pointed, the eye surrounded by white spots,
the back, wings, and tail of a greyish colour, the belly and throat white,
and claws red. They also took some dozen of Nile ducks, a wild bird of high
flavour, its throat and upper part of the head white with black spots.
About five o'clock in the evening we sighted to the north the Cape of
Ras-Mohammed. This cape forms the extremity of Arabia Petraea, comprised
between the Gulf of Suez and the Gulf of Acabah.
The Nautilus penetrated into the Straits of Jubal, which leads to the
Gulf of Suez. I distinctly saw a high mountain, towering between the two
gulfs of Ras-Mohammed. It was Mount Horeb, that Sinai at the top of which
Moses saw God face to face.
At six o'clock the Nautilus, sometimes floating, sometimes immersed,
passed some distance from Tor, situated at the end of the bay, the waters
of which seemed tinted with red, an observation already made by Captain
Nemo. Then night fell in the midst of a heavy silence, sometimes broken by
the cries of the pelican and other night-birds, and the noise of the waves
breaking upon the shore, chafing against the
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rocks, or the panting of some far-off steamer beating the waters of the
Gulf with its noisy paddles.
From eight to nine o'clock the Nautilus remained some fathoms under
the water. According to my calculation we must have been very near Suez.
Through the panel of the saloon I saw the bottom of the rocks brilliantly
lit up by our electric lamp. We seemed to be leaving the Straits behind us
more and more.
At a quarter-past nine, the vessel having returned to the surface, I
mounted the platform. Most impatient to pass through Captain Nemo's tunnel,
I could not stay in one place, so came to breathe the fresh night air.
Soon in the shadow I saw a pale light, half discoloured by the fog,
shining about a mile from us.
"A floating lighthouse!" said someone near me.
I turned, and saw the Captain.
"It is the floating light of Suez," he continued. "It will not be long
before we gain the entrance of the tunnel."
"The entrance cannot be easy?"
"No, sir; for that reason I am accustomed to go into the steersman's
cage and myself direct our course. And now, if you will go down, M.
Aronnax, the Nautilus is going under the waves, and will not return to the
surface until we have passed through the Arabian Tunnel."
Captain Nemo led me towards the central staircase; half- way down he
opened a door, traversed the upper deck, and landed in the pilot's cage,
which it may be remembered rose at the extremity of the platform. It was a
cabin measuring six feet square, very much like that occupied by the pilot
on the steamboats of the Mississippi or Hudson. In the midst worked a
wheel, placed vertically, and caught to the tiller-rope, which ran to the
back of the Nautilus. Four light-ports with lenticular glasses, let in a
groove in the partition of the cabin, allowed the man at the wheel to see
in all directions.
This cabin was dark; but soon my eyes accustomed themselves to the
obscurity, and I perceived the pilot, a strong man, with his hands resting
on the spokes of the wheel. Outside, the sea appeared vividly lit up by the
lantern,
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which shed its rays from the back of the cabin to the other extremity of
the platform.
"Now," said Captain Nemo, "let us try to make our passage."
Electric wires connected the pilot's cage with the machinery room, and
from there the Captain could communicate simultaneously to his Nautilus the
direction and the speed. He pressed a metal knob, and at once the speed of
the screw diminished.
I looked in silence at the high straight wall we were running by at
this moment, the immovable base of a massive sandy coast. We followed it
thus for an hour only some few yards off.
Captain Nemo did not take his eye from the knob, suspended by its two
concentric circles in the cabin. At a simple gesture, the pilot modified
the course of the Nautilus every instant.
I had placed myself at the port-scuttle, and saw some magnificent
substructures of coral, zoophytes, seaweed, and fucus, agitating their
enormous claws, which stretched out from the fissures of the rock.
At a quarter-past ten, the Captain himself took the helm. A large
gallery, black and deep, opened before us. The Nautilus went boldly into
it. A strange roaring was heard round its sides. It was the waters of the
Red Sea, which the incline of the tunnel precipitated violently towards the
Mediterranean. The Nautilus went with the torrent, rapid as an arrow, in
spite of the efforts of the machinery, which, in order to offer more
effective resistance, beat the waves with reversed screw.
On the walls of the narrow passage I could see nothing but brilliant
rays, straight lines, furrows of fire, traced by the great speed, under the
brilliant electric light. My heart beat fast.
At thirty-five minutes past ten, Captain Nemo quitted the helm, and,
turning to me, said:
"The Mediterranean!"
In less than twenty minutes, the Nautilus, carried along by the
torrent, had passed through the Isthmus of Suez.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.6
THE GRECIAN ARCHIPELAGO
THE next day, the 12th of February, at the dawn of day, the Nautilus
rose to the surface. I hastened on to the platform. Three miles to the
south the dim outline of Pelusium was to be seen. A torrent had carried us
from one sea to another. About seven o'clock Ned and Conseil joined me.
"Well, Sir Naturalist," said the Canadian, in a slightly jovial tone,
"and the Mediterranean?"
"We are floating on its surface, friend Ned."
"What!" said Conseil, "this very night."
"Yes, this very night; in a few minutes we have passed this impassable
isthmus."
"I do not believe it," replied the Canadian.
"Then you are wrong, Master Land," I continued; "this low coast which
rounds off to the south is the Egyptian coast. And you who have such good
eyes, Ned, you can see the jetty of Port Said stretching into the sea."
The Canadian looked attentively.
"Certainly you are right, sir, and your Captain is a first- rate man.
We are in the Mediterranean. Good! Now, if you please, let us talk of our
own little affair, but so that no one hears us."
I saw what the Canadian wanted, and, in any case, I thought it better
to let him talk, as he wished it; so we all three went and sat down near
the lantern, where we were less exposed to the spray of the blades.
"Now, Ned, we listen; what have you to tell us?"
"What I have to tell you is very simple. We are in Europe; and before
Captain Nemo's caprices drag us once more to the bottom of the Polar Seas,
or lead us into Oceania, I ask to leave the Nautilus."
I wished in no way to shackle the liberty of my companions, but I
certainly felt no desire to leave Captain Nemo.
Thanks to him, and thanks to his apparatus, I was each day nearer the
completion of my submarine studies; and
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I was rewriting my book of submarine depths in its very element. Should I
ever again have such an opportunity of observing the wonders of the ocean?
No, certainly not! And I could not bring myself to the idea of abandoning
the Nautilus before the cycle of investigation was accomplished.
"Friend Ned, answer me frankly, are you tired of being on board? Are
you sorry that destiny has thrown us into Captain Nemo's hands?"
The Canadian remained some moments without answering. Then, crossing
his arms, he said:
"Frankly, I do not regret this journey under the seas. I shall be glad
to have made it; but, now that it is made, let us have done with it. That
is my idea."
"It will come to an end, Ned."
"Where and when?"
"Where I do not know -- when I cannot say; or, rather, I suppose it
will end when these seas have nothing more to teach us."
"Then what do you hope for?" demanded the Canadian.
"That circumstances may occur as well six months hence as now by which
we may and ought to profit."
"Oh!" said Ned Land, "and where shall we be in six months, if you
please, Sir Naturalist?"
"Perhaps in China; you know the Nautilus is a rapid traveller. It goes
through water as swallows through the air, or as an express on the land. It
does not fear frequented seas; who can say that it may not beat the coasts
of France, England, or America, on which flight may be attempted as
advantageously as here."
"M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, "your arguments are rotten at the
foundation. You speak in the future, 'We shall be there! we shall be here!'
I speak in the present, 'We are here, and we must profit by it.'"
Ned Land's logic pressed me hard, and I felt myself beaten on that
ground. I knew not what argument would now tell in my favour.
"Sir," continued Ned, "let us suppose an impossibility: if Captain
Nemo should this day offer you your liberty; would you accept it?"
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"I do not know," I answered.
"And if," he added, "the offer made you this day was never to be
renewed, would you accept it?"
"Friend Ned, this is my answer. Your reasoning is against me. We must
not rely on Captain Nemo's good-will. Common prudence forbids him to set us
at liberty. On the other side, prudence bids us profit by the first
opportunity to leave the Nautilus."
"Well, M. Aronnax, that is wisely said."
"Only one observation -- just one. The occasion must be serious, and
our first attempt must succeed; if it fails, we shall never find another,
and Captain Nemo will never forgive us."
"All that is true," replied the Canadian. "But your observation
applies equally to all attempts at flight, whether in two years' time, or
in two days'. But the question is still this: If a favourable opportunity
presents itself, it must be seized."
"Agreed! And now, Ned, will you tell me what you mean by a favourable
opportunity?"
"It will be that which, on a dark night, will bring the Nautilus a
short distance from some European coast."
"And you will try and save yourself by swimming?"
"Yes, if we were near enough to the bank, and if the vessel was
floating at the time. Not if the bank was far away, and the boat was under
the water."
"And in that case?"
"In that case, I should seek to make myself master of the pinnace. I
know how it is worked. We must get inside, and the bolts once drawn, we
shall come to the surface of the water, without even the pilot, who is in
the bows, perceiving our flight."
"Well, Ned, watch for the opportunity; but do not forget that a hitch
will ruin us."
"I will not forget, sir."
"And now, Ned, would you like to know what I think of your project?"
"Certainly, M. Aronnax."
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"Well, I think -- I do not say I hope -- I think that this favourable
opportunity will never present itself."
"Why not?"
"Because Captain Nemo cannot hide from himself that we have not given
up all hope of regaining our liberty, and he will be on his guard, above
all, in the seas and in the sight of European coasts."
"We shall see," replied Ned Land, shaking his head determinedly.
"And now, Ned Land," I added, "let us stop here. Not another word on
the subject. The day that you are ready, come and let us know, and we will
follow you. I rely entirely upon you."
Thus ended a conversation which, at no very distant time, led to such
grave results. I must say here that facts seemed to confirm my foresight,
to the Canadian's great despair. Did Captain Nemo distrust us in these
frequented seas? or did he only wish to hide himself from the numerous
vessels, of all nations, which ploughed the Mediterranean? I could not
tell; but we were oftener between waters and far from the coast. Or, if the
Nautilus did emerge, nothing was to be seen but the pilot's cage; and
sometimes it went to great depths, for, between the Grecian Archipelago and
Asia Minor we could not touch the bottom by more than a thousand fathoms.
Thus I only knew we were near the Island of Carpathos, one of the
Sporades, by Captain Nemo reciting these lines from Virgil:
"Est Carpathio Neptuni gurgite vates,
Caeruleus Proteus," as he pointed to a spot on the planisphere.
It was indeed the ancient abode of Proteus, the old shepherd of
Neptune's flocks, now the Island of Scarpanto, situated between Rhodes and
Crete. I saw nothing but the granite base through the glass panels of the
saloon.
The next day, the 14th of February, I resolved to employ some hours in
studying the fishes of the Archipelago; but for some reason or other the
panels remained hermetically sealed. Upon taking the course of the
Nautilus, I found that
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we were going towards Candia, the ancient Isle of Crete. At the time I
embarked on the Abraham Lincoln, the whole of this island had risen in
insurrection against the despotism of the Turks. But how the insurgents had
fared since that time I was absolutely ignorant, and it was not Captain
Nemo, deprived of all land communications, who could tell me.
I made no allusion to this event when that night I found myself alone
with him in the saloon. Besides, he seemed to be taciturn and preoccupied.
Then, contrary to his custom, he ordered both panels to be opened, and,
going from one to the other, observed the mass of waters attentively. To
what end I could not guess; so, on my side, I employed my time in studying
the fish passing before my eyes.
In the midst of the waters a man appeared, a diver, carrying at his
belt a leathern purse. It was not a body abandoned to the waves; it was a
living man, swimming with a strong hand, disappearing occasionally to take
breath at the surface.
I turned towards Captain Nemo, and in an agitated voice exclaimed:
"A man shipwrecked! He must be saved at any price!"
The Captain did not answer me, but came and leaned against the panel.
The man had approached, and, with his face flattened against the
glass, was looking at us.
To my great amazement, Captain Nemo signed to him. The diver answered
with his hand, mounted immediately to the surface of the water, and did not
appear again.
"Do not be uncomfortable," said Captain Nemo. "It is Nicholas of Cape
Matapan, surnamed Pesca. He is well known in all the Cyclades. A bold
diver! water is his element, and he lives more in it than on land, going
continually from one island to another, even as far as Crete."
"You know him, Captain?"
"Why not, M. Aronnax?"
Saying which, Captain Nemo went towards a piece of furniture standing
near the left panel of the saloon. Near this piece of furniture, I saw a
chest bound with iron, on
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the cover of which was a copper plate, bearing the cypher of the Nautilus
with its device.
At that moment, the Captain, without noticing my presence, opened the
piece of furniture, a sort of strong box, which held a great many ingots.
They were ingots of gold. From whence came this precious metal, which
represented an enormous sum? Where did the Captain gather this gold from?
and what was he going to do with it?
I did not say one word. I looked. Captain Nemo took the ingots one by
one, and arranged them methodically in the chest, which he filled entirely.
I estimated the contents at more than 4,000 lb. weight of gold, that is to
say, nearly L200,000.
The chest was securely fastened, and the Captain wrote an address on
the lid, in characters which must have belonged to Modern Greece.
This done, Captain Nemo pressed a knob, the wire of which communicated
with the quarters of the crew. Four men appeared, and, not without some
trouble, pushed the chest out of the saloon. Then I heard them hoisting it
up the iron staircase by means of pulleys.
At that moment, Captain Nemo turned to me.
"And you were saying, sir?" said he.
"I was saying nothing, Captain."
"Then, sir, if you will allow me, I will wish you good night."
Whereupon he turned and left the saloon.
I returned to my room much troubled, as one may believe. I vainly
tried to sleep -- I sought the connecting link between the apparition of
the diver and the chest filled with gold. Soon, I felt by certain movements
of pitching and tossing that the Nautilus was leaving the depths and
returning to the surface.
Then I heard steps upon the platform; and I knew they were unfastening
the pinnace and launching it upon the waves. For one instant it struck the
side of the Nautilus, then all noise ceased.
Two hours after, the same noise, the same going and coming
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was renewed; the boat was hoisted on board, replaced in its socket, and the
Nautilus again plunged under the waves.
So these millions had been transported to their address. To what point
of the continent? Who was Captain Nemo's correspondent?
The next day I related to Conseil and the Canadian the events of the
night, which had excited my curiosity to the highest degree. My companions
were not less surprised than myself.
"But where does he take his millions to?" asked Ned Land.
To that there was no possible answer. I returned to the saloon after
having breakfast and set to work. Till five o'clock in the evening I
employed myself in arranging my notes. At that moment -- (ought I to
attribute it to some peculiar idiosyncrasy) -- I felt so great a heat that
I was obliged to take off my coat. It was strange, for we were under low
latitudes; and even then the Nautilus, submerged as it was, ought to
experience no change of temperature. I looked at the manometer; it showed a
depth of sixty feet, to which atmospheric heat could never attain.
I continued my work, but the temperature rose to such a pitch as to be
intolerable.
"Could there be fire on board?" I asked myself.
I was leaving the saloon, when Captain Nemo entered; he approached the
thermometer, consulted it, and, turning to me, said:
"Forty-two degrees."
"I have noticed it, Captain," I replied; "and if it gets much hotter
we cannot bear it."
"Oh, sir, it will not get better if we do not wish it."
"You can reduce it as you please, then?"
"No; but I can go farther from the stove which produces it."
"It is outward, then!"
"Certainly; we are floating in a current of boiling water."
"Is it possible!" I exclaimed.
"Look."
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The panels opened, and I saw the sea entirely white all round. A
sulphurous smoke was curling amid the waves, which boiled like water in a
copper. I placed my band on one of the panes of glass, but the heat was so
great that I quickly took it off again.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Near the Island of Santorin, sir," replied the Captain. "I wished to
give you a sight of the curious spectacle of a submarine eruption."
"I thought," said I, "that the formation of these new islands was
ended."
"Nothing is ever ended in the volcanic parts of the sea," replied
Captain Nemo; "and the globe is always being worked by subterranean fires.
Already, in the nineteenth year of our era, according to Cassiodorus and
Pliny, a new island, Theia (the divine), appeared in the very place where
these islets have recently been formed. Then they sank under the waves, to
rise again in the year 69, when they again subsided. Since that time to our
days the Plutonian work has been suspended. But on the 3rd of February,
1866, a new island, which they named George Island, emerged from the midst
of the sulphurous vapour near Nea Kamenni, and settled again the 6th of the
same month. Seven days after, the 13th of February, the Island of Aphroessa
appeared, leaving between Nea Kamenni and itself a canal ten yards broad. I
was in these seas when the phenomenon occurred, and I was able therefore to
observe all the different phases. The Island of Aphroessa, of round form,
measured 300 feet in diameter, and 30 feet in height. It was composed of
black and vitreous lava, mixed with fragments of felspar. And lastly, on
the 10th of March, a smaller island, called Reka, showed itself near Nea
Kamenni, and since then these three have joined together, forming but one
and the same island."
"And the canal in which we are at this moment?" I asked.
"Here it is," replied Captain Nemo, showing me a map of the
Archipelago. "You see, I have marked the new islands."
I returned to the glass. The Nautilus was no longer moving,
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the heat was becoming unbearable. The sea, which till now had been white,
was red, owing to the presence of salts of iron. In spite of the ship's
being hermetically sealed, an insupportable smell of sulphur filled the
saloon, and the brilliancy of the electricity was entirely extinguished by
bright scarlet flames. I was in a bath, I was choking, I was broiled.
"We can remain no longer in this boiling water," said I to the
Captain.
"It would not be prudent," replied the impassive Captain Nemo.
An order was given; the Nautilus tacked about and left the furnace it
could not brave with impunity. A quarter of an hour after we were breathing
fresh air on the surface. The thought then struck me that, if Ned Land had
chosen this part of the sea for our flight, we should never have come alive
out of this sea of fire.
The next day, the 16th of February, we left the basin which, between
Rhodes and Alexandria, is reckoned about 1,500 fathoms in depth, and the
Nautilus, passing some distance from Cerigo, quitted the Grecian
Archipelago after having doubled Cape Matapan.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.7
THE MEDITERRANEAN IN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS
THE Mediterranean, the blue sea par excellence, "the great sea" of the
Hebrews, "the sea" of the Greeks, the "mare nostrum" of the Romans,
bordered by orange-trees, aloes, cacti, and sea-pines; embalmed with the
perfume of the myrtle, surrounded by rude mountains, saturated with pure
and transparent air, but incessantly worked by under- ground fires; a
perfect battlefield in which Neptune and Pluto still dispute the empire of
the world!
It is upon these banks, and on these waters, says Michelet, that man
is renewed in one of the most powerful climates of the globe. But,
beautiful as it was, I could only take a
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rapid glance at the basin whose superficial area is two million of square
yards. Even Captain Nemo's knowledge was lost to me, for this puzzling
person did not appear once during our passage at full speed. I estimated
the course which the Nautilus took under the waves of the sea at about six
hundred leagues, and it was accomplished in forty-eight hours. Starting on
the morning of the 16th of February from the shores of Greece, we had
crossed the Straits of Gibraltar by sunrise on the 18th.
It was plain to me that this Mediterranean, enclosed in the midst of
those countries which he wished to avoid, was distasteful to Captain Nemo.
Those waves and those breezes brought back too many remembrances, if not
too many regrets. Here he had no longer that independence and that liberty
of gait which he had when in the open seas, and his Nautilus felt itself
cramped between the close shores of Africa and Europe.
Our speed was now twenty-five miles an hour. It may be well understood
that Ned Land, to his great disgust, was obliged to renounce his intended
flight. He could not launch the pinnace, going at the rate of twelve or
thirteen yards every second. To quit the Nautilus under such conditions
would be as bad as jumping from a train going at full speed -- an imprudent
thing, to say the least of it. Besides, our vessel only mounted to the
surface of the waves at night to renew its stock of air; it was steered
entirely by the compass and the log.
I saw no more of the interior of this Mediterranean than a traveller
by express train perceives of the landscape which flies before his eyes;
that is to say, the distant horizon, and not the nearer objects which pass
like a flash of lightning.
We were then passing between Sicily and the coast of Tunis. In the
narrow space between Cape Bon and the Straits of Messina the bottom of the
sea rose almost suddenly. There was a perfect bank, on which there was not
more than nine fathoms of water, whilst on either side the depth was ninety
fathoms.
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The Nautilus had to manoeuvre very carefully so as not to strike
against this submarine barrier.
I showed Conseil, on the map of the Mediterranean, the spot occupied
by this reef.
"But if you please, sir," observed Conseil, "it is like a real isthmus
joining Europe to Africa."
"Yes, my boy, it forms a perfect bar to the Straits of Lybia, and the
soundings of Smith have proved that in former times the continents between
Cape Boco and Cape Furina were joined."
"I can well believe it," said Conseil.
"I will add," I continued, "that a similar barrier exists between
Gibraltar and Ceuta, which in geological times formed the entire
Mediterranean."
"What if some volcanic burst should one day raise these two barriers
above the waves?"
"It is not probable, Conseil."
"Well, but allow me to finish, please, sir; if this phenomenon should
take place, it will be troublesome for M. Lesseps, who has taken so much
pains to pierce the isthmus."
"I agree with you; but I repeat, Conseil, this phenomenon will never
happen. The violence of subterranean force is ever diminishing. Volcanoes,
so plentiful in the first days of the world, are being extinguished by
degrees; the internal heat is weakened, the temperature of the lower strata
of the globe is lowered by a perceptible quantity every century to the
detriment of our globe, for its heat is its life."
"But the sun?"
"The sun is not sufficient, Conseil. Can it give heat to a dead body?"
"Not that I know of."
"Well, my friend, this earth will one day be that cold corpse; it will
become uninhabitable and uninhabited like the moon, which has long since
lost all its vital heat."
"In how many centuries?"
"In some hundreds of thousands of years, my boy."
"Then," said Conseil, "we shall have time to finish our journey --
that is, if Ned Land does not interfere with it."
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And Conseil, reassured, returned to the study of the bank, which the
Nautilus was skirting at a moderate speed.
During the night of the 16th and 17th February we had entered the
second Mediterranean basin, the greatest depth of which was 1,450 fathoms.
The Nautilus, by the action of its crew, slid down the inclined planes and
buried itself in the lowest depths of the sea.
On the 18th of February, about three o'clock in the morning, we were
at the entrance of the Straits of Gibraltar. There once existed two
currents: an upper one, long since recognised, which conveys the waters of
the ocean into the basin of the Mediterranean; and a lower counter-current,
which reasoning has now shown to exist. Indeed, the volume of water in the
Mediterranean, incessantly added to by the waves of the Atlantic and by
rivers falling into it, would each year raise the level of this sea, for
its evaporation is not sufficient to restore the equilibrium. As it is not
so, we must necessarily admit the existence of an under-current, which
empties into the basin of the Atlantic through the Straits of Gibraltar the
surplus waters of the Mediterranean. A fact indeed; and it was this
counter-current by which the Nautilus profited. It advanced rapidly by the
narrow pass. For one instant I caught a glimpse of the beautiful ruins of
the temple of Hercules, buried in the ground, according to Pliny, and with
the low island which supports it; and a few minutes later we were floating
on the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.8
VIGO BAY
THE Atlantic! a vast sheet of water whose superficial area covers
twenty-five millions of square miles, the length of which is nine thousand
miles, with a mean breadth of two thousand seven hundred -- an ocean whose
parallel winding shores embrace an immense circumference, watered by the
largest rivers of the world, the St. Lawrence, the Mississippi, the Amazon,
the Plata, the Orinoco, the Niger, the Senegal,
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the Elbe, the Loire, and the Rhine, which carry water from the most
civilised, as well as from the most savage, countries! Magnificent field of
water, incessantly ploughed by vessels of every nation, sheltered by the
flags of every nation, and which terminates in those two terrible points so
dreaded by mariners, Cape Horn and the Cape of Tempests.
The Nautilus was piercing the water with its sharp spur, after having
accomplished nearly ten thousand leagues in three months and a half, a
distance greater than the great circle of the earth. Where were we going
now, and what was reserved for the future? The Nautilus, leaving the
Straits of Gibraltar, had gone far out. It returned to the surface of the
waves, and our daily walks on the platform were restored to us.
I mounted at once, accompanied by Ned Land and Conseil. At a distance
of about twelve miles, Cape St. Vincent was dimly to be seen, forming the
south-western point of the Spanish peninsula. A strong southerly gale was
blowing. The sea was swollen and billowy; it made the Nautilus rock
violently. It was almost impossible to keep one's foot on the platform,
which the heavy rolls of the sea beat over every instant. So we descended
after inhaling some mouthfuls of fresh air.
I returned to my room, Conseil to his cabin; but the Canadian, with a
preoccupied air, followed me. Our rapid passage across the Mediterranean
had not allowed him to put his project into execution, and he could not
help showing his disappointment. When the door of my room was shut, he sat
down and looked at me silently.
"Friend Ned," said I, "I understand you; but you cannot reproach
yourself. To have attempted to leave the Nautilus under the circumstances
would have been folly."
Ned Land did not answer; his compressed lips and frowning brow showed
with him the violent possession this fixed idea had taken of his mind.
"Let us see," I continued; "we need not despair yet. We are going up
the coast of Portugal again; France and England are not far off, where we
can easily find refuge. Now if the Nautilus, on leaving the Straits of
Gibraltar, had
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gone to the south, if it had carried us towards regions where there were no
continents, I should share your uneasiness. But we know now that Captain
Nemo does not fly from civilised seas, and in some days I think you can act
with security."
Ned Land still looked at me fixedly; at length his fixed lips parted,
and he said, "It is for to-night."
I drew myself up suddenly. I was, I admit, little prepared for this
communication. I wanted to answer the Canadian, but words would not come.
"We agreed to wait for an opportunity," continued Ned Land, "and the
opportunity has arrived. This night we shall be but a few miles from the
Spanish coast. It is cloudy. The wind blows freely. I have your word, M.
Aronnax, and I rely upon you."
As I was silent, the Canadian approached me.
"To-night, at nine o'clock," said he. "I have warned Conseil. At that
moment Captain Nemo will be shut up in his room, probably in bed. Neither
the engineers nor the ship's crew can see us. Conseil and I will gain the
central staircase, and you, M. Aronnax, will remain in the library, two
steps from us, waiting my signal. The oars, the mast, and the sail are in
the canoe. I have even succeeded in getting some provisions. I have
procured an English wrench, to unfasten the bolts which attach it to the
shell of the Nautilus. So all is ready, till to-night."
"The sea is bad."
"That I allow," replied the Canadian; "but we must risk that. Liberty
is worth paying for; besides, the boat is strong, and a few miles with a
fair wind to carry us is no great thing. Who knows but by to-morrow we may
be a hundred leagues away? Let circumstances only favour us, and by ten or
eleven o'clock we shall have landed on some spot of terra firma, alive or
dead. But adieu now till to-night."
With these words the Canadian withdrew, leaving me almost dumb. I had
imagined that, the chance gone, I should have time to reflect and discuss
the matter. My obstinate companion had given me no time; and, after all,
what could
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I have said to him? Ned Land was perfectly right. There was almost the
opportunity to profit by. Could I retract my word, and take upon myself the
responsibility of compromising the future of my companions? To-morrow
Captain Nemo might take us far from all land.
At that moment a rather loud hissing noise told me that the reservoirs
were filling, and that the Nautilus was sinking under the waves of the
Atlantic.
A sad day I passed, between the desire of regaining my liberty of
action and of abandoning the wonderful Nautilus, and leaving my submarine
studies incomplete.
What dreadful hours I passed thus! Sometimes seeing myself and
companions safely landed, sometimes wishing, in spite of my reason, that
some unforeseen circumstance, would prevent the realisation of Ned Land's
project.
Twice I went to the saloon. I wished to consult the compass. I wished
to see if the direction the Nautilus was taking was bringing us nearer or
taking us farther from the coast. But no; the Nautilus kept in Portuguese
waters.
I must therefore take my part and prepare for flight. My luggage was
not heavy; my notes, nothing more.
As to Captain Nemo, I asked myself what he would think of our escape;
what trouble, what wrong it might cause him and what he might do in case of
its discovery or failure. Certainly I had no cause to complain of him; on
the contrary, never was hospitality freer than his. In leaving him I could
not be taxed with ingratitude. No oath bound us to him. It was on the
strength of circumstances he relied, and not upon our word, to fix us for
ever.
I had not seen the Captain since our visit to the Island of Santorin.
Would chance bring me to his presence before our departure? I wished it,
and I feared it at the same time. I listened if I could hear him walking
the room contiguous to mine. No sound reached my ear. I felt an unbearable
uneasiness. This day of waiting seemed eternal. Hours struck too slowly to
keep pace with my impatience.
My dinner was served in my room as usual. I ate but little; I was too
preoccupied. I left the table at seven o'clock. A hundred and twenty
minutes (I counted them) still separated
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me from the moment in which I was to join Ned Land. My agitation redoubled.
My pulse beat violently. I could not remain quiet. I went and came, hoping
to calm my troubled spirit by constant movement. The idea of failure in our
bold enterprise was the least painful of my anxieties; but the thought of
seeing our project discovered before leaving the Nautilus, of being brought
before Captain Nemo, irritated, or (what was worse) saddened, at my
desertion, made my heart beat.
I wanted to see the saloon for the last time. I descended the stairs
and arrived in the museum, where I had passed so many useful and agreeable
hours. I looked at all its riches, all its treasures, like a man on the eve
of an eternal exile, who was leaving never to return.
These wonders of Nature, these masterpieces of art, amongst which for
so many days my life had been concentrated, I was going to abandon them for
ever! I should like to have taken a last look through the windows of the
saloon into the waters of the Atlantic: but the panels were hermetically
closed, and a cloak of steel separated me from that ocean which I had not
yet explored.
In passing through the saloon, I came near the door let into the angle
which opened into the Captain's room. To my great surprise, this door was
ajar. I drew back involuntarily. If Captain Nemo should be in his room, he
could see me. But, hearing no sound, I drew nearer. The room was deserted.
I pushed open the door and took some steps forward. Still the same monklike
severity of aspect.
Suddenly the clock struck eight. The first beat of the hammer on the
bell awoke me from my dreams. I trembled as if an invisible eye had plunged
into my most secret thoughts, and I hurried from the room.
There my eye fell upon the compass. Our course was still north. The
log indicated moderate speed, the manometer a depth of about sixty feet.
I returned to my room, clothed myself warmly -- sea- boots, an
otterskin cap, a great coat of byssus, lined with sealskin; I was ready, I
was waiting. The vibration of the screw alone broke the deep silence which
reigned on board.
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I listened attentively. Would no loud voice suddenly inform me that Ned
Land had been surprised in his projected flight. A mortal dread hung over
me, and I vainly tried to regain my accustomed coolness.
At a few minutes to nine, I put my ear to the Captain's door. No
noise. I left my room and returned to the saloon, which was half in
obscurity, but deserted.
I opened the door communicating with the library. The same
insufficient light, the same solitude. I placed myself near the door
leading to the central staircase, and there waited for Ned Land's signal.
At that moment the trembling of the screw sensibly diminished, then it
stopped entirely. The silence was now only disturbed by the beatings of my
own heart. Suddenly a slight shock was felt; and I knew that the Nautilus
had stopped at the bottom of the ocean. My uneasiness increased. The
Canadian's signal did not come. I felt inclined to join Ned Land and beg of
him to put off his attempt. I felt that we were not sailing under our usual
conditions.
At this moment the door of the large saloon opened, and Captain Nemo
appeared. He saw me, and without further preamble began in an amiable tone
of voice:
"Ah, sir! I have been looking for you. Do you know the history of
Spain?"
Now, one might know the history of one's own country by heart; but in
the condition I was at the time, with troubled mind and head quite lost, I
could not have said a word of it.
"Well," continued Captain Nemo, "you heard my question! Do you know
the history of Spain?"
"Very slightly," I answered.
"Well, here are learned men having to learn," said the Captain. "Come,
sit down, and I will tell you a curious episode in this history. Sir,
listen well," said he; "this history will interest you on one side, for it
will answer a question which doubtless you have not been able to solve."
"I listen, Captain," said I, not knowing what my interlocutor was
driving at, and asking myself if this incident was bearing on our projected
flight.
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"Sir, if you have no objection, we will go back to 1702. You cannot be
ignorant that your king, Louis XIV, thinking that the gesture of a
potentate was sufficient to bring the Pyrenees under his yoke, had imposed
the Duke of Anjou, his grandson, on the Spaniards. This prince reigned more
or less badly under the name of Philip V, and had a strong party against
him abroad. Indeed, the preceding year, the royal houses of Holland,
Austria, and England had concluded a treaty of alliance at the Hague, with
the intention of plucking the crown of Spain from the head of Philip V, and
placing it on that of an archduke to whom they prematurely gave the title
of Charles III.
"Spain must resist this coalition; but she was almost entirely
unprovided with either soldiers or sailors. However, money would not fail
them, provided that their galleons, laden with gold and silver from
America, once entered their ports. And about the end of 1702 they expected
a rich convoy which France was escorting with a fleet of twenty-three
vessels, commanded by Admiral Chateau- Renaud, for the ships of the
coalition were already beating the Atlantic. This convoy was to go to
Cadiz, but the Admiral, hearing that an English fleet was cruising in those
waters, resolved to make for a French port.
"The Spanish commanders of the convoy objected to this decision. They
wanted to be taken to a Spanish port, and, if not to Cadiz, into Vigo Bay,
situated on the northwest coast of Spain, and which was not blocked.
"Admiral Chateau-Renaud had the rashness to obey this injunction, and
the galleons entered Vigo Bay.
"Unfortunately, it formed an open road which could not be defended in
any way. They must therefore hasten to unload the galleons before the
arrival of the combined fleet; and time would not have failed them had not
a miserable question of rivalry suddenly arisen.
"You are following the chain of events?" asked Captain Nemo.
"Perfectly," said I, not knowing the end proposed by this historical
lesson.
"I will continue. This is what passed. The merchants of
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Cadiz had a privilege by which they had the right of receiving all
merchandise coming from the West Indies. Now, to disembark these ingots at
the port of Vigo was depriving them of their rights. They complained at
Madrid, and obtained the consent of the weak-minded Philip that the convoy,
without discharging its cargo, should remain sequestered in the roads of
Vigo until the enemy had disappeared.
"But whilst coming to this decision, on the 22nd of October, 1702, the
English vessels arrived in Vigo Bay, when Admiral Chateau-Renaud, in spite
of inferior forces, fought bravely. But, seeing that the treasure must fall
into the enemy's hands, he burnt and scuttled every galleon, which went to
the bottom with their immense riches."
Captain Nemo stopped. I admit I could not see yet why this history
should interest me.
"Well?" I asked.
"Well, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, "we are in that Vigo Bay;
and it rests with yourself whether you will penetrate its mysteries."
The Captain rose, telling me to follow him. I had had time to recover.
I obeyed. The saloon was dark, but through the transparent glass the waves
were sparkling. I looked.
For half a mile around the Nautilus, the waters seemed bathed in
electric light. The sandy bottom was clean and bright. Some of the ship's
crew in their diving-dresses were clearing away half-rotten barrels and
empty cases from the midst of the blackened wrecks. From these cases and
from these barrels escaped ingots of gold and silver, cascades of piastres
and jewels. The sand was heaped up with them. Laden with their precious
booty, the men returned to the Nautilus, disposed of their burden, and went
back to this inexhaustible fishery of gold and silver.
I understood now. This was the scene of the battle of the 22nd of
October, 1702. Here on this very spot the galleons laden for the Spanish
Government had sunk. Here Captain Nemo came, according to his wants, to
pack up those millions with which he burdened the Nautilus. It was for him
and him alone America had given up her precious metals. He was
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heir direct, without anyone to share, in those treasures torn from the
Incas and from the conquered of Ferdinand Cortez.
"Did you know, sir," he asked, smiling, "that the sea contained such
riches?"
"I knew," I answered, "that they value money held in suspension in
these waters at two millions."
"Doubtless; but to extract this money the expense would be greater
than the profit. Here, on the contrary, I have but to pick up what man has
lost -- and not only in Vigo Bay, but in a thousand other ports where
shipwrecks have happened, and which are marked on my submarine map. Can you
understand now the source of the millions I am worth?"
"I understand, Captain. But allow me to tell you that in exploring
Vigo Bay you have only been beforehand with a rival society."
"And which?"
"A society which has received from the Spanish Government the
privilege of seeking those buried galleons. The shareholders are led on by
the allurement of an enormous bounty, for they value these rich shipwrecks
at five hundred millions."
"Five hundred millions they were," answered Captain Nemo, "but they
are so no longer."
"Just so," said I; "and a warning to those shareholders would be an
act of charity. But who knows if it would be well received? What gamblers
usually regret above all is less the loss of their money than of their
foolish hopes. After all, I pity them less than the thousands of
unfortunates to whom so much riches well-distributed would have been
profitable, whilst for them they will be for ever barren."
I had no sooner expressed this regret than I felt that it must have
wounded Captain Nemo.
"Barren!" he exclaimed, with animation. "Do you think then, sir, that
these riches are lost because I gather them? Is it for myself alone,
according to your idea, that I take the trouble to collect these treasures?
Who told you that I did not make a good use of it? Do you think I am
ignorant that there are suffering beings and oppressed races on this
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earth, miserable creatures to console, victims to avenge? Do you not
understand?"
Captain Nemo stopped at these last words, regretting perhaps that he
had spoken so much. But I had guessed that, whatever the motive which had
forced him to seek independence under the sea, it had left him still a man,
that his heart still beat for the sufferings of humanity, and that his
immense charity was for oppressed races as well as individuals. And I then
understood for whom those millions were destined which were forwarded by
Captain Nemo when the Nautilus was cruising in the waters of Crete.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.9
A VANISHED CONTINENT
THE next morning, the 19th of February, I saw the Canadian enter my
room. I expected this visit. He looked very disappointed.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"Well, Ned, fortune was against us yesterday."
"Yes; that Captain must needs stop exactly at the hour we intended
leaving his vessel."
"Yes, Ned, he had business at his bankers."
"His bankers!"
"Or rather his banking-house; by that I mean the ocean, where his
riches are safer than in the chests of the State."
I then related to the Canadian the incidents of the preceding night,
hoping to bring him back to the idea of not abandoning the Captain; but my
recital had no other result than an energetically expressed regret from Ned
that he had not been able to take a walk on the battlefield of Vigo on his
own account.
"However," said he, "all is not ended. It is only a blow of the
harpoon lost. Another time we must succeed; and to-night, if necessary -- "
"In what direction is the Nautilus going?" I asked.
"I do not know," replied Ned.
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"Well, at noon we shall see the point."
The Canadian returned to Conseil. As soon as I was dressed, I went
into the saloon. The compass was not reassuring. The course of the Nautilus
was S.S.W. We were turning our backs on Europe.
I waited with some impatience till the ship's place was pricked on the
chart. At about half-past eleven the reservoirs were emptied, and our
vessel rose to the surface of the ocean. I rushed towards the platform. Ned
Land had preceded me. No more land in sight. Nothing but an immense sea.
Some sails on the horizon, doubtless those going to San Roque in search of
favourable winds for doubling the Cape of Good Hope. The weather was
cloudy. A gale of wind was preparing. Ned raved, and tried to pierce the
cloudy horizon. He still hoped that behind all that fog stretched the land
he so longed for.
At noon the sun showed itself for an instant. The second profited by
this brightness to take its height. Then, the sea becoming more billowy, we
descended, and the panel closed.
An hour after, upon consulting the chart, I saw the position of the
Nautilus was marked at 16° 17' long., and 33° 22' lat., at 150 leagues from
the nearest coast. There was no means of flight, and I leave you to imagine
the rage of the Canadian when I informed him of our situation.
For myself, I was not particularly sorry. I felt lightened of the load
which had oppressed me, and was able to return with some degree of calmness
to my accustomed work.
That night, about eleven o'clock, I received a most unexpected visit
from Captain Nemo. He asked me very graciously if I felt fatigued from my
watch of the preceding night. I answered in the negative.
"Then, M. Aronnax, I propose a curious excursion."
"Propose, Captain?"
"You have hitherto only visited the submarine depths by daylight,
under the brightness of the sun. Would it suit you to see them in the
darkness of the night?"
"Most willingly."
"I warn you, the way will be tiring. We shall have far
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to walk, and must climb a mountain. The roads are not well kept."
"What you say, Captain, only heightens my curiosity; I am ready to
follow you."
"Come then, sir, we will put on our diving-dresses."
Arrived at the robing-room, I saw that neither of my companions nor
any of the ship's crew were to follow us on this excursion. Captain Nemo
had not even proposed my taking with me either Ned or Conseil.
In a few moments we had put on our diving-dresses; they placed on our
backs the reservoirs, abundantly filled with air, but no electric lamps
were prepared. I called the Captain's attention to the fact.
"They will be useless," he replied.
I thought I had not heard aright, but I could not repeat my
observation, for the Captain's head had already disappeared in its metal
case. I finished harnessing myself. I felt them put an iron-pointed stick
into my hand, and some minutes later, after going through the usual form,
we set foot on the bottom of the Atlantic at a depth of 150 fathoms.
Midnight was near. The waters were profoundly dark, but Captain Nemo
pointed out in the distance a reddish spot, a sort of large light shining
brilliantly about two miles from the Nautilus. What this fire might be,
what could feed it, why and how it lit up the liquid mass, I could not say.
In any case, it did light our way, vaguely, it is true, but I soon
accustomed myself to the peculiar darkness, and I understood, under such
circumstances, the uselessness of the Ruhmkorff apparatus.
As we advanced, I heard a kind of pattering above my head. The noise
redoubling, sometimes producing a continual shower, I soon understood the
cause. It was rain falling violently, and crisping the surface of the
waves. Instinctively the thought flashed across my mind that I should be
wet through! By the water! in the midst of the water! I could not help
laughing at the odd idea. But, indeed, in the thick diving-dress, the
liquid element is no longer felt, and one only seems to be in an atmosphere
somewhat denser than the terrestrial atmosphere. Nothing more.
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After half an hour's walk the soil became stony. Medusae, microscopic
crustacea, and pennatules lit it slightly with their phosphorescent gleam.
I caught a glimpse of pieces of stone covered with millions of zoophytes
and masses of seaweed. My feet often slipped upon this sticky carpet of
seaweed, and without my iron-tipped stick I should have fallen more than
once. In turning round, I could still see the whitish lantern of the
Nautilus beginning to pale in the distance.
But the rosy light which guided us increased and lit up the horizon.
The presence of this fire under water puzzled me in the highest degree. Was
I going towards a natural phenomenon as yet unknown to the savants of the
earth? Or even (for this thought crossed my brain) had the hand of man
aught to do with this conflagration? Had he fanned this flame? Was I to
meet in these depths companions and friends of Captain Nemo whom he was
going to visit, and who, like him, led this strange existence? Should I
find down there a whole colony of exiles who, weary of the miseries of this
earth, had sought and found independence in the deep ocean? All these
foolish and unreasonable ideas pursued me. And in this condition of mind,
over-excited by the succession of wonders continually passing before my
eyes, I should not have been surprised to meet at the bottom of the sea one
of those submarine towns of which Captain Nemo dreamed.
Our road grew lighter and lighter. The white glimmer came in rays from
the summit of a mountain about 800 feet high. But what I saw was simply a
reflection, developed by the clearness of the waters. The source of this
inexplicable light was a fire on the opposite side of the mountain.
In the midst of this stony maze furrowing the bottom of the Atlantic,
Captain Nemo advanced without hesitation. He knew this dreary road.
Doubtless he had often travelled over it, and could not lose himself. I
followed him with unshaken confidence. He seemed to me like a genie of the
sea; and, as he walked before me, I could not help admiring his stature,
which was outlined in black on the luminous horizon.
It was one in the morning when we arrived at the first
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slopes of the mountain; but to gain access to them we must venture through
the difficult paths of a vast copse.
Yes; a copse of dead trees, without leaves, without sap, trees
petrified by the action of the water and here and there overtopped by
gigantic pines. It was like a coal-pit still standing, holding by the roots
to the broken soil, and whose branches, like fine black paper cuttings,
showed distinctly on the watery ceiling. Picture to yourself a forest in
the Hartz hanging on to the sides of the mountain, but a forest swallowed
up. The paths were encumbered with seaweed and fucus, between which
grovelled a whole world of crustacea. I went along, climbing the rocks,
striding over extended trunks, breaking the sea bind-weed which hung from
one tree to the other; and frightening the fishes, which flew from branch
to branch. Pressing onward, I felt no fatigue. I followed my guide, who was
never tired. What a spectacle! How can I express it? how paint the aspect
of those woods and rocks in this medium -- their under parts dark and wild,
the upper coloured with red tints, by that light which the reflecting
powers of the waters doubled? We climbed rocks which fell directly after
with gigantic bounds and the low growling of an avalanche. To right and
left ran long, dark galleries, where sight was lost. Here opened vast
glades which the hand of man seemed to have worked; and I sometimes asked
myself if some inhabitant of these submarine regions would not suddenly
appear to me.
But Captain Nemo was still mounting. I could not stay behind. I
followed boldly. My stick gave me good help. A false step would have been
dangerous on the narrow passes sloping down to the sides of the gulfs; but
I walked with firm step, without feeling any giddiness. Now I jumped a
crevice, the depth of which would have made me hesitate had it been among
the glaciers on the land; now I ventured on the unsteady trunk of a tree
thrown across from one abyss to the other, without looking under my feet,
having only eyes to admire the wild sites of this region.
There, monumental rocks, leaning on their regularly-cut bases, seemed
to defy all laws of equilibrium. From between their stony knees trees
sprang, like a jet under heavy pressure,
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and upheld others which upheld them. Natural towers, large scarps, cut
perpendicularly, like a "curtain," inclined at an angle which the laws of
gravitation could never have tolerated in terrestrial regions.
Two hours after quitting the Nautilus we had crossed the line of
trees, and a hundred feet above our heads rose the top of the mountain,
which cast a shadow on the brilliant irradiation of the opposite slope.
Some petrified shrubs ran fantastically here and there. Fishes got up under
our feet like birds in the long grass. The massive rocks were rent with
impenetrable fractures, deep grottos, and unfathomable holes, at the bottom
of which formidable creatures might be heard moving. My blood curdled when
I saw enormous antennae blocking my road, or some frightful claw closing
with a noise in the shadow of some cavity. Millions of luminous spots shone
brightly in the midst of the darkness. They were the eyes of giant
crustacea crouched in their holes; giant lobsters setting themselves up
like halberdiers, and moving their claws with the clicking sound of
pincers; titanic crabs, pointed like a gun on its carriage; and frightful-
looking poulps, interweaving their tentacles like a living nest of
serpents.
We had now arrived on the first platform, where other surprises
awaited me. Before us lay some picturesque ruins, which betrayed the hand
of man and not that of the Creator. There were vast heaps of stone, amongst
which might be traced the vague and shadowy forms of castles and temples,
clothed with a world of blossoming zoophytes, and over which, instead of
ivy, sea-weed and fucus threw a thick vegetable mantle. But what was this
portion of the globe which had been swallowed by cataclysms? Who had placed
those rocks and stones like cromlechs of prehistoric times? Where was I?
Whither had Captain Nemo's fancy hurried me?
I would fain have asked him; not being able to, I stopped him -- I
seized his arm. But, shaking his head, and pointing to the highest point of
the mountain, he seemed to say:
"Come, come along; come higher!"
I followed, and in a few minutes I had climbed to the
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top, which for a circle of ten yards commanded the whole mass of rock.
I looked down the side we had just climbed. The mountain did not rise
more than seven or eight hundred feet above the level of the plain; but on
the opposite side it commanded from twice that height the depths of this
part of the Atlantic. My eyes ranged far over a large space lit by a
violent fulguration. In fact, the mountain was a volcano.
At fifty feet above the peak, in the midst of a rain of stones and
scoriae, a large crater was vomiting forth torrents of lava which fell in a
cascade of fire into the bosom of the liquid mass. Thus situated, this
volcano lit the lower plain like an immense torch, even to the extreme
limits of the horizon. I said that the submarine crater threw up lava, but
no flames. Flames require the oxygen of the air to feed upon and cannot be
developed under water; but streams of lava, having in themselves the
principles of their incandescence, can attain a white heat, fight
vigorously against the liquid element, and turn it to vapour by contact.
Rapid currents bearing all these gases in diffusion and torrents of
lava slid to the bottom of the mountain like an eruption of Vesuvius on
another Terra del Greco.
There indeed under my eyes, ruined, destroyed, lay a town -- its roofs
open to the sky, its temples fallen, its arches dislocated, its columns
lying on the ground, from which one would still recognise the massive
character of Tuscan architecture. Further on, some remains of a gigantic
aqueduct; here the high base of an Acropolis, with the floating outline of
a Parthenon; there traces of a quay, as if an ancient port had formerly
abutted on the borders of the ocean, and disappeared with its merchant
vessels and its war-galleys. Farther on again, long lines of sunken walls
and broad, deserted streets -- a perfect Pompeii escaped beneath the
waters. Such was the sight that Captain Nemo brought before my eyes!
Where was I? Where was I? I must know at any cost. I tried to speak,
but Captain Nemo stopped me by a
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gesture, and, picking up a piece of chalk-stone, advanced to a rock of
black basalt, and traced the one word:
ATLANTIS
What a light shot through my mind! Atlantis! the Atlantis of Plato,
that continent denied by Origen and Humbolt, who placed its disappearance
amongst the legendary tales. I had it there now before my eyes, bearing
upon it the unexceptionable testimony of its catastrophe. The region thus
engulfed was beyond Europe, Asia, and Lybia, beyond the columns of
Hercules, where those powerful people, the Atlantides, lived, against whom
the first wars of ancient Greeks were waged.
Thus, led by the strangest destiny, I was treading under foot the
mountains of this continent, touching with my hand those ruins a thousand
generations old and contemporary with the geological epochs. I was walking
on the very spot where the contemporaries of the first man had walked.
Whilst I was trying to fix in my mind every detail of this grand
landscape, Captain Nemo remained motionless, as if petrified in mute
ecstasy, leaning on a mossy stone. Was he dreaming of those generations
long since disappeared? Was he asking them the secret of human destiny? Was
it here this strange man came to steep himself in historical recollections,
and live again this ancient life -- he who wanted no modern one? What would
I not have given to know his thoughts, to share them, to understand them!
We remained for an hour at this place, contemplating the vast plains under
the brightness of the lava, which was sometimes wonderfully intense. Rapid
tremblings ran along the mountain caused by internal bubblings, deep noise,
distinctly transmitted through the liquid medium were echoed with majestic
grandeur. At this moment the moon appeared through the mass of waters and
threw her pale rays on the buried continent. It was but a gleam, but what
an indescribable effect! The Captain rose, cast one last look on the
immense plain, and then bade me follow him.
We descended the mountain rapidly, and, the mineral forest once
passed, I saw the lantern of the Nautilus shining
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like a star. The Captain walked straight to it, and we got on board as the
first rays of light whitened the surface of the ocean.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.10
THE SUBMARINE COAL-MINES
THE next day, the 20th of February, I awoke very late: the fatigues of
the previous night had prolonged my sleep until eleven o'clock. I dressed
quickly, and hastened to find the course the Nautilus was taking. The
instruments showed it to be still toward the south, with a speed of twenty
miles an hour and a depth of fifty fathoms.
The species of fishes here did not differ much from those already
noticed. There were rays of giant size, five yards long, and endowed with
great muscular strength, which enabled them to shoot above the waves;
sharks of many kinds; amongst others, one fifteen feet long, with
triangular sharp teeth, and whose transparency rendered it almost invisible
in the water.
Amongst bony fish Conseil noticed some about three yards long, armed
at the upper jaw with a piercing sword; other bright-coloured creatures,
known in the time of Aristotle by the name of the sea-dragon, which are
dangerous to capture on account of the spikes on their back.
About four o'clock, the soil, generally composed of a thick mud mixed
with petrified wood, changed by degrees, and it became more stony, and
seemed strewn with conglomerate and pieces of basalt, with a sprinkling of
lava. I thought that a mountainous region was succeeding the long plains;
and accordingly, after a few evolutions of the Nautilus, I saw the
southerly horizon blocked by a high wall which seemed to close all exit.
Its summit evidently passed the level of the ocean. It must be a continent,
or at least an island -- one of the Canaries, or of the Cape Verde Islands.
The bearings not being yet taken, perhaps designedly, I was ignorant of our
exact position. In any case, such
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a wall seemed to me to mark the limits of that Atlantis, of which we had in
reality passed over only the smallest part.
Much longer should I have remained at the window admiring the beauties
of sea and sky, but the panels closed. At this moment the Nautilus arrived
at the side of this high, perpendicular wall. What it would do, I could not
guess. I returned to my room; it no longer moved. I laid myself down with
the full intention of waking after a few hours' sleep; but it was eight
o'clock the next day when I entered the saloon. I looked at the manometer.
It told me that the Nautilus was floating on the surface of the ocean.
Besides, I heard steps on the platform. I went to the panel. It was open;
but, instead of broad daylight, as I expected, I was surrounded by profound
darkness. Where were we? Was I mistaken? Was it still night? No; not a star
was shining and night has not that utter darkness.
I knew not what to think, when a voice near me said:
"Is that you, Professor?"
"Ah! Captain," I answered, "where are we?"
"Underground, sir."
"Underground!" I exclaimed. "And the Nautilus floating still?"
"It always floats."
"But I do not understand."
"Wait a few minutes, our lantern will be lit, and, if you like light
places, you will be satisfied."
I stood on the platform and waited. The darkness was so complete that
I could not even see Captain Nemo; but, looking to the zenith, exactly
above my head, I seemed to catch an undecided gleam, a kind of twilight
filling a circular hole. At this instant the lantern was lit, and its
vividness dispelled the faint light. I closed my dazzled eyes for an
instant, and then looked again. The Nautilus was stationary, floating near
a mountain which formed a sort of quay. The lake, then, supporting it was a
lake imprisoned by a circle of walls, measuring two miles in diameter and
six in circumference. Its level (the manometer showed) could only be the
same as the outside level, for there must necessarily be a communication
between the lake and the sea. The high partitions,
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leaning forward on their base, grew into a vaulted roof bearing the shape
of an immense funnel turned upside down, the height being about five or six
hundred yards. At the summit was a circular orifice, by which I had caught
the slight gleam of light, evidently daylight.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"In the very heart of an extinct volcano, the interior of which has
been invaded by the sea, after some great convulsion of the earth. Whilst
you were sleeping, Professor, the Nautilus penetrated to this lagoon by a
natural canal, which opens about ten yards beneath the surface of the
ocean. This is its harbour of refuge, a sure, commodious, and mysterious
one, sheltered from all gales. Show me, if you can, on the coasts of any of
your continents or islands, a road which can give such perfect refuge from
all storms."
"Certainly," I replied, "you are in safety here, Captain Nemo. Who
could reach you in the heart of a volcano? But did I not see an opening at
its summit?"
"Yes; its crater, formerly filled with lava, vapour, and flames, and
which now gives entrance to the life-giving air we breathe."
"But what is this volcanic mountain?"
"It belongs to one of the numerous islands with which this sea is
strewn -- to vessels a simple sandbank -- to us an immense cavern. Chance
led me to discover it, and chance served me well."
"But of what use is this refuge, Captain? The Nautilus wants no port."
"No, sir; but it wants electricity to make it move, and the
wherewithal to make the electricity -- sodium to feed the elements, coal
from which to get the sodium, and a coal-mine to supply the coal. And
exactly on this spot the sea covers entire forests embedded during the
geological periods, now mineralised and transformed into coal; for me they
are an inexhaustible mine."
"Your men follow the trade of miners here, then, Captain?"
"Exactly so. These mines extend under the waves like the mines of
Newcastle. Here, in their diving-dresses, pick-
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axe and shovel in hand, my men extract the coal, which I do not even ask
from the mines of the earth. When I burn this combustible for the
manufacture of sodium, the smoke, escaping from the crater of the mountain,
gives it the appearance of a still-active volcano."
"And we shall see your companions at work?"
"No; not this time at least; for I am in a hurry to continue our
submarine tour of the earth. So I shall content myself with drawing from
the reserve of sodium I already possess. The time for loading is one day
only, and we continue our voyage. So, if you wish to go over the cavern and
make the round of the lagoon, you must take advantage of to-day, M.
Aronnax."
I thanked the Captain and went to look for my companions, who had not
yet left their cabin. I invited them to follow me without saying where we
were. They mounted the platform. Conseil, who was astonished at nothing,
seemed to look upon it as quite natural that he should wake under a
mountain, after having fallen asleep under the waves. But Ned Land thought
of nothing but finding whether the cavern had any exit. After breakfast,
about ten o'clock, we went down on to the mountain.
"Here we are, once more on land," said Conseil.
"I do not call this land," said the Canadian. "And besides, we are not
on it, but beneath it."
Between the walls of the mountains and the waters of the lake lay a
sandy shore which, at its greatest breadth, measured five hundred feet. On
this soil one might easily make the tour of the lake. But the base of the
high partitions was stony ground, with volcanic locks and enormous pumice-
stones lying in picturesque heaps. All these detached masses, covered with
enamel, polished by the action of the subterraneous fires, shone
resplendent by the light of our electric lantern. The mica dust from the
shore, rising under our feet, flew like a cloud of sparks. The bottom now
rose sensibly, and we soon arrived at long circuitous slopes, or inclined
planes, which took us higher by degrees; but we were obliged to walk
carefully among these conglomerates,
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bound by no cement, the feet slipping on the glassy crystal, felspar, and
quartz.
The volcanic nature of this enormous excavation was confirmed on all
sides, and I pointed it out to my companions.
"Picture to yourselves," said I, "what this crater must have been when
filled with boiling lava, and when the level of the incandescent liquid
rose to the orifice of the mountain, as though melted on the top of a hot
plate."
"I can picture it perfectly," said Conseil. "But, sir, will you tell
me why the Great Architect has suspended operations, and how it is that the
furnace is replaced by the quiet waters of the lake?"
"Most probably, Conseil, because some convulsion beneath the ocean
produced that very opening which has served as a passage for the Nautilus.
Then the waters of the Atlantic rushed into the interior of the mountain.
There must have been a terrible struggle between the two elements, a
struggle which ended in the victory of Neptune. But many ages have run out
since then, and the submerged volcano is now a peaceable grotto."
"Very well," replied Ned Land; "I accept the explanation, sir; but, in
our own interests, I regret that the opening of which you speak was not
made above the level of the sea."
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "if the passage had not been under
the sea, the Nautilus could not have gone through it."
We continued ascending. The steps became more and more perpendicular
and narrow. Deep excavations, which we were obliged to cross, cut them here
and there; sloping masses had to be turned. We slid upon our knees and
crawled along. But Conseil's dexterity and the Canadian's strength
surmounted all obstacles. At a height of about 31 feet the nature of the
ground changed without becoming more practicable. To the conglomerate and
trachyte succeeded black basalt, the first dispread in layers full of
bubbles, the latter forming regular prisms, placed like a colonnade
supporting the spring of the immense vault, an admirable specimen of
natural architecture. Between the blocks of basalt wound long streams of
lava, long since
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grown cold, encrusted with bituminous rays; and in some places there were
spread large carpets of sulphur. A more powerful light shone through the
upper crater, shedding a vague glimmer over these volcanic depressions for
ever buried in the bosom of this extinguished mountain. But our upward
march was soon stopped at a height of about two hundred and fifty feet by
impassable obstacles. There was a complete vaulted arch overhanging us, and
our ascent was changed to a circular walk. At the last change vegetable
life began to struggle with the mineral. Some shrubs, and even some trees,
grew from the fractures of the walls. I recognised some euphorbias, with
the caustic sugar coming from them; heliotropes, quite incapable of
justifying their name, sadly drooped their clusters of flowers, both their
colour and perfume half gone. Here and there some chrysanthemums grew
timidly at the foot of an aloe with long, sickly-looking leaves. But
between the streams of lava, I saw some little violets still slightly
perfumed, and I admit that I smelt them with delight. Perfume is the soul
of the flower, and sea-flowers have no soul.
We had arrived at the foot of some sturdy dragon-trees, which had
pushed aside the rocks with their strong roots, when Ned Land exclaimed:
"Ah! sir, a hive! a hive!"
"A hive!" I replied, with a gesture of incredulity.
"Yes, a hive," repeated the Canadian, "and bees humming round it."
I approached, and was bound to believe my own eyes. There at a hole
bored in one of the dragon-trees were some thousands of these ingenious
insects, so common in all the Canaries, and whose produce is so much
esteemed. Naturally enough, the Canadian wished to gather the honey, and I
could not well oppose his wish. A quantity of dry leaves, mixed with
sulphur, he lit with a spark from his flint, and he began to smoke out the
bees. The humming ceased by degrees, and the hive eventually yielded
several pounds of the sweetest honey, with which Ned Land filled his
haversack.
"When I have mixed this honey with the paste of the
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bread-fruit," said he, "I shall be able to offer you a succulent cake."
"'Pon my word," said Conseil, "it will be gingerbread."
"Never mind the gingerbread," said I; "let us continue our interesting
walk."
At every turn of the path we were following, the lake appeared in all
its length and breadth. The lantern lit up the whole of its peaceable
surface, which knew neither ripple nor wave. The Nautilus remained
perfectly immovable. On the platform, and on the mountain, the ship's crew
were working like black shadows clearly carved against the luminous
atmosphere. We were now going round the highest crest of the first layers
of rock which upheld the roof. I then saw that bees were not the only
representatives of the animal kingdom in the interior of this volcano.
Birds of prey hovered here and there in the shadows, or fled from their
nests on the top of the rocks. There were sparrow- hawks, with white
breasts, and kestrels, and down the slopes scampered, with their long legs,
several fine fat bustards. I leave anyone to imagine the covetousness of
the Canadian at the sight of this savoury game, and whether he did not
regret having no gun. But he did his best to replace the lead by stones,
and, after several fruitless attempts, he succeeded in wounding a
magnificent bird. To say that he risked his life twenty times before
reaching it is but the truth; but he managed so well that the creature
joined the honey-cakes in his bag. We were now obliged to descend toward
the shore, the crest becoming impracticable. Above us the crater seemed to
gape like the mouth of a well. From this place the sky could be clearly
seen, and clouds, dissipated by the west wind, leaving behind them, even on
the summit of the mountain, their misty remnants -- certain proof that they
were only moderately high, for the volcano did not rise more than eight
hundred feet above the level of the ocean. Half an hour after the
Canadian's last exploit we had regained the inner shore. Here the flora was
represented by large carpets of marine crystal, a little umbelliferous
plant very good to pickle, which also bears the name of pierce-stone and
sea-fennel. Conseil gathered some
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bundles of it. As to the fauna, it might be counted by thousands of
crustacea of all sorts, lobsters, crabs, spider-crabs, chameleon shrimps,
and a large number of shells, rockfish, and limpets. Three-quarters of an
hour later we had finished our circuitous walk and were on board. The crew
had just finished loading the sodium, and the Nautilus could have left that
instant. But Captain Nemo gave no order. Did be wish to wait until night,
and leave the submarine passage secretly? Perhaps so. Whatever it might be,
the next day, the Nautilus, having left its port, steered clear of all land
at a few yards beneath the waves of the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.11
THE SARGASSO SEA
THAT day the Nautilus crossed a singular part of the Atlantic Ocean.
No one can be ignorant of the existence of a current of warm water known by
the name of the Gulf Stream. After leaving the Gulf of Florida, we went in
the direction of Spitzbergen. But before entering the Gulf of Mexico, about
45° of N. lat., this current divides into two arms, the principal one going
towards the coast of Ireland and Norway, whilst the second bends to the
south about the height of the Azores; then, touching the African shore, and
describing a lengthened oval, returns to the Antilles. This second arm --
it is rather a collar than an arm -- surrounds with its circles of warm
water that portion of the cold, quiet, immovable ocean called the Sargasso
Sea, a perfect lake in the open Atlantic: it takes no less than three years
for the great current to pass round it. Such was the region the Nautilus
was now visiting, a perfect meadow, a close carpet of seaweed, fucus, and
tropical berries, so thick and so compact that the stem of a vessel could
hardly tear its way through it. And Captain Nemo, not wishing to entangle
his screw in this herbaceous mass, kept some yards beneath the surface of
the waves. The name Sargasso comes from the Spanish word "sargazzo" which
signifies kelp.
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This kelp, or berry-plant, is the principal formation of this immense bank.
And this is the reason why these plants unite in the peaceful basin of the
Atlantic. The only explanation which can be given, he says, seems to me to
result from the experience known to all the world. Place in a vase some
fragments of cork or other floating body, and give to the water in the vase
a circular movement, the scattered fragments will unite in a group in the
centre of the liquid surface, that is to say, in the part least agitated.
In the phenomenon we are considering, the Atlantic is the vase, the Gulf
Stream the circular current, and the Sargasso Sea the central point at
which the floating bodies unite.
I share Maury's opinion, and I was able to study the phenomenon in the
very midst, where vessels rarely penetrate. Above us floated products of
all kinds, heaped up among these brownish plants; trunks of trees torn from
the Andes or the Rocky Mountains, and floated by the Amazon or the
Mississippi; numerous wrecks, remains of keels, or ships' bottoms,
side-planks stove in, and so weighted with shells and barnacles that they
could not again rise to the surface. And time will one day justify Maury's
other opinion, that these substances thus accumulated for ages will become
petrified by the action of the water and will then form inexhaustible
coal-mines -- a precious reserve prepared by far-seeing Nature for the
moment when men shall have exhausted the mines of continents.
In the midst of this inextricable mass of plants and seaweed, I
noticed some charming pink halcyons and actiniae, with their long tentacles
trailing after them, and medusae, green, red, and blue.
All the day of the 22nd of February we passed in the Sargasso Sea,
where such fish as are partial to marine plants find abundant nourishment.
The next, the ocean had returned to its accustomed aspect. From this time
for nineteen days, from the 23rd of February to the 12th of March, the
Nautilus kept in the middle of the Atlantic, carrying us at a constant
speed of a hundred leagues in twenty-four hours. Captain Nemo evidently
intended accomplishing his submarine programme, and I imagined that he
intended,
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after doubling Cape Horn, to return to the Australian seas of the Pacific.
Ned Land had cause for fear. In these large seas, void of islands, we could
not attempt to leave the boat. Nor had we any means of opposing Captain
Nemo's will. Our only course was to submit; but what we could neither gain
by force nor cunning, I liked to think might be obtained by persuasion.
This voyage ended, would he not consent to restore our liberty, under an
oath never to reveal his existence? -- an oath of honour which we should
have religiously kept. But we must consider that delicate question with the
Captain. But was I free to claim this liberty? Had he not himself said from
the beginning, in the firmest manner, that the secret of his life exacted
from him our lasting imprisonment on board the Nautilus? And would not my
four months' silence appear to him a tacit acceptance of our situation? And
would not a return to the subject result in raising suspicions which might
be hurtful to our projects, if at some future time a favourable opportunity
offered to return to them?
During the nineteen days mentioned above, no incident of any kind
happened to signalise our voyage. I saw little of the Captain; he was at
work. In the library I often found his books left open, especially those on
natural history. My work on submarine depths, conned over by him, was
covered with marginal notes, often contradicting my theories and systems;
but the Captain contented himself with thus purging my work; it was very
rare for him to discuss it with me. Sometimes I heard the melancholy tones
of his organ; but only at night, in the midst of the deepest obscurity,
when the Nautilus slept upon the deserted ocean. During this part of our
voyage we sailed whole days on the surface of the waves. The sea seemed
abandoned. A few sailing-vessels, on the road to India, were making for the
Cape of Good Hope. One day we were followed by the boats of a whaler, who,
no doubt, took us for some enormous whale of great price; but Captain Nemo
did not wish the worthy fellows to lose their time and trouble, so ended
the chase by plunging under the water. Our navigation continued until the
13th of March; that day the Nautilus was employed in
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taking soundings, which greatly interested me. We had then made about
13,000 leagues since our departure from the high seas of the Pacific. The
bearings gave us 45° 37' S. lat., and 37° 53' W. long. It was the same
water in which Captain Denham of the Herald sounded 7,000 fathoms without
finding the bottom. There, too, Lieutenant Parker, of the American frigate
Congress, could not touch the bottom with 15,140 fathoms. Captain Nemo
intended seeking the bottom of the ocean by a diagonal sufficiently
lengthened by means of lateral planes placed at an angle of 45° with the
water-line of the Nautilus. Then the screw set to work at its maximum
speed, its four blades beating the waves with indescribable force. Under
this powerful pressure, the hull of the Nautilus quivered like a sonorous
chord and sank regularly under the water.
At 7,000 fathoms I saw some blackish tops rising from the midst of the
waters; but these summits might belong to high mountains like the Himalayas
or Mont Blanc, even higher; and the depth of the abyss remained
incalculable. The Nautilus descended still lower, in spite of the great
pressure. I felt the steel plates tremble at the fastenings of the bolts;
its bars bent, its partitions groaned; the windows of the saloon seemed to
curve under the pressure of the waters. And this firm structure would
doubtless have yielded, if, as its Captain had said, it had not been
capable of resistance like a solid block. We had attained a depth of 16,000
yards (four leagues), and the sides of the Nautilus then bore a pressure of
1,600 atmospheres, that is to say, 3,200 lb. to each square two-fifths of
an inch of its surface.
"What a situation to be in!" I exclaimed. "To overrun these deep
regions where man has never trod! Look, Captain, look at these magnificent
rocks, these uninhabited grottoes, these lowest receptacles of the globe,
where life is no longer possible! What unknown sights are here! Why should
we be unable to preserve a remembrance of them?"
"Would you like to carry away more than the remembrance?" said Captain
Nemo.
"What do you mean by those words?"
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"I mean to say that nothing is easier than to make a photographic view
of this submarine region."
I had not time to express my surprise at this new proposition, when,
at Captain Nemo's call, an objective was brought into the saloon. Through
the widely-opened panel, the liquid mass was bright with electricity, which
was distributed with such uniformity that not a shadow, not a gradation,
was to be seen in our manufactured light. The Nautilus remained motionless,
the force of its screw subdued by the inclination of its planes: the
instrument was propped on the bottom of the oceanic site, and in a few
seconds we had obtained a perfect negative.
But, the operation being over, Captain Nemo said, "Let us go up; we
must not abuse our position, nor expose the Nautilus too long to such great
pressure."
"Go up again!" I exclaimed.
"Hold well on."
I had not time to understand why the Captain cautioned me thus, when I
was thrown forward on to the carpet. At a signal from the Captain, its
screw was shipped, and its blades raised vertically; the Nautilus shot into
the air like a balloon, rising with stunning rapidity, and cutting the mass
of waters with a sonorous agitation. Nothing was visible; and in four
minutes it had shot through the four leagues which separated it from the
ocean, and, after emerging like a flying-fish, fell, making the waves
rebound to an enormous height.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.12
CACHALOTS AND WHALES
DURING the nights of the 13th and 14th of March, the Nautilus returned
to its southerly course. I fancied that, when on a level with Cape Horn, he
would turn the helm westward, in order to beat the Pacific seas, and so
complete the tour of the world. He did nothing of the kind, but continued
on his way to the southern regions. Where was
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he going to? To the pole? It was madness! I began to think that the
Captain's temerity justified Ned Land's fears. For some time past the
Canadian had not spoken to me of his projects of flight; he was less
communicative, almost silent. I could see that this lengthened imprisonment
was weighing upon him, and I felt that rage was burning within him. When he
met the Captain, his eyes lit up with suppressed anger; and I feared that
his natural violence would lead him into some extreme. That day, the 14th
of March, Conseil and he came to me in my room. I inquired the cause of
their visit.
"A simple question to ask you, sir," replied the Canadian.
"Speak, Ned."
"How many men are there on board the Nautilus, do you think?"
"I cannot tell, my friend."
"I should say that its working does not require a large crew."
"Certainly, under existing conditions, ten men, at the most, ought to
be enough."
"Well, why should there be any more?"
"Why?" I replied, looking fixedly at Ned Land, whose meaning was easy
to guess. "Because," I added, "if my surmises are correct, and if I have
well understood the Captain's existence, the Nautilus is not only a vessel:
it is also a place of refuge for those who, like its commander, have broken
every tie upon earth."
"Perhaps so," said Conseil; "but, in any case, the Nautilus can only
contain a certain number of men. Could not you, sir, estimate their
maximum?"
"How, Conseil?"
"By calculation; given the size of the vessel, which you know, sir,
and consequently the quantity of air it contains, knowing also how much
each man expends at a breath, and comparing these results with the fact
that the Nautilus is obliged to go to the surface every twenty-four hours."
Conseil had not finished the sentence before I saw what he was driving
at.
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"I understand," said I; "but that calculation, though simple enough,
can give but a very uncertain result."
"Never mind," said Ned Land urgently.
"Here it is, then," said I. "In one hour each man consumes the oxygen
contained in twenty gallons of air; and in twenty-four, that contained in
480 gallons. We must, therefore find how many times 480 gallons of air the
Nautilus contains."
"Just so," said Conseil.
"Or," I continued, "the size of the Nautilus being 1,500 tons; and one
ton holding 200 gallons, it contains 300,000 gallons of air, which, divided
by 480, gives a quotient of 625. Which means to say, strictly speaking,
that the air contained in the Nautilus would suffice for 625 men for
twenty-four hours."
"Six hundred and twenty-five!" repeated Ned.
"But remember that all of us, passengers, sailors, and officers
included, would not form a tenth part of that number."
"Still too many for three men," murmured Conseil.
The Canadian shook his head, passed his hand across his forehead, and
left the room without answering.
"Will you allow me to make one observation, sir?" said Conseil. "Poor
Ned is longing for everything that he cannot have. His past life is always
present to him; everything that we are forbidden he regrets. His head is
full of old recollections. And we must understand him. What has he to do
here? Nothing; he is not learned like you, sir; and has not the same taste
for the beauties of the sea that we have. He would risk everything to be
able to go once more into a tavern in his own country."
Certainly the monotony on board must seem intolerable to the Canadian,
accustomed as he was to a life of liberty and activity. Events were rare
which could rouse him to any show of spirit; but that day an event did
happen which recalled the bright days of the harpooner. About eleven in the
morning, being on the surface of the ocean, the Nautilus fell in with a
troop of whales -- an encounter which did not
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astonish me, knowing that these creatures, hunted to death, had taken
refuge in high latitudes.
We were seated on the platform, with a quiet sea. The month of October
in those latitudes gave us some lovely autumnal days. It was the Canadian
-- he could not be mistaken -- who signalled a whale on the eastern
horizon. Looking attentively, one might see its black back rise and fall
with the waves five miles from the Nautilus.
"Ah!" exclaimed Ned Land, "if I was on board a whaler, now such a
meeting would give me pleasure. It is one of large size. See with what
strength its blow-holes throw up columns of air and steam! Confound it, why
am I bound to these steel plates?"
"What, Ned," said I, "you have not forgotten your old ideas of
fishing?"
"Can a whale-fisher ever forget his old trade, sir? Can he ever tire
of the emotions caused by such a chase?"
"You have never fished in these seas, Ned?"
"Never, sir; in the northern only, and as much in Behring as in Davis
Straits."
"Then the southern whale is still unknown to you. It is the Greenland
whale you have hunted up to this time, and that would not risk passing
through the warm waters of the equator. Whales are localised, according to
their kinds, in certain seas which they never leave. And if one of these
creatures went from Behring to Davis Straits, it must be simply because
there is a passage from one sea to the other, either on the American or the
Asiatic side."
"In that case, as I have never fished in these seas, I do not know the
kind of whale frequenting them!"
"I have told you, Ned."
"A greater reason for making their acquaintance," said Conseil.
"Look! look!" exclaimed the Canadian, "they approach: they aggravate
me; they know that I cannot get at them!"
Ned stamped his feet. His hand trembled, as he grasped an imaginary
harpoon.
"Are these cetaceans as large as those of the northern seas?" asked
he.
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"Very nearly, Ned."
"Because I have seen large whales, sir, whales measuring a hundred
feet. I have even been told that those of Hullamoch and Umgallick, of the
Aleutian Islands, are sometimes a hundred and fifty feet long."
"That seems to me exaggeration. These creatures are generally much
smaller than the Greenland whale."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Canadian, whose eyes had never left the ocean,
"they are coming nearer; they are in the same water as the Nautilus."
Then, returning to the conversation, he said:
"You spoke of the cachalot as a small creature. I have heard of
gigantic ones. They are intelligent cetacea. It is said of some that they
cover themselves with seaweed and fucus, and then are taken for islands.
People encamp upon them, and settle there; lights a fire -- "
"And build houses," said Conseil.
"Yes, joker," said Ned Land. "And one fine day the creature plunges,
carrying with it all the inhabitants to the bottom of the sea."
"Something like the travels of Sinbad the Sailor," I replied,
laughing.
"Ah!" suddenly exclaimed Ned Land, "it is not one whale; there are ten
-- there are twenty -- it is a whole troop! And I not able to do anything!
hands and feet tied!"
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "why do you not ask Captain Nemo's
permission to chase them?"
Conseil bad not finished his sentence when Ned Land had lowered
himself through the panel to seek the Captain. A few minutes afterwards the
two appeared together on the platform.
Captain Nemo watched the troop of cetacea playing on the waters about
a mile from the Nautilus.
"They are southern whales," said he; "there goes the fortune of a
whole fleet of whalers."
"Well, sir," asked the Canadian, "can I not chase them, if only to
remind me of my old trade of harpooner?"
"And to what purpose?" replied Captain Nemo; "only
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to destroy! We have nothing to do with the whale-oil on board."
"But, sir," continued the Canadian, "in the Red Sea you allowed us to
follow the dugong."
"Then it was to procure fresh meat for my crew. Here it would be
killing for killing's sake. I know that is a privilege reserved for man,
but I do not approve of such murderous pastime. In destroying the southern
whale (like the Greenland whale, an inoffensive creature), your traders do
a culpable action, Master Land. They have already depopulated the whole of
Baffin's Bay, and are annihilating a class of useful animals. Leave the
unfortunate cetacea alone. They have plenty of natural enemies --
cachalots, swordfish, and sawfish -- without you troubling them."
The Captain was right. The barbarous and inconsiderate greed of these
fishermen will one day cause the disappearance of the last whale in the
ocean. Ned Land whistled "Yankee-doodle" between his teeth, thrust his
hands into his pockets, and turned his back upon us. But Captain Nemo
watched the troop of cetacea, and, addressing me, said:
"I was right in saying that whales had natural enemies enough, without
counting man. These will have plenty to do before long. Do you see, M.
Aronnax, about eight miles to leeward, those blackish moving points?"
"Yes, Captain," I replied.
"Those are cachalots -- terrible animals, which I have met in troops
of two or three hundred. As to those, they are cruel, mischievous
creatures; they would be right in exterminating them."
The Canadian turned quickly at the last words.
"Well, Captain," said he, "it is still time, in the interest of the
whales."
"It is useless to expose one's self, Professor. The Nautilus will
disperse them. It is armed with a steel spur as good as Master Land's
harpoon, I imagine."
The Canadian did not put himself out enough to shrug his shoulders.
Attack cetacea with blows of a spur! Who had ever heard of such a thing?
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"Wait, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "We will show you something you
have never yet seen. We have no pity for these ferocious creatures. They
are nothing but mouth and teeth."
Mouth and teeth! No one could better describe the macrocephalous
cachalot, which is sometimes more than seventy- five feet long. Its
enormous head occupies one-third of its entire body. Better armed than the
whale, whose upper jaw is furnished only with whalebone, it is supplied
with twenty- five large tusks, about eight inches long, cylindrical and
conical at the top, each weighing two pounds. It is in the upper part of
this enormous head, in great cavities divided by cartilages, that is to be
found from six to eight hundred pounds of that precious oil called
spermaceti. The cachalot is a disagreeable creature, more tadpole than
fish, according to Fredol's description. It is badly formed, the whole of
its left side being (if we may say it), a "failure," and being only able to
see with its right eye. But the formidable troop was nearing us. They had
seen the whales and were preparing to attack them. One could judge
beforehand that the cachalots would be victorious, not only because they
were better built for attack than their inoffensive adversaries, but also
because they could remain longer under water without coming to the surface.
There was only just time to go to the help of the whales. The Nautilus went
under water. Conseil, Ned Land, and I took our places before the window in
the saloon, and Captain Nemo joined the pilot in his cage to work his
apparatus as an engine of destruction. Soon I felt the beatings of the
screw quicken, and our speed increased. The battle between the cachalots
and the whales had already begun when the Nautilus arrived. They did not at
first show any fear at the sight of this new monster joining in the
conflict. But they soon had to guard against its blows. What a battle! The
Nautilus was nothing but a formidable harpoon, brandished by the hand of
its Captain. It hurled itself against the fleshy mass, passing through from
one part to the other, leaving behind it two quivering halves of the
animal. It could not feel the formidable blows from their tails upon its
sides, nor the
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shock which it produced itself, much more. One cachalot killed, it ran at
the next, tacked on the spot that it might not miss its prey, going
forwards and backwards, answering to its helm, plunging when the cetacean
dived into the deep waters, coming up with it when it returned to the
surface, striking it front or sideways, cutting or tearing in all
directions and at any pace, piercing it with its terrible spur. What
carnage! What a noise on the surface of the waves! What sharp hissing, and
what snorting peculiar to these enraged animals! In the midst of these
waters, generally so peaceful, their tails made perfect billows. For one
hour this wholesale massacre continued, from which the cachalots could not
escape. Several times ten or twelve united tried to crush the Nautilus by
their weight. From the window we could see their enormous mouths, studded
with tusks, and their formidable eyes. Ned Land could not contain himself;
he threatened and swore at them. We could feel them clinging to our vessel
like dogs worrying a wild boar in a copse. But the Nautilus, working its
screw, carried them here and there, or to the upper levels of the ocean,
without caring for their enormous weight, nor the powerful strain on the
vessel. At length the mass of cachalots broke up, the waves became quiet,
and I felt that we were rising to the surface. The panel opened, and we
hurried on to the platform. The sea was covered with mutilated bodies. A
formidable explosion could not have divided and torn this fleshy mass with
more violence. We were floating amid gigantic bodies, bluish on the back
and white underneath, covered with enormous protuberances. Some terrified
cachalots were flying towards the horizon. The waves were dyed red for
several miles, and the Nautilus floated in a sea of blood: Captain Nemo
joined us.
"Well, Master Land?" said he.
"Well, sir," replied the Canadian, whose enthusiasm had somewhat
calmed; "it is a terrible spectacle, certainly. But I am not a butcher. I
am a hunter, and I call this a butchery."
"It is a massacre of mischievous creatures," replied the Captain; "and
the Nautilus is not a butcher's knife."
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"I like my harpoon better," said the Canadian.
"Every one to his own," answered the Captain, looking fixedly at Ned
Land.
I feared he would commit some act of violence, which would end in sad
consequences. But his anger was turned by the sight of a whale which the
Nautilus had just come up with. The creature had not quite escaped from the
cachalot's teeth. I recognised the southern whale by its flat head, which
is entirely black. Anatomically, it is distinguished from the white whale
and the North Cape whale by the seven cervical vertebrae, and it has two
more ribs than its congeners. The unfortunate cetacean was lying on its
side, riddled with holes from the bites, and quite dead. From its mutilated
fin still hung a young whale which it could not save from the massacre. Its
open mouth let the water flow in and out, murmuring like the waves breaking
on the shore. Captain Nemo steered close to the corpse of the creature. Two
of his men mounted its side, and I saw, not without surprise, that they
were drawing from its breasts all the milk which they contained, that is to
say, about two or three tons. The Captain offered me a cup of the milk,
which was still warm. I could not help showing my repugnance to the drink;
but he assured me that it was excellent, and not to be distinguished from
cow's milk. I tasted it, and was of his opinion. It was a useful reserve to
us, for in the shape of salt butter or cheese it would form an agreeable
variety from our ordinary food. From that day I noticed with uneasiness
that Ned Land's ill-will towards Captain Nemo increased, and I resolved to
watch the Canadian's gestures closely.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.13
THE ICEBERG
THE Nautilus was steadily pursuing its southerly course, following the
fiftieth meridian with considerable speed. Did he wish to reach the pole? I
did not think so, for every
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attempt to reach that point had hitherto failed. Again, the season was far
advanced, for in the Antarctic regions the 13th of March corresponds with
the 13th of September of northern regions, which begin at the equinoctial
season. On the 14th of March I saw floating ice in latitude 55°, merely
pale bits of debris from twenty to twenty-five feet long, forming banks
over which the sea curled. The Nautilus remained on the surface of the
ocean. Ned Land, who had fished in the Arctic Seas, was familiar with its
icebergs; but Conseil and I admired them for the first time. In the
atmosphere towards the southern horizon stretched a white dazzling band.
English whalers have given it the name of "ice blink." However thick the
clouds may be, it is always visible, and announces the presence of an ice
pack or bank. Accordingly, larger blocks soon appeared, whose brilliancy
changed with the caprices of the fog. Some of these masses showed green
veins, as if long undulating lines had been traced with sulphate of copper;
others resembled enormous amethysts with the light shining through them.
Some reflected the light of day upon a thousand crystal facets. Others
shaded with vivid calcareous reflections resembled a perfect town of
marble. The more we neared the south the more these floating islands
increased both in number and importance.
At 60° lat. every pass had disappeared. But, seeking carefully,
Captain Nemo soon found a narrow opening, through which he boldly slipped,
knowing, however, that it would close behind him. Thus, guided by this
clever hand, the Nautilus passed through all the ice with a precision which
quite charmed Conseil; icebergs or mountains, ice- fields or smooth plains,
seeming to have no limits, drift-ice or floating ice-packs, plains broken
up, called palchs when they are circular, and streams when they are made up
of long strips. The temperature was very low; the thermometer exposed to
the air marked 2° or 3° below zero, but we were warmly clad with fur, at
the expense of the sea-bear and seal. The interior of the Nautilus, warmed
regularly by its electric apparatus, defied the most intense cold. Besides,
it would only have been necessary to go some
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yards beneath the waves to find a more bearable temperature. Two months
earlier we should have had perpetual daylight in these latitudes; but
already we had had three or four hours of night, and by and by there would
be six months of darkness in these circumpolar regions. On the 15th of
March we were in the latitude of New Shetland and South Orkney. The Captain
told me that formerly numerous tribes of seals inhabited them; but that
English and American whalers, in their rage for destruction, massacred both
old and young; thus, where there was once life and animation, they had left
silence and death.
About eight o'clock on the morning of the 16th of March the Nautilus,
following the fifty-fifth meridian, cut the Antarctic polar circle. Ice
surrounded us on all sides, and closed the horizon. But Captain Nemo went
from one opening to another, still going higher. I cannot express my
astonishment at the beauties of these new regions. The ice took most
surprising forms. Here the grouping formed an oriental town, with
innumerable mosques and minarets; there a fallen city thrown to the earth,
as it were, by some convulsion of nature. The whole aspect was constantly
changed by the oblique rays of the sun, or lost in the greyish fog amidst
hurricanes of snow. Detonations and falls were heard on all sides, great
overthrows of icebergs, which altered the whole landscape like a diorama.
Often seeing no exit, I thought we were definitely prisoners; but, instinct
guiding him at the slightest indication, Captain Nemo would discover a new
pass. He was never mistaken when he saw the thin threads of bluish water
trickling along the ice- fields; and I had no doubt that he had already
ventured into the midst of these Antarctic seas before. On the 16th of
March, however, the ice-fields absolutely blocked our road. It was not the
iceberg itself, as yet, but vast fields cemented by the cold. But this
obstacle could not stop Captain Nemo: be hurled himself against it with
frightful violence. The Nautilus entered the brittle mass like a wedge, and
split it with frightful crackings. It was the battering ram of the ancients
hurled by infinite strength. The ice, thrown high in the air, fell like
hail around us. By its own power of
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impulsion our apparatus made a canal for itself; sometimes carried away by
its own impetus, it lodged on the ice-field, crushing it with its weight,
and sometimes buried beneath it, dividing it by a simple pitching movement,
producing large rents in it. Violent gales assailed us at this time,
accompanied by thick fogs, through which, from one end of the platform to
the other, we could see nothing. The wind blew sharply from all parts of
the compass, and the snow lay in such hard heaps that we had to break it
with blows of a pickaxe. The temperature was always at 5° below zero; every
outward part of the Nautilus was covered with ice. A rigged vessel would
have been entangled in the blocked up gorges. A vessel without sails, with
electricity for its motive power, and wanting no coal, could alone brave
such high latitudes. At length, on the 18th of March, after many useless
assaults, the Nautilus was positively blocked. It was no longer either
streams, packs, or ice-fields, but an interminable and immovable barrier,
formed by mountains soldered together.
"An iceberg!" said the Canadian to me.
I knew that to Ned Land, as well as to all other navigators who had
preceded us, this was an inevitable obstacle. The sun appearing for an
instant at noon, Captain Nemo took an observation as near as possible,
which gave our situation at 51° 30' long. and 67° 39' of S. lat. We had
advanced one degree more in this Antarctic region. Of the liquid surface of
the sea there was no longer a glimpse. Under the spur of the Nautilus lay
stretched a vast plain, entangled with confused blocks. Here and there
sharp points and slender needles rising to a height of 200 feet; further on
a steep shore, hewn as it were with an axe and clothed with greyish tints;
huge mirrors, reflecting a few rays of sunshine, half drowned in the fog.
And over this desolate face of nature a stern silence reigned, scarcely
broken by the flapping of the wings of petrels and puffins. Everything was
frozen -- even the noise. The Nautilus was then obliged to stop in its
adventurous course amid these fields of ice. In spite of our efforts, in
spite of the powerful means employed to break up the ice, the Nautilus
remained immovable.
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Generally, when we can proceed no further, we have return still open to us;
but here return was as impossible as advance, for every pass had closed
behind us; and for the few moments when we were stationary, we were likely
to be entirely blocked, which did indeed happen about two o'clock in the
afternoon, the fresh ice forming around its sides with astonishing
rapidity. I was obliged to admit that Captain Nemo was more than imprudent.
I was on the platform at that moment. The Captain had been observing our
situation for some time past, when he said to me:
"Well, sir, what do you think of this?"
"I think that we are caught, Captain."
"So, M. Aronnax, you really think that the Nautilus cannot disengage
itself?"
"With difficulty, Captain; for the season is already too far advanced
for you to reckon on the breaking of the ice."
"Ah! sir," said Captain Nemo, in an ironical tone, "you will always be
the same. You see nothing but difficulties and obstacles. I affirm that not
only can the Nautilus disengage itself, but also that it can go further
still."
"Further to the South?" I asked, looking at the Captain.
"Yes, sir; it shall go to the pole."
"To the pole!" I exclaimed, unable to repress a gesture of
incredulity.
"Yes," replied the Captain, coldly, "to the Antarctic pole -- to that
unknown point from whence springs every meridian of the globe. You know
whether I can do as I please with the Nautilus!"
Yes, I knew that. I knew that this man was bold, even to rashness. But
to conquer those obstacles which bristled round the South Pole, rendering
it more inaccessible than the North, which had not yet been reached by the
boldest navigators -- was it not a mad enterprise, one which only a maniac
would have conceived? It then came into my head to ask Captain Nemo if he
had ever discovered that pole which had never yet been trodden by a human
creature?
"No, sir," he replied; "but we will discover it together. Where others
have failed, I will not fail. I have never yet
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led my Nautilus so far into southern seas; but, I repeat, it shall go
further yet."
"I can well believe you, Captain," said I, in a slightly ironical
tone. "I believe you! Let us go ahead! There are no obstacles for us! Let
us smash this iceberg! Let us blow it up; and, if it resists, let us give
the Nautilus wings to fly over it!"
"Over it, sir!!" said Captain Nemo, quietly; "no, not over it, but
under it!"
"Under it!" I exclaimed, a sudden idea of the Captain's projects
flashing upon my mind. I understood; the wonderful qualities of the
Nautilus were going to serve us in this superhuman enterprise.
"I see we are beginning to understand one another, sir," said the
Captain, half smiling. "You begin to see the possibility -- I should say
the success -- of this attempt. That which is impossible for an ordinary
vessel is easy to the Nautilus. If a continent lies before the pole, it
must stop before the continent; but if, on the contrary, the pole is washed
by open sea, it will go even to the pole."
"Certainly," said I, carried away by the Captain's reasoning; "if the
surface of the sea is solidified by the ice, the lower depths are free by
the Providential law which has placed the maximum of density of the waters
of the ocean one degree higher than freezing-point; and, if I am not
mistaken, the portion of this iceberg which is above the water is as one to
four to that which is below."
"Very nearly, sir; for one foot of iceberg above the sea there are
three below it. If these ice mountains are not more than 300 feet above the
surface, they are not more than 900 beneath. And what are 900 feet to the
Nautilus?"
"Nothing, sir."
"It could even seek at greater depths that uniform temperature of
sea-water, and there brave with impunity the thirty or forty degrees of
surface cold."
"Just so, sir -- just so," I replied, getting animated.
"The only difficulty," continued Captain Nemo, "is that of remaining
several days without renewing our provision of air."
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"Is that all? The Nautilus has vast reservoirs; we can fill them, and
they will supply us with all the oxygen we want."
"Well thought of, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain, smiling. "But, not
wishing you to accuse me of rashness, I will first give you all my
objections."
"Have you any more to make?"
"Only one. It is possible, if the sea exists at the South Pole, that
it may be covered; and, consequently, we shall be unable to come to the
surface."
"Good, sir! but do you forget that the Nautilus is armed with a
powerful spur, and could we not send it diagonally against these fields of
ice, which would open at the shocks."
"Ah! sir, you are full of ideas to-day."
"Besides, Captain," I added, enthusiastically, "why should we not find
the sea open at the South Pole as well as at the North? The frozen poles of
the earth do not coincide, either in the southern or in the northern
regions; and, until it is proved to the contrary, we may suppose either a
continent or an ocean free from ice at these two points of the globe."
"I think so too, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo. "I only wish you
to observe that, after having made so many objections to my project, you
are now crushing me with arguments in its favour!"
The preparations for this audacious attempt now began. The powerful
pumps of the Nautilus were working air into the reservoirs and storing it
at high pressure. About four o'clock, Captain Nemo announced the closing of
the panels on the platform. I threw one last look at the massive iceberg
which we were going to cross. The weather was clear, the atmosphere pure
enough, the cold very great, being 12° below zero; but, the wind having
gone down, this temperature was not so unbearable. About ten men mounted
the sides of the Nautilus, armed with pickaxes to break the ice around the
vessel, which was soon free. The operation was quickly performed, for the
fresh ice was still very thin. We all went below. The usual reservoirs were
filled with the newly-liberated water, and the Nautilus soon descended. I
had taken my place with Conseil in the saloon; through the
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open window we could see the lower beds of the Southern Ocean. The
thermometer went up, the needle of the compass deviated on the dial. At
about 900 feet, as Captain Nemo had foreseen, we were floating beneath the
undulating bottom of the iceberg. But the Nautilus went lower still -- it
went to the depth of four hundred fathoms. The temperature of the water at
the surface showed twelve degrees, it was now only ten; we had gained two.
I need not say the temperature of the Nautilus was raised by its heating
apparatus to a much higher degree; every manoeuvre was accomplished with
wonderful precision.
"We shall pass it, if you please, sir," said Conseil.
"I believe we shall," I said, in a tone of firm conviction.
In this open sea, the Nautilus had taken its course direct to the
pole, without leaving the fifty-second meridian. From 67° 30' to 90°,
twenty-two degrees and a half of latitude remained to travel; that is,
about five hundred leagues. The Nautilus kept up a mean speed of twenty-six
miles an hour -- the speed of an express train. If that was kept up, in
forty hours we should reach the pole.
For a part of the night the novelty of the situation kept us at the
window. The sea was lit with the electric lantern; but it was deserted;
fishes did not sojourn in these imprisoned waters; they only found there a
passage to take them from the Antarctic Ocean to the open polar sea. Our
pace was rapid; we could feel it by the quivering of the long steel body.
About two in the morning I took some hours' repose, and Conseil did the
same. In crossing the waist I did not meet Captain Nemo: I supposed him to
be in the pilot's cage. The next morning, the 19th of March, I took my post
once more in the saloon. The electric log told me that the speed of the
Nautilus had been slackened. It was then going towards the surface; but
prudently emptying its reservoirs very slowly. My heart beat fast. Were we
going to emerge and regain the open polar atmosphere? No! A shock told me
that the Nautilus had struck the bottom of the iceberg, still very thick,
judging from the deadened sound. We had indeed "struck," to use a sea
expression, but in an inverse sense, and at a thousand feet deep. This
would give three
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thousand feet of ice above us; one thousand being above the water-mark. The
iceberg was then higher than at its borders -- not a very reassuring fact.
Several times that day the Nautilus tried again, and every time it struck
the wall which lay like a ceiling above it. Sometimes it met with but 900
yards, only 200 of which rose above the surface. It was twice the height it
was when the Nautilus had gone under the waves. I carefully noted the
different depths, and thus obtained a submarine profile of the chain as it
was developed under the water. That night no change had taken place in our
situation. Still ice between four and five hundred yards in depth! It was
evidently diminishing, but, still, what a thickness between us and the
surface of the ocean! It was then eight. According to the daily custom on
board the Nautilus, its air should have been renewed four hours ago; but I
did not suffer much, although Captain Nemo had not yet made any demand upon
his reserve of oxygen. My sleep was painful that night; hope and fear
besieged me by turns: I rose several times. The groping of the Nautilus
continued. About three in the morning, I noticed that the lower surface of
the iceberg was only about fifty feet deep. One hundred and fifty feet now
separated us from the surface of the waters. The iceberg was by degrees
becoming an ice-field, the mountain a plain. My eyes never left the
manometer. We were still rising diagonally to the surface, which sparkled
under the electric rays. The iceberg was stretching both above and beneath
into lengthening slopes; mile after mile it was getting thinner. At length,
at six in the morning of that memorable day, the 19th of March, the door of
the saloon opened, and Captain Nemo appeared.
"The sea is open!!" was all he said.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.14
THE SOUTH POLE
I RUSHED on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few
scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs -- a long
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stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under
those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to
the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively
spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was
dimly seen on our northern horizon.
"Are we at the pole?" I asked the Captain, with a beating heart.
"I do not know," he replied. "At noon I will take our bearings."
"But will the sun show himself through this fog?" said I, looking at
the leaden sky.
"However little it shows, it will be enough," replied the Captain.
About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one
hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be
strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later
we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in
circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of
land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence
of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury's theory. The ingenious
American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth
parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is
never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the
conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as
icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to
these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a
vast cap, the circumference. of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But
the Nautilus, for fear of running aground, had stopped about three
cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The
boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments,
Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen
Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the
South Pole. A few strokes of the oar
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brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on
to the land, when I held him back.
"Sir," said I to Captain Nemo, "to you belongs the honour of first
setting foot on this land."
"Yes, sir," said the Captain, "and if I do not hesitate to tread this
South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace
there."
Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with
emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with
his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to
take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in
this ecstasy, he turned to us.
"When you like, sir."
I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a
long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like
crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not
mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a
sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their
expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no
volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic
countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full
activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32'. The vegetation of this
desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the
black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells
placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported
on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the
shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was
strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of
northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would
swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies,
animating the waters on the skirts of the shore.
There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind
which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic
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seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little
kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most
was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds,
deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we
passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There
were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the
ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture,
but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of
their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the
vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of
small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were
a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others
blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that
the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting
them but to put a wick in.
"A little more," said Conseil, "and they would be perfect lamps! After
that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with
wicks!"
About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs' nests, a
sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo
had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass,
were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath,
with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be
killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and
at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy.
Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide
whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him
leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient
and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not
command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day
showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind
the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow.
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"Till to-morrow," said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the
Nautilus amid these atmospheric disturbances.
The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to
remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of
incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could
hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this
violent storm. The Nautilus did not remain motionless, but skirted the
coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the
sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March,
the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing
2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our
observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat
took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic
nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater
which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent
was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large
troops of sea- mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were
several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice,
many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never
having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were
provisions there for hundreds of vessels.
"Sir," said Conseil, "will you tell me the names of these creatures?"
"They are seals and morses."
It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the
sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast
bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice
were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I
involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched
these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else,
forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his
family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong
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enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took
little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly
enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins,
forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their
element -- the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close
skin and webbed feet -- they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they
take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft
and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look
a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions,
and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton
and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable
development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No
mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also
capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily
domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught
they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them
slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called,
which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose
ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards
long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four
incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in
the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of
seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured
twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move
as we approached.
"These creatures are not dangerous?" asked Conseil.
"No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young
their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the
fishing-boats to pieces."
"They are quite right," said Conseil.
"I do not say they are not."
Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters
the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it
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we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce.
"Good!" said Conseil; "a concert of bulls!"
"No; a concert of morses."
"They are fighting!"
"They are either fighting or playing."
We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles,
and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over
at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not
stumble, and helped me up, saying:
"If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would
preserve your equilibrium better."
Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain
covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we
heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger.
As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for
they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint,
approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four
yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the
north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of
their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of
returning. It was eleven o'clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions
favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We
followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At
half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run
aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his
instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which
the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him,
and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not
appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not
accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were
indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the
equinox; the sun would
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disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the
long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged
from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of
December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it
had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I
communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo.
"You are right, M. Aronnax," said he; "if to-morrow I cannot take the
altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But
precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March,
my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun."
"Why, Captain?"
"Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it
is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave
errors may be made with instruments."
"What will you do then?"
"I shall only use my chronometer," replied Captain Nemo. "If
to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction,
is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South
Pole."
"Just so," said I. "But this statement is not mathematically correct,
because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon."
"Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do
not want more. Till to-morrow, then!"
Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the
shore, observing and studying until five o'clock. Then I went to bed, not,
however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb.
The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the
platform. I found Captain Nemo there.
"The weather is lightening a little," said he. "I have some hope.
After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation."
That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me.
But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I
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saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I
was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were
too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this
unreflecting fisherman's way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The
Nautilus had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league
from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards
high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the
instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a
barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three
kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English "right
whale," which has no dorsal fin; the "humpback," with reeved chest and
large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and
the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This
powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height
columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These
different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters;
and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of
refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed
large medusae floating between the reeds.
At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to
the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters.
Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his
observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-
stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the
smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed
the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter
would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak,
which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast
sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the
sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale
azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun
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seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon.
From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the
distance lay the Nautilus like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us,
to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and
ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit
Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would
have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve
the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding
its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet
ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means
of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the
horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the
chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of
the sun coincided with twelve o'clock on the chronometer, we were at the
pole itself.
"Twelve!" I exclaimed.
"The South Pole!" replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me
the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon.
I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting
by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his
hand on my shoulder, said:
"I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the
South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of
the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents."
"In whose name, Captain?"
"In my own, sir!"
Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an "N" in
gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose
last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:
"Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea,
and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!"
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.15
ACCIDENT OR INCIDENT?
THE next day, the 22nd of March, at six in the morning, preparations
for departure were begun. The last gleams of twilight were melting into
night. The cold was great, the constellations shone with wonderful
intensity. In the zenith glittered that wondrous Southern Cross -- the
polar bear of Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 120 below zero, and
when the wind freshened it was most biting. Flakes of ice increased on the
open water. The sea seemed everywhere alike. Numerous blackish patches
spread on the surface, showing the formation of fresh ice. Evidently the
southern basin, frozen during the six winter months, was absolutely
inaccessible. What became of the whales in that time? Doubtless they went
beneath the icebergs, seeking more practicable seas. As to the seals and
morses, accustomed to live in a hard climate, they remained on these icy
shores. These creatures have the instinct to break holes in the ice-field
and to keep them open. To these holes they come for breath; when the birds,
driven away by the cold, have emigrated to the north, these sea mammals
remain sole masters of the polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling
with water, and the Nautilus was slowly descending. At 1,000 feet deep it
stopped; its screw beat the waves, and it advanced straight towards the
north at a speed of fifteen miles an hour. Towards night it was already
floating under the immense body of the iceberg. At three in the morning I
was awakened by a violent shock. I sat up in my bed and listened in the
darkness, when I was thrown into the middle of the room. The Nautilus,
after having struck, had rebounded violently. I groped along the partition,
and by the staircase to the saloon, which was lit by the luminous ceiling.
The furniture was upset. Fortunately the windows were firmly set, and had
held fast. The pictures on the starboard side, from being no longer
vertical, were clinging to the paper, whilst those of the port side were
hanging at least a foot from the wall. The Nautilus was lying on its
starboard side perfectly motionless.
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I heard footsteps, and a confusion of voices; but Captain Nemo did not
appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil entered.
"What is the matter?" said I, at once.
"I came to ask you, sir," replied Conseil.
"Confound it!" exclaimed the Canadian, "I know well enough! The
Nautilus has struck; and, judging by the way she lies, I do not think she
will right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits."
"But," I asked, "has she at least come to the surface of the sea?"
"We do not know," said Conseil.
"It is easy to decide," I answered. I consulted the manometer. To my
great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. "What does that
mean?" I exclaimed.
"We must ask Captain Nemo," said Conseil.
"But where shall we find him?" said Ned Land.
"Follow me," said I, to my companions.
We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. At the centre
staircase, by the berths of the ship's crew, there was no one. I thought
that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot's cage. It was best to wait. We all
returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained thus, trying to hear
the slightest noise which might be made on board the Nautilus, when Captain
Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his face, generally so impassive,
showed signs of uneasiness. He watched the compass silently, then the
manometer; and, going to the planisphere, placed his finger on a spot
representing the southern seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some
minutes later, when he turned towards me, I said, using one of his own
expressions in the Torres Straits:
"An incident, Captain?"
"No, sir; an accident this time."
"Serious?"
"Perhaps."
"Is the danger immediate?"
"No."
"The Nautilus has stranded?"
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"Yes."
"And this has happened -- how?"
"From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a
mistake has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium
from producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist
natural ones."
Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this
philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.
"May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?"
"An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over," he
replied. "When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or
reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing turns
over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell, struck
the Nautilus, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with irresistible
force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where it is lying on
its side."
"But can we not get the Nautilus off by emptying its reservoirs, that
it might regain its equilibrium?"
"That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump
working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the Nautilus is
rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and, until some obstacle
stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be altered."
Indeed, the Nautilus still held the same position to starboard;
doubtless it would right itself when the block stopped. But at this moment
who knows if we may not be frightfully crushed between the two glassy
surfaces? I reflected on all the consequences of our position. Captain Nemo
never took his eyes off the manometer. Since the fall of the iceberg, the
Nautilus had risen about a hundred and fifty feet, but it still made the
same angle with the perpendicular. Suddenly a slight movement was felt in
the hold. Evidently it was righting a little. Things hanging in the saloon
were sensibly returning to their normal position. The partitions were
nearing the upright. No one spoke. With beating hearts we watched and felt
the straightening.
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The boards became horizontal under our feet. Ten minutes passed.
"At last we have righted!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said Captain Nemo, going to the door of the saloon.
"But are we floating?" I asked.
"Certainly," he replied; "since the reservoirs are not empty; and,
when empty, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea."
We were in open sea; but at a distance of about ten yards, on either
side of the Nautilus, rose a dazzling wall of ice. Above and beneath the
same wall. Above, because the lower surface of the iceberg stretched over
us like an immense ceiling. Beneath, because the overturned block, having
slid by degrees, had found a resting-place on the lateral walls, which kept
it in that position. The Nautilus was really imprisoned in a perfect tunnel
of ice more than twenty yards in breadth, filled with quiet water. It was
easy to get out of it by going either forward or backward, and then make a
free passage under the iceberg, some hundreds of yards deeper. The luminous
ceiling had been extinguished, but the saloon was still resplendent with
intense light. It was the powerful reflection from the glass partition sent
violently back to the sheets of the lantern. I cannot describe the effect
of the voltaic rays upon the great blocks so capriciously cut; upon every
angle, every ridge, every facet was thrown a different light, according to
the nature of the veins running through the ice; a dazzling mine of gems,
particularly of sapphires, their blue rays crossing with the green of the
emerald. Here and there were opal shades of wonderful softness, running
through bright spots like diamonds of fire, the brilliancy of which the eye
could not bear. The power of the lantern seemed increased a hundredfold,
like a lamp through the lenticular plates of a first-class lighthouse.
"How beautiful! how beautiful!" cried Conseil.
"Yes," I said, "it is a wonderful sight. Is it not, Ned?"
"Yes, confound it! Yes," answered Ned Land, "it is superb! I am mad at
being obliged to admit it. No one
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has ever seen anything like it; but the sight may cost us dear. And, if I
must say all, I think we are seeing here things which God never intended
man to see."
Ned was right, it was too beautiful. Suddenly a cry from Conseil made
me turn.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Shut your eyes, sir! Do not look, sir!" Saying which, Conseil clapped
his hands over his eyes.
"But what is the matter, my boy?"
"I am dazzled, blinded."
My eyes turned involuntarily towards the glass, but I could not stand
the fire which seemed to devour them. I understood what had happened. The
Nautilus had put on full speed. All the quiet lustre of the ice-walls was
at once changed into flashes of lightning. The fire from these myriads of
diamonds was blinding. It required some time to calm our troubled looks. At
last the hands were taken down.
"Faith, I should never have believed it," said Conseil.
It was then five in the morning; and at that moment a shock was felt
at the bows of the Nautilus. I knew that its spur had struck a block of
ice. It must have been a false manoeuvre, for this submarine tunnel,
obstructed by blocks, was not very easy navigation. I thought that Captain
Nemo, by changing his course, would either turn these obstacles or else
follow the windings of the tunnel. In any case, the road before us could
not be entirely blocked. But, contrary to my expectations, the Nautilus
took a decided retrograde motion.
"We are going backwards?" said Conseil.
"Yes," I replied. "This end of the tunnel can have no egress."
"And then?"
"Then," said I, "the working is easy. We must go back again, and go
out at the southern opening. That is all."
In speaking thus, I wished to appear more confident than I really was.
But the retrograde motion of the Nautilus was increasing; and, reversing
the screw, it carried us at great speed.
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"It will be a hindrance," said Ned.
"What does it matter, some hours more or less, provided we get out at
last?"
"Yes," repeated Ned Land, "provided we do get out at last!"
For a short time I walked from the saloon to the library. My
companions were silent. I soon threw myself on an ottoman, and took a book,
which my eyes overran mechanically. A quarter of an hour after, Conseil,
approaching me, said, "Is what you are reading very interesting, sir?"
"Very interesting!" I replied.
"I should think so, sir. It is your own book you are reading."
"My book?"
And indeed I was holding in my hand the work on the Great Submarine
Depths. I did not even dream of it. I closed the book and returned to my
walk. Ned and Conseil rose to go.
"Stay here, my friends," said I, detaining them. "Let us remain
together until we are out of this block."
"As you please, sir," Conseil replied.
Some hours passed. I often looked at the instruments hanging from the
partition. The manometer showed that the Nautilus kept at a constant depth
of more than three hundred yards; the compass still pointed to south; the
log indicated a speed of twenty miles an hour, which, in such a cramped
space, was very great. But Captain Nemo knew that he could not hasten too
much, and that minutes were worth ages to us. At twenty-five minutes past
eight a second shock took place, this time from behind. I turned pale. My
companions were close by my side. I seized Conseil's hand. Our looks
expressed our feelings better than words. At this moment the Captain
entered the saloon. I went up to him.
"Our course is barred southward?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. The iceberg has shifted and closed every outlet."
"We are blocked up then?"
"Yes.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.16
WANT OF AIR
THUS around the Nautilus, above and below, was an impenetrable wall of
ice. We were prisoners to the iceberg. I watched the Captain. His
countenance had resumed its habitual imperturbability.
"Gentlemen," he said calmly, "there are two ways of dying in the
circumstances in which we are placed." (This puzzling person had the air of
a mathematical professor lecturing to his pupils.) "The first is to be
crushed; the second is to die of suffocation. I do not speak of the
possibility of dying of hunger, for the supply of provisions in the
Nautilus will certainly last longer than we shall. Let us, then, calculate
our chances."
"As to suffocation, Captain," I replied, "that is not to be feared,
because our reservoirs are full."
"Just so; but they will only yield two days' supply of air. Now, for
thirty-six hours we have been hidden under the water, and already the heavy
atmosphere of the Nautilus requires renewal. In forty-eight hours our
reserve will be exhausted."
"Well, Captain, can we be delivered before forty-eight hours?"
"We will attempt it, at least, by piercing the wall that surrounds
us."
"On which side?"
"Sound will tell us. I am going to run the Nautilus aground on the
lower bank, and my men will attack the iceberg on the side that is least
thick."
Captain Nemo went out. Soon I discovered by a hissing noise that the
water was entering the reservoirs. The Nautilus sank slowly, and rested on
the ice at a depth of 350 yards, the depth at which the lower bank was
immersed.
"My friends," I said, "our situation is serious, but I rely on your
courage and energy."
"Sir," replied the Canadian, "I am ready to do anything for the
general safety."
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"Good! Ned," and I held out my hand to the Canadian.
"I will add," he continued, "that, being as handy with the pickaxe as
with the harpoon, if I can be useful to the Captain, he can command my
services."
"He will not refuse your help. Come, Ned!"
I led him to the room where the crew of the Nautilus were putting on
their cork-jackets. I told the Captain of Ned's proposal, which he
accepted. The Canadian put on his sea-costume, and was ready as soon as his
companions. When Ned was dressed, I re-entered the drawing-room, where the
panes of glass were open, and, posted near Conseil, I examined the ambient
beds that supported the Nautilus. Some instants after, we saw a dozen of
the crew set foot on the bank of ice, and among them Ned Land, easily known
by his stature. Captain Nemo was with them. Before proceeding to dig the
walls, he took the soundings, to be sure of working in the right direction.
Long sounding lines were sunk in the side walls, but after fifteen yards
they were again stopped by the thick wall. It was useless to attack it on
the ceiling-like surface, since the iceberg itself measured more than 400
yards in height. Captain Nemo then sounded the lower surface. There ten
yards of wall separated us from the water, so great was the thickness of
the ice-field. It was necessary, therefore, to cut from it a piece equal in
extent to the waterline of the Nautilus. There were about 6,000 cubic yards
to detach, so as to dig a hole by which we could descend to the ice-field.
The work had begun immediately and carried on with indefatigable energy.
Instead of digging round the Nautilus which would have involved greater
difficulty, Captain Nemo had an immense trench made at eight yards from the
port-quarter. Then the men set to work simultaneously with their screws on
several points of its circumference. Presently the pickaxe attacked this
compact matter vigorously, and large blocks were detached from the mass. By
a curious effect of specific gravity, these blocks, lighter than water,
fled, so to speak, to the vault of the tunnel, that increased in thickness
at the top in proportion as it diminished at the base. But that mattered
little, so long as the lower part grew thinner. After two
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hours' hard work, Ned Land came in exhausted. He and his comrades were
replaced by new workers, whom Conseil and I joined. The second lieutenant
of the Nautilus superintended us. The water seemed singularly cold, but I
soon got warm handling the pickaxe. My movements were free enough, although
they were made under a pressure of thirty atmospheres. When I re-entered,
after working two hours, to take some food and rest, I found a perceptible
difference between the pure fluid with which the Rouquayrol engine supplied
me and the atmosphere of the Nautilus, already charged with carbonic acid.
The air had not been renewed for forty-eight hours, and its vivifying
qualities were considerably enfeebled. However, after a lapse of twelve
hours, we had only raised a block of ice one yard thick, on the marked
surface, which was about 600 cubic yards! Reckoning that it took twelve
hours to accomplish this much it would take five nights and four days to
bring this enterprise to a satisfactory conclusion. Five nights and four
days! And we have only air enough for two days in the reservoirs! "Without
taking into account," said Ned, "that, even if we get out of this infernal
prison, we shall also be imprisoned under the iceberg, shut out from all
possible communication with the atmosphere." True enough! Who could then
foresee the minimum of time necessary for our deliverance? We might be
suffocated before the Nautilus could regain the surface of the waves? Was
it destined to perish in this ice-tomb, with all those it enclosed? The
situation was terrible. But everyone had looked the danger in the face, and
each was determined to do his duty to the last.
As I expected, during the night a new block a yard square was carried
away, and still further sank the immense hollow. But in the morning when,
dressed in my cork-jacket, I traversed the slushy mass at a temperature of
six or seven degrees below zero, I remarked that the side walls were
gradually closing in. The beds of water farthest from the trench, that were
not warmed by the men's work, showed a tendency to solidification. In
presence of this new and imminent danger, what would become of our chances
of safety,
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and how hinder the solidification of this liquid medium, that would burst
the partitions of the Nautilus like glass?
I did not tell my companions of this new danger. What was the good of
damping the energy they displayed in the painful work of escape? But when I
went on board again, I told Captain Nemo of this grave complication.
"I know it," he said, in that calm tone which could counteract the
most terrible apprehensions. "It is one danger more; but I see no way of
escaping it; the only chance of safety is to go quicker than
solidification. We must be beforehand with it, that is all."
On this day for several hours I used my pickaxe vigorously. The work
kept me up. Besides, to work was to quit the Nautilus, and breathe directly
the pure air drawn from the reservoirs, and supplied by our apparatus, and
to quit the impoverished and vitiated atmosphere. Towards evening the
trench was dug one yard deeper. When I returned on board, I was nearly
suffocated by the carbonic acid with which the air was filled -- ah! if we
had only the chemical means to drive away this deleterious gas. We had
plenty of oxygen; all this water contained a considerable quantity, and by
dissolving it with our powerful piles, it would restore the vivifying
fluid. I had thought well over it; but of what good was that, since the
carbonic acid produced by our respiration had invaded every part of the
vessel? To absorb it, it was necessary to fill some jars with caustic
potash, and to shake them incessantly. Now this substance was wanting on
board, and nothing could replace it. On that evening, Captain Nemo ought to
open the taps of his reservoirs, and let some pure air into the interior of
the Nautilus; without this precaution we could not get rid of the sense of
suffocation. The next day, March 26th, I resumed my miner's work in
beginning the fifth yard. The side walls and the lower surface of the
iceberg thickened visibly. It was evident that they would meet before the
Nautilus was able to disengage itself. Despair seized me for an instant; my
pickaxe nearly fell from my bands. What was the good of digging if I must
be suffocated, crushed by the water that was turning into stone? -- a
punishment that the ferocity of
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the savages even would not have invented! Just then Captain Nemo passed
near me. I touched his hand and showed him the walls of our prison. The
wall to port had advanced to at least four yards from the hull of the
Nautilus. The Captain understood me, and signed me to follow him. We went
on board. I took off my cork-jacket and accompanied him into the
drawing-room.
"M. Aronnax, we must attempt some desperate means, or we shall be
sealed up in this solidified water as in cement."
"Yes; but what is to be done?"
"Ah! if my Nautilus were strong enough to bear this pressure without
being crushed!"
"Well?" I asked, not catching the Captain's idea.
"Do you not understand," he replied, "that this congelation of water
will help us? Do you not see that by its solidification, it would burst
through this field of ice that imprisons us, as, when it freezes, it bursts
the hardest stones? Do you not perceive that it would be an agent of safety
instead of destruction?"
"Yes, Captain, perhaps. But, whatever resistance to crushing the
Nautilus possesses, it could not support this terrible pressure, and would
be flattened like an iron plate."
"I know it, sir. Therefore we must not reckon on the aid of nature,
but on our own exertions. We must stop this solidification. Not only will
the side walls be pressed together; but there is not ten feet of water
before or behind the Nautilus. The congelation gains on us on all sides."
"How long will the air in the reservoirs last for us to breathe on
board?"
The Captain looked in my face. "After to-morrow they will be empty!"
A cold sweat came over me. However, ought I to have been astonished at
the answer? On March 22, the Nautilus was in the open polar seas. We were
at 26°. For five days we had lived on the reserve on board. And what was
left of the respirable air must be kept for the workers. Even now, as I
write, my recollection is still so vivid that an involuntary terror seizes
me and my lungs seem to be without air. Meanwhile, Captain Nemo reflected
silently, and evidently
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an idea had struck him; but he seemed to reject it. At last, these words
escaped his lips:
"Boiling water!" he muttered.
"Boiling water?" I cried.
"Yes, sir. We are enclosed in a space that is relatively confined.
Would not jets of boiling water, constantly injected by the pumps, raise
the temperature in this part and stay the congelation?"
"Let us try it," I said resolutely.
"Let us try it, Professor."
The thermometer then stood at 7° outside. Captain Nemo took me to the
galleys, where the vast distillatory machines stood that furnished the
drinkable water by evaporation. They filled these with water, and all the
electric heat from the piles was thrown through the worms bathed in the
liquid. In a few minutes this water reached 100°. It was directed towards
the pumps, while fresh water replaced it in proportion. The heat developed
by the troughs was such that cold water, drawn up from the sea after only
having gone through the machines, came boiling into the body of the pump.
The injection was begun, and three hours after the thermometer marked 6°
below zero outside. One degree was gained. Two hours later the thermometer
only marked 4°.
"We shall succeed," I said to the Captain, after having anxiously
watched the result of the operation.
"I think," he answered, "that we shall not be crushed. We have no more
suffocation to fear."
During the night the temperature of the water rose to 1° below zero.
The injections could not carry it to a higher point. But, as the
congelation of the sea-water produces at least 2°, I was at least reassured
against the dangers of solidification.
The next day, March 27th, six yards of ice had been cleared, twelve
feet only remaining to be cleared away. There was yet forty-eight hours'
work. The air could not be renewed in the interior of the Nautilus. And
this day would make it worse. An intolerable weight oppressed me. Towards
three o'clock in the evening this feeling rose to a violent degree. Yawns
dislocated my jaws. My lungs panted
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as they inhaled this burning fluid, which became rarefied more and more. A
moral torpor took hold of me. I was powerless, almost unconscious. My brave
Conseil, though exhibiting the same symptoms and suffering in the same
manner, never left me. He took my hand and encouraged me, and I heard him
murmur, "Oh! if I could only not breathe, so as to leave more air for my
master!"
Tears came into my eyes on hearing him speak thus. If our situation to
all was intolerable in the interior, with what haste and gladness would we
put on our cork-jackets to work in our turn! Pickaxes sounded on the frozen
ice- beds. Our arms ached, the skin was torn off our hands. But what were
these fatigues, what did the wounds matter? Vital air came to the lungs! We
breathed! we breathed!
All this time no one prolonged his voluntary task beyond the
prescribed time. His task accomplished, each one handed in turn to his
panting companions the apparatus that supplied him with life. Captain Nemo
set the example, and submitted first to this severe discipline. When the
time came, he gave up his apparatus to another and returned to the vitiated
air on board, calm, unflinching, unmurmuring.
On that day the ordinary work was accomplished with unusual vigour.
Only two yards remained to be raised from the surface. Two yards only
separated us from the open sea. But the reservoirs were nearly emptied of
air. The little that remained ought to be kept for the workers; not a
particle for the Nautilus. When I went back on board, I was half
suffocated. What a night! I know not how to describe it. The next day my
breathing was oppressed. Dizziness accompanied the pain in my head and made
me like a drunken man. My companions showed the same symptoms. Some of the
crew had rattling in the throat.
On that day, the sixth of our imprisonment, Captain Nemo, finding the
pickaxes work too slowly, resolved to crush the ice-bed that still
separated us from the liquid sheet. This man's coolness and energy never
forsook him. He subdued his physical pains by moral force.
By his orders the vessel was lightened, that is to say, raised from
the ice-bed by a change of specific gravity.
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When it floated they towed it so as to bring it above the immense trench
made on the level of the water-line. Then, filling his reservoirs of water,
he descended and shut himself up in the hole.
Just then all the crew came on board, and the double door of
communication was shut. The Nautilus then rested on the bed of ice, which
was not one yard thick, and which the sounding leads had perforated in a
thousand places. The taps of the reservoirs were then opened, and a hundred
cubic yards of water was let in, increasing the weight of the Nautilus to
1,800 tons. We waited, we listened, forgetting our sufferings in hope. Our
safety depended on this last chance. Notwithstanding the buzzing in my
head, I soon heard the humming sound under the hull of the Nautilus. The
ice cracked with a singular noise, like tearing paper, and the Nautilus
sank.
"We are off!" murmured Conseil in my ear.
I could not answer him. I seized his hand, and pressed it
convulsively. All at once, carried away by its frightful overcharge, the
Nautilus sank like a bullet under the waters, that is to say, it fell as if
it was in a vacuum. Then all the electric force was put on the pumps, that
soon began to let the water out of the reservoirs. After some minutes, our
fall was stopped. Soon, too, the manometer indicated an ascending movement.
The screw, going at full speed, made the iron hull tremble to its very
bolts and drew us towards the north. But if this floating under the iceberg
is to last another day before we reach the open sea, I shall be dead first.
Half stretched upon a divan in the library, I was suffocating. My face
was purple, my lips blue, my faculties suspended. I neither saw nor heard.
All notion of time had gone from my mind. My muscles could not contract. I
do not know how many hours passed thus, but I was conscious of the agony
that was coming over me. I felt as if I was going to die. Suddenly I came
to. Some breaths of air penetrated my lungs. Had we risen to the surface of
the waves? Were we free of the iceberg? No! Ned and Conseil, my two brave
friends, were sacrificing themselves to save me. Some particles of air
still remained at the bottom of one apparatus.
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Instead of using it, they had kept it for me, and, while they were being
suffocated, they gave me life, drop by drop. I wanted to push back the
thing; they held my hands, and for some moments I breathed freely. I looked
at the clock; it was eleven in the morning. It ought to be the 28th of
March. The Nautilus went at a frightful pace, forty miles an hour. It
literally tore through the water. Where was Captain Nemo? Had he succumbed?
Were his companions dead with him? At the moment the manometer indicated
that we were not more than twenty feet from the surface. A mere plate of
ice separated us from the atmosphere. Could we not break it? Perhaps. In
any case the Nautilus was going to attempt it. I felt that it was in an
oblique position, lowering the stern, and raising the bows. The
introduction of water had been the means of disturbing its equilibrium.
Then, impelled by its powerful screw, it attacked the ice-field from
beneath like a formidable battering-ram. It broke it by backing and then
rushing forward against the field, which gradually gave way; and at last,
dashing suddenly against it, shot forwards on the ice-field, that crushed
beneath its weight. The panel was opened -- one might say torn off -- and
the pure air came in in abundance to all parts of the Nautilus.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.17
FROM CAPE HORN TO THE AMAZON
How I got on to the platform, I have no idea; perhaps the Canadian had
carried me there. But I breathed, I inhaled the vivifying sea-air. My two
companions were getting drunk with the fresh particles. The other unhappy
men had been so long without food, that they could not with impunity
indulge in the simplest aliments that were given them. We, on the contrary,
had no end to restrain ourselves; we could draw this air freely into our
lungs, and it was the breeze, the breeze alone, that filled us with this
keen enjoyment.
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"Ah!" said Conseil, "how delightful this oxygen is! Master need not
fear to breathe it. There is enough for everybody."
Ned Land did not speak, but he opened his jaws wide enough to frighten
a shark. Our strength soon returned, and, when I looked round me, I saw we
were alone on the platform. The foreign seamen in the Nautilus were
contented with the air that circulated in the interior; none of them had
come to drink in the open air.
The first words I spoke were words of gratitude and thankfulness to my
two companions. Ned and Conseil had prolonged my life during the last hours
of this long agony. All my gratitude could not repay such devotion.
"My friends," said I, "we are bound one to the other for ever, and I
am under infinite obligations to you."
"Which I shall take advantage of," exclaimed the Canadian.
"What do you mean?" said Conseil.
"I mean that I shall take you with me when I leave this infernal
Nautilus."
"Well," said Conseil, "after all this, are we going right?"
"Yes," I replied, "for we are going the way of the sun, and here the
sun is in the north."
"No doubt," said Ned Land; "but it remains to be seen whether he will
bring the ship into the Pacific or the Atlantic Ocean, that is, into
frequented or deserted seas."
I could not answer that question, and I feared that Captain Nemo would
rather take us to the vast ocean that touches the coasts of Asia and
America at the same time. He would thus complete the tour round the
submarine world, and return to those waters in which the Nautilus could
sail freely. We ought, before long, to settle this important point. The
Nautilus went at a rapid pace. The polar circle was soon passed, and the
course shaped for Cape Horn. We were off the American point, March 31st, at
seven o'clock in the evening. Then all our past sufferings were forgotten.
The remembrance of that imprisonment in the ice was effaced from our minds.
We only thought of the
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future. Captain Nemo did not appear again either in the drawing-room or on
the platform. The point shown each day on the planisphere, and, marked by
the lieutenant, showed me the exact direction of the Nautilus. Now, on that
evening, it was evident, to, my great satisfaction, that we were going back
to the North by the Atlantic. The next day, April 1st, when the Nautilus
ascended to the surface some minutes before noon, we sighted land to the
west. It was Terra del Fuego, which the first navigators named thus from
seeing the quantity of smoke that rose from the natives' huts. The coast
seemed low to me, but in the distance rose high mountains. I even thought I
had a glimpse of Mount Sarmiento, that rises 2,070 yards above the level of
the sea, with a very pointed summit, which, according as it is misty or
clear, is a sign of fine or of wet weather. At this moment the peak was
clearly defined against the sky. The Nautilus, diving again under the
water, approached the coast, which was only some few miles off. From the
glass windows in the drawing-room, I saw long seaweeds and gigantic fuci
and varech, of which the open polar sea contains so many specimens, with
their sharp polished filaments; they measured about 300 yards in length --
real cables, thicker than one's thumb; and, having great tenacity, they are
often used as ropes for vessels. Another weed known as velp, with leaves
four feet long, buried in the coral concretions, hung at the bottom. It
served as nest and food for myriads of crustacea and molluscs, crabs, and
cuttlefish. There seals and otters had splendid repasts, eating the flesh
of fish with sea-vegetables, according to the English fashion. Over this
fertile and luxuriant ground the Nautilus passed with great rapidity.
Towards evening it approached the Falkland group, the rough summits of
which I recognised the following day. The depth of the sea was moderate. On
the shores our nets brought in beautiful specimens of seaweed, and
particularly a certain fucus, the roots of which were filled with the best
mussels in the world. Geese and ducks fell by dozens on the platform, and
soon took their places in the pantry on board.
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When the last heights of the Falklands had disappeared from the
horizon, the Nautilus sank to between twenty and twenty-five yards, and
followed the American coast. Captain Nemo did not show himself. Until the
3rd of April we did not quit the shores of Patagonia, sometimes under the
ocean, sometimes at the surface. The Nautilus passed beyond the large
estuary formed by the Uraguay. Its direction was northwards, and followed
the long windings of the coast of South America. We had then made 1,600
miles since our embarkation in the seas of Japan. About eleven o'clock in
the morning the Tropic of Capricorn was crossed on the thirty-seventh
meridian, and we passed Cape Frio standing out to sea. Captain Nemo, to Ned
Land's great displeasure, did not like the neighbourhood of the inhabited
coasts of Brazil, for we went at a giddy speed. Not a fish, not a bird of
the swiftest kind could follow us, and the natural curiosities of these
seas escaped all observation.
This speed was kept up for several days, and in the evening of the 9th
of April we sighted the most westerly point of South America that forms
Cape San Roque. But then the Nautilus swerved again, and sought the lowest
depth of a submarine valley which is between this Cape and Sierra Leone on
the African coast. This valley bifurcates to the parallel of the Antilles,
and terminates at the mouth by the enormous depression of 9,000 yards. In
this place, the geological basin of the ocean forms, as far as the Lesser
Antilles, a cliff to three and a half miles perpendicular in height, and,
at the parallel of the Cape Verde Islands, another wall not less
considerable, that encloses thus all the sunk continent of the Atlantic.
The bottom of this immense valley is dotted with some mountains, that give
to these submarine places a picturesque aspect. I speak, moreover, from the
manuscript charts that were in the library of the Nautilus -- charts
evidently due to Captain Nemo's hand, and made after his personal
observations. For two days the desert and deep waters were visited by means
of the inclined planes. The Nautilus was furnished with long diagonal
broadsides which carried it to all elevations. But on the
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11th of April it rose suddenly, and land appeared at the mouth of the
Amazon River, a vast estuary, the embouchure of which is so considerable
that it freshens the sea-water for the distance of several leagues.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.18
THE POULPS
FOR several days the Nautilus kept off from the American coast.
Evidently it did not wish to risk the tides of the Gulf of Mexico or of the
sea of the Antilles. April 16th, we sighted Martinique and Guadaloupe from
a distance of about thirty miles. I saw their tall peaks for an instant.
The Canadian, who counted on carrying out his projects in the Gulf, by
either landing or hailing one of the numerous boats that coast from one
island to another, was quite disheartened. Flight would have been quite
practicable, if Ned Land had been able to take possession of the boat
without the Captain's knowledge. But in the open sea it could not be
thought of. The Canadian, Conseil, and I had a long conversation on this
subject. For six months we had been prisoners on board the Nautilus. We had
travelled 17,000 leagues; and, as Ned Land said, there was no reason why it
should come to an end. We could hope nothing from the Captain of the
Nautilus, but only from ourselves. Besides, for some time past he had
become graver, more retired, less sociable. He seemed to shun me. I met him
rarely. Formerly he was pleased to explain the submarine marvels to me; now
he left me to my studies, and came no more to the saloon. What change had
come over him? For what cause? For my part, I did not wish to bury with me
my curious and novel studies. I had now the power to write the true book of
the sea; and this book, sooner or later, I wished to see daylight. The land
nearest us was the archipelago of the Bahamas. There rose high submarine
cliffs covered with large weeds. It was about eleven o'clock when Ned Land
drew my attention to a formidable pricking,
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like the sting of an ant, which was produced by means of large seaweeds.
"Well," I said, "these are proper caverns for poulps, and I should not
be astonished to see some of these monsters."
"What!" said Conseil; "cuttlefish, real cuttlefish of the cephalopod
class?"
"No," I said, "poulps of huge dimensions."
"I will never believe that such animals exist," said Ned.
"Well," said Conseil, with the most serious air in the world, "I
remember perfectly to have seen a large vessel drawn under the waves by an
octopus's arm."
"You saw that?" said the Canadian.
"Yes, Ned."
"With your own eyes?"
"With my own eyes."
"Where, pray, might that be?"
"At St. Malo," answered Conseil.
"In the port?" said Ned, ironically.
"No; in a church," replied Conseil.
"In a church!" cried the Canadian.
"Yes; friend Ned. In a picture representing the poulp in question."
"Good!" said Ned Land, bursting out laughing.
"He is quite right," I said. "I have heard of this picture; but the
subject represented is taken from a legend, and you know what to think of
legends in the matter of natural history. Besides, when it is a question of
monsters, the imagination is apt to run wild. Not only is it supposed that
these poulps can draw down vessels, but a certain Olaus Magnus speaks of an
octopus a mile long that is more like an island than an animal. It is also
said that the Bishop of Nidros was building an altar on an immense rock.
Mass finished, the rock began to walk, and returned to the sea. The rock
was a poulp. Another Bishop, Pontoppidan, speaks also of a poulp on which a
regiment of cavalry could manoeuvre. Lastly, the ancient naturalists speak
of monsters whose mouths were like gulfs, and which were too large to pass
through the Straits of Gibraltar."
"But how much is true of these stories?" asked Conseil.
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"Nothing, my friends; at least of that which passes the limit of truth
to get to fable or legend. Nevertheless, there must be some ground for the
imagination of the story-tellers. One cannot deny that poulps and
cuttlefish exist of a large species, inferior, however, to the cetaceans.
Aristotle has stated the dimensions of a cuttlefish as five cubits, or nine
feet two inches. Our fishermen frequently see some that are more than four
feet long. Some skeletons of poulps are preserved in the museums of Trieste
and Montpelier, that measure two yards in length. Besides, according to the
calculations of some naturalists, one of these animals only six feet long
would have tentacles twenty-seven feet long. That would suffice to make a
formidable monster."
"Do they fish for them in these days?" asked Ned.
"If they do not fish for them, sailors see them at least. One of my
friends, Captain Paul Bos of Havre, has often affirmed that he met one of
these monsters of colossal dimensions in the Indian seas. But the most
astonishing fact, and which does not permit of the denial of the existence
of these gigantic animals, happened some years ago, in 1861."
"What is the fact?" asked Ned Land.
"This is it. In 1861, to the north-east of Teneriffe, very nearly in
the same latitude we are in now, the crew of the despatch-boat Alector
perceived a monstrous cuttlefish swimming in the waters. Captain Bouguer
went near to the animal, and attacked it with harpoon and guns, without
much success, for balls and harpoons glided over the soft flesh. After
several fruitless attempts the crew tried to pass a slip-knot round the
body of the mollusc. The noose slipped as far as the tail fins and there
stopped. They tried then to haul it on board, but its weight was so
considerable that the tightness of the cord separated the tail from the,
body, and, deprived of this ornament, he disappeared under the water."
"Indeed! is that a fact?"
"An indisputable fact, my good Ned. They proposed to name this poulp
'Bouguer's cuttlefish.'"
"What length was it?" asked the Canadian.
"Did it not measure about six yards?" said Conseil, who,
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posted at the window, was examining again the irregular windings of the
cliff.
"Precisely," I replied.
"Its head," rejoined Conseil, "was it not crowned with eight
tentacles, that beat the water like a nest of serpents?"
"Precisely."
"Had not its eyes, placed at the back of its head, considerable
development?"
"Yes, Conseil."
"And was not its mouth like a parrot's beak?"
"Exactly, Conseil."
"Very well! no offence to master," be replied, quietly; "if this is
not Bouguer's cuttlefish, it is, at least, one of its brothers."
I looked at Conseil. Ned Land hurried to the window.
"What a horrible beast!" he cried.
I looked in my turn, and could not repress a gesture of disgust.
Before my eyes was a horrible monster worthy to figure in the legends of
the marvellous. It was an immense cuttlefish, being eight yards long. It
swam crossways in the direction of the Nautilus with great speed, watching
us with its enormous staring green eyes. Its eight arms, or rather feet,
fixed to its head, that have given the name of cephalopod to these animals,
were twice as long as its body, and were twisted like the furies' hair. One
could see the 250 air- holes on the inner side of the tentacles. The
monster's mouth, a horned beak like a parrot's, opened and shut vertically.
Its tongue, a horned substance, furnished with several rows of pointed
teeth, came out quivering from this veritable pair of shears. What a freak
of nature, a bird's beak on a mollusc! Its spindle-like body formed a
fleshy mass that might weigh 4,000 to 5,000 lb.; the, varying colour
changing with great rapidity, according to the irritation of the animal,
passed successively from livid grey to reddish brown. What irritated this
mollusc? No doubt the presence of the Nautilus, more formidable than
itself, and on which its suckers or its jaws had no hold. Yet, what
monsters these poulps are! what vitality the Creator has given them! what
vigour in their movements! and they possess three hearts! Chance
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had brought us in presence of this cuttlefish, and I did not wish to lose
the opportunity of carefully studying this specimen of cephalopods. I
overcame the horror that inspired me, and, taking a pencil, began to draw
it.
"Perhaps this is the same which the Alector saw," said Conseil.
"No," replied the Canadian; "for this is whole, and the other had lost
its tail."
"That is no reason," I replied. "The arms and tails of these animals
are re-formed by renewal; and in seven years the tail of Bouguer's
cuttlefish has no doubt had time to grow."
By this time other poulps appeared at the port light. I counted seven.
They formed a procession after the Nautilus, and I heard their beaks
gnashing against the iron hull. I continued my work. These monsters kept in
the water with such precision that they seemed immovable. Suddenly the
Nautilus stopped. A shock made it tremble in every plate.
"Have we struck anything?" I asked.
"In any case," replied the Canadian, "we shall be free, for we are
floating."
The Nautilus was floating, no doubt, but it did not move. A minute
passed. Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant, entered the drawing-room.
I had not seen him for some time. He seemed dull. Without noticing or
speaking to us, he went to the panel, looked at the poulps, and said
something to his lieutenant. The latter went out. Soon the panels were
shut. The ceiling was lighted. I went towards the Captain.
"A curious collection of poulps?" I said.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Naturalist," he replied; "and we are going to fight
them, man to beast."
I looked at him. I thought I had not heard aright.
"Man to beast?" I repeated.
"Yes, sir. The screw is stopped. I think that the horny jaws of one of
the cuttlefish is entangled in the blades. That is what prevents our
moving."
"What are you going to do?"
"Rise to the surface, and slaughter this vermin."
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"A difficult enterprise."
"Yes, indeed. The electric bullets are powerless against the soft
flesh, where they do not find resistance enough to go off. But we shall
attack them with the hatchet."
"And the harpoon, sir," said the Canadian, "if you do not refuse my
help."
"I will accept it, Master Land."
"We will follow you," I said, and, following Captain Nemo, we went
towards the central staircase.
There, about ten men with boarding-hatchets were ready for the attack.
Conseil and I took two hatchets; Ned Land seized a harpoon. The Nautilus
had then risen to the surface. One of the sailors, posted on the top
ladderstep, unscrewed the bolts of the panels. But hardly were the screws
loosed, when the panel rose with great violence, evidently drawn by the
suckers of a poulp's arm. Immediately one of these arms slid like a serpent
down the opening and twenty others were above. With one blow of the axe,
Captain Nemo cut this formidable tentacle, that slid wriggling down the
ladder. Just as we were pressing one on the other to reach the platform,
two other arms, lashing the air, came down on the seaman placed before
Captain Nemo, and lifted him up with irresistible power. Captain Nemo
uttered a cry, and rushed out. We hurried after him.
What a scene! The unhappy man, seized by the tentacle and fixed to the
suckers, was balanced in the air at the caprice of this enormous trunk. He
rattled in his throat, he was stifled, he cried, "Help! help!" These words,
spoken in French, startled me! I had a fellow-countryman on board, perhaps
several! That heart-rending cry! I shall hear it all my life. The
unfortunate man was lost. Who could rescue him from that powerful pressure?
However, Captain Nemo had rushed to the poulp, and with one blow of the axe
had cut through one arm. His lieutenant struggled furiously against other
monsters that crept on the flanks of the Nautilus. The crew fought with
their axes. The Canadian, Conseil, and I buried our weapons in the fleshy
masses; a strong smell of musk penetrated the atmosphere. It was horrible!
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For one instant, I thought the unhappy man, entangled with the poulp,
would be torn from its powerful suction. Seven of the eight arms had been
cut off. One only wriggled in the air, brandishing the victim like a
feather. But just as Captain Nemo and his lieutenant threw themselves on
it, the animal ejected a stream of black liquid. We were blinded with it.
When the cloud dispersed, the cuttlefish had disappeared, and my
unfortunate countryman with it. Ten or twelve poulps now invaded the
platform and sides of the Nautilus. We rolled pell-mell into the midst of
this nest of serpents, that wriggled on the platform in the waves of blood
and ink. It seemed as though these slimy tentacles sprang up like the
hydra's heads. Ned Land's harpoon, at each stroke, was plunged into the
staring eyes of the cuttlefish. But my bold companion was suddenly
overturned by the tentacles of a monster he had not been able to avoid.
Ah! how my heart beat with emotion and horror! The formidable beak of
a cuttlefish was open over Ned Land. The unhappy man would be cut in two. I
rushed to his succour. But Captain Nemo was before me; his axe disappeared
between the two enormous jaws, and, miraculously saved, the Canadian,
rising, plunged his harpoon deep into the triple heart of the poulp.
"I owed myself this revenge!" said the Captain to the Canadian.
Ned bowed without replying. The combat had lasted a quarter of an
hour. The monsters, vanquished and mutilated, left us at last, and
disappeared under the waves. Captain Nemo, covered with blood, nearly
exhausted, gazed upon the sea that had swallowed up one of his companions,
and great tears gathered in his eyes.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.19
THE GULF STREAM
THIS terrible scene of the 20th of April none of us can ever forget. I
have written it under the influence of violent
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emotion. Since then I have revised the recital; I have read it to Conseil
and to the Canadian. They found it exact as to facts, but insufficient as
to effect. To paint such pictures, one must have the pen of the most
illustrious of our poets, the author of The Toilers of the Deep.
I have said that Captain Nemo wept while watching the waves; his grief
was great. It was the second companion he had lost since our arrival on
board, and what a death! That friend, crushed, stifled, bruised by the
dreadful arms of a poulp, pounded by his iron jaws, would not rest with his
comrades in the peaceful coral cemetery! In the midst of the struggle, it
was the despairing cry uttered by the unfortunate man that had torn my
heart. The poor Frenchman, forgetting his conventional language, had taken
to his own mother tongue, to utter a last appeal! Amongst the crew of the
Nautilus, associated with the body and soul of the Captain, recoiling like
him from all contact with men, I had a fellow-countryman. Did be alone
represent France in this mysterious association, evidently composed of
individuals of divers nationalities? It was one of these insoluble problems
that rose up unceasingly before my mind!
Captain Nemo entered his room, and I saw him no more for some time.
But that he was sad and irresolute I could see by the vessel, of which he
was the soul, and which received all his impressions. The Nautilus did not
keep on in its settled course; it floated about like a corpse at the will
of the waves. It went at random. He could not tear himself away from the
scene of the last struggle, from this sea that had devoured one of his men.
Ten days passed thus. It was not till the 1st of May that the Nautilus
resumed its northerly course, after having sighted the Bahamas at the mouth
of the Bahama Canal. We were then following the current from the largest
river to the sea, that has its banks, its fish, and its proper
temperatures. I mean the Gulf Stream. It is really a river, that flows
freely to the middle of the Atlantic, and whose waters do not mix with the
ocean waters. It is a salt river, salter than the surrounding sea. Its mean
depth is 1,500 fathoms, its mean breadth ten miles. In certain places the
current flows with the speed of two miles and a
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half an hour. The body of its waters is more considerable than that of all
the rivers in the globe. It was on this ocean river that the Nautilus then
sailed.
I must add that, during the night, the phosphorescent waters of the
Gulf Stream rivalled the electric power of our watch-light, especially in
the stormy weather that threatened us so frequently. May 8th, we were still
crossing Cape Hatteras, at the height of the North Caroline. The width of
the Gulf Stream there is seventy-five miles, and its depth 210 yards. The
Nautilus still went at random; all supervision seemed abandoned. I thought
that, under these circumstances, escape would be possible. Indeed, the
inhabited shores offered anywhere an easy refuge. The sea was incessantly
ploughed by the steamers that ply between New York or Boston and the Gulf
of Mexico, and overrun day and night by the little schooners coasting about
the several parts of the American coast. We could hope to be picked up. It
was a favourable opportunity, notwithstanding the thirty miles that
separated the Nautilus from the coasts of the Union. One unfortunate
circumstance thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was very bad. We
were nearing those shores where tempests are so frequent, that country of
waterspouts and cyclones actually engendered by the current of the Gulf
Stream. To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned Land
owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight only
could cure.
"Master," he said that day to me, "this must come to an end. I must
make a clean breast of it. This Nemo is leaving land and going up to the
north. But I declare to you that I have had enough of the South Pole, and I
will not follow him to the North."
"What is to be done, Ned, since flight is impracticable just now?"
"We must speak to the Captain," said he; "you said nothing when we
were in your native seas. I will speak, now we are in mine. When I think
that before long the Nautilus will be by Nova Scotia, and that there near
Newfoundland is a large bay, and into that bay the St. Lawrence
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empties itself, and that the St. Lawrence is my river, the river by Quebec,
my native town -- when I think of this, I feel furious, it makes my hair
stand on end. Sir, I would rather throw myself into the sea! I will not
stay here! I am stifled!"
The Canadian was evidently losing all patience. His vigorous nature
could not stand this prolonged imprisonment. His face altered daily; his
temper became more surly. I knew what he must suffer, for I was seized with
home- sickness myself. Nearly seven months had passed without our having
had any news from land; Captain Nemo's isolation, his altered spirits,
especially since the fight with the poulps, his taciturnity, all made me
view things in a different light.
"Well, sir?" said Ned, seeing I did not reply.
"Well, Ned, do you wish me to ask Captain Nemo his intentions
concerning us?"
"Yes, sir."
"Although he has already made them known?"
"Yes; I wish it settled finally. Speak for me, in my name only, if you
like."
"But I so seldom meet him. He avoids me."
"That is all the more reason for you to go to see him."
I went to my room. From thence I meant to go to Captain Nemo's. It
would not do to let this opportunity of meeting him slip. I knocked at the
door. No answer. I knocked again, then turned the handle. The door opened,
I went in. The Captain was there. Bending over his work-table, he had not
heard me. Resolved not to go without having spoken, I approached him. He
raised his head quickly, frowned, and said roughly, "You here! What do you
want?"
"To speak to you, Captain."
"But I am busy, sir; I am working. I leave you at liberty to shut
yourself up; cannot I be allowed the same?"
This reception was not encouraging; but I was determined to hear and
answer everything.
"Sir," I said coldly, "I have to speak to you on a matter that admits
of no delay."
"What is that, sir?" he replied, ironically. "Have you discovered
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something that has escaped me, or has the sea delivered up any new
secrets?"
We were at cross-purposes. But, before I could reply, he showed me an
open manuscript on his table, and said, in a more serious tone, "Here, M.
Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains the sum
of my studies of the sea; and, if it please God, it shall not perish with
me. This manuscript, signed with my name, complete with the history of my
life, will be shut up in a little floating case. The last survivor of all
of us on board the Nautilus will throw this case into the sea, and it will
go whither it is borne by the waves."
This man's name! his history written by himself! His mystery would
then be revealed some day.
"Captain," I said, "I can but approve of the idea that makes you act
thus. The result of your studies must not be lost. But the means you employ
seem to me to be primitive. Who knows where the winds will carry this case,
and in whose hands it will fall? Could you not use some other means? Could
not you, or one of yours -- "
"Never, sir!" he said, hastily interrupting me.
"But I and my companions are ready to keep this manuscript in store;
and, if you will put us at liberty -- "
"At liberty?" said the Captain, rising.
"Yes, sir; that is the subject on which I wish to question you. For
seven months we have been here on board, and I ask you to-day, in the name
of my companions and in my own, if your intention is to keep us here
always?"
"M. Aronnax, I will answer you to-day as I did seven months ago:
Whoever enters the Nautilus, must never quit it."
"You impose actual slavery upon us!"
"Give it what name you please."
"But everywhere the slave has the right to regain his liberty."
"Who denies you this right? Have I ever tried to chain you with an
oath?"
He looked at me with his arms crossed.
"Sir," I said, "to return a second time to this subject
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will be neither to your nor to my taste; but, as we have entered upon it,
let us go through with it. I repeat, it is not only myself whom it
concerns. Study is to me a relief, a diversion, a passion that could make
me forget everything. Like you, I am willing to live obscure, in the frail
hope of bequeathing one day, to future time, the result of my labours. But
it is otherwise with Ned Land. Every man, worthy of the name, deserves some
consideration. Have you thought that love of liberty, hatred of slavery,
can give rise to schemes of revenge in a nature like the Canadian's; that
he could think, attempt, and try -- "
I was silenced; Captain Nemo rose.
"Whatever Ned Land thinks of, attempts, or tries, what does it matter
to me? I did not seek him! It is not for my pleasure that I keep him on
board! As for you, M. Aronnax, you are one of those who can understand
everything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this first
time you have come to treat of this subject be the last, for a second time
I will not listen to you."
I retired. Our situation was critical. I related my conversation to my
two companions.
"We know now," said Ned, "that we can expect nothing from this man.
The Nautilus is nearing Long Island. We will escape, whatever the weather
may be."
But the sky became more and more threatening. Symptoms of a hurricane
became manifest. The atmosphere was becoming white and misty. On the
horizon fine streaks of cirrhous clouds were succeeded by masses of cumuli.
Other low clouds passed swiftly by. The swollen sea rose in huge billows.
The birds disappeared with the exception of the petrels, those friends of
the storm. The barometer fell sensibly, and indicated an extreme extension
of the vapours. The mixture of the storm glass was decomposed under the
influence of the electricity that pervaded the atmosphere. The tempest
burst on the 18th of May, just as the Nautilus was floating off Long
Island, some miles from the port of New York. I can describe this strife of
the elements! for, instead of fleeing to the depths of the sea, Captain
Nemo, by an unaccountable caprice, would brave it at the surface.
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The wind blew from the south-west at first. Captain Nemo, during the
squalls, had taken his place on the platform. He had made himself fast, to
prevent being washed overboard by the monstrous waves. I had hoisted myself
up, and made myself fast also, dividing my admiration between the tempest
and this extraordinary man who was coping with it. The raging sea was swept
by huge cloud-drifts, which were actually saturated with the waves. The
Nautilus, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing up like a mast,
rolled and pitched terribly. About five o'clock a torrent of rain fell,
that lulled neither sea nor wind. The hurricane blew nearly forty leagues
an hour. It is under these conditions that it overturns houses, breaks iron
gates, displaces twenty-four pounders. However, the Nautilus, in the midst
of the tempest, confirmed the words of a clever engineer, "There is no
well-constructed hull that cannot defy the sea." This was not a resisting
rock; it was a steel spindle, obedient and movable, without rigging or
masts, that braved its fury with impunity. However, I watched these raging
waves attentively. They measured fifteen feet in height, and 150 to 175
yards long, and their speed of propagation was thirty feet per second.
Their bulk and power increased with the depth of the water. Such waves as
these, at the Hebrides, have displaced a mass weighing 8,400 lb. They are
they which, in the tempest of December 23rd, 1864, after destroying the
town of Yeddo, in Japan, broke the same day on the shores of America. The
intensity of the tempest increased with the night. The barometer, as in
1860 at Reunion during a cyclone, fell seven-tenths at the close of day. I
saw a large vessel pass the horizon struggling painfully. She was trying to
lie to under half steam, to keep up above the waves. It was probably one of
the steamers of the line from New York to Liverpool, or Havre. It soon
disappeared in the gloom. At ten o'clock in the evening the sky was on
fire. The atmosphere was streaked with vivid lightning. I could not bear
the brightness of it; while the captain, looking at it, seemed to envy the
spirit of the tempest. A terrible noise filled the air, a complex noise,
made up of the howls of the crushed waves,
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the roaring of the wind, and the claps of thunder. The wind veered suddenly
to all points of the horizon; and the cyclone, rising in the east, returned
after passing by the north, west, and south, in the inverse course pursued
by the circular storm of the southern hemisphere. Ah, that Gulf Stream! It
deserves its name of the King of Tempests. It is that which causes those
formidable cyclones, by the difference of temperature between its air and
its currents. A shower of fire had succeeded the rain. The drops of water
were changed to sharp spikes. One would have thought that Captain Nemo was
courting a death worthy of himself, a death by lightning. As the Nautilus,
pitching dreadfully, raised its steel spur in the air, it seemed to act as
a conductor, and I saw long sparks burst from it. Crushed and without
strength I crawled to the panel, opened it, and descended to the saloon.
The storm was then at its height. It was impossible to stand upright in the
interior of the Nautilus. Captain Nemo came down about twelve. I heard the
reservoirs filling by degrees, and the Nautilus sank slowly beneath the
waves. Through the open windows in the saloon I saw large fish terrified,
passing like phantoms in the water. Some were struck before my eyes. The
Nautilus was still descending. I thought that at about eight fathoms deep
we should find a calm. But no! the upper beds were too violently agitated
for that. We had to seek repose at more than twenty-five fathoms in the
bowels of the deep. But there, what quiet, what silence, what peace! Who
could have told that such a hurricane had been let loose on the surface of
that ocean?
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.20
FROM LATITUDE 47° 24' TO LONGITUDE 170° 28'
IN CONSEQUENCE of the storm, we had been thrown eastward once more.
All hope of escape on the shores of New York or St. Lawrence had faded
away; and poor Ned, in despair, had isolated himself like Captain Nemo.
Conseil
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and I, however, never left each other. I said that the Nautilus had gone
aside to the east. I should have said (to be more exact) the north-east.
For some days, it wandered first on the surface, and then beneath it, amid
those fogs so dreaded by sailors. What accidents are due to these thick
fogs! What shocks upon these reefs when the wind drowns the breaking of the
waves! What collisions between vessels, in spite of their warning lights,
whistles, and alarm bells! And the bottoms of these seas look like a field
of battle, where still lie all the conquered of the ocean; some old and
already encrusted, others fresh and reflecting from their iron bands and
copper plates the brilliancy of our lantern.
On the 15th of May we were at the extreme south of the Bank of
Newfoundland. This bank consists of alluvia, or large heaps of organic
matter, brought either from the Equator by the Gulf Stream, or from the
North Pole by the counter-current of cold water which skirts the American
coast. There also are heaped up those erratic blocks which are carried
along by the broken ice; and close by, a vast charnel-house of molluscs,
which perish here by millions. The depth of the sea is not great at
Newfoundland -- not more than some hundreds of fathoms; but towards the
south is a depression of 1,500 fathoms. There the Gulf Stream widens. It
loses some of its speed and some of its temperature, but it becomes a sea.
It was on the 17th of May, about 500 miles from Heart's Content, at a
depth of more than 1,400 fathoms, that I saw the electric cable lying on
the bottom. Conseil, to whom I had not mentioned it, thought at first that
it was a gigantic sea-serpent. But I undeceived the worthy fellow, and by
way of consolation related several particulars in the laying of this cable.
The first one was laid in the years 1857 and 1858; but, after transmitting
about 400 telegrams, would not act any longer. In 1863 the engineers
constructed another one, measuring 2,000 miles in length, and weighing
4,500 tons, which was embarked on the Great Eastern. This attempt also
failed.
On the 25th of May the Nautilus, being at a depth of
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more than 1,918 fathoms, was on the precise spot where the rupture occurred
which ruined the enterprise. It was within 638 miles of the coast of
Ireland; and at half-past two in the afternoon they discovered that
communication with Europe had ceased. The electricians on board resolved to
cut the cable before fishing it up, and at eleven o'clock at night they had
recovered the damaged part. They made another point and spliced it, and it
was once more submerged. But some days after it broke again, and in the
depths of the ocean could not be recaptured. The Americans, however, were
not discouraged. Cyrus Field, the bold promoter of the enterprise, as he
had 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
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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
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than ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his proximity 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,
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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-Vertrieux, 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 47° 24', longitude 17° 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 2.21
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,
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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 2.22
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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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!
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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.
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Page 292
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.23
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
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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
THE year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious
ReplyDeleteand puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to
mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the
public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were
particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels,
skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries, and
the Governments of several States on the two continents, were deeply
interested in the matter.
For some time past vessels had been met by "an enormous thing," a long
object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely larger
and more rapid in its movements than a whale.
The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books)
agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in
question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power of
locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If it was a
whale, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in science.
Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at divers times --
rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to this object a length
of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated opinions which set it
down as a mile in width and three in length -- we might fairly conclude
that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all dimensions admitted by the
learned ones of the day, if it existed at all. And that it did exist was an
undeniable fact; and, with that tendency which disposes the human mind in
favour of the
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Page 8
marvellous, we can understand the excitement produced in the entire world
by this supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the list of fables,
the idea was out of the question.
On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the
Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass
five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at first
that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even prepared to
determine its exact position when two columns of water, projected by the
mysterious object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred and fifty feet up
into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had been submitted to the
intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor Higginson had to do neither
more nor less than with an aquatic mammal, unknown till then, which threw
up from its blow-boles columns of water mixed with air and vapour.
Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in
the Pacific Ocean, by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam
Navigation Company. But this extraordinary creature could transport itself
from one place to another with surprising velocity; as, in an interval of
three days, the Governor Higginson and the Columbus had observed it at two
different points of the chart, separated by a distance of more than seven
hundred nautical leagues.
Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the Helvetia, of
the Compagnie-Nationale, and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship
Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying between
the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the monster to each
other in 42° 15' N. lat. and 60° 35' W. long. In these simultaneous
observations they thought themselves justified in estimating the minimum
length of the mammal at more than three hundred and fifty feet, as the
Shannon and Helvetia were of smaller dimensions than it, though they
measured three hundred feet over all.
Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea
round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich
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Page 9
islands, have never exceeded the length of sixty yards, if they attain
that.
In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion. They sang
of it in the cafes, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on the
stage. All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it. There appeared in
the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary creature, from the
white whale, the terrible "Moby Dick" of sub-arctic regions, to the immense
kraken, whose tentacles could entangle a ship of five hundred tons and
hurry it into the abyss of the ocean. The legends of ancient times were
even revived.
Then burst forth the unending argument between the believers and the
unbelievers in the societies of the wise and the scientific journals. "The
question of the monster" inflamed all minds. Editors of scientific
journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural, spilled seas of
ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing blood; for from the
sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.
During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried,
never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public. It was then
no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger seriously to
be avoided. The question took quite another shape. The monster became a
small island, a rock, a reef, but a reef of indefinite and shifting
proportions.
On the 5th of March, 1867, the Moravian, of the Montreal Ocean
Company, finding herself during the night in 27° 30' lat. and 72° 15'
long., struck on her starboard quarter a rock, marked in no chart for that
part of the sea. Under the combined efforts of the wind and its four
hundred horse- power, it was going at the rate of thirteen knots. Had it
not been for the superior strength of the hull of the Moravian, she would
have been broken by the shock and gone down with the 237 passengers she was
bringing home from Canada.
The accident happened about five o'clock in the morning, as the day
was breaking. The officers of the quarter-deck hurried to the after-part of
the vessel. They examined the sea with the most careful attention. They saw
nothing but a strong eddy about three cables' length distant, as if the
surface
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Page 10
had been violently agitated. The bearings of the place were taken exactly,
and the Moravian continued its route without apparent damage. Had it struck
on a submerged rock, or on an enormous wreck? They could not tell; but, on
examination of the ship's bottom when undergoing repairs, it was found that
part of her keel was broken.
This fact, so grave in itself, might perhaps have been forgotten like
many others if, three weeks after, it had not been re-enacted under similar
circumstances. But, thanks to the nationality of the victim of the shock,
thanks to the reputation of the company to which the vessel belonged, the
circumstance became extensively circulated.
The 13th of April, 1867, the sea being beautiful, the breeze
favourable, the Scotia, of the Cunard Company's line, found herself in 15°
12' long. and 45° 37' lat. She was going at the speed of thirteen knots and
a half.
At seventeen minutes past four in the afternoon, whilst the passengers
were assembled at lunch in the great saloon, a slight shock was felt on the
hull of the Scotia, on her quarter, a little aft of the port-paddle.
The Scotia had not struck, but she had been struck, and seemingly by
something rather sharp and penetrating than blunt. The shock had been so
slight that no one had been alarmed, had it not been for the shouts of the
carpenter's watch, who rushed on to the bridge, exclaiming, "We are
sinking! we are sinking!" At first the passengers were much frightened, but
Captain Anderson hastened to reassure them. The danger could not be
imminent. The Scotia, divided into seven compartments by strong partitions,
could brave with impunity any leak. Captain Anderson went down immediately
into the hold. He found that the sea was pouring into the fifth
compartment; and the rapidity of the influx proved that the force of the
water was considerable. Fortunately this compartment did not hold the
boilers, or the fires would have been immediately extinguished. Captain
Anderson ordered the engines to be stopped at once, and one of the men went
down to ascertain the extent of the injury. Some minutes afterwards they
discovered the existence of a large hole, two yards in diameter, in the
ship's bottom. Such a
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Page 11
leak could not be stopped; and the Scotia, her paddles half submerged, was
obliged to continue her course. She was then three hundred miles from Cape
Clear, and, after three days' delay, which caused great uneasiness in
Liverpool, she entered the basin of the company.
The engineers visited the Scotia, which was put in dry dock. They
could scarcely believe it possible; at two yards and a half below
water-mark was a regular rent, in the form of an isosceles triangle. The
broken place in the iron plates was so perfectly defined that it could not
have been more neatly done by a punch. It was clear, then, that the
instrument producing the perforation was not of a common stamp and, after
having been driven with prodigious strength, and piercing an iron plate 1
3/8 inches thick, had withdrawn itself by a backward motion.
Such was the last fact, which resulted in exciting once more the
torrent of public opinion. From this moment all unlucky casualties which
could not be otherwise accounted for were put down to the monster.
Upon this imaginary creature rested the responsibility of all these
shipwrecks, which unfortunately were considerable; for of three thousand
ships whose loss was annually recorded at Lloyd's, the number of sailing
and steam-ships supposed to be totally lost, from the absence of all news,
amounted to not less than two hundred!
Now, it was the "monster" who, justly or unjustly, was accused of
their disappearance, and, thanks to it, communication between the different
continents became more and more dangerous. The public demanded sharply that
the seas should at any price be relieved from this formidable cetacean. 1.
1. Member of the whale family.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.2
PRO AND CON
AT THE period when these events took place, I had just returned from a
scientific research in the disagreeable territory
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Page 12
of Nebraska, in the United States. In virtue of my office as Assistant
Professor in the Museum of Natural History in Paris, the French Government
had attached me to that expedition. After six months in Nebraska, I arrived
in New York towards the end of March, laden with a precious collection. My
departure for France was fixed for the first days in May. Meanwhile I was
occupying myself in classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and zoological
riches, when the accident happened to the Scotia.
I was perfectly up in the subject which was the question of the day.
How could I be otherwise? I had read and reread all the American and
European papers without being any nearer a conclusion. This mystery puzzled
me. Under the impossibility of forming an opinion, I jumped from one
extreme to the other. That there really was something could not be doubted,
and the incredulous were invited to put their finger on the wound of the
Scotia.
On my arrival at New York the question was at its height. The theory
of the floating island, and the unapproachable sandbank, supported by minds
little competent to form a judgment, was abandoned. And, indeed, unless
this shoal had a machine in its stomach, how could it change its position
with such astonishing rapidity?
From the same cause, the idea of a floating hull of an enormous wreck
was given up.
There remained, then, only two possible solutions of the question,
which created two distinct parties: on one side, those who were for a
monster of colossal strength; on the other, those who were for a submarine
vessel of enormous motive power.
But this last theory, plausible as it was, could not stand against
inquiries made in both worlds. That a private gentleman should have such a
machine at his command was not likely. Where, when, and how was it built?
and how could its construction have been kept secret? Certainly a
Government might possess such a destructive machine. And in these
disastrous times, when the ingenuity of man has multiplied the power of
weapons of war, it was possible that, without the
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Page 13
knowledge of others, a State might try to work such a formidable engine.
But the idea of a war machine fell before the declaration of
Governments. As public interest was in question, and transatlantic
communications suffered, their veracity could not be doubted. But how admit
that the construction of this submarine boat had escaped the public eye?
For a private gentleman to keep the secret under such circumstances would
be very difficult, and for a State whose every act is persistently watched
by powerful rivals, certainly impossible.
Upon my arrival in New York several persons did me the honour of
consulting me on the phenomenon in question. I had published in France a
work in quarto, in two volumes, entitled Mysteries of the Great Submarine
Grounds. This book, highly approved of in the learned world, gained for me
a special reputation in this rather obscure branch of Natural History. My
advice was asked. As long as I could deny the reality of the fact, I
confined myself to a decided negative. But soon, finding myself driven into
a corner, I was obliged to explain myself point by point. I discussed the
question in all its forms, politically and scientifically; and I give here
an extract from a carefully-studied article which I published in the number
of the 30th of April. It ran as follows:
"After examining one by one the different theories, rejecting all
other suggestions, it becomes necessary to admit the existence of a marine
animal of enormous power.
"The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us. Soundings
cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths -- what beings live,
or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the waters --
what is the organisation of these animals, we can scarcely conjecture.
However, the solution of the problem submitted to me may modify the form of
the dilemma. Either we do know all the varieties of beings which people our
planet, or we do not. If we do not know them all -- if Nature has still
secrets in the deeps for us, nothing is more conformable to reason than to
admit the existence of fishes, or cetaceans of other kinds,
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Page 14
or even of new species, of an organisation formed to inhabit the strata
inaccessible to soundings, and which an accident of some sort has brought
at long intervals to the upper level of the ocean.
"If, on the contrary, we do know all living kinds, we must necessarily
seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings already
classed; and, in that case, I should be disposed to admit the existence of
a gigantic narwhal.
"The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, often attains a length of
sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength
proportionate to its size, lengthen its destructive weapons, and you obtain
the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by the
officers of the Shannon, the instrument required by the perforation of the
Scotia, and the power necessary to pierce the hull of the steamer.
"Indeed, the narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd,
according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk has
the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried in the
bodies of whales, which the unicorn always attacks with success. Others
have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of ships, which
they bad pierced through and through, as a gimlet pierces a barrel. The
Museum of the Faculty of Medicine of Paris possesses one of these defensive
weapons, two yards and a quarter in length, and fifteen inches in diameter
at the base.
"Very well! suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the
animal ten times more powerful; launch it at the rate of twenty miles an
hour, and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required.
Until further information, therefore, I shall maintain it to be a
sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with a
real spur, as the armoured frigates, or the 'rams' of war, whose
massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time. Thus may
this puzzling phenomenon be explained, unless there be something over and
above all that one has ever conjectured, seen, perceived, or experienced;
which is just within the bounds of possibility."
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Page 15
These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point,
I wished to shelter my dignity as professor, and not give too much cause
for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well when they do laugh. I
reserved for myself a way of escape. In effect, however, I admitted the
existence of the "monster." My article was warmly discussed, which procured
it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of partisans.
The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the imagination.
The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings. And
the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the only medium through which
these giants (against which terrestrial animals, such as elephants or
rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be produced or developed.
The industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from
this point of view. The Shipping and Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd's List,
the Packet-Boat, and the Maritime and Colonial Review, all papers devoted
to insurance companies which threatened to raise their rates of premium,
were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been pronounced. The
United States were the first in the field; and in New York they made
preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this narwhal. A frigate
of great speed, the Abraham Lincoln, was put in commission as soon as
possible. The arsenals were opened to Commander Farragut, who hastened the
arming of his frigate; but, as it always happens, the moment it was decided
to pursue the monster, the monster did not appear. For two months no one
heard it spoken of. No ship met with it. It seemed as if this unicorn knew
of the plots weaving around it. It had been so much talked of, even through
the Atlantic cable, that jesters pretended that this slender fly had
stopped a telegram on its passage and was making the most of it.
So when the frigate had been armed for a long campaign, and provided
with formidable fishing apparatus, no one could tell what course to pursue.
Impatience grew apace, when, on the 2nd of July, they learned that a
steamer of the line of San Francisco, from California to Shanghai, had
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Page 16
seen the animal three weeks before in the North Pacific Ocean. The
excitement caused by this news was extreme. The ship was revictualled and
well stocked with coal.
Three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left Brooklyn pier, I received
a letter worded as follows: To M. ARONNAX,
Professor in the Museum of Paris,
Fifth Avenue Hotel,
New York.
SIR, -- If you will consent to join the Abraham Lincoln in this
expedition, the Government of the United States will with pleasure see
France represented in the enterprise. Commander Farragut has a cabin at
your disposal. Very cordially yours,
J.B. HOBSON,
Secretary of Marine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.3
I FORM MY RESOLUTION
THREE seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson's letter I no more
thought of pursuing the unicorn than of attempting the passage of the North
Sea. Three seconds after reading the letter of the honourable Secretary of
Marine, I felt that my true vocation, the sole end of my life, was to chase
this disturbing monster and purge it from the world.
But I had just returned from a fatiguing journey, weary and longing
for repose. I aspired to nothing more than again seeing my country, my
friends, my little lodging by the Jardin des Plantes, my dear and precious
collections -- but nothing could keep me back! I forgot all -- fatigue,
friends and collections -- and accepted without hesitation the offer of the
American Government.
"Besides," thought I, "all roads lead back to Europe; and the unicorn
may be amiable enough to hurry me towards the coast of France. This worthy
animal may allow
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Page 17
itself to be caught in the seas of Europe (for my particular benefit), and
I will not bring back less than half a yard of his ivory halberd to the
Museum of Natural History." But in the meanwhile I must seek this narwhal
in the North Pacific Ocean, which, to return to France, was taking the road
to the antipodes.
"Conseil," I called in an impatient voice.
Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had
accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the liking
well. He was quiet by nature, regular from principle, zealous from habit,
evincing little disturbance at the different surprises of life, very quick
with his hands, and apt at any service required of him; and, despite his
name, never giving advice -- even when asked for it.
Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led.
Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never
make an objection to pack his portmanteau for whatever country it might be,
or however far away, whether China or Congo. Besides all this, he had good
health, which defied all sickness, and solid muscles, but no nerves; good
morals are understood. This boy was thirty years old, and his age to that
of his master as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused for saying that I was
forty years old?
But Conseil had one fault: he was ceremonious to a degree, and would
never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes provoking.
"Conseil," said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make
preparations for my departure.
Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him
if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but this
time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the enterprise
might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of sinking a frigate as
easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for reflection even to the most
impassive man in the world. What would Conseil say?
"Conseil," I called a third time.
Conseil appeared.
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Page 18
"Did you call, sir?" said he, entering.
"Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in
two hours."
"As you please, sir," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Not an instant to lose; lock in my trunk all travelling utensils,
coats, shirts, and stockings -- without counting, as many as you can, and
make haste."
"And your collections, sir?" observed Conseil.
"They will keep them at the hotel."
"We are not returning to Paris, then?" said Conseil.
"Oh! certainly," I answered, evasively, "by making a curve."
"Will the curve please you, sir?"
"Oh! it will be nothing; not quite so direct a road, that is all. We
take our passage in the Abraham, Lincoln."
"As you think proper, sir," coolly replied Conseil.
"You see, my friend, it has to do with the monster -- the famous
narwhal. We are going to purge it from the seas. A glorious mission, but a
dangerous one! We cannot tell where we may go; these animals can be very
capricious. But we will go whether or no; we have got a captain who is
pretty wide-awake."
Our luggage was transported to the deck of the frigate immediately. I
hastened on board and asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors
conducted me to the poop, where I found myself in the presence of a
good-looking officer, who held out his hand to me.
"Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?" said he.
"Himself," replied I. "Commander Farragut?"
"You are welcome, Professor; your cabin is ready for you."
I bowed, and desired to be conducted to the cabin destined for me.
The Abraham Lincoln had been well chosen and equipped for her new
destination. She was a frigate of great speed, fitted with high-pressure
engines which admitted a pressure of seven atmospheres. Under this the
Abraham Lincoln attained the mean speed of nearly eighteen knots and a
third
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Page 19
an hour -- a considerable speed, but, nevertheless, insufficient to grapple
with this gigantic cetacean.
The interior arrangements of the frigate corresponded to its nautical
qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was in the after part,
opening upon the gunroom.
"We shall be well off here," said I to Conseil.
"As well, by your honour's leave, as a hermit-crab in the shell of a
whelk," said Conseil.
I left Conseil to stow our trunks conveniently away, and remounted the
poop in order to survey the preparations for departure.
At that moment Commander Farragut was ordering the last moorings to be
cast loose which held the Abraham Lincoln to the pier of Brooklyn. So in a
quarter of an hour, perhaps less, the frigate would have sailed without me.
I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and incredible
expedition, the recital of which may well meet with some suspicion.
But Commander Farragut would not lose a day nor an hour in scouring
the seas in which the animal had been sighted. He sent for the engineer.
"Is the steam full on?" asked he.
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
"Go ahead," cried Commander Farragut.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.4
NED LAND
CAPTAIN FARRAGUT was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he
commanded. His vessel and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the
question of the monster there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not
allow the existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in
it, as certain good women believe in the leviathan -- by faith, not by
reason. The monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it.
Either Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal,
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or the narwhal would kill the captain. There was no third course.
The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were
ever chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances of a
meeting, watching narrowly the vast surface of the ocean. More than one
took up his quarters voluntarily in the cross-trees, who would have cursed
such a berth under any other circumstances. As long as the sun described
its daily course, the rigging was crowded with sailors, whose feet were
burnt to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render it unbearable;
still the Abraham Lincoln had not yet breasted the suspected waters of the
Pacific. As to the ship's company, they desired nothing better than to meet
the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist it on board, and despatch it. They
watched the sea with eager attention.
Besides, Captain Farragut had spoken of a certain sum of two thousand
dollars, set apart for whoever should first sight the monster, were he
cabin-boy, common seaman, or officer.
I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the Abraham Lincoln.
For my own part I was not behind the others, and, left to no one my
share of daily observations. The frigate might have been called the Argus,
for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to protest by
his indifference against the question which so interested us all, and
seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on board.
I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with
every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever been
better armed. We possessed every known engine, from the harpoon thrown by
the hand to the barbed arrows of the blunderbuss, and the explosive balls
of the duck-gun. On the forecastle lay the perfection of a breech-loading
gun, very thick at the breech, and very narrow in the bore, the model of
which had been in the Exhibition of 1867. This precious weapon of American
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origin could throw with ease a conical projectile of nine pounds to a mean
distance of ten miles.
Thus the Abraham Lincoln wanted for no means of destruction; and, what
was better still she had on board Ned Land, the prince of harpooners.
Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who
knew no equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity, and
cunning he possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning whale
to escape the stroke of his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years of age; he was a tall man (more than
six feet high), strongly built, grave and taciturn, occasionally violent,
and very passionate when contradicted. His person attracted attention, but
above all the boldness of his look, which gave a singular expression to his
face.
Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little
communicative as Ned Land was, I must admit that he took a certain liking
for me. My nationality drew him to me, no doubt. It was an opportunity for
him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of Rabelais, which is
still in use in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner's family was
originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe of hardy fishermen when
this town belonged to France.
Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved
to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related his
fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his recital
took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to a Canadian
Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.
I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old
friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and
cemented amidst extreme dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to live
a hundred years longer, that I may have more time to dwell the longer on
your memory.
Now, what was Ned Land's opinion upon the question of the marine
monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was the
only one on board who did not share
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Page 22
that universal conviction. He even avoided the subject, which I one day
thought it my duty to press upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th
July (that is to say, three weeks after our departure), the frigate was
abreast of Cape Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia.
We had crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan opened
less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were over the
Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.
Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and
another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up to
this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up the
conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various chances of
success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let me
speak without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.
"Well, Ned," said I, "is it possible that you are not convinced of the
existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any particular
reason for being so incredulous?"
The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering,
struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to collect
himself, and said at last, "Perhaps I have, Mr. Aronnax."
"But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the
great marine mammalia -- you ought to be the last to doubt under such
circumstances!"
"That is just what deceives you, Professor," replied Ned. "As a whaler
I have followed many a cetacean, harpooned a great number, and killed
several; but, however strong or well-armed they may have been, neither
their tails nor their weapons would have been able even to scratch the iron
plates of a steamer."
"But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhal have
pierced through and through."
"Wooden ships -- that is possible," replied the Canadian, "but I have
never seen it done; and, until further proof, I
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Page 23
deny that whales, cetaceans, or sea-unicorns could ever produce the effect
you describe."
"Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction resting on the logic of
facts. I believe in the existence of a mammal powerfully organised,
belonging to the branch of vertebrata, like the whales, the cachalots, or
the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defence of great penetrating
power."
"Hum!" said the harpooner, shaking his head with the air of a man who
would not be convinced.
"Notice one thing, my worthy Canadian," I resumed. "If such an animal
is in existence, if it inhabits the depths of the ocean, if it frequents
the strata lying miles below the surface of the water, it must necessarily
possess an organisation the strength of which would defy all comparison."
"And why this powerful organisation?" demanded Ned.
"Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one's self in these
strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me. Let us admit that the
pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of
water thirty-two feet high. In reality the column of water would be
shorter, as we are speaking of sea water, the density of which is greater
than that of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as many times 32
feet of water as there are above you, so many times does your body bear a
pressure equal to that of the atmosphere, that is to say, 15 lb. for each
square inch of its surface. It follows, then, that at 320 feet this
pressure equals that of 10 atmospheres, of 100 atmospheres at 3,200 feet,
and of 1,000 atmospheres at 32,000 feet, that is, about 6 miles; which is
equivalent to saying that if you could attain this depth in the ocean, each
square three-eighths of an inch of the surface of your body would bear a
pressure of 5,600 lb. Ah! my brave Ned, do you know how many square inches
you carry on the surface of your body?"
"I have no idea, Mr. Aronnax."
"About 6,500; and as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15
lb. to the square inch, your 6,500 square inches bear at this moment a
pressure of 97,500 lb."
"Without my perceiving it?"
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Page 24
"Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed by such a
pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interior of your body with
equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibrium between the interior and exterior
pressure, which thus neutralise each other, and which allows you to bear it
without inconvenience. But in the water it is another thing."
"Yes, I understand," replied Ned, becoming more attentive; "because
the water surrounds me, but does not penetrate."
"Precisely, Ned: so that at 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea you
would undergo a pressure of 97,500 lb.; at 320 feet, ten times that
pressure; at 3,200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at 32,000
feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000 lb. -- that is to
say, that you would be flattened as if you had been drawn from the plates
of a hydraulic machine!"
"The devil!" exclaimed Ned.
"Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundred
yards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such depths --
of those whose surface is represented by millions of square inches, that is
by tens of millions of pounds, we must estimate the pressure they undergo.
Consider, then, what must be the resistance of their bony structure, and
the strength of their organisation to withstand such pressure!"
"Why!" exclaimed Ned Land, "they must be made of iron plates eight
inches thick, like the armoured frigates."
"As you say, Ned. And think what destruction such a mass would cause,
if hurled with the speed of an express train against the hull of a vessel."
"Yes -- certainly -- perhaps," replied the Canadian, shaken by these
figures, but not yet willing to give in.
"Well, have I convinced you?"
"You have convinced me of one thing, sir, which is that, if such
animals do exist at the bottom of the seas, they must necessarily be as
strong as you say."
"But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explain the
accident to the Scotia?"
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Page 25
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.5
AT A VENTURE
THE voyage of the Abraham Lincoln was for a long time marked by no
special incident. But one circumstance happened which showed the wonderful
dexterity of Ned Land, and proved what confidence we might place in him.
The 30th of June, the frigate spoke some American whalers, from whom
we learned that they knew nothing about the narwhal. But one of them, the
captain of the Monroe, knowing that Ned Land had shipped on board the
Abraham Lincoln, begged for his help in chasing a whale they had in sight.
Commander Farragut, desirous of seeing Ned Land at work, gave him
permission to go on board the Monroe. And fate served our Canadian so well
that, instead of one whale, he harpooned two with a double blow, striking
one straight to the heart, and catching the other after some minutes'
pursuit.
Decidedly, if the monster ever had to do with Ned Land's harpoon, I
would not bet in its favour.
The frigate skirted the south-east coast of America with great
rapidity. The 3rd of July we were at the opening of the Straits of
Magellan, level with Cape Vierges. But Commander Farragut would not take a
tortuous passage, but doubled Cape Horn.
The ship's crew agreed with him. And certainly it was possible that
they might meet the narwhal in this narrow pass. Many of the sailors
affirmed that the monster could not pass there, "that he was too big for
that!"
The 6th of July, about three o'clock in the afternoon, the Abraham
Lincoln, at fifteen miles to the south, doubled the solitary island, this
lost rock at the extremity of the American continent, to which some Dutch
sailors gave the name of their native town, Cape Horn. The course was taken
towards the north-west, and the next day the screw of the frigate was at
last beating the waters of the Pacific.
"Keep your eyes open!" called out the sailors.
And they were opened widely. Both eyes and glasses, a
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Page 26
little dazzled, it is true, by the prospect of two thousand dollars, had
not an instant's repose.
I myself, for whom money had no charms, was not the least attentive on
board. Giving but few minutes to my meals, but a few hours to sleep,
indifferent to either rain or sunshine, I did not leave the poop of the
vessel. Now leaning on the netting of the forecastle, now on the taffrail,
I devoured with eagerness the soft foam which whitened the sea as far as
the eye could reach; and how often have I shared the emotion of the
majority of the crew, when some capricious whale raised its black back
above the waves! The poop of the vessel was crowded on a moment. The cabins
poured forth a torrent of sailors and officers, each with heaving breast
and troubled eye watching the course of the cetacean. I looked and looked
till I was nearly blind, whilst Conseil kept repeating in a calm voice:
"If, sir, you would not squint so much, you would see better!"
But vain excitement! The Abraham Lincoln checked its speed and made
for the animal signalled, a simple whale, or common cachalot, which soon
disappeared amidst a storm of abuse.
But the weather was good. The voyage was being accomplished under the
most favourable auspices. It was then the bad season in Australia, the July
of that zone corresponding to our January in Europe, but the sea was
beautiful and easily scanned round a vast circumference.
The 20th of July, the tropic of Capricorn was cut by 105° of
longitude, and the 27th of the same month we crossed the Equator on the
110th meridian. This passed, the frigate took a more decided westerly
direction, and scoured the central waters of the Pacific. Commander
Farragut thought, and with reason, that it was better to remain in deep
water, and keep clear of continents or islands, which the beast itself
seemed to shun (perhaps because there was not enough water for him!
suggested the greater part of the crew). The frigate passed at some
distance from the Marquesas and the Sandwich Islands, crossed the tropic of
Cancer, and made for the China Seas. We were on the theatre of the last
diversions
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Page 27
of the monster: and, to say truth, we no longer lived on board. The entire
ship's crew were undergoing a nervous excitement, of which I can give no
idea: they could not eat, they could not sleep -- twenty times a day, a
misconception or an optical illusion of some sailor seated on the taff
rail, would cause dreadful perspirations, and these emotions, twenty times
repeated, kept us in a state of excitement so violent that a reaction was
unavoidable.
And truly, reaction soon showed itself. For three months, during which
a day seemed an age, the Abraham Lincoln furrowed all the waters of the
Northern Pacific, running at whales, making sharp deviations from her
course, veering suddenly from one tack to another, stopping suddenly,
putting on steam, and backing ever and anon at the risk of deranging her
machinery, and not one point of the Japanese or American coast was left
unexplored.
The warmest partisans of the enterprise now became its most ardent
detractors. Reaction mounted from the crew to the captain himself, and
certainly, had it not been for the resolute determination on the part of
Captain Farragut, the frigate would have headed due southward. This useless
search could not last much longer. The Abraham Lincoln had nothing to
reproach herself with, she had done her best to succeed. Never had an
American ship's crew shown more zeal or patience; its failure could not be
placed to their charge -- there remained nothing but to return.
This was represented to the commander. The sailors could not hide
their discontent, and the service suffered. I will not say there was a
mutiny on board, but after a reasonable period of obstinacy, Captain
Farragut (as Columbus did) asked for three days' patience. If in three days
the monster did not appear, the man at the helm should give three turns of
the wheel, and the Abraham Lincoln would make for the European seas.
This promise was made on the 2nd of November. It had the effect of
rallying the ship's crew. The ocean was watched with renewed attention.
Each one wished for a last glance in which to sum up his remembrance.
Glasses were used with feverish activity. It was a grand defiance given to
the giant
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Page 28
narwhal, and he could scarcely fail to answer the summons and "appear."
Two days passed, the steam was at half pressure; a thousand schemes
were tried to attract the attention and stimulate the apathy of the animal
in case it should be met in those parts. Large quantities of bacon were
trailed in the wake of the ship, to the great satisfaction (I must say) of
the sharks. Small craft radiated in all directions round the Abraham
Lincoln as she lay to, and did not leave a spot of the sea unexplored. But
the night of the 4th of November arrived without the unveiling of this
submarine mystery.
The next day, the 5th of November, at twelve, the delay would (morally
speaking) expire; after that time, Commander Farragut, faithful to his
promise, was to turn the course to the south-east and abandon for ever the
northern regions of the Pacific.
The frigate was then in 31° 15' N. lat. and 136° 42' E. long. The
coast of Japan still remained less than two hundred miles to leeward. Night
was approaching. They had just struck eight bells; large clouds veiled the
face of the moon, then in its first quarter. The sea undulated peaceably
under the stern of the vessel.
At that moment I was leaning forward on the starboard netting.
Conseil, standing near me, was looking straight before him. The crew,
perched in the ratlines, examined the horizon which contracted and darkened
by degrees. Officers with their night glasses scoured the growing darkness:
sometimes the ocean sparkled under the rays of the moon, which darted
between two clouds, then all trace of light was lost in the darkness.
In looking at Conseil, I could see he was undergoing a little of the
general influence. At least I thought so. Perhaps for the first time his
nerves vibrated to a sentiment of curiosity.
"Come, Conseil," said I, "this is the last chance of pocketing the two
thousand dollars."
"May I be permitted to say, sir," replied Conseil, "that I never
reckoned on getting the prize; and, had the government
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Page 29
of the Union offered a hundred thousand dollars, it would have been none
the poorer."
"You are right, Conseil. It is a foolish affair after all, and one
upon which we entered too lightly. What time lost, what useless emotions!
We should have been back in France six months ago."
"In your little room, sir," replied Conseil, "and in your museum, sir;
and I should have already classed all your fossils, sir. And the Babiroussa
would have been installed in its cage in the Jardin des Plantes, and have
drawn all the curious people of the capital!"
"As you say, Conseil. I fancy we shall run a fair chance of being
laughed at for our pains."
"That's tolerably certain," replied Conseil, quietly; "I think they
will make fun of you, sir. And, must I say it -- ?"
"Go on, my good friend."
"Well, sir, you will only get your deserts."
"Indeed!"
"When one has the honour of being a savant as you are, sir, one should
not expose one's self to -- "
Conseil had not time to finish his compliment. In the midst of general
silence a voice had just been heard. It was the voice of Ned Land shouting:
"Look out there! The very thing we are looking for -- on our weather
beam!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.6
AT FULL STEAM
AT THIS cry the whole ship's crew hurried towards the harpooner --
commander, officers, masters, sailors, cabin- boys; even the engineers left
their engines, and the stokers their furnaces.
The order to stop her had been given, and the frigate now simply went
on by her own momentum. The darkness was then profound, and, however good
the Canadian's eyes
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Page 30
were, I asked myself how he had managed to see, and what he had been able
to see. My heart beat as if it would break. But Ned Land was not mistaken,
and we all perceived the object he pointed to. At two cables' length from
the Abraham Lincoln, on the starboard quarter, the sea seemed to be
illuminated all over. It was not a mere phosphoric phenomenon. The monster
emerged some fathoms from the water, and then threw out that very intense
but mysterious light mentioned in the report of several captains. This
magnificent irradiation must have been produced by an agent of great
shining power. The luminous part traced on the sea an immense oval, much
elongated, the centre of which condensed a burning heat, whose overpowering
brilliancy died out by successive gradations.
"It is only a massing of phosphoric particles," cried one of the
officers.
"No, sir, certainly not," I replied. "That brightness is of an
essentially electrical nature. Besides, see, see! it moves; it is moving
forwards, backwards; it is darting towards us!"
A general cry arose from the frigate.
"Silence!" said the captain. "Up with the helm, reverse the engines."
The steam was shut off, and the Abraham Lincoln, beating to port,
described a semicircle.
"Right the helm, go ahead," cried the captain.
These orders were executed, and the frigate moved rapidly from the
burning light.
I was mistaken. She tried to sheer off, but the supernatural animal
approached with a velocity double her own.
We gasped for breath. Stupefaction more than fear made us dumb and
motionless. The animal gained on us, sporting with the waves. It made the
round of the frigate, which was then making fourteen knots, and enveloped
it with its electric rings like luminous dust.
Then it moved away two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent track,
like those volumes of steam that the express trains leave behind. All at
once from the dark line of the horizon whither it retired to gain its
momentum, the monster rushed suddenly towards the Abraham Lincoln with
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Page 31
alarming rapidity, stopped suddenly about twenty feet from the hull, and
died out -- not diving under the water, for its brilliancy did not abate --
but suddenly, and as if the source of this brilliant emanation was
exhausted. Then it re- appeared on the other side of the vessel, as if it
had turned and slid under the hull. Any moment a collision might have
occurred which would have been fatal to us. However, I was astonished at
the manoeuvres of the frigate. She fled and did not attack.
On the captain's face, generally so impassive, was an expression of
unaccountable astonishment.
"Mr. Aronnax," he said, "I do not know with what formidable being I
have to deal, and I will not imprudently risk my frigate in the midst of
this darkness. Besides, how attack this unknown thing, how defend one's
self from it? Wait for daylight, and the scene will change."
"You have no further doubt, captain, of the nature of the animal?"
"No, sir; it is evidently a gigantic narwhal, and an electric one."
"Perhaps," added I, "one can only approach it with a torpedo."
"Undoubtedly," replied the captain, "if it possesses such dreadful
power, it is the most terrible animal that ever was created. That is why,
sir, I must be on my guard."
The crew were on their feet all night. No one thought of sleep. The
Abraham Lincoln, not being able to struggle with such velocity, had
moderated its pace, and sailed at half speed. For its part, the narwhal,
imitating the frigate, let the waves rock it at will, and seemed decided
not to leave the scene of the struggle. Towards midnight, however, it
disappeared, or, to use a more appropriate term, it "died out" like a large
glow-worm. Had it fled? One could only fear, not hope it. But at seven
minutes to one o'clock in the morning a deafening whistling was heard, like
that produced by a body of water rushing with great violence.
The captain, Ned Land, and I were then on the poop, eagerly peering
through the profound darkness.
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"Ned Land," asked the commander, "you have often heard the roaring of
whales?"
"Often, sir; but never such whales the sight of which brought me in
two thousand dollars. If I can only approach within four harpoons' length
of it!"
"But to approach it," said the commander, "I ought to put a whaler at
your disposal?"
"Certainly, sir."
"That will be trifling with the lives of my men."
"And mine too," simply said the harpooner.
Towards two o'clock in the morning, the burning light reappeared, not
less intense, about five miles to windward of the Abraham Lincoln.
Notwithstanding the distance, and the noise of the wind and sea, one heard
distinctly the loud strokes of the animal's tail, and even its panting
breath. It seemed that, at the moment that the enormous narwhal had come to
take breath at the surface of the water, the air was engulfed in its lungs,
like the steam in the vast cylinders of a machine of two thousand
horse-power.
"Hum!" thought I, "a whale with the strength of a cavalry regiment
would be a pretty whale!"
We were on the qui vive till daylight, and prepared for the combat.
The fishing implements were laid along the hammock nettings. The second
lieutenant loaded the blunder- busses, which could throw harpoons to the
distance of a mile, and long duck-guns, with explosive bullets, which
inflicted mortal wounds even to the most terrible animals. Ned Land
contented himself with sharpening his harpoon -- a terrible weapon in his
hands.
At six o'clock day began to break; and, with the first glimmer of
light, the electric light of the narwhal disappeared. At seven o'clock the
day was sufficiently advanced, but a very thick sea fog obscured our view,
and the best spy- glasses could not pierce it. That caused disappointment
and anger.
I climbed the mizzen-mast. Some officers were already perched on the
mast-heads. At eight o'clock the fog lay heavily on the waves, and its
thick scrolls rose little by little.
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The horizon grew wider and clearer at the same time. Suddenly, just as on
the day before, Ned Land's voice was heard:
"The thing itself on the port quarter!" cried the harpooner.
Every eye was turned towards the point indicated. There, a mile and a
half from the frigate, a long blackish body emerged a yard above the waves.
Its tail, violently agitated, produced a considerable eddy. Never did a
tail beat the sea with such violence. An immense track, of dazzling
whiteness, marked the passage of the animal, and described a long curve.
The frigate approached the cetacean. I examined it thoroughly.
The reports of the Shannon and of the Helvetia had rather exaggerated
its size, and I estimated its length at only two hundred and fifty feet. As
to its dimensions, I could only conjecture them to be admirably
proportioned. While I watched this phenomenon, two jets of steam and water
were ejected from its vents, and rose to the height of 120 feet; thus I
ascertained its way of breathing. I concluded definitely that it belonged
to the vertebrate branch, class mammalia.
The crew waited impatiently for their chief's orders. The latter,
after having observed the animal attentively, called the engineer. The
engineer ran to him.
"Sir," said the commander, "you have steam up?"
"Yes, sir," answered the engineer.
"Well, make up your fires and put on all steam."
Three hurrahs greeted this order. The time for the struggle had
arrived. Some moments after, the two funnels of the frigate vomited
torrents of black smoke, and the bridge quaked under the trembling of the
boilers.
The Abraham Lincoln, propelled by her wonderful screw, went straight
at the animal. The latter allowed it to come within half a cable's length;
then, as if disdaining to dive, it took a little turn, and stopped a short
distance off.
This pursuit lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour, without the
frigate gaining two yards on the cetacean. it
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Page 34
was quite evident that at that rate we should never come up with it.
"Well, Mr. Land," asked the captain, "do you advise me to put the
boats out to sea?"
"No, sir," replied Ned Land; "because we shall not take that beast
easily."
"What shall we do then?"
"Put on more steam if you can, sir. With your leave, I mean to post
myself under the bowsprit, and, if we get within harpooning distance, I
shall throw my harpoon."
"Go, Ned," said the captain. "Engineer, put on more pressure."
Ned Land went to his post. The fires were increased, the screw
revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the
valves. We heaved the log, and calculated that the Abraham Lincoln was
going at the rate of 18 1/2 miles an hour.
But the accursed animal swam at the same speed.
For a whole hour the frigate kept up this pace, without gaining six
feet. It was humiliating for one of the swiftest sailers in the American
navy. A stubborn anger seized the crew; the sailors abused the monster,
who, as before, disdained to answer them; the captain no longer contented
himself with twisting his beard -- he gnawed it.
The engineer was called again.
"You have turned full steam on?"
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
The speed of the Abraham Lincoln increased. Its masts trembled down to
their stepping holes, and the clouds of smoke could hardly find way out of
the narrow funnels.
They heaved the log a second time.
"Well?" asked the captain of the man at the wheel.
"Nineteen miles and three-tenths, sir."
"Clap on more steam."
The engineer obeyed. The manometer showed ten degrees. But the
cetacean grew warm itself, no doubt; for without straining itself, it made
19 3/10 miles.
What a pursuit! No, I cannot describe the emotion that vibrated
through me. Ned Land kept his post, harpoon in
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Page 35
hand. Several times the animal let us gain upon it. -- "We shall catch it!
we shall catch it!" cried the Canadian. But just as he was going to strike,
the cetacean stole away with a rapidity that could not be estimated at less
than thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied
the frigate, going round and round it. A cry of fury broke from everyone!
At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o'clock in the
morning.
The captain then decided to take more direct means.
"Ah!" said he, "that animal goes quicker than the Abraham Lincoln.
Very well! we will see whether it will escape these conical bullets. Send
your men to the forecastle, sir."
The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and slewed round. But the
shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.
"Another, more to the right," cried the commander, "and five dollars
to whoever will hit that infernal beast."
An old gunner with a grey beard -- that I can see now -- with steady
eye and grave face, went up to the gun and took a long aim. A loud report
was heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew.
The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, and, sliding off the
rounded surface, was lost in two miles depth of sea.
The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said:
"I will pursue that beast till my frigate bursts up."
"Yes," answered I; "and you will be quite right to do it."
I wished the beast would exhaust itself, and not be insensible to
fatigue like a steam engine. But it was of no use. Hours passed, without
its showing any signs of exhaustion.
However, it must be said in praise of the Abraham Lincoln that she
struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance she made under
three hundred miles during this unlucky day, November the 6th. But night
came on, and overshadowed the rough ocean.
Now I thought our expedition was at an end, and that we should never
again see the extraordinary animal. I was mistaken. At ten minutes to
eleven in the evening, the electric
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Page 36
light reappeared three miles to windward of the frigate, as pure, as
intense as during the preceding night.
The narwhal seemed motionless; perhaps, tired with its day's work, it
slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. Now was a
chance of which the captain resolved to take advantage.
He gave his orders. The Abraham Lincoln kept up half- steam, and
advanced cautiously so as not to awake its adversary. It is no rare thing
to meet in the middle of the ocean whales so sound asleep that they can be
successfully attacked, and Ned Land had harpooned more than one during its
sleep. The Canadian went to take his place again under the bowsprit.
The frigate approached noiselessly, stopped at two cables' lengths
from the animal, and following its track. No one breathed; a deep silence
reigned on the bridge. We were not a hundred feet from the burning focus,
the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.
At this moment, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw below me Ned
Land grappling the martingale in one hand, brandishing his terrible harpoon
in the other, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal. Suddenly his
arm straightened, and the harpoon was thrown; I heard the sonorous stroke
of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body. The electric light
went out suddenly, and two enormous waterspouts broke over the bridge of
the frigate, rushing like a torrent from stem to stern, overthrowing men,
and breaking the lashings of the spars. A fearful shock followed, and,
thrown over the rail without having time to stop myself, I fell into the
sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.7
AN UNKNOWN SPECIES OF WHALE
THIS unexpected fall so stunned me that I have no clear recollection
of my sensations at the time. I was at first drawn down to a depth of about
twenty feet. I am a good swimmer
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(though without pretending to rival Byron or Edgar Poe, who were masters of
the art), and in that plunge I did not lose my presence of mind. Two
vigorous strokes brought me to the surface of the water. My first care was
to look for the frigate. Had the crew seen me disappear? Had the Abraham
Lincoln veered round? Would the captain put out a boat? Might I hope to be
saved?
The darkness was intense. I caught a glimpse of a black mass
disappearing in the east, its beacon lights dying out in the distance. It
was the frigate! I was lost.
"Help, help!" I shouted, swimming towards the Abraham Lincoln in
desperation.
My clothes encumbered me; they seemed glued to my body, and paralysed
my movements.
I was sinking! I was suffocating!
"Help!"
This was my last cry. My mouth filled with water; I struggled against
being drawn down the abyss. Suddenly my clothes were seized by a strong
hand, and I felt myself quickly drawn up to the surface of the sea; and I
heard, yes, I heard these words pronounced in my ear:
"If master would be so good as to lean on my shoulder, master would
swim with much greater ease."
I seized with one hand my faithful Conseil's arm.
"Is it you?" said I, "you?"
"Myself," answered Conseil; "and waiting master's orders."
"That shock threw you as well as me into the sea?"
"No; but, being in my master's service, I followed him."
The worthy fellow thought that was but natural.
"And the frigate?" I asked.
"The frigate?" replied Conseil, turning on his back; "I think that
master had better not count too much on her."
"You think so?"
"I say that, at the time I threw myself into the sea, I heard the men
at the wheel say, 'The screw and the rudder are broken.'
"Broken?"
"Yes, broken by the monster's teeth. It is the only injury
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Page 38
the Abraham Lincoln has sustained. But it is a bad look-out for us -- she
no longer answers her helm."
"Then we are lost!"
"Perhaps so," calmly answered Conseil. "However, we have still several
hours before us, and one can do a good deal in some hours."
Conseil's imperturbable coolness set me up again. I swam more
vigorously; but, cramped by my clothes, which stuck to me like a leaden
weight, I felt great difficulty in bearing up. Conseil saw this.
"Will master let me make a slit?" said he; and, slipping an open knife
under my clothes, he ripped them up from top to bottom very rapidly. Then
he cleverly slipped them off me, while I swam for both of us.
Then I did the same for Conseil, and we continued to swim near to each
other.
Nevertheless, our situation was no less terrible. Perhaps our
disappearance had not been noticed; and, if it had been, the frigate could
not tack, being without its helm. Conseil argued on this supposition, and
laid his plans accordingly. This quiet boy was perfectly self-possessed. We
then decided that, as our only chance of safety was being picked up by the
Abraham Lincoln's boats, we ought to manage so as to wait for them as long
as possible. I resolved then to husband our strength, so that both should
not be exhausted at the same time; and this is how we managed: while one of
us lay on our back, quite still, with arms crossed, and legs stretched out,
the other would swim and push the other on in front. This towing business
did not last more than ten minutes each; and relieving each other thus, we
could swim on for some hours, perhaps till day-break. Poor chance! but hope
is so firmly rooted in the heart of man! Moreover, there were two of us.
Indeed I declare (though it may seem improbable) if I sought to destroy all
hope -- if I wished to despair, I could not.
The collision of the frigate with the cetacean had occurred about
eleven o'clock in the evening before. I reckoned then we should have eight
hours to swim before sunrise, an operation quite practicable if we relieved
each other. The
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Page 39
sea, very calm, was in our favour. Sometimes I tried to pierce the intense
darkness that was only dispelled by the phosphorescence caused by our
movements. I watched the luminous waves that broke over my hand, whose
mirror-like surface was spotted with silvery rings. One might have said
that we were in a bath of quicksilver.
Near one o'clock in the morning, I was seized with dreadful fatigue.
My limbs stiffened under the strain of violent cramp. Conseil was obliged
to keep me up, and our preservation devolved on him alone. I heard the poor
boy pant; his breathing became short and hurried. I found that he could not
keep up much longer.
"Leave me! leave me!" I said to him.
"Leave my master? Never!" replied he. "I would drown first."
Just then the moon appeared through the fringes of a thick cloud that
the wind was driving to the east. The surface of the sea glittered with its
rays. This kindly light reanimated us. My head got better again. I looked
at all points of the horizon. I saw the frigate! She was five miles from
us, and looked like a dark mass, hardly discernible. But no boats!
I would have cried out. But what good would it have been at such a
distance! My swollen lips could utter no sounds. Conseil could articulate
some words, and I heard him repeat at intervals, "Help! help!"
Our movements were suspended for an instant; we listened. It might be
only a singing in the ear, but it seemed to me as if a cry answered the cry
from Conseil.
"Did you hear?" I murmured.
"Yes! Yes!"
And Conseil gave one more despairing cry.
This time there was no mistake! A human voice responded to ours! Was
it the voice of another unfortunate creature, abandoned in the middle of
the ocean, some other victim of the shock sustained by the vessel? Or
rather was it a boat from the frigate, that was hailing us in the darkness?
Conseil made a last effort, and, leaning on my shoulder, while I
struck out in a desperate effort, he raised himself half out of the water,
then fell back exhausted.
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Page 40
"What did you see?"
"I saw -- " murmured he; "I saw -- but do not talk -- reserve all your
strength!"
What had he seen? Then, I know not why, the thought of the monster
came into my head for the first time! But that voice! The time is past for
Jonahs to take refuge in whales' bellies! However, Conseil was towing me
again. He raised his head sometimes, looked before us, and uttered a cry of
recognition, which was responded to by a voice that came nearer and nearer.
I scarcely heard it. My strength was exhausted; my fingers stiffened; my
hand afforded me support no longer; my mouth, convulsively opening, filled
with salt water. Cold crept over me. I raised my head for the last time,
then I sank.
At this moment a hard body struck me. I clung to it: then I felt that
I was being drawn up, that I was brought to the surface of the water, that
my chest collapsed -- I fainted.
It is certain that I soon came to, thanks to the vigorous rubbings
that I received. I half opened my eyes.
"Conseil!" I murmured.
"Does master call me?" asked Conseil.
Just then, by the waning light of the moon which was sinking down to
the horizon, I saw a face which was not Conseil's and which I immediately
recognised.
"Ned!" I cried.
"The same, sir, who is seeking his prize!" replied the Canadian.
"Were you thrown into the sea by the shock to the frigate?"
"Yes, Professor; but more fortunate than you, I was able to find a
footing almost directly upon a floating island."
"An island?"
"Or, more correctly speaking, on our gigantic narwhal."
"Explain yourself, Ned!"
"Only I soon found out why my harpoon had not entered its skin and was
blunted."
"Why, Ned, why?"
"Because, Professor, that beast is made of sheet iron."
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The Canadian's last words produced a sudden revolution in my brain. I
wriggled myself quickly to the top of the being, or object, half out of the
water, which served us for a refuge. I kicked it. It was evidently a hard,
impenetrable body, and not the soft substance that forms the bodies of the
great marine mammalia. But this hard body might be a bony covering, like
that of the antediluvian animals; and I should be free to class this
monster among amphibious reptiles, such as tortoises or alligators.
Well, no! the blackish back that supported me was smooth, polished,
without scales. The blow produced a metallic sound; and, incredible though
it may be, it seemed, I might say, as if it was made of riveted plates.
There was no doubt about it! This monster, this natural phenomenon
that had puzzled the learned world, and overthrown and misled the
imagination of seamen of both hemispheres, it must be owned was a still
more astonishing phenomenon, inasmuch as it was a simply human
construction.
We had no time to lose, however. We were lying upon the back of a sort
of submarine boat, which appeared (as far as I could judge) like a huge
fish of steel. Ned Land's mind was made up on this point. Conseil and I
could only agree with him.
Just then a bubbling began at the back of this strange thing (which
was evidently propelled by a screw), and it began to move. We had only just
time to seize hold of the upper part, which rose about seven feet out of
the water, and happily its speed was not great.
"As long as it sails horizontally," muttered Ned Land, "I do not mind;
but, if it takes a fancy to dive, I would not give two straws for my life."
The Canadian might have said still less. It became really necessary to
communicate with the beings, whatever they were, shut up inside the
machine. I searched all over the outside for an aperture, a panel, or a
manhole, to use a technical expression; but the lines of the iron rivets,
solidly driven into the joints of the iron plates, were clear and
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uniform. Besides, the moon disappeared then, and left us in total darkness.
At last this long night passed. My indistinct remembrance prevents my
describing all the impressions it made. I can only recall one circumstance.
During some lulls of the wind and sea, I fancied I heard several times
vague sounds, a sort of fugitive harmony produced by words of command. What
was, then, the mystery of this submarine craft, of which the whole world
vainly sought an explanation? What kind of beings existed in this strange
boat? What mechanical agent caused its prodigious speed?
Daybreak appeared. The morning mists surrounded us, but they soon
cleared off. I was about to examine the hull, which formed on deck a kind
of horizontal platform, when I felt it gradually sinking.
"Oh! confound it!" cried Ned Land, kicking the resounding plate.
"Open, you inhospitable rascals!"
Happily the sinking movement ceased. Suddenly a noise, like iron works
violently pushed aside, came from the interior of the boat. One iron plate
was moved, a man appeared, uttered an odd cry, and disappeared immediately.
Some moments after, eight strong men, with masked faces, appeared
noiselessly, and drew us down into their formidable machine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.8
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
THIS forcible abduction, so roughly carried out, was accomplished with
the rapidity of lightning. I shivered all over. Whom had we to deal with?
No doubt some new sort of pirates, who explored the sea in their own way.
Hardly had the narrow panel closed upon me, when I was enveloped in
darkness. My eyes, dazzled with the outer light, could distinguish nothing.
I felt my naked feet cling to the rungs of an iron ladder. Ned Land and
Conseil, firmly seized, followed
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me. At the bottom of the ladder, a door opened, and shut after us
immediately with a bang.
We were alone. Where, I could not say, hardly imagine. All was black,
and such a dense black that, after some minutes, my eyes had not been able
to discern even the faintest glimmer.
Meanwhile, Ned Land, furious at these proceedings, gave free vent to
his indignation.
"Confound it!" cried he, "here are people who come up to the Scotch
for hospitality. They only just miss being cannibals. I should not be
surprised at it, but I declare that they shall not eat me without my
protesting."
"Calm yourself, friend Ned, calm yourself," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Do not cry out before you are hurt. We are not quite done for yet."
"Not quite," sharply replied the Canadian, "but pretty near, at all
events. Things look black. Happily, my bowie- knife I have still, and I can
always see well enough to use it. The first of these pirates who lays a
hand on me -- "
"Do not excite yourself, Ned," I said to the harpooner, "and do not
compromise us by useless violence. Who knows that they will not listen to
us? Let us rather try to find out where we are."
I groped about. In five steps I came to an iron wall, made of plates
bolted together. Then turning back I struck against a wooden table, near
which were ranged several stools. The boards of this prison were concealed
under a thick mat, which deadened the noise of the feet. The bare walls
revealed no trace of window or door. Conseil, going round the reverse way,
met me, and we went back to the middle of the cabin, which measured about
twenty feet by ten. As to its height, Ned Land, in spite of his own great
height, could not measure it.
Half an hour had already passed without our situation being bettered,
when the dense darkness suddenly gave way to extreme light. Our prison was
suddenly lighted, that is to say, it became filled with a luminous matter,
so strong that I could not bear it at first. In its whiteness and intensity
I recognised that electric light which played round the
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submarine boat like a magnificent phenomenon of phosphorescence. After
shutting my eyes involuntarily, I opened them, and saw that this luminous
agent came from a half globe, unpolished, placed in the roof of the cabin.
"At last one can see," cried Ned Land, who, knife in hand, stood on
the defensive.
"Yes," said I; "but we are still in the dark about ourselves."
"Let master have patience," said the imperturbable Conseil.
The sudden lighting of the cabin enabled me to examine it minutely. It
only contained a table and five stools. The invisible door might be
hermetically sealed. No noise was heard. All seemed dead in the interior of
this boat. Did it move, did it float on the surface of the ocean, or did it
dive into its depths? I could not guess.
A noise of bolts was now heard, the door opened, and two men appeared.
One was short, very muscular, broad-shouldered, with robust limbs,
strong head, an abundance of black hair, thick moustache, a quick
penetrating look, and the vivacity which characterises the population of
Southern France.
The second stranger merits a more detailed description. I made out his
prevailing qualities directly: self-confidence -- because his head was well
set on his shoulders, and his black eyes looked around with cold assurance;
calmness -- for his skin, rather pale, showed his coolness of blood; energy
-- evinced by the rapid contraction of his lofty brows; and courage --
because his deep breathing denoted great power of lungs.
Whether this person was thirty-five or fifty years of age, I could not
say. He was tall, had a large forehead, straight nose, a clearly cut mouth,
beautiful teeth, with fine taper hands, indicative of a highly nervous
temperament. This man was certainly the most admirable specimen I had ever
met. One particular feature was his eyes, rather far from each other, and
which could take in nearly a quarter of the horizon at once.
This faculty -- (I verified it later) -- gave him a range of
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vision far superior to Ned Land's. When this stranger fixed upon an object,
his eyebrows met, his large eyelids closed around so as to contract the
range of his vision, and he looked as if he magnified the objects lessened
by distance, as if he pierced those sheets of water so opaque to our eyes,
and as if he read the very depths of the seas.
The two strangers, with caps made from the fur of the sea otter, and
shod with sea boots of seal's skin, were dressed in clothes of a particular
texture, which allowed free movement of the limbs. The taller of the two,
evidently the chief on board, examined us with great attention, without
saying a word; then, turning to his companion, talked with him in an
unknown tongue. It was a sonorous, harmonious, and flexible dialect, the
vowels seeming to admit of very varied accentuation.
The other replied by a shake of the head, and added two or three
perfectly incomprehensible words. Then he seemed to question me by a look.
I replied in good French that I did not know his language; but he
seemed not to understand me, and my situation became more embarrassing.
"If master were to tell our story," said Conseil, "perhaps these
gentlemen may understand some words."
I began to tell our adventures, articulating each syllable clearly,
and without omitting one single detail. I announced our names and rank,
introducing in person Professor Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and master
Ned Land, the harpooner.
The man with the soft calm eyes listened to me quietly, even politely,
and with extreme attention; but nothing in his countenance indicated that
he had understood my story. When I finished, he said not a word.
There remained one resource, to speak English. Perhaps they would know
this almost universal language. I knew it -- as well as the German language
-- well enough to read it fluently, but not to speak it correctly. But,
anyhow, we must make ourselves understood.
"Go on in your turn," I said to the harpooner; "speak your best
Anglo-Saxon, and try to do better than I."
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Page 46
Ned did not beg off, and recommenced our story.
To his great disgust, the harpooner did not seem to have made himself
more intelligible than I had. Our visitors did not stir. They evidently
understood neither the language of England nor of France.
Very much embarrassed, after having vainly exhausted our speaking
resources, I knew not what part to take, when Conseil said:
"If master will permit me, I will relate it in German."
But in spite of the elegant terms and good accent of the narrator, the
German language had no success. At last, nonplussed, I tried to remember my
first lessons, and to narrate our adventures in Latin, but with no better
success. This last attempt being of no avail, the two strangers exchanged
some words in their unknown language, and retired.
The door shut.
"It is an infamous shame," cried Ned Land, who broke out for the
twentieth time. "We speak to those rogues in French, English, German, and
Latin, and not one of them has the politeness to answer!"
"Calm yourself," I said to the impetuous Ned; "anger will do no good."
"But do you see, Professor," replied our irascible companion, "that we
shall absolutely die of hunger in this iron cage?"
"Bah!" said Conseil, philosophically; "we can hold out some time yet."
"My friends," I said, "we must not despair. We have been worse off
than this. Do me the favour to wait a little before forming an opinion upon
the commander and crew of this boat."
"My opinion is formed," replied Ned Land, sharply. "They are rascals."
"Good! and from what country?"
"From the land of rogues!"
"My brave Ned, that country is not clearly indicated on the map of the
world; but I admit that the nationality of the two strangers is hard to
determine. Neither English, French, nor German, that is quite certain.
However, I am
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Page 47
inclined to think that the commander and his companion were born in low
latitudes. There is southern blood in them. But I cannot decide by their
appearance whether they are Spaniards, Turks, Arabians, or Indians. As to
their language, it is quite incomprehensible."
"There is the disadvantage of not knowing all languages," said
Conseil, "or the disadvantage of not having one universal language."
As he said these words, the door opened. A steward entered. He brought
us clothes, coats and trousers, made of a stuff I did not know. I hastened
to dress myself, and my companions followed my example. During that time,
the steward -- dumb, perhaps deaf -- had arranged the table, and laid three
plates.
"This is something like!" said Conseil.
"Bah!" said the angry harpooner, "what do you suppose they eat here?
Tortoise liver, filleted shark, and beef- steaks from seadogs."
"We shall see," said Conseil.
The dishes, of bell metal, were placed on the table, and we took our
places. Undoubtedly we had to do with civilised people, and, had it not
been for the electric light which flooded us, I could have fancied I was in
the dining-room of the Adelphi Hotel at Liverpool, or at the Grand Hotel in
Paris. I must say, however, that there was neither bread nor wine. The
water was fresh and clear, but it was water and did not suit Ned Land's
taste. Amongst the dishes which were brought to us, I recognised several
fish delicately dressed; but of some, although excellent, I could give no
opinion, neither could I tell to what kingdom they belonged, whether animal
or vegetable. As to the dinner-service, it was elegant, and in perfect
taste. Each utensil -- spoon, fork, knife, plate -- had a letter engraved
on it, with a motto above it, of which this is an exact facsimile:
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
N
The letter N was no doubt the initial of the name of the enigmatical
person who commanded at the bottom of the seas.
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Page 48
Ned and Conseil did not reflect much. They devoured the food, and I
did likewise. I was, besides, reassured as to our fate; and it seemed
evident that our hosts would not let us die of want.
However, everything has an end, everything passes away, even the
hunger of people who have not eaten for fifteen hours. Our appetites
satisfied, we felt overcome with sleep.
"Faith! I shall sleep well," said Conseil.
"So shall I," replied Ned Land.
My two companions stretched themselves on the cabin carpet, and were
soon sound asleep. For my own part, too many thoughts crowded my brain, too
many insoluble questions pressed upon me, too many fancies kept my eyes
half open. Where were we? What strange power carried us on? I felt -- or
rather fancied I felt -- the machine sinking down to the lowest beds of the
sea. Dreadful nightmares beset me; I saw in these mysterious asylums a
world of unknown animals, amongst which this submarine boat seemed to be of
the same kind, living, moving, and formidable as they. Then my brain grew
calmer, my imagination wandered into vague unconsciousness, and I soon fell
into a deep sleep.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.9
NED LAND'S TEMPERS
How long we slept I do not know; but our sleep must have lasted long,
for it rested us completely from our fatigues. I woke first. My companions
had not moved, and were still stretched in their corner.
Hardly roused from my somewhat hard couch, I felt my brain freed, my
mind clear. I then began an attentive examination of our cell. Nothing was
changed inside. The prison was still a prison -- the prisoners, prisoners.
However, the steward, during our sleep, had cleared the table. I breathed
with difficulty. The heavy air seemed to oppress my lungs. Although the
cell was large, we had evidently
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Page 49
consumed a great part of the oxygen that it contained. Indeed, each man
consumes, in one hour, the oxygen contained in more than 176 pints of air,
and this air, charged (as then) with a nearly equal quantity of carbonic
acid, becomes unbreathable.
It became necessary to renew the atmosphere of our prison, and no
doubt the whole in the submarine boat. That gave rise to a question in my
mind. How would the commander of this floating dwelling-place proceed?
Would he obtain air by chemical means, in getting by heat the oxygen
contained in chlorate of potash, and in absorbing carbonic acid by caustic
potash? Or -- a more convenient, economical, and consequently more probable
alternative -- would he be satisfied to rise and take breath at the surface
of the water, like a whale, and so renew for twenty-four hours the
atmospheric provision?
In fact, I was already obliged to increase my respirations to eke out
of this cell the little oxygen it contained, when suddenly I was refreshed
by a current of pure air, and perfumed with saline emanations. It was an
invigorating sea breeze, charged with iodine. I opened my mouth wide, and
my lungs saturated themselves with fresh particles.
At the same time I felt the boat rolling. The iron-plated monster had
evidently just risen to the surface of the ocean to breathe, after the
fashion of whales. I found out from that the mode of ventilating the boat.
When I had inhaled this air freely, I sought the conduit pipe, which
conveyed to us the beneficial whiff, and I was not long in finding it.
Above the door was a ventilator, through which volumes of fresh air renewed
the impoverished atmosphere of the cell.
I was making my observations, when Ned and Conseil awoke almost at the
same time, under the influence of this reviving air. They rubbed their
eyes, stretched themselves, and were on their feet in an instant.
"Did master sleep well?" asked Conseil, with his usual politeness.
"Very well, my brave boy. And you, Mr. Land?"
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"Soundly, Professor. But, I don't know if I am right or not, there
seems to be a sea breeze!"
A seaman could not be mistaken, and I told the Canadian all that had
passed during his sleep.
"Good!" said he. "That accounts for those roarings we heard, when the
supposed narwhal sighted the Abraham Lincoln."
"Quite so, Master Land; it was taking breath."
"Only, Mr. Aronnax, I have no idea what o'clock it is, unless it is
dinner-time."
"Dinner-time! my good fellow? Say rather breakfast-time, for we
certainly have begun another day."
"So," said Conseil, "we have slept twenty-four hours?"
"That is my opinion."
"I will not contradict you," replied Ned Land. "But, dinner or
breakfast, the steward will be welcome, whichever he brings."
"Master Land, we must conform to the rules on board, and I suppose our
appetites are in advance of the dinner- hour."
"That is just like you, friend Conseil," said Ned, impatiently. "You
are never out of temper, always calm; you would return thanks before grace,
and die of hunger rather than complain!"
Time was getting on, and we were fearfully hungry; and this time the
steward did not appear. It was rather too long to leave us, if they really
had good intentions towards us. Ned Land, tormented by the cravings of
hunger, got still more angry; and, notwithstanding his promise, I dreaded
an explosion when he found himself with one of the crew.
For two hours more Ned Land's temper increased; he cried, he shouted,
but in vain. The walls were deaf. There was no sound to be heard in the
boat; all was still as death. It did not move, for I should have felt the
trembling motion of the hull under the influence of the screw. Plunged in
the depths of the waters, it belonged no longer to earth: this silence was
dreadful.
I felt terrified, Conseil was calm, Ned Land roared.
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Just then a noise was heard outside. Steps sounded on the metal flags.
The locks were turned, the door opened, and the steward appeared.
Before I could rush forward to stop him, the Canadian had thrown him
down, and held him by the throat. The steward was choking under the grip of
his powerful hand.
Conseil was already trying to unclasp the harpooner's hand from his
half-suffocated victim, and I was going to fly to the rescue, when suddenly
I was nailed to the spot by hearing these words in French:
"Be quiet, Master Land; and you, Professor, will you be so good as to
listen to me?"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.10
THE MAN OF THE SEAS
IT WAS the commander of the vessel who thus spoke.
At these words, Ned Land rose suddenly. The steward, nearly strangled,
tottered out on a sign from his master. But such was the power of the
commander on board, that not a gesture betrayed the resentment which this
man must have felt towards the Canadian. Conseil interested in spite of
himself, I stupefied, awaited in silence the result of this scene.
The commander, leaning against the corner of a table with his arms
folded, scanned us with profound attention. Did he hesitate to speak? Did
he regret the words which he had just spoken in French? One might almost
think so.
After some moments of silence, which not one of us dreamed of
breaking, "Gentlemen," said he, in a calm and penetrating voice, "I speak
French, English, German, and Latin equally well. I could, therefore, have
answered you at our first interview, but I wished to know you first, then
to reflect. The story told by each one, entirely agreeing in the main
points, convinced me of your identity. I know now that chance has brought
before me M. Pierre Aronnax, Professor of Natural History at the Museum of
Paris,
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entrusted with a scientific mission abroad, Conseil, his servant, and Ned
Land, of Canadian origin, harpooner on board the frigate Abraham Lincoln of
the navy of the United States of America."
I bowed assent. It was not a question that the commander put to me.
Therefore there was no answer to be made. This man expressed himself with
perfect ease, without any accent. His sentences were well turned, his words
clear, and his fluency of speech remarkable. Yet, I did not recognise in
him a fellow-countryman.
He continued the conversation in these terms:
"You have doubtless thought, sir, that I have delayed long in paying
you this second visit. The reason is that, your identity recognised, I
wished to weigh maturely what part to act towards you. I have hesitated
much. Most annoying circumstances have brought you into the presence of a
man who has broken all the ties of humanity. You have come to trouble my
existence."
"Unintentionally!" said I.
"Unintentionally?" replied the stranger, raising his voice a little.
"Was it unintentionally that the Abraham Lincoln pursued me all over the
seas? Was it unintentionally that you took passage in this frigate? Was it
unintentionally that your cannon-balls rebounded off the plating of my
vessel? Was it unintentionally that Mr. Ned Land struck me with his
harpoon?"
I detected a restrained irritation in these words. But to these
recriminations I had a very natural answer to make, and I made it.
"Sir," said I, "no doubt you are ignorant of the discussions which
have taken place concerning you in America and Europe. You do not know that
divers accidents, caused by collisions with your submarine machine, have
excited public feeling in the two continents. I omit the theories without
number by which it was sought to explain that of which you alone possess
the secret. But you must understand that, in pursuing you over the high
seas of the Pacific, the Abraham Lincoln believed itself to be chasing some
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Page 53
powerful sea-monster, of which it was necessary to rid the ocean at any
price."
A half-smile curled the lips of the commander: then, in a calmer tone:
"M. Aronnax," he replied, "dare you affirm that your frigate would not
as soon have pursued and cannonaded a submarine boat as a monster?"
This question embarrassed me, for certainly Captain Farragut might not
have hesitated. He might have thought it his duty to destroy a contrivance
of this kind, as he would a gigantic narwhal.
"You understand then, sir," continued the stranger, "that I have the
right to treat you as enemies?"
I answered nothing, purposely. For what good would it be to discuss
such a proposition, when force could destroy the best arguments?
"I have hesitated some time," continued the commander; nothing obliged
me to show you hospitality. If I chose to separate myself from you, I
should have no interest in seeing you again; I could place you upon the
deck of this vessel which has served you as a refuge, I could sink beneath
the waters, and forget that you had ever existed. Would not that be my
right?"
"It might be the right of a savage," I answered, "but not that of a
civilised man."
"Professor," replied the commander, quickly, "I am not what you call a
civilised man! I have done with society entirely, for reasons which I alone
have the right of appreciating. I do not, therefore, obey its laws, and I
desire you never to allude to them before me again!"
This was said plainly. A flash of anger and disdain kindled in the
eyes of the Unknown, and I had a glimpse of a terrible past in the life of
this man. Not only had he put himself beyond the pale of human laws, but he
had made himself independent of them, free in the strictest acceptation of
the word, quite beyond their reach! Who then would dare to pursue him at
the bottom of the sea, when, on its surface, he defied all attempts made
against him?
What vessel could resist the shock of his submarine monitor?
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Page 54
What cuirass, however thick, could withstand the blows of his spur? No man
could demand from him an account of his actions; God, if he believed in one
-- his conscience, if he had one -- were the sole judges to whom he was
answerable.
These reflections crossed my mind rapidly, whilst the stranger
personage was silent, absorbed, and as if wrapped up in himself. I regarded
him with fear mingled with interest, as, doubtless, OEdiphus regarded the
Sphinx.
After rather a long silence, the commander resumed the conversation.
"I have hesitated," said he, "but I have thought that my interest
might be reconciled with that pity to which every human being has a right.
You will remain on board my vessel, since fate has cast you there. You will
be free; and, in exchange for this liberty, I shall only impose one single
condition. Your word of honour to submit to it will suffice."
"Speak, sir," I answered. "I suppose this condition is one which a man
of honour may accept?"
"Yes, sir; it is this: It is possible that certain events, unforeseen,
may oblige me to consign you to your cabins for some hours or some days, as
the case may be. As I desire never to use violence, I expect from you, more
than all the others, a passive obedience. In thus acting, I take all the
responsibility: I acquit you entirely, for I make it an impossibility for
you to see what ought not to be seen. Do you accept this condition?"
Then things took place on board which, to say the least, were
singular, and which ought not to be seen by people who were not placed
beyond the pale of social laws. Amongst the surprises which the future was
preparing for me, this might not be the least.
"We accept," I answered; "only I will ask your permission, sir, to
address one question to you -- one only."
"Speak, sir."
"You said that we should be free on board."
"Entirely."
"I ask you, then, what you mean by this liberty?"
"Just the liberty to go, to come, to see, to observe even all that
passes here save under rare circumstances -- the
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liberty, in short, which we enjoy ourselves, my companions and I."
It was evident that we did not understand one another.
"Pardon me, sir," I resumed, "but this liberty is only what every
prisoner has of pacing his prison. It cannot suffice us."
"It must suffice you, however."
"What! we must renounce for ever seeing our country, our friends, our
relations again?"
"Yes, sir. But to renounce that unendurable worldly yoke which men
believe to be liberty is not perhaps so painful as you think."
"Well," exclaimed Ned Land, "never will I give my word of honour not
to try to escape."
"I did not ask you for your word of honour, Master Land," answered the
commander, coldly.
"Sir," I replied, beginning to get angry in spite of myself, "you
abuse your situation towards us; it is cruelty."
"No, sir, it is clemency. You are my prisoners of war. I keep you,
when I could, by a word, plunge you into the depths of the ocean. You
attacked me. You came to surprise a secret which no man in the world must
penetrate -- the secret of my whole existence. And you think that I am
going to send you back to that world which must know me no more? Never! In
retaining you, it is not you whom I guard -- it is myself."
These words indicated a resolution taken on the part of the commander,
against which no arguments would prevail.
"So, sir," I rejoined, "you give us simply the choice between life and
death?"
"Simply."
"My friends," said I, "to a question thus put, there is nothing to
answer. But no word of honour binds us to the master of this vessel."
"None, sir," answered the Unknown.
Then, in a gentler tone, he continued:
"Now, permit me to finish what I have to say to you. I know you, M.
Aronnax. You and your companions will not, perhaps, have so much to
complain of in the chance
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which has bound you to my fate. You will find amongst the books which are
my favourite study the work which you have published on 'the depths of the
sea.' I have often read it. You have carried out your work as far as
terrestrial science permitted you. But you do not know all -- you have not
seen all. Let me tell you then, Professor, that you will not regret the
time passed on board my vessel. You are going to visit the land of
marvels."
These words of the commander had a great effect upon me. I cannot deny
it. My weak point was touched; and I forgot, for a moment, that the
contemplation of these sublime subjects was not worth the loss of liberty.
Besides, I trusted to the future to decide this grave question. So I
contented myself with saying:
"By what name ought I to address you?"
"Sir," replied the commander, "I am nothing to you but Captain Nemo;
and you and your companions are nothing to me but the passengers of the
Nautilus."
Captain Nemo called. A steward appeared. The captain gave him his
orders in that strange language which I did not understand. Then, turning
towards the Canadian and Conseil:
"A repast awaits you in your cabin," said he. "Be so good as to follow
this man.
"And now, M. Aronnax, our breakfast is ready. Permit me to lead the
way."
"I am at your service, Captain."
I followed Captain Nemo; and as soon as I had passed through the door,
I found myself in a kind of passage lighted by electricity, similar to the
waist of a ship. After we had proceeded a dozen yards, a second door opened
before me.
I then entered a dining-room, decorated and furnished in severe taste.
High oaken sideboards, inlaid with ebony, stood at the two extremities of
the room, and upon their shelves glittered china, porcelain, and glass of
inestimable value. The plate on the table sparkled in the rays which the
luminous ceiling shed around, while the light was tempered and softened by
exquisite paintings.
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In the centre of the room was a table richly laid out. Captain Nemo
indicated the place I was to occupy.
The breakfast consisted of a certain number of dishes, the contents of
which were furnished by the sea alone; and I was ignorant of the nature and
mode of preparation of some of them. I acknowledged that they were good,
but they had a peculiar flavour, which I easily became accustomed to. These
different aliments appeared to me to be rich in phosphorus, and I thought
they must have a marine origin.
Captain Nemo looked at me. I asked him no questions, but he guessed my
thoughts, and answered of his own accord the questions which I was burning
to address to him.
"The greater part of these dishes are unknown to you," he said to me.
"However, you may partake of them without fear. They are wholesome and
nourishing. For a long time I have renounced the food of the earth, and I
am never ill now. My crew, who are healthy, are fed on the same food."
"So," said I, "all these eatables are the produce of the sea?"
"Yes, Professor, the sea supplies all my wants. Sometimes I cast my
nets in tow, and I draw them in ready to break. Sometimes I hunt in the
midst of this element, which appears to be inaccessible to man, and quarry
the game which dwells in my submarine forests. My flocks, like those of
Neptune's old shepherds, graze fearlessly in the immense prairies of the
ocean. I have a vast property there, which I cultivate myself, and which is
always sown by the hand of the Creator of all things."
"I can understand perfectly, sir, that your nets furnish excellent
fish for your table; I can understand also that you hunt aquatic game in
your submarine forests; but I cannot understand at all how a particle of
meat, no matter how small, can figure in your bill of fare."
"This, which you believe to be meat, Professor, is nothing else than
fillet of turtle. Here are also some dolphins' livers, which you take to be
ragout of pork. My cook is a clever fellow, who excels in dressing these
various products of the ocean. Taste all these dishes. Here is a preserve
of
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sea-cucumber, which a Malay would declare to be unrivalled in the world;
here is a cream, of which the milk has been furnished by the cetacea, and
the sugar by the great fucus of the North Sea; and, lastly, permit me to
offer you some preserve of anemones, which is equal to that of the most
delicious fruits."
I tasted, more from curiosity than as a connoisseur, whilst Captain
Nemo enchanted me with his extraordinary stories.
"You like the sea, Captain?"
"Yes; I love it! The sea is everything. It covers seven- tenths of the
terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert,
where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides. The sea
is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence. It is
nothing but love and emotion; it is the 'Living Infinite,' as one of your
poets has said. In fact, Professor, Nature manifests herself in it by her
three kingdoms -- mineral, vegetable, and animal. The sea is the vast
reservoir of Nature. The globe began with sea, so to speak; and who knows
if it will not end with it? In it is supreme tranquillity. The sea does not
belong to despots. Upon its surface men can still exercise unjust laws,
fight, tear one another to pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial
horrors. But at thirty feet below its level, their reign ceases, their
influence is quenched, and their power disappears. Ah! sir, live -- live in
the bosom of the waters! There only is independence! There I recognise no
masters! There I am free!"
Captain Nemo suddenly became silent in the midst of this enthusiasm,
by which he was quite carried away. For a few moments he paced up and down,
much agitated. Then he became more calm, regained his accustomed coldness
of expression, and turning towards me:
"Now, Professor," said he, "if you wish to go over the Nautilus, I am
at your service."
Captain Nemo rose. I followed him. A double door, contrived at the
back of the dining-room, opened, and I entered a room equal in dimensions
to that which I had just quitted.
It was a library. High pieces of furniture, of black violet ebony
inlaid with brass, supported upon their wide shelves
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a great number of books uniformly bound. They followed the shape of the
room, terminating at the lower part in huge divans, covered with brown
leather, which were curved, to afford the greatest comfort. Light movable
desks, made to slide in and out at will, allowed one to rest one's book
while reading. In the centre stood an immense table, covered with
pamphlets, amongst which were some newspapers, already of old date. The
electric light flooded everything; it was shed from four unpolished globes
half sunk in the volutes of the ceiling. I looked with real admiration at
this room, so ingeniously fitted up, and I could scarcely believe my eyes.
"Captain Nemo," said I to my host, who had just thrown himself on one
of the divans, "this is a library which would do honour to more than one of
the continental palaces, and I am absolutely astounded when I consider that
it can follow you to the bottom of the seas."
"Where could one find greater solitude or silence, Professor?" replied
Captain Nemo. "Did your study in the Museum afford you such perfect quiet?"
"No, sir; and I must confess that it is a very poor one after yours.
You must have six or seven thousand volumes here."
"Twelve thousand, M. Aronnax. These are the only ties which bind me to
the earth. But I had done with the world on the day when my Nautilus
plunged for the first time beneath the waters. That day I bought my last
volumes, my last pamphlets, my last papers, and from that time I wish to
think that men no longer think or write. These books, Professor, are at
your service besides, and you can make use of them freely."
I thanked Captain Nemo, and went up to the shelves of the library.
Works on science, morals, and literature abounded in every language; but I
did not see one single work on political economy; that subject appeared to
be strictly proscribed. Strange to say, all these books were irregularly
arranged, in whatever language they were written; and this medley proved
that the Captain of the Nautilus must have read indiscriminately the books
which he took up by chance.
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"Sir," said I to the Captain, "I thank you for having placed this
library at my disposal. It contains treasures of science, and I shall
profit by them."
"This room is not only a library," said Captain Nemo, "it is also a
smoking-room."
"A smoking-room!" I cried. "Then one may smoke on board?"
"Certainly."
"Then, sir, I am forced to believe that you have kept up a
communication with Havannah."
"Not any," answered the Captain. "Accept this cigar, M. Aronnax; and,
though it does not come from Havannah, you will be pleased with it, if you
are a connoisseur."
I took the cigar which was offered me; its shape recalled the London
ones, but it seemed to be made of leaves of gold. I lighted it at a little
brazier, which was supported upon an elegant bronze stem, and drew the
first whiffs with the delight of a lover of smoking who has not smoked for
two days.
"It is excellent, but it is not tobacco."
"No!" answered the Captain, "this tobacco comes neither from Havannah
nor from the East. It is a kind of sea-weed, rich in nicotine, with which
the sea provides me, but somewhat sparingly."
At that moment Captain Nemo opened a door which stood opposite to that
by which I had entered the library, and I passed into an immense
drawing-room splendidly lighted.
It was a vast, four-sided room, thirty feet long, eighteen wide, and
fifteen high. A luminous ceiling, decorated with light arabesques, shed a
soft clear light over all the marvels accumulated in this museum. For it
was in fact a museum, in which an intelligent and prodigal hand had
gathered all the treasures of nature and art, with the artistic confusion
which distinguishes a painter's studio.
Thirty first-rate pictures, uniformly framed, separated by bright
drapery, ornamented the walls, which were hung with tapestry of severe
design. I saw works of great value, the greater part of which I had admired
in the special collections of Europe, and in the exhibitions of paintings.
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Some admirable statues in marble and bronze, after the finest antique
models, stood upon pedestals in the corners of this magnificent museum.
Amazement, as the Captain of the Nautilus had predicted, had already begun
to take possession of me.
"Professor," said this strange man, "you must excuse the unceremonious
way in which I receive you, and the disorder of this room."
"Sir," I answered, "without seeking to know who you are, I recognise
in you an artist."
An amateur, nothing more, sir. Formerly I loved to collect these
beautiful works created by the hand of man. I sought them greedily, and
ferreted them out indefatigably, and I have been able to bring together
some objects of great value. These are my last souvenirs of that world
which is dead to me. In my eyes, your modern artists are already old; they
have two or three thousand years of existence; I confound them in my own
mind. Masters have no age."
Under elegant glass cases, fixed by copper rivets, were classed and
labelled the most precious productions of the sea which had ever been
presented to the eye of a naturalist. My delight as a professor may be
conceived.
Apart, in separate compartments, were spread out chaplets of pearls of
the greatest beauty, which reflected the electric light in little sparks of
fire; pink pearls, torn from the pinna-marina of the Red Sea; green pearls,
yellow, blue, and black pearls, the curious productions of the divers
molluscs of every ocean, and certain mussels of the water- courses of the
North; lastly, several specimens of inestimable value. Some of these pearls
were larger than a pigeon's egg, and were worth millions.
Therefore, to estimate the value of this collection was simply
impossible. Captain Nemo must have expended millions in the acquirement of
these various specimens, and I was thinking what source he could have drawn
from, to have been able thus to gratify his fancy for collecting, when I
was interrupted by these words:
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"You are examining my shells, Professor? Unquestionably they must be
interesting to a naturalist; but for me they have a far greater charm, for
I have collected them all with my own hand, and there is not a sea on the
face of the globe which has escaped my researches."
"I can understand, Captain, the delight of wandering about in the
midst of such riches. You are one of those who have collected their
treasures themselves. No museum in Europe possesses such a collection of
the produce of the ocean. But if I exhaust all my admiration upon it, I
shall have none left for the vessel which carries it. I do not wish to pry
into your secrets: but I must confess that this Nautilus, with the motive
power which is confined in it, the contrivances which enable it to be
worked, the powerful agent which propels it, all excite my curiosity to the
highest pitch. I see suspended on the walls of this room instruments of
whose use I am ignorant."
"You will find these same instruments in my own room, Professor, where
I shall have much pleasure in explaining their use to you. But first come
and inspect the cabin which is set apart for your own use. You must see how
you will be accommodated on board the Nautilus."
I followed Captain Nemo who, by one of the doors opening from each
panel of the drawing-room, regained the waist. He conducted me towards the
bow, and there I found, not a cabin, but an elegant room, with a bed,
dressing- table, and several other pieces of excellent furniture.
I could only thank my host.
"Your room adjoins mine," said he, opening a door, "and mine opens
into the drawing-room that we have just quitted."
I entered the Captain's room: it had a severe, almost a monkish
aspect. A small iron bedstead, a table, some articles for the toilet; the
whole lighted by a skylight. No comforts, the strictest necessaries only.
Captain Nemo pointed to a seat.
"Be so good as to sit down," he said. I seated myself, and he began
thus:
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.11
ALL BY ELECTRICITY
SIR," said Captain Nemo, showing me the instruments hanging on the
walls of his room, "here are the contrivances required for the navigation
of the Nautilus. Here, as in the drawing-room, I have them always under my
eyes, and they indicate my position and exact direction in the middle of
the ocean. Some are known to you, such as the thermometer, which gives the
internal temperature of the Nautilus; the barometer, which indicates the
weight of the air and foretells the changes of the weather; the hygrometer,
which marks the dryness of the atmosphere; the storm-glass, the contents of
which, by decomposing, announce the approach of tempests; the compass,
which guides my course; the sextant, which shows the latitude by the
altitude of the sun; chronometers, by which I calculate the longitude; and
glasses for day and night, which I use to examine the points of the
horizon, when the Nautilus rises to the surface of the waves."
"These are the usual nautical instruments," I replied, "and I know the
use of them. But these others, no doubt, answer to the particular
requirements of the Nautilus. This dial with movable needle is a manometer,
is it not?"
"It is actually a manometer. But by communication with the water,
whose external pressure it indicates, it gives our depth at the same time."
"And these other instruments, the use of which I cannot guess?"
"Here, Professor, I ought to give you some explanations. Will you be
kind enough to listen to me?"
He was silent for a few moments, then he said:
"There is a powerful agent, obedient, rapid, easy, which conforms to
every use, and reigns supreme on board my vessel. Everything is done by
means of it. It lights, warms it, and is the soul of my mechanical
apparatus. This agent is electricity."
"Electricity?" I cried in surprise.
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"Yes, sir."
"Nevertheless, Captain, you possess an extreme rapidity of movement,
which does not agree well with the power of electricity. Until now, its
dynamic force has remained under restraint, and has only been able to
produce a small amount of power."
"Professor," said Captain Nemo, "my electricity is not everybody's.
You know what sea-water is composed of. In a thousand grammes are found 96
1/2 per cent. of water, and about 2 2/3 per cent. of chloride of sodium;
then, in a smaller quantity, chlorides of magnesium and of potassium,
bromide of magnesium, sulphate of magnesia, sulphate and carbonate of lime.
You see, then, that chloride of sodium forms a large part of it. So it is
this sodium that I extract from the sea-water, and of which I compose my
ingredients. I owe all to the ocean; it produces electricity, and
electricity gives heat, light, motion, and, in a word, life to the
Nautilus."
"But not the air you breathe?"
"Oh! I could manufacture the air necessary for my consumption, but it
is useless, because I go up to the surface of the water when I please.
However, if electricity does not furnish me with air to breathe, it works
at least the powerful pumps that are stored in spacious reservoirs, and
which enable me to prolong at need, and as long as I will, my stay in the
depths of the sea. It gives a uniform and unintermittent light, which the
sun does not. Now look at this clock; it is electrical, and goes with a
regularity that defies the best chronometers. I have divided it into
twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, because for me there is neither
night nor day, sun nor moon, but only that factitious light that I take
with me to the bottom of the sea. Look! just now, it is ten o'clock in the
morning."
"Exactly."
"Another application of electricity. This dial hanging in front of us
indicates the speed of the Nautilus. An electric thread puts it in
communication with the screw, and the needle indicates the real speed.
Look! now we are spinning along with a uniform speed of fifteen miles an
hour."
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"It is marvelous! And I see, Captain, you were right to make use of
this agent that takes the place of wind, water, and steam."
"We have not finished, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo, rising. "If you
will allow me, we will examine the stern of the Nautilus."
Really, I knew already the anterior part of this submarine boat, of
which this is the exact division, starting from the ship's head: the
dining-room, five yards long, separated from the library by a water-tight
partition; the library, five yards long; the large drawing-room, ten yards
long, separated from the Captain's room by a second water-tight partition;
the said room, five yards in length; mine, two and a half yards; and,
lastly a reservoir of air, seven and a half yards, that extended to the
bows. Total length thirty- five yards, or one hundred and five feet. The
partitions had doors that were shut hermetically by means of india-rubber
instruments, and they ensured the safety of the Nautilus in case of a leak.
I followed Captain Nemo through the waist, and arrived at the centre
of the boat. There was a sort of well that opened between two partitions.
An iron ladder, fastened with an iron hook to the partition, led to the
upper end. I asked the Captain what the ladder was used for.
"It leads to the small boat," he said.
"What! have you a boat?" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"Of course; an excellent vessel, light and insubmersible, that serves
either as a fishing or as a pleasure boat."
"But then, when you wish to embark, you are obliged to come to the
surface of the water?"
"Not at all. This boat is attached to the upper part of the hull of
the Nautilus, and occupies a cavity made for it. It is decked, quite
water-tight, and held together by solid bolts. This ladder leads to a
man-hole made in the hull of the Nautilus, that corresponds with a similar
hole made in the side of the boat. By this double opening I get into the
small vessel. They shut the one belonging to the Nautilus; I shut the other
by means of screw pressure. I undo the bolts, and the little boat goes up
to the surface of the sea
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with prodigious rapidity. I then open the panel of the bridge, carefully
shut till then; I mast it, hoist my sail, take my oars, and I'm off."
"But how do you get back on board?"
"I do not come back, M. Aronnax; the Nautilus comes to me."
"By your orders?"
"By my orders. An electric thread connects us. I telegraph to it, and
that is enough."
"Really," I said, astonished at these marvels, "nothing can be more
simple."
After having passed by the cage of the staircase that led to the
platform, I saw a cabin six feet long, in which Conseil and Ned Land,
enchanted with their repast, were devouring it with avidity. Then a door
opened into a kitchen nine feet long, situated between the large
store-rooms. There electricity, better than gas itself, did all the
cooking. The streams under the furnaces gave out to the sponges of platina
a heat which was regularly kept up and distributed. They also heated a
distilling apparatus, which, by evaporation, furnished excellent drinkable
water. Near this kitchen was a bathroom comfortably furnished, with hot and
cold water taps.
Next to the kitchen was the berth-room of the vessel, sixteen feet
long. But the door was shut, and I could not see the management of it,
which might have given me an idea of the number of men employed on board
the Nautilus.
At the bottom was a fourth partition that separated this office from
the engine-room. A door opened, and I found myself in the compartment where
Captain Nemo -- certainly an engineer of a very high order -- had arranged
his locomotive machinery. This engine-room, clearly lighted, did not
measure less than sixty-five feet in length. It was divided into two parts;
the first contained the materials for producing electricity, and the second
the machinery that connected it with the screw. I examined it with great
interest, in order to understand the machinery of the Nautilus.
"You see," said the Captain, "I use Bunsen's contrivances, not
Ruhmkorff's. Those would not have been powerful
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enough. Bunsen's are fewer in number, but strong and large, which
experience proves to be the best. The electricity produced passes forward,
where it works, by electro- magnets of great size, on a system of levers
and cog-wheels that transmit the movement to the axle of the screw. This
one, the diameter of which is nineteen feet, and the thread twenty-three
feet, performs about 120 revolutions in a second."
"And you get then?"
"A speed of fifty miles an hour."
"I have seen the Nautilus manoeuvre before the Abraham Lincoln, and I
have my own ideas as to its speed. But this is not enough. We must see
where we go. We must be able to direct it to the right, to the left, above,
below. How do you get to the great depths, where you find an increasing
resistance, which is rated by hundreds of atmospheres? How do you return to
the surface of the ocean? And how do you maintain yourselves in the
requisite medium? Am I asking too much?"
"Not at all, Professor," replied the Captain, with some hesitation;
"since you may never leave this submarine boat. Come into the saloon, it is
our usual study, and there you will learn all you want to know about the
Nautilus."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.12
SOME FIGURES
A MOMENT after we were seated on a divan in the saloon smoking. The
Captain showed me a sketch that gave the plan, section, and elevation of
the Nautilus. Then he began his description in these words:
"Here, M. Aronnax, are the several dimensions of the boat you are in.
It is an elongated cylinder with conical ends. It is very like a cigar in
shape, a shape already adopted in London in several constructions of the
same sort. The length of this cylinder, from stem to stern, is exactly 232
feet, and its maximum breadth is twenty-six
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feet. It is not built quite like your long-voyage steamers, but its lines
are sufficiently long, and its curves prolonged enough, to allow the water
to slide off easily, and oppose no obstacle to its passage. These two
dimensions enable you to obtain by a simple calculation the surface and
cubic contents of the Nautilus. Its area measures 6,032 feet; and its
contents about 1,500 cubic yards; that is to say, when completely immersed
it displaces 50,000 feet of water, or weighs 1,500 tons.
"When I made the plans for this submarine vessel, I meant that
nine-tenths should be submerged: consequently it ought only to displace
nine-tenths of its bulk, that is to say, only to weigh that number of tons.
I ought not, therefore, to have exceeded that weight, constructing it on
the aforesaid dimensions.
"The Nautilus is composed of two hulls, one inside, the other outside,
joined by T-shaped irons, which render it very strong. Indeed, owing to
this cellular arrangement it resists like a block, as if it were solid. Its
sides cannot yield; it coheres spontaneously, and not by the closeness of
its rivets; and its perfect union of the materials enables it to defy the
roughest seas.
"These two hulls are composed of steel plates, whose density is from
.7 to .8 that of water. The first is not less than two inches and a half
thick and weighs 394 tons. The second envelope, the keel, twenty inches
high and ten thick, weighs only sixty-two tons. The engine, the ballast,
the several accessories and apparatus appendages, the partitions and
bulkheads, weigh 961.62 tons. Do you follow all this?"
"I do."
"Then, when the Nautilus is afloat under these circumstances,
one-tenth is out of the water. Now, if I have made reservoirs of a size
equal to this tenth, or capable of holding 150 tons, and if I fill them
with water, the boat, weighing then 1,507 tons, will be completely
immersed. That would happen, Professor. These reservoirs are in the lower
part of the Nautilus. I turn on taps and they fill, and the vessel sinks
that had just been level with the surface."
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"Well, Captain, but now we come to the real difficulty. I can
understand your rising to the surface; but, diving below the surface, does
not your submarine contrivance encounter a pressure, and consequently
undergo an upward thrust of one atmosphere for every thirty feet of water,
just about fifteen pounds per square inch?"
"Just so, sir."
"Then, unless you quite fill the Nautilus, I do not see how you can
draw it down to those depths."
"Professor, you must not confound statics with dynamics or you will be
exposed to grave errors. There is very little labour spent in attaining the
lower regions of the ocean, for all bodies have a tendency to sink. When I
wanted to find out the necessary increase of weight required to sink the
Nautilus, I had only to calculate the reduction of volume that sea-water
acquires according to the depth."
"That is evident."
"Now, if water is not absolutely incompressible, it is at least
capable of very slight compression. Indeed, after the most recent
calculations this reduction is only .000436 of an atmosphere for each
thirty feet of depth. If we want to sink 3,000 feet, I should keep account
of the reduction of bulk under a pressure equal to that of a column of
water of a thousand feet. The calculation is easily verified. Now, I have
supplementary reservoirs capable of holding a hundred tons. Therefore I can
sink to a considerable depth. When I wish to rise to the level of the sea,
I only let off the water, and empty all the reservoirs if I want the
Nautilus to emerge from the tenth part of her total capacity."
I had nothing to object to these reasonings.
"I admit your calculations, Captain," I replied; "I should be wrong to
dispute them since daily experience confirms them; but I foresee a real
difficulty in the way."
"What, sir?"
"When you are about 1,000 feet deep, the walls of the Nautilus bear a
pressure of 100 atmospheres. If, then, just now you were to empty the
supplementary reservoirs, to lighten the vessel, and to go up to the
surface, the pumps
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must overcome the pressure of 100 atmospheres, which is 1,500 lbs. per
square inch. From that a power -- "
"That electricity alone can give," said the Captain, hastily. "I
repeat, sir, that the dynamic power of my engines is almost infinite. The
pumps of the Nautilus have an enormous power, as you must have observed
when their jets of water burst like a torrent upon the Abraham Lincoln.
Besides, I use subsidiary reservoirs only to attain a mean depth of 750 to
1,000 fathoms, and that with a view of managing my machines. Also, when I
have a mind to visit the depths of the ocean five or six mlles below the
surface, I make use of slower but not less infallible means."
"What are they, Captain?"
"That involves my telling you how the Nautilus is worked."
"I am impatient to learn."
"To steer this boat to starboard or port, to turn, in a word,
following a horizontal plan, I use an ordinary rudder fixed on the back of
the stern-post, and with one wheel and some tackle to steer by. But I can
also make the Nautilus rise and sink, and sink and rise, by a vertical
movement by means of two inclined planes fastened to its sides, opposite
the centre of flotation, planes that move in every direction, and that are
worked by powerful levers from the interior. If the planes are kept
parallel with the boat, it moves horizontally. If slanted, the Nautilus,
according to this inclination, and under the influence of the screw, either
sinks diagonally or rises diagonally as it suits me. And even if I wish to
rise more quickly to the surface, I ship the screw, and the pressure of the
water causes the Nautilus to rise vertically like a balloon filled with
hydrogen."
"Bravo, Captain! But how can the steersman follow the route in the
middle of the waters?"
"The steersman is placed in a glazed box, that is raised about the
hull of the Nautilus, and furnished with lenses."
"Are these lenses capable of resisting such pressure?"
"Perfectly. Glass, which breaks at a blow, is, nevertheless, capable
of offering considerable resistance. During some experiments of fishing by
electric light in 1864 in the
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Northern Seas, we saw plates less than a third of an inch thick resist a
pressure of sixteen atmospheres. Now, the glass that I use is not less than
thirty times thicker."
"Granted. But, after all, in order to see, the light must exceed the
darkness, and in the midst of the darkness in the water, how can you see?"
"Behind the steersman's cage is placed a powerful electric reflector,
the rays from which light up the sea for half a mile in front."
"Ah! bravo, bravo, Captain! Now I can account for this phosphorescence
in the supposed narwhal that puzzled us so. I now ask you if the boarding
of the Nautilus* and of the Scotia, that has made such a noise, has been
the result of a chance rencontre?"
"Quite accidental, sir. I was sailing only one fathom below the
surface of the water when the shock came. It had no bad result."
"None, sir. But now, about your rencontre with the Abraham Lincoln?"
"Professor, I am sorry for one of the best vessels in the American
navy; but they attacked me, and I was bound to defend myself. I contented
myself, however, with putting the frigate hors de combat; she will not have
any difficulty in getting repaired at the next port."
"Ah, Commander! your Nautilus is certainly a marvellous boat."
"Yes, Professor; and I love it as if it were part of myself. If danger
threatens one of your vessels on the ocean, the first impression is the
feeling of an abyss above and below. On the Nautilus men's hearts never
fail them. No defects to be afraid of, for the double shell is as firm as
iron; no rigging to attend to; no sails for the wind to carry away; no
boilers to burst; no fire to fear, for the vessel is made of iron, not of
wood; no coal to run short, for electricity is the only mechanical agent;
no collision to fear, for it alone swims in deep water; no tempest to
brave, for when it dives below the water it reaches absolute tranquillity.
There, sir! that is the perfection of vessels! And if it is true that the
engineer has more confidence in the vessel than the
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builder, and the builder than the captain himself, you understand the trust
I repose in my Nautilus; for I am at once captain, builder, and engineer."
"But how could you construct this wonderful Nautilus in secret?"
"Each separate portion, M. Aronnax, was brought from different parts
of the globe."
"But these parts had to be put together and arranged?"
"Professor, I had set up my workshops upon a desert island in the
ocean. There my workmen, that is to say, the brave men that I instructed
and educated, and myself have put together our Nautilus. Then, when the
work was finished, fire destroyed all trace of our proceedings on this
island, that I could have jumped over if I had liked."
"Then the cost of this vessel is great?"
"M. Aronnax, an iron vessel costs L145 per ton. Now the Nautilus
weighed 1,500. It came therefore to L67,500, and L80,000 more for fitting
it up, and about L200,000, with the works of art and the collections it
contains."
"One last question, Captain Nemo."
"Ask it, Professor."
"You are rich?"
"Immensely rich, sir; and I could, without missing it, pay the
national debt of France."
I stared at the singular person who spoke thus. Was he playing upon my
credulity? The future would decide that.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.13
THE BLACK RIVER
THE portion of the terrestrial globe which is covered by water is
estimated at upwards of eighty millions of acres. This fluid mass comprises
two billions two hundred and fifty millions of cubic miles, forming a
spherical body of a diameter of sixty leagues, the weight of which would be
three quintillions of tons. To comprehend the meaning of these figures, it
is necessary to observe that a quintillion is
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to a billion as a billion is to unity; in other words, there are as many
billions in a quintillion as there are units in a billion. This mass of
fluid is equal to about the quantity of water which would be discharged by
all the rivers of the earth in forty thousand years.
During the geological epochs the ocean originally prevailed
everywhere. Then by degrees, in the silurian period, the tops of the
mountains began to appear, the islands emerged, then disappeared in partial
deluges, reappeared, became settled, formed continents, till at length the
earth became geographically arranged, as we see in the present day. The
solid had wrested from the liquid thirty-seven million six hundred and
fifty-seven square miles, equal to twelve billions nine hundred and sixty
millions of acres.
The shape of continents allows us to divide the waters into five great
portions: the Arctic or Frozen Ocean, the Antarctic, or Frozen Ocean, the
Indian, the Atlantic, and the Pacific Oceans.
The Pacific Ocean extends from north to south between the two Polar
Circles, and from east to west between Asia and America, over an extent of
145 degrees of longitude. It is the quietest of seas; its currents are
broad and slow, it has medium tides, and abundant rain. Such was the ocean
that my fate destined me first to travel over under these strange
conditions.
"Sir," said Captain Nemo, "we will, if you please, take our bearings
and fix the starting-point of this voyage. It is a quarter to twelve; I
will go up again to the surface."
The Captain pressed an electric clock three times. The pumps began to
drive the water from the tanks; the needle of the manometer marked by a
different pressure the ascent of the Nautilus, then it stopped.
"We have arrived," said the Captain.
I went to the central staircase which opened on to the platform,
clambered up the iron steps, and found myself on the upper part of the
Nautilus.
The platform was only three feet out of water. The front and back of
the Nautilus was of that spindle-shape which caused it justly to be
compared to a cigar. I noticed that its
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iron plates, slightly overlaying each other, resembled the shell which
clothes the bodies of our large terrestrial reptiles. It explained to me
how natural it was, in spite of all glasses, that this boat should have
been taken for a marine animal.
Toward the middle of the platform the longboat, half buried in the
hull of the vessel, formed a slight excrescence. Fore and aft rose two
cages of medium height with inclined sides, and partly closed by thick
lenticular glasses; one destined for the steersman who directed the
Nautilus, the other containing a brilliant lantern to give light on the
road.
The sea was beautiful, the sky pure. Scarcely could the long vehicle
feel the broad undulations of the ocean. A light breeze from the east
rippled the surface of the waters. The horizon, free from fog, made
observation easy. Nothing was in sight. Not a quicksand, not an island. A
vast desert.
Captain Nemo, by the help of his sextant, took the altitude of the
sun, which ought also to give the latitude. He waited for some moments till
its disc touched the horizon. Whilst taking observations not a muscle
moved, the instrument could not have been more motionless in a hand of
marble.
"Twelve o'clock, sir," said he. "When you like -- "
I cast a last look upon the sea, slightly yellowed by the Japanese
coast, and descended to the saloon.
"And now, sir, I leave you to your studies," added the Captain; "our
course is E.N.E., our depth is twenty-six fathoms. Here are maps on a large
scale by which you may follow it. The saloon is at your disposal, and, with
your permission, I will retire." Captain Nemo bowed, and I remained alone,
lost in thoughts all bearing on the commander of the Nautilus.
For a whole hour was I deep in these reflections, seeking to pierce
this mystery so interesting to me. Then my eyes fell upon the vast
planisphere spread upon the table, and I placed my finger on the very spot
where the given latitude and longitude crossed.
The sea has its large rivers like the continents. They are
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special currents known by their temperature and their colour. The most
remarkable of these is known by the name of the Gulf Stream. Science has
decided on the globe the direction of five principal currents: one in the
North Atlantic, a second in the South, a third in the North Pacific, a
fourth in the South, and a fifth in the Southern Indian Ocean. It is even
probable that a sixth current existed at one time or another in the
Northern Indian Ocean, when the Caspian and Aral Seas formed but one vast
sheet of water.
At this point indicated on the planisphere one of these currents was
rolling, the Kuro-Scivo of the Japanese, the Black River, which, leaving
the Gulf of Bengal, where it is warmed by the perpendicular rays of a
tropical sun, crosses the Straits of Malacca along the coast of Asia, turns
into the North Pacific to the Aleutian Islands, carrying with it trunks of
camphor-trees and other indigenous productions, and edging the waves of the
ocean with the pure indigo of its warm water. It was this current that the
Nautilus was to follow. I followed it with my eye; saw it lose itself in
the vastness of the Pacific, and felt myself drawn with it, when Ned Land
and Conseil appeared at the door of the saloon.
My two brave companions remained petrified at the sight of the wonders
spread before them.
"Where are we, where are we?" exclaimed the Canadian. "In the museum
at Quebec?"
"My friends," I answered, making a sign for them to enter, "you are
not in Canada, but on board the Nautilus, fifty yards below the level of
the sea."
"But, M. Aronnax," said Ned Land, "can you tell me how many men there
are on board? Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred?"
"I cannot answer you, Mr. Land; it is better to abandon for a time all
idea of seizing the Nautilus or escaping from it. This ship is a
masterpiece of modern industry, and I should be sorry not to have seen it.
Many people would accept the situation forced upon us, if only to move
amongst such wonders. So be quiet and let us try and see what passes around
us."
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"See!" exclaimed the harpooner, "but we can see nothing in this iron
prison! We are walking -- we are sailing -- blindly."
Ned Land had scarcely pronounced these words when all was suddenly
darkness. The luminous ceiling was gone, and so rapidly that my eyes
received a painful impression.
We remained mute, not stirring, and not knowing what surprise awaited
us, whether agreeable or disagreeable. A sliding noise was heard: one would
have said that panels were working at the sides of the Nautilus.
"It is the end of the end!" said Ned Land.
Suddenly light broke at each side of the saloon, through two oblong
openings. The liquid mass appeared vividly lit up by the electric gleam.
Two crystal plates separated us from the sea. At first I trembled at the
thought that this frail partition might break, but strong bands of copper
bound them, giving an almost infinite power of resistance.
The sea was distinctly visible for a mile all round the Nautilus. What
a spectacle! What pen can describe it? Who could paint the effects of the
light through those transparent sheets of water, and the softness of the
successive gradations from the lower to the superior strata of the ocean?
We know the transparency of the sea and that its clearness is far
beyond that of rock-water. The mineral and organic substances which it
holds in suspension heightens its transparency. In certain parts of the
ocean at the Antilles, under seventy-five fathoms of water, can be seen
with surprising clearness a bed of sand. The penetrating power of the solar
rays does not seem to cease for a depth of one hundred and fifty fathoms.
But in this middle fluid travelled over by the Nautilus, the electric
brightness was produced even in the bosom of the waves. It was no longer
luminous water, but liquid light.
On each side a window opened into this unexplored abyss. The obscurity
of the saloon showed to advantage the brightness outside, and we looked out
as if this pure crystal had been the glass of an immense aquarium.
"You wished to see, friend Ned; well, you see now."
"Curious! curious!" muttered the Canadian, who, forgetting
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his ill-temper, seemed to submit to some irresistible attraction; "and one
would come further than this to admire such a sight!"
"Ah!" thought I to myself, "I understand the life of this man; he has
made a world apart for himself, in which he treasures all his greatest
wonders."
For two whole hours an aquatic army escorted the Nautilus. During
their games, their bounds, while rivalling each other in beauty,
brightness, and velocity, I distinguished the green labre; the banded
mullet, marked by a double line of black; the round-tailed goby, of a white
colour, with violet spots on the back; the Japanese scombrus, a beautiful
mackerel of these seas, with a blue body and silvery head; the brilliant
azurors, whose name alone defies description; some banded spares, with
variegated fins of blue and yellow; the woodcocks of the seas, some
specimens of which attain a yard in length; Japanese salamanders, spider
lampreys, serpents six feet long, with eyes small and lively, and a huge
mouth bristling with teeth; with many other species.
Our imagination was kept at its height, interjections followed quickly
on each other. Ned named the fish, and Conseil classed them. I was in
ecstasies with the vivacity of their movements and the beauty of their
forms. Never had it been given to me to surprise these animals, alive and
at liberty, in their natural element. I will not mention all the varieties
which passed before my dazzled eyes, all the collection of the seas of
China and Japan. These fish, more numerous than the birds of the air, came,
attracted, no doubt, by the brilliant focus of the electric light.
Suddenly there was daylight in the saloon, the iron panels closed
again, and the enchanting vision disappeared. But for a long time I dreamt
on, till my eyes fell on the instruments hanging on the partition. The
compass still showed the course to be E.N.E., the manometer indicated a
pressure of five atmospheres, equivalent to a depth of twenty- five
fathoms, and the electric log gave a speed of fifteen miles an hour. I
expected Captain Nemo, but he did not appear. The clock marked the hour of
five.
Ned Land and Conseil returned to their cabin, and I
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retired to my chamber. My dinner was ready. It was composed of turtle soup
made of the most delicate hawks- bills, of a surmullet served with puff
paste (the liver of which, prepared by itself, was most delicious), and
fillets of the emperor-holocanthus, the savour of which seemed to me
superior even to salmon.
I passed the evening reading, writing, and thinking. Then sleep
overpowered me, and I stretched myself on my couch of zostera, and slept
profoundly, whilst the Nautilus was gliding rapidly through the current of
the Black River.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.14
A NOTE OF INVITATION
THE next day was the 9th of November. I awoke after a long sleep of
twelve hours. Conseil came, according to custom, to know "how I passed the
night," and to offer his services. He had left his friend the Canadian
sleeping like a man who had never done anything else all his life. I let
the worthy fellow chatter as be pleased, without caring to answer him. I
was preoccupied by the absence of the Captain during our sitting of the day
before, and hoping to see him to-day.
As soon as I was dressed I went into the saloon. It was deserted. I
plunged into the study of the shell treasures hidden behind the glasses.
The whole day passed without my being honoured by a visit from Captain
Nemo. The panels of the saloon did not open. Perhaps they did not wish us
to tire of these beautiful things.
The course of the Nautilus was E.N.E., her speed twelve knots, the
depth below the surface between twenty-five and thirty fathoms.
The next day, 10th of November, the same desertion, the same solitude.
I did not see one of the ship's crew: Ned and Conseil spent the greater
part of the day with me. They were astonished at the puzzling absence of
the Captain. Was
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this singular man ill? -- had he altered his intentions with regard to us?
After all, as Conseil said, we enjoyed perfect liberty, we were
delicately and abundantly fed. Our host kept to his terms of the treaty. We
could not complain, and, indeed, the singularity of our fate reserved such
wonderful compensation for us that we had no right to accuse it as yet.
That day I commenced the journal of these adventures which has enabled
me to relate them with more scrupulous exactitude and minute detail.
11th November, early in the morning. The fresh air spreading over the
interior of the Nautilus told me that we had come to the surface of the
ocean to renew our supply of oxygen. I directed my steps to the central
staircase, and mounted the platform.
It was six o'clock, the weather was cloudy, the sea grey, but calm.
Scarcely a billow. Captain Nemo, whom I hoped to meet, would he be there? I
saw no one but the steersman imprisoned in his glass cage. Seated upon the
projection formed by the hull of the pinnace, I inhaled the salt breeze
with delight.
By degrees the fog disappeared under the action of the sun's rays, the
radiant orb rose from behind the eastern horizon. The sea flamed under its
glance like a train of gunpowder. The clouds scattered in the heights were
coloured with lively tints of beautiful shades, and numerous "mare's
tails," which betokened wind for that day. But what was wind to this
Nautilus, which tempests could not frighten!
I was admiring this joyous rising of the sun, so gay, and so
life-giving, when I heard steps approaching the platform. I was prepared to
salute Captain Nemo, but it was his second (whom I had already seen on the
Captain's first visit) who appeared. He advanced on the platform, not
seeming to see me. With his powerful glass to his eye, he scanned every
point of the horizon with great attention. This examination over, he
approached the panel and pronounced a sentence in exactly these terms. I
have remembered
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it, for every morning it was repeated under exactly the same conditions. It
was thus worded:
"Nautron respoc lorni virch."
What it meant I could not say.
These words pronounced, the second descended. I thought that the
Nautilus was about to return to its submarine navigation. I regained the
panel and returned to my chamber.
Five days sped thus, without any change in our situation. Every
morning I mounted the platform. The same phrase was pronounced by the same
individual. But Captain Nemo did not appear.
I had made up my mind that I should never see him again, when, on the
16th November, on returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found upon
my table a note addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was written in
a bold, clear hand, the characters rather pointed, recalling the German
type. The note was worded as follows: TO PROFESSOR ARONNAX,
On board the Nautilus.
16th of November, 1867.
Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting- party, which will
take place to-morrow morning in the forests of the Island of Crespo. He
hopes that nothing will prevent the Professor from being present, and he
will with pleasure see him joined by his companions. CAPTAIN NEMO,
Commander of the Nautilus.
"A hunt!" exclaimed Ned.
"And in the forests of the Island of Crespo!" added Conseil.
"Oh! then the gentleman is going on terra firma?" replied Ned Land.
"That seems to me to be clearly indicated," said I, reading the letter
once more.
"Well, we must accept," said the Canadian. "But once more on dry
ground, we shall know what to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a
piece of fresh venison."
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Without seeking to reconcile what was contradictory between Captain
Nemo's manifest aversion to islands and continents, and his invitation to
hunt in a forest, I contented myself with replying:
"Let us first see where the Island of Crespo is."
I consulted the planisphere, and in 32° 40' N. lat. and 157° 50' W.
long., I found a small island, recognised in 1801 by Captain Crespo, and
marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la Plata, the meaning of
which is The Silver Rock. We were then about eighteen hundred miles from
our starting-point, and the course of the Nautilus, a little changed, was
bringing it back towards the southeast.
I showed this little rock, lost in the midst of the North Pacific, to
my companions.
"If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground," said I, "he at
least chooses desert islands."
Ned Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he
left me.
After supper, which was served by the steward, mute and impassive, I
went to bed, not without some anxiety.
The next morning, the 17th of November, on awakening, I felt that the
Nautilus was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the saloon.
Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and asked me
if it was convenient for me to accompany him. As he made no allusion to his
absence during the last eight days, I did not mention it, and simply
answered that my companions and myself were ready to follow him.
We entered the dining-room, where breakfast was served.
"M. Aronnax," said the Captain, "pray, share my breakfast without
ceremony; we will chat as we eat. For, though I promised you a walk in the
forest, I did not undertake to find hotels there. So breakfast as a man who
will most likely not have his dinner till very late."
I did honour to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish,
and slices of sea-cucumber, and different sorts of seaweed. Our drink
consisted of pure water, to which the Captain added some drops of a
fermented liquor, extracted
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by the Kamschatcha method from a seaweed known under the name of Rhodomenia
palmata. Captain Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began:
"Sir, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of Crespo,
you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge lightly of any
man."
"But Captain, believe me -- "
"Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any
cause to accuse me of folly and contradiction."
"I listen."
"You know as well as I do, Professor, that man can live under water,
providing he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In
submarine works, the workman, clad in an impervious dress, with his head in
a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of forcing pumps and
regulators."
"That is a diving apparatus," said I.
"Just so, but under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is
attached to the pump which sends him air through an india-rubber tube, and
if we were obliged to be thus held to the Nautilus, we could not go far."
"And the means of getting free?" I asked.
"It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own
countrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use, and which
will allow you to risk yourself under these new physiological conditions
without any organ whatever suffering. It consists of a reservoir of thick
iron plates, in which I store the air under a pressure of fifty
atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on the back by means of braces, like a
soldier's knapsack. Its upper part forms a box in which the air is kept by
means of a bellows, and therefore cannot escape unless at its normal
tension. In the Rouquayrol apparatus such as we use, two india- rubber
pipes leave this box and join a sort of tent which holds the nose and
mouth; one is to introduce fresh air, the other to let out the foul, and
the tongue closes one or the other according to the wants of the
respirator. But I, in encountering great pressures at the bottom of the
sea, was obliged to shut my head, like that of a diver in a ball
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of copper; and it is to this ball of copper that the two pipes, the
inspirator and the expirator, open."
"Perfectly, Captain Nemo; but the air that you carry with you must
soon be used; when it only contains fifteen per cent. of oxygen it is no
longer fit to breathe."
"Right! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the Nautilus
allow me to store the air under considerable pressure, and on those
conditions the reservoir of the apparatus can furnish breathable air for
nine or ten hours."
"I have no further objections to make," I answered. "I will only ask
you one thing, Captain -- how can you light your road at the bottom of the
sea?"
"With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax; one is carried on the back,
the other is fastened to the waist. It is composed of a Bunsen pile, which
I do not work with bichromate of potash, but with sodium. A wire is
introduced which collects the electricity produced, and directs it towards
a particularly made lantern. In this lantern is a spiral glass which
contains a small quantity of carbonic gas. When the apparatus is at work
this gas becomes luminous, giving out a white and continuous light. Thus
provided, I can breathe and I can see."
"Captain Nemo, to all my objections you make such crushing answers
that I dare no longer doubt. But, if I am forced to admit the Rouquayrol
and Ruhmkorff apparatus, I must be allowed some reservations with regard to
the gun I am to carry."
"But it is not a gun for powder," answered the Captain.
"Then it is an air-gun."
"Doubtless! How would you have me manufacture gunpowder on board,
without either saltpetre, sulphur, or charcoal?"
"Besides," I added, "to fire under water in a medium eight hundred and
fifty-five times denser than the air, we must conquer very considerable
resistance."
"That would be no difficulty. There exist guns, according to Fulton,
perfected in England by Philip Coles and Burley, in France by Furcy, and in
Italy by Landi, which are furnished with a peculiar system of closing,
which can fire
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under these conditions. But I repeat, having no powder, I use air under
great pressure, which the pumps of the Nautilus furnish abundantly."
"But this air must be rapidly used?"
"Well, have I not my Rouquayrol reservoir, which can furnish it at
need? A tap is all that is required. Besides M. Aronnax, you must see
yourself that, during our submarine hunt, we can spend but little air and
but few balls."
"But it seems to me that in this twilight, and in the midst of this
fluid, which is very dense compared with the atmosphere, shots could not go
far, nor easily prove mortal."
"Sir, on the contrary, with this gun every blow is mortal; and,
however lightly the animal is touched, it falls as if struck by a
thunderbolt."
"Why?"
"Because the balls sent by this gun are not ordinary balls, but little
cases of glass. These glass cases are covered with a case of steel, and
weighted with a pellet of lead; they are real Leyden bottles, into which
the electricity is forced to a very high tension. With the slightest shock
they are discharged, and the animal, however strong it may be, falls dead.
I must tell you that these cases are size number four, and that the charge
for an ordinary gun would be ten."
"I will argue no longer," I replied, rising from the table. "I have
nothing left me but to take my gun. At all events, I will go where you go."
Captain Nemo then led me aft; and in passing before Ned's and
Conseil's cabin, I called my two companions, who followed promptly. We then
came to a cell near the machinery-room, in which we put on our
walking-dress.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.15
A WALK ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA
THIS cell was, to speak correctly, the arsenal and wardrobe of the
Nautilus. A dozen diving apparatuses hung from the partition waiting our
use.
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Ned Land, on seeing them, showed evident repugnance to dress himself
in one.
"But, my worthy Ned, the forests of the Island of Crespo are nothing
but submarine forests."
"Good!" said the disappointed harpooner, who saw his dreams of fresh
meat fade away. "And you, M. Aronnax, are you going to dress yourself in
those clothes?"
"There is no alternative, Master Ned."
"As you please, sir," replied the harpooner, shrugging his shoulders;
"but, as for me, unless I am forced, I will never get into one."
"No one will force you, Master Ned," said Captain Nemo.
"Is Conseil going to risk it?" asked Ned.
"I follow my master wherever he goes," replied Conseil.
At the Captain's call two of the ship's crew came to help us dress in
these heavy and impervious clothes, made of india-rubber without seam, and
constructed expressly to resist considerable pressure. One would have
thought it a suit of armour, both supple and resisting. This suit formed
trousers and waistcoat. The trousers were finished off with thick boots,
weighted with heavy leaden soles. The texture of the waistcoat was held
together by bands of copper, which crossed the chest, protecting it from
the great pressure of the water, and leaving the lungs free to act; the
sleeves ended in gloves, which in no way restrained the movement of the
hands. There was a vast difference noticeable between these consummate
apparatuses and the old cork breastplates, jackets, and other contrivances
in vogue during the eighteenth century.
Captain Nemo and one of his companions (a sort of Hercules, who must
have possessed great strength), Conseil and myself were soon enveloped in
the dresses. There remained nothing more to be done but to enclose our
heads in the metal box. But, before proceeding to this operation, I asked
the Captain's permission to examine the guns.
One of the Nautilus men gave me a simple gun, the butt end of which,
made of steel, hollow in the centre, was rather large. It served as a
reservoir for compressed air, which a valve, worked by a spring, allowed to
escape into
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a metal tube. A box of projectiles in a groove in the thickness of the butt
end contained about twenty of these electric balls, which, by means of a
spring, were forced into the barrel of the gun. As soon as one shot was
fired, another was ready.
"Captain Nemo," said I, "this arm is perfect, and easily handled: I
only ask to be allowed to try it. But how shall we gain the bottom of the
sea?"
"At this moment, Professor, the Nautilus is stranded in five fathoms,
and we have nothing to do but to start."
"But how shall we get off?"
"You shall see."
Captain Nemo thrust his head into the helmet, Conseil and I did the
same, not without hearing an ironical "Good sport!" from the Canadian. The
upper part of our dress terminated in a copper collar upon which was
screwed the metal helmet. Three holes, protected by thick glass, allowed us
to see in all directions, by simply turning our head in the interior of the
head-dress. As soon as it was in position, the Rouquayrol apparatus on our
backs began to act; and, for my part, I could breathe with ease.
With the Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, and the gun in my hand,
I was ready to set out. But to speak the truth, imprisoned in these heavy
garments, and glued to the deck by my leaden soles, it was impossible for
me to take a step.
But this state of things was provided for. I felt myself being pushed
into a little room contiguous to the wardrobe- room. My companions
followed, towed along in the same way. I heard a water-tight door,
furnished with stopper- plates, close upon us, and we were wrapped in
profound darkness.
After some minutes, a loud hissing was heard. I felt the cold mount
from my feet to my chest. Evidently from some part of the vessel they had,
by means of a tap, given entrance to the water, which was invading us, and
with which the room was soon filled. A second door cut in the side of the
Nautilus then opened. We saw a faint light. In another instant our feet
trod the bottom of the sea.
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And now, how can I retrace the impression left upon me by that walk
under the waters? Words are impotent to relate such wonders! Captain Nemo
walked in front, his companion followed some steps behind. Conseil and I
remained near each other, as if an exchange of words had been possible
through our metallic cases. I no longer felt the weight of my clothing, or
of my shoes, of my reservoir of air, or my thick helmet, in the midst of
which my head rattled like an almond in its shell.
The light, which lit the soil thirty feet below the surface of the
ocean, astonished me by its power. The solar rays shone through the watery
mass easily, and dissipated all colour, and I clearly distinguished objects
at a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Beyond that the tints darkened
into fine gradations of ultramarine, and faded into vague obscurity. Truly
this water which surrounded me was but another air denser than the
terrestrial atmosphere, but almost as transparent. Above me was the calm
surface of the sea. We were walking on fine, even sand, not wrinkled, as on
a flat shore, which retains the impression of the billows. This dazzling
carpet, really a reflector, repelled the rays of the sun with wonderful
intensity, which accounted for the vibration which penetrated every atom of
liquid. Shall I be believed when I say that, at the depth of thirty feet, I
could see as if I was in broad daylight?
For a quarter of an hour I trod on this sand, sown with the impalpable
dust of shells. The hull of the Nautilus, resembling a long shoal,
disappeared by degrees; but its lantern, when darkness should overtake us
in the waters, would help to guide us on board by its distinct rays.
Soon forms of objects outlined in the distance were discernible. I
recognised magnificent rocks, hung with a tapestry of zoophytes of the most
beautiful kind, and I was at first struck by the peculiar effect of this
medium.
It was then ten in the morning; the rays of the sun struck the surface
of the waves at rather an oblique angle, and at the touch of their light,
decomposed by refraction as through a prism, flowers, rocks, plants,
shells, and polypi were shaded at the edges by the seven solar colours. It
was marvellous,
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a feast for the eyes, this complication of coloured tints, a perfect
kaleidoscope of green, yellow, orange, violet, indigo, and blue; in one
word, the whole palette of an enthusiastic colourist! Why could I not
communicate to Conseil the lively sensations which were mounting to my
brain, and rival him in expressions of admiration? For aught I knew,
Captain Nemo and his companion might be able to exchange thoughts by means
of signs previously agreed upon. So, for want of better, I talked to
myself; I declaimed in the copper box which covered my head, thereby
expending more air in vain words than was perhaps wise.
Various kinds of isis, clusters of pure tuft-coral, prickly fungi, and
anemones formed a brilliant garden of flowers, decked with their
collarettes of blue tentacles, sea-stars studding the sandy bottom. It was
a real grief to me to crush under my feet the brilliant specimens of
molluscs which strewed the ground by thousands, of hammerheads, donaciae
(veritable bounding shells), of staircases, and red helmet-shells,
angel-wings, and many others produced by this inexhaustible ocean. But we
were bound to walk, so we went on, whilst above our heads waved medusae
whose umbrellas of opal or rose-pink, escalloped with a band of blue,
sheltered us from the rays of the sun and fiery pelagiae, which, in the
darkness, would have strewn our path with phosphorescent light.
All these wonders I saw in the space of a quarter of a mile, scarcely
stopping, and following Captain Nemo, who beckoned me on by signs. Soon the
nature of the soil changed; to the sandy plain succeeded an extent of slimy
mud which the Americans call "ooze," composed of equal parts of silicious
and calcareous shells. We then travelled over a plain of seaweed of wild
and luxuriant vegetation. This sward was of close texture, and soft to the
feet, and rivalled the softest carpet woven by the hand of man. But whilst
verdure was spread at our feet, it did not abandon our heads. A light
network of marine plants, of that inexhaustible family of seaweeds of which
more than two thousand kinds are known, grew on the surface of the water.
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I noticed that the green plants kept nearer the top of the sea, whilst the
red were at a greater depth, leaving to the black or brown the care of
forming gardens and parterres in the remote beds of the ocean.
We had quitted the Nautilus about an hour and a half. It was near
noon; I knew by the perpendicularity of the sun's rays, which were no
longer refracted. The magical colours disappeared by degrees, and the
shades of emerald and sapphire were effaced. We walked with a regular step,
which rang upon the ground with astonishing intensity; the slightest noise
was transmitted with a quickness to which the ear is unaccustomed on the
earth; indeed, water is a better conductor of sound than air, in the ratio
of four to one. At this period the earth sloped downwards; the light took a
uniform tint. We were at a depth of a hundred and five yards and twenty
inches, undergoing a pressure of six atmospheres.
At this depth I could still see the rays of the sun, though feebly; to
their intense brilliancy had succeeded a reddish twilight, the lowest state
between day and night; but we could still see well enough; it was not
necessary to resort to the Ruhmkorff apparatus as yet. At this moment
Captain Nemo stopped; he waited till I joined him, and then pointed to an
obscure mass, looming in the shadow, at a short distance.
"It is the forest of the Island of Crespo," thought I; and I was not
mistaken.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.16
A SUBMARINE FOREST
WE HAD at last arrived on the borders of this forest, doubtless one of
the finest of Captain Nemo's immense domains. He looked upon it as his own,
and considered he had the same right over it that the first men had in the
first days of the world. And, indeed, who would have disputed with him the
possession of this submarine property? What other
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hardier pioneer would come, hatchet in hand, to cut down the dark copses?
This forest was composed of large tree-plants; and the moment we
penetrated under its vast arcades, I was struck by the singular position of
their branches -- a position I had not yet observed.
Not an herb which carpeted the ground, not a branch which clothed the
trees, was either broken or bent, nor did they extend horizontally; all
stretched up to the surface of the ocean. Not a filament, not a ribbon,
however thin they might be, but kept as straight as a rod of iron. The fuci
and llianas grew in rigid perpendicular lines, due to the density of the
element which had produced them. Motionless yet, when bent to one side by
the hand, they directly resumed their former position. Truly it was the
region of perpendicularity!
I soon accustomed myself to this fantastic position, as well as to the
comparative darkness which surrounded us. The soil of the forest seemed
covered with sharp blocks, difficult to avoid. The submarine flora struck
me as being very perfect, and richer even than it would have been in the
arctic or tropical zones, where these productions are not so plentiful. But
for some minutes I involuntarily confounded the genera, taking animals for
plants; and who would not have been mistaken? The fauna and the flora are
too closely allied in this submarine world.
These plants are self-propagated, and the principle of their existence
is in the water, which upholds and nourishes them. The greater number,
instead of leaves, shoot forth blades of capricious shapes, comprised
within a scale of colours pink, carmine, green, olive, fawn, and brown.
"Curious anomaly, fantastic element!" said an ingenious naturalist,
"in which the animal kingdom blossoms, and the vegetable does not!"
In about an hour Captain Nemo gave the signal to halt; I, for my part,
was not sorry, and we stretched ourselves under an arbour of alariae, the
long thin blades of which stood up like arrows.
This short rest seemed delicious to me; there was nothing
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wanting but the charm of conversation; but, impossible to speak, impossible
to answer, I only put my great copper head to Conseil's. I saw the worthy
fellow's eyes glistening with delight, and, to show his satisfaction, he
shook himself in his breastplate of air, in the most comical way in the
world.
After four hours of this walking, I was surprised not to find myself
dreadfully hungry. How to account for this state of the stomach I could not
tell. But instead I felt an insurmountable desire to sleep, which happens
to all divers. And my eyes soon closed behind the thick glasses, and I fell
into a heavy slumber, which the movement alone had prevented before.
Captain Nemo and his robust companion, stretched in the clear crystal, set
us the example.
How long I remained buried in this drowsiness I cannot judge, but,
when I woke, the sun seemed sinking towards the horizon. Captain Nemo had
already risen, and I was beginning to stretch my limbs, when an unexpected
apparition brought me briskly to my feet.
A few steps off, a monstrous sea-spider, about thirty- eight inches
high, was watching me with squinting eyes, ready to spring upon me. Though
my diver's dress was thick enough to defend me from the bite of this
animal, I could not help shuddering with horror. Conseil and the sailor of
the Nautilus awoke at this moment. Captain Nemo pointed out the hideous
crustacean, which a blow from the butt end of the gun knocked over, and I
saw the horrible claws of the monster writhe in terrible convulsions. This
incident reminded me that other animals more to be feared might haunt these
obscure depths, against whose attacks my diving-dress would not protect me.
I had never thought of it before, but I now resolved to be upon my guard.
Indeed, I thought that this halt would mark the termination of our walk;
but I was mistaken, for, instead of returning to the Nautilus, Captain Nemo
continued his bold excursion. The ground was still on the incline, its
declivity seemed to be getting greater, and to be leading us to greater
depths. It must have been about three o'clock when we reached a narrow
valley, between high perpendicular walls, situated about
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seventy-five fathoms deep. Thanks to the perfection of our apparatus, we
were forty-five fathoms below the limit which nature seems to have imposed
on man as to his submarine excursions.
I say seventy-five fathoms, though I had no instrument by which to
judge the distance. But I knew that even in the clearest waters the solar
rays could not penetrate further. And accordingly the darkness deepened. At
ten paces not an object was visible. I was groping my way, when I suddenly
saw a brilliant white light. Captain Nemo had just put his electric
apparatus into use; his companion did the same, and Conseil and I followed
their example. By turning a screw I established a communication between the
wire and the spiral glass, and the sea, lit by our four lanterns, was
illuminated for a circle of thirty-six yards.
As we walked I thought the light of our Ruhmkorff apparatus could not
fail to draw some inhabitant from its dark couch. But if they did approach
us, they at least kept at a respectful distance from the hunters. Several
times I saw Captain Nemo stop, put his gun to his shoulder, and after some
moments drop it and walk on. At last, after about four hours, this
marvellous excursion came to an end. A wall of superb rocks, in an imposing
mass, rose before us, a heap of gigantic blocks, an enormous, steep granite
shore, forming dark grottos, but which presented no practicable slope; it
was the prop of the Island of Crespo. It was the earth! Captain Nemo
stopped suddenly. A gesture of his brought us all to a halt; and, however
desirous I might be to scale the wall, I was obliged to stop. Here ended
Captain Nemo's domains. And he would not go beyond them. Further on was a
portion of the globe he might not trample upon.
The return began. Captain Nemo had returned to the head of his little
band, directing their course without hesitation. I thought we were not
following the same road to return to the Nautilus. The new road was very
steep, and consequently very painful. We approached the surface of the sea
rapidly. But this return to the upper strata was not so sudden as to cause
relief from the pressure too rapidly,
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which might have produced serious disorder in our organisation, and brought
on internal lesions, so fatal to divers. Very soon light reappeared and
grew, and, the sun being low on the horizon, the refraction edged the
different objects with a spectral ring. At ten yards and a half deep, we
walked amidst a shoal of little fishes of all kinds, more numerous than the
birds of the air, and also more agile; but no aquatic game worthy of a shot
had as yet met our gaze, when at that moment I saw the Captain shoulder his
gun quickly, and follow a moving object into the shrubs. He fired; I heard
a slight hissing, and a creature fell stunned at some distance from us. It
was a magnificent sea-otter, an enhydrus, the only exclusively marine
quadruped. This otter was five feet long, and must have been very valuable.
Its skin, chestnut- brown above and silvery underneath, would have made one
of those beautiful furs so sought after in the Russian and Chinese markets:
the fineness and the lustre of its coat would certainly fetch L80. I
admired this curious mammal, with its rounded head ornamented with short
ears, its round eyes, and white whiskers like those of a cat, with webbed
feet and nails, and tufted tail. This precious animal, hunted and tracked
by fishermen, has now become very rare, and taken refuge chiefly in the
northern parts of the Pacific, or probably its race would soon become
extinct.
Captain Nemo's companion took the beast, threw it over his shoulder,
and we continued our journey. For one hour a plain of sand lay stretched
before us. Sometimes it rose to within two yards and some inches of the
surface of the water. I then saw our image clearly reflected, drawn
inversely, and above us appeared an identical group reflecting our
movements and our actions; in a word, like us in every point, except that
they walked with their heads downward and their feet in the air.
Another effect I noticed, which was the passage of thick clouds which
formed and vanished rapidly; but on reflection I understood that these
seeming clouds were due to the varying thickness of the reeds at the
bottom, and I could even see the fleecy foam which their broken tops
multiplied on the water, and the shadows of large birds
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passing above our heads, whose rapid flight I could discern on the surface
of the sea.
On this occasion I was witness to one of the finest gunshots which
ever made the nerves of a hunter thrill. A large bird of great breadth of
wing, clearly visible, approached, hovering over us. Captain Nemo's
companion shouldered his gun and fired, when it was only a few yards above
the waves. The creature fell stunned, and the force of its fall brought it
within the reach of dexterous hunter's grasp. It was an albatross of the
finest kind.
Our march had not been interrupted by this incident. For two hours we
followed these sandy plains, then fields of algae very disagreeable to
cross. Candidly, I could do no more when I saw a glimmer of light, which,
for a half mile, broke the darkness of the waters. It was the lantern of
the Nautilus. Before twenty minutes were over we should be on board, and I
should be able to breathe with ease, for it seemed that my reservoir
supplied air very deficient in oxygen. But I did not reckon on an
accidental meeting which delayed our arrival for some time.
I had remained some steps behind, when I presently saw Captain Nemo
coming hurriedly towards me. With his strong hand he bent me to the ground,
his companion doing the same to Conseil. At first I knew not what to think
of this sudden attack, but I was soon reassured by seeing the Captain lie
down beside me, and remain immovable.
I was stretched on the ground, just under the shelter of a bush of
algae, when, raising my head, I saw some enormous mass, casting
phosphorescent gleams, pass blusteringly by.
My blood froze in my veins as I recognised two formidable sharks which
threatened us. It was a couple of tintoreas, terrible creatures, with
enormous tails and a dun glassy stare, the phosphorescent matter ejected
from holes pierced around the muzzle. Monstrous brutes! which would crush a
whole man in their iron jaws. I did not know whether Conseil stopped to
classify them; for my part, I noticed their silver bellies, and their huge
mouths bristling with teeth,
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from a very unscientific point of view, and more as a possible victim than
as a naturalist.
Happily the voracious creatures do not see well. They passed without
seeing us, brushing us with their brownish fins, and we escaped by a
miracle from a danger certainly greater than meeting a tiger full-face in
the forest. Half an hour after, guided by the electric light we reached the
Nautilus. The outside door had been left open, and Captain Nemo closed it
as soon as we had entered the first cell. He then pressed a knob. I heard
the pumps working in the midst of the vessel, I felt the water sinking from
around me, and in a few moments the cell was entirely empty. The inside
door then opened, and we entered the vestry.
There our diving-dress was taken off, not without some trouble, and,
fairly worn out from want of food and sleep, I returned to my room, in
great wonder at this surprising excursion at the bottom of the sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.17
FOUR THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE PACIFIC
THE next morning, the 18th of November, I had quite recovered from my
fatigues of the day before, and I went up on to the platform, just as the
second lieutenant was uttering his daily phrase.
I was admiring the magnificent aspect of the ocean when Captain Nemo
appeared. He did not seem to be aware of my presence, and began a series of
astronomical observations. Then, when he had finished, he went and leant on
the cage of the watch-light, and gazed abstractedly on the ocean. In the
meantime, a number of the sailors of the Nautilus, all strong and healthy
men, had come up onto the platform. They came to draw up the nets that had
been laid all night. These sailors were evidently of different nations,
although the European type was visible in all of them. I recognised some
unmistakable Irishmen, Frenchmen, some Sclaves, and a Greek, or a Candiote.
They were civil,
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and only used that odd language among themselves, the origin of which I
could not guess, neither could I question them.
The nets were hauled in. They were a large kind of "chaluts," like
those on the Normandy coasts, great pockets that the waves and a chain
fixed in the smaller meshes kept open. These pockets, drawn by iron poles,
swept through the water, and gathered in everything in their way. That day
they brought up curious specimens from those productive coasts.
I reckoned that the haul had brought in more than nine hundredweight
of fish. It was a fine haul, but not to be wondered at. Indeed, the nets
are let down for several hours, and enclose in their meshes an infinite
variety. We had no lack of excellent food, and the rapidity of the Nautilus
and the attraction of the electric light could always renew our supply.
These several productions of the sea were immediately lowered through the
panel to the steward's room, some to be eaten fresh, and others pickled.
The fishing ended, the provision of air renewed, I thought that the
Nautilus was about to continue its submarine excursion, and was preparing
to return to my room, when, without further preamble, the Captain turned to
me, saying:
"Professor, is not this ocean gifted with real life? It has its
tempers and its gentle moods. Yesterday it slept as we did, and now it has
woke after a quiet night. Look!" he continued, "it wakes under the caresses
of the sun. It is going to renew its diurnal existence. It is an
interesting study to watch the play of its organisation. It has a pulse,
arteries, spasms; and I agree with the learned Maury, who discovered in it
a circulation as real as the circulation of blood in animals.
"Yes, the ocean has indeed circulation, and to promote it, the Creator
has caused things to multiply in it -- caloric, salt, and animalculae."
When Captain Nemo spoke thus, he seemed altogether changed, and
aroused an extraordinary emotion in me.
"Also," he added, "true existence is there; and I can imagine the
foundations of nautical towns, clusters of submarine
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houses, which, like the Nautilus, would ascend every morning to breathe at
the surface of the water, free towns, independent cities. Yet who knows
whether some despot -- "
Captain Nemo finished his sentence with a violent gesture. Then,
addressing me as if to chase away some sorrowful thought:
"M. Aronnax," he asked. "do you know the depth of the ocean?"
"I only know, Captain, what the principal soundings have taught us."
"Could you tell me them, so that I can suit them to my purpose?"
"These are some," I replied, "that I remember. If I am not mistaken, a
depth of 8,000 yards has been found in the North Atlantic, and 2,500 yards
in the Mediterranean. The most remarkable soundings have been made in the
South Atlantic, near the thirty-fifth parallel, and they gave 12,000 yards,
14,000 yards, and 15,000 yards. To sum up all, it is reckoned that if the
bottom of the sea were levelled, its mean depth would be about one and
three-quarter leagues."
"Well, Professor," replied the Captain, "we shall show you better than
that I hope. As to the mean depth of this part of the Pacific, I tell you
it is only 4,000 yards."
Having said this, Captain Nemo went towards the panel, and disappeared
down the ladder. I followed him, and went into the large drawing-room. The
screw was immediately put in motion, and the log gave twenty miles an hour.
During the days and weeks that passed, Captain Nemo was very sparing
of his visits. I seldom saw him. The lieutenant pricked the ship's course
regularly on the chart, so I could always tell exactly the route of the
Nautilus.
Nearly every day, for some time, the panels of the drawing-room were
opened, and we were never tired of penetrating the mysteries of the
submarine world.
The general direction of the Nautilus was south-east, and it kept
between 100 and 150 yards of depth. One day, however, I do not know why,
being drawn diagonally by
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means of the inclined planes, it touched the bed of the sea. The
thermometer indicated a temperature of 4.25 (cent.): a temperature that at
this depth seemed common to all latitudes.
At three o'clock in the morning of the 26th of November the Nautilus
crossed the tropic of Cancer at 172° long. On 27th instant it sighted the
Sandwich Islands, where Cook died, February 14, 1779. We had then gone
4,860 leagues from our starting-point. In the morning, when I went on the
platform, I saw two miles to windward, Hawaii, the largest of the seven
islands that form the group. I saw clearly the cultivated ranges, and the
several mountain- chains that run parallel with the side, and the volcanoes
that overtop Mouna-Rea, which rise 5,000 yards above the level of the sea.
Besides other things the nets brought up, were several flabellariae and
graceful polypi, that are peculiar to that part of the ocean. The direction
of the Nautilus was still to the south-east. It crossed the equator
December 1, in 142° long.; and on the 4th of the same month, after crossing
rapidly and without anything in particular occurring, we sighted the
Marquesas group. I saw, three miles off, Martin's peak in Nouka-Hiva, the
largest of the group that belongs to France. I only saw the woody mountains
against the horizon, because Captain Nemo did not wish to bring the ship to
the wind. There the nets brought up beautiful specimens of fish: some with
azure fins and tails like gold, the flesh of which is unrivalled; some
nearly destitute of scales, but of exquisite flavour; others, with bony
jaws, and yellow-tinged gills, as good as bonitos; all fish that would be
of use to us. After leaving these charming islands protected by the French
flag, from the 4th to the 11th of December the Nautilus sailed over about
2,000 miles.
During the daytime of the 11th of December I was busy reading in the
large drawing-room. Ned Land and Conseil watched the luminous water through
the half-open panels. The Nautilus was immovable. While its reservoirs were
filled, it kept at a depth of 1,000 yards, a region rarely visited in the
ocean, and in which large fish were seldom seen.
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I was then reading a charming book by Jean Mace, The Slaves of the
Stomach, and I was learning some valuable lessons from it, when Conseil
interrupted me.
"Will master come here a moment?" he said, in a curious voice.
"What is the matter, Conseil?"
"I want master to look."
I rose, went, and leaned on my elbows before the panes and watched.
In a full electric light, an enormous black mass, quite immovable, was
suspended in the midst of the waters. I watched it attentively, seeking to
find out the nature of this gigantic cetacean. But a sudden thought crossed
my mind. "A vessel!" I said, half aloud.
"Yes," replied the Canadian, "a disabled ship that has sunk
perpendicularly."
Ned Land was right; we were close to a vessel of which the tattered
shrouds still hung from their chains. The keel seemed to be in good order,
and it had been wrecked at most some few hours. Three stumps of masts,
broken off about two feet above the bridge, showed that the vessel had had
to sacrifice its masts. But, lying on its side, it had filled, and it was
heeling over to port. This skeleton of what it had once been was a sad
spectacle as it lay lost under the waves, but sadder still was the sight of
the bridge, where some corpses, bound with ropes, were still lying. I
counted five -- four men, one of whom was standing at the helm, and a woman
standing by the poop, holding an infant in her arms. She was quite young. I
could distinguish her features, which the water had not decomposed, by the
brilliant light from the Nautilus. In one despairing effort, she had raised
her infant above her head -- poor little thing! -- whose arms encircled its
mother's neck. The attitude of the four sailors was frightful, distorted as
they were by their convulsive movements, whilst making a last effort to
free themselves from the cords that bound them to the vessel. The steersman
alone, calm, with a grave, clear face, his grey hair glued to his forehead,
and his hand clutching the wheel of
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the helm, seemed even then to be guiding the three broken masts through the
depths of the ocean.
What a scene! We were dumb; our hearts beat fast before this
shipwreck, taken as it were from life and photographed in its last moments.
And I saw already, coming towards it with hungry eyes, enormous sharks,
attracted by the human flesh.
However, the Nautilus, turning, went round the submerged vessel, and
in one instant I read on the stern -- "The Florida, Sunderland."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.18
VANIKORO
THIS terrible spectacle was the forerunner of the series of maritime
catastrophes that the Nautilus was destined to meet with in its route. As
long as it went through more frequented waters, we often saw the hulls of
shipwrecked vessels that were rotting in the depths, and deeper down
cannons, bullets, anchors, chains, and a thousand other iron materials
eaten up by rust. However, on the 11th of December we sighted the Pomotou
Islands, the old "dangerous group" of Bougainville, that extend over a
space of 500 leagues at E.S.E. to W.N.W., from the Island Ducie to that of
Lazareff. This group covers an area of 370 square leagues, and it is formed
of sixty groups of islands, among which the Gambier group is remarkable,
over which France exercises sway. These are coral islands, slowly raised,
but continuous, created by the daily work of polypi. Then this new island
will be joined later on to the neighboring groups, and a fifth continent
will stretch from New Zealand and New Caledonia, and from thence to the
Marquesas.
One day, when I was suggesting this theory to Captain Nemo, he replied
coldly:
"The earth does not want new continents, but new men."
On 15th of December, we left to the east the bewitching group of the
Societies and the graceful Tahiti, queen of the
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Pacific. I saw in the morning, some miles to the windward, the elevated
summits of the island. These waters furnished our table with excellent
fish, mackerel, bonitos, and some varieties of a sea-serpent.
On the 25th of December the Nautilus sailed into the midst of the New
Hebrides, discovered by Quiros in 1606, and that Bougainville explored in
1768, and to which Cook gave its present name in 1773. This group is
composed principally of nine large islands, that form a band of 120 leagues
N.N.S. to S.S.W., between 15° and 2° S. lat., and 164° and 168° long. We
passed tolerably near to the Island of Aurou, that at noon looked like a
mass of green woods, surmounted by a peak of great height.
That day being Christmas Day, Ned Land seemed to regret sorely the
non-celebration of "Christmas," the family fete of which Protestants are so
fond. I had not seen Captain Nemo for a week, when, on the morning of the
27th, he came into the large drawing-room, always seeming as if he had seen
you five minutes before. I was busily tracing the route of the Nautilus on
the planisphere. The Captain came up to me, put his finger on one spot on
the chart, and said this single word.
"Vanikoro."
The effect was magical! It was the name of the islands on which La
Perouse had been lost! I rose suddenly.
"The Nautilus has brought us to Vanikoro?" I asked.
"Yes, Professor," said the Captain.
"And I can visit the celebrated islands where the Boussole and the
Astrolabe struck?"
"If you like, Professor."
"When shall we be there?"
"We are there now."
Followed by Captain Nemo, I went up on to the platform, and greedily
scanned the horizon.
To the N.E. two volcanic islands emerged of unequal size, surrounded
by a coral reef that measured forty miles in circumference. We were close
to Vanikoro, really the one to which Dumont d'Urville gave the name of Isle
de la Recherche, and exactly facing the little harbour of Vanou,
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situated in 16° 4' S. lat., and 164° 32' E. long. The earth seemed covered
with verdure from the shore to the summits in the interior, that were
crowned by Mount Kapogo, 476 feet high. The Nautilus, having passed the
outer belt of rocks by a narrow strait, found itself among breakers where
the sea was from thirty to forty fathoms deep. Under the verdant shade of
some mangroves I perceived some savages, who appeared greatly surprised at
our approach. In the long black body, moving between wind and water, did
they not see some formidable cetacean that they regarded with suspicion?
Just then Captain Nemo asked me what I knew about the wreck of La
Perouse.
"Only what everyone knows, Captain," I replied.
"And could you tell me what everyone knows about it?" be inquired,
ironically.
"Easily."
I related to him all that the last works of Dumont d'Urville had made
known -- works from which the following is a brief account.
La Perouse, and his second, Captain de Langle, were sent by Louis XVI,
in 1785, on a voyage of circumnavigation. They embarked in the corvettes
Boussole and the Astrolabe, neither of which were again heard of. In 1791,
the French Government, justly uneasy as to the fate of these two sloops,
manned two large merchantmen, the Recherche and the Esperance, which left
Brest the 28th of September under the command of Bruni d'Entrecasteaux.
Two months after, they learned from Bowen, commander of the Albemarle,
that the debris of shipwrecked vessels had been seen on the coasts of New
Georgia. But D'Entrecasteaux, ignoring this communication -- rather
uncertain, besides -- directed his course towards the Admiralty Islands,
mentioned in a report of Captain Hunter's as being the place where La
Perouse was wrecked.
They sought in vain. The Esperance and the Recherche passed before
Vanikoro without stopping there, and, in fact, this voyage was most
disastrous, as it cost D'Entrecasteaux
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his life, and those of two of his lieutenants, besides several of his crew.
Captain Dillon, a shrewd old Pacific sailor, was the first to find
unmistakable traces of the wrecks. On the 15th of May, 1824, his vessel,
the St. Patrick, passed close to Tikopia, one of the New Hebrides. There a
Lascar came alongside in a canoe, sold him the handle of a sword in silver
that bore the print of characters engraved on the hilt. The Lascar
pretended that six years before, during a stay at Vanikoro, he had seen two
Europeans that belonged to some vessels that had run aground on the reefs
some years ago.
Dillon guessed that he meant La Perouse, whose disappearance had
troubled the whole world. He tried to get on to Vanikoro, where, according
to the Lascar, he would find numerous debris of the wreck, but winds and
tides prevented him.
Dillon returned to Calcutta. There he interested the Asiatic Society
and the Indian Company in his discovery. A vessel, to which was given the
name of the Recherche, was put at his disposal, and he set out, 23rd
January, 1827, accompanied by a French agent.
The Recherche, after touching at several points in the Pacific, cast
anchor before Vanikoro, 7th July, 1827, in that same harbour of Vanou where
the Nautilus was at this time.
There it collected numerous relics of the wreck -- iron utensils,
anchors, pulley-strops, swivel-guns, an 18 lb. shot, fragments of
astronomical instruments, a piece of crown- work, and a bronze clock,
bearing this inscription -- "Bazin m'a fait," the mark of the foundry of
the arsenal at Brest about 1785. There could be no further doubt.
Dillon, having made all inquiries, stayed in the unlucky place till
October. Then he quitted Vanikoro, and directed his course towards New
Zealand; put into Calcutta, 7th April, 1828, and returned to France, where
he was warmly welcomed by Charles X.
But at the same time, without knowing Dillon's movements, Dumont
d'Urville had already set out to find the scene of the wreck. And they had
learned from a whaler
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that some medals and a cross of St. Louis had been found in the hands of
some savages of Louisiade and New Caledonia. Dumont d'Urville, commander of
the Astrolabe, had then sailed, and two months after Dillon had left
Vanikoro he put into Hobart Town. There he learned the results of Dillon's
inquiries, and found that a certain James Hobbs, second lieutenant of the
Union of Calcutta, after landing on an island situated 8° 18' S. lat., and
156° 30' E. long., had seen some iron bars and red stuffs used by the
natives of these parts. Dumont d'Urville, much perplexed, and not knowing
how to credit the reports of low-class journals, decided to follow Dillon's
track.
On the 10th of February, 1828, the Astrolabe appeared off Tikopia, and
took as guide and interpreter a deserter found on the island; made his way
to Vanikoro, sighted it on the 12th inst., lay among the reefs until the
14th, and not until the 20th did he cast anchor within the barrier in the
harbour of Vanou.
On the 23rd, several officers went round the island and brought back
some unimportant trifles. The natives, adopting a system of denials and
evasions, refused to take them to the unlucky place. This ambiguous conduct
led them to believe that the natives had ill-treated the castaways, and
indeed they seemed to fear that Dumont d'Urville had come to avenge La
Perouse and his unfortunate crew.
However, on the 26th, appeased by some presents, and understanding
that they had no reprisals to fear, they led M. Jacquireot to the scene of
the wreck.
There, in three or four fathoms of water, between the reefs of Pacou
and Vanou, lay anchors, cannons, pigs of lead and iron, embedded in the
limy concretions. The large boat and the whaler belonging to the Astrolabe
were sent to this place, and, not without some difficulty, their crews
hauled up an anchor weighing 1,800 lbs., a brass gun, some pigs of iron,
and two copper swivel-guns.
Dumont d'Urville, questioning the natives, learned too that La
Perouse, after losing both his vessels on the reefs of this island, had
constructed a smaller boat, only to be lost a second time. Where, no one
knew.
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But the French Government, fearing that Dumont d'Urville was not
acquainted with Dillon's movements, had sent the sloop Bayonnaise,
commanded by Legoarant de Tromelin, to Vanikoro, which had been stationed
on the west coast of America. The Bayonnaise cast her anchor before
Vanikoro some months after the departure of the Astrolabe, but found no new
document; but stated that the savages had respected the monument to La
Perouse. That is the substance of what I told Captain Nemo.
"So," he said, "no one knows now where the third vessel perished that
was constructed by the castaways on the island of Vanikoro?"
"No one knows."
Captain Nemo said nothing, but signed to me to follow him into the
large saloon. The Nautilus sank several yards below the waves, and the
panels were opened.
I hastened to the aperture, and under the crustations of coral,
covered with fungi, I recognised certain debris that the drags had not been
able to tear up -- iron stirrups, anchors, cannons, bullets, capstan
fittings, the stem of a ship, all objects clearly proving the wreck of some
vessel, and now carpeted with living flowers. While I was looking on this
desolate scene, Captain Nemo said, in a sad voice:
"Commander La Perouse set out 7th December, 1785, with his vessels La
Boussole and the Astrolabe. He first cast anchor at Botany Bay, visited the
Friendly Isles, New Caledonia, then directed his course towards Santa Cruz,
and put into Namouka, one of the Hapai group. Then his vessels struck on
the unknown reefs of Vanikoro. The Boussole, which went first, ran aground
on the southerly coast. The Astrolabe went to its help, and ran aground
too. The first vessel was destroyed almost immediately. The second,
stranded under the wind, resisted some days. The natives made the castaways
welcome. They installed themselves in the island, and constructed a smaller
boat with the debris of the two large ones. Some sailors stayed willingly
at Vanikoro; the others, weak and ill, set out with La Perouse. They
directed their course towards the Solomon Islands, and there perished, with
everything, on the westerly coast of the
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chief island of the group, between Capes Deception and Satisfaction."
"How do you know that?"
"By this, that I found on the spot where was the last wreck."
Captain Nemo showed me a tin-plate box, stamped with the French arms,
and corroded by the salt water. He opened it, and I saw a bundle of papers,
yellow but still readable.
They were the instructions of the naval minister to Commander La
Perouse, annotated in the margin in Louis XVI's handwriting.
"Ah! it is a fine death for a sailor!" said Captain Nemo, at last. "A
coral tomb makes a quiet grave; and I trust that I and my comrades will
find no other."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.19
TORRES STRAITS
DURING the night of the 27th or 28th of December, the Nautilus left
the shores of Vanikoro with great speed. Her course was south-westerly, and
in three days she had gone over the 750 leagues that separated it from La
Perouse's group and the south-east point of Papua.
Early on the 1st of January, 1863, Conseil joined me on the platform.
"Master, will you permit me to wish you a happy New Year?"
"What! Conseil; exactly as if I was at Paris in my study at the Jardin
des Plantes? Well, I accept your good wishes, and thank you for them. Only,
I will ask you what you mean by a 'Happy New Year' under our circumstances?
Do you mean the year that will bring us to the end of our imprisonment, or
the year that sees us continue this strange voyage?"
"Really, I do not know how to answer, master. We are sure to see
curious things, and for the last two months we
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have not had time for dullness. The last marvel is always the most
astonishing; and, if we continue this progression, I do not know how it
will end. It is my opinion that we shall never again see the like. I think
then, with no offence to master, that a happy year would be one in which we
could see everything."
On 2nd January we had made 11,340 miles, or 5,250 French leagues,
since our starting-point in the Japan Seas. Before the ship's head
stretched the dangerous shores of the coral sea, on the north-east coast of
Australia. Our boat lay along some miles from the redoubtable bank on which
Cook's vessel was lost, 10th June, 1770. The boat in which Cook was struck
on a rock, and, if it did not sink, it was owing to a piece of coral that
was broken by the shock, and fixed itself in the broken keel.
I had wished to visit the reef, 360 leagues long, against which the
sea, always rough, broke with great violence, with a noise like thunder.
But just then the inclined planes drew the Nautilus down to a great depth,
and I could see nothing of the high coral walls. I had to content myself
with the different specimens of fish brought up by the nets. I remarked,
among others, some germons, a species of mackerel as large as a tunny, with
bluish sides, and striped with transverse bands, that disappear with the
animal's life. These fish followed us in shoals, and furnished us with very
delicate food. We took also a large number of giltheads, about one and a
half inches long, tasting like dorys; and flying fire-fish like submarine
swallows, which, in dark nights, light alternately the air and water with
their phosphorescent light.
Two days after crossing the coral sea, 4th January, we sighted the
Papuan coasts. On this occasion, Captain Nemo informed me that his
intention was to get into the Indian Ocean by the Strait of Torres. His
communication ended there.
The Torres Straits are nearly thirty-four leagues wide; but they are
obstructed by an innumerable quantity of islands, islets, breakers, and
rocks, that make its navigation almost impracticable; so that Captain Nemo
took all needful precautions to cross them. The Nautilus, floating betwixt
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wind and water, went at a moderate pace. Her screw, like a cetacean's tail,
beat the waves slowly.
Profiting by this, I and my two companions went up on to the deserted
platform. Before us was the steersman's cage, and I expected that Captain
Nemo was there directing the course of the Nautilus. I had before me the
excellent charts of the Straits of Torres, and I consulted them
attentively. Round the Nautilus the sea dashed furiously. The course of the
waves, that went from south-east to north-west at the rate of two and a
half miles, broke on the coral that showed itself here and there.
"This is a bad sea!" remarked Ned Land.
"Detestable indeed, and one that does not suit a boat like the
Nautilus."
"The Captain must be very sure of his route, for I see there pieces of
coral that would do for its keel if it only touched them slightly."
Indeed the situation was dangerous, but the Nautilus seemed to slide
like magic off these rocks. It did not follow the routes of the Astrolabe
and the Zelee exactly, for they proved fatal to Dumont d'Urville. It bore
more northwards, coasted the Islands of Murray, and came back to the
southwest towards Cumberland Passage. I thought it was going to pass it by,
when, going back to north-west, it went through a large quantity of islands
and islets little known, towards the Island Sound and Canal Mauvais.
I wondered if Captain Nemo, foolishly imprudent, would steer his
vessel into that pass where Dumont d'Urville's two corvettes touched; when,
swerving again, and cutting straight through to the west, he steered for
the Island of Gilboa.
It was then three in the afternoon. The tide began to recede, being
quite full. The Nautilus approached the island, that I still saw, with its
remarkable border of screw-pines. He stood off it at about two miles
distant. Suddenly a shock overthrew me. The Nautilus just touched a rock,
and stayed immovable, laying lightly to port side.
When I rose, I perceived Captain Nemo and his lieutenant on the
platform. They were examining the situation
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of the vessel, and exchanging words in their incomprehensible dialect.
She was situated thus: Two miles, on the starboard side, appeared
Gilboa, stretching from north to west like an immense arm. Towards the
south and east some coral showed itself, left by the ebb. We had run
aground, and in one of those seas where the tides are middling -- a sorry
matter for the floating of the Nautilus. However, the vessel had not
suffered, for her keel was solidly joined. But, if she could neither glide
off nor move, she ran the risk of being for ever fastened to these rocks,
and then Captain Nemo's submarine vessel would be done for.
I was reflecting thus, when the Captain, cool and calm, always master
of himself, approached me.
"An accident?" I asked.
"No; an incident."
"But an incident that will oblige you perhaps to become an inhabitant
of this land from which you flee?"
Captain Nemo looked at me curiously, and made a negative gesture, as
much as to say that nothing would force him to set foot on terra firma
again. Then he said:
"Besides, M. Aronnax, the Nautilus is not lost; it will carry you yet
into the midst of the marvels of the ocean. Our voyage is only begun, and I
do not wish to be deprived so soon of the honour of your company."
"However, Captain Nemo," I replied, without noticing the ironical turn
of his phrase, "the Nautilus ran aground in open sea. Now the tides are not
strong in the Pacific; and, if you cannot lighten the Nautilus, I do not
see how it will be reinflated."
"The tides are not strong in the Pacific: you are right there,
Professor; but in Torres Straits one finds still a difference of a yard and
a half between the level of high and low seas. To-day is 4th January, and
in five days the moon will be full. Now, I shall be very much astonished if
that satellite does not raise these masses of water sufficiently, and
render me a service that I should be indebted to her for."
Having said this, Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant,
redescended to the interior of the Nautilus. As to
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the vessel, it moved not, and was immovable, as if the coralline polypi had
already walled it up with their indestructible cement.
"Well, sir?" said Ned Land, who came up to me after the departure of
the Captain.
"Well, friend Ned, we will wait patiently for the tide on the 9th
instant; for it appears that the moon will have the goodness to put it off
again."
"Really?"
"Really."
"And this Captain is not going to cast anchor at all since the tide
will suffice?" said Conseil, simply.
The Canadian looked at Conseil, then shrugged his shoulders.
"Sir, you may believe me when I tell you that this piece of iron will
navigate neither on nor under the sea again; it is only fit to be sold for
its weight. I think, therefore, that the time has come to part company with
Captain Nemo."
"Friend Ned, I do not despair of this stout Nautilus, as you do; and
in four days we shall know what to hold to on the Pacific tides. Besides,
flight might be possible if we were in sight of the English or Provencal
coast; but on the Papuan shores, it is another thing; and it will be time
enough to come to that extremity if the Nautilus does not recover itself
again, which I look upon as a grave event."
"But do they know, at least, how to act circumspectly? There is an
island; on that island there are trees; under those trees, terrestrial
animals, bearers of cutlets and roast- beef, to which I would willingly
give a trial."
"In this, friend Ned is right," said Conseil, "and I agree with him.
Could not master obtain permission from his friend Captain Nemo to put us
on land, if only so as not to lose the habit of treading on the solid parts
of our planet?"
"I can ask him, but he will refuse."
"Will master risk it?" asked Conseil, "and we shall know how to rely
upon the Captain's amiability."
To my great surprise, Captain Nemo gave me the permission I asked for,
and he gave it very agreeably, without
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even exacting from me a promise to return to the vessel; but flight across
New Guinea might be very perilous, and I should not have counselled Ned
Land to attempt it. Better to be a prisoner on board the Nautilus than to
fall into the hands of the natives.
At eight o'clock, armed with guns and hatchets, we got off the
Nautilus. The sea was pretty calm; a slight breeze blew on land. Conseil
and I rowing, we sped along quickly, and Ned steered in the straight
passage that the breakers left between them. The boat was well handled, and
moved rapidly.
Ned Land could not restrain his joy. He was like a prisoner that had
escaped from prison, and knew not that it was necessary to re-enter it.
"Meat! We are going to eat some meat; and what meat!" he replied.
"Real game! no, bread, indeed."
"I do not say that fish is not good; we must not abuse it; but a piece
of fresh venison, grilled on live coals, will agreeably vary our ordinary
course."
"Glutton!" said Conseil, "he makes my mouth water."
"It remains to be seen," I said, "if these forests are full of game,
and if the game is not such as will hunt the hunter himself."
"Well said, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, whose teeth seemed
sharpened like the edge of a hatchet; "but I will eat tiger -- loin of
tiger -- if there is no other quadruped on this island."
"Friend Ned is uneasy about it," said Conseil.
"Whatever it may be," continued Ned Land, "every animal with four paws
without feathers, or with two paws without feathers, will be saluted by my
first shot."
"Very well! Master Land's imprudences are beginning."
"Never fear, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian; "I do not want
twenty-five minutes to offer you a dish, of my sort."
At half-past eight the Nautilus boat ran softly aground on a heavy
sand, after having happily passed the coral reef that surrounds the Island
of Gilboa.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.20
A FEW DAYS ON LAND
I WAS much impressed on touching land. Ned Land tried the soil with
his feet, as if to take possession of it. However, it was only two months
before that we had become, according to Captain Nemo, "passengers on board
the Nautilus," but, in reality, prisoners of its commander.
In a few minutes we were within musket-shot of the coast. The whole
horizon was hidden behind a beautiful curtain of forests. Enormous trees,
the trunks of which attained a height of 200 feet, were tied to each other
by garlands of bindweed, real natural hammocks, which a light breeze
rocked. They were mimosas, figs, hibisci, and palm trees, mingled together
in profusion; and under the shelter of their verdant vault grew orchids,
leguminous plants, and ferns.
But, without noticing all these beautiful specimens of Papuan flora,
the Canadian abandoned the agreeable for the useful. He discovered a
coco-tree, beat down some of the fruit, broke them, and we drunk the milk
and ate the nut with a satisfaction that protested against the ordinary
food on the Nautilus.
"Excellent!" said Ned Land.
"Exquisite!" replied Conseil.
"And I do not think," said the Canadian, "that he would object to our
introducing a cargo of coco-nuts on board."
"I do not think he would, but he would not taste them."
"So much the worse for him," said Conseil.
"And so much the better for us," replied Ned Land. "There will be more
for us."
"One word only, Master Land," I said to the harpooner, who was
beginning to ravage another coco-nut tree. "Coconuts are good things, but
before filling the canoe with them it would be wise to reconnoitre and see
if the island does not produce some substance not less useful. Fresh
vegetables would be welcome on board the Nautilus."
"Master is right," replied Conseil; "and I propose to
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reserve three places in our vessel, one for fruits, the other for
vegetables, and the third for the venison, of which I have not yet seen the
smallest specimen."
"Conseil, we must not despair," said the Canadian.
"Let us continue," I returned, "and lie in wait. Although the island
seems uninhabited, it might still contain some individuals that would be
less hard than we on the nature of game."
"Ho! ho!" said Ned Land, moving his jaws significantly.
"Well, Ned!" said Conseil.
"My word!" returned the Canadian, "I begin to understand the charms of
anthropophagy."
"Ned! Ned! what are you saying? You, a man-eater? I should not feel
safe with you, especially as I share your cabin. I might perhaps wake one
day to find myself half devoured."
"Friend Conseil, I like you much, but not enough to eat you
unnecessarily."
"I would not trust you," replied Conseil. "But enough. We must
absolutely bring down some game to satisfy this cannibal, or else one of
these fine mornings, master will find only pieces of his servant to serve
him."
While we were talking thus, we were penetrating the sombre arches of
the forest, and for two hours we surveyed it in all directions.
Chance rewarded our search for eatable vegetables, and one of the most
useful products of the tropical zones furnished us with precious food that
we missed on board. I would speak of the bread-fruit tree, very abundant in
the island of Gilboa; and I remarked chiefly the variety destitute of
seeds, which bears in Malaya the name of "rima."
Ned Land knew these fruits well. He had already eaten many during his
numerous voyages, and he knew how to prepare the eatable substance.
Moreover, the sight of them excited him, and he could contain himself no
longer.
"Master," he said, "I shall die if I do not taste a little of this
bread-fruit pie."
"Taste it, friend Ned -- taste it as you want. We are here to make
experiments -- make them."
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"It won't take long," said the Canadian.
And, provided with a lentil, he lighted a fire of dead wood that
crackled joyously. During this time, Conseil and I chose the best fruits of
the bread-fruit. Some had not then attained a sufficient degree of
maturity; and their thick skin covered a white but rather fibrous pulp.
Others, the greater number yellow and gelatinous, waited only to be picked.
These fruits enclosed no kernel. Conseil brought a dozen to Ned Land,
who placed them on a coal fire, after having cut them in thick slices, and
while doing this repeating:
"You will see, master, how good this bread is. More so when one has
been deprived of it so long. It is not even bread," added he, "but a
delicate pastry. You have eaten none, master?"
"No, Ned."
"Very well, prepare yourself for a juicy thing. If you do not come for
more, I am no longer the king of harpooners."
After some minutes, the part of the fruits that was exposed to the
fire was completely roasted. The interior looked like a white pasty, a sort
of soft crumb, the flavour of which was like that of an artichoke.
It must be confessed this bread was excellent, and I ate of it with
great relish.
"What time is it now?" asked the Canadian.
"Two o'clock at least," replied Conseil.
"How time flies on firm ground!" sighed Ned Land.
"Let us be off," replied Conseil.
We returned through the forest, and completed our collection by a raid
upon the cabbage-palms, that we gathered from the tops of the trees, little
beans that I recognised as the "abrou" of the Malays, and yams of a
superior quality.
We were loaded when we reached the boat. But Ned Land did not find his
provisions sufficient. Fate, however, favoured us. Just as we were pushing
off, he perceived several trees, from twenty-five to thirty feet high, a
species of palm-tree.
At last, at five o'clock in the evening, loaded with our riches, we
quitted the shore, and half an hour after we hailed
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the Nautilus. No one appeared on our arrival. The enormous iron-plated
cylinder seemed deserted. The provisions embarked, I descended to my
chamber, and after supper slept soundly.
The next day, 6th January, nothing new on board. Not a sound inside,
not a sign of life. The boat rested along the edge, in the same place in
which we had left it. We resolved to return to the island. Ned Land hoped
to be more fortunate than on the day before with regard to the hunt, and
wished to visit another part of the forest.
At dawn we set off. The boat, carried on by the waves that flowed to
shore, reached the island in a few minutes.
We landed, and, thinking that it was better to give in to the
Canadian, we followed Ned Land, whose long limbs threatened to distance us.
He wound up the coast towards the west: then, fording some torrents, he
gained the high plain that was bordered with admirable forests. Some
kingfishers were rambling along the water-courses, but they would not let
themselves be approached. Their circumspection proved to me that these
birds knew what to expect from bipeds of our species, and I concluded that,
if the island was not inhabited, at least human beings occasionally
frequented it.
After crossing a rather large prairie, we arrived at the skirts of a
little wood that was enlivened by the songs and flight of a large number of
birds.
"There are only birds," said Conseil.
"But they are eatable," replied the harpooner.
"I do not agree with you, friend Ned, for I see only parrots there."
"Friend Conseil," said Ned, gravely, "the parrot is like pheasant to
those who have nothing else."
"And," I added, "this bird, suitably prepared, is worth knife and
fork."
Indeed, under the thick foliage of this wood, a world of parrots were
flying from branch to branch, only needing a careful education to speak the
human language. For the moment, they were chattering with parrots of all
colours, and grave cockatoos, who seemed to meditate upon some
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philosophical problem, whilst brilliant red lories passed like a piece of
bunting carried away by the breeze, papuans, with the finest azure colours,
and in all a variety of winged things most charming to behold, but few
eatable.
However, a bird peculiar to these lands, and which has never passed
the limits of the Arrow and Papuan islands, was wanting in this collection.
But fortune reserved it for me before long.
After passing through a moderately thick copse, we found a plain
obstructed with bushes. I saw then those magnificent birds, the disposition
of whose long feathers obliges them to fly against the wind. Their
undulating flight, graceful aerial curves, and the shading of their
colours, attracted and charmed one's looks. I had no trouble in recognising
them.
"Birds of paradise!" I exclaimed.
The Malays, who carry on a great trade in these birds with the
Chinese, have several means that we could not employ for taking them.
Sometimes they put snares on the top of high trees that the birds of
paradise prefer to frequent. Sometimes they catch them with a viscous
birdlime that paralyses their movements. They even go so far as to poison
the fountains that the birds generally drink from. But we were obliged to
fire at them during flight, which gave us few chances to bring them down;
and, indeed, we vainly exhausted one half our ammunition.
About eleven o'clock in the morning, the first range of mountains that
form the centre of the island was traversed, and we had killed nothing.
Hunger drove us on. The hunters had relied on the products of the chase,
and they were wrong. Happily Conseil, to his great surprise, made a double
shot and secured breakfast. He brought down a white pigeon and a
wood-pigeon, which, cleverly plucked and suspended from a skewer, was
roasted before a red fire of dead wood. While these interesting birds were
cooking, Ned prepared the fruit of the bread-tree. Then the wood-pigeons
were devoured to the bones, and declared excellent. The nutmeg, with which
they are in the habit of stuffing their crops, flavours their flesh and
renders it delicious eating.
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"Now, Ned, what do you miss now?"
"Some four-footed game, M. Aronnax. All these pigeons are only
side-dishes and trifles; and until I have killed an animal with cutlets I
shall not be content."
"Nor I, Ned, if I do not catch a bird of paradise."
"Let us continue hunting," replied Conseil. "Let us go towards the
sea. We have arrived at the first declivities of the mountains, and I think
we had better regain the region of forests."
That was sensible advice, and was followed out. After walking for one
hour we had attained a forest of sago-trees. Some inoffensive serpents
glided away from us. The birds of paradise fled at our approach, and truly
I despaired of getting near one when Conseil, who was walking in front,
suddenly bent down, uttered a triumphal cry, and came back to me bringing a
magnificent specimen.
"Ah! bravo, Conseil!"
"Master is very good."
"No, my boy; you have made an excellent stroke. Take one of these
living birds, and carry it in your hand."
"If master will examine it, he will see that I have not deserved great
merit."
"Why, Conseil?"
"Because this bird is as drunk as a quail."
"Drunk!"
"Yes, sir; drunk with the nutmegs that it devoured under the
nutmeg-tree, under which I found it. See, friend Ned, see the monstrous
effects of intemperance!"
"By Jove!" exclaimed the Canadian, "because I have drunk gin for two
months, you must needs reproach me!"
However, I examined the curious bird. Conseil was right. The bird,
drunk with the juice, was quite powerless. It could not fly; it could
hardly walk.
This bird belonged to the most beautiful of the eight species that are
found in Papua and in the neighbouring islands. It was the "large emerald
bird, the most rare kind." It measured three feet in length. Its head was
comparatively small, its eyes placed near the opening of the beak, and also
small. But the shades of colour were beautiful, having
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a yellow beak, brown feet and claws, nut-coloured wings with purple tips,
pale yellow at the back of the neck and head, and emerald colour at the
throat, chestnut on the breast and belly. Two horned, downy nets rose from
below the tail, that prolonged the long light feathers of admirable
fineness, and they completed the whole of this marvellous bird, that the
natives have poetically named the "bird of the sun."
But if my wishes were satisfied by the possession of the bird of
paradise, the Canadian's were not yet. Happily, about two o'clock, Ned Land
brought down a magnificent hog; from the brood of those the natives call
"bari-outang." The animal came in time for us to procure real quadruped
meat, and he was well received. Ned Land was very proud of his shot. The
hog, hit by the electric ball, fell stone dead. The Canadian skinned and
cleaned it properly, after having taken half a dozen cutlets, destined to
furnish us with a grilled repast in the evening. Then the hunt was resumed,
which was still more marked by Ned and Conseil's exploits.
Indeed, the two friends, beating the bushes, roused a herd of
kangaroos that fled and bounded along on their elastic paws. But these
animals did not take to flight so rapidly but what the electric capsule
could stop their course.
"Ah, Professor!" cried Ned Land, who was carried away by the delights
of the chase, "what excellent game, and stewed, too! What a supply for the
Nautilus! Two! three! five down! And to think that we shall eat that flesh,
and that the idiots on board shall not have a crumb!"
I think that, in the excess of his joy, the Canadian, if he had not
talked so much, would have killed them all. But he contented himself with a
single dozen of these interesting marsupians. These animals were small.
They were a species of those "kangaroo rabbits" that live habitually in the
hollows of trees, and whose speed is extreme; but they are moderately fat,
and furnish, at least, estimable food. We were very satisfied with the
results of the hunt. Happy Ned proposed to return to this enchanting island
the next day, for he wished to depopulate it of all the eatable quadrupeds.
But he had reckoned without his host.
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At six o'clock in the evening we had regained the shore; our boat was
moored to the usual place. The Nautilus, like a long rock, emerged from the
waves two miles from the beach. Ned Land, without waiting, occupied himself
about the important dinner business. He understood all about cooking well.
The "bari-outang," grilled on the coals, soon scented the air with a
delicious odour.
Indeed, the dinner was excellent. Two wood-pigeons completed this
extraordinary menu. The sago pasty, the artocarpus bread, some mangoes,
half a dozen pineapples, and the liquor fermented from some coco-nuts,
overjoyed us. I even think that my worthy companions' ideas had not all the
plainness desirable.
"Suppose we do not return to the Nautilus this evening?" said Conseil.
"Suppose we never return?" added Ned Land.
Just then a stone fell at our feet and cut short the harpooner's
proposition.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.21
CAPTAIN NEMO'S THUNDERBOLT
WE LOOKED at the edge of the forest without rising, my hand stopping
in the action of putting it to my mouth, Ned Land's completing its office.
"Stones do not fall from the sky," remarked Conseil, "or they would
merit the name aerolites."
A second stone, carefully aimed, that made a savoury pigeon's leg fall
from Conseil's hand, gave still more weight to his observation. We all
three arose, shouldered our guns, and were ready to reply to any attack.
"Are they apes?" cried Ned Land.
"Very nearly -- they are savages."
"To the boat!" I said, hurrying to the sea.
It was indeed necessary to beat a retreat, for about twenty natives
armed with bows and slings appeared on the skirts
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of a copse that masked the horizon to the right, hardly a hundred steps
from us.
Our boat was moored about sixty feet from us. The savages approached
us, not running, but making hostile demonstrations. Stones and arrows fell
thickly.
Ned Land had not wished to leave his provisions; and, in spite of his
imminent danger, his pig on one side and kangaroos on the other, he went
tolerably fast. In two minutes we were on the shore. To load the boat with
provisions and arms, to push it out to sea, and ship the oars, was the work
of an instant. We had not gone two cable-lengths, when a hundred savages,
howling and gesticulating, entered the water up to their waists. I watched
to see if their apparition would attract some men from the Nautilus on to
the platform. But no. The enormous machine, lying off, was absolutely
deserted.
Twenty minutes later we were on board. The panels were open. After
making the boat fast, we entered into the interior of the Nautilus.
I descended to the drawing-room, from whence I heard some chords.
Captain Nemo was there, bending over his organ, and plunged in a musical
ecstasy.
"Captain!"
He did not hear me.
"Captain!" I said, touching his hand.
He shuddered, and, turning round, said, "Ah! it is you, Professor?
Well, have you had a good hunt, have you botanised successfully?"
"Yes Captain; but we have unfortunately brought a troop of bipeds,
whose vicinity troubles me."
"What bipeds?"
"Savages."
"Savages!" he echoed, ironically. "So you are astonished, Professor,
at having set foot on a strange land and finding savages? Savages! where
are there not any? Besides, are they worse than others, these whom you call
savages?"
"But Captain -- "
"How many have you counted?"
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"A hundred at least."
"M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, placing his fingers on the organ
stops, "when all the natives of Papua are assembled on this shore, the
Nautilus will have nothing to fear from their attacks."
The Captain's fingers were then running over the keys of the
instrument, and I remarked that he touched only the black keys, which gave
his melodies an essentially Scotch character. Soon he had forgotten my
presence, and had plunged into a reverie that I did not disturb. I went up
again on to the platform: night had already fallen; for, in this low
latitude, the sun sets rapidly and without twilight. I could only see the
island indistinctly; but the numerous fires, lighted on the beach, showed
that the natives did not think of leaving it. I was alone for several
hours, sometimes thinking of the natives -- but without any dread of them,
for the imperturbable confidence of the Captain was catching -- sometimes
forgetting them to admire the splendours of the night in the tropics. My
remembrances went to France in the train of those zodiacal stars that would
shine in some hours' time. The moon shone in the midst of the
constellations of the zenith.
The night slipped away without any mischance, the islanders frightened
no doubt at the sight of a monster aground in the bay. The panels were
open, and would have offered an easy access to the interior of the
Nautilus.
At six o'clock in the morning of the 8th January I went up on to the
platform. The dawn was breaking. The island soon showed itself through the
dissipating fogs, first the shore, then the summits.
The natives were there, more numerous than on the day before -- five
or six hundred perhaps -- some of them, profiting by the low water, had
come on to the coral, at less than two cable-lengths from the Nautilus. I
distinguished them easily; they were true Papuans, with athletic figures,
men of good race, large high foreheads, large, but not broad and flat, and
white teeth. Their woolly hair, with a reddish tinge, showed off on their
black shining bodies like those of
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the Nubians. From the lobes of their ears, cut and distended, hung chaplets
of bones. Most of these savages were naked. Amongst them, I remarked some
women, dressed from the hips to knees in quite a crinoline of herbs, that
sustained a vegetable waistband. Some chiefs had ornamented their necks
with a crescent and collars of glass beads, red and white; nearly all were
armed with bows, arrows, and shields and carried on their shoulders a sort
of net containing those round stones which they cast from their slings with
great skill. One of these chiefs, rather near to the Nautilus, examined it
attentively. He was, perhaps, a "mado" of high rank, for he was draped in a
mat of banana-leaves, notched round the edges, and set off with brilliant
colours.
I could easily have knocked down this native, who was within a short
length; but I thought that it was better to wait for real hostile
demonstrations. Between Europeans and savages, it is proper for the
Europeans to parry sharply, not to attack.
During low water the natives roamed about near the Nautilus, but were
not troublesome; I heard them frequently repeat the word "Assai," and by
their gestures I understood that they invited me to go on land, an
invitation that I declined.
So that, on that day, the boat did not push off, to the great
displeasure of Master Land, who could not complete his provisions.
This adroit Canadian employed his time in preparing the viands and
meat that he had brought off the island. As for the savages, they returned
to the shore about eleven o'clock in the morning, as soon as the coral tops
began to disappear under the rising tide; but I saw their numbers had
increased considerably on the shore. Probably they came from the
neighbouring islands, or very likely from Papua. However, I had not seen a
single native canoe. Having nothing better to do, I thought of dragging
these beautiful limpid waters, under which I saw a profusion of shells,
zoophytes, and marine plants. Moreover, it was the last day that the
Nautilus would pass in these parts, if it float
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in open sea the next day, according to Captain Nemo's promise.
I therefore called Conseil, who brought me a little light drag, very
like those for the oyster fishery. Now to work! For two hours we fished
unceasingly, but without bringing up any rarities. The drag was filled with
midas-ears, harps, melames, and particularly the most beautiful hammers I
have ever seen. We also brought up some sea-slugs, pearl- oysters, and a
dozen little turtles that were reserved for the pantry on board.
But just when I expected it least, I put my hand on a wonder, I might
say a natural deformity, very rarely met with. Conseil was just dragging,
and his net came up filled with divers ordinary shells, when, all at once,
he saw me plunge my arm quickly into the net, to draw out a shell, and
heard me utter a cry.
"What is the matter, sir?" he asked in surprise. "Has master been
bitten?"
"No, my boy; but I would willingly have given a finger for my
discovery."
"What discovery?"
"This shell," I said, holding up the object of my triumph.
"It is simply an olive porphyry."
"Yes, Conseil; but, instead of being rolled from right to left, this
olive turns from left to right."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, my boy; it is a left shell."
Shells are all right-handed, with rare exceptions; and, when by chance
their spiral is left, amateurs are ready to pay their weight in gold.
Conseil and I were absorbed in the contemplation of our treasure, and
I was promising myself to enrich the museum with it, when a stone
unfortunately thrown by a native struck against, and broke, the precious
object in Conseil's hand. I uttered a cry of despair! Conseil took up his
gun, and aimed at a savage who was poising his sling at ten yards from him.
I would have stopped him, but his blow took effect and broke the bracelet
of amulets which encircled the arm of the savage.
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"Conseil!" cried I. "Conseil!"
"Well, sir! do you not see that the cannibal has commenced the
attack?"
"A shell is not worth the life of a man," said I.
"Ah! the scoundrel!" cried Conseil; "I would rather he had broken my
shoulder!"
Conseil was in earnest, but I was not of his opinion. However, the
situation had changed some minutes before, and we had not perceived. A
score of canoes surrounded the Nautilus. These canoes, scooped out of the
trunk of a tree, long, narrow, well adapted for speed, were balanced by
means of a long bamboo pole, which floated on the water. They were managed
by skilful, half-naked paddlers, and I watched their advance with some
uneasiness. It was evident that these Papuans had already had dealings with
the Europeans and knew their ships. But this long iron cylinder anchored in
the bay, without masts or chimneys, what could they think of it? Nothing
good, for at first they kept at a respectful distance. However, seeing it
motionless, by degrees they took courage, and sought to familiarise
themselves with it. Now this familiarity was precisely what it was
necessary to avoid. Our arms, which were noiseless, could only produce a
moderate effect on the savages, who have little respect for aught but
blustering things. The thunderbolt without the reverberations of thunder
would frighten man but little, though the danger lies in the lightning, not
in the noise.
At this moment the canoes approached the Nautilus, and a shower of
arrows alighted on her.
I went down to the saloon, but found no one there. I ventured to knock
at the door that opened into the Captain's room. "Come in," was the answer.
I entered, and found Captain Nemo deep in algebraical calculations of
x and other quantities.
"I am disturbing you," said I, for courtesy's sake.
"That is true, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain; "but I think you have
serious reasons for wishing to see me?"
"Very grave ones; the natives are surrounding us in their
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canoes, and in a few minutes we shall certainly be attacked by many
hundreds of savages."
"Ah!," said Captain Nemo quietly, "they are come with their canoes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, sir, we must close the hatches."
"Exactly, and I came to say to you -- "
"Nothing can be more simple," said Captain Nemo. And, pressing an
electric button, he transmitted an order to the ship's crew.
"It is all done, sir," said he, after some moments. "The pinnace is
ready, and the hatches are closed. You do not fear, I imagine, that these
gentlemen could stave in walls on which the balls of your frigate have had
no effect?"
"No, Captain; but a danger still exists."
"What is that, sir?"
"It is that to-morrow, at about this hour, we must open the hatches to
renew the air of the Nautilus. Now, if, at this moment, the Papuans should
occupy the platform, I do not see how you could prevent them from
entering."
"Then, sir, you suppose that they will board us?"
"I am certain of it."
"Well, sir, let them come. I see no reason for hindering them. After
all, these Papuans are poor creatures, and I am unwilling that my visit to
the island should cost the life of a single one of these wretches."
Upon that I was going away; But Captain Nemo detained me, and asked me
to sit down by him. He questioned me with interest about our excursions on
shore, and our hunting; and seemed not to understand the craving for meat
that possessed the Canadian. Then the conversation turned on various
subjects, and, without being more communicative, Captain Nemo showed
himself more amiable.
Amongst other things, we happened to speak of the situation of the
Nautilus, run aground in exactly the same spot in this strait where Dumont
d'Urville was nearly lost. Apropos of this:
"This D'Urville was one of your great sailors," said the
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Captain to me, "one of your most intelligent navigators. He is the Captain
Cook of you Frenchmen. Unfortunate man of science, after having braved the
icebergs of the South Pole, the coral reefs of Oceania, the cannibals of
the Pacific, to perish miserably in a railway train! If this energetic man
could have reflected during the last moments of his life, what must have
been uppermost in his last thoughts, do you suppose?"
So speaking, Captain Nemo seemed moved, and his emotion gave me a
better opinion of him. Then, chart in hand, we reviewed the travels of the
French navigator, his voyages of circumnavigation, his double detention at
the South Pole, which led to the discovery of Adelaide and Louis Philippe,
and fixing the hydrographical bearings of the principal islands of Oceania.
"That which your D'Urville has done on the surface of the seas," said
Captain Nemo, "that have I done under them, and more easily, more
completely than he. The Astrolabe and the Zelee, incessantly tossed about
by the hurricane, could not be worth the Nautilus, quiet repository of
labour that she is, truly motionless in the midst of the waters.
"To-morrow," added the Captain, rising, "to-morrow, at twenty minutes
to three p.m., the Nautilus shall float, and leave the Strait of Torres
uninjured."
Having curtly pronounced these words, Captain Nemo bowed slightly.
This was to dismiss me, and I went back to my room.
There I found Conseil, who wished to know the result of my interview
with the Captain.
"My boy," said I, "when I feigned to believe that his Nautilus was
threatened by the natives of Papua, the Captain answered me very
sarcastically. I have but one thing to say to you: Have confidence in him,
and go to sleep in peace."
"Have you no need of my services, sir?"
"No, my friend. What is Ned Land doing?"
"If you will excuse me, sir," answered Conseil, "friend Ned is busy
making a kangaroo-pie which will be a marvel."
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I remained alone and went to bed, but slept indifferently. I heard the
noise of the savages, who stamped on the platform, uttering deafening
cries. The night passed thus, without disturbing the ordinary repose of the
crew. The presence of these cannibals affected them no more than the
soldiers of a masked battery care for the ants that crawl over its front.
At six in the morning I rose. The hatches had not been opened. The
inner air was not renewed, but the reservoirs, filled ready for any
emergency, were now resorted to, and discharged several cubic feet of
oxygen into the exhausted atmosphere of the Nautilus.
I worked in my room till noon, without having seen Captain Nemo, even
for an instant. On board no preparations for departure were visible.
I waited still some time, then went into the large saloon. The clock
marked half-past two. In ten minutes it would be high-tide: and, if Captain
Nemo had not made a rash promise, the Nautilus would be immediately
detached. If not, many months would pass ere she could leave her bed of
coral.
However, some warning vibrations began to be felt in the vessel. I
heard the keel grating against the rough calcareous bottom of the coral
reef.
At five-and-twenty minutes to three, Captain Nemo appeared in the
saloon.
"We are going to start," said he.
"Ah!" replied I.
"I have given the order to open the hatches."
"And the Papuans?"
"The Papuans?" answered Captain Nemo, slightly shrugging his
shoulders.
"Will they not come inside the Nautilus?"
"How?"
"Only by leaping over the hatches you have opened."
"M. Aronnax," quietly answered Captain Nemo, "they will not enter the
hatches of the Nautilus in that way, even if they were open."
I looked at the Captain.
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"You do not understand?" said he.
"Hardly."
"Well, come and you will see."
I directed my steps towards the central staircase. There Ned Land and
Conseil were slyly watching some of the ship's crew, who were opening the
hatches, while cries of rage and fearful vociferations resounded outside.
The port lids were pulled down outside. Twenty horrible faces
appeared. But the first native who placed his hand on the stair-rail,
struck from behind by some invisible force, I know not what, fled, uttering
the most fearful cries and making the wildest contortions.
Ten of his companions followed him. They met with the same fate.
Conseil was in ecstasy. Ned Land, carried away by his violent
instincts, rushed on to the staircase. But the moment he seized the rail
with both hands, he, in his turn, was overthrown.
"I am struck by a thunderbolt," cried he, with an oath.
This explained all. It was no rail; but a metallic cable charged with
electricity from the deck communicating with the platform. Whoever touched
it felt a powerful shock -- and this shock would have been mortal if
Captain Nemo had discharged into the conductor the whole force of the
current. It might truly be said that between his assailants and himself he
had stretched a network of electricity which none could pass with impunity.
Meanwhile, the exasperated Papuans bad beaten a retreat paralysed with
terror. As for us, half laughing, we consoled and rubbed the unfortunate
Ned Land, who swore like one possessed.
But at this moment the Nautilus, raised by the last waves of the tide,
quitted her coral bed exactly at the fortieth minute fixed by the Captain.
Her screw swept the waters slowly and majestically. Her speed increased
gradually, and, sailing on the surface of the ocean, she quitted safe and
sound the dangerous passes of the Straits of Torres.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.22
"AEGRI SOMNIA"
THE following day 10th January, the Nautilus continued her course
between two seas, but with such remarkable speed that I could not estimate
it at less than thirty-five miles an hour. The rapidity of her screw was
such that I could neither follow nor count its revolutions. When I
reflected that this marvellous electric agent, after having afforded
motion, heat, and light to the Nautilus, still protected her from outward
attack, and transformed her into an ark of safety which no profane hand
might touch without being thunderstricken, my admiration was unbounded, and
from the structure it extended to the engineer who had called it into
existence.
Our course was directed to the west, and on the 11th of January we
doubled Cape Wessel, situation in 135° long. and 10° S. lat., which forms
the east point of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The reefs were still numerous,
but more equalised, and marked on the chart with extreme precision. The
Nautilus easily avoided the breakers of Money to port and the Victoria
reefs to starboard, placed at 130° long. and on the 10th parallel, which we
strictly followed.
On the 13th of January, Captain Nemo arrived in the Sea of Timor, and
recognised the island of that name in 122° long.
From this point the direction of the Nautilus inclined towards the
south-west. Her head was set for the Indian Ocean. Where would the fancy of
Captain Nemo carry us next? Would he return to the coast of Asia or would
he approach again the shores of Europe? Improbable conjectures both, to a
man who fled from inhabited continents. Then would he descend to the south?
Was he going to double the Cape of Good Hope, then Cape Horn, and finally
go as far as the Antarctic pole? Would he come back at last to the Pacific,
where his Nautilus could sail free and independently? Time would show.
After having skirted the sands of Cartier, of Hibernia,
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Seringapatam, and Scott, last efforts of the solid against the liquid
element, on the 14th of January we lost sight of land altogether. The speed
of the Nautilus was considerably abated, and with irregular course she
sometimes swam in the bosom of the waters, sometimes floated on their
surface.
During this period of the voyage, Captain Nemo made some interesting
experiments on the varied temperature of the sea, in different beds. Under
ordinary conditions these observations are made by means of rather
complicated instruments, and with somewhat doubtful results, by means of
thermometrical sounding-leads, the glasses often breaking under the
pressure of the water, or an apparatus grounded on the variations of the
resistance of metals to the electric currents. Results so obtained could
not be correctly calculated. On the contrary, Captain Nemo went himself to
test the temperature in the depths of the sea, and his thermometer, placed
in communication with the different sheets of water, gave him the required
degree immediately and accurately.
It was thus that, either by overloading her reservoirs or by
descending obliquely by means of her inclined planes, the Nautilus
successively attained the depth of three, four, five, seven, nine, and ten
thousand yards, and the definite result of this experience was that the sea
preserved an average temperature of four degrees and a half at a depth of
five thousand fathoms under all latitudes.
On the 16th of January, the Nautilus seemed becalmed only a few yards
beneath the surface of the waves. Her electric apparatus remained inactive
and her motionless screw left her to drift at the mercy of the currents. I
supposed that the crew was occupied with interior repairs, rendered
necessary by the violence of the mechanical movements of the machine.
My companions and I then witnessed a curious spectacle. The hatches of
the saloon were open, and, as the beacon- light of the Nautilus was not in
action, a dim obscurity reigned in the midst of the waters. I observed the
state of the sea, under these conditions, and the largest fish appeared to
me no more than scarcely defined shadows, when the Nautilus
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found herself suddenly transported into full light. I thought at first that
the beacon had been lighted, and was casting its electric radiance into the
liquid mass. I was mistaken, and after a rapid survey perceived my error.
The Nautilus floated in the midst of a phosphorescent bed which, in
this obscurity, became quite dazzling. It was produced by myriads of
luminous animalculae, whose brilliancy was increased as they glided over
the metallic hull of the vessel. I was surprised by lightning in the midst
of these luminous sheets, as though they bad been rivulets of lead melted
in an ardent furnace or metallic masses brought to a white heat, so that,
by force of contrast, certain portions of light appeared to cast a shade in
the midst of the general ignition, from which all shade seemed banished.
No; this was not the calm irradiation of our ordinary lightning. There was
unusual life and vigour: this was truly living light!
In reality, it was an infinite agglomeration of coloured infusoria, of
veritable globules of jelly, provided with a threadlike tentacle, and of
which as many as twenty-five thousand have been counted in less than two
cubic half- inches of water.
During several hours the Nautilus floated in these brilliant waves,
and our admiration increased as we watched the marine monsters disporting
themselves like salamanders. I saw there in the midst of this fire that
burns not the swift and elegant porpoise (the indefatigable clown of the
ocean), and some swordfish ten feet long, those prophetic heralds of the
hurricane whose formidable sword would now and then strike the glass of the
saloon. Then appeared the smaller fish, the balista, the leaping mackerel,
wolf-thorn- tails, and a hundred others which striped the luminous
atmosphere as they swam. This dazzling spectacle was enchanting! Perhaps
some atmospheric condition increased the intensity of this phenomenon.
Perhaps some storm agitated the surface of the waves. But at this depth of
some yards, the Nautilus was unmoved by its fury and reposed peacefully in
still water.
So we progressed, incessantly charmed by some new marvel. The days
passed rapidly away, and I took no account
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of them. Ned, according to habit, tried to vary the diet on board. Like
snails, we were fixed to our shells, and I declare it is easy to lead a
snail's life.
Thus this life seemed easy and natural, and we thought no longer of
the life we led on land; but something happened to recall us to the
strangeness of our situation.
On the 18th of January, the Nautilus was in 105° long. and 15° S. lat.
The weather was threatening, the sea rough and rolling. There was a strong
east wind. The barometer, which had been going down for some days,
foreboded a coming storm. I went up on to the platform just as the second
lieutenant was taking the measure of the horary angles, and waited,
according to habit till the daily phrase was said. But on this day it was
exchanged for another phrase not less incomprehensible. Almost directly, I
saw Captain Nemo appear with a glass, looking towards the horizon.
For some minutes be was immovable, without taking his eye off the
point of observation. Then he lowered his glass and exchanged a few words
with his lieutenant. The latter seemed to be a victim to some emotion that
he tried in vain to repress. Captain Nemo, having more command over
himself, was cool. He seemed, too, to be making some objections to which
the lieutenant replied by formal assurances. At least I concluded so by the
difference of their tones and gestures. For myself, I had looked carefully
in the direction indicated without seeing anything. The sky and water were
lost in the clear line of the horizon.
However, Captain Nemo walked from one end of the platform to the
other, without looking at me, perhaps without seeing me. His step was firm,
but less regular than usual. He stopped sometimes, crossed his arms, and
observed the sea. What could he be looking for on that immense expanse?
The Nautilus was then some hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.
The lieutenant had taken up the glass and examined the horizon
steadfastly, going and coming, stamping his foot and showing more nervous
agitation than his superior officer. Beside, this mystery must necessarily
be solved, and before
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long; for, upon an order from Captain Nemo, the engine, increasing its
propelling power, made the screw turn more rapidly.
Just then the lieutenant drew the Captain's attention again. The
latter stopped walking and directed his glass towards the place indicated.
He looked long. I felt very much puzzled, and descended to the
drawing-room, and took out an excellent telescope that I generally used.
Then, leaning on the cage of the watch-light that jutted out from the front
of the platform, set myself to look over all the line of the sky and sea.
But my eye was no sooner applied to the glass than it was quickly
snatched out of my hands.
I turned round. Captain Nemo was before me, but I did not know him.
His face was transfigured. His eyes flashed sullenly; his teeth were set;
his stiff body, clenched fists, and head shrunk between his shoulders,
betrayed the violent agitation that pervaded his whole frame. He did not
move. My glass, fallen from his hands, had rolled at his feet.
Had I unwittingly provoked this fit of anger? Did this
incomprehensible person imagine that I had discovered some forbidden
secret? No; I was not the object of this hatred, for he was not looking at
me; his eye was steadily fixed upon the impenetrable point of the horizon.
At last Captain Nemo recovered himself. His agitation subsided. He
addressed some words in a foreign language to his lieutenant, then turned
to me. "M. Aronnax," he said, in rather an imperious tone, "I require you
to keep one of the conditions that bind you to me."
"What is it, Captain?"
"You must be confined, with your companions, until I think fit to
release you."
"You are the master," I replied, looking steadily at him. "But may I
ask you one question?"
"None, sir."
There was no resisting this imperious command, it would have been
useless. I went down to the cabin occupied by Ned Land and Conseil, and
told them the Captain's determination.
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You may judge how this communication was received by the Canadian.
But there was not time for altercation. Four of the crew waited at the
door, and conducted us to that cell where we had passed our first night on
board the Nautilus.
Ned Land would have remonstrated, but the door was shut upon him.
"Will master tell me what this means?" asked Conseil.
I told my companions what had passed. They were as much astonished as
I, and equally at a loss how to account for it.
Meanwhile, I was absorbed in my own reflections, and could think of
nothing but the strange fear depicted in the Captain's countenance. I was
utterly at a loss to account for it, when my cogitations were disturbed by
these words from Ned Land:
"Hallo! breakfast is ready."
And indeed the table was laid. Evidently Captain Nemo had given this
order at the same time that he had hastened the speed of the Nautilus.
"Will master permit me to make a recommendation?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy."
"Well, it is that master breakfasts. It is prudent, for we do not know
what may happen."
"You are right, Conseil."
"Unfortunately," said Ned Land, "they have only given us the ship's
fare."
"Friend Ned," asked Conseil, "what would you have said if the
breakfast had been entirely forgotten?"
This argument cut short the harpooner's recriminations.
We sat down to table. The meal was eaten in silence.
Just then the luminous globe that lighted the cell went out, and left
us in total darkness. Ned Land was soon asleep, and what astonished me was
that Conseil went off into a heavy slumber. I was thinking what could have
caused his irresistible drowsiness, when I felt my brain becoming
stupefied. In spite of my efforts to keep my eyes open, they would close. A
painful suspicion seized me. Evidently
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soporific substances had been mixed with the food we had just taken.
Imprisonment was not enough to conceal Captain Nemo's projects from us,
sleep was more necessary. I then heard the panels shut. The undulations of
the sea, which caused a slight rolling motion, ceased. Had the Nautilus
quitted the surface of the ocean? Had it gone back to the motionless bed of
water? I tried to resist sleep. It was impossible. My breathing grew weak.
I felt a mortal cold freeze my stiffened and half-paralysed limbs. My
eyelids, like leaden caps, fell over my eyes. I could not raise them; a
morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, bereft me of my being. Then the
visions disappeared, and left me in complete insensibility.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.23
THE CORAL KINGDOM
THE next day I woke with my head singularly clear. To my great
surprise, I was in my own room. My companions, no doubt, had been
reinstated in their cabin, without having perceived it any more than I. Of
what had passed during the night they were as ignorant as I was, and to
penetrate this mystery I only reckoned upon the chances of the future.
I then thought of quitting my room. Was I free again or a prisoner?
Quite free. I opened the door, went to the half-deck, went up the central
stairs. The panels, shut the evening before, were open. I went on to the
platform.
Ned Land and Conseil waited there for me. I questioned them; they knew
nothing. Lost in a heavy sleep in which they had been totally unconscious,
they had been astonished at finding themselves in their cabin.
As for the Nautilus, it seemed quiet and mysterious as ever. It
floated on the surface of the waves at a moderate pace. Nothing seemed
changed on board.
The second lieutenant then came on to the platform, and gave the usual
order below.
As for Captain Nemo, he did not appear.
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Of the people on board, I only saw the impassive steward, who served
me with his usual dumb regularity.
About two o'clock, I was in the drawing-room, busied in arranging my
notes, when the Captain opened the door and appeared. I bowed. He made a
slight inclination in return, without speaking. I resumed my work, hoping
that he would perhaps give me some explanation of the events of the
preceding night. He made none. I looked at him. He seemed fatigued; his
heavy eyes had not been refreshed by sleep; his face looked very sorrowful.
He walked to and fro, sat down and got up again, took a chance book, put it
down, consulted his instruments without taking his habitual notes, and
seemed restless and uneasy. At last, he came up to me, and said:
"Are you a doctor, M. Aronnax?"
I so little expected such a question that I stared some time at him
without answering.
"Are you a doctor?" he repeated. "Several of your colleagues have
studied medicine."
"Well," said I, "I am a doctor and resident surgeon to the hospital. I
practised several years before entering the museum."
"Very well, sir."
My answer had evidently satisfied the Captain. But, not knowing what
he would say next, I waited for other questions, reserving my answers
according to circumstances.
"M. Aronnax, will you consent to prescribe for one of my men?" be
asked.
"Is he ill?"
"Yes."
"I am ready to follow you."
"Come, then."
I own my heart beat, I do not know why. I saw certain connection
between the illness of one of the crew and the events of the day before;
and this mystery interested me at least as much as the sick man.
Captain Nemo conducted me to the poop of the Nautilus, and took me
into a cabin situated near the sailors' quarters.
There, on a bed, lay a man about forty years of age,
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with a resolute expression of countenance, a true type of an Anglo-Saxon.
I leant over him. He was not only ill, he was wounded. His head,
swathed in bandages covered with blood, lay on a pillow. I undid the
bandages, and the wounded man looked at me with his large eyes and gave no
sign of pain as I did it. It was a horrible wound. The skull, shattered by
some deadly weapon, left the brain exposed, which was much injured. Clots
of blood had formed in the bruised and broken mass, in colour like the
dregs of wine.
There was both contusion and suffusion of the brain. His breathing was
slow, and some spasmodic movements of the muscles agitated his face. I felt
his pulse. It was intermittent. The extremities of the body were growing
cold already, and I saw death must inevitably ensue. After dressing the
unfortunate man's wounds, I readjusted the bandages on his head, and turned
to Captain Nemo.
"What caused this wound?" I asked.
"What does it signify?" he replied, evasively. "A shock has broken one
of the levers of the engine, which struck myself. But your opinion as to
his state?"
I hesitated before giving it.
"You may speak," said the Captain. "This man does not understand
French."
I gave a last look at the wounded man.
"He will be dead in two hours."
"Can nothing save him?"
"Nothing."
Captain Nemo's hand contracted, and some tears glistened in his eyes,
which I thought incapable of shedding any.
For some moments I still watched the dying man, whose life ebbed
slowly. His pallor increased under the electric light that was shed over
his death-bed. I looked at his intelligent forehead, furrowed with
premature wrinkles, produced probably by misfortune and sorrow. I tried to
learn the secret of his life from the last words that escaped his lips.
"You can go now, M. Aronnax," said the Captain.
I left him in the dying man's cabin, and returned to my
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room much affected by this scene. During the whole day, I was haunted by
uncomfortable suspicions, and at night I slept badly, and between my broken
dreams I fancied I heard distant sighs like the notes of a funeral psalm.
Were they the prayers of the dead, murmured in that language that I could
not understand?
The next morning I went on to the bridge. Captain Nemo was there
before me. As soon as he perceived me he came to me.
"Professor, will it be convenient to you to make a submarine excursion
to-day?"
"With my companions?" I asked.
"If they like."
"We obey your orders, Captain."
"Will you be so good then as to put on your cork jackets?"
It was not a question of dead or dying. I rejoined Ned Land and
Conseil, and told them of Captain Nemo's proposition. Conseil hastened to
accept it, and this time the Canadian seemed quite willing to follow our
example.
It was eight o'clock in the morning. At half-past eight we were
equipped for this new excursion, and provided with two contrivances for
light and breathing. The double door was open; and, accompanied by Captain
Nemo, who was followed by a dozen of the crew, we set foot, at a depth of
about thirty feet, on the solid bottom on which the Nautilus rested.
A slight declivity ended in an uneven bottom, at fifteen fathoms
depth. This bottom differed entirely from the one I had visited on my first
excursion under the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Here, there was no fine
sand, no submarine prairies, no sea-forest. I immediately recognised that
marvellous region in which, on that day, the Captain did the honours to us.
It was the coral kingdom.
The light produced a thousand charming varieties, playing in the midst
of the branches that were so vividly coloured. I seemed to see the
membraneous and cylindrical tubes tremble beneath the undulation of the
waters. I was tempted to gather their fresh petals, ornamented with
delicate
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tentacles, some just blown, the others budding, while a small fish,
swimming swiftly, touched them slightly, like flights of birds. But if my
hand approached these living flowers, these animated, sensitive plants, the
whole colony took alarm. The white petals re-entered their red cases, the
flowers faded as I looked, and the bush changed into a block of stony
knobs.
Chance had thrown me just by the most precious specimens of the
zoophyte. This coral was more valuable than that found in the
Mediterranean, on the coasts of France, Italy and Barbary. Its tints
justified the poetical names of "Flower of Blood," and "Froth of Blood,"
that trade has given to its most beautiful productions. Coral is sold for
L20 per ounce; and in this place the watery beds would make the fortunes of
a company of coral-divers. This precious matter, often confused with other
polypi, formed then the inextricable plots called "macciota," and on which
I noticed several beautiful specimens of pink coral.
Real petrified thickets, long joints of fantastic architecture, were
disclosed before us. Captain Nemo placed himself under a dark gallery,
where by a slight declivity we reached a depth of a hundred yards. The
light from our lamps produced sometimes magical effects, following the
rough outlines of the natural arches and pendants disposed like lustres,
that were tipped with points of fire.
At last, after walking two hours, we had attained a depth of about
three hundred yards, that is to say, the extreme limit on which coral
begins to form. But there was no isolated bush, nor modest brushwood, at
the bottom of lofty trees. It was an immense forest of large mineral
vegetations, enormous petrified trees, united by garlands of elegant sea-
bindweed, all adorned with clouds and reflections. We passed freely under
their high branches, lost in the shade of the waves.
Captain Nemo had stopped. I and my companions halted, and, turning
round, I saw his men were forming a semi- circle round their chief.
Watching attentively, I observed that four of them carried on their
shoulders an object of an oblong shape.
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We occupied, in this place, the centre of a vast glade surrounded by
the lofty foliage of the submarine forest. Our lamps threw over this place
a sort of clear twilight that singularly elongated the shadows on the
ground. At the end of the glade the darkness increased, and was only
relieved by little sparks reflected by the points of coral.
Ned Land and Conseil were near me. We watched, and I thought I was
going to witness a strange scene. On observing the ground, I saw that it
was raised in certain places by slight excrescences encrusted with limy
deposits, and disposed with a regularity that betrayed the hand of man.
In the midst of the glade, on a pedestal of rocks roughly piled up,
stood a cross of coral that extended its long arms that one might have
thought were made of petrified blood. Upon a sign from Captain Nemo one of
the men advanced; and at some feet from the cross he began to dig a hole
with a pickaxe that he took from his belt. I understood all! This glade was
a cemetery, this hole a tomb, this oblong object the body of the man who
had died in the night! The Captain and his men had come to bury their
companion in this general resting-place, at the bottom of this inaccessible
ocean!
The grave was being dug slowly; the fish fled on all sides while their
retreat was being thus disturbed; I heard the strokes of the pickaxe, which
sparkled when it hit upon some flint lost at the bottom of the waters. The
hole was soon large and deep enough to receive the body. Then the bearers
approached; the body, enveloped in a tissue of white linen, was lowered
into the damp grave. Captain Nemo, with his arms crossed on his breast, and
all the friends of him who had loved them, knelt in prayer.
The grave was then filled in with the rubbish taken from the ground,
which formed a slight mound. When this was done, Captain Nemo and his men
rose; then, approaching the grave, they knelt again, and all extended their
hands in sign of a last adieu. Then the funeral procession returned to the
Nautilus, passing under the arches of the forest, in the midst of thickets,
along the coral bushes, and still on the ascent. At last the light of the
ship appeared, and its
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luminous track guided us to the Nautilus. At one o'clock we had returned.
As soon as I had changed my clothes I went up on to the platform, and,
a prey to conflicting emotions, I sat down near the binnacle. Captain Nemo
joined me. I rose and said to him:
"So, as I said he would, this man died in the night?"
"Yes, M. Aronnax."
"And he rests now, near his companions, in the coral cemetery?"
"Yes, forgotten by all else, but not by us. We dug the grave, and the
polypi undertake to seal our dead for eternity." And, burying his face
quickly in his hands, he tried in vain to suppress a sob. Then he added:
"Our peaceful cemetery is there, some hundred feet below the surface of the
waves."
"Your dead sleep quietly, at least, Captain, out of the reach of
sharks."
"Yes, sir, of sharks and men," gravely replied the Captain.
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Chapter 2.1
THE INDIAN OCEAN
WE NOW come to the second part of our journey under the sea. The first
ended with the moving scene in the coral cemetery which left such a deep
impression on my mind. Thus, in the midst of this great sea, Captain Nemo's
life was passing, even to his grave, which he had prepared in one of its
deepest abysses. There, not one of the ocean's monsters could trouble the
last sleep of the crew of the Nautilus, of those friends riveted to each
other in death as in life. "Nor any man, either," had added the Captain.
Still the same fierce, implacable defiance towards human society!
I could no longer content myself with the theory which satisfied
Conseil.
That worthy fellow persisted in seeing in the Commander of the
Nautilus one of those unknown servants who return mankind contempt for
indifference. For him, he was a misunderstood genius who, tired of earth's
deceptions, had taken refuge in this inaccessible medium, where he might
follow his instincts freely. To my mind, this explains but one side of
Captain Nemo's character. Indeed, the mystery of that last night during
which we had been chained in prison, the sleep, and the precaution so
violently taken by the Captain of snatching from my eyes the glass I had
raised to sweep the horizon, the mortal wound of the man, due to an
unaccountable shock of the Nautilus, all put me on a new track. No; Captain
Nemo was not satisfied with shunning man. His formidable apparatus not only
suited his instinct of freedom, but perhaps also the design of some
terrible retaliation.
At this moment nothing is clear to me; I catch but a glimpse of light
amidst all the darkness, and I must confine myself to writing as events
shall dictate.
That day, the 24th of January, 1868, at noon, the second
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officer came to take the altitude of the sun. I mounted the platform, lit a
cigar, and watched the operation. It seemed to me that the man did not
understand French; for several times I made remarks in a loud voice, which
must have drawn from him some involuntary sign of attention, if he had
understood them; but he remained undisturbed and dumb.
As he was taking observations with the sextant, one of the sailors of
the Nautilus (the strong man who had accompanied us on our first submarine
excursion to the Island of Crespo) came to clean the glasses of the
lantern. I examined the fittings of the apparatus, the strength of which
was increased a hundredfold by lenticular rings, placed similar to those in
a lighthouse, and which projected their brilliance in a horizontal plane.
The electric lamp was combined in such a way as to give its most powerful
light. Indeed, it was produced in vacuo, which insured both its steadiness
and its intensity. This vacuum economised the graphite points between which
the luminous arc was developed -- an important point of economy for Captain
Nemo, who could not easily have replaced them; and under these conditions
their waste was imperceptible. When the Nautilus was ready to continue its
submarine journey, I went down to the saloon. The panel was closed, and the
course marked direct west.
We were furrowing the waters of the Indian Ocean, a vast liquid plain,
with a surface of 1,200,000,000 of acres, and whose waters are so clear and
transparent that any one leaning over them would turn giddy. The Nautilus
usually floated between fifty and a hundred fathoms deep. We went on so for
some days. To anyone but myself, who had a great love for the sea, the
hours would have seemed long and monotonous; but the daily walks on the
platform, when I steeped myself in the reviving air of the ocean, the sight
of the rich waters through the windows of the saloon, the books in the
library, the compiling of my memoirs, took up all my time, and left me not
a moment of ennui or weariness.
For some days we saw a great number of aquatic birds, sea-mews or
gulls. Some were cleverly killed and, prepared
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in a certain way, made very acceptable water-game. Amongst large-winged
birds, carried a long distance from all lands and resting upon the waves
from the fatigue of their flight, I saw some magnificent albatrosses,
uttering discordant cries like the braying of an ass, and birds belonging
to the family of the long-wings.
As to the fish, they always provoked our admiration when we surprised
the secrets of their aquatic life through the open panels. I saw many kinds
which I never before had a chance of observing.
From the 21st to the 23rd of January the Nautilus went at the rate of
two hundred and fifty leagues in twenty-four hours, being five hundred and
forty miles, or twenty-two miles an hour. If we recognised so many
different varieties of fish, it was because, attracted by the electric
light, they tried to follow us; the greater part, however, were soon
distanced by our speed, though some kept their place in the waters of the
Nautilus for a time. The morning of the 24th, in 12° 5' S. lat., and 94°
33' long., we observed Keeling Island, a coral formation, planted with
magnificent cocos, and which bad been visited by Mr. Darwin and Captain
Fitzroy. The Nautilus skirted the shores of this desert island for a little
distance. Its nets brought up numerous specimens of polypi and curious
shells of mollusca.
Soon Keeling Island disappeared from the horizon, and our course was
directed to the north-west in the direction of the Indian Peninsula.
From Keeling Island our course was slower and more variable, often
taking us into great depths. Several times they made use of the inclined
planes, which certain internal levers placed obliquely to the waterline. In
that way we went about two miles, but without ever obtaining the greatest
depths of the Indian Sea, which soundings of seven thousand fathoms have
never reached. As to the temperature of the lower strata, the thermometer
invariably indicated 4° above zero. I only observed that in the upper
regions the water was always colder in the high levels than at the surface
of the sea.
On the 25th of January the ocean was entirely deserted;
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the Nautilus passed the day on the surface, beating the waves with its
powerful screw and making them rebound to a great height. Who under such
circumstances would not have taken it for a gigantic cetacean? Three parts
of this day I spent on the platform. I watched the sea. Nothing on the
horizon, till about four o'clock a steamer running west on our counter. Her
masts were visible for an instant, but she could not see the Nautilus,
being too low in the water. I fancied this steamboat belonged to the P.O.
Company, which runs from Ceylon to Sydney, touching at King George's Point
and Melbourne.
At five o'clock in the evening, before that fleeting twilight which
binds night to day in tropical zones, Conseil and I were astonished by a
curious spectacle.
It was a shoal of argonauts travelling along on the surface of the
ocean. We could count several hundreds. They belonged to the tubercle kind
which are peculiar to the Indian seas.
These graceful molluscs moved backwards by means of their locomotive
tube, through which they propelled the water already drawn in. Of their
eight tentacles, six were elongated, and stretched out floating on the
water, whilst the other two, rolled up flat, were spread to the wing like a
light sail. I saw their spiral-shaped and fluted shells, which Cuvier
justly compares to an elegant skiff. A boat indeed! It bears the creature
which secretes it without its adhering to it.
For nearly an hour the Nautilus floated in the midst of this shoal of
molluscs. Then I know not what sudden fright they took. But as if at a
signal every sail was furled, the arms folded, the body drawn in, the
shells turned over, changing their centre of gravity, and the whole fleet
disappeared under the waves. Never did the ships of a squadron manoeuvre
with more unity.
At that moment night fell suddenly, and the reeds, scarcely raised by
the breeze, lay peaceably under the sides of the Nautilus.
The next day, 26th of January, we cut the equator at the eighty-second
meridian and entered the northern hemisphere.
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During the day a formidable troop of sharks accompanied us, terrible
creatures, which multiply in these seas and make them very dangerous. They
were "cestracio philippi" sharks, with brown backs and whitish bellies,
armed with eleven rows of teeth -- eyed sharks -- their throat being marked
with a large black spot surrounded with white like an eye. There were also
some Isabella sharks, with rounded snouts marked with dark spots. These
powerful creatures often hurled themselves at the windows of the saloon
with such violence as to make us feel very insecure. At such times Ned Land
was no longer master of himself. He wanted to go to the surface and harpoon
the monsters, particularly certain smooth-hound sharks, whose mouth is
studded with teeth like a mosaic; and large tiger-sharks nearly six yards
long, the last named of which seemed to excite him more particularly. But
the Nautilus, accelerating her speed, easily left the most rapid of them
behind.
The 27th of January, at the entrance of the vast Bay of Bengal, we met
repeatedly a forbidding spectacle, dead bodies floating on the surface of
the water. They were the dead of the Indian villages, carried by the Ganges
to the level of the sea, and which the vultures, the only undertakers of
the country, had not been able to devour. But the sharks did not fail to
help them at their funeral work.
About seven o'clock in the evening, the Nautilus, half- immersed, was
sailing in a sea of milk. At first sight the ocean seemed lactified. Was it
the effect of the lunar rays? No; for the moon, scarcely two days old, was
still lying hidden under the horizon in the rays of the sun. The whole sky,
though lit by the sidereal rays, seemed black by contrast with the
whiteness of the waters.
Conseil could not believe his eyes, and questioned me as to the cause
of this strange phenomenon. Happily I was able to answer him.
"It is called a milk sea," I explained. "A large extent of white
wavelets often to be seen on the coasts of Amboyna, and in these parts of
the sea."
"But, sir," said Conseil, "can you tell me what causes
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such an effect? for I suppose the water is not really turned into milk."
"No, my boy; and the whiteness which surprises you is caused only by
the presence of myriads of infusoria, a sort of luminous little worm,
gelatinous and without colour, of the thickness of a hair, and whose length
is not more than seven-thousandths of an inch. These insects adhere to one
another sometimes for several leagues."
"Several leagues!" exclaimed Conseil.
"Yes, my boy; and you need not try to compute the number of these
infusoria. You will not be able, for, if I am not mistaken, ships have
floated on these milk seas for more than forty miles."
Towards midnight the sea suddenly resumed its usual colour; but behind
us, even to the limits of the horizon, the sky reflected the whitened
waves, and for a long time seemed impregnated with the vague glimmerings of
an aurora borealis.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.2
A NOVEL PROPOSAL OF CAPTAIN NEMO'S
ON THE 28th of February, when at noon the Nautilus came to the surface
of the sea, in 9° 4' N. lat., there was land in sight about eight miles to
westward. The first thing I noticed was a range of mountains about two
thousand feet high, the shapes of which were most capricious. On taking the
bearings, I knew that we were nearing the island of Ceylon, the pearl which
hangs from the lobe of the Indian Peninsula.
Captain Nemo and his second appeared at this moment. The Captain
glanced at the map. Then turning to me, said:
"The Island of Ceylon, noted for its pearl-fisheries. Would you like
to visit one of them, M. Aronnax?"
"Certainly, Captain."
"Well, the thing is easy. Though, if we see the fisheries, we shall
not see the fishermen. The annual exportation has
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not yet begun. Never mind, I will give orders to make for the Gulf of
Manaar, where we shall arrive in the night."
The Captain said something to his second, who immediately went out.
Soon the Nautilus returned to her native element, and the manometer showed
that she was about thirty feet deep.
"Well, sir," said Captain Nemo, "you and your companions shall visit
the Bank of Manaar, and if by chance some fisherman should be there, we
shall see him at work."
"Agreed, Captain!"
"By the bye, M. Aronnax you are not afraid of sharks?"
"Sharks!" exclaimed I.
This question seemed a very hard one.
"Well?" continued Captain Nemo.
"I admit, Captain, that I am not yet very familiar with that kind of
fish."
"We are accustomed to them," replied Captain Nemo, "and in time you
will be too. However, we shall be armed, and on the road we may be able to
hunt some of the tribe. It is interesting. So, till to-morrow, sir, and
early."
This said in a careless tone, Captain Nemo left the saloon. Now, if
you were invited to hunt the bear in the mountains of Switzerland, what
would you say?
"Very well! to-morrow we will go and hunt the bear." If you were asked
to hunt the lion in the plains of Atlas, or the tiger in the Indian
jungles, what would you say?
"Ha! ha! it seems we are going to hunt the tiger or the lion!" But
when you are invited to hunt the shark in its natural element, you would
perhaps reflect before accepting the invitation. As for myself, I passed my
hand over my forehead, on which stood large drops of cold perspiration.
"Let us reflect," said I, "and take our time. Hunting otters in submarine
forests, as we did in the Island of Crespo, will pass; but going up and
down at the bottom of the sea, where one is almost certain to meet sharks,
is quite another thing! I know well that in certain countries, particularly
in the Andaman Islands, the negroes never hesitate to attack them with a
dagger in one hand and a running noose in the other; but I also know that
few who affront those
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creatures ever return alive. However, I am not a negro, and if I were I
think a little hesitation in this case would not be ill-timed."
At this moment Conseil and the Canadian entered, quite composed, and
even joyous. They knew not what awaited them.
"Faith, sir," said Ned Land, "your Captain Nemo -- the devil take him!
-- has just made us a very pleasant offer."
"Ah!" said I, "you know?"
"If agreeable to you, sir," interrupted Conseil, "the commander of the
Nautilus has invited us to visit the magnificent Ceylon fisheries
to-morrow, in your company; he did it kindly, and behaved like a real
gentleman."
"He said nothing more?"
"Nothing more, sir, except that he had already spoken to you of this
little walk."
"Sir," said Conseil, "would you give us some details of the pearl
fishery?"
"As to the fishing itself," I asked, "or the incidents, which?"
"On the fishing," replied the Canadian; "before entering upon the
ground, it is as well to know something about it."
"Very well; sit down, my friends, and I will teach you."
Ned and Conseil seated themselves on an ottoman, and the first thing
the Canadian asked was:
"Sir, what is a pearl?"
"My worthy Ned," I answered, "to the poet, a pearl is a tear of the
sea; to the Orientals, it is a drop of dew solidified; to the ladies, it is
a jewel of an oblong shape, of a brilliancy of mother-of-pearl substance,
which they wear on their fingers, their necks, or their ears; for the
chemist it is a mixture of phosphate and carbonate of lime, with a little
gelatine; and lastly, for naturalists, it is simply a morbid secretion of
the organ that produces the mother- of-pearl amongst certain bivalves."
"Branch of molluscs," said Conseil.
"Precisely so, my learned Conseil; and, amongst these testacea the
earshell, the tridacnae, the turbots, in a word, all those which secrete
mother-of-pearl, that is, the blue,
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bluish, violet, or white substance which lines the interior of their
shells, are capable of producing pearls."
"Mussels too?" asked the Canadian.
"Yes, mussels of certain waters in Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Saxony,
Bohemia, and France."
"Good! For the future I shall pay attention," replied the Canadian.
"But," I continued, "the particular mollusc which secretes the pearl
is the pearl-oyster. The pearl is nothing but a formation deposited in a
globular form, either adhering to the oyster-shell or buried in the folds
of the creature. On the shell it is fast: in the flesh it is loose; but
always has for a kernel a small hard substance, maybe a barren egg, maybe a
grain of sand, around which the pearly matter deposits itself year after
year successively, and by thin concentric layers."
"Are many pearls found in the same oyster?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy. Some are a perfect casket. One oyster has been
mentioned, though I allow myself to doubt it, as having contained no less
than a hundred and fifty sharks."
"A hundred and fifty sharks!" exclaimed Ned Land.
"Did I say sharks?" said I hurriedly. "I meant to say a hundred and
fifty pearls. Sharks would not be sense."
"Certainly not," said Conseil; "but will you tell us now by what means
they extract these pearls?"
"They proceed in various ways. When they adhere to the shell, the
fishermen often pull them off with pincers; but the most common way is to
lay the oysters on mats of the seaweed which covers the banks. Thus they
die in the open air; and at the end of ten days they are in a forward state
of decomposition. They are then plunged into large reservoirs of sea-water;
then they are opened and washed."
"The price of these pearls varies according to their size?" asked
Conseil.
"Not only according to their size," I answered, "but also according to
their shape, their water (that is, their colour), and their lustre: that
is, that bright and diapered sparkle which makes them so charming to the
eye. The most beautiful
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are called virgin pearls, or paragons. They are formed alone in the tissue
of the mollusc, are white, often opaque, and sometimes have the
transparency of an opal; they are generally round or oval. The round are
made into bracelets, the oval into pendants, and, being more precious, are
sold singly. Those adhering to the shell of the oyster are more irregular
in shape, and are sold by weight. Lastly, in a lower order are classed
those small pearls known under the name of seed-pearls; they are sold by
measure, and are especially used in embroidery for church ornaments."
"But," said Conseil, "is this pearl-fishery dangerous?"
"No," I answered, quickly; "particularly if certain precautions are
taken."
"What does one risk in such a calling?" said Ned Land, "the swallowing
of some mouthfuls of sea-water?"
"As you say, Ned. By the bye," said I, trying to take Captain Nemo's
careless tone, "are you afraid of sharks, brave Ned?"
"I!" replied the Canadian; "a harpooner by profession? It is my trade
to make light of them."
"But," said I, "it is not a question of fishing for them with an
iron-swivel, hoisting them into the vessel, cutting off their tails with a
blow of a chopper, ripping them up, and throwing their heart into the sea!"
"Then, it is a question of -- "
"Precisely."
"In the water?"
"In the water."
"Faith, with a good harpoon! You know, sir, these sharks are
ill-fashioned beasts. They turn on their bellies to seize you, and in that
time -- "
Ned Land had a way of saying "seize" which made my blood run cold.
"Well, and you, Conseil, what do you think of sharks?"
"Me!" said Conseil. "I will be frank, sir."
"So much the better," thought I.
"If you, sir, mean to face the sharks, I do not see why your faithful
servant should not face them with you."
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.3
A PEARL OF TEN MILLIONS
THE next morning at four o'clock I was awakened by the steward whom
Captain Nemo had placed at my service. I rose hurriedly, dressed, and went
into the saloon.
Captain Nemo was awaiting me.
"M. Aronnax," said he, "are you ready to start?"
"I am ready."
"Then please to follow me."
"And my companions, Captain?"
"They have been told and are waiting."
"Are we not to put on our diver's dresses?" asked I.
"Not yet. I have not allowed the Nautilus to come too near this coast,
and we are some distance from the Manaar Bank; but the boat is ready, and
will take us to the exact point of disembarking, which will save us a long
way. It carries our diving apparatus, which we will put on when we begin
our submarine journey."
Captain Nemo conducted me to the central staircase, which led on the
platform. Ned and Conseil were already there, delighted at the idea of the
"pleasure party" which was preparing. Five sailors from the Nautilus, with
their oars, waited in the boat, which had been made fast against the side.
The night was still dark. Layers of clouds covered the sky, allowing
but few stars to be seen. I looked on the side where the land lay, and saw
nothing but a dark line enclosing three parts of the horizon, from
south-west to north- west. The Nautilus, having returned during the night
up the western coast of Ceylon, was now west of the bay, or rather gulf,
formed by the mainland and the Island of Manaar. There, under the dark
waters, stretched the pintadine bank, an inexhaustible field of pearls, the
length of which is more than twenty miles.
Captain Nemo, Ned Land, Conseil, and I took our places in the stern of
the boat. The master went to the tiller; his
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four companions leaned on their oars, the painter was cast off, and we
sheered off.
The boat went towards the south; the oarsmen did not hurry. I noticed
that their strokes, strong in the water, only followed each other every ten
seconds, according to the method generally adopted in the navy. Whilst the
craft was running by its own velocity, the liquid drops struck the dark
depths of the waves crisply like spats of melted lead. A little billow,
spreading wide, gave a slight roll to the boat, and some samphire reeds
flapped before it.
We were silent. What was Captain Nemo thinking of? Perhaps of the land
he was approaching, and which he found too near to him, contrary to the
Canadian's opinion, who thought it too far off. As to Conseil, he was
merely there from curiosity.
About half-past five the first tints on the horizon showed the upper
line of coast more distinctly. Flat enough in the east, it rose a little to
the south. Five miles still lay between us, and it was indistinct owing to
the mist on the water. At six o'clock it became suddenly daylight, with
that rapidity peculiar to tropical regions, which know neither dawn nor
twilight. The solar rays pierced the curtain of clouds, piled up on the
eastern horizon, and the radiant orb rose rapidly. I saw land distinctly,
with a few trees scattered here and there. The boat neared Manaar Island,
which was rounded to the south. Captain Nemo rose from his seat and watched
the sea.
At a sign from him the anchor was dropped, but the chain scarcely ran,
for it was little more than a yard deep, and this spot was one of the
highest points of the bank of pintadines.
"Here we are, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "You see that enclosed
bay? Here, in a month will be assembled the numerous fishing boats of the
exporters, and these are the waters their divers will ransack so boldly.
Happily, this bay is well situated for that kind of fishing. It is
sheltered from the strongest winds; the sea is never very rough here, which
makes it favourable for the diver's work. We will now put on our dresses,
and begin our walk."
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I did not answer, and, while watching the suspected waves, began with
the help of the sailors to put on my heavy sea-dress. Captain Nemo and my
companions were also dressing. None of the Nautilus men were to accompany
us on this new excursion.
Soon we were enveloped to the throat in india-rubber clothing; the air
apparatus fixed to our backs by braces. As to the Ruhmkorff apparatus,
there was no necessity for it. Before putting my head into the copper cap,
I had asked the question of the Captain.
"They would be useless," he replied. "We are going to no great depth,
and the solar rays will be enough to light our walk. Besides, it would not
be prudent to carry the electric light in these waters; its brilliancy
might attract some of the dangerous inhabitants of the coast most
inopportunely."
As Captain Nemo pronounced these words, I turned to Conseil and Ned
Land. But my two friends had already encased their heads in the metal cap,
and they could neither hear nor answer.
One last question remained to ask of Captain Nemo.
"And our arms?" asked I; "our guns?"
"Guns! What for? Do not mountaineers attack the bear with a dagger in
their hand, and is not steel surer than lead? Here is a strong blade; put
it in your belt, and we start."
I looked at my companions; they were armed like us, and, more than
that, Ned Land was brandishing an enormous harpoon, which he had placed in
the boat before leaving the Nautilus.
Then, following the Captain's example, I allowed myself to be dressed
in the heavy copper helmet, and our reservoirs of air were at once in
activity. An instant after we were landed, one after the other, in about
two yards of water upon an even sand. Captain Nemo made a sign with his
hand, and we followed him by a gentle declivity till we disappeared under
the waves.
At about seven o'clock we found ourselves at last surveying
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the oyster-banks on which the pearl-oysters are reproduced by millions.
Captain Nemo pointed with his hand to the enormous heap of oysters;
and I could well understand that this mine was inexhaustible, for Nature's
creative power is far beyond man's instinct of destruction. Ned Land,
faithful to his instinct, hastened to fill a net which he carried by his
side with some of the finest specimens. But we could not stop. We must
follow the Captain, who seemed to guide himself by paths known only to
himself. The ground was sensibly rising, and sometimes, on holding up my
arm, it was above the surface of the sea. Then the level of the bank would
sink capriciously. Often we rounded high rocks scarped into pyramids. In
their dark fractures huge crustacea, perched upon their high claws like
some war-machine, watched us with fixed eyes, and under our feet crawled
various kinds of annelides.
At this moment there opened before us a large grotto dug in a
picturesque heap of rocks and carpeted with all the thick warp of the
submarine flora. At first it seemed very dark to me. The solar rays seemed
to be extinguished by successive gradations, until its vague transparency
became nothing more than drowned light. Captain Nemo entered; we followed.
My eyes soon accustomed themselves to this relative state of darkness. I
could distinguish the arches springing capriciously from natural pillars,
standing broad upon their granite base, like the heavy columns of Tuscan
architecture. Why had our incomprehensible guide led us to the bottom of
this submarine crypt? I was soon to know. After descending a rather sharp
declivity, our feet trod the bottom of a kind of circular pit. There
Captain Nemo stopped, and with his hand indicated an object I had not yet
perceived. It was an oyster of extraordinary dimensions, a gigantic
tridacne, a goblet which could have contained a whole lake of holy-water, a
basin the breadth of which was more than two yards and a half, and
consequently larger than that ornamenting the saloon of the Nautilus. I
approached this extraordinary mollusc. It adhered by its filaments to a
table of granite, and there, isolated, it developed
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itself in the calm waters of the grotto. I estimated the weight of this
tridacne at 600 lb. Such an oyster would contain 30 lb. of meat; and one
must have the stomach of a Gargantua to demolish some dozens of them.
Captain Nemo was evidently acquainted with the existence of this
bivalve, and seemed to have a particular motive in verifying the actual
state of this tridacne. The shells were a little open; the Captain came
near and put his dagger between to prevent them from closing; then with his
hand he raised the membrane with its fringed edges, which formed a cloak
for the creature. There, between the folded plaits, I saw a loose pearl,
whose size equalled that of a coco-nut. Its globular shape, perfect
clearness, and admirable lustre made it altogether a jewel of inestimable
value. Carried away by my curiosity, I stretched out my hand to seize it,
weigh it, and touch it; but the Captain stopped me, made a sign of refusal,
and quickly withdrew his dagger, and the two shells closed suddenly. I then
understood Captain Nemo's intention. In leaving this pearl hidden in the
mantle of the tridacne he was allowing it to grow slowly. Each year the
secretions of the mollusc would add new concentric circles. I estimated its
value at L500,000 at least.
After ten minutes Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. I thought he had
halted previously to returning. No; by a gesture be bade us crouch beside
him in a deep fracture of the rock, his hand pointed to one part of the
liquid mass, which I watched attentively.
About five yards from me a shadow appeared, and sank to the ground.
The disquieting idea of sharks shot through my mind, but I was mistaken;
and once again it was not a monster of the ocean that we had anything to do
with.
It was a man, a living man, an Indian, a fisherman, a poor devil who,
I suppose, had come to glean before the harvest. I could see the bottom of
his canoe anchored some feet above his head. He dived and went up
successively. A stone held between his feet, cut in the shape of a sugar
loaf, whilst a rope fastened him to his boat, helped him to descend more
rapidly. This was all his apparatus. Reaching the bottom,
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about five yards deep, he went on his knees and filled his bag with oysters
picked up at random. Then he went up, emptied it, pulled up his stone, and
began the operation once more, which lasted thirty seconds.
The diver did not see us. The shadow of the rock hid us from sight.
And how should this poor Indian ever dream that men, beings like himself,
should be there under the water watching his movements and losing no detail
of the fishing? Several times he went up in this way, and dived again. He
did not carry away more than ten at each plunge, for he was obliged to pull
them from the bank to which they adhered by means of their strong byssus.
And how many of those oysters for which he risked his life had no pearl in
them! I watched him closely; his manoeuvres were regular; and for the space
of half an hour no danger appeared to threaten him.
I was beginning to accustom myself to the sight of this interesting
fishing, when suddenly, as the Indian was on the ground, I saw him make a
gesture of terror, rise, and make a spring to return to the surface of the
sea.
I understood his dread. A gigantic shadow appeared just above the
unfortunate diver. It was a shark of enormous size advancing diagonally,
his eyes on fire, and his jaws open. I was mute with horror and unable to
move.
The voracious creature shot towards the Indian, who threw himself on
one side to avoid the shark's fins; but not its tail, for it struck his
chest and stretched him on the ground.
This scene lasted but a few seconds: the shark returned, and, turning
on his back, prepared himself for cutting the Indian in two, when I saw
Captain Nemo rise suddenly, and then, dagger in hand, walk straight to the
monster, ready to fight face to face with him. The very moment the shark
was going to snap the unhappy fisherman in two, he perceived his new
adversary, and, turning over, made straight towards him.
I can still see Captain Nemo's position. Holding himself well
together, he waited for the shark with admirable coolness; and, when it
rushed at him, threw himself on one side
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with wonderful quickness, avoiding the shock, and burying his dagger deep
into its side. But it was not all over. A terrible combat ensued.
The shark had seemed to roar, if I might say so. The blood rushed in
torrents from its wound. The sea was dyed red, and through the opaque
liquid I could distinguish nothing more. Nothing more until the moment
when, like lightning, I saw the undaunted Captain hanging on to one of the
creature's fins, struggling, as it were, hand to hand with the monster, and
dealing successive blows at his enemy, yet still unable to give a decisive
one.
The shark's struggles agitated the water with such fury that the
rocking threatened to upset me.
I wanted to go to the Captain's assistance, but, nailed to the spot
with horror, I could not stir.
I saw the haggard eye; I saw the different phases of the fight. The
Captain fell to the earth, upset by the enormous mass which leant upon him.
The shark's jaws opened wide, like a pair of factory shears, and it would
have been all over with the Captain; but, quick as thought, harpoon in
hand, Ned Land rushed towards the shark and struck it with its sharp point.
The waves were impregnated with a mass of blood. They rocked under the
shark's movements, which beat them with indescribable fury. Ned Land had
not missed his aim. It was the monster's death-rattle. Struck to the heart,
it struggled in dreadful convulsions, the shock of which overthrew Conseil.
But Ned Land had disentangled the Captain, who, getting up without any
wound, went straight to the Indian, quickly cut the cord which held him to
his stone, took him in his arms, and, with a sharp blow of his heel,
mounted to the surface.
We all three followed in a few seconds, saved by a miracle, and
reached the fisherman's boat.
Captain Nemo's first care was to recall the unfortunate man to life
again. I did not think he could succeed. I hoped so, for the poor
creature's immersion was not long; but the blow from the shark's tail might
have been his death-blow.
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Happily, with the Captain's and Conseil's sharp friction, I saw
consciousness return by degrees. He opened his eyes. What was his surprise,
his terror even, at seeing four great copper heads leaning over him! And,
above all, what must he have thought when Captain Nemo, drawing from the
pocket of his dress a bag of pearls, placed it in his hand! This munificent
charity from the man of the waters to the poor Cingalese was accepted with
a trembling hand. His wondering eyes showed that he knew not to what super-
human beings he owed both fortune and life.
At a sign from the Captain we regained the bank, and, following the
road already traversed, came in about half an hour to the anchor which held
the canoe of the Nautilus to the earth.
Once on board, we each, with the help of the sailors, got rid of the
heavy copper helmet.
Captain Nemo's first word was to the Canadian.
"Thank you, Master Land," said he.
"It was in revenge, Captain," replied Ned Land. "I owed you that."
A ghastly smile passed across the Captain's lips, and that was all.
"To the Nautilus," said he.
The boat flew over the waves. Some minutes after we met the shark's
dead body floating. By the black marking of the extremity of its fins, I
recognised the terrible melanopteron of the Indian Seas, of the species of
shark so properly called. It was more than twenty-five feet long; its
enormous mouth occupied one-third of its body. It was an adult, as was
known by its six rows of teeth placed in an isosceles triangle in the upper
jaw.
Whilst I was contemplating this inert mass, a dozen of these voracious
beasts appeared round the boat; and, without noticing us, threw themselves
upon the dead body and fought with one another for the pieces.
At half-past eight we were again on board the Nautilus. There I
reflected on the incidents which had taken place in our excursion to the
Manaar Bank.
Two conclusions I must inevitably draw from it -- one
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bearing upon the unparalleled courage of Captain Nemo, the other upon his
devotion to a human being, a representative of that race from which he fled
beneath the sea. Whatever he might say, this strange man had not yet
succeeded in entirely crushing his heart.
When I made this observation to him, he answered in a slightly moved
tone:
"That Indian, sir, is an inhabitant of an oppressed country; and I am
still, and shall be, to my last breath, one of them!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.4
THE RED SEA
IN THE course of the day of the 29th of January, the island of Ceylon
disappeared under the horizon, and the Nautilus, at a speed of twenty miles
an hour, slid into the labyrinth of canals which separate the Maldives from
the Laccadives. It coasted even the Island of Kiltan, a land originally
coraline, discovered by Vasco da Gama in 1499, and one of the nineteen
principal islands of the Laccadive Archipelago, situated between 10° and
14° 30' N. lat., and 69° 50' 72" E. long.
We had made 16,220 miles, or 7,500 (French) leagues from our
starting-point in the Japanese Seas.
The next day (30th January), when the Nautilus went to the surface of
the ocean there was no land in sight. Its course was N.N.E., in the
direction of the Sea of Oman, between Arabia and the Indian Peninsula,
which serves as an outlet to the Persian Gulf. It was evidently a block
without any possible egress. Where was Captain Nemo taking us to? I could
not say. This, however, did not satisfy the Canadian, who that day came to
me asking where we were going.
"We are going where our Captain's fancy takes us, Master Ned."
"His fancy cannot take us far, then," said the Canadian.
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"The Persian Gulf has no outlet: and, if we do go in, it will not be long
before we are out again."
"Very well, then, we will come out again, Master Land; and if, after
the Persian Gulf, the Nautilus would like to visit the Red Sea, the Straits
of Bab-el-mandeb are there to give us entrance."
"I need not tell you, sir," said Ned Land, "that the Red Sea is as
much closed as the Gulf, as the Isthmus of Suez is not yet cut; and, if it
was, a boat as mysterious as ours would not risk itself in a canal cut with
sluices. And again, the Red Sea is not the road to take us back to Europe."
"But I never said we were going back to Europe."
"What do you suppose, then?"
"I suppose that, after visiting the curious coasts of Arabia and
Egypt, the Nautilus will go down the Indian Ocean again, perhaps cross the
Channel of Mozambique, perhaps off the Mascarenhas, so as to gain the Cape
of Good Hope."
"And once at the Cape of Good Hope?" asked the Canadian, with peculiar
emphasis.
"Well, we shall penetrate into that Atlantic which we do not yet know.
Ah! friend Ned, you are getting tired of this journey under the sea; you
are surfeited with the incessantly varying spectacle of submarine wonders.
For my part, I shall be sorry to see the end of a voyage which it is given
to so few men to make."
For four days, till the 3rd of February, the Nautilus scoured the Sea
of Oman, at various speeds and at various depths. It seemed to go at
random, as if hesitating as to which road it should follow, but we never
passed the Tropic of Cancer.
In quitting this sea we sighted Muscat for an instant, one of the most
important towns of the country of Oman. I admired its strange aspect,
surrounded by black rocks upon which its white houses and forts stood in
relief. I saw the rounded domes of its mosques, the elegant points of its
minarets, its fresh and verdant terraces. But it was only a vision! The
Nautilus soon sank under the waves of that part of the sea.
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We passed along the Arabian coast of Mahrah and Hadramaut, for a
distance of six miles, its undulating line of mountains being occasionally
relieved by some ancient ruin. The 5th of February we at last entered the
Gulf of Aden, a perfect funnel introduced into the neck of Bab-el- mandeb,
through which the Indian waters entered the Red Sea.
The 6th of February, the Nautilus floated in sight of Aden, perched
upon a promontory which a narrow isthmus joins to the mainland, a kind of
inaccessible Gibraltar, the fortifications of which were rebuilt by the
English after taking possession in 1839. I caught a glimpse of the octagon
minarets of this town, which was at one time the richest commercial
magazine on the coast.
I certainly thought that Captain Nemo, arrived at this point, would
back out again; but I was mistaken, for be did no such thing, much to my
surprise.
The next day, the 7th of February, we entered the Straits of
Bab-el-mandeb, the name of which, in the Arab tongue, means The Gate of
Tears.
To twenty miles in breadth, it is only thirty-two in length. And for
the Nautilus, starting at full speed, the crossing was scarcely the work of
an hour. But I saw nothing, not even the Island of Perim, with which the
British Government has fortified the position of Aden. There were too many
English or French steamers of the line of Suez to Bombay, Calcutta to
Melbourne, and from Bourbon to the Mauritius, furrowing this narrow
passage, for the Nautilus to venture to show itself. So it remained
prudently below. At last about noon, we were in the waters of the Red Sea.
I would not even seek to understand the caprice which had decided
Captain Nemo upon entering the gulf. But I quite approved of the Nautilus
entering it. Its speed was lessened: sometimes it kept on the surface,
sometimes it dived to avoid a vessel, and thus I was able to observe the
upper and lower parts of this curious sea.
The 8th of February, from the first dawn of day, Mocha came in sight,
now a ruined town, whose walls would fall at a gunshot, yet which shelters
here and there some verdant
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date-trees; once an important city, containing six public markets, and
twenty-six mosques, and whose walls, defended by fourteen forts, formed a
girdle of two miles in circumference.
The Nautilus then approached the African shore, where the depth of the
sea was greater. There, between two waters clear as crystal, through the
open panels we were allowed to contemplate the beautiful bushes of
brilliant coral and large blocks of rock clothed with a splendid fur of
green variety of sites and landscapes along these sandbanks and algae and
fuci. What an indescribable spectacle, and what variety of sites and
landscapes along these sandbanks and volcanic islands which bound the
Libyan coast! But where these shrubs appeared in all their beauty was on
the eastern coast, which the Nautilus soon gained. It was on the coast of
Tehama, for there not only did this display of zoophytes flourish beneath
the level of the sea, but they also formed picturesque interlacings which
unfolded themselves about sixty feet above the surface, more capricious but
less highly coloured than those whose freshness was kept up by the vital
power of the waters.
What charming hours I passed thus at the window of the saloon! What
new specimens of submarine flora and fauna did I admire under the
brightness of our electric lantern!
The 9th of February the Nautilus floated in the broadest part of the
Red Sea, which is comprised between Souakin, on the west coast, and
Komfidah, on the east coast, with a diameter of ninety miles.
That day at noon, after the bearings were taken, Captain Nemo mounted
the platform, where I happened to be, and I was determined not to let him
go down again without at least pressing him regarding his ulterior
projects. As soon as he saw me he approached and graciously offered me a
cigar.
"Well, sir, does this Red Sea please you? Have you sufficiently
observed the wonders it covers, its fishes, its zoophytes, its parterres of
sponges, and its forests of coral? Did you catch a glimpse of the towns on
its borders?"
"Yes, Captain Nemo," I replied; "and the Nautilus is
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wonderfully fitted for such a study. Ah! it is an intelligent boat!"
"Yes, sir, intelligent and invulnerable. It fears neither the terrible
tempests of the Red Sea, nor its currents, nor its sandbanks."
"Certainly," said I, "this sea is quoted as one of the worst, and in
the time of the ancients, if I am not mistaken, its reputation was
detestable."
"Detestable, M. Aronnax. The Greek and Latin historians do not speak
favourably of it, and Strabo says it is very dangerous during the Etesian
winds and in the rainy season. The Arabian Edrisi portrays it under the
name of the Gulf of Colzoum, and relates that vessels perished there in
great numbers on the sandbanks and that no one would risk sailing in the
night. It is, he pretends, a sea subject to fearful hurricanes, strewn with
inhospitable islands, and 'which offers nothing good either on its surface
or in its depths.'"
"One may see," I replied, "that these historians never sailed on board
the Nautilus."
"Just so," replied the Captain, smiling; "and in that respect moderns
are not more advanced than the ancients. It required many ages to find out
the mechanical power of steam. Who knows if, in another hundred years, we
may not see a second Nautilus? Progress is slow, M. Aronnax."
"It is true," I answered; "your boat is at least a century before its
time, perhaps an era. What a misfortune that the secret of such an
invention should die with its inventor!"
Captain Nemo did not reply. After some minutes' silence he continued:
"You were speaking of the opinions of ancient historians upon the
dangerous navigation of the Red Sea."
"It is true," said I; "but were not their fears exaggerated?"
"Yes and no, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, who seemed to know the
Red Sea by heart. "That which is no longer dangerous for a modern vessel,
well rigged, strongly built, and master of its own course, thanks to
obedient steam, offered all sorts of perils to the ships of the ancients,
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Picture to yourself those first navigators venturing in ships made of
planks sewn with the cords of the palmtree, saturated with the grease of
the seadog, and covered with powdered resin! They had not even instruments
wherewith to take their bearings, and they went by guess amongst currents
of which they scarcely knew anything. Under such conditions shipwrecks
were, and must have been, numerous. But in our time, steamers running
between Suez and the South Seas have nothing more to fear from the fury of
this gulf, in spite of contrary trade-winds. The captain and passengers do
not prepare for their departure by offering propitiatory sacrifices; and,
on their return, they no longer go ornamented with wreaths and gilt fillets
to thank the gods in the neighbouring temple."
"I agree with you," said I; "and steam seems to have killed all
gratitude in the hearts of sailors. But, Captain, since you seem to have
especially studied this sea, can you tell me the origin of its name?"
"There exist several explanations on the subject, M. Aronnax. Would
you like to know the opinion of a chronicler of the fourteenth century?"
"Willingly."
"This fanciful writer pretends that its name was given to it after the
passage of the Israelites, when Pharaoh perished in the waves which closed
at the voice of Moses."
"A poet's explanation, Captain Nemo," I replied; "but I cannot content
myself with that. I ask you for your personal opinion."
"Here it is, M. Aronnax. According to my idea, we must see in this
appellation of the Red Sea a translation of the Hebrew word 'Edom'; and if
the ancients gave it that name, it was on account of the particular colour
of its waters."
"But up to this time I have seen nothing but transparent waves and
without any particular colour."
"Very likely; but as we advance to the bottom of the gulf, you will
see this singular appearance. I remember seeing the Bay of Tor entirely
red, like a sea of blood."
"And you attribute this colour to the presence of a microscopic
seaweed?"
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"Yes."
"So, Captain Nemo, it is not the first time you have overrun the Red
Sea on board the Nautilus?"
"No, sir."
"As you spoke a while ago of the passage of the Israelites and of the
catastrophe to the Egyptians, I will ask whether you have met with the
traces under the water of this great historical fact?"
"No, sir; and for a good reason."
"What is it?"
"It is that the spot where Moses and his people passed is now so
blocked up with sand that the camels can barely bathe their legs there. You
can well understand that there would not be water enough for my Nautilus."
"And the spot?" I asked.
"The spot is situated a little above the Isthmus of Suez, in the arm
which formerly made a deep estuary, when the Red Sea extended to the Salt
Lakes. Now, whether this passage were miraculous or not, the Israelites,
nevertheless, crossed there to reach the Promised Land, and Pharaoh's army
perished precisely on that spot; and I think that excavations made in the
middle of the sand would bring to light a large number of arms and
instruments of Egyptian origin."
"That is evident," I replied; "and for the sake of archaeologists let
us hope that these excavations will be made sooner or later, when new towns
are established on the isthmus, after the construction of the Suez Canal; a
canal, however, very useless to a vessel like the Nautilus."
"Very likely; but useful to the whole world," said Captain Nemo. "The
ancients well understood the utility of a communication between the Red Sea
and the Mediterranean for their commercial affairs: but they did not think
of digging a canal direct, and took the Nile as an intermediate. Very
probably the canal which united the Nile to the Red Sea was begun by
Sesostris, if we may believe tradition. One thing is certain, that in the
year 615 before Jesus Christ, Necos undertook the works of an alimentary
canal to the waters of the Nile across the plain of Egypt, looking towards
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Arabia. It took four days to go up this canal, and it was so wide that two
triremes could go abreast. It was carried on by Darius, the son of
Hystaspes, and probably finished by Ptolemy II. Strabo saw it navigated:
but its decline from the point of departure, near Bubastes, to the Red Sea
was so slight that it was only navigable for a few months in the year. This
canal answered all commercial purposes to the age of Antonius, when it was
abandoned and blocked up with sand. Restored by order of the Caliph Omar,
it was definitely destroyed in 761 or 762 by Caliph Al-Mansor, who wished
to prevent the arrival of provisions to Mohammed-ben-Abdallah, who had
revolted against him. During the expedition into Egypt, your General
Bonaparte discovered traces of the works in the Desert of Suez; and,
surprised by the tide, he nearly perished before regaining Hadjaroth, at
the very place where Moses had encamped three thousand years before him."
"Well, Captain, what the ancients dared not undertake, this junction
between the two seas, which will shorten the road from Cadiz to India, M.
Lesseps has succeeded in doing; and before long he will have changed Africa
into an immense island."
"Yes, M. Aronnax; you have the right to be proud of your countryman.
Such a man brings more honour to a nation than great captains. He began,
like so many others, with disgust and rebuffs; but he has triumphed, for he
has the genius of will. And it is sad to think that a work like that, which
ought to have been an international work and which would have sufficed to
make a reign illustrious, should have succeeded by the energy of one man.
All honour to M. Lesseps!"
"Yes! honour to the great citizen," I replied, surprised by the manner
in which Captain Nemo had just spoken.
"Unfortunately," he continued, "I cannot take you through the Suez
Canal; but you will be able to see the long jetty of Port Said after
to-morrow, when we shall be in the Mediterranean."
"The Mediterranean!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir; does that astonish you?"
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"What astonishes me is to think that we shall be there the day after
to-morrow."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, Captain, although by this time I ought to have accustomed myself
to be surprised at nothing since I have been on board your boat."
"But the cause of this surprise?"
"Well! it is the fearful speed you will have to put on the Nautilus,
if the day after to-morrow she is to be in the Mediterranean, having made
the round of Africa, and doubled the Cape of Good Hope!"
"Who told you that she would make the round of Africa and double the
Cape of Good Hope, sir?"
"Well, unless the Nautilus sails on dry land, and passes above the
isthmus -- "
"Or beneath it, M. Aronnax."
"Beneath it?"
"Certainly," replied Captain Nemo quietly. "A long time ago Nature
made under this tongue of land what man has this day made on its surface."
"What! such a passage exists?"
"Yes; a subterranean passage, which I have named the Arabian Tunnel.
It takes us beneath Suez and opens into the Gulf of Pelusium."
"But this isthmus is composed of nothing but quicksands?"
"To a certain depth. But at fifty-five yards only there is a solid
layer of rock."
"Did you discover this passage by chance?" I asked more and more
surprised.
"Chance and reasoning, sir; and by reasoning even more than by chance.
Not only does this passage exist, but I have profited by it several times.
Without that I should not have ventured this day into the impassable Red
Sea. I noticed that in the Red Sea and in the Mediterranean there existed a
certain number of fishes of a kind perfectly identical. Certain of the
fact, I asked myself was it possible that there was no communication
between the two seas? If
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there was, the subterranean current must necessarily run from the Red Sea
to the Mediterranean, from the sole cause of difference of level. I caught
a large number of fishes in the neighbourhood of Suez. I passed a copper
ring through their tails, and threw them back into the sea. Some months
later, on the coast of Syria, I caught some of my fish ornamented with the
ring. Thus the communication between the two was proved. I then sought for
it with my Nautilus; I discovered it, ventured into it, and before long,
sir, you too will have passed through my Arabian tunnel!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.5
THE ARABIAN TUNNEL
THAT same evening, in 21° 30' N. lat., the Nautilus floated on the
surface of the sea, approaching the Arabian coast. I saw Djeddah, the most
important counting-house of Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and India. I
distinguished clearly enough its buildings, the vessels anchored at the
quays, and those whose draught of water obliged them to anchor in the
roads. The sun, rather low on the horizon, struck full on the houses of the
town, bringing out their whiteness. Outside, some wooden cabins, and some
made of reeds, showed the quarter inhabited by the Bedouins. Soon Djeddah
was shut out from view by the shadows of night, and the Nautilus found
herself under water slightly phosphorescent.
The next day, the 10th of February, we sighted several ships running
to windward. The Nautilus returned to its submarine navigation; but at
noon, when her bearings were taken, the sea being deserted, she rose again
to her waterline.
Accompanied by Ned and Conseil, I seated myself on the platform. The
coast on the eastern side looked like a mass faintly printed upon a damp
fog.
We were leaning on the sides of the pinnace, talking of
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one thing and another, when Ned Land, stretching out his hand towards a
spot on the sea, said:
"Do you see anything there, sir?"
"No, Ned," I replied; "but I have not your eyes, you know."
"Look well," said Ned, "there, on the starboard beam, about the height
of the lantern! Do you not see a mass which seems to move?"
"Certainly," said I, after close attention; "I see something like a
long black body on the top of the water."
And certainly before long the black object was not more than a mile
from us. It looked like a great sandbank deposited in the open sea. It was
a gigantic dugong!
Ned Land looked eagerly. His eyes shone with covetousness at the sight
of the animal. His hand seemed ready to harpoon it. One would have thought
he was awaiting the moment to throw himself into the sea and attack it in
its element.
At this instant Captain Nemo appeared on the platform. He saw the
dugong, understood the Canadian's attitude, and, addressing him, said:
"If you held a harpoon just now, Master Land, would it not burn your
hand?"
"Just so, sir."
"And you would not be sorry to go back, for one day, to your trade of
a fisherman and to add this cetacean to the list of those you have already
killed?"
"I should not, sir."
"Well, you can try."
"Thank you, sir," said Ned Land, his eyes flaming.
"Only," continued the Captain, "I advise you for your own sake not to
miss the creature."
"Is the dugong dangerous to attack?" I asked, in spite of the
Canadian's shrug of the shoulders.
"Yes," replied the Captain; "sometimes the animal turns upon its
assailants and overturns their boat. But for Master Land this danger is not
to be feared. His eye is prompt, his arm sure."
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At this moment seven men of the crew, mute and immovable as ever,
mounted the platform. One carried a harpoon and a line similar to those
employed in catching whales. The pinnace was lifted from the bridge, pulled
from its socket, and let down into the sea. Six oarsmen took their seats,
and the coxswain went to the tiller. Ned, Conseil, and I went to the back
of the boat.
"You are not coming, Captain?" I asked.
"No, sir; but I wish you good sport."
The boat put off, and, lifted by the six rowers, drew rapidly towards
the dugong, which floated about two miles from the Nautilus.
Arrived some cables-length from the cetacean, the speed slackened, and
the oars dipped noiselessly into the quiet waters. Ned Land, harpoon in
hand, stood in the fore part of the boat. The harpoon used for striking the
whale is generally attached to a very long cord which runs out rapidly as
the wounded creature draws it after him. But here the cord was not more
than ten fathoms long, and the extremity was attached to a small barrel
which, by floating, was to show the course the dugong took under the water.
I stood and carefully watched the Canadian's adversary. This dugong,
which also bears the name of the halicore, closely resembles the manatee;
its oblong body terminated in a lengthened tall, and its lateral fins in
perfect fingers. Its difference from the manatee consisted in its upper
jaw, which was armed with two long and pointed teeth which formed on each
side diverging tusks.
This dugong which Ned Land was preparing to attack was of colossal
dimensions; it was more than seven yards long. It did not move, and seemed
to be sleeping on the waves, which circumstance made it easier to capture.
The boat approached within six yards of the animal. The oars rested on
the rowlocks. I half rose. Ned Land, his body thrown a little back,
brandished the harpoon in his experienced hand.
Suddenly a hissing noise was heard, and the dugong disappeared.
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The harpoon, although thrown with great force; had apparently only struck
the water.
"Curse it!" exclaimed the Canadian furiously; "I have missed it!"
"No," said I; "the creature is wounded -- look at the blood; but your
weapon has not stuck in his body."
"My harpoon! my harpoon!" cried Ned Land.
The sailors rowed on, and the coxswain made for the floating barrel.
The harpoon regained, we followed in pursuit of the animal.
The latter came now and then to the surface to breathe. Its wound had
not weakened it, for it shot onwards with great rapidity.
The boat, rowed by strong arms, flew on its track. Several times it
approached within some few yards, and the Canadian was ready to strike, but
the dugong made off with a sudden plunge, and it was impossible to reach
it.
Imagine the passion which excited impatient Ned Land! He hurled at the
unfortunate creature the most energetic expletives in the English tongue.
For my part, I was only vexed to see the dugong escape all our attacks.
We pursued it without relaxation for an hour, and I began to think it
would prove difficult to capture, when the animal, possessed with the
perverse idea of vengeance of which he had cause to repent, turned upon the
pinnace and assailed us in its turn.
This manoeuvre did not escape the Canadian.
"Look out!" he cried.
The coxswain said some words in his outlandish tongue, doubtless
warning the men to keep on their guard.
The dugong came within twenty feet of the boat, stopped, sniffed the
air briskly with its large nostrils (not pierced at the extremity, but in
the upper part of its muzzle). Then, taking a spring, he threw himself upon
us.
The pinnace could not avoid the shock, and half upset, shipped at
least two tons of water, which had to be emptied; but, thanks to the
coxswain, we caught it sideways, not full front, so we were not quite
overturned. While Ned Land,
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clinging to the bows, belaboured the gigantic animal with blows from his
harpoon, the creature's teeth were buried in the gunwale, and it lifted the
whole thing out of the water, as a lion does a roebuck. We were upset over
one another, and I know not how the adventure would have ended, if the
Canadian, still enraged with the beast, had not struck it to the heart.
I heard its teeth grind on the iron plate, and the dugong disappeared,
carrying the harpoon with him. But the barrel soon returned to the surface,
and shortly after the body of the animal, turned on its back. The boat came
up with it, took it in tow, and made straight for the Nautilus.
It required tackle of enormous strength to hoist the dugong on to the
platform. It weighed 10,000 lb.
The next day, 11th February, the larder of the Nautilus was enriched
by some more delicate game. A flight of sea- swallows rested on the
Nautilus. It was a species of the Sterna nilotica, peculiar to Egypt; its
beak is black, head grey and pointed, the eye surrounded by white spots,
the back, wings, and tail of a greyish colour, the belly and throat white,
and claws red. They also took some dozen of Nile ducks, a wild bird of high
flavour, its throat and upper part of the head white with black spots.
About five o'clock in the evening we sighted to the north the Cape of
Ras-Mohammed. This cape forms the extremity of Arabia Petraea, comprised
between the Gulf of Suez and the Gulf of Acabah.
The Nautilus penetrated into the Straits of Jubal, which leads to the
Gulf of Suez. I distinctly saw a high mountain, towering between the two
gulfs of Ras-Mohammed. It was Mount Horeb, that Sinai at the top of which
Moses saw God face to face.
At six o'clock the Nautilus, sometimes floating, sometimes immersed,
passed some distance from Tor, situated at the end of the bay, the waters
of which seemed tinted with red, an observation already made by Captain
Nemo. Then night fell in the midst of a heavy silence, sometimes broken by
the cries of the pelican and other night-birds, and the noise of the waves
breaking upon the shore, chafing against the
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rocks, or the panting of some far-off steamer beating the waters of the
Gulf with its noisy paddles.
From eight to nine o'clock the Nautilus remained some fathoms under
the water. According to my calculation we must have been very near Suez.
Through the panel of the saloon I saw the bottom of the rocks brilliantly
lit up by our electric lamp. We seemed to be leaving the Straits behind us
more and more.
At a quarter-past nine, the vessel having returned to the surface, I
mounted the platform. Most impatient to pass through Captain Nemo's tunnel,
I could not stay in one place, so came to breathe the fresh night air.
Soon in the shadow I saw a pale light, half discoloured by the fog,
shining about a mile from us.
"A floating lighthouse!" said someone near me.
I turned, and saw the Captain.
"It is the floating light of Suez," he continued. "It will not be long
before we gain the entrance of the tunnel."
"The entrance cannot be easy?"
"No, sir; for that reason I am accustomed to go into the steersman's
cage and myself direct our course. And now, if you will go down, M.
Aronnax, the Nautilus is going under the waves, and will not return to the
surface until we have passed through the Arabian Tunnel."
Captain Nemo led me towards the central staircase; half- way down he
opened a door, traversed the upper deck, and landed in the pilot's cage,
which it may be remembered rose at the extremity of the platform. It was a
cabin measuring six feet square, very much like that occupied by the pilot
on the steamboats of the Mississippi or Hudson. In the midst worked a
wheel, placed vertically, and caught to the tiller-rope, which ran to the
back of the Nautilus. Four light-ports with lenticular glasses, let in a
groove in the partition of the cabin, allowed the man at the wheel to see
in all directions.
This cabin was dark; but soon my eyes accustomed themselves to the
obscurity, and I perceived the pilot, a strong man, with his hands resting
on the spokes of the wheel. Outside, the sea appeared vividly lit up by the
lantern,
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which shed its rays from the back of the cabin to the other extremity of
the platform.
"Now," said Captain Nemo, "let us try to make our passage."
Electric wires connected the pilot's cage with the machinery room, and
from there the Captain could communicate simultaneously to his Nautilus the
direction and the speed. He pressed a metal knob, and at once the speed of
the screw diminished.
I looked in silence at the high straight wall we were running by at
this moment, the immovable base of a massive sandy coast. We followed it
thus for an hour only some few yards off.
Captain Nemo did not take his eye from the knob, suspended by its two
concentric circles in the cabin. At a simple gesture, the pilot modified
the course of the Nautilus every instant.
I had placed myself at the port-scuttle, and saw some magnificent
substructures of coral, zoophytes, seaweed, and fucus, agitating their
enormous claws, which stretched out from the fissures of the rock.
At a quarter-past ten, the Captain himself took the helm. A large
gallery, black and deep, opened before us. The Nautilus went boldly into
it. A strange roaring was heard round its sides. It was the waters of the
Red Sea, which the incline of the tunnel precipitated violently towards the
Mediterranean. The Nautilus went with the torrent, rapid as an arrow, in
spite of the efforts of the machinery, which, in order to offer more
effective resistance, beat the waves with reversed screw.
On the walls of the narrow passage I could see nothing but brilliant
rays, straight lines, furrows of fire, traced by the great speed, under the
brilliant electric light. My heart beat fast.
At thirty-five minutes past ten, Captain Nemo quitted the helm, and,
turning to me, said:
"The Mediterranean!"
In less than twenty minutes, the Nautilus, carried along by the
torrent, had passed through the Isthmus of Suez.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.6
THE GRECIAN ARCHIPELAGO
THE next day, the 12th of February, at the dawn of day, the Nautilus
rose to the surface. I hastened on to the platform. Three miles to the
south the dim outline of Pelusium was to be seen. A torrent had carried us
from one sea to another. About seven o'clock Ned and Conseil joined me.
"Well, Sir Naturalist," said the Canadian, in a slightly jovial tone,
"and the Mediterranean?"
"We are floating on its surface, friend Ned."
"What!" said Conseil, "this very night."
"Yes, this very night; in a few minutes we have passed this impassable
isthmus."
"I do not believe it," replied the Canadian.
"Then you are wrong, Master Land," I continued; "this low coast which
rounds off to the south is the Egyptian coast. And you who have such good
eyes, Ned, you can see the jetty of Port Said stretching into the sea."
The Canadian looked attentively.
"Certainly you are right, sir, and your Captain is a first- rate man.
We are in the Mediterranean. Good! Now, if you please, let us talk of our
own little affair, but so that no one hears us."
I saw what the Canadian wanted, and, in any case, I thought it better
to let him talk, as he wished it; so we all three went and sat down near
the lantern, where we were less exposed to the spray of the blades.
"Now, Ned, we listen; what have you to tell us?"
"What I have to tell you is very simple. We are in Europe; and before
Captain Nemo's caprices drag us once more to the bottom of the Polar Seas,
or lead us into Oceania, I ask to leave the Nautilus."
I wished in no way to shackle the liberty of my companions, but I
certainly felt no desire to leave Captain Nemo.
Thanks to him, and thanks to his apparatus, I was each day nearer the
completion of my submarine studies; and
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I was rewriting my book of submarine depths in its very element. Should I
ever again have such an opportunity of observing the wonders of the ocean?
No, certainly not! And I could not bring myself to the idea of abandoning
the Nautilus before the cycle of investigation was accomplished.
"Friend Ned, answer me frankly, are you tired of being on board? Are
you sorry that destiny has thrown us into Captain Nemo's hands?"
The Canadian remained some moments without answering. Then, crossing
his arms, he said:
"Frankly, I do not regret this journey under the seas. I shall be glad
to have made it; but, now that it is made, let us have done with it. That
is my idea."
"It will come to an end, Ned."
"Where and when?"
"Where I do not know -- when I cannot say; or, rather, I suppose it
will end when these seas have nothing more to teach us."
"Then what do you hope for?" demanded the Canadian.
"That circumstances may occur as well six months hence as now by which
we may and ought to profit."
"Oh!" said Ned Land, "and where shall we be in six months, if you
please, Sir Naturalist?"
"Perhaps in China; you know the Nautilus is a rapid traveller. It goes
through water as swallows through the air, or as an express on the land. It
does not fear frequented seas; who can say that it may not beat the coasts
of France, England, or America, on which flight may be attempted as
advantageously as here."
"M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, "your arguments are rotten at the
foundation. You speak in the future, 'We shall be there! we shall be here!'
I speak in the present, 'We are here, and we must profit by it.'"
Ned Land's logic pressed me hard, and I felt myself beaten on that
ground. I knew not what argument would now tell in my favour.
"Sir," continued Ned, "let us suppose an impossibility: if Captain
Nemo should this day offer you your liberty; would you accept it?"
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"I do not know," I answered.
"And if," he added, "the offer made you this day was never to be
renewed, would you accept it?"
"Friend Ned, this is my answer. Your reasoning is against me. We must
not rely on Captain Nemo's good-will. Common prudence forbids him to set us
at liberty. On the other side, prudence bids us profit by the first
opportunity to leave the Nautilus."
"Well, M. Aronnax, that is wisely said."
"Only one observation -- just one. The occasion must be serious, and
our first attempt must succeed; if it fails, we shall never find another,
and Captain Nemo will never forgive us."
"All that is true," replied the Canadian. "But your observation
applies equally to all attempts at flight, whether in two years' time, or
in two days'. But the question is still this: If a favourable opportunity
presents itself, it must be seized."
"Agreed! And now, Ned, will you tell me what you mean by a favourable
opportunity?"
"It will be that which, on a dark night, will bring the Nautilus a
short distance from some European coast."
"And you will try and save yourself by swimming?"
"Yes, if we were near enough to the bank, and if the vessel was
floating at the time. Not if the bank was far away, and the boat was under
the water."
"And in that case?"
"In that case, I should seek to make myself master of the pinnace. I
know how it is worked. We must get inside, and the bolts once drawn, we
shall come to the surface of the water, without even the pilot, who is in
the bows, perceiving our flight."
"Well, Ned, watch for the opportunity; but do not forget that a hitch
will ruin us."
"I will not forget, sir."
"And now, Ned, would you like to know what I think of your project?"
"Certainly, M. Aronnax."
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"Well, I think -- I do not say I hope -- I think that this favourable
opportunity will never present itself."
"Why not?"
"Because Captain Nemo cannot hide from himself that we have not given
up all hope of regaining our liberty, and he will be on his guard, above
all, in the seas and in the sight of European coasts."
"We shall see," replied Ned Land, shaking his head determinedly.
"And now, Ned Land," I added, "let us stop here. Not another word on
the subject. The day that you are ready, come and let us know, and we will
follow you. I rely entirely upon you."
Thus ended a conversation which, at no very distant time, led to such
grave results. I must say here that facts seemed to confirm my foresight,
to the Canadian's great despair. Did Captain Nemo distrust us in these
frequented seas? or did he only wish to hide himself from the numerous
vessels, of all nations, which ploughed the Mediterranean? I could not
tell; but we were oftener between waters and far from the coast. Or, if the
Nautilus did emerge, nothing was to be seen but the pilot's cage; and
sometimes it went to great depths, for, between the Grecian Archipelago and
Asia Minor we could not touch the bottom by more than a thousand fathoms.
Thus I only knew we were near the Island of Carpathos, one of the
Sporades, by Captain Nemo reciting these lines from Virgil:
"Est Carpathio Neptuni gurgite vates,
Caeruleus Proteus," as he pointed to a spot on the planisphere.
It was indeed the ancient abode of Proteus, the old shepherd of
Neptune's flocks, now the Island of Scarpanto, situated between Rhodes and
Crete. I saw nothing but the granite base through the glass panels of the
saloon.
The next day, the 14th of February, I resolved to employ some hours in
studying the fishes of the Archipelago; but for some reason or other the
panels remained hermetically sealed. Upon taking the course of the
Nautilus, I found that
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we were going towards Candia, the ancient Isle of Crete. At the time I
embarked on the Abraham Lincoln, the whole of this island had risen in
insurrection against the despotism of the Turks. But how the insurgents had
fared since that time I was absolutely ignorant, and it was not Captain
Nemo, deprived of all land communications, who could tell me.
I made no allusion to this event when that night I found myself alone
with him in the saloon. Besides, he seemed to be taciturn and preoccupied.
Then, contrary to his custom, he ordered both panels to be opened, and,
going from one to the other, observed the mass of waters attentively. To
what end I could not guess; so, on my side, I employed my time in studying
the fish passing before my eyes.
In the midst of the waters a man appeared, a diver, carrying at his
belt a leathern purse. It was not a body abandoned to the waves; it was a
living man, swimming with a strong hand, disappearing occasionally to take
breath at the surface.
I turned towards Captain Nemo, and in an agitated voice exclaimed:
"A man shipwrecked! He must be saved at any price!"
The Captain did not answer me, but came and leaned against the panel.
The man had approached, and, with his face flattened against the
glass, was looking at us.
To my great amazement, Captain Nemo signed to him. The diver answered
with his hand, mounted immediately to the surface of the water, and did not
appear again.
"Do not be uncomfortable," said Captain Nemo. "It is Nicholas of Cape
Matapan, surnamed Pesca. He is well known in all the Cyclades. A bold
diver! water is his element, and he lives more in it than on land, going
continually from one island to another, even as far as Crete."
"You know him, Captain?"
"Why not, M. Aronnax?"
Saying which, Captain Nemo went towards a piece of furniture standing
near the left panel of the saloon. Near this piece of furniture, I saw a
chest bound with iron, on
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the cover of which was a copper plate, bearing the cypher of the Nautilus
with its device.
At that moment, the Captain, without noticing my presence, opened the
piece of furniture, a sort of strong box, which held a great many ingots.
They were ingots of gold. From whence came this precious metal, which
represented an enormous sum? Where did the Captain gather this gold from?
and what was he going to do with it?
I did not say one word. I looked. Captain Nemo took the ingots one by
one, and arranged them methodically in the chest, which he filled entirely.
I estimated the contents at more than 4,000 lb. weight of gold, that is to
say, nearly L200,000.
The chest was securely fastened, and the Captain wrote an address on
the lid, in characters which must have belonged to Modern Greece.
This done, Captain Nemo pressed a knob, the wire of which communicated
with the quarters of the crew. Four men appeared, and, not without some
trouble, pushed the chest out of the saloon. Then I heard them hoisting it
up the iron staircase by means of pulleys.
At that moment, Captain Nemo turned to me.
"And you were saying, sir?" said he.
"I was saying nothing, Captain."
"Then, sir, if you will allow me, I will wish you good night."
Whereupon he turned and left the saloon.
I returned to my room much troubled, as one may believe. I vainly
tried to sleep -- I sought the connecting link between the apparition of
the diver and the chest filled with gold. Soon, I felt by certain movements
of pitching and tossing that the Nautilus was leaving the depths and
returning to the surface.
Then I heard steps upon the platform; and I knew they were unfastening
the pinnace and launching it upon the waves. For one instant it struck the
side of the Nautilus, then all noise ceased.
Two hours after, the same noise, the same going and coming
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was renewed; the boat was hoisted on board, replaced in its socket, and the
Nautilus again plunged under the waves.
So these millions had been transported to their address. To what point
of the continent? Who was Captain Nemo's correspondent?
The next day I related to Conseil and the Canadian the events of the
night, which had excited my curiosity to the highest degree. My companions
were not less surprised than myself.
"But where does he take his millions to?" asked Ned Land.
To that there was no possible answer. I returned to the saloon after
having breakfast and set to work. Till five o'clock in the evening I
employed myself in arranging my notes. At that moment -- (ought I to
attribute it to some peculiar idiosyncrasy) -- I felt so great a heat that
I was obliged to take off my coat. It was strange, for we were under low
latitudes; and even then the Nautilus, submerged as it was, ought to
experience no change of temperature. I looked at the manometer; it showed a
depth of sixty feet, to which atmospheric heat could never attain.
I continued my work, but the temperature rose to such a pitch as to be
intolerable.
"Could there be fire on board?" I asked myself.
I was leaving the saloon, when Captain Nemo entered; he approached the
thermometer, consulted it, and, turning to me, said:
"Forty-two degrees."
"I have noticed it, Captain," I replied; "and if it gets much hotter
we cannot bear it."
"Oh, sir, it will not get better if we do not wish it."
"You can reduce it as you please, then?"
"No; but I can go farther from the stove which produces it."
"It is outward, then!"
"Certainly; we are floating in a current of boiling water."
"Is it possible!" I exclaimed.
"Look."
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The panels opened, and I saw the sea entirely white all round. A
sulphurous smoke was curling amid the waves, which boiled like water in a
copper. I placed my band on one of the panes of glass, but the heat was so
great that I quickly took it off again.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Near the Island of Santorin, sir," replied the Captain. "I wished to
give you a sight of the curious spectacle of a submarine eruption."
"I thought," said I, "that the formation of these new islands was
ended."
"Nothing is ever ended in the volcanic parts of the sea," replied
Captain Nemo; "and the globe is always being worked by subterranean fires.
Already, in the nineteenth year of our era, according to Cassiodorus and
Pliny, a new island, Theia (the divine), appeared in the very place where
these islets have recently been formed. Then they sank under the waves, to
rise again in the year 69, when they again subsided. Since that time to our
days the Plutonian work has been suspended. But on the 3rd of February,
1866, a new island, which they named George Island, emerged from the midst
of the sulphurous vapour near Nea Kamenni, and settled again the 6th of the
same month. Seven days after, the 13th of February, the Island of Aphroessa
appeared, leaving between Nea Kamenni and itself a canal ten yards broad. I
was in these seas when the phenomenon occurred, and I was able therefore to
observe all the different phases. The Island of Aphroessa, of round form,
measured 300 feet in diameter, and 30 feet in height. It was composed of
black and vitreous lava, mixed with fragments of felspar. And lastly, on
the 10th of March, a smaller island, called Reka, showed itself near Nea
Kamenni, and since then these three have joined together, forming but one
and the same island."
"And the canal in which we are at this moment?" I asked.
"Here it is," replied Captain Nemo, showing me a map of the
Archipelago. "You see, I have marked the new islands."
I returned to the glass. The Nautilus was no longer moving,
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the heat was becoming unbearable. The sea, which till now had been white,
was red, owing to the presence of salts of iron. In spite of the ship's
being hermetically sealed, an insupportable smell of sulphur filled the
saloon, and the brilliancy of the electricity was entirely extinguished by
bright scarlet flames. I was in a bath, I was choking, I was broiled.
"We can remain no longer in this boiling water," said I to the
Captain.
"It would not be prudent," replied the impassive Captain Nemo.
An order was given; the Nautilus tacked about and left the furnace it
could not brave with impunity. A quarter of an hour after we were breathing
fresh air on the surface. The thought then struck me that, if Ned Land had
chosen this part of the sea for our flight, we should never have come alive
out of this sea of fire.
The next day, the 16th of February, we left the basin which, between
Rhodes and Alexandria, is reckoned about 1,500 fathoms in depth, and the
Nautilus, passing some distance from Cerigo, quitted the Grecian
Archipelago after having doubled Cape Matapan.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.7
THE MEDITERRANEAN IN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS
THE Mediterranean, the blue sea par excellence, "the great sea" of the
Hebrews, "the sea" of the Greeks, the "mare nostrum" of the Romans,
bordered by orange-trees, aloes, cacti, and sea-pines; embalmed with the
perfume of the myrtle, surrounded by rude mountains, saturated with pure
and transparent air, but incessantly worked by under- ground fires; a
perfect battlefield in which Neptune and Pluto still dispute the empire of
the world!
It is upon these banks, and on these waters, says Michelet, that man
is renewed in one of the most powerful climates of the globe. But,
beautiful as it was, I could only take a
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rapid glance at the basin whose superficial area is two million of square
yards. Even Captain Nemo's knowledge was lost to me, for this puzzling
person did not appear once during our passage at full speed. I estimated
the course which the Nautilus took under the waves of the sea at about six
hundred leagues, and it was accomplished in forty-eight hours. Starting on
the morning of the 16th of February from the shores of Greece, we had
crossed the Straits of Gibraltar by sunrise on the 18th.
It was plain to me that this Mediterranean, enclosed in the midst of
those countries which he wished to avoid, was distasteful to Captain Nemo.
Those waves and those breezes brought back too many remembrances, if not
too many regrets. Here he had no longer that independence and that liberty
of gait which he had when in the open seas, and his Nautilus felt itself
cramped between the close shores of Africa and Europe.
Our speed was now twenty-five miles an hour. It may be well understood
that Ned Land, to his great disgust, was obliged to renounce his intended
flight. He could not launch the pinnace, going at the rate of twelve or
thirteen yards every second. To quit the Nautilus under such conditions
would be as bad as jumping from a train going at full speed -- an imprudent
thing, to say the least of it. Besides, our vessel only mounted to the
surface of the waves at night to renew its stock of air; it was steered
entirely by the compass and the log.
I saw no more of the interior of this Mediterranean than a traveller
by express train perceives of the landscape which flies before his eyes;
that is to say, the distant horizon, and not the nearer objects which pass
like a flash of lightning.
We were then passing between Sicily and the coast of Tunis. In the
narrow space between Cape Bon and the Straits of Messina the bottom of the
sea rose almost suddenly. There was a perfect bank, on which there was not
more than nine fathoms of water, whilst on either side the depth was ninety
fathoms.
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The Nautilus had to manoeuvre very carefully so as not to strike
against this submarine barrier.
I showed Conseil, on the map of the Mediterranean, the spot occupied
by this reef.
"But if you please, sir," observed Conseil, "it is like a real isthmus
joining Europe to Africa."
"Yes, my boy, it forms a perfect bar to the Straits of Lybia, and the
soundings of Smith have proved that in former times the continents between
Cape Boco and Cape Furina were joined."
"I can well believe it," said Conseil.
"I will add," I continued, "that a similar barrier exists between
Gibraltar and Ceuta, which in geological times formed the entire
Mediterranean."
"What if some volcanic burst should one day raise these two barriers
above the waves?"
"It is not probable, Conseil."
"Well, but allow me to finish, please, sir; if this phenomenon should
take place, it will be troublesome for M. Lesseps, who has taken so much
pains to pierce the isthmus."
"I agree with you; but I repeat, Conseil, this phenomenon will never
happen. The violence of subterranean force is ever diminishing. Volcanoes,
so plentiful in the first days of the world, are being extinguished by
degrees; the internal heat is weakened, the temperature of the lower strata
of the globe is lowered by a perceptible quantity every century to the
detriment of our globe, for its heat is its life."
"But the sun?"
"The sun is not sufficient, Conseil. Can it give heat to a dead body?"
"Not that I know of."
"Well, my friend, this earth will one day be that cold corpse; it will
become uninhabitable and uninhabited like the moon, which has long since
lost all its vital heat."
"In how many centuries?"
"In some hundreds of thousands of years, my boy."
"Then," said Conseil, "we shall have time to finish our journey --
that is, if Ned Land does not interfere with it."
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And Conseil, reassured, returned to the study of the bank, which the
Nautilus was skirting at a moderate speed.
During the night of the 16th and 17th February we had entered the
second Mediterranean basin, the greatest depth of which was 1,450 fathoms.
The Nautilus, by the action of its crew, slid down the inclined planes and
buried itself in the lowest depths of the sea.
On the 18th of February, about three o'clock in the morning, we were
at the entrance of the Straits of Gibraltar. There once existed two
currents: an upper one, long since recognised, which conveys the waters of
the ocean into the basin of the Mediterranean; and a lower counter-current,
which reasoning has now shown to exist. Indeed, the volume of water in the
Mediterranean, incessantly added to by the waves of the Atlantic and by
rivers falling into it, would each year raise the level of this sea, for
its evaporation is not sufficient to restore the equilibrium. As it is not
so, we must necessarily admit the existence of an under-current, which
empties into the basin of the Atlantic through the Straits of Gibraltar the
surplus waters of the Mediterranean. A fact indeed; and it was this
counter-current by which the Nautilus profited. It advanced rapidly by the
narrow pass. For one instant I caught a glimpse of the beautiful ruins of
the temple of Hercules, buried in the ground, according to Pliny, and with
the low island which supports it; and a few minutes later we were floating
on the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.8
VIGO BAY
THE Atlantic! a vast sheet of water whose superficial area covers
twenty-five millions of square miles, the length of which is nine thousand
miles, with a mean breadth of two thousand seven hundred -- an ocean whose
parallel winding shores embrace an immense circumference, watered by the
largest rivers of the world, the St. Lawrence, the Mississippi, the Amazon,
the Plata, the Orinoco, the Niger, the Senegal,
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the Elbe, the Loire, and the Rhine, which carry water from the most
civilised, as well as from the most savage, countries! Magnificent field of
water, incessantly ploughed by vessels of every nation, sheltered by the
flags of every nation, and which terminates in those two terrible points so
dreaded by mariners, Cape Horn and the Cape of Tempests.
The Nautilus was piercing the water with its sharp spur, after having
accomplished nearly ten thousand leagues in three months and a half, a
distance greater than the great circle of the earth. Where were we going
now, and what was reserved for the future? The Nautilus, leaving the
Straits of Gibraltar, had gone far out. It returned to the surface of the
waves, and our daily walks on the platform were restored to us.
I mounted at once, accompanied by Ned Land and Conseil. At a distance
of about twelve miles, Cape St. Vincent was dimly to be seen, forming the
south-western point of the Spanish peninsula. A strong southerly gale was
blowing. The sea was swollen and billowy; it made the Nautilus rock
violently. It was almost impossible to keep one's foot on the platform,
which the heavy rolls of the sea beat over every instant. So we descended
after inhaling some mouthfuls of fresh air.
I returned to my room, Conseil to his cabin; but the Canadian, with a
preoccupied air, followed me. Our rapid passage across the Mediterranean
had not allowed him to put his project into execution, and he could not
help showing his disappointment. When the door of my room was shut, he sat
down and looked at me silently.
"Friend Ned," said I, "I understand you; but you cannot reproach
yourself. To have attempted to leave the Nautilus under the circumstances
would have been folly."
Ned Land did not answer; his compressed lips and frowning brow showed
with him the violent possession this fixed idea had taken of his mind.
"Let us see," I continued; "we need not despair yet. We are going up
the coast of Portugal again; France and England are not far off, where we
can easily find refuge. Now if the Nautilus, on leaving the Straits of
Gibraltar, had
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gone to the south, if it had carried us towards regions where there were no
continents, I should share your uneasiness. But we know now that Captain
Nemo does not fly from civilised seas, and in some days I think you can act
with security."
Ned Land still looked at me fixedly; at length his fixed lips parted,
and he said, "It is for to-night."
I drew myself up suddenly. I was, I admit, little prepared for this
communication. I wanted to answer the Canadian, but words would not come.
"We agreed to wait for an opportunity," continued Ned Land, "and the
opportunity has arrived. This night we shall be but a few miles from the
Spanish coast. It is cloudy. The wind blows freely. I have your word, M.
Aronnax, and I rely upon you."
As I was silent, the Canadian approached me.
"To-night, at nine o'clock," said he. "I have warned Conseil. At that
moment Captain Nemo will be shut up in his room, probably in bed. Neither
the engineers nor the ship's crew can see us. Conseil and I will gain the
central staircase, and you, M. Aronnax, will remain in the library, two
steps from us, waiting my signal. The oars, the mast, and the sail are in
the canoe. I have even succeeded in getting some provisions. I have
procured an English wrench, to unfasten the bolts which attach it to the
shell of the Nautilus. So all is ready, till to-night."
"The sea is bad."
"That I allow," replied the Canadian; "but we must risk that. Liberty
is worth paying for; besides, the boat is strong, and a few miles with a
fair wind to carry us is no great thing. Who knows but by to-morrow we may
be a hundred leagues away? Let circumstances only favour us, and by ten or
eleven o'clock we shall have landed on some spot of terra firma, alive or
dead. But adieu now till to-night."
With these words the Canadian withdrew, leaving me almost dumb. I had
imagined that, the chance gone, I should have time to reflect and discuss
the matter. My obstinate companion had given me no time; and, after all,
what could
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I have said to him? Ned Land was perfectly right. There was almost the
opportunity to profit by. Could I retract my word, and take upon myself the
responsibility of compromising the future of my companions? To-morrow
Captain Nemo might take us far from all land.
At that moment a rather loud hissing noise told me that the reservoirs
were filling, and that the Nautilus was sinking under the waves of the
Atlantic.
A sad day I passed, between the desire of regaining my liberty of
action and of abandoning the wonderful Nautilus, and leaving my submarine
studies incomplete.
What dreadful hours I passed thus! Sometimes seeing myself and
companions safely landed, sometimes wishing, in spite of my reason, that
some unforeseen circumstance, would prevent the realisation of Ned Land's
project.
Twice I went to the saloon. I wished to consult the compass. I wished
to see if the direction the Nautilus was taking was bringing us nearer or
taking us farther from the coast. But no; the Nautilus kept in Portuguese
waters.
I must therefore take my part and prepare for flight. My luggage was
not heavy; my notes, nothing more.
As to Captain Nemo, I asked myself what he would think of our escape;
what trouble, what wrong it might cause him and what he might do in case of
its discovery or failure. Certainly I had no cause to complain of him; on
the contrary, never was hospitality freer than his. In leaving him I could
not be taxed with ingratitude. No oath bound us to him. It was on the
strength of circumstances he relied, and not upon our word, to fix us for
ever.
I had not seen the Captain since our visit to the Island of Santorin.
Would chance bring me to his presence before our departure? I wished it,
and I feared it at the same time. I listened if I could hear him walking
the room contiguous to mine. No sound reached my ear. I felt an unbearable
uneasiness. This day of waiting seemed eternal. Hours struck too slowly to
keep pace with my impatience.
My dinner was served in my room as usual. I ate but little; I was too
preoccupied. I left the table at seven o'clock. A hundred and twenty
minutes (I counted them) still separated
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me from the moment in which I was to join Ned Land. My agitation redoubled.
My pulse beat violently. I could not remain quiet. I went and came, hoping
to calm my troubled spirit by constant movement. The idea of failure in our
bold enterprise was the least painful of my anxieties; but the thought of
seeing our project discovered before leaving the Nautilus, of being brought
before Captain Nemo, irritated, or (what was worse) saddened, at my
desertion, made my heart beat.
I wanted to see the saloon for the last time. I descended the stairs
and arrived in the museum, where I had passed so many useful and agreeable
hours. I looked at all its riches, all its treasures, like a man on the eve
of an eternal exile, who was leaving never to return.
These wonders of Nature, these masterpieces of art, amongst which for
so many days my life had been concentrated, I was going to abandon them for
ever! I should like to have taken a last look through the windows of the
saloon into the waters of the Atlantic: but the panels were hermetically
closed, and a cloak of steel separated me from that ocean which I had not
yet explored.
In passing through the saloon, I came near the door let into the angle
which opened into the Captain's room. To my great surprise, this door was
ajar. I drew back involuntarily. If Captain Nemo should be in his room, he
could see me. But, hearing no sound, I drew nearer. The room was deserted.
I pushed open the door and took some steps forward. Still the same monklike
severity of aspect.
Suddenly the clock struck eight. The first beat of the hammer on the
bell awoke me from my dreams. I trembled as if an invisible eye had plunged
into my most secret thoughts, and I hurried from the room.
There my eye fell upon the compass. Our course was still north. The
log indicated moderate speed, the manometer a depth of about sixty feet.
I returned to my room, clothed myself warmly -- sea- boots, an
otterskin cap, a great coat of byssus, lined with sealskin; I was ready, I
was waiting. The vibration of the screw alone broke the deep silence which
reigned on board.
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I listened attentively. Would no loud voice suddenly inform me that Ned
Land had been surprised in his projected flight. A mortal dread hung over
me, and I vainly tried to regain my accustomed coolness.
At a few minutes to nine, I put my ear to the Captain's door. No
noise. I left my room and returned to the saloon, which was half in
obscurity, but deserted.
I opened the door communicating with the library. The same
insufficient light, the same solitude. I placed myself near the door
leading to the central staircase, and there waited for Ned Land's signal.
At that moment the trembling of the screw sensibly diminished, then it
stopped entirely. The silence was now only disturbed by the beatings of my
own heart. Suddenly a slight shock was felt; and I knew that the Nautilus
had stopped at the bottom of the ocean. My uneasiness increased. The
Canadian's signal did not come. I felt inclined to join Ned Land and beg of
him to put off his attempt. I felt that we were not sailing under our usual
conditions.
At this moment the door of the large saloon opened, and Captain Nemo
appeared. He saw me, and without further preamble began in an amiable tone
of voice:
"Ah, sir! I have been looking for you. Do you know the history of
Spain?"
Now, one might know the history of one's own country by heart; but in
the condition I was at the time, with troubled mind and head quite lost, I
could not have said a word of it.
"Well," continued Captain Nemo, "you heard my question! Do you know
the history of Spain?"
"Very slightly," I answered.
"Well, here are learned men having to learn," said the Captain. "Come,
sit down, and I will tell you a curious episode in this history. Sir,
listen well," said he; "this history will interest you on one side, for it
will answer a question which doubtless you have not been able to solve."
"I listen, Captain," said I, not knowing what my interlocutor was
driving at, and asking myself if this incident was bearing on our projected
flight.
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"Sir, if you have no objection, we will go back to 1702. You cannot be
ignorant that your king, Louis XIV, thinking that the gesture of a
potentate was sufficient to bring the Pyrenees under his yoke, had imposed
the Duke of Anjou, his grandson, on the Spaniards. This prince reigned more
or less badly under the name of Philip V, and had a strong party against
him abroad. Indeed, the preceding year, the royal houses of Holland,
Austria, and England had concluded a treaty of alliance at the Hague, with
the intention of plucking the crown of Spain from the head of Philip V, and
placing it on that of an archduke to whom they prematurely gave the title
of Charles III.
"Spain must resist this coalition; but she was almost entirely
unprovided with either soldiers or sailors. However, money would not fail
them, provided that their galleons, laden with gold and silver from
America, once entered their ports. And about the end of 1702 they expected
a rich convoy which France was escorting with a fleet of twenty-three
vessels, commanded by Admiral Chateau- Renaud, for the ships of the
coalition were already beating the Atlantic. This convoy was to go to
Cadiz, but the Admiral, hearing that an English fleet was cruising in those
waters, resolved to make for a French port.
"The Spanish commanders of the convoy objected to this decision. They
wanted to be taken to a Spanish port, and, if not to Cadiz, into Vigo Bay,
situated on the northwest coast of Spain, and which was not blocked.
"Admiral Chateau-Renaud had the rashness to obey this injunction, and
the galleons entered Vigo Bay.
"Unfortunately, it formed an open road which could not be defended in
any way. They must therefore hasten to unload the galleons before the
arrival of the combined fleet; and time would not have failed them had not
a miserable question of rivalry suddenly arisen.
"You are following the chain of events?" asked Captain Nemo.
"Perfectly," said I, not knowing the end proposed by this historical
lesson.
"I will continue. This is what passed. The merchants of
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Cadiz had a privilege by which they had the right of receiving all
merchandise coming from the West Indies. Now, to disembark these ingots at
the port of Vigo was depriving them of their rights. They complained at
Madrid, and obtained the consent of the weak-minded Philip that the convoy,
without discharging its cargo, should remain sequestered in the roads of
Vigo until the enemy had disappeared.
"But whilst coming to this decision, on the 22nd of October, 1702, the
English vessels arrived in Vigo Bay, when Admiral Chateau-Renaud, in spite
of inferior forces, fought bravely. But, seeing that the treasure must fall
into the enemy's hands, he burnt and scuttled every galleon, which went to
the bottom with their immense riches."
Captain Nemo stopped. I admit I could not see yet why this history
should interest me.
"Well?" I asked.
"Well, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, "we are in that Vigo Bay;
and it rests with yourself whether you will penetrate its mysteries."
The Captain rose, telling me to follow him. I had had time to recover.
I obeyed. The saloon was dark, but through the transparent glass the waves
were sparkling. I looked.
For half a mile around the Nautilus, the waters seemed bathed in
electric light. The sandy bottom was clean and bright. Some of the ship's
crew in their diving-dresses were clearing away half-rotten barrels and
empty cases from the midst of the blackened wrecks. From these cases and
from these barrels escaped ingots of gold and silver, cascades of piastres
and jewels. The sand was heaped up with them. Laden with their precious
booty, the men returned to the Nautilus, disposed of their burden, and went
back to this inexhaustible fishery of gold and silver.
I understood now. This was the scene of the battle of the 22nd of
October, 1702. Here on this very spot the galleons laden for the Spanish
Government had sunk. Here Captain Nemo came, according to his wants, to
pack up those millions with which he burdened the Nautilus. It was for him
and him alone America had given up her precious metals. He was
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heir direct, without anyone to share, in those treasures torn from the
Incas and from the conquered of Ferdinand Cortez.
"Did you know, sir," he asked, smiling, "that the sea contained such
riches?"
"I knew," I answered, "that they value money held in suspension in
these waters at two millions."
"Doubtless; but to extract this money the expense would be greater
than the profit. Here, on the contrary, I have but to pick up what man has
lost -- and not only in Vigo Bay, but in a thousand other ports where
shipwrecks have happened, and which are marked on my submarine map. Can you
understand now the source of the millions I am worth?"
"I understand, Captain. But allow me to tell you that in exploring
Vigo Bay you have only been beforehand with a rival society."
"And which?"
"A society which has received from the Spanish Government the
privilege of seeking those buried galleons. The shareholders are led on by
the allurement of an enormous bounty, for they value these rich shipwrecks
at five hundred millions."
"Five hundred millions they were," answered Captain Nemo, "but they
are so no longer."
"Just so," said I; "and a warning to those shareholders would be an
act of charity. But who knows if it would be well received? What gamblers
usually regret above all is less the loss of their money than of their
foolish hopes. After all, I pity them less than the thousands of
unfortunates to whom so much riches well-distributed would have been
profitable, whilst for them they will be for ever barren."
I had no sooner expressed this regret than I felt that it must have
wounded Captain Nemo.
"Barren!" he exclaimed, with animation. "Do you think then, sir, that
these riches are lost because I gather them? Is it for myself alone,
according to your idea, that I take the trouble to collect these treasures?
Who told you that I did not make a good use of it? Do you think I am
ignorant that there are suffering beings and oppressed races on this
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earth, miserable creatures to console, victims to avenge? Do you not
understand?"
Captain Nemo stopped at these last words, regretting perhaps that he
had spoken so much. But I had guessed that, whatever the motive which had
forced him to seek independence under the sea, it had left him still a man,
that his heart still beat for the sufferings of humanity, and that his
immense charity was for oppressed races as well as individuals. And I then
understood for whom those millions were destined which were forwarded by
Captain Nemo when the Nautilus was cruising in the waters of Crete.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.9
A VANISHED CONTINENT
THE next morning, the 19th of February, I saw the Canadian enter my
room. I expected this visit. He looked very disappointed.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"Well, Ned, fortune was against us yesterday."
"Yes; that Captain must needs stop exactly at the hour we intended
leaving his vessel."
"Yes, Ned, he had business at his bankers."
"His bankers!"
"Or rather his banking-house; by that I mean the ocean, where his
riches are safer than in the chests of the State."
I then related to the Canadian the incidents of the preceding night,
hoping to bring him back to the idea of not abandoning the Captain; but my
recital had no other result than an energetically expressed regret from Ned
that he had not been able to take a walk on the battlefield of Vigo on his
own account.
"However," said he, "all is not ended. It is only a blow of the
harpoon lost. Another time we must succeed; and to-night, if necessary -- "
"In what direction is the Nautilus going?" I asked.
"I do not know," replied Ned.
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"Well, at noon we shall see the point."
The Canadian returned to Conseil. As soon as I was dressed, I went
into the saloon. The compass was not reassuring. The course of the Nautilus
was S.S.W. We were turning our backs on Europe.
I waited with some impatience till the ship's place was pricked on the
chart. At about half-past eleven the reservoirs were emptied, and our
vessel rose to the surface of the ocean. I rushed towards the platform. Ned
Land had preceded me. No more land in sight. Nothing but an immense sea.
Some sails on the horizon, doubtless those going to San Roque in search of
favourable winds for doubling the Cape of Good Hope. The weather was
cloudy. A gale of wind was preparing. Ned raved, and tried to pierce the
cloudy horizon. He still hoped that behind all that fog stretched the land
he so longed for.
At noon the sun showed itself for an instant. The second profited by
this brightness to take its height. Then, the sea becoming more billowy, we
descended, and the panel closed.
An hour after, upon consulting the chart, I saw the position of the
Nautilus was marked at 16° 17' long., and 33° 22' lat., at 150 leagues from
the nearest coast. There was no means of flight, and I leave you to imagine
the rage of the Canadian when I informed him of our situation.
For myself, I was not particularly sorry. I felt lightened of the load
which had oppressed me, and was able to return with some degree of calmness
to my accustomed work.
That night, about eleven o'clock, I received a most unexpected visit
from Captain Nemo. He asked me very graciously if I felt fatigued from my
watch of the preceding night. I answered in the negative.
"Then, M. Aronnax, I propose a curious excursion."
"Propose, Captain?"
"You have hitherto only visited the submarine depths by daylight,
under the brightness of the sun. Would it suit you to see them in the
darkness of the night?"
"Most willingly."
"I warn you, the way will be tiring. We shall have far
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to walk, and must climb a mountain. The roads are not well kept."
"What you say, Captain, only heightens my curiosity; I am ready to
follow you."
"Come then, sir, we will put on our diving-dresses."
Arrived at the robing-room, I saw that neither of my companions nor
any of the ship's crew were to follow us on this excursion. Captain Nemo
had not even proposed my taking with me either Ned or Conseil.
In a few moments we had put on our diving-dresses; they placed on our
backs the reservoirs, abundantly filled with air, but no electric lamps
were prepared. I called the Captain's attention to the fact.
"They will be useless," he replied.
I thought I had not heard aright, but I could not repeat my
observation, for the Captain's head had already disappeared in its metal
case. I finished harnessing myself. I felt them put an iron-pointed stick
into my hand, and some minutes later, after going through the usual form,
we set foot on the bottom of the Atlantic at a depth of 150 fathoms.
Midnight was near. The waters were profoundly dark, but Captain Nemo
pointed out in the distance a reddish spot, a sort of large light shining
brilliantly about two miles from the Nautilus. What this fire might be,
what could feed it, why and how it lit up the liquid mass, I could not say.
In any case, it did light our way, vaguely, it is true, but I soon
accustomed myself to the peculiar darkness, and I understood, under such
circumstances, the uselessness of the Ruhmkorff apparatus.
As we advanced, I heard a kind of pattering above my head. The noise
redoubling, sometimes producing a continual shower, I soon understood the
cause. It was rain falling violently, and crisping the surface of the
waves. Instinctively the thought flashed across my mind that I should be
wet through! By the water! in the midst of the water! I could not help
laughing at the odd idea. But, indeed, in the thick diving-dress, the
liquid element is no longer felt, and one only seems to be in an atmosphere
somewhat denser than the terrestrial atmosphere. Nothing more.
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After half an hour's walk the soil became stony. Medusae, microscopic
crustacea, and pennatules lit it slightly with their phosphorescent gleam.
I caught a glimpse of pieces of stone covered with millions of zoophytes
and masses of seaweed. My feet often slipped upon this sticky carpet of
seaweed, and without my iron-tipped stick I should have fallen more than
once. In turning round, I could still see the whitish lantern of the
Nautilus beginning to pale in the distance.
But the rosy light which guided us increased and lit up the horizon.
The presence of this fire under water puzzled me in the highest degree. Was
I going towards a natural phenomenon as yet unknown to the savants of the
earth? Or even (for this thought crossed my brain) had the hand of man
aught to do with this conflagration? Had he fanned this flame? Was I to
meet in these depths companions and friends of Captain Nemo whom he was
going to visit, and who, like him, led this strange existence? Should I
find down there a whole colony of exiles who, weary of the miseries of this
earth, had sought and found independence in the deep ocean? All these
foolish and unreasonable ideas pursued me. And in this condition of mind,
over-excited by the succession of wonders continually passing before my
eyes, I should not have been surprised to meet at the bottom of the sea one
of those submarine towns of which Captain Nemo dreamed.
Our road grew lighter and lighter. The white glimmer came in rays from
the summit of a mountain about 800 feet high. But what I saw was simply a
reflection, developed by the clearness of the waters. The source of this
inexplicable light was a fire on the opposite side of the mountain.
In the midst of this stony maze furrowing the bottom of the Atlantic,
Captain Nemo advanced without hesitation. He knew this dreary road.
Doubtless he had often travelled over it, and could not lose himself. I
followed him with unshaken confidence. He seemed to me like a genie of the
sea; and, as he walked before me, I could not help admiring his stature,
which was outlined in black on the luminous horizon.
It was one in the morning when we arrived at the first
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slopes of the mountain; but to gain access to them we must venture through
the difficult paths of a vast copse.
Yes; a copse of dead trees, without leaves, without sap, trees
petrified by the action of the water and here and there overtopped by
gigantic pines. It was like a coal-pit still standing, holding by the roots
to the broken soil, and whose branches, like fine black paper cuttings,
showed distinctly on the watery ceiling. Picture to yourself a forest in
the Hartz hanging on to the sides of the mountain, but a forest swallowed
up. The paths were encumbered with seaweed and fucus, between which
grovelled a whole world of crustacea. I went along, climbing the rocks,
striding over extended trunks, breaking the sea bind-weed which hung from
one tree to the other; and frightening the fishes, which flew from branch
to branch. Pressing onward, I felt no fatigue. I followed my guide, who was
never tired. What a spectacle! How can I express it? how paint the aspect
of those woods and rocks in this medium -- their under parts dark and wild,
the upper coloured with red tints, by that light which the reflecting
powers of the waters doubled? We climbed rocks which fell directly after
with gigantic bounds and the low growling of an avalanche. To right and
left ran long, dark galleries, where sight was lost. Here opened vast
glades which the hand of man seemed to have worked; and I sometimes asked
myself if some inhabitant of these submarine regions would not suddenly
appear to me.
But Captain Nemo was still mounting. I could not stay behind. I
followed boldly. My stick gave me good help. A false step would have been
dangerous on the narrow passes sloping down to the sides of the gulfs; but
I walked with firm step, without feeling any giddiness. Now I jumped a
crevice, the depth of which would have made me hesitate had it been among
the glaciers on the land; now I ventured on the unsteady trunk of a tree
thrown across from one abyss to the other, without looking under my feet,
having only eyes to admire the wild sites of this region.
There, monumental rocks, leaning on their regularly-cut bases, seemed
to defy all laws of equilibrium. From between their stony knees trees
sprang, like a jet under heavy pressure,
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and upheld others which upheld them. Natural towers, large scarps, cut
perpendicularly, like a "curtain," inclined at an angle which the laws of
gravitation could never have tolerated in terrestrial regions.
Two hours after quitting the Nautilus we had crossed the line of
trees, and a hundred feet above our heads rose the top of the mountain,
which cast a shadow on the brilliant irradiation of the opposite slope.
Some petrified shrubs ran fantastically here and there. Fishes got up under
our feet like birds in the long grass. The massive rocks were rent with
impenetrable fractures, deep grottos, and unfathomable holes, at the bottom
of which formidable creatures might be heard moving. My blood curdled when
I saw enormous antennae blocking my road, or some frightful claw closing
with a noise in the shadow of some cavity. Millions of luminous spots shone
brightly in the midst of the darkness. They were the eyes of giant
crustacea crouched in their holes; giant lobsters setting themselves up
like halberdiers, and moving their claws with the clicking sound of
pincers; titanic crabs, pointed like a gun on its carriage; and frightful-
looking poulps, interweaving their tentacles like a living nest of
serpents.
We had now arrived on the first platform, where other surprises
awaited me. Before us lay some picturesque ruins, which betrayed the hand
of man and not that of the Creator. There were vast heaps of stone, amongst
which might be traced the vague and shadowy forms of castles and temples,
clothed with a world of blossoming zoophytes, and over which, instead of
ivy, sea-weed and fucus threw a thick vegetable mantle. But what was this
portion of the globe which had been swallowed by cataclysms? Who had placed
those rocks and stones like cromlechs of prehistoric times? Where was I?
Whither had Captain Nemo's fancy hurried me?
I would fain have asked him; not being able to, I stopped him -- I
seized his arm. But, shaking his head, and pointing to the highest point of
the mountain, he seemed to say:
"Come, come along; come higher!"
I followed, and in a few minutes I had climbed to the
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top, which for a circle of ten yards commanded the whole mass of rock.
I looked down the side we had just climbed. The mountain did not rise
more than seven or eight hundred feet above the level of the plain; but on
the opposite side it commanded from twice that height the depths of this
part of the Atlantic. My eyes ranged far over a large space lit by a
violent fulguration. In fact, the mountain was a volcano.
At fifty feet above the peak, in the midst of a rain of stones and
scoriae, a large crater was vomiting forth torrents of lava which fell in a
cascade of fire into the bosom of the liquid mass. Thus situated, this
volcano lit the lower plain like an immense torch, even to the extreme
limits of the horizon. I said that the submarine crater threw up lava, but
no flames. Flames require the oxygen of the air to feed upon and cannot be
developed under water; but streams of lava, having in themselves the
principles of their incandescence, can attain a white heat, fight
vigorously against the liquid element, and turn it to vapour by contact.
Rapid currents bearing all these gases in diffusion and torrents of
lava slid to the bottom of the mountain like an eruption of Vesuvius on
another Terra del Greco.
There indeed under my eyes, ruined, destroyed, lay a town -- its roofs
open to the sky, its temples fallen, its arches dislocated, its columns
lying on the ground, from which one would still recognise the massive
character of Tuscan architecture. Further on, some remains of a gigantic
aqueduct; here the high base of an Acropolis, with the floating outline of
a Parthenon; there traces of a quay, as if an ancient port had formerly
abutted on the borders of the ocean, and disappeared with its merchant
vessels and its war-galleys. Farther on again, long lines of sunken walls
and broad, deserted streets -- a perfect Pompeii escaped beneath the
waters. Such was the sight that Captain Nemo brought before my eyes!
Where was I? Where was I? I must know at any cost. I tried to speak,
but Captain Nemo stopped me by a
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gesture, and, picking up a piece of chalk-stone, advanced to a rock of
black basalt, and traced the one word:
ATLANTIS
What a light shot through my mind! Atlantis! the Atlantis of Plato,
that continent denied by Origen and Humbolt, who placed its disappearance
amongst the legendary tales. I had it there now before my eyes, bearing
upon it the unexceptionable testimony of its catastrophe. The region thus
engulfed was beyond Europe, Asia, and Lybia, beyond the columns of
Hercules, where those powerful people, the Atlantides, lived, against whom
the first wars of ancient Greeks were waged.
Thus, led by the strangest destiny, I was treading under foot the
mountains of this continent, touching with my hand those ruins a thousand
generations old and contemporary with the geological epochs. I was walking
on the very spot where the contemporaries of the first man had walked.
Whilst I was trying to fix in my mind every detail of this grand
landscape, Captain Nemo remained motionless, as if petrified in mute
ecstasy, leaning on a mossy stone. Was he dreaming of those generations
long since disappeared? Was he asking them the secret of human destiny? Was
it here this strange man came to steep himself in historical recollections,
and live again this ancient life -- he who wanted no modern one? What would
I not have given to know his thoughts, to share them, to understand them!
We remained for an hour at this place, contemplating the vast plains under
the brightness of the lava, which was sometimes wonderfully intense. Rapid
tremblings ran along the mountain caused by internal bubblings, deep noise,
distinctly transmitted through the liquid medium were echoed with majestic
grandeur. At this moment the moon appeared through the mass of waters and
threw her pale rays on the buried continent. It was but a gleam, but what
an indescribable effect! The Captain rose, cast one last look on the
immense plain, and then bade me follow him.
We descended the mountain rapidly, and, the mineral forest once
passed, I saw the lantern of the Nautilus shining
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like a star. The Captain walked straight to it, and we got on board as the
first rays of light whitened the surface of the ocean.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.10
THE SUBMARINE COAL-MINES
THE next day, the 20th of February, I awoke very late: the fatigues of
the previous night had prolonged my sleep until eleven o'clock. I dressed
quickly, and hastened to find the course the Nautilus was taking. The
instruments showed it to be still toward the south, with a speed of twenty
miles an hour and a depth of fifty fathoms.
The species of fishes here did not differ much from those already
noticed. There were rays of giant size, five yards long, and endowed with
great muscular strength, which enabled them to shoot above the waves;
sharks of many kinds; amongst others, one fifteen feet long, with
triangular sharp teeth, and whose transparency rendered it almost invisible
in the water.
Amongst bony fish Conseil noticed some about three yards long, armed
at the upper jaw with a piercing sword; other bright-coloured creatures,
known in the time of Aristotle by the name of the sea-dragon, which are
dangerous to capture on account of the spikes on their back.
About four o'clock, the soil, generally composed of a thick mud mixed
with petrified wood, changed by degrees, and it became more stony, and
seemed strewn with conglomerate and pieces of basalt, with a sprinkling of
lava. I thought that a mountainous region was succeeding the long plains;
and accordingly, after a few evolutions of the Nautilus, I saw the
southerly horizon blocked by a high wall which seemed to close all exit.
Its summit evidently passed the level of the ocean. It must be a continent,
or at least an island -- one of the Canaries, or of the Cape Verde Islands.
The bearings not being yet taken, perhaps designedly, I was ignorant of our
exact position. In any case, such
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a wall seemed to me to mark the limits of that Atlantis, of which we had in
reality passed over only the smallest part.
Much longer should I have remained at the window admiring the beauties
of sea and sky, but the panels closed. At this moment the Nautilus arrived
at the side of this high, perpendicular wall. What it would do, I could not
guess. I returned to my room; it no longer moved. I laid myself down with
the full intention of waking after a few hours' sleep; but it was eight
o'clock the next day when I entered the saloon. I looked at the manometer.
It told me that the Nautilus was floating on the surface of the ocean.
Besides, I heard steps on the platform. I went to the panel. It was open;
but, instead of broad daylight, as I expected, I was surrounded by profound
darkness. Where were we? Was I mistaken? Was it still night? No; not a star
was shining and night has not that utter darkness.
I knew not what to think, when a voice near me said:
"Is that you, Professor?"
"Ah! Captain," I answered, "where are we?"
"Underground, sir."
"Underground!" I exclaimed. "And the Nautilus floating still?"
"It always floats."
"But I do not understand."
"Wait a few minutes, our lantern will be lit, and, if you like light
places, you will be satisfied."
I stood on the platform and waited. The darkness was so complete that
I could not even see Captain Nemo; but, looking to the zenith, exactly
above my head, I seemed to catch an undecided gleam, a kind of twilight
filling a circular hole. At this instant the lantern was lit, and its
vividness dispelled the faint light. I closed my dazzled eyes for an
instant, and then looked again. The Nautilus was stationary, floating near
a mountain which formed a sort of quay. The lake, then, supporting it was a
lake imprisoned by a circle of walls, measuring two miles in diameter and
six in circumference. Its level (the manometer showed) could only be the
same as the outside level, for there must necessarily be a communication
between the lake and the sea. The high partitions,
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leaning forward on their base, grew into a vaulted roof bearing the shape
of an immense funnel turned upside down, the height being about five or six
hundred yards. At the summit was a circular orifice, by which I had caught
the slight gleam of light, evidently daylight.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"In the very heart of an extinct volcano, the interior of which has
been invaded by the sea, after some great convulsion of the earth. Whilst
you were sleeping, Professor, the Nautilus penetrated to this lagoon by a
natural canal, which opens about ten yards beneath the surface of the
ocean. This is its harbour of refuge, a sure, commodious, and mysterious
one, sheltered from all gales. Show me, if you can, on the coasts of any of
your continents or islands, a road which can give such perfect refuge from
all storms."
"Certainly," I replied, "you are in safety here, Captain Nemo. Who
could reach you in the heart of a volcano? But did I not see an opening at
its summit?"
"Yes; its crater, formerly filled with lava, vapour, and flames, and
which now gives entrance to the life-giving air we breathe."
"But what is this volcanic mountain?"
"It belongs to one of the numerous islands with which this sea is
strewn -- to vessels a simple sandbank -- to us an immense cavern. Chance
led me to discover it, and chance served me well."
"But of what use is this refuge, Captain? The Nautilus wants no port."
"No, sir; but it wants electricity to make it move, and the
wherewithal to make the electricity -- sodium to feed the elements, coal
from which to get the sodium, and a coal-mine to supply the coal. And
exactly on this spot the sea covers entire forests embedded during the
geological periods, now mineralised and transformed into coal; for me they
are an inexhaustible mine."
"Your men follow the trade of miners here, then, Captain?"
"Exactly so. These mines extend under the waves like the mines of
Newcastle. Here, in their diving-dresses, pick-
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axe and shovel in hand, my men extract the coal, which I do not even ask
from the mines of the earth. When I burn this combustible for the
manufacture of sodium, the smoke, escaping from the crater of the mountain,
gives it the appearance of a still-active volcano."
"And we shall see your companions at work?"
"No; not this time at least; for I am in a hurry to continue our
submarine tour of the earth. So I shall content myself with drawing from
the reserve of sodium I already possess. The time for loading is one day
only, and we continue our voyage. So, if you wish to go over the cavern and
make the round of the lagoon, you must take advantage of to-day, M.
Aronnax."
I thanked the Captain and went to look for my companions, who had not
yet left their cabin. I invited them to follow me without saying where we
were. They mounted the platform. Conseil, who was astonished at nothing,
seemed to look upon it as quite natural that he should wake under a
mountain, after having fallen asleep under the waves. But Ned Land thought
of nothing but finding whether the cavern had any exit. After breakfast,
about ten o'clock, we went down on to the mountain.
"Here we are, once more on land," said Conseil.
"I do not call this land," said the Canadian. "And besides, we are not
on it, but beneath it."
Between the walls of the mountains and the waters of the lake lay a
sandy shore which, at its greatest breadth, measured five hundred feet. On
this soil one might easily make the tour of the lake. But the base of the
high partitions was stony ground, with volcanic locks and enormous pumice-
stones lying in picturesque heaps. All these detached masses, covered with
enamel, polished by the action of the subterraneous fires, shone
resplendent by the light of our electric lantern. The mica dust from the
shore, rising under our feet, flew like a cloud of sparks. The bottom now
rose sensibly, and we soon arrived at long circuitous slopes, or inclined
planes, which took us higher by degrees; but we were obliged to walk
carefully among these conglomerates,
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bound by no cement, the feet slipping on the glassy crystal, felspar, and
quartz.
The volcanic nature of this enormous excavation was confirmed on all
sides, and I pointed it out to my companions.
"Picture to yourselves," said I, "what this crater must have been when
filled with boiling lava, and when the level of the incandescent liquid
rose to the orifice of the mountain, as though melted on the top of a hot
plate."
"I can picture it perfectly," said Conseil. "But, sir, will you tell
me why the Great Architect has suspended operations, and how it is that the
furnace is replaced by the quiet waters of the lake?"
"Most probably, Conseil, because some convulsion beneath the ocean
produced that very opening which has served as a passage for the Nautilus.
Then the waters of the Atlantic rushed into the interior of the mountain.
There must have been a terrible struggle between the two elements, a
struggle which ended in the victory of Neptune. But many ages have run out
since then, and the submerged volcano is now a peaceable grotto."
"Very well," replied Ned Land; "I accept the explanation, sir; but, in
our own interests, I regret that the opening of which you speak was not
made above the level of the sea."
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "if the passage had not been under
the sea, the Nautilus could not have gone through it."
We continued ascending. The steps became more and more perpendicular
and narrow. Deep excavations, which we were obliged to cross, cut them here
and there; sloping masses had to be turned. We slid upon our knees and
crawled along. But Conseil's dexterity and the Canadian's strength
surmounted all obstacles. At a height of about 31 feet the nature of the
ground changed without becoming more practicable. To the conglomerate and
trachyte succeeded black basalt, the first dispread in layers full of
bubbles, the latter forming regular prisms, placed like a colonnade
supporting the spring of the immense vault, an admirable specimen of
natural architecture. Between the blocks of basalt wound long streams of
lava, long since
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grown cold, encrusted with bituminous rays; and in some places there were
spread large carpets of sulphur. A more powerful light shone through the
upper crater, shedding a vague glimmer over these volcanic depressions for
ever buried in the bosom of this extinguished mountain. But our upward
march was soon stopped at a height of about two hundred and fifty feet by
impassable obstacles. There was a complete vaulted arch overhanging us, and
our ascent was changed to a circular walk. At the last change vegetable
life began to struggle with the mineral. Some shrubs, and even some trees,
grew from the fractures of the walls. I recognised some euphorbias, with
the caustic sugar coming from them; heliotropes, quite incapable of
justifying their name, sadly drooped their clusters of flowers, both their
colour and perfume half gone. Here and there some chrysanthemums grew
timidly at the foot of an aloe with long, sickly-looking leaves. But
between the streams of lava, I saw some little violets still slightly
perfumed, and I admit that I smelt them with delight. Perfume is the soul
of the flower, and sea-flowers have no soul.
We had arrived at the foot of some sturdy dragon-trees, which had
pushed aside the rocks with their strong roots, when Ned Land exclaimed:
"Ah! sir, a hive! a hive!"
"A hive!" I replied, with a gesture of incredulity.
"Yes, a hive," repeated the Canadian, "and bees humming round it."
I approached, and was bound to believe my own eyes. There at a hole
bored in one of the dragon-trees were some thousands of these ingenious
insects, so common in all the Canaries, and whose produce is so much
esteemed. Naturally enough, the Canadian wished to gather the honey, and I
could not well oppose his wish. A quantity of dry leaves, mixed with
sulphur, he lit with a spark from his flint, and he began to smoke out the
bees. The humming ceased by degrees, and the hive eventually yielded
several pounds of the sweetest honey, with which Ned Land filled his
haversack.
"When I have mixed this honey with the paste of the
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bread-fruit," said he, "I shall be able to offer you a succulent cake."
"'Pon my word," said Conseil, "it will be gingerbread."
"Never mind the gingerbread," said I; "let us continue our interesting
walk."
At every turn of the path we were following, the lake appeared in all
its length and breadth. The lantern lit up the whole of its peaceable
surface, which knew neither ripple nor wave. The Nautilus remained
perfectly immovable. On the platform, and on the mountain, the ship's crew
were working like black shadows clearly carved against the luminous
atmosphere. We were now going round the highest crest of the first layers
of rock which upheld the roof. I then saw that bees were not the only
representatives of the animal kingdom in the interior of this volcano.
Birds of prey hovered here and there in the shadows, or fled from their
nests on the top of the rocks. There were sparrow- hawks, with white
breasts, and kestrels, and down the slopes scampered, with their long legs,
several fine fat bustards. I leave anyone to imagine the covetousness of
the Canadian at the sight of this savoury game, and whether he did not
regret having no gun. But he did his best to replace the lead by stones,
and, after several fruitless attempts, he succeeded in wounding a
magnificent bird. To say that he risked his life twenty times before
reaching it is but the truth; but he managed so well that the creature
joined the honey-cakes in his bag. We were now obliged to descend toward
the shore, the crest becoming impracticable. Above us the crater seemed to
gape like the mouth of a well. From this place the sky could be clearly
seen, and clouds, dissipated by the west wind, leaving behind them, even on
the summit of the mountain, their misty remnants -- certain proof that they
were only moderately high, for the volcano did not rise more than eight
hundred feet above the level of the ocean. Half an hour after the
Canadian's last exploit we had regained the inner shore. Here the flora was
represented by large carpets of marine crystal, a little umbelliferous
plant very good to pickle, which also bears the name of pierce-stone and
sea-fennel. Conseil gathered some
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bundles of it. As to the fauna, it might be counted by thousands of
crustacea of all sorts, lobsters, crabs, spider-crabs, chameleon shrimps,
and a large number of shells, rockfish, and limpets. Three-quarters of an
hour later we had finished our circuitous walk and were on board. The crew
had just finished loading the sodium, and the Nautilus could have left that
instant. But Captain Nemo gave no order. Did be wish to wait until night,
and leave the submarine passage secretly? Perhaps so. Whatever it might be,
the next day, the Nautilus, having left its port, steered clear of all land
at a few yards beneath the waves of the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.11
THE SARGASSO SEA
THAT day the Nautilus crossed a singular part of the Atlantic Ocean.
No one can be ignorant of the existence of a current of warm water known by
the name of the Gulf Stream. After leaving the Gulf of Florida, we went in
the direction of Spitzbergen. But before entering the Gulf of Mexico, about
45° of N. lat., this current divides into two arms, the principal one going
towards the coast of Ireland and Norway, whilst the second bends to the
south about the height of the Azores; then, touching the African shore, and
describing a lengthened oval, returns to the Antilles. This second arm --
it is rather a collar than an arm -- surrounds with its circles of warm
water that portion of the cold, quiet, immovable ocean called the Sargasso
Sea, a perfect lake in the open Atlantic: it takes no less than three years
for the great current to pass round it. Such was the region the Nautilus
was now visiting, a perfect meadow, a close carpet of seaweed, fucus, and
tropical berries, so thick and so compact that the stem of a vessel could
hardly tear its way through it. And Captain Nemo, not wishing to entangle
his screw in this herbaceous mass, kept some yards beneath the surface of
the waves. The name Sargasso comes from the Spanish word "sargazzo" which
signifies kelp.
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This kelp, or berry-plant, is the principal formation of this immense bank.
And this is the reason why these plants unite in the peaceful basin of the
Atlantic. The only explanation which can be given, he says, seems to me to
result from the experience known to all the world. Place in a vase some
fragments of cork or other floating body, and give to the water in the vase
a circular movement, the scattered fragments will unite in a group in the
centre of the liquid surface, that is to say, in the part least agitated.
In the phenomenon we are considering, the Atlantic is the vase, the Gulf
Stream the circular current, and the Sargasso Sea the central point at
which the floating bodies unite.
I share Maury's opinion, and I was able to study the phenomenon in the
very midst, where vessels rarely penetrate. Above us floated products of
all kinds, heaped up among these brownish plants; trunks of trees torn from
the Andes or the Rocky Mountains, and floated by the Amazon or the
Mississippi; numerous wrecks, remains of keels, or ships' bottoms,
side-planks stove in, and so weighted with shells and barnacles that they
could not again rise to the surface. And time will one day justify Maury's
other opinion, that these substances thus accumulated for ages will become
petrified by the action of the water and will then form inexhaustible
coal-mines -- a precious reserve prepared by far-seeing Nature for the
moment when men shall have exhausted the mines of continents.
In the midst of this inextricable mass of plants and seaweed, I
noticed some charming pink halcyons and actiniae, with their long tentacles
trailing after them, and medusae, green, red, and blue.
All the day of the 22nd of February we passed in the Sargasso Sea,
where such fish as are partial to marine plants find abundant nourishment.
The next, the ocean had returned to its accustomed aspect. From this time
for nineteen days, from the 23rd of February to the 12th of March, the
Nautilus kept in the middle of the Atlantic, carrying us at a constant
speed of a hundred leagues in twenty-four hours. Captain Nemo evidently
intended accomplishing his submarine programme, and I imagined that he
intended,
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after doubling Cape Horn, to return to the Australian seas of the Pacific.
Ned Land had cause for fear. In these large seas, void of islands, we could
not attempt to leave the boat. Nor had we any means of opposing Captain
Nemo's will. Our only course was to submit; but what we could neither gain
by force nor cunning, I liked to think might be obtained by persuasion.
This voyage ended, would he not consent to restore our liberty, under an
oath never to reveal his existence? -- an oath of honour which we should
have religiously kept. But we must consider that delicate question with the
Captain. But was I free to claim this liberty? Had he not himself said from
the beginning, in the firmest manner, that the secret of his life exacted
from him our lasting imprisonment on board the Nautilus? And would not my
four months' silence appear to him a tacit acceptance of our situation? And
would not a return to the subject result in raising suspicions which might
be hurtful to our projects, if at some future time a favourable opportunity
offered to return to them?
During the nineteen days mentioned above, no incident of any kind
happened to signalise our voyage. I saw little of the Captain; he was at
work. In the library I often found his books left open, especially those on
natural history. My work on submarine depths, conned over by him, was
covered with marginal notes, often contradicting my theories and systems;
but the Captain contented himself with thus purging my work; it was very
rare for him to discuss it with me. Sometimes I heard the melancholy tones
of his organ; but only at night, in the midst of the deepest obscurity,
when the Nautilus slept upon the deserted ocean. During this part of our
voyage we sailed whole days on the surface of the waves. The sea seemed
abandoned. A few sailing-vessels, on the road to India, were making for the
Cape of Good Hope. One day we were followed by the boats of a whaler, who,
no doubt, took us for some enormous whale of great price; but Captain Nemo
did not wish the worthy fellows to lose their time and trouble, so ended
the chase by plunging under the water. Our navigation continued until the
13th of March; that day the Nautilus was employed in
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taking soundings, which greatly interested me. We had then made about
13,000 leagues since our departure from the high seas of the Pacific. The
bearings gave us 45° 37' S. lat., and 37° 53' W. long. It was the same
water in which Captain Denham of the Herald sounded 7,000 fathoms without
finding the bottom. There, too, Lieutenant Parker, of the American frigate
Congress, could not touch the bottom with 15,140 fathoms. Captain Nemo
intended seeking the bottom of the ocean by a diagonal sufficiently
lengthened by means of lateral planes placed at an angle of 45° with the
water-line of the Nautilus. Then the screw set to work at its maximum
speed, its four blades beating the waves with indescribable force. Under
this powerful pressure, the hull of the Nautilus quivered like a sonorous
chord and sank regularly under the water.
At 7,000 fathoms I saw some blackish tops rising from the midst of the
waters; but these summits might belong to high mountains like the Himalayas
or Mont Blanc, even higher; and the depth of the abyss remained
incalculable. The Nautilus descended still lower, in spite of the great
pressure. I felt the steel plates tremble at the fastenings of the bolts;
its bars bent, its partitions groaned; the windows of the saloon seemed to
curve under the pressure of the waters. And this firm structure would
doubtless have yielded, if, as its Captain had said, it had not been
capable of resistance like a solid block. We had attained a depth of 16,000
yards (four leagues), and the sides of the Nautilus then bore a pressure of
1,600 atmospheres, that is to say, 3,200 lb. to each square two-fifths of
an inch of its surface.
"What a situation to be in!" I exclaimed. "To overrun these deep
regions where man has never trod! Look, Captain, look at these magnificent
rocks, these uninhabited grottoes, these lowest receptacles of the globe,
where life is no longer possible! What unknown sights are here! Why should
we be unable to preserve a remembrance of them?"
"Would you like to carry away more than the remembrance?" said Captain
Nemo.
"What do you mean by those words?"
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"I mean to say that nothing is easier than to make a photographic view
of this submarine region."
I had not time to express my surprise at this new proposition, when,
at Captain Nemo's call, an objective was brought into the saloon. Through
the widely-opened panel, the liquid mass was bright with electricity, which
was distributed with such uniformity that not a shadow, not a gradation,
was to be seen in our manufactured light. The Nautilus remained motionless,
the force of its screw subdued by the inclination of its planes: the
instrument was propped on the bottom of the oceanic site, and in a few
seconds we had obtained a perfect negative.
But, the operation being over, Captain Nemo said, "Let us go up; we
must not abuse our position, nor expose the Nautilus too long to such great
pressure."
"Go up again!" I exclaimed.
"Hold well on."
I had not time to understand why the Captain cautioned me thus, when I
was thrown forward on to the carpet. At a signal from the Captain, its
screw was shipped, and its blades raised vertically; the Nautilus shot into
the air like a balloon, rising with stunning rapidity, and cutting the mass
of waters with a sonorous agitation. Nothing was visible; and in four
minutes it had shot through the four leagues which separated it from the
ocean, and, after emerging like a flying-fish, fell, making the waves
rebound to an enormous height.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.12
CACHALOTS AND WHALES
DURING the nights of the 13th and 14th of March, the Nautilus returned
to its southerly course. I fancied that, when on a level with Cape Horn, he
would turn the helm westward, in order to beat the Pacific seas, and so
complete the tour of the world. He did nothing of the kind, but continued
on his way to the southern regions. Where was
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he going to? To the pole? It was madness! I began to think that the
Captain's temerity justified Ned Land's fears. For some time past the
Canadian had not spoken to me of his projects of flight; he was less
communicative, almost silent. I could see that this lengthened imprisonment
was weighing upon him, and I felt that rage was burning within him. When he
met the Captain, his eyes lit up with suppressed anger; and I feared that
his natural violence would lead him into some extreme. That day, the 14th
of March, Conseil and he came to me in my room. I inquired the cause of
their visit.
"A simple question to ask you, sir," replied the Canadian.
"Speak, Ned."
"How many men are there on board the Nautilus, do you think?"
"I cannot tell, my friend."
"I should say that its working does not require a large crew."
"Certainly, under existing conditions, ten men, at the most, ought to
be enough."
"Well, why should there be any more?"
"Why?" I replied, looking fixedly at Ned Land, whose meaning was easy
to guess. "Because," I added, "if my surmises are correct, and if I have
well understood the Captain's existence, the Nautilus is not only a vessel:
it is also a place of refuge for those who, like its commander, have broken
every tie upon earth."
"Perhaps so," said Conseil; "but, in any case, the Nautilus can only
contain a certain number of men. Could not you, sir, estimate their
maximum?"
"How, Conseil?"
"By calculation; given the size of the vessel, which you know, sir,
and consequently the quantity of air it contains, knowing also how much
each man expends at a breath, and comparing these results with the fact
that the Nautilus is obliged to go to the surface every twenty-four hours."
Conseil had not finished the sentence before I saw what he was driving
at.
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"I understand," said I; "but that calculation, though simple enough,
can give but a very uncertain result."
"Never mind," said Ned Land urgently.
"Here it is, then," said I. "In one hour each man consumes the oxygen
contained in twenty gallons of air; and in twenty-four, that contained in
480 gallons. We must, therefore find how many times 480 gallons of air the
Nautilus contains."
"Just so," said Conseil.
"Or," I continued, "the size of the Nautilus being 1,500 tons; and one
ton holding 200 gallons, it contains 300,000 gallons of air, which, divided
by 480, gives a quotient of 625. Which means to say, strictly speaking,
that the air contained in the Nautilus would suffice for 625 men for
twenty-four hours."
"Six hundred and twenty-five!" repeated Ned.
"But remember that all of us, passengers, sailors, and officers
included, would not form a tenth part of that number."
"Still too many for three men," murmured Conseil.
The Canadian shook his head, passed his hand across his forehead, and
left the room without answering.
"Will you allow me to make one observation, sir?" said Conseil. "Poor
Ned is longing for everything that he cannot have. His past life is always
present to him; everything that we are forbidden he regrets. His head is
full of old recollections. And we must understand him. What has he to do
here? Nothing; he is not learned like you, sir; and has not the same taste
for the beauties of the sea that we have. He would risk everything to be
able to go once more into a tavern in his own country."
Certainly the monotony on board must seem intolerable to the Canadian,
accustomed as he was to a life of liberty and activity. Events were rare
which could rouse him to any show of spirit; but that day an event did
happen which recalled the bright days of the harpooner. About eleven in the
morning, being on the surface of the ocean, the Nautilus fell in with a
troop of whales -- an encounter which did not
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astonish me, knowing that these creatures, hunted to death, had taken
refuge in high latitudes.
We were seated on the platform, with a quiet sea. The month of October
in those latitudes gave us some lovely autumnal days. It was the Canadian
-- he could not be mistaken -- who signalled a whale on the eastern
horizon. Looking attentively, one might see its black back rise and fall
with the waves five miles from the Nautilus.
"Ah!" exclaimed Ned Land, "if I was on board a whaler, now such a
meeting would give me pleasure. It is one of large size. See with what
strength its blow-holes throw up columns of air and steam! Confound it, why
am I bound to these steel plates?"
"What, Ned," said I, "you have not forgotten your old ideas of
fishing?"
"Can a whale-fisher ever forget his old trade, sir? Can he ever tire
of the emotions caused by such a chase?"
"You have never fished in these seas, Ned?"
"Never, sir; in the northern only, and as much in Behring as in Davis
Straits."
"Then the southern whale is still unknown to you. It is the Greenland
whale you have hunted up to this time, and that would not risk passing
through the warm waters of the equator. Whales are localised, according to
their kinds, in certain seas which they never leave. And if one of these
creatures went from Behring to Davis Straits, it must be simply because
there is a passage from one sea to the other, either on the American or the
Asiatic side."
"In that case, as I have never fished in these seas, I do not know the
kind of whale frequenting them!"
"I have told you, Ned."
"A greater reason for making their acquaintance," said Conseil.
"Look! look!" exclaimed the Canadian, "they approach: they aggravate
me; they know that I cannot get at them!"
Ned stamped his feet. His hand trembled, as he grasped an imaginary
harpoon.
"Are these cetaceans as large as those of the northern seas?" asked
he.
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"Very nearly, Ned."
"Because I have seen large whales, sir, whales measuring a hundred
feet. I have even been told that those of Hullamoch and Umgallick, of the
Aleutian Islands, are sometimes a hundred and fifty feet long."
"That seems to me exaggeration. These creatures are generally much
smaller than the Greenland whale."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Canadian, whose eyes had never left the ocean,
"they are coming nearer; they are in the same water as the Nautilus."
Then, returning to the conversation, he said:
"You spoke of the cachalot as a small creature. I have heard of
gigantic ones. They are intelligent cetacea. It is said of some that they
cover themselves with seaweed and fucus, and then are taken for islands.
People encamp upon them, and settle there; lights a fire -- "
"And build houses," said Conseil.
"Yes, joker," said Ned Land. "And one fine day the creature plunges,
carrying with it all the inhabitants to the bottom of the sea."
"Something like the travels of Sinbad the Sailor," I replied,
laughing.
"Ah!" suddenly exclaimed Ned Land, "it is not one whale; there are ten
-- there are twenty -- it is a whole troop! And I not able to do anything!
hands and feet tied!"
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "why do you not ask Captain Nemo's
permission to chase them?"
Conseil bad not finished his sentence when Ned Land had lowered
himself through the panel to seek the Captain. A few minutes afterwards the
two appeared together on the platform.
Captain Nemo watched the troop of cetacea playing on the waters about
a mile from the Nautilus.
"They are southern whales," said he; "there goes the fortune of a
whole fleet of whalers."
"Well, sir," asked the Canadian, "can I not chase them, if only to
remind me of my old trade of harpooner?"
"And to what purpose?" replied Captain Nemo; "only
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to destroy! We have nothing to do with the whale-oil on board."
"But, sir," continued the Canadian, "in the Red Sea you allowed us to
follow the dugong."
"Then it was to procure fresh meat for my crew. Here it would be
killing for killing's sake. I know that is a privilege reserved for man,
but I do not approve of such murderous pastime. In destroying the southern
whale (like the Greenland whale, an inoffensive creature), your traders do
a culpable action, Master Land. They have already depopulated the whole of
Baffin's Bay, and are annihilating a class of useful animals. Leave the
unfortunate cetacea alone. They have plenty of natural enemies --
cachalots, swordfish, and sawfish -- without you troubling them."
The Captain was right. The barbarous and inconsiderate greed of these
fishermen will one day cause the disappearance of the last whale in the
ocean. Ned Land whistled "Yankee-doodle" between his teeth, thrust his
hands into his pockets, and turned his back upon us. But Captain Nemo
watched the troop of cetacea, and, addressing me, said:
"I was right in saying that whales had natural enemies enough, without
counting man. These will have plenty to do before long. Do you see, M.
Aronnax, about eight miles to leeward, those blackish moving points?"
"Yes, Captain," I replied.
"Those are cachalots -- terrible animals, which I have met in troops
of two or three hundred. As to those, they are cruel, mischievous
creatures; they would be right in exterminating them."
The Canadian turned quickly at the last words.
"Well, Captain," said he, "it is still time, in the interest of the
whales."
"It is useless to expose one's self, Professor. The Nautilus will
disperse them. It is armed with a steel spur as good as Master Land's
harpoon, I imagine."
The Canadian did not put himself out enough to shrug his shoulders.
Attack cetacea with blows of a spur! Who had ever heard of such a thing?
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"Wait, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "We will show you something you
have never yet seen. We have no pity for these ferocious creatures. They
are nothing but mouth and teeth."
Mouth and teeth! No one could better describe the macrocephalous
cachalot, which is sometimes more than seventy- five feet long. Its
enormous head occupies one-third of its entire body. Better armed than the
whale, whose upper jaw is furnished only with whalebone, it is supplied
with twenty- five large tusks, about eight inches long, cylindrical and
conical at the top, each weighing two pounds. It is in the upper part of
this enormous head, in great cavities divided by cartilages, that is to be
found from six to eight hundred pounds of that precious oil called
spermaceti. The cachalot is a disagreeable creature, more tadpole than
fish, according to Fredol's description. It is badly formed, the whole of
its left side being (if we may say it), a "failure," and being only able to
see with its right eye. But the formidable troop was nearing us. They had
seen the whales and were preparing to attack them. One could judge
beforehand that the cachalots would be victorious, not only because they
were better built for attack than their inoffensive adversaries, but also
because they could remain longer under water without coming to the surface.
There was only just time to go to the help of the whales. The Nautilus went
under water. Conseil, Ned Land, and I took our places before the window in
the saloon, and Captain Nemo joined the pilot in his cage to work his
apparatus as an engine of destruction. Soon I felt the beatings of the
screw quicken, and our speed increased. The battle between the cachalots
and the whales had already begun when the Nautilus arrived. They did not at
first show any fear at the sight of this new monster joining in the
conflict. But they soon had to guard against its blows. What a battle! The
Nautilus was nothing but a formidable harpoon, brandished by the hand of
its Captain. It hurled itself against the fleshy mass, passing through from
one part to the other, leaving behind it two quivering halves of the
animal. It could not feel the formidable blows from their tails upon its
sides, nor the
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shock which it produced itself, much more. One cachalot killed, it ran at
the next, tacked on the spot that it might not miss its prey, going
forwards and backwards, answering to its helm, plunging when the cetacean
dived into the deep waters, coming up with it when it returned to the
surface, striking it front or sideways, cutting or tearing in all
directions and at any pace, piercing it with its terrible spur. What
carnage! What a noise on the surface of the waves! What sharp hissing, and
what snorting peculiar to these enraged animals! In the midst of these
waters, generally so peaceful, their tails made perfect billows. For one
hour this wholesale massacre continued, from which the cachalots could not
escape. Several times ten or twelve united tried to crush the Nautilus by
their weight. From the window we could see their enormous mouths, studded
with tusks, and their formidable eyes. Ned Land could not contain himself;
he threatened and swore at them. We could feel them clinging to our vessel
like dogs worrying a wild boar in a copse. But the Nautilus, working its
screw, carried them here and there, or to the upper levels of the ocean,
without caring for their enormous weight, nor the powerful strain on the
vessel. At length the mass of cachalots broke up, the waves became quiet,
and I felt that we were rising to the surface. The panel opened, and we
hurried on to the platform. The sea was covered with mutilated bodies. A
formidable explosion could not have divided and torn this fleshy mass with
more violence. We were floating amid gigantic bodies, bluish on the back
and white underneath, covered with enormous protuberances. Some terrified
cachalots were flying towards the horizon. The waves were dyed red for
several miles, and the Nautilus floated in a sea of blood: Captain Nemo
joined us.
"Well, Master Land?" said he.
"Well, sir," replied the Canadian, whose enthusiasm had somewhat
calmed; "it is a terrible spectacle, certainly. But I am not a butcher. I
am a hunter, and I call this a butchery."
"It is a massacre of mischievous creatures," replied the Captain; "and
the Nautilus is not a butcher's knife."
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"I like my harpoon better," said the Canadian.
"Every one to his own," answered the Captain, looking fixedly at Ned
Land.
I feared he would commit some act of violence, which would end in sad
consequences. But his anger was turned by the sight of a whale which the
Nautilus had just come up with. The creature had not quite escaped from the
cachalot's teeth. I recognised the southern whale by its flat head, which
is entirely black. Anatomically, it is distinguished from the white whale
and the North Cape whale by the seven cervical vertebrae, and it has two
more ribs than its congeners. The unfortunate cetacean was lying on its
side, riddled with holes from the bites, and quite dead. From its mutilated
fin still hung a young whale which it could not save from the massacre. Its
open mouth let the water flow in and out, murmuring like the waves breaking
on the shore. Captain Nemo steered close to the corpse of the creature. Two
of his men mounted its side, and I saw, not without surprise, that they
were drawing from its breasts all the milk which they contained, that is to
say, about two or three tons. The Captain offered me a cup of the milk,
which was still warm. I could not help showing my repugnance to the drink;
but he assured me that it was excellent, and not to be distinguished from
cow's milk. I tasted it, and was of his opinion. It was a useful reserve to
us, for in the shape of salt butter or cheese it would form an agreeable
variety from our ordinary food. From that day I noticed with uneasiness
that Ned Land's ill-will towards Captain Nemo increased, and I resolved to
watch the Canadian's gestures closely.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.13
THE ICEBERG
THE Nautilus was steadily pursuing its southerly course, following the
fiftieth meridian with considerable speed. Did he wish to reach the pole? I
did not think so, for every
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attempt to reach that point had hitherto failed. Again, the season was far
advanced, for in the Antarctic regions the 13th of March corresponds with
the 13th of September of northern regions, which begin at the equinoctial
season. On the 14th of March I saw floating ice in latitude 55°, merely
pale bits of debris from twenty to twenty-five feet long, forming banks
over which the sea curled. The Nautilus remained on the surface of the
ocean. Ned Land, who had fished in the Arctic Seas, was familiar with its
icebergs; but Conseil and I admired them for the first time. In the
atmosphere towards the southern horizon stretched a white dazzling band.
English whalers have given it the name of "ice blink." However thick the
clouds may be, it is always visible, and announces the presence of an ice
pack or bank. Accordingly, larger blocks soon appeared, whose brilliancy
changed with the caprices of the fog. Some of these masses showed green
veins, as if long undulating lines had been traced with sulphate of copper;
others resembled enormous amethysts with the light shining through them.
Some reflected the light of day upon a thousand crystal facets. Others
shaded with vivid calcareous reflections resembled a perfect town of
marble. The more we neared the south the more these floating islands
increased both in number and importance.
At 60° lat. every pass had disappeared. But, seeking carefully,
Captain Nemo soon found a narrow opening, through which he boldly slipped,
knowing, however, that it would close behind him. Thus, guided by this
clever hand, the Nautilus passed through all the ice with a precision which
quite charmed Conseil; icebergs or mountains, ice- fields or smooth plains,
seeming to have no limits, drift-ice or floating ice-packs, plains broken
up, called palchs when they are circular, and streams when they are made up
of long strips. The temperature was very low; the thermometer exposed to
the air marked 2° or 3° below zero, but we were warmly clad with fur, at
the expense of the sea-bear and seal. The interior of the Nautilus, warmed
regularly by its electric apparatus, defied the most intense cold. Besides,
it would only have been necessary to go some
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yards beneath the waves to find a more bearable temperature. Two months
earlier we should have had perpetual daylight in these latitudes; but
already we had had three or four hours of night, and by and by there would
be six months of darkness in these circumpolar regions. On the 15th of
March we were in the latitude of New Shetland and South Orkney. The Captain
told me that formerly numerous tribes of seals inhabited them; but that
English and American whalers, in their rage for destruction, massacred both
old and young; thus, where there was once life and animation, they had left
silence and death.
About eight o'clock on the morning of the 16th of March the Nautilus,
following the fifty-fifth meridian, cut the Antarctic polar circle. Ice
surrounded us on all sides, and closed the horizon. But Captain Nemo went
from one opening to another, still going higher. I cannot express my
astonishment at the beauties of these new regions. The ice took most
surprising forms. Here the grouping formed an oriental town, with
innumerable mosques and minarets; there a fallen city thrown to the earth,
as it were, by some convulsion of nature. The whole aspect was constantly
changed by the oblique rays of the sun, or lost in the greyish fog amidst
hurricanes of snow. Detonations and falls were heard on all sides, great
overthrows of icebergs, which altered the whole landscape like a diorama.
Often seeing no exit, I thought we were definitely prisoners; but, instinct
guiding him at the slightest indication, Captain Nemo would discover a new
pass. He was never mistaken when he saw the thin threads of bluish water
trickling along the ice- fields; and I had no doubt that he had already
ventured into the midst of these Antarctic seas before. On the 16th of
March, however, the ice-fields absolutely blocked our road. It was not the
iceberg itself, as yet, but vast fields cemented by the cold. But this
obstacle could not stop Captain Nemo: be hurled himself against it with
frightful violence. The Nautilus entered the brittle mass like a wedge, and
split it with frightful crackings. It was the battering ram of the ancients
hurled by infinite strength. The ice, thrown high in the air, fell like
hail around us. By its own power of
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impulsion our apparatus made a canal for itself; sometimes carried away by
its own impetus, it lodged on the ice-field, crushing it with its weight,
and sometimes buried beneath it, dividing it by a simple pitching movement,
producing large rents in it. Violent gales assailed us at this time,
accompanied by thick fogs, through which, from one end of the platform to
the other, we could see nothing. The wind blew sharply from all parts of
the compass, and the snow lay in such hard heaps that we had to break it
with blows of a pickaxe. The temperature was always at 5° below zero; every
outward part of the Nautilus was covered with ice. A rigged vessel would
have been entangled in the blocked up gorges. A vessel without sails, with
electricity for its motive power, and wanting no coal, could alone brave
such high latitudes. At length, on the 18th of March, after many useless
assaults, the Nautilus was positively blocked. It was no longer either
streams, packs, or ice-fields, but an interminable and immovable barrier,
formed by mountains soldered together.
"An iceberg!" said the Canadian to me.
I knew that to Ned Land, as well as to all other navigators who had
preceded us, this was an inevitable obstacle. The sun appearing for an
instant at noon, Captain Nemo took an observation as near as possible,
which gave our situation at 51° 30' long. and 67° 39' of S. lat. We had
advanced one degree more in this Antarctic region. Of the liquid surface of
the sea there was no longer a glimpse. Under the spur of the Nautilus lay
stretched a vast plain, entangled with confused blocks. Here and there
sharp points and slender needles rising to a height of 200 feet; further on
a steep shore, hewn as it were with an axe and clothed with greyish tints;
huge mirrors, reflecting a few rays of sunshine, half drowned in the fog.
And over this desolate face of nature a stern silence reigned, scarcely
broken by the flapping of the wings of petrels and puffins. Everything was
frozen -- even the noise. The Nautilus was then obliged to stop in its
adventurous course amid these fields of ice. In spite of our efforts, in
spite of the powerful means employed to break up the ice, the Nautilus
remained immovable.
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Generally, when we can proceed no further, we have return still open to us;
but here return was as impossible as advance, for every pass had closed
behind us; and for the few moments when we were stationary, we were likely
to be entirely blocked, which did indeed happen about two o'clock in the
afternoon, the fresh ice forming around its sides with astonishing
rapidity. I was obliged to admit that Captain Nemo was more than imprudent.
I was on the platform at that moment. The Captain had been observing our
situation for some time past, when he said to me:
"Well, sir, what do you think of this?"
"I think that we are caught, Captain."
"So, M. Aronnax, you really think that the Nautilus cannot disengage
itself?"
"With difficulty, Captain; for the season is already too far advanced
for you to reckon on the breaking of the ice."
"Ah! sir," said Captain Nemo, in an ironical tone, "you will always be
the same. You see nothing but difficulties and obstacles. I affirm that not
only can the Nautilus disengage itself, but also that it can go further
still."
"Further to the South?" I asked, looking at the Captain.
"Yes, sir; it shall go to the pole."
"To the pole!" I exclaimed, unable to repress a gesture of
incredulity.
"Yes," replied the Captain, coldly, "to the Antarctic pole -- to that
unknown point from whence springs every meridian of the globe. You know
whether I can do as I please with the Nautilus!"
Yes, I knew that. I knew that this man was bold, even to rashness. But
to conquer those obstacles which bristled round the South Pole, rendering
it more inaccessible than the North, which had not yet been reached by the
boldest navigators -- was it not a mad enterprise, one which only a maniac
would have conceived? It then came into my head to ask Captain Nemo if he
had ever discovered that pole which had never yet been trodden by a human
creature?
"No, sir," he replied; "but we will discover it together. Where others
have failed, I will not fail. I have never yet
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led my Nautilus so far into southern seas; but, I repeat, it shall go
further yet."
"I can well believe you, Captain," said I, in a slightly ironical
tone. "I believe you! Let us go ahead! There are no obstacles for us! Let
us smash this iceberg! Let us blow it up; and, if it resists, let us give
the Nautilus wings to fly over it!"
"Over it, sir!!" said Captain Nemo, quietly; "no, not over it, but
under it!"
"Under it!" I exclaimed, a sudden idea of the Captain's projects
flashing upon my mind. I understood; the wonderful qualities of the
Nautilus were going to serve us in this superhuman enterprise.
"I see we are beginning to understand one another, sir," said the
Captain, half smiling. "You begin to see the possibility -- I should say
the success -- of this attempt. That which is impossible for an ordinary
vessel is easy to the Nautilus. If a continent lies before the pole, it
must stop before the continent; but if, on the contrary, the pole is washed
by open sea, it will go even to the pole."
"Certainly," said I, carried away by the Captain's reasoning; "if the
surface of the sea is solidified by the ice, the lower depths are free by
the Providential law which has placed the maximum of density of the waters
of the ocean one degree higher than freezing-point; and, if I am not
mistaken, the portion of this iceberg which is above the water is as one to
four to that which is below."
"Very nearly, sir; for one foot of iceberg above the sea there are
three below it. If these ice mountains are not more than 300 feet above the
surface, they are not more than 900 beneath. And what are 900 feet to the
Nautilus?"
"Nothing, sir."
"It could even seek at greater depths that uniform temperature of
sea-water, and there brave with impunity the thirty or forty degrees of
surface cold."
"Just so, sir -- just so," I replied, getting animated.
"The only difficulty," continued Captain Nemo, "is that of remaining
several days without renewing our provision of air."
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"Is that all? The Nautilus has vast reservoirs; we can fill them, and
they will supply us with all the oxygen we want."
"Well thought of, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain, smiling. "But, not
wishing you to accuse me of rashness, I will first give you all my
objections."
"Have you any more to make?"
"Only one. It is possible, if the sea exists at the South Pole, that
it may be covered; and, consequently, we shall be unable to come to the
surface."
"Good, sir! but do you forget that the Nautilus is armed with a
powerful spur, and could we not send it diagonally against these fields of
ice, which would open at the shocks."
"Ah! sir, you are full of ideas to-day."
"Besides, Captain," I added, enthusiastically, "why should we not find
the sea open at the South Pole as well as at the North? The frozen poles of
the earth do not coincide, either in the southern or in the northern
regions; and, until it is proved to the contrary, we may suppose either a
continent or an ocean free from ice at these two points of the globe."
"I think so too, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo. "I only wish you
to observe that, after having made so many objections to my project, you
are now crushing me with arguments in its favour!"
The preparations for this audacious attempt now began. The powerful
pumps of the Nautilus were working air into the reservoirs and storing it
at high pressure. About four o'clock, Captain Nemo announced the closing of
the panels on the platform. I threw one last look at the massive iceberg
which we were going to cross. The weather was clear, the atmosphere pure
enough, the cold very great, being 12° below zero; but, the wind having
gone down, this temperature was not so unbearable. About ten men mounted
the sides of the Nautilus, armed with pickaxes to break the ice around the
vessel, which was soon free. The operation was quickly performed, for the
fresh ice was still very thin. We all went below. The usual reservoirs were
filled with the newly-liberated water, and the Nautilus soon descended. I
had taken my place with Conseil in the saloon; through the
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open window we could see the lower beds of the Southern Ocean. The
thermometer went up, the needle of the compass deviated on the dial. At
about 900 feet, as Captain Nemo had foreseen, we were floating beneath the
undulating bottom of the iceberg. But the Nautilus went lower still -- it
went to the depth of four hundred fathoms. The temperature of the water at
the surface showed twelve degrees, it was now only ten; we had gained two.
I need not say the temperature of the Nautilus was raised by its heating
apparatus to a much higher degree; every manoeuvre was accomplished with
wonderful precision.
"We shall pass it, if you please, sir," said Conseil.
"I believe we shall," I said, in a tone of firm conviction.
In this open sea, the Nautilus had taken its course direct to the
pole, without leaving the fifty-second meridian. From 67° 30' to 90°,
twenty-two degrees and a half of latitude remained to travel; that is,
about five hundred leagues. The Nautilus kept up a mean speed of twenty-six
miles an hour -- the speed of an express train. If that was kept up, in
forty hours we should reach the pole.
For a part of the night the novelty of the situation kept us at the
window. The sea was lit with the electric lantern; but it was deserted;
fishes did not sojourn in these imprisoned waters; they only found there a
passage to take them from the Antarctic Ocean to the open polar sea. Our
pace was rapid; we could feel it by the quivering of the long steel body.
About two in the morning I took some hours' repose, and Conseil did the
same. In crossing the waist I did not meet Captain Nemo: I supposed him to
be in the pilot's cage. The next morning, the 19th of March, I took my post
once more in the saloon. The electric log told me that the speed of the
Nautilus had been slackened. It was then going towards the surface; but
prudently emptying its reservoirs very slowly. My heart beat fast. Were we
going to emerge and regain the open polar atmosphere? No! A shock told me
that the Nautilus had struck the bottom of the iceberg, still very thick,
judging from the deadened sound. We had indeed "struck," to use a sea
expression, but in an inverse sense, and at a thousand feet deep. This
would give three
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thousand feet of ice above us; one thousand being above the water-mark. The
iceberg was then higher than at its borders -- not a very reassuring fact.
Several times that day the Nautilus tried again, and every time it struck
the wall which lay like a ceiling above it. Sometimes it met with but 900
yards, only 200 of which rose above the surface. It was twice the height it
was when the Nautilus had gone under the waves. I carefully noted the
different depths, and thus obtained a submarine profile of the chain as it
was developed under the water. That night no change had taken place in our
situation. Still ice between four and five hundred yards in depth! It was
evidently diminishing, but, still, what a thickness between us and the
surface of the ocean! It was then eight. According to the daily custom on
board the Nautilus, its air should have been renewed four hours ago; but I
did not suffer much, although Captain Nemo had not yet made any demand upon
his reserve of oxygen. My sleep was painful that night; hope and fear
besieged me by turns: I rose several times. The groping of the Nautilus
continued. About three in the morning, I noticed that the lower surface of
the iceberg was only about fifty feet deep. One hundred and fifty feet now
separated us from the surface of the waters. The iceberg was by degrees
becoming an ice-field, the mountain a plain. My eyes never left the
manometer. We were still rising diagonally to the surface, which sparkled
under the electric rays. The iceberg was stretching both above and beneath
into lengthening slopes; mile after mile it was getting thinner. At length,
at six in the morning of that memorable day, the 19th of March, the door of
the saloon opened, and Captain Nemo appeared.
"The sea is open!!" was all he said.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.14
THE SOUTH POLE
I RUSHED on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few
scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs -- a long
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stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under
those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to
the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively
spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was
dimly seen on our northern horizon.
"Are we at the pole?" I asked the Captain, with a beating heart.
"I do not know," he replied. "At noon I will take our bearings."
"But will the sun show himself through this fog?" said I, looking at
the leaden sky.
"However little it shows, it will be enough," replied the Captain.
About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one
hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be
strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later
we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in
circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of
land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence
of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury's theory. The ingenious
American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth
parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is
never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the
conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as
icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to
these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a
vast cap, the circumference. of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But
the Nautilus, for fear of running aground, had stopped about three
cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The
boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments,
Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen
Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the
South Pole. A few strokes of the oar
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brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on
to the land, when I held him back.
"Sir," said I to Captain Nemo, "to you belongs the honour of first
setting foot on this land."
"Yes, sir," said the Captain, "and if I do not hesitate to tread this
South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace
there."
Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with
emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with
his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to
take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in
this ecstasy, he turned to us.
"When you like, sir."
I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a
long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like
crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not
mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a
sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their
expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no
volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic
countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full
activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32'. The vegetation of this
desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the
black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells
placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported
on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the
shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was
strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of
northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would
swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies,
animating the waters on the skirts of the shore.
There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind
which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic
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seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little
kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most
was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds,
deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we
passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There
were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the
ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture,
but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of
their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the
vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of
small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were
a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others
blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that
the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting
them but to put a wick in.
"A little more," said Conseil, "and they would be perfect lamps! After
that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with
wicks!"
About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs' nests, a
sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo
had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass,
were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath,
with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be
killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and
at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy.
Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide
whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him
leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient
and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not
command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day
showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind
the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow.
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"Till to-morrow," said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the
Nautilus amid these atmospheric disturbances.
The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to
remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of
incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could
hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this
violent storm. The Nautilus did not remain motionless, but skirted the
coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the
sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March,
the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing
2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our
observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat
took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic
nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater
which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent
was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large
troops of sea- mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were
several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice,
many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never
having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were
provisions there for hundreds of vessels.
"Sir," said Conseil, "will you tell me the names of these creatures?"
"They are seals and morses."
It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the
sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast
bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice
were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I
involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched
these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else,
forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his
family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong
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enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took
little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly
enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins,
forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their
element -- the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close
skin and webbed feet -- they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they
take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft
and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look
a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions,
and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton
and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable
development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No
mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also
capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily
domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught
they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them
slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called,
which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose
ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards
long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four
incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in
the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of
seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured
twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move
as we approached.
"These creatures are not dangerous?" asked Conseil.
"No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young
their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the
fishing-boats to pieces."
"They are quite right," said Conseil.
"I do not say they are not."
Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters
the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it
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we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce.
"Good!" said Conseil; "a concert of bulls!"
"No; a concert of morses."
"They are fighting!"
"They are either fighting or playing."
We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles,
and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over
at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not
stumble, and helped me up, saying:
"If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would
preserve your equilibrium better."
Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain
covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we
heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger.
As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for
they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint,
approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four
yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the
north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of
their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of
returning. It was eleven o'clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions
favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We
followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At
half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run
aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his
instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which
the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him,
and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not
appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not
accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were
indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the
equinox; the sun would
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disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the
long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged
from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of
December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it
had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I
communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo.
"You are right, M. Aronnax," said he; "if to-morrow I cannot take the
altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But
precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March,
my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun."
"Why, Captain?"
"Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it
is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave
errors may be made with instruments."
"What will you do then?"
"I shall only use my chronometer," replied Captain Nemo. "If
to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction,
is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South
Pole."
"Just so," said I. "But this statement is not mathematically correct,
because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon."
"Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do
not want more. Till to-morrow, then!"
Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the
shore, observing and studying until five o'clock. Then I went to bed, not,
however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb.
The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the
platform. I found Captain Nemo there.
"The weather is lightening a little," said he. "I have some hope.
After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation."
That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me.
But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I
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saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I
was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were
too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this
unreflecting fisherman's way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The
Nautilus had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league
from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards
high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the
instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a
barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three
kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English "right
whale," which has no dorsal fin; the "humpback," with reeved chest and
large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and
the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This
powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height
columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These
different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters;
and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of
refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed
large medusae floating between the reeds.
At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to
the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters.
Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his
observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-
stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the
smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed
the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter
would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak,
which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast
sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the
sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale
azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun
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seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon.
From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the
distance lay the Nautilus like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us,
to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and
ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit
Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would
have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve
the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding
its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet
ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means
of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the
horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the
chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of
the sun coincided with twelve o'clock on the chronometer, we were at the
pole itself.
"Twelve!" I exclaimed.
"The South Pole!" replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me
the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon.
I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting
by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his
hand on my shoulder, said:
"I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the
South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of
the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents."
"In whose name, Captain?"
"In my own, sir!"
Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an "N" in
gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose
last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:
"Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea,
and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!"
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.15
ACCIDENT OR INCIDENT?
THE next day, the 22nd of March, at six in the morning, preparations
for departure were begun. The last gleams of twilight were melting into
night. The cold was great, the constellations shone with wonderful
intensity. In the zenith glittered that wondrous Southern Cross -- the
polar bear of Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 120 below zero, and
when the wind freshened it was most biting. Flakes of ice increased on the
open water. The sea seemed everywhere alike. Numerous blackish patches
spread on the surface, showing the formation of fresh ice. Evidently the
southern basin, frozen during the six winter months, was absolutely
inaccessible. What became of the whales in that time? Doubtless they went
beneath the icebergs, seeking more practicable seas. As to the seals and
morses, accustomed to live in a hard climate, they remained on these icy
shores. These creatures have the instinct to break holes in the ice-field
and to keep them open. To these holes they come for breath; when the birds,
driven away by the cold, have emigrated to the north, these sea mammals
remain sole masters of the polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling
with water, and the Nautilus was slowly descending. At 1,000 feet deep it
stopped; its screw beat the waves, and it advanced straight towards the
north at a speed of fifteen miles an hour. Towards night it was already
floating under the immense body of the iceberg. At three in the morning I
was awakened by a violent shock. I sat up in my bed and listened in the
darkness, when I was thrown into the middle of the room. The Nautilus,
after having struck, had rebounded violently. I groped along the partition,
and by the staircase to the saloon, which was lit by the luminous ceiling.
The furniture was upset. Fortunately the windows were firmly set, and had
held fast. The pictures on the starboard side, from being no longer
vertical, were clinging to the paper, whilst those of the port side were
hanging at least a foot from the wall. The Nautilus was lying on its
starboard side perfectly motionless.
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I heard footsteps, and a confusion of voices; but Captain Nemo did not
appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil entered.
"What is the matter?" said I, at once.
"I came to ask you, sir," replied Conseil.
"Confound it!" exclaimed the Canadian, "I know well enough! The
Nautilus has struck; and, judging by the way she lies, I do not think she
will right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits."
"But," I asked, "has she at least come to the surface of the sea?"
"We do not know," said Conseil.
"It is easy to decide," I answered. I consulted the manometer. To my
great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. "What does that
mean?" I exclaimed.
"We must ask Captain Nemo," said Conseil.
"But where shall we find him?" said Ned Land.
"Follow me," said I, to my companions.
We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. At the centre
staircase, by the berths of the ship's crew, there was no one. I thought
that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot's cage. It was best to wait. We all
returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained thus, trying to hear
the slightest noise which might be made on board the Nautilus, when Captain
Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his face, generally so impassive,
showed signs of uneasiness. He watched the compass silently, then the
manometer; and, going to the planisphere, placed his finger on a spot
representing the southern seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some
minutes later, when he turned towards me, I said, using one of his own
expressions in the Torres Straits:
"An incident, Captain?"
"No, sir; an accident this time."
"Serious?"
"Perhaps."
"Is the danger immediate?"
"No."
"The Nautilus has stranded?"
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"Yes."
"And this has happened -- how?"
"From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a
mistake has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium
from producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist
natural ones."
Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this
philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.
"May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?"
"An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over," he
replied. "When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or
reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing turns
over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell, struck
the Nautilus, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with irresistible
force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where it is lying on
its side."
"But can we not get the Nautilus off by emptying its reservoirs, that
it might regain its equilibrium?"
"That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump
working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the Nautilus is
rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and, until some obstacle
stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be altered."
Indeed, the Nautilus still held the same position to starboard;
doubtless it would right itself when the block stopped. But at this moment
who knows if we may not be frightfully crushed between the two glassy
surfaces? I reflected on all the consequences of our position. Captain Nemo
never took his eyes off the manometer. Since the fall of the iceberg, the
Nautilus had risen about a hundred and fifty feet, but it still made the
same angle with the perpendicular. Suddenly a slight movement was felt in
the hold. Evidently it was righting a little. Things hanging in the saloon
were sensibly returning to their normal position. The partitions were
nearing the upright. No one spoke. With beating hearts we watched and felt
the straightening.
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The boards became horizontal under our feet. Ten minutes passed.
"At last we have righted!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said Captain Nemo, going to the door of the saloon.
"But are we floating?" I asked.
"Certainly," he replied; "since the reservoirs are not empty; and,
when empty, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea."
We were in open sea; but at a distance of about ten yards, on either
side of the Nautilus, rose a dazzling wall of ice. Above and beneath the
same wall. Above, because the lower surface of the iceberg stretched over
us like an immense ceiling. Beneath, because the overturned block, having
slid by degrees, had found a resting-place on the lateral walls, which kept
it in that position. The Nautilus was really imprisoned in a perfect tunnel
of ice more than twenty yards in breadth, filled with quiet water. It was
easy to get out of it by going either forward or backward, and then make a
free passage under the iceberg, some hundreds of yards deeper. The luminous
ceiling had been extinguished, but the saloon was still resplendent with
intense light. It was the powerful reflection from the glass partition sent
violently back to the sheets of the lantern. I cannot describe the effect
of the voltaic rays upon the great blocks so capriciously cut; upon every
angle, every ridge, every facet was thrown a different light, according to
the nature of the veins running through the ice; a dazzling mine of gems,
particularly of sapphires, their blue rays crossing with the green of the
emerald. Here and there were opal shades of wonderful softness, running
through bright spots like diamonds of fire, the brilliancy of which the eye
could not bear. The power of the lantern seemed increased a hundredfold,
like a lamp through the lenticular plates of a first-class lighthouse.
"How beautiful! how beautiful!" cried Conseil.
"Yes," I said, "it is a wonderful sight. Is it not, Ned?"
"Yes, confound it! Yes," answered Ned Land, "it is superb! I am mad at
being obliged to admit it. No one
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has ever seen anything like it; but the sight may cost us dear. And, if I
must say all, I think we are seeing here things which God never intended
man to see."
Ned was right, it was too beautiful. Suddenly a cry from Conseil made
me turn.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Shut your eyes, sir! Do not look, sir!" Saying which, Conseil clapped
his hands over his eyes.
"But what is the matter, my boy?"
"I am dazzled, blinded."
My eyes turned involuntarily towards the glass, but I could not stand
the fire which seemed to devour them. I understood what had happened. The
Nautilus had put on full speed. All the quiet lustre of the ice-walls was
at once changed into flashes of lightning. The fire from these myriads of
diamonds was blinding. It required some time to calm our troubled looks. At
last the hands were taken down.
"Faith, I should never have believed it," said Conseil.
It was then five in the morning; and at that moment a shock was felt
at the bows of the Nautilus. I knew that its spur had struck a block of
ice. It must have been a false manoeuvre, for this submarine tunnel,
obstructed by blocks, was not very easy navigation. I thought that Captain
Nemo, by changing his course, would either turn these obstacles or else
follow the windings of the tunnel. In any case, the road before us could
not be entirely blocked. But, contrary to my expectations, the Nautilus
took a decided retrograde motion.
"We are going backwards?" said Conseil.
"Yes," I replied. "This end of the tunnel can have no egress."
"And then?"
"Then," said I, "the working is easy. We must go back again, and go
out at the southern opening. That is all."
In speaking thus, I wished to appear more confident than I really was.
But the retrograde motion of the Nautilus was increasing; and, reversing
the screw, it carried us at great speed.
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"It will be a hindrance," said Ned.
"What does it matter, some hours more or less, provided we get out at
last?"
"Yes," repeated Ned Land, "provided we do get out at last!"
For a short time I walked from the saloon to the library. My
companions were silent. I soon threw myself on an ottoman, and took a book,
which my eyes overran mechanically. A quarter of an hour after, Conseil,
approaching me, said, "Is what you are reading very interesting, sir?"
"Very interesting!" I replied.
"I should think so, sir. It is your own book you are reading."
"My book?"
And indeed I was holding in my hand the work on the Great Submarine
Depths. I did not even dream of it. I closed the book and returned to my
walk. Ned and Conseil rose to go.
"Stay here, my friends," said I, detaining them. "Let us remain
together until we are out of this block."
"As you please, sir," Conseil replied.
Some hours passed. I often looked at the instruments hanging from the
partition. The manometer showed that the Nautilus kept at a constant depth
of more than three hundred yards; the compass still pointed to south; the
log indicated a speed of twenty miles an hour, which, in such a cramped
space, was very great. But Captain Nemo knew that he could not hasten too
much, and that minutes were worth ages to us. At twenty-five minutes past
eight a second shock took place, this time from behind. I turned pale. My
companions were close by my side. I seized Conseil's hand. Our looks
expressed our feelings better than words. At this moment the Captain
entered the saloon. I went up to him.
"Our course is barred southward?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. The iceberg has shifted and closed every outlet."
"We are blocked up then?"
"Yes.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.16
WANT OF AIR
THUS around the Nautilus, above and below, was an impenetrable wall of
ice. We were prisoners to the iceberg. I watched the Captain. His
countenance had resumed its habitual imperturbability.
"Gentlemen," he said calmly, "there are two ways of dying in the
circumstances in which we are placed." (This puzzling person had the air of
a mathematical professor lecturing to his pupils.) "The first is to be
crushed; the second is to die of suffocation. I do not speak of the
possibility of dying of hunger, for the supply of provisions in the
Nautilus will certainly last longer than we shall. Let us, then, calculate
our chances."
"As to suffocation, Captain," I replied, "that is not to be feared,
because our reservoirs are full."
"Just so; but they will only yield two days' supply of air. Now, for
thirty-six hours we have been hidden under the water, and already the heavy
atmosphere of the Nautilus requires renewal. In forty-eight hours our
reserve will be exhausted."
"Well, Captain, can we be delivered before forty-eight hours?"
"We will attempt it, at least, by piercing the wall that surrounds
us."
"On which side?"
"Sound will tell us. I am going to run the Nautilus aground on the
lower bank, and my men will attack the iceberg on the side that is least
thick."
Captain Nemo went out. Soon I discovered by a hissing noise that the
water was entering the reservoirs. The Nautilus sank slowly, and rested on
the ice at a depth of 350 yards, the depth at which the lower bank was
immersed.
"My friends," I said, "our situation is serious, but I rely on your
courage and energy."
"Sir," replied the Canadian, "I am ready to do anything for the
general safety."
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"Good! Ned," and I held out my hand to the Canadian.
"I will add," he continued, "that, being as handy with the pickaxe as
with the harpoon, if I can be useful to the Captain, he can command my
services."
"He will not refuse your help. Come, Ned!"
I led him to the room where the crew of the Nautilus were putting on
their cork-jackets. I told the Captain of Ned's proposal, which he
accepted. The Canadian put on his sea-costume, and was ready as soon as his
companions. When Ned was dressed, I re-entered the drawing-room, where the
panes of glass were open, and, posted near Conseil, I examined the ambient
beds that supported the Nautilus. Some instants after, we saw a dozen of
the crew set foot on the bank of ice, and among them Ned Land, easily known
by his stature. Captain Nemo was with them. Before proceeding to dig the
walls, he took the soundings, to be sure of working in the right direction.
Long sounding lines were sunk in the side walls, but after fifteen yards
they were again stopped by the thick wall. It was useless to attack it on
the ceiling-like surface, since the iceberg itself measured more than 400
yards in height. Captain Nemo then sounded the lower surface. There ten
yards of wall separated us from the water, so great was the thickness of
the ice-field. It was necessary, therefore, to cut from it a piece equal in
extent to the waterline of the Nautilus. There were about 6,000 cubic yards
to detach, so as to dig a hole by which we could descend to the ice-field.
The work had begun immediately and carried on with indefatigable energy.
Instead of digging round the Nautilus which would have involved greater
difficulty, Captain Nemo had an immense trench made at eight yards from the
port-quarter. Then the men set to work simultaneously with their screws on
several points of its circumference. Presently the pickaxe attacked this
compact matter vigorously, and large blocks were detached from the mass. By
a curious effect of specific gravity, these blocks, lighter than water,
fled, so to speak, to the vault of the tunnel, that increased in thickness
at the top in proportion as it diminished at the base. But that mattered
little, so long as the lower part grew thinner. After two
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hours' hard work, Ned Land came in exhausted. He and his comrades were
replaced by new workers, whom Conseil and I joined. The second lieutenant
of the Nautilus superintended us. The water seemed singularly cold, but I
soon got warm handling the pickaxe. My movements were free enough, although
they were made under a pressure of thirty atmospheres. When I re-entered,
after working two hours, to take some food and rest, I found a perceptible
difference between the pure fluid with which the Rouquayrol engine supplied
me and the atmosphere of the Nautilus, already charged with carbonic acid.
The air had not been renewed for forty-eight hours, and its vivifying
qualities were considerably enfeebled. However, after a lapse of twelve
hours, we had only raised a block of ice one yard thick, on the marked
surface, which was about 600 cubic yards! Reckoning that it took twelve
hours to accomplish this much it would take five nights and four days to
bring this enterprise to a satisfactory conclusion. Five nights and four
days! And we have only air enough for two days in the reservoirs! "Without
taking into account," said Ned, "that, even if we get out of this infernal
prison, we shall also be imprisoned under the iceberg, shut out from all
possible communication with the atmosphere." True enough! Who could then
foresee the minimum of time necessary for our deliverance? We might be
suffocated before the Nautilus could regain the surface of the waves? Was
it destined to perish in this ice-tomb, with all those it enclosed? The
situation was terrible. But everyone had looked the danger in the face, and
each was determined to do his duty to the last.
As I expected, during the night a new block a yard square was carried
away, and still further sank the immense hollow. But in the morning when,
dressed in my cork-jacket, I traversed the slushy mass at a temperature of
six or seven degrees below zero, I remarked that the side walls were
gradually closing in. The beds of water farthest from the trench, that were
not warmed by the men's work, showed a tendency to solidification. In
presence of this new and imminent danger, what would become of our chances
of safety,
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and how hinder the solidification of this liquid medium, that would burst
the partitions of the Nautilus like glass?
I did not tell my companions of this new danger. What was the good of
damping the energy they displayed in the painful work of escape? But when I
went on board again, I told Captain Nemo of this grave complication.
"I know it," he said, in that calm tone which could counteract the
most terrible apprehensions. "It is one danger more; but I see no way of
escaping it; the only chance of safety is to go quicker than
solidification. We must be beforehand with it, that is all."
On this day for several hours I used my pickaxe vigorously. The work
kept me up. Besides, to work was to quit the Nautilus, and breathe directly
the pure air drawn from the reservoirs, and supplied by our apparatus, and
to quit the impoverished and vitiated atmosphere. Towards evening the
trench was dug one yard deeper. When I returned on board, I was nearly
suffocated by the carbonic acid with which the air was filled -- ah! if we
had only the chemical means to drive away this deleterious gas. We had
plenty of oxygen; all this water contained a considerable quantity, and by
dissolving it with our powerful piles, it would restore the vivifying
fluid. I had thought well over it; but of what good was that, since the
carbonic acid produced by our respiration had invaded every part of the
vessel? To absorb it, it was necessary to fill some jars with caustic
potash, and to shake them incessantly. Now this substance was wanting on
board, and nothing could replace it. On that evening, Captain Nemo ought to
open the taps of his reservoirs, and let some pure air into the interior of
the Nautilus; without this precaution we could not get rid of the sense of
suffocation. The next day, March 26th, I resumed my miner's work in
beginning the fifth yard. The side walls and the lower surface of the
iceberg thickened visibly. It was evident that they would meet before the
Nautilus was able to disengage itself. Despair seized me for an instant; my
pickaxe nearly fell from my bands. What was the good of digging if I must
be suffocated, crushed by the water that was turning into stone? -- a
punishment that the ferocity of
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the savages even would not have invented! Just then Captain Nemo passed
near me. I touched his hand and showed him the walls of our prison. The
wall to port had advanced to at least four yards from the hull of the
Nautilus. The Captain understood me, and signed me to follow him. We went
on board. I took off my cork-jacket and accompanied him into the
drawing-room.
"M. Aronnax, we must attempt some desperate means, or we shall be
sealed up in this solidified water as in cement."
"Yes; but what is to be done?"
"Ah! if my Nautilus were strong enough to bear this pressure without
being crushed!"
"Well?" I asked, not catching the Captain's idea.
"Do you not understand," he replied, "that this congelation of water
will help us? Do you not see that by its solidification, it would burst
through this field of ice that imprisons us, as, when it freezes, it bursts
the hardest stones? Do you not perceive that it would be an agent of safety
instead of destruction?"
"Yes, Captain, perhaps. But, whatever resistance to crushing the
Nautilus possesses, it could not support this terrible pressure, and would
be flattened like an iron plate."
"I know it, sir. Therefore we must not reckon on the aid of nature,
but on our own exertions. We must stop this solidification. Not only will
the side walls be pressed together; but there is not ten feet of water
before or behind the Nautilus. The congelation gains on us on all sides."
"How long will the air in the reservoirs last for us to breathe on
board?"
The Captain looked in my face. "After to-morrow they will be empty!"
A cold sweat came over me. However, ought I to have been astonished at
the answer? On March 22, the Nautilus was in the open polar seas. We were
at 26°. For five days we had lived on the reserve on board. And what was
left of the respirable air must be kept for the workers. Even now, as I
write, my recollection is still so vivid that an involuntary terror seizes
me and my lungs seem to be without air. Meanwhile, Captain Nemo reflected
silently, and evidently
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an idea had struck him; but he seemed to reject it. At last, these words
escaped his lips:
"Boiling water!" he muttered.
"Boiling water?" I cried.
"Yes, sir. We are enclosed in a space that is relatively confined.
Would not jets of boiling water, constantly injected by the pumps, raise
the temperature in this part and stay the congelation?"
"Let us try it," I said resolutely.
"Let us try it, Professor."
The thermometer then stood at 7° outside. Captain Nemo took me to the
galleys, where the vast distillatory machines stood that furnished the
drinkable water by evaporation. They filled these with water, and all the
electric heat from the piles was thrown through the worms bathed in the
liquid. In a few minutes this water reached 100°. It was directed towards
the pumps, while fresh water replaced it in proportion. The heat developed
by the troughs was such that cold water, drawn up from the sea after only
having gone through the machines, came boiling into the body of the pump.
The injection was begun, and three hours after the thermometer marked 6°
below zero outside. One degree was gained. Two hours later the thermometer
only marked 4°.
"We shall succeed," I said to the Captain, after having anxiously
watched the result of the operation.
"I think," he answered, "that we shall not be crushed. We have no more
suffocation to fear."
During the night the temperature of the water rose to 1° below zero.
The injections could not carry it to a higher point. But, as the
congelation of the sea-water produces at least 2°, I was at least reassured
against the dangers of solidification.
The next day, March 27th, six yards of ice had been cleared, twelve
feet only remaining to be cleared away. There was yet forty-eight hours'
work. The air could not be renewed in the interior of the Nautilus. And
this day would make it worse. An intolerable weight oppressed me. Towards
three o'clock in the evening this feeling rose to a violent degree. Yawns
dislocated my jaws. My lungs panted
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as they inhaled this burning fluid, which became rarefied more and more. A
moral torpor took hold of me. I was powerless, almost unconscious. My brave
Conseil, though exhibiting the same symptoms and suffering in the same
manner, never left me. He took my hand and encouraged me, and I heard him
murmur, "Oh! if I could only not breathe, so as to leave more air for my
master!"
Tears came into my eyes on hearing him speak thus. If our situation to
all was intolerable in the interior, with what haste and gladness would we
put on our cork-jackets to work in our turn! Pickaxes sounded on the frozen
ice- beds. Our arms ached, the skin was torn off our hands. But what were
these fatigues, what did the wounds matter? Vital air came to the lungs! We
breathed! we breathed!
All this time no one prolonged his voluntary task beyond the
prescribed time. His task accomplished, each one handed in turn to his
panting companions the apparatus that supplied him with life. Captain Nemo
set the example, and submitted first to this severe discipline. When the
time came, he gave up his apparatus to another and returned to the vitiated
air on board, calm, unflinching, unmurmuring.
On that day the ordinary work was accomplished with unusual vigour.
Only two yards remained to be raised from the surface. Two yards only
separated us from the open sea. But the reservoirs were nearly emptied of
air. The little that remained ought to be kept for the workers; not a
particle for the Nautilus. When I went back on board, I was half
suffocated. What a night! I know not how to describe it. The next day my
breathing was oppressed. Dizziness accompanied the pain in my head and made
me like a drunken man. My companions showed the same symptoms. Some of the
crew had rattling in the throat.
On that day, the sixth of our imprisonment, Captain Nemo, finding the
pickaxes work too slowly, resolved to crush the ice-bed that still
separated us from the liquid sheet. This man's coolness and energy never
forsook him. He subdued his physical pains by moral force.
By his orders the vessel was lightened, that is to say, raised from
the ice-bed by a change of specific gravity.
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When it floated they towed it so as to bring it above the immense trench
made on the level of the water-line. Then, filling his reservoirs of water,
he descended and shut himself up in the hole.
Just then all the crew came on board, and the double door of
communication was shut. The Nautilus then rested on the bed of ice, which
was not one yard thick, and which the sounding leads had perforated in a
thousand places. The taps of the reservoirs were then opened, and a hundred
cubic yards of water was let in, increasing the weight of the Nautilus to
1,800 tons. We waited, we listened, forgetting our sufferings in hope. Our
safety depended on this last chance. Notwithstanding the buzzing in my
head, I soon heard the humming sound under the hull of the Nautilus. The
ice cracked with a singular noise, like tearing paper, and the Nautilus
sank.
"We are off!" murmured Conseil in my ear.
I could not answer him. I seized his hand, and pressed it
convulsively. All at once, carried away by its frightful overcharge, the
Nautilus sank like a bullet under the waters, that is to say, it fell as if
it was in a vacuum. Then all the electric force was put on the pumps, that
soon began to let the water out of the reservoirs. After some minutes, our
fall was stopped. Soon, too, the manometer indicated an ascending movement.
The screw, going at full speed, made the iron hull tremble to its very
bolts and drew us towards the north. But if this floating under the iceberg
is to last another day before we reach the open sea, I shall be dead first.
Half stretched upon a divan in the library, I was suffocating. My face
was purple, my lips blue, my faculties suspended. I neither saw nor heard.
All notion of time had gone from my mind. My muscles could not contract. I
do not know how many hours passed thus, but I was conscious of the agony
that was coming over me. I felt as if I was going to die. Suddenly I came
to. Some breaths of air penetrated my lungs. Had we risen to the surface of
the waves? Were we free of the iceberg? No! Ned and Conseil, my two brave
friends, were sacrificing themselves to save me. Some particles of air
still remained at the bottom of one apparatus.
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Instead of using it, they had kept it for me, and, while they were being
suffocated, they gave me life, drop by drop. I wanted to push back the
thing; they held my hands, and for some moments I breathed freely. I looked
at the clock; it was eleven in the morning. It ought to be the 28th of
March. The Nautilus went at a frightful pace, forty miles an hour. It
literally tore through the water. Where was Captain Nemo? Had he succumbed?
Were his companions dead with him? At the moment the manometer indicated
that we were not more than twenty feet from the surface. A mere plate of
ice separated us from the atmosphere. Could we not break it? Perhaps. In
any case the Nautilus was going to attempt it. I felt that it was in an
oblique position, lowering the stern, and raising the bows. The
introduction of water had been the means of disturbing its equilibrium.
Then, impelled by its powerful screw, it attacked the ice-field from
beneath like a formidable battering-ram. It broke it by backing and then
rushing forward against the field, which gradually gave way; and at last,
dashing suddenly against it, shot forwards on the ice-field, that crushed
beneath its weight. The panel was opened -- one might say torn off -- and
the pure air came in in abundance to all parts of the Nautilus.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.17
FROM CAPE HORN TO THE AMAZON
How I got on to the platform, I have no idea; perhaps the Canadian had
carried me there. But I breathed, I inhaled the vivifying sea-air. My two
companions were getting drunk with the fresh particles. The other unhappy
men had been so long without food, that they could not with impunity
indulge in the simplest aliments that were given them. We, on the contrary,
had no end to restrain ourselves; we could draw this air freely into our
lungs, and it was the breeze, the breeze alone, that filled us with this
keen enjoyment.
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"Ah!" said Conseil, "how delightful this oxygen is! Master need not
fear to breathe it. There is enough for everybody."
Ned Land did not speak, but he opened his jaws wide enough to frighten
a shark. Our strength soon returned, and, when I looked round me, I saw we
were alone on the platform. The foreign seamen in the Nautilus were
contented with the air that circulated in the interior; none of them had
come to drink in the open air.
The first words I spoke were words of gratitude and thankfulness to my
two companions. Ned and Conseil had prolonged my life during the last hours
of this long agony. All my gratitude could not repay such devotion.
"My friends," said I, "we are bound one to the other for ever, and I
am under infinite obligations to you."
"Which I shall take advantage of," exclaimed the Canadian.
"What do you mean?" said Conseil.
"I mean that I shall take you with me when I leave this infernal
Nautilus."
"Well," said Conseil, "after all this, are we going right?"
"Yes," I replied, "for we are going the way of the sun, and here the
sun is in the north."
"No doubt," said Ned Land; "but it remains to be seen whether he will
bring the ship into the Pacific or the Atlantic Ocean, that is, into
frequented or deserted seas."
I could not answer that question, and I feared that Captain Nemo would
rather take us to the vast ocean that touches the coasts of Asia and
America at the same time. He would thus complete the tour round the
submarine world, and return to those waters in which the Nautilus could
sail freely. We ought, before long, to settle this important point. The
Nautilus went at a rapid pace. The polar circle was soon passed, and the
course shaped for Cape Horn. We were off the American point, March 31st, at
seven o'clock in the evening. Then all our past sufferings were forgotten.
The remembrance of that imprisonment in the ice was effaced from our minds.
We only thought of the
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future. Captain Nemo did not appear again either in the drawing-room or on
the platform. The point shown each day on the planisphere, and, marked by
the lieutenant, showed me the exact direction of the Nautilus. Now, on that
evening, it was evident, to, my great satisfaction, that we were going back
to the North by the Atlantic. The next day, April 1st, when the Nautilus
ascended to the surface some minutes before noon, we sighted land to the
west. It was Terra del Fuego, which the first navigators named thus from
seeing the quantity of smoke that rose from the natives' huts. The coast
seemed low to me, but in the distance rose high mountains. I even thought I
had a glimpse of Mount Sarmiento, that rises 2,070 yards above the level of
the sea, with a very pointed summit, which, according as it is misty or
clear, is a sign of fine or of wet weather. At this moment the peak was
clearly defined against the sky. The Nautilus, diving again under the
water, approached the coast, which was only some few miles off. From the
glass windows in the drawing-room, I saw long seaweeds and gigantic fuci
and varech, of which the open polar sea contains so many specimens, with
their sharp polished filaments; they measured about 300 yards in length --
real cables, thicker than one's thumb; and, having great tenacity, they are
often used as ropes for vessels. Another weed known as velp, with leaves
four feet long, buried in the coral concretions, hung at the bottom. It
served as nest and food for myriads of crustacea and molluscs, crabs, and
cuttlefish. There seals and otters had splendid repasts, eating the flesh
of fish with sea-vegetables, according to the English fashion. Over this
fertile and luxuriant ground the Nautilus passed with great rapidity.
Towards evening it approached the Falkland group, the rough summits of
which I recognised the following day. The depth of the sea was moderate. On
the shores our nets brought in beautiful specimens of seaweed, and
particularly a certain fucus, the roots of which were filled with the best
mussels in the world. Geese and ducks fell by dozens on the platform, and
soon took their places in the pantry on board.
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When the last heights of the Falklands had disappeared from the
horizon, the Nautilus sank to between twenty and twenty-five yards, and
followed the American coast. Captain Nemo did not show himself. Until the
3rd of April we did not quit the shores of Patagonia, sometimes under the
ocean, sometimes at the surface. The Nautilus passed beyond the large
estuary formed by the Uraguay. Its direction was northwards, and followed
the long windings of the coast of South America. We had then made 1,600
miles since our embarkation in the seas of Japan. About eleven o'clock in
the morning the Tropic of Capricorn was crossed on the thirty-seventh
meridian, and we passed Cape Frio standing out to sea. Captain Nemo, to Ned
Land's great displeasure, did not like the neighbourhood of the inhabited
coasts of Brazil, for we went at a giddy speed. Not a fish, not a bird of
the swiftest kind could follow us, and the natural curiosities of these
seas escaped all observation.
This speed was kept up for several days, and in the evening of the 9th
of April we sighted the most westerly point of South America that forms
Cape San Roque. But then the Nautilus swerved again, and sought the lowest
depth of a submarine valley which is between this Cape and Sierra Leone on
the African coast. This valley bifurcates to the parallel of the Antilles,
and terminates at the mouth by the enormous depression of 9,000 yards. In
this place, the geological basin of the ocean forms, as far as the Lesser
Antilles, a cliff to three and a half miles perpendicular in height, and,
at the parallel of the Cape Verde Islands, another wall not less
considerable, that encloses thus all the sunk continent of the Atlantic.
The bottom of this immense valley is dotted with some mountains, that give
to these submarine places a picturesque aspect. I speak, moreover, from the
manuscript charts that were in the library of the Nautilus -- charts
evidently due to Captain Nemo's hand, and made after his personal
observations. For two days the desert and deep waters were visited by means
of the inclined planes. The Nautilus was furnished with long diagonal
broadsides which carried it to all elevations. But on the
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11th of April it rose suddenly, and land appeared at the mouth of the
Amazon River, a vast estuary, the embouchure of which is so considerable
that it freshens the sea-water for the distance of several leagues.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.18
THE POULPS
FOR several days the Nautilus kept off from the American coast.
Evidently it did not wish to risk the tides of the Gulf of Mexico or of the
sea of the Antilles. April 16th, we sighted Martinique and Guadaloupe from
a distance of about thirty miles. I saw their tall peaks for an instant.
The Canadian, who counted on carrying out his projects in the Gulf, by
either landing or hailing one of the numerous boats that coast from one
island to another, was quite disheartened. Flight would have been quite
practicable, if Ned Land had been able to take possession of the boat
without the Captain's knowledge. But in the open sea it could not be
thought of. The Canadian, Conseil, and I had a long conversation on this
subject. For six months we had been prisoners on board the Nautilus. We had
travelled 17,000 leagues; and, as Ned Land said, there was no reason why it
should come to an end. We could hope nothing from the Captain of the
Nautilus, but only from ourselves. Besides, for some time past he had
become graver, more retired, less sociable. He seemed to shun me. I met him
rarely. Formerly he was pleased to explain the submarine marvels to me; now
he left me to my studies, and came no more to the saloon. What change had
come over him? For what cause? For my part, I did not wish to bury with me
my curious and novel studies. I had now the power to write the true book of
the sea; and this book, sooner or later, I wished to see daylight. The land
nearest us was the archipelago of the Bahamas. There rose high submarine
cliffs covered with large weeds. It was about eleven o'clock when Ned Land
drew my attention to a formidable pricking,
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like the sting of an ant, which was produced by means of large seaweeds.
"Well," I said, "these are proper caverns for poulps, and I should not
be astonished to see some of these monsters."
"What!" said Conseil; "cuttlefish, real cuttlefish of the cephalopod
class?"
"No," I said, "poulps of huge dimensions."
"I will never believe that such animals exist," said Ned.
"Well," said Conseil, with the most serious air in the world, "I
remember perfectly to have seen a large vessel drawn under the waves by an
octopus's arm."
"You saw that?" said the Canadian.
"Yes, Ned."
"With your own eyes?"
"With my own eyes."
"Where, pray, might that be?"
"At St. Malo," answered Conseil.
"In the port?" said Ned, ironically.
"No; in a church," replied Conseil.
"In a church!" cried the Canadian.
"Yes; friend Ned. In a picture representing the poulp in question."
"Good!" said Ned Land, bursting out laughing.
"He is quite right," I said. "I have heard of this picture; but the
subject represented is taken from a legend, and you know what to think of
legends in the matter of natural history. Besides, when it is a question of
monsters, the imagination is apt to run wild. Not only is it supposed that
these poulps can draw down vessels, but a certain Olaus Magnus speaks of an
octopus a mile long that is more like an island than an animal. It is also
said that the Bishop of Nidros was building an altar on an immense rock.
Mass finished, the rock began to walk, and returned to the sea. The rock
was a poulp. Another Bishop, Pontoppidan, speaks also of a poulp on which a
regiment of cavalry could manoeuvre. Lastly, the ancient naturalists speak
of monsters whose mouths were like gulfs, and which were too large to pass
through the Straits of Gibraltar."
"But how much is true of these stories?" asked Conseil.
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"Nothing, my friends; at least of that which passes the limit of truth
to get to fable or legend. Nevertheless, there must be some ground for the
imagination of the story-tellers. One cannot deny that poulps and
cuttlefish exist of a large species, inferior, however, to the cetaceans.
Aristotle has stated the dimensions of a cuttlefish as five cubits, or nine
feet two inches. Our fishermen frequently see some that are more than four
feet long. Some skeletons of poulps are preserved in the museums of Trieste
and Montpelier, that measure two yards in length. Besides, according to the
calculations of some naturalists, one of these animals only six feet long
would have tentacles twenty-seven feet long. That would suffice to make a
formidable monster."
"Do they fish for them in these days?" asked Ned.
"If they do not fish for them, sailors see them at least. One of my
friends, Captain Paul Bos of Havre, has often affirmed that he met one of
these monsters of colossal dimensions in the Indian seas. But the most
astonishing fact, and which does not permit of the denial of the existence
of these gigantic animals, happened some years ago, in 1861."
"What is the fact?" asked Ned Land.
"This is it. In 1861, to the north-east of Teneriffe, very nearly in
the same latitude we are in now, the crew of the despatch-boat Alector
perceived a monstrous cuttlefish swimming in the waters. Captain Bouguer
went near to the animal, and attacked it with harpoon and guns, without
much success, for balls and harpoons glided over the soft flesh. After
several fruitless attempts the crew tried to pass a slip-knot round the
body of the mollusc. The noose slipped as far as the tail fins and there
stopped. They tried then to haul it on board, but its weight was so
considerable that the tightness of the cord separated the tail from the,
body, and, deprived of this ornament, he disappeared under the water."
"Indeed! is that a fact?"
"An indisputable fact, my good Ned. They proposed to name this poulp
'Bouguer's cuttlefish.'"
"What length was it?" asked the Canadian.
"Did it not measure about six yards?" said Conseil, who,
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posted at the window, was examining again the irregular windings of the
cliff.
"Precisely," I replied.
"Its head," rejoined Conseil, "was it not crowned with eight
tentacles, that beat the water like a nest of serpents?"
"Precisely."
"Had not its eyes, placed at the back of its head, considerable
development?"
"Yes, Conseil."
"And was not its mouth like a parrot's beak?"
"Exactly, Conseil."
"Very well! no offence to master," be replied, quietly; "if this is
not Bouguer's cuttlefish, it is, at least, one of its brothers."
I looked at Conseil. Ned Land hurried to the window.
"What a horrible beast!" he cried.
I looked in my turn, and could not repress a gesture of disgust.
Before my eyes was a horrible monster worthy to figure in the legends of
the marvellous. It was an immense cuttlefish, being eight yards long. It
swam crossways in the direction of the Nautilus with great speed, watching
us with its enormous staring green eyes. Its eight arms, or rather feet,
fixed to its head, that have given the name of cephalopod to these animals,
were twice as long as its body, and were twisted like the furies' hair. One
could see the 250 air- holes on the inner side of the tentacles. The
monster's mouth, a horned beak like a parrot's, opened and shut vertically.
Its tongue, a horned substance, furnished with several rows of pointed
teeth, came out quivering from this veritable pair of shears. What a freak
of nature, a bird's beak on a mollusc! Its spindle-like body formed a
fleshy mass that might weigh 4,000 to 5,000 lb.; the, varying colour
changing with great rapidity, according to the irritation of the animal,
passed successively from livid grey to reddish brown. What irritated this
mollusc? No doubt the presence of the Nautilus, more formidable than
itself, and on which its suckers or its jaws had no hold. Yet, what
monsters these poulps are! what vitality the Creator has given them! what
vigour in their movements! and they possess three hearts! Chance
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had brought us in presence of this cuttlefish, and I did not wish to lose
the opportunity of carefully studying this specimen of cephalopods. I
overcame the horror that inspired me, and, taking a pencil, began to draw
it.
"Perhaps this is the same which the Alector saw," said Conseil.
"No," replied the Canadian; "for this is whole, and the other had lost
its tail."
"That is no reason," I replied. "The arms and tails of these animals
are re-formed by renewal; and in seven years the tail of Bouguer's
cuttlefish has no doubt had time to grow."
By this time other poulps appeared at the port light. I counted seven.
They formed a procession after the Nautilus, and I heard their beaks
gnashing against the iron hull. I continued my work. These monsters kept in
the water with such precision that they seemed immovable. Suddenly the
Nautilus stopped. A shock made it tremble in every plate.
"Have we struck anything?" I asked.
"In any case," replied the Canadian, "we shall be free, for we are
floating."
The Nautilus was floating, no doubt, but it did not move. A minute
passed. Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant, entered the drawing-room.
I had not seen him for some time. He seemed dull. Without noticing or
speaking to us, he went to the panel, looked at the poulps, and said
something to his lieutenant. The latter went out. Soon the panels were
shut. The ceiling was lighted. I went towards the Captain.
"A curious collection of poulps?" I said.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Naturalist," he replied; "and we are going to fight
them, man to beast."
I looked at him. I thought I had not heard aright.
"Man to beast?" I repeated.
"Yes, sir. The screw is stopped. I think that the horny jaws of one of
the cuttlefish is entangled in the blades. That is what prevents our
moving."
"What are you going to do?"
"Rise to the surface, and slaughter this vermin."
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"A difficult enterprise."
"Yes, indeed. The electric bullets are powerless against the soft
flesh, where they do not find resistance enough to go off. But we shall
attack them with the hatchet."
"And the harpoon, sir," said the Canadian, "if you do not refuse my
help."
"I will accept it, Master Land."
"We will follow you," I said, and, following Captain Nemo, we went
towards the central staircase.
There, about ten men with boarding-hatchets were ready for the attack.
Conseil and I took two hatchets; Ned Land seized a harpoon. The Nautilus
had then risen to the surface. One of the sailors, posted on the top
ladderstep, unscrewed the bolts of the panels. But hardly were the screws
loosed, when the panel rose with great violence, evidently drawn by the
suckers of a poulp's arm. Immediately one of these arms slid like a serpent
down the opening and twenty others were above. With one blow of the axe,
Captain Nemo cut this formidable tentacle, that slid wriggling down the
ladder. Just as we were pressing one on the other to reach the platform,
two other arms, lashing the air, came down on the seaman placed before
Captain Nemo, and lifted him up with irresistible power. Captain Nemo
uttered a cry, and rushed out. We hurried after him.
What a scene! The unhappy man, seized by the tentacle and fixed to the
suckers, was balanced in the air at the caprice of this enormous trunk. He
rattled in his throat, he was stifled, he cried, "Help! help!" These words,
spoken in French, startled me! I had a fellow-countryman on board, perhaps
several! That heart-rending cry! I shall hear it all my life. The
unfortunate man was lost. Who could rescue him from that powerful pressure?
However, Captain Nemo had rushed to the poulp, and with one blow of the axe
had cut through one arm. His lieutenant struggled furiously against other
monsters that crept on the flanks of the Nautilus. The crew fought with
their axes. The Canadian, Conseil, and I buried our weapons in the fleshy
masses; a strong smell of musk penetrated the atmosphere. It was horrible!
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For one instant, I thought the unhappy man, entangled with the poulp,
would be torn from its powerful suction. Seven of the eight arms had been
cut off. One only wriggled in the air, brandishing the victim like a
feather. But just as Captain Nemo and his lieutenant threw themselves on
it, the animal ejected a stream of black liquid. We were blinded with it.
When the cloud dispersed, the cuttlefish had disappeared, and my
unfortunate countryman with it. Ten or twelve poulps now invaded the
platform and sides of the Nautilus. We rolled pell-mell into the midst of
this nest of serpents, that wriggled on the platform in the waves of blood
and ink. It seemed as though these slimy tentacles sprang up like the
hydra's heads. Ned Land's harpoon, at each stroke, was plunged into the
staring eyes of the cuttlefish. But my bold companion was suddenly
overturned by the tentacles of a monster he had not been able to avoid.
Ah! how my heart beat with emotion and horror! The formidable beak of
a cuttlefish was open over Ned Land. The unhappy man would be cut in two. I
rushed to his succour. But Captain Nemo was before me; his axe disappeared
between the two enormous jaws, and, miraculously saved, the Canadian,
rising, plunged his harpoon deep into the triple heart of the poulp.
"I owed myself this revenge!" said the Captain to the Canadian.
Ned bowed without replying. The combat had lasted a quarter of an
hour. The monsters, vanquished and mutilated, left us at last, and
disappeared under the waves. Captain Nemo, covered with blood, nearly
exhausted, gazed upon the sea that had swallowed up one of his companions,
and great tears gathered in his eyes.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.19
THE GULF STREAM
THIS terrible scene of the 20th of April none of us can ever forget. I
have written it under the influence of violent
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emotion. Since then I have revised the recital; I have read it to Conseil
and to the Canadian. They found it exact as to facts, but insufficient as
to effect. To paint such pictures, one must have the pen of the most
illustrious of our poets, the author of The Toilers of the Deep.
I have said that Captain Nemo wept while watching the waves; his grief
was great. It was the second companion he had lost since our arrival on
board, and what a death! That friend, crushed, stifled, bruised by the
dreadful arms of a poulp, pounded by his iron jaws, would not rest with his
comrades in the peaceful coral cemetery! In the midst of the struggle, it
was the despairing cry uttered by the unfortunate man that had torn my
heart. The poor Frenchman, forgetting his conventional language, had taken
to his own mother tongue, to utter a last appeal! Amongst the crew of the
Nautilus, associated with the body and soul of the Captain, recoiling like
him from all contact with men, I had a fellow-countryman. Did be alone
represent France in this mysterious association, evidently composed of
individuals of divers nationalities? It was one of these insoluble problems
that rose up unceasingly before my mind!
Captain Nemo entered his room, and I saw him no more for some time.
But that he was sad and irresolute I could see by the vessel, of which he
was the soul, and which received all his impressions. The Nautilus did not
keep on in its settled course; it floated about like a corpse at the will
of the waves. It went at random. He could not tear himself away from the
scene of the last struggle, from this sea that had devoured one of his men.
Ten days passed thus. It was not till the 1st of May that the Nautilus
resumed its northerly course, after having sighted the Bahamas at the mouth
of the Bahama Canal. We were then following the current from the largest
river to the sea, that has its banks, its fish, and its proper
temperatures. I mean the Gulf Stream. It is really a river, that flows
freely to the middle of the Atlantic, and whose waters do not mix with the
ocean waters. It is a salt river, salter than the surrounding sea. Its mean
depth is 1,500 fathoms, its mean breadth ten miles. In certain places the
current flows with the speed of two miles and a
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half an hour. The body of its waters is more considerable than that of all
the rivers in the globe. It was on this ocean river that the Nautilus then
sailed.
I must add that, during the night, the phosphorescent waters of the
Gulf Stream rivalled the electric power of our watch-light, especially in
the stormy weather that threatened us so frequently. May 8th, we were still
crossing Cape Hatteras, at the height of the North Caroline. The width of
the Gulf Stream there is seventy-five miles, and its depth 210 yards. The
Nautilus still went at random; all supervision seemed abandoned. I thought
that, under these circumstances, escape would be possible. Indeed, the
inhabited shores offered anywhere an easy refuge. The sea was incessantly
ploughed by the steamers that ply between New York or Boston and the Gulf
of Mexico, and overrun day and night by the little schooners coasting about
the several parts of the American coast. We could hope to be picked up. It
was a favourable opportunity, notwithstanding the thirty miles that
separated the Nautilus from the coasts of the Union. One unfortunate
circumstance thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was very bad. We
were nearing those shores where tempests are so frequent, that country of
waterspouts and cyclones actually engendered by the current of the Gulf
Stream. To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned Land
owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight only
could cure.
"Master," he said that day to me, "this must come to an end. I must
make a clean breast of it. This Nemo is leaving land and going up to the
north. But I declare to you that I have had enough of the South Pole, and I
will not follow him to the North."
"What is to be done, Ned, since flight is impracticable just now?"
"We must speak to the Captain," said he; "you said nothing when we
were in your native seas. I will speak, now we are in mine. When I think
that before long the Nautilus will be by Nova Scotia, and that there near
Newfoundland is a large bay, and into that bay the St. Lawrence
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empties itself, and that the St. Lawrence is my river, the river by Quebec,
my native town -- when I think of this, I feel furious, it makes my hair
stand on end. Sir, I would rather throw myself into the sea! I will not
stay here! I am stifled!"
The Canadian was evidently losing all patience. His vigorous nature
could not stand this prolonged imprisonment. His face altered daily; his
temper became more surly. I knew what he must suffer, for I was seized with
home- sickness myself. Nearly seven months had passed without our having
had any news from land; Captain Nemo's isolation, his altered spirits,
especially since the fight with the poulps, his taciturnity, all made me
view things in a different light.
"Well, sir?" said Ned, seeing I did not reply.
"Well, Ned, do you wish me to ask Captain Nemo his intentions
concerning us?"
"Yes, sir."
"Although he has already made them known?"
"Yes; I wish it settled finally. Speak for me, in my name only, if you
like."
"But I so seldom meet him. He avoids me."
"That is all the more reason for you to go to see him."
I went to my room. From thence I meant to go to Captain Nemo's. It
would not do to let this opportunity of meeting him slip. I knocked at the
door. No answer. I knocked again, then turned the handle. The door opened,
I went in. The Captain was there. Bending over his work-table, he had not
heard me. Resolved not to go without having spoken, I approached him. He
raised his head quickly, frowned, and said roughly, "You here! What do you
want?"
"To speak to you, Captain."
"But I am busy, sir; I am working. I leave you at liberty to shut
yourself up; cannot I be allowed the same?"
This reception was not encouraging; but I was determined to hear and
answer everything.
"Sir," I said coldly, "I have to speak to you on a matter that admits
of no delay."
"What is that, sir?" he replied, ironically. "Have you discovered
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something that has escaped me, or has the sea delivered up any new
secrets?"
We were at cross-purposes. But, before I could reply, he showed me an
open manuscript on his table, and said, in a more serious tone, "Here, M.
Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains the sum
of my studies of the sea; and, if it please God, it shall not perish with
me. This manuscript, signed with my name, complete with the history of my
life, will be shut up in a little floating case. The last survivor of all
of us on board the Nautilus will throw this case into the sea, and it will
go whither it is borne by the waves."
This man's name! his history written by himself! His mystery would
then be revealed some day.
"Captain," I said, "I can but approve of the idea that makes you act
thus. The result of your studies must not be lost. But the means you employ
seem to me to be primitive. Who knows where the winds will carry this case,
and in whose hands it will fall? Could you not use some other means? Could
not you, or one of yours -- "
"Never, sir!" he said, hastily interrupting me.
"But I and my companions are ready to keep this manuscript in store;
and, if you will put us at liberty -- "
"At liberty?" said the Captain, rising.
"Yes, sir; that is the subject on which I wish to question you. For
seven months we have been here on board, and I ask you to-day, in the name
of my companions and in my own, if your intention is to keep us here
always?"
"M. Aronnax, I will answer you to-day as I did seven months ago:
Whoever enters the Nautilus, must never quit it."
"You impose actual slavery upon us!"
"Give it what name you please."
"But everywhere the slave has the right to regain his liberty."
"Who denies you this right? Have I ever tried to chain you with an
oath?"
He looked at me with his arms crossed.
"Sir," I said, "to return a second time to this subject
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will be neither to your nor to my taste; but, as we have entered upon it,
let us go through with it. I repeat, it is not only myself whom it
concerns. Study is to me a relief, a diversion, a passion that could make
me forget everything. Like you, I am willing to live obscure, in the frail
hope of bequeathing one day, to future time, the result of my labours. But
it is otherwise with Ned Land. Every man, worthy of the name, deserves some
consideration. Have you thought that love of liberty, hatred of slavery,
can give rise to schemes of revenge in a nature like the Canadian's; that
he could think, attempt, and try -- "
I was silenced; Captain Nemo rose.
"Whatever Ned Land thinks of, attempts, or tries, what does it matter
to me? I did not seek him! It is not for my pleasure that I keep him on
board! As for you, M. Aronnax, you are one of those who can understand
everything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this first
time you have come to treat of this subject be the last, for a second time
I will not listen to you."
I retired. Our situation was critical. I related my conversation to my
two companions.
"We know now," said Ned, "that we can expect nothing from this man.
The Nautilus is nearing Long Island. We will escape, whatever the weather
may be."
But the sky became more and more threatening. Symptoms of a hurricane
became manifest. The atmosphere was becoming white and misty. On the
horizon fine streaks of cirrhous clouds were succeeded by masses of cumuli.
Other low clouds passed swiftly by. The swollen sea rose in huge billows.
The birds disappeared with the exception of the petrels, those friends of
the storm. The barometer fell sensibly, and indicated an extreme extension
of the vapours. The mixture of the storm glass was decomposed under the
influence of the electricity that pervaded the atmosphere. The tempest
burst on the 18th of May, just as the Nautilus was floating off Long
Island, some miles from the port of New York. I can describe this strife of
the elements! for, instead of fleeing to the depths of the sea, Captain
Nemo, by an unaccountable caprice, would brave it at the surface.
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The wind blew from the south-west at first. Captain Nemo, during the
squalls, had taken his place on the platform. He had made himself fast, to
prevent being washed overboard by the monstrous waves. I had hoisted myself
up, and made myself fast also, dividing my admiration between the tempest
and this extraordinary man who was coping with it. The raging sea was swept
by huge cloud-drifts, which were actually saturated with the waves. The
Nautilus, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing up like a mast,
rolled and pitched terribly. About five o'clock a torrent of rain fell,
that lulled neither sea nor wind. The hurricane blew nearly forty leagues
an hour. It is under these conditions that it overturns houses, breaks iron
gates, displaces twenty-four pounders. However, the Nautilus, in the midst
of the tempest, confirmed the words of a clever engineer, "There is no
well-constructed hull that cannot defy the sea." This was not a resisting
rock; it was a steel spindle, obedient and movable, without rigging or
masts, that braved its fury with impunity. However, I watched these raging
waves attentively. They measured fifteen feet in height, and 150 to 175
yards long, and their speed of propagation was thirty feet per second.
Their bulk and power increased with the depth of the water. Such waves as
these, at the Hebrides, have displaced a mass weighing 8,400 lb. They are
they which, in the tempest of December 23rd, 1864, after destroying the
town of Yeddo, in Japan, broke the same day on the shores of America. The
intensity of the tempest increased with the night. The barometer, as in
1860 at Reunion during a cyclone, fell seven-tenths at the close of day. I
saw a large vessel pass the horizon struggling painfully. She was trying to
lie to under half steam, to keep up above the waves. It was probably one of
the steamers of the line from New York to Liverpool, or Havre. It soon
disappeared in the gloom. At ten o'clock in the evening the sky was on
fire. The atmosphere was streaked with vivid lightning. I could not bear
the brightness of it; while the captain, looking at it, seemed to envy the
spirit of the tempest. A terrible noise filled the air, a complex noise,
made up of the howls of the crushed waves,
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the roaring of the wind, and the claps of thunder. The wind veered suddenly
to all points of the horizon; and the cyclone, rising in the east, returned
after passing by the north, west, and south, in the inverse course pursued
by the circular storm of the southern hemisphere. Ah, that Gulf Stream! It
deserves its name of the King of Tempests. It is that which causes those
formidable cyclones, by the difference of temperature between its air and
its currents. A shower of fire had succeeded the rain. The drops of water
were changed to sharp spikes. One would have thought that Captain Nemo was
courting a death worthy of himself, a death by lightning. As the Nautilus,
pitching dreadfully, raised its steel spur in the air, it seemed to act as
a conductor, and I saw long sparks burst from it. Crushed and without
strength I crawled to the panel, opened it, and descended to the saloon.
The storm was then at its height. It was impossible to stand upright in the
interior of the Nautilus. Captain Nemo came down about twelve. I heard the
reservoirs filling by degrees, and the Nautilus sank slowly beneath the
waves. Through the open windows in the saloon I saw large fish terrified,
passing like phantoms in the water. Some were struck before my eyes. The
Nautilus was still descending. I thought that at about eight fathoms deep
we should find a calm. But no! the upper beds were too violently agitated
for that. We had to seek repose at more than twenty-five fathoms in the
bowels of the deep. But there, what quiet, what silence, what peace! Who
could have told that such a hurricane had been let loose on the surface of
that ocean?
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.20
FROM LATITUDE 47° 24' TO LONGITUDE 170° 28'
IN CONSEQUENCE of the storm, we had been thrown eastward once more.
All hope of escape on the shores of New York or St. Lawrence had faded
away; and poor Ned, in despair, had isolated himself like Captain Nemo.
Conseil
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and I, however, never left each other. I said that the Nautilus had gone
aside to the east. I should have said (to be more exact) the north-east.
For some days, it wandered first on the surface, and then beneath it, amid
those fogs so dreaded by sailors. What accidents are due to these thick
fogs! What shocks upon these reefs when the wind drowns the breaking of the
waves! What collisions between vessels, in spite of their warning lights,
whistles, and alarm bells! And the bottoms of these seas look like a field
of battle, where still lie all the conquered of the ocean; some old and
already encrusted, others fresh and reflecting from their iron bands and
copper plates the brilliancy of our lantern.
On the 15th of May we were at the extreme south of the Bank of
Newfoundland. This bank consists of alluvia, or large heaps of organic
matter, brought either from the Equator by the Gulf Stream, or from the
North Pole by the counter-current of cold water which skirts the American
coast. There also are heaped up those erratic blocks which are carried
along by the broken ice; and close by, a vast charnel-house of molluscs,
which perish here by millions. The depth of the sea is not great at
Newfoundland -- not more than some hundreds of fathoms; but towards the
south is a depression of 1,500 fathoms. There the Gulf Stream widens. It
loses some of its speed and some of its temperature, but it becomes a sea.
It was on the 17th of May, about 500 miles from Heart's Content, at a
depth of more than 1,400 fathoms, that I saw the electric cable lying on
the bottom. Conseil, to whom I had not mentioned it, thought at first that
it was a gigantic sea-serpent. But I undeceived the worthy fellow, and by
way of consolation related several particulars in the laying of this cable.
The first one was laid in the years 1857 and 1858; but, after transmitting
about 400 telegrams, would not act any longer. In 1863 the engineers
constructed another one, measuring 2,000 miles in length, and weighing
4,500 tons, which was embarked on the Great Eastern. This attempt also
failed.
On the 25th of May the Nautilus, being at a depth of
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more than 1,918 fathoms, was on the precise spot where the rupture occurred
which ruined the enterprise. It was within 638 miles of the coast of
Ireland; and at half-past two in the afternoon they discovered that
communication with Europe had ceased. The electricians on board resolved to
cut the cable before fishing it up, and at eleven o'clock at night they had
recovered the damaged part. They made another point and spliced it, and it
was once more submerged. But some days after it broke again, and in the
depths of the ocean could not be recaptured. The Americans, however, were
not discouraged. Cyrus Field, the bold promoter of the enterprise, as he
had 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
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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
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than ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his proximity 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,
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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-Vertrieux, 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 47° 24', longitude 17° 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 2.21
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,
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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 2.22
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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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!
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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.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.23
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
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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 breton bitches alone of all now living assholes have the right to give an answer my ass!
THE year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious
ReplyDeleteand puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to
mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the
public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were
particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels,
skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries, and
the Governments of several States on the two continents, were deeply
interested in the matter.
For some time past vessels had been met by "an enormous thing," a long
object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely larger
and more rapid in its movements than a whale.
The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books)
agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in
question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power of
locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If it was a
whale, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in science.
Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at divers times --
rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to this object a length
of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated opinions which set it
down as a mile in width and three in length -- we might fairly conclude
that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all dimensions admitted by the
learned ones of the day, if it existed at all. And that it did exist was an
undeniable fact; and, with that tendency which disposes the human mind in
favour of the
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marvellous, we can understand the excitement produced in the entire world
by this supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the list of fables,
the idea was out of the question.
On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the
Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass
five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at first
that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even prepared to
determine its exact position when two columns of water, projected by the
mysterious object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred and fifty feet up
into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had been submitted to the
intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor Higginson had to do neither
more nor less than with an aquatic mammal, unknown till then, which threw
up from its blow-boles columns of water mixed with air and vapour.
Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in
the Pacific Ocean, by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam
Navigation Company. But this extraordinary creature could transport itself
from one place to another with surprising velocity; as, in an interval of
three days, the Governor Higginson and the Columbus had observed it at two
different points of the chart, separated by a distance of more than seven
hundred nautical leagues.
Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the Helvetia, of
the Compagnie-Nationale, and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship
Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying between
the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the monster to each
other in 42° 15' N. lat. and 60° 35' W. long. In these simultaneous
observations they thought themselves justified in estimating the minimum
length of the mammal at more than three hundred and fifty feet, as the
Shannon and Helvetia were of smaller dimensions than it, though they
measured three hundred feet over all.
Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea
round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich
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islands, have never exceeded the length of sixty yards, if they attain
that.
In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion. They sang
of it in the cafes, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on the
stage. All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it. There appeared in
the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary creature, from the
white whale, the terrible "Moby Dick" of sub-arctic regions, to the immense
kraken, whose tentacles could entangle a ship of five hundred tons and
hurry it into the abyss of the ocean. The legends of ancient times were
even revived.
Then burst forth the unending argument between the believers and the
unbelievers in the societies of the wise and the scientific journals. "The
question of the monster" inflamed all minds. Editors of scientific
journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural, spilled seas of
ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing blood; for from the
sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.
During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried,
never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public. It was then
no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger seriously to
be avoided. The question took quite another shape. The monster became a
small island, a rock, a reef, but a reef of indefinite and shifting
proportions.
On the 5th of March, 1867, the Moravian, of the Montreal Ocean
Company, finding herself during the night in 27° 30' lat. and 72° 15'
long., struck on her starboard quarter a rock, marked in no chart for that
part of the sea. Under the combined efforts of the wind and its four
hundred horse- power, it was going at the rate of thirteen knots. Had it
not been for the superior strength of the hull of the Moravian, she would
have been broken by the shock and gone down with the 237 passengers she was
bringing home from Canada.
The accident happened about five o'clock in the morning, as the day
was breaking. The officers of the quarter-deck hurried to the after-part of
the vessel. They examined the sea with the most careful attention. They saw
nothing but a strong eddy about three cables' length distant, as if the
surface
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had been violently agitated. The bearings of the place were taken exactly,
and the Moravian continued its route without apparent damage. Had it struck
on a submerged rock, or on an enormous wreck? They could not tell; but, on
examination of the ship's bottom when undergoing repairs, it was found that
part of her keel was broken.
This fact, so grave in itself, might perhaps have been forgotten like
many others if, three weeks after, it had not been re-enacted under similar
circumstances. But, thanks to the nationality of the victim of the shock,
thanks to the reputation of the company to which the vessel belonged, the
circumstance became extensively circulated.
The 13th of April, 1867, the sea being beautiful, the breeze
favourable, the Scotia, of the Cunard Company's line, found herself in 15°
12' long. and 45° 37' lat. She was going at the speed of thirteen knots and
a half.
At seventeen minutes past four in the afternoon, whilst the passengers
were assembled at lunch in the great saloon, a slight shock was felt on the
hull of the Scotia, on her quarter, a little aft of the port-paddle.
The Scotia had not struck, but she had been struck, and seemingly by
something rather sharp and penetrating than blunt. The shock had been so
slight that no one had been alarmed, had it not been for the shouts of the
carpenter's watch, who rushed on to the bridge, exclaiming, "We are
sinking! we are sinking!" At first the passengers were much frightened, but
Captain Anderson hastened to reassure them. The danger could not be
imminent. The Scotia, divided into seven compartments by strong partitions,
could brave with impunity any leak. Captain Anderson went down immediately
into the hold. He found that the sea was pouring into the fifth
compartment; and the rapidity of the influx proved that the force of the
water was considerable. Fortunately this compartment did not hold the
boilers, or the fires would have been immediately extinguished. Captain
Anderson ordered the engines to be stopped at once, and one of the men went
down to ascertain the extent of the injury. Some minutes afterwards they
discovered the existence of a large hole, two yards in diameter, in the
ship's bottom. Such a
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Page 11
leak could not be stopped; and the Scotia, her paddles half submerged, was
obliged to continue her course. She was then three hundred miles from Cape
Clear, and, after three days' delay, which caused great uneasiness in
Liverpool, she entered the basin of the company.
The engineers visited the Scotia, which was put in dry dock. They
could scarcely believe it possible; at two yards and a half below
water-mark was a regular rent, in the form of an isosceles triangle. The
broken place in the iron plates was so perfectly defined that it could not
have been more neatly done by a punch. It was clear, then, that the
instrument producing the perforation was not of a common stamp and, after
having been driven with prodigious strength, and piercing an iron plate 1
3/8 inches thick, had withdrawn itself by a backward motion.
Such was the last fact, which resulted in exciting once more the
torrent of public opinion. From this moment all unlucky casualties which
could not be otherwise accounted for were put down to the monster.
Upon this imaginary creature rested the responsibility of all these
shipwrecks, which unfortunately were considerable; for of three thousand
ships whose loss was annually recorded at Lloyd's, the number of sailing
and steam-ships supposed to be totally lost, from the absence of all news,
amounted to not less than two hundred!
Now, it was the "monster" who, justly or unjustly, was accused of
their disappearance, and, thanks to it, communication between the different
continents became more and more dangerous. The public demanded sharply that
the seas should at any price be relieved from this formidable cetacean. 1.
1. Member of the whale family.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.2
PRO AND CON
AT THE period when these events took place, I had just returned from a
scientific research in the disagreeable territory
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Page 12
of Nebraska, in the United States. In virtue of my office as Assistant
Professor in the Museum of Natural History in Paris, the French Government
had attached me to that expedition. After six months in Nebraska, I arrived
in New York towards the end of March, laden with a precious collection. My
departure for France was fixed for the first days in May. Meanwhile I was
occupying myself in classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and zoological
riches, when the accident happened to the Scotia.
I was perfectly up in the subject which was the question of the day.
How could I be otherwise? I had read and reread all the American and
European papers without being any nearer a conclusion. This mystery puzzled
me. Under the impossibility of forming an opinion, I jumped from one
extreme to the other. That there really was something could not be doubted,
and the incredulous were invited to put their finger on the wound of the
Scotia.
On my arrival at New York the question was at its height. The theory
of the floating island, and the unapproachable sandbank, supported by minds
little competent to form a judgment, was abandoned. And, indeed, unless
this shoal had a machine in its stomach, how could it change its position
with such astonishing rapidity?
From the same cause, the idea of a floating hull of an enormous wreck
was given up.
There remained, then, only two possible solutions of the question,
which created two distinct parties: on one side, those who were for a
monster of colossal strength; on the other, those who were for a submarine
vessel of enormous motive power.
But this last theory, plausible as it was, could not stand against
inquiries made in both worlds. That a private gentleman should have such a
machine at his command was not likely. Where, when, and how was it built?
and how could its construction have been kept secret? Certainly a
Government might possess such a destructive machine. And in these
disastrous times, when the ingenuity of man has multiplied the power of
weapons of war, it was possible that, without the
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Page 13
knowledge of others, a State might try to work such a formidable engine.
But the idea of a war machine fell before the declaration of
Governments. As public interest was in question, and transatlantic
communications suffered, their veracity could not be doubted. But how admit
that the construction of this submarine boat had escaped the public eye?
For a private gentleman to keep the secret under such circumstances would
be very difficult, and for a State whose every act is persistently watched
by powerful rivals, certainly impossible.
Upon my arrival in New York several persons did me the honour of
consulting me on the phenomenon in question. I had published in France a
work in quarto, in two volumes, entitled Mysteries of the Great Submarine
Grounds. This book, highly approved of in the learned world, gained for me
a special reputation in this rather obscure branch of Natural History. My
advice was asked. As long as I could deny the reality of the fact, I
confined myself to a decided negative. But soon, finding myself driven into
a corner, I was obliged to explain myself point by point. I discussed the
question in all its forms, politically and scientifically; and I give here
an extract from a carefully-studied article which I published in the number
of the 30th of April. It ran as follows:
"After examining one by one the different theories, rejecting all
other suggestions, it becomes necessary to admit the existence of a marine
animal of enormous power.
"The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us. Soundings
cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths -- what beings live,
or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the waters --
what is the organisation of these animals, we can scarcely conjecture.
However, the solution of the problem submitted to me may modify the form of
the dilemma. Either we do know all the varieties of beings which people our
planet, or we do not. If we do not know them all -- if Nature has still
secrets in the deeps for us, nothing is more conformable to reason than to
admit the existence of fishes, or cetaceans of other kinds,
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Page 14
or even of new species, of an organisation formed to inhabit the strata
inaccessible to soundings, and which an accident of some sort has brought
at long intervals to the upper level of the ocean.
"If, on the contrary, we do know all living kinds, we must necessarily
seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings already
classed; and, in that case, I should be disposed to admit the existence of
a gigantic narwhal.
"The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, often attains a length of
sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength
proportionate to its size, lengthen its destructive weapons, and you obtain
the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by the
officers of the Shannon, the instrument required by the perforation of the
Scotia, and the power necessary to pierce the hull of the steamer.
"Indeed, the narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd,
according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk has
the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried in the
bodies of whales, which the unicorn always attacks with success. Others
have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of ships, which
they bad pierced through and through, as a gimlet pierces a barrel. The
Museum of the Faculty of Medicine of Paris possesses one of these defensive
weapons, two yards and a quarter in length, and fifteen inches in diameter
at the base.
"Very well! suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the
animal ten times more powerful; launch it at the rate of twenty miles an
hour, and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required.
Until further information, therefore, I shall maintain it to be a
sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with a
real spur, as the armoured frigates, or the 'rams' of war, whose
massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time. Thus may
this puzzling phenomenon be explained, unless there be something over and
above all that one has ever conjectured, seen, perceived, or experienced;
which is just within the bounds of possibility."
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Page 15
These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point,
I wished to shelter my dignity as professor, and not give too much cause
for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well when they do laugh. I
reserved for myself a way of escape. In effect, however, I admitted the
existence of the "monster." My article was warmly discussed, which procured
it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of partisans.
The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the imagination.
The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings. And
the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the only medium through which
these giants (against which terrestrial animals, such as elephants or
rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be produced or developed.
The industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from
this point of view. The Shipping and Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd's List,
the Packet-Boat, and the Maritime and Colonial Review, all papers devoted
to insurance companies which threatened to raise their rates of premium,
were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been pronounced. The
United States were the first in the field; and in New York they made
preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this narwhal. A frigate
of great speed, the Abraham Lincoln, was put in commission as soon as
possible. The arsenals were opened to Commander Farragut, who hastened the
arming of his frigate; but, as it always happens, the moment it was decided
to pursue the monster, the monster did not appear. For two months no one
heard it spoken of. No ship met with it. It seemed as if this unicorn knew
of the plots weaving around it. It had been so much talked of, even through
the Atlantic cable, that jesters pretended that this slender fly had
stopped a telegram on its passage and was making the most of it.
So when the frigate had been armed for a long campaign, and provided
with formidable fishing apparatus, no one could tell what course to pursue.
Impatience grew apace, when, on the 2nd of July, they learned that a
steamer of the line of San Francisco, from California to Shanghai, had
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seen the animal three weeks before in the North Pacific Ocean. The
excitement caused by this news was extreme. The ship was revictualled and
well stocked with coal.
Three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left Brooklyn pier, I received
a letter worded as follows: To M. ARONNAX,
Professor in the Museum of Paris,
Fifth Avenue Hotel,
New York.
SIR, -- If you will consent to join the Abraham Lincoln in this
expedition, the Government of the United States will with pleasure see
France represented in the enterprise. Commander Farragut has a cabin at
your disposal. Very cordially yours,
J.B. HOBSON,
Secretary of Marine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.3
I FORM MY RESOLUTION
THREE seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson's letter I no more
thought of pursuing the unicorn than of attempting the passage of the North
Sea. Three seconds after reading the letter of the honourable Secretary of
Marine, I felt that my true vocation, the sole end of my life, was to chase
this disturbing monster and purge it from the world.
But I had just returned from a fatiguing journey, weary and longing
for repose. I aspired to nothing more than again seeing my country, my
friends, my little lodging by the Jardin des Plantes, my dear and precious
collections -- but nothing could keep me back! I forgot all -- fatigue,
friends and collections -- and accepted without hesitation the offer of the
American Government.
"Besides," thought I, "all roads lead back to Europe; and the unicorn
may be amiable enough to hurry me towards the coast of France. This worthy
animal may allow
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Page 17
itself to be caught in the seas of Europe (for my particular benefit), and
I will not bring back less than half a yard of his ivory halberd to the
Museum of Natural History." But in the meanwhile I must seek this narwhal
in the North Pacific Ocean, which, to return to France, was taking the road
to the antipodes.
"Conseil," I called in an impatient voice.
Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had
accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the liking
well. He was quiet by nature, regular from principle, zealous from habit,
evincing little disturbance at the different surprises of life, very quick
with his hands, and apt at any service required of him; and, despite his
name, never giving advice -- even when asked for it.
Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led.
Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never
make an objection to pack his portmanteau for whatever country it might be,
or however far away, whether China or Congo. Besides all this, he had good
health, which defied all sickness, and solid muscles, but no nerves; good
morals are understood. This boy was thirty years old, and his age to that
of his master as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused for saying that I was
forty years old?
But Conseil had one fault: he was ceremonious to a degree, and would
never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes provoking.
"Conseil," said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make
preparations for my departure.
Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him
if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but this
time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the enterprise
might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of sinking a frigate as
easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for reflection even to the most
impassive man in the world. What would Conseil say?
"Conseil," I called a third time.
Conseil appeared.
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Page 18
"Did you call, sir?" said he, entering.
"Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in
two hours."
"As you please, sir," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Not an instant to lose; lock in my trunk all travelling utensils,
coats, shirts, and stockings -- without counting, as many as you can, and
make haste."
"And your collections, sir?" observed Conseil.
"They will keep them at the hotel."
"We are not returning to Paris, then?" said Conseil.
"Oh! certainly," I answered, evasively, "by making a curve."
"Will the curve please you, sir?"
"Oh! it will be nothing; not quite so direct a road, that is all. We
take our passage in the Abraham, Lincoln."
"As you think proper, sir," coolly replied Conseil.
"You see, my friend, it has to do with the monster -- the famous
narwhal. We are going to purge it from the seas. A glorious mission, but a
dangerous one! We cannot tell where we may go; these animals can be very
capricious. But we will go whether or no; we have got a captain who is
pretty wide-awake."
Our luggage was transported to the deck of the frigate immediately. I
hastened on board and asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors
conducted me to the poop, where I found myself in the presence of a
good-looking officer, who held out his hand to me.
"Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?" said he.
"Himself," replied I. "Commander Farragut?"
"You are welcome, Professor; your cabin is ready for you."
I bowed, and desired to be conducted to the cabin destined for me.
The Abraham Lincoln had been well chosen and equipped for her new
destination. She was a frigate of great speed, fitted with high-pressure
engines which admitted a pressure of seven atmospheres. Under this the
Abraham Lincoln attained the mean speed of nearly eighteen knots and a
third
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Page 19
an hour -- a considerable speed, but, nevertheless, insufficient to grapple
with this gigantic cetacean.
The interior arrangements of the frigate corresponded to its nautical
qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was in the after part,
opening upon the gunroom.
"We shall be well off here," said I to Conseil.
"As well, by your honour's leave, as a hermit-crab in the shell of a
whelk," said Conseil.
I left Conseil to stow our trunks conveniently away, and remounted the
poop in order to survey the preparations for departure.
At that moment Commander Farragut was ordering the last moorings to be
cast loose which held the Abraham Lincoln to the pier of Brooklyn. So in a
quarter of an hour, perhaps less, the frigate would have sailed without me.
I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and incredible
expedition, the recital of which may well meet with some suspicion.
But Commander Farragut would not lose a day nor an hour in scouring
the seas in which the animal had been sighted. He sent for the engineer.
"Is the steam full on?" asked he.
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
"Go ahead," cried Commander Farragut.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.4
NED LAND
CAPTAIN FARRAGUT was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he
commanded. His vessel and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the
question of the monster there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not
allow the existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in
it, as certain good women believe in the leviathan -- by faith, not by
reason. The monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it.
Either Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal,
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or the narwhal would kill the captain. There was no third course.
The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were
ever chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances of a
meeting, watching narrowly the vast surface of the ocean. More than one
took up his quarters voluntarily in the cross-trees, who would have cursed
such a berth under any other circumstances. As long as the sun described
its daily course, the rigging was crowded with sailors, whose feet were
burnt to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render it unbearable;
still the Abraham Lincoln had not yet breasted the suspected waters of the
Pacific. As to the ship's company, they desired nothing better than to meet
the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist it on board, and despatch it. They
watched the sea with eager attention.
Besides, Captain Farragut had spoken of a certain sum of two thousand
dollars, set apart for whoever should first sight the monster, were he
cabin-boy, common seaman, or officer.
I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the Abraham Lincoln.
For my own part I was not behind the others, and, left to no one my
share of daily observations. The frigate might have been called the Argus,
for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to protest by
his indifference against the question which so interested us all, and
seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on board.
I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with
every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever been
better armed. We possessed every known engine, from the harpoon thrown by
the hand to the barbed arrows of the blunderbuss, and the explosive balls
of the duck-gun. On the forecastle lay the perfection of a breech-loading
gun, very thick at the breech, and very narrow in the bore, the model of
which had been in the Exhibition of 1867. This precious weapon of American
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origin could throw with ease a conical projectile of nine pounds to a mean
distance of ten miles.
Thus the Abraham Lincoln wanted for no means of destruction; and, what
was better still she had on board Ned Land, the prince of harpooners.
Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who
knew no equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity, and
cunning he possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning whale
to escape the stroke of his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years of age; he was a tall man (more than
six feet high), strongly built, grave and taciturn, occasionally violent,
and very passionate when contradicted. His person attracted attention, but
above all the boldness of his look, which gave a singular expression to his
face.
Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little
communicative as Ned Land was, I must admit that he took a certain liking
for me. My nationality drew him to me, no doubt. It was an opportunity for
him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of Rabelais, which is
still in use in some Canadian provinces. The harpooner's family was
originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe of hardy fishermen when
this town belonged to France.
Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved
to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related his
fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his recital
took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to a Canadian
Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.
I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old
friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and
cemented amidst extreme dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to live
a hundred years longer, that I may have more time to dwell the longer on
your memory.
Now, what was Ned Land's opinion upon the question of the marine
monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was the
only one on board who did not share
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that universal conviction. He even avoided the subject, which I one day
thought it my duty to press upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th
July (that is to say, three weeks after our departure), the frigate was
abreast of Cape Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia.
We had crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan opened
less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were over the
Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.
Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and
another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up to
this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up the
conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various chances of
success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let me
speak without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.
"Well, Ned," said I, "is it possible that you are not convinced of the
existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any particular
reason for being so incredulous?"
The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering,
struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to collect
himself, and said at last, "Perhaps I have, Mr. Aronnax."
"But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the
great marine mammalia -- you ought to be the last to doubt under such
circumstances!"
"That is just what deceives you, Professor," replied Ned. "As a whaler
I have followed many a cetacean, harpooned a great number, and killed
several; but, however strong or well-armed they may have been, neither
their tails nor their weapons would have been able even to scratch the iron
plates of a steamer."
"But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhal have
pierced through and through."
"Wooden ships -- that is possible," replied the Canadian, "but I have
never seen it done; and, until further proof, I
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deny that whales, cetaceans, or sea-unicorns could ever produce the effect
you describe."
"Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction resting on the logic of
facts. I believe in the existence of a mammal powerfully organised,
belonging to the branch of vertebrata, like the whales, the cachalots, or
the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defence of great penetrating
power."
"Hum!" said the harpooner, shaking his head with the air of a man who
would not be convinced.
"Notice one thing, my worthy Canadian," I resumed. "If such an animal
is in existence, if it inhabits the depths of the ocean, if it frequents
the strata lying miles below the surface of the water, it must necessarily
possess an organisation the strength of which would defy all comparison."
"And why this powerful organisation?" demanded Ned.
"Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one's self in these
strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me. Let us admit that the
pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of
water thirty-two feet high. In reality the column of water would be
shorter, as we are speaking of sea water, the density of which is greater
than that of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as many times 32
feet of water as there are above you, so many times does your body bear a
pressure equal to that of the atmosphere, that is to say, 15 lb. for each
square inch of its surface. It follows, then, that at 320 feet this
pressure equals that of 10 atmospheres, of 100 atmospheres at 3,200 feet,
and of 1,000 atmospheres at 32,000 feet, that is, about 6 miles; which is
equivalent to saying that if you could attain this depth in the ocean, each
square three-eighths of an inch of the surface of your body would bear a
pressure of 5,600 lb. Ah! my brave Ned, do you know how many square inches
you carry on the surface of your body?"
"I have no idea, Mr. Aronnax."
"About 6,500; and as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15
lb. to the square inch, your 6,500 square inches bear at this moment a
pressure of 97,500 lb."
"Without my perceiving it?"
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Page 24
"Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed by such a
pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interior of your body with
equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibrium between the interior and exterior
pressure, which thus neutralise each other, and which allows you to bear it
without inconvenience. But in the water it is another thing."
"Yes, I understand," replied Ned, becoming more attentive; "because
the water surrounds me, but does not penetrate."
"Precisely, Ned: so that at 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea you
would undergo a pressure of 97,500 lb.; at 320 feet, ten times that
pressure; at 3,200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at 32,000
feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000 lb. -- that is to
say, that you would be flattened as if you had been drawn from the plates
of a hydraulic machine!"
"The devil!" exclaimed Ned.
"Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundred
yards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such depths --
of those whose surface is represented by millions of square inches, that is
by tens of millions of pounds, we must estimate the pressure they undergo.
Consider, then, what must be the resistance of their bony structure, and
the strength of their organisation to withstand such pressure!"
"Why!" exclaimed Ned Land, "they must be made of iron plates eight
inches thick, like the armoured frigates."
"As you say, Ned. And think what destruction such a mass would cause,
if hurled with the speed of an express train against the hull of a vessel."
"Yes -- certainly -- perhaps," replied the Canadian, shaken by these
figures, but not yet willing to give in.
"Well, have I convinced you?"
"You have convinced me of one thing, sir, which is that, if such
animals do exist at the bottom of the seas, they must necessarily be as
strong as you say."
"But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explain the
accident to the Scotia?"
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.5
AT A VENTURE
THE voyage of the Abraham Lincoln was for a long time marked by no
special incident. But one circumstance happened which showed the wonderful
dexterity of Ned Land, and proved what confidence we might place in him.
The 30th of June, the frigate spoke some American whalers, from whom
we learned that they knew nothing about the narwhal. But one of them, the
captain of the Monroe, knowing that Ned Land had shipped on board the
Abraham Lincoln, begged for his help in chasing a whale they had in sight.
Commander Farragut, desirous of seeing Ned Land at work, gave him
permission to go on board the Monroe. And fate served our Canadian so well
that, instead of one whale, he harpooned two with a double blow, striking
one straight to the heart, and catching the other after some minutes'
pursuit.
Decidedly, if the monster ever had to do with Ned Land's harpoon, I
would not bet in its favour.
The frigate skirted the south-east coast of America with great
rapidity. The 3rd of July we were at the opening of the Straits of
Magellan, level with Cape Vierges. But Commander Farragut would not take a
tortuous passage, but doubled Cape Horn.
The ship's crew agreed with him. And certainly it was possible that
they might meet the narwhal in this narrow pass. Many of the sailors
affirmed that the monster could not pass there, "that he was too big for
that!"
The 6th of July, about three o'clock in the afternoon, the Abraham
Lincoln, at fifteen miles to the south, doubled the solitary island, this
lost rock at the extremity of the American continent, to which some Dutch
sailors gave the name of their native town, Cape Horn. The course was taken
towards the north-west, and the next day the screw of the frigate was at
last beating the waters of the Pacific.
"Keep your eyes open!" called out the sailors.
And they were opened widely. Both eyes and glasses, a
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little dazzled, it is true, by the prospect of two thousand dollars, had
not an instant's repose.
I myself, for whom money had no charms, was not the least attentive on
board. Giving but few minutes to my meals, but a few hours to sleep,
indifferent to either rain or sunshine, I did not leave the poop of the
vessel. Now leaning on the netting of the forecastle, now on the taffrail,
I devoured with eagerness the soft foam which whitened the sea as far as
the eye could reach; and how often have I shared the emotion of the
majority of the crew, when some capricious whale raised its black back
above the waves! The poop of the vessel was crowded on a moment. The cabins
poured forth a torrent of sailors and officers, each with heaving breast
and troubled eye watching the course of the cetacean. I looked and looked
till I was nearly blind, whilst Conseil kept repeating in a calm voice:
"If, sir, you would not squint so much, you would see better!"
But vain excitement! The Abraham Lincoln checked its speed and made
for the animal signalled, a simple whale, or common cachalot, which soon
disappeared amidst a storm of abuse.
But the weather was good. The voyage was being accomplished under the
most favourable auspices. It was then the bad season in Australia, the July
of that zone corresponding to our January in Europe, but the sea was
beautiful and easily scanned round a vast circumference.
The 20th of July, the tropic of Capricorn was cut by 105° of
longitude, and the 27th of the same month we crossed the Equator on the
110th meridian. This passed, the frigate took a more decided westerly
direction, and scoured the central waters of the Pacific. Commander
Farragut thought, and with reason, that it was better to remain in deep
water, and keep clear of continents or islands, which the beast itself
seemed to shun (perhaps because there was not enough water for him!
suggested the greater part of the crew). The frigate passed at some
distance from the Marquesas and the Sandwich Islands, crossed the tropic of
Cancer, and made for the China Seas. We were on the theatre of the last
diversions
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of the monster: and, to say truth, we no longer lived on board. The entire
ship's crew were undergoing a nervous excitement, of which I can give no
idea: they could not eat, they could not sleep -- twenty times a day, a
misconception or an optical illusion of some sailor seated on the taff
rail, would cause dreadful perspirations, and these emotions, twenty times
repeated, kept us in a state of excitement so violent that a reaction was
unavoidable.
And truly, reaction soon showed itself. For three months, during which
a day seemed an age, the Abraham Lincoln furrowed all the waters of the
Northern Pacific, running at whales, making sharp deviations from her
course, veering suddenly from one tack to another, stopping suddenly,
putting on steam, and backing ever and anon at the risk of deranging her
machinery, and not one point of the Japanese or American coast was left
unexplored.
The warmest partisans of the enterprise now became its most ardent
detractors. Reaction mounted from the crew to the captain himself, and
certainly, had it not been for the resolute determination on the part of
Captain Farragut, the frigate would have headed due southward. This useless
search could not last much longer. The Abraham Lincoln had nothing to
reproach herself with, she had done her best to succeed. Never had an
American ship's crew shown more zeal or patience; its failure could not be
placed to their charge -- there remained nothing but to return.
This was represented to the commander. The sailors could not hide
their discontent, and the service suffered. I will not say there was a
mutiny on board, but after a reasonable period of obstinacy, Captain
Farragut (as Columbus did) asked for three days' patience. If in three days
the monster did not appear, the man at the helm should give three turns of
the wheel, and the Abraham Lincoln would make for the European seas.
This promise was made on the 2nd of November. It had the effect of
rallying the ship's crew. The ocean was watched with renewed attention.
Each one wished for a last glance in which to sum up his remembrance.
Glasses were used with feverish activity. It was a grand defiance given to
the giant
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narwhal, and he could scarcely fail to answer the summons and "appear."
Two days passed, the steam was at half pressure; a thousand schemes
were tried to attract the attention and stimulate the apathy of the animal
in case it should be met in those parts. Large quantities of bacon were
trailed in the wake of the ship, to the great satisfaction (I must say) of
the sharks. Small craft radiated in all directions round the Abraham
Lincoln as she lay to, and did not leave a spot of the sea unexplored. But
the night of the 4th of November arrived without the unveiling of this
submarine mystery.
The next day, the 5th of November, at twelve, the delay would (morally
speaking) expire; after that time, Commander Farragut, faithful to his
promise, was to turn the course to the south-east and abandon for ever the
northern regions of the Pacific.
The frigate was then in 31° 15' N. lat. and 136° 42' E. long. The
coast of Japan still remained less than two hundred miles to leeward. Night
was approaching. They had just struck eight bells; large clouds veiled the
face of the moon, then in its first quarter. The sea undulated peaceably
under the stern of the vessel.
At that moment I was leaning forward on the starboard netting.
Conseil, standing near me, was looking straight before him. The crew,
perched in the ratlines, examined the horizon which contracted and darkened
by degrees. Officers with their night glasses scoured the growing darkness:
sometimes the ocean sparkled under the rays of the moon, which darted
between two clouds, then all trace of light was lost in the darkness.
In looking at Conseil, I could see he was undergoing a little of the
general influence. At least I thought so. Perhaps for the first time his
nerves vibrated to a sentiment of curiosity.
"Come, Conseil," said I, "this is the last chance of pocketing the two
thousand dollars."
"May I be permitted to say, sir," replied Conseil, "that I never
reckoned on getting the prize; and, had the government
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of the Union offered a hundred thousand dollars, it would have been none
the poorer."
"You are right, Conseil. It is a foolish affair after all, and one
upon which we entered too lightly. What time lost, what useless emotions!
We should have been back in France six months ago."
"In your little room, sir," replied Conseil, "and in your museum, sir;
and I should have already classed all your fossils, sir. And the Babiroussa
would have been installed in its cage in the Jardin des Plantes, and have
drawn all the curious people of the capital!"
"As you say, Conseil. I fancy we shall run a fair chance of being
laughed at for our pains."
"That's tolerably certain," replied Conseil, quietly; "I think they
will make fun of you, sir. And, must I say it -- ?"
"Go on, my good friend."
"Well, sir, you will only get your deserts."
"Indeed!"
"When one has the honour of being a savant as you are, sir, one should
not expose one's self to -- "
Conseil had not time to finish his compliment. In the midst of general
silence a voice had just been heard. It was the voice of Ned Land shouting:
"Look out there! The very thing we are looking for -- on our weather
beam!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.6
AT FULL STEAM
AT THIS cry the whole ship's crew hurried towards the harpooner --
commander, officers, masters, sailors, cabin- boys; even the engineers left
their engines, and the stokers their furnaces.
The order to stop her had been given, and the frigate now simply went
on by her own momentum. The darkness was then profound, and, however good
the Canadian's eyes
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were, I asked myself how he had managed to see, and what he had been able
to see. My heart beat as if it would break. But Ned Land was not mistaken,
and we all perceived the object he pointed to. At two cables' length from
the Abraham Lincoln, on the starboard quarter, the sea seemed to be
illuminated all over. It was not a mere phosphoric phenomenon. The monster
emerged some fathoms from the water, and then threw out that very intense
but mysterious light mentioned in the report of several captains. This
magnificent irradiation must have been produced by an agent of great
shining power. The luminous part traced on the sea an immense oval, much
elongated, the centre of which condensed a burning heat, whose overpowering
brilliancy died out by successive gradations.
"It is only a massing of phosphoric particles," cried one of the
officers.
"No, sir, certainly not," I replied. "That brightness is of an
essentially electrical nature. Besides, see, see! it moves; it is moving
forwards, backwards; it is darting towards us!"
A general cry arose from the frigate.
"Silence!" said the captain. "Up with the helm, reverse the engines."
The steam was shut off, and the Abraham Lincoln, beating to port,
described a semicircle.
"Right the helm, go ahead," cried the captain.
These orders were executed, and the frigate moved rapidly from the
burning light.
I was mistaken. She tried to sheer off, but the supernatural animal
approached with a velocity double her own.
We gasped for breath. Stupefaction more than fear made us dumb and
motionless. The animal gained on us, sporting with the waves. It made the
round of the frigate, which was then making fourteen knots, and enveloped
it with its electric rings like luminous dust.
Then it moved away two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent track,
like those volumes of steam that the express trains leave behind. All at
once from the dark line of the horizon whither it retired to gain its
momentum, the monster rushed suddenly towards the Abraham Lincoln with
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alarming rapidity, stopped suddenly about twenty feet from the hull, and
died out -- not diving under the water, for its brilliancy did not abate --
but suddenly, and as if the source of this brilliant emanation was
exhausted. Then it re- appeared on the other side of the vessel, as if it
had turned and slid under the hull. Any moment a collision might have
occurred which would have been fatal to us. However, I was astonished at
the manoeuvres of the frigate. She fled and did not attack.
On the captain's face, generally so impassive, was an expression of
unaccountable astonishment.
"Mr. Aronnax," he said, "I do not know with what formidable being I
have to deal, and I will not imprudently risk my frigate in the midst of
this darkness. Besides, how attack this unknown thing, how defend one's
self from it? Wait for daylight, and the scene will change."
"You have no further doubt, captain, of the nature of the animal?"
"No, sir; it is evidently a gigantic narwhal, and an electric one."
"Perhaps," added I, "one can only approach it with a torpedo."
"Undoubtedly," replied the captain, "if it possesses such dreadful
power, it is the most terrible animal that ever was created. That is why,
sir, I must be on my guard."
The crew were on their feet all night. No one thought of sleep. The
Abraham Lincoln, not being able to struggle with such velocity, had
moderated its pace, and sailed at half speed. For its part, the narwhal,
imitating the frigate, let the waves rock it at will, and seemed decided
not to leave the scene of the struggle. Towards midnight, however, it
disappeared, or, to use a more appropriate term, it "died out" like a large
glow-worm. Had it fled? One could only fear, not hope it. But at seven
minutes to one o'clock in the morning a deafening whistling was heard, like
that produced by a body of water rushing with great violence.
The captain, Ned Land, and I were then on the poop, eagerly peering
through the profound darkness.
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"Ned Land," asked the commander, "you have often heard the roaring of
whales?"
"Often, sir; but never such whales the sight of which brought me in
two thousand dollars. If I can only approach within four harpoons' length
of it!"
"But to approach it," said the commander, "I ought to put a whaler at
your disposal?"
"Certainly, sir."
"That will be trifling with the lives of my men."
"And mine too," simply said the harpooner.
Towards two o'clock in the morning, the burning light reappeared, not
less intense, about five miles to windward of the Abraham Lincoln.
Notwithstanding the distance, and the noise of the wind and sea, one heard
distinctly the loud strokes of the animal's tail, and even its panting
breath. It seemed that, at the moment that the enormous narwhal had come to
take breath at the surface of the water, the air was engulfed in its lungs,
like the steam in the vast cylinders of a machine of two thousand
horse-power.
"Hum!" thought I, "a whale with the strength of a cavalry regiment
would be a pretty whale!"
We were on the qui vive till daylight, and prepared for the combat.
The fishing implements were laid along the hammock nettings. The second
lieutenant loaded the blunder- busses, which could throw harpoons to the
distance of a mile, and long duck-guns, with explosive bullets, which
inflicted mortal wounds even to the most terrible animals. Ned Land
contented himself with sharpening his harpoon -- a terrible weapon in his
hands.
At six o'clock day began to break; and, with the first glimmer of
light, the electric light of the narwhal disappeared. At seven o'clock the
day was sufficiently advanced, but a very thick sea fog obscured our view,
and the best spy- glasses could not pierce it. That caused disappointment
and anger.
I climbed the mizzen-mast. Some officers were already perched on the
mast-heads. At eight o'clock the fog lay heavily on the waves, and its
thick scrolls rose little by little.
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The horizon grew wider and clearer at the same time. Suddenly, just as on
the day before, Ned Land's voice was heard:
"The thing itself on the port quarter!" cried the harpooner.
Every eye was turned towards the point indicated. There, a mile and a
half from the frigate, a long blackish body emerged a yard above the waves.
Its tail, violently agitated, produced a considerable eddy. Never did a
tail beat the sea with such violence. An immense track, of dazzling
whiteness, marked the passage of the animal, and described a long curve.
The frigate approached the cetacean. I examined it thoroughly.
The reports of the Shannon and of the Helvetia had rather exaggerated
its size, and I estimated its length at only two hundred and fifty feet. As
to its dimensions, I could only conjecture them to be admirably
proportioned. While I watched this phenomenon, two jets of steam and water
were ejected from its vents, and rose to the height of 120 feet; thus I
ascertained its way of breathing. I concluded definitely that it belonged
to the vertebrate branch, class mammalia.
The crew waited impatiently for their chief's orders. The latter,
after having observed the animal attentively, called the engineer. The
engineer ran to him.
"Sir," said the commander, "you have steam up?"
"Yes, sir," answered the engineer.
"Well, make up your fires and put on all steam."
Three hurrahs greeted this order. The time for the struggle had
arrived. Some moments after, the two funnels of the frigate vomited
torrents of black smoke, and the bridge quaked under the trembling of the
boilers.
The Abraham Lincoln, propelled by her wonderful screw, went straight
at the animal. The latter allowed it to come within half a cable's length;
then, as if disdaining to dive, it took a little turn, and stopped a short
distance off.
This pursuit lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour, without the
frigate gaining two yards on the cetacean. it
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was quite evident that at that rate we should never come up with it.
"Well, Mr. Land," asked the captain, "do you advise me to put the
boats out to sea?"
"No, sir," replied Ned Land; "because we shall not take that beast
easily."
"What shall we do then?"
"Put on more steam if you can, sir. With your leave, I mean to post
myself under the bowsprit, and, if we get within harpooning distance, I
shall throw my harpoon."
"Go, Ned," said the captain. "Engineer, put on more pressure."
Ned Land went to his post. The fires were increased, the screw
revolved forty-three times a minute, and the steam poured out of the
valves. We heaved the log, and calculated that the Abraham Lincoln was
going at the rate of 18 1/2 miles an hour.
But the accursed animal swam at the same speed.
For a whole hour the frigate kept up this pace, without gaining six
feet. It was humiliating for one of the swiftest sailers in the American
navy. A stubborn anger seized the crew; the sailors abused the monster,
who, as before, disdained to answer them; the captain no longer contented
himself with twisting his beard -- he gnawed it.
The engineer was called again.
"You have turned full steam on?"
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
The speed of the Abraham Lincoln increased. Its masts trembled down to
their stepping holes, and the clouds of smoke could hardly find way out of
the narrow funnels.
They heaved the log a second time.
"Well?" asked the captain of the man at the wheel.
"Nineteen miles and three-tenths, sir."
"Clap on more steam."
The engineer obeyed. The manometer showed ten degrees. But the
cetacean grew warm itself, no doubt; for without straining itself, it made
19 3/10 miles.
What a pursuit! No, I cannot describe the emotion that vibrated
through me. Ned Land kept his post, harpoon in
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hand. Several times the animal let us gain upon it. -- "We shall catch it!
we shall catch it!" cried the Canadian. But just as he was going to strike,
the cetacean stole away with a rapidity that could not be estimated at less
than thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed, it bullied
the frigate, going round and round it. A cry of fury broke from everyone!
At noon we were no further advanced than at eight o'clock in the
morning.
The captain then decided to take more direct means.
"Ah!" said he, "that animal goes quicker than the Abraham Lincoln.
Very well! we will see whether it will escape these conical bullets. Send
your men to the forecastle, sir."
The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and slewed round. But the
shot passed some feet above the cetacean, which was half a mile off.
"Another, more to the right," cried the commander, "and five dollars
to whoever will hit that infernal beast."
An old gunner with a grey beard -- that I can see now -- with steady
eye and grave face, went up to the gun and took a long aim. A loud report
was heard, with which were mingled the cheers of the crew.
The bullet did its work; it hit the animal, and, sliding off the
rounded surface, was lost in two miles depth of sea.
The chase began again, and the captain, leaning towards me, said:
"I will pursue that beast till my frigate bursts up."
"Yes," answered I; "and you will be quite right to do it."
I wished the beast would exhaust itself, and not be insensible to
fatigue like a steam engine. But it was of no use. Hours passed, without
its showing any signs of exhaustion.
However, it must be said in praise of the Abraham Lincoln that she
struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance she made under
three hundred miles during this unlucky day, November the 6th. But night
came on, and overshadowed the rough ocean.
Now I thought our expedition was at an end, and that we should never
again see the extraordinary animal. I was mistaken. At ten minutes to
eleven in the evening, the electric
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light reappeared three miles to windward of the frigate, as pure, as
intense as during the preceding night.
The narwhal seemed motionless; perhaps, tired with its day's work, it
slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. Now was a
chance of which the captain resolved to take advantage.
He gave his orders. The Abraham Lincoln kept up half- steam, and
advanced cautiously so as not to awake its adversary. It is no rare thing
to meet in the middle of the ocean whales so sound asleep that they can be
successfully attacked, and Ned Land had harpooned more than one during its
sleep. The Canadian went to take his place again under the bowsprit.
The frigate approached noiselessly, stopped at two cables' lengths
from the animal, and following its track. No one breathed; a deep silence
reigned on the bridge. We were not a hundred feet from the burning focus,
the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.
At this moment, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw below me Ned
Land grappling the martingale in one hand, brandishing his terrible harpoon
in the other, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal. Suddenly his
arm straightened, and the harpoon was thrown; I heard the sonorous stroke
of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body. The electric light
went out suddenly, and two enormous waterspouts broke over the bridge of
the frigate, rushing like a torrent from stem to stern, overthrowing men,
and breaking the lashings of the spars. A fearful shock followed, and,
thrown over the rail without having time to stop myself, I fell into the
sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.7
AN UNKNOWN SPECIES OF WHALE
THIS unexpected fall so stunned me that I have no clear recollection
of my sensations at the time. I was at first drawn down to a depth of about
twenty feet. I am a good swimmer
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(though without pretending to rival Byron or Edgar Poe, who were masters of
the art), and in that plunge I did not lose my presence of mind. Two
vigorous strokes brought me to the surface of the water. My first care was
to look for the frigate. Had the crew seen me disappear? Had the Abraham
Lincoln veered round? Would the captain put out a boat? Might I hope to be
saved?
The darkness was intense. I caught a glimpse of a black mass
disappearing in the east, its beacon lights dying out in the distance. It
was the frigate! I was lost.
"Help, help!" I shouted, swimming towards the Abraham Lincoln in
desperation.
My clothes encumbered me; they seemed glued to my body, and paralysed
my movements.
I was sinking! I was suffocating!
"Help!"
This was my last cry. My mouth filled with water; I struggled against
being drawn down the abyss. Suddenly my clothes were seized by a strong
hand, and I felt myself quickly drawn up to the surface of the sea; and I
heard, yes, I heard these words pronounced in my ear:
"If master would be so good as to lean on my shoulder, master would
swim with much greater ease."
I seized with one hand my faithful Conseil's arm.
"Is it you?" said I, "you?"
"Myself," answered Conseil; "and waiting master's orders."
"That shock threw you as well as me into the sea?"
"No; but, being in my master's service, I followed him."
The worthy fellow thought that was but natural.
"And the frigate?" I asked.
"The frigate?" replied Conseil, turning on his back; "I think that
master had better not count too much on her."
"You think so?"
"I say that, at the time I threw myself into the sea, I heard the men
at the wheel say, 'The screw and the rudder are broken.'
"Broken?"
"Yes, broken by the monster's teeth. It is the only injury
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the Abraham Lincoln has sustained. But it is a bad look-out for us -- she
no longer answers her helm."
"Then we are lost!"
"Perhaps so," calmly answered Conseil. "However, we have still several
hours before us, and one can do a good deal in some hours."
Conseil's imperturbable coolness set me up again. I swam more
vigorously; but, cramped by my clothes, which stuck to me like a leaden
weight, I felt great difficulty in bearing up. Conseil saw this.
"Will master let me make a slit?" said he; and, slipping an open knife
under my clothes, he ripped them up from top to bottom very rapidly. Then
he cleverly slipped them off me, while I swam for both of us.
Then I did the same for Conseil, and we continued to swim near to each
other.
Nevertheless, our situation was no less terrible. Perhaps our
disappearance had not been noticed; and, if it had been, the frigate could
not tack, being without its helm. Conseil argued on this supposition, and
laid his plans accordingly. This quiet boy was perfectly self-possessed. We
then decided that, as our only chance of safety was being picked up by the
Abraham Lincoln's boats, we ought to manage so as to wait for them as long
as possible. I resolved then to husband our strength, so that both should
not be exhausted at the same time; and this is how we managed: while one of
us lay on our back, quite still, with arms crossed, and legs stretched out,
the other would swim and push the other on in front. This towing business
did not last more than ten minutes each; and relieving each other thus, we
could swim on for some hours, perhaps till day-break. Poor chance! but hope
is so firmly rooted in the heart of man! Moreover, there were two of us.
Indeed I declare (though it may seem improbable) if I sought to destroy all
hope -- if I wished to despair, I could not.
The collision of the frigate with the cetacean had occurred about
eleven o'clock in the evening before. I reckoned then we should have eight
hours to swim before sunrise, an operation quite practicable if we relieved
each other. The
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sea, very calm, was in our favour. Sometimes I tried to pierce the intense
darkness that was only dispelled by the phosphorescence caused by our
movements. I watched the luminous waves that broke over my hand, whose
mirror-like surface was spotted with silvery rings. One might have said
that we were in a bath of quicksilver.
Near one o'clock in the morning, I was seized with dreadful fatigue.
My limbs stiffened under the strain of violent cramp. Conseil was obliged
to keep me up, and our preservation devolved on him alone. I heard the poor
boy pant; his breathing became short and hurried. I found that he could not
keep up much longer.
"Leave me! leave me!" I said to him.
"Leave my master? Never!" replied he. "I would drown first."
Just then the moon appeared through the fringes of a thick cloud that
the wind was driving to the east. The surface of the sea glittered with its
rays. This kindly light reanimated us. My head got better again. I looked
at all points of the horizon. I saw the frigate! She was five miles from
us, and looked like a dark mass, hardly discernible. But no boats!
I would have cried out. But what good would it have been at such a
distance! My swollen lips could utter no sounds. Conseil could articulate
some words, and I heard him repeat at intervals, "Help! help!"
Our movements were suspended for an instant; we listened. It might be
only a singing in the ear, but it seemed to me as if a cry answered the cry
from Conseil.
"Did you hear?" I murmured.
"Yes! Yes!"
And Conseil gave one more despairing cry.
This time there was no mistake! A human voice responded to ours! Was
it the voice of another unfortunate creature, abandoned in the middle of
the ocean, some other victim of the shock sustained by the vessel? Or
rather was it a boat from the frigate, that was hailing us in the darkness?
Conseil made a last effort, and, leaning on my shoulder, while I
struck out in a desperate effort, he raised himself half out of the water,
then fell back exhausted.
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"What did you see?"
"I saw -- " murmured he; "I saw -- but do not talk -- reserve all your
strength!"
What had he seen? Then, I know not why, the thought of the monster
came into my head for the first time! But that voice! The time is past for
Jonahs to take refuge in whales' bellies! However, Conseil was towing me
again. He raised his head sometimes, looked before us, and uttered a cry of
recognition, which was responded to by a voice that came nearer and nearer.
I scarcely heard it. My strength was exhausted; my fingers stiffened; my
hand afforded me support no longer; my mouth, convulsively opening, filled
with salt water. Cold crept over me. I raised my head for the last time,
then I sank.
At this moment a hard body struck me. I clung to it: then I felt that
I was being drawn up, that I was brought to the surface of the water, that
my chest collapsed -- I fainted.
It is certain that I soon came to, thanks to the vigorous rubbings
that I received. I half opened my eyes.
"Conseil!" I murmured.
"Does master call me?" asked Conseil.
Just then, by the waning light of the moon which was sinking down to
the horizon, I saw a face which was not Conseil's and which I immediately
recognised.
"Ned!" I cried.
"The same, sir, who is seeking his prize!" replied the Canadian.
"Were you thrown into the sea by the shock to the frigate?"
"Yes, Professor; but more fortunate than you, I was able to find a
footing almost directly upon a floating island."
"An island?"
"Or, more correctly speaking, on our gigantic narwhal."
"Explain yourself, Ned!"
"Only I soon found out why my harpoon had not entered its skin and was
blunted."
"Why, Ned, why?"
"Because, Professor, that beast is made of sheet iron."
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The Canadian's last words produced a sudden revolution in my brain. I
wriggled myself quickly to the top of the being, or object, half out of the
water, which served us for a refuge. I kicked it. It was evidently a hard,
impenetrable body, and not the soft substance that forms the bodies of the
great marine mammalia. But this hard body might be a bony covering, like
that of the antediluvian animals; and I should be free to class this
monster among amphibious reptiles, such as tortoises or alligators.
Well, no! the blackish back that supported me was smooth, polished,
without scales. The blow produced a metallic sound; and, incredible though
it may be, it seemed, I might say, as if it was made of riveted plates.
There was no doubt about it! This monster, this natural phenomenon
that had puzzled the learned world, and overthrown and misled the
imagination of seamen of both hemispheres, it must be owned was a still
more astonishing phenomenon, inasmuch as it was a simply human
construction.
We had no time to lose, however. We were lying upon the back of a sort
of submarine boat, which appeared (as far as I could judge) like a huge
fish of steel. Ned Land's mind was made up on this point. Conseil and I
could only agree with him.
Just then a bubbling began at the back of this strange thing (which
was evidently propelled by a screw), and it began to move. We had only just
time to seize hold of the upper part, which rose about seven feet out of
the water, and happily its speed was not great.
"As long as it sails horizontally," muttered Ned Land, "I do not mind;
but, if it takes a fancy to dive, I would not give two straws for my life."
The Canadian might have said still less. It became really necessary to
communicate with the beings, whatever they were, shut up inside the
machine. I searched all over the outside for an aperture, a panel, or a
manhole, to use a technical expression; but the lines of the iron rivets,
solidly driven into the joints of the iron plates, were clear and
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Page 42
uniform. Besides, the moon disappeared then, and left us in total darkness.
At last this long night passed. My indistinct remembrance prevents my
describing all the impressions it made. I can only recall one circumstance.
During some lulls of the wind and sea, I fancied I heard several times
vague sounds, a sort of fugitive harmony produced by words of command. What
was, then, the mystery of this submarine craft, of which the whole world
vainly sought an explanation? What kind of beings existed in this strange
boat? What mechanical agent caused its prodigious speed?
Daybreak appeared. The morning mists surrounded us, but they soon
cleared off. I was about to examine the hull, which formed on deck a kind
of horizontal platform, when I felt it gradually sinking.
"Oh! confound it!" cried Ned Land, kicking the resounding plate.
"Open, you inhospitable rascals!"
Happily the sinking movement ceased. Suddenly a noise, like iron works
violently pushed aside, came from the interior of the boat. One iron plate
was moved, a man appeared, uttered an odd cry, and disappeared immediately.
Some moments after, eight strong men, with masked faces, appeared
noiselessly, and drew us down into their formidable machine.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.8
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
THIS forcible abduction, so roughly carried out, was accomplished with
the rapidity of lightning. I shivered all over. Whom had we to deal with?
No doubt some new sort of pirates, who explored the sea in their own way.
Hardly had the narrow panel closed upon me, when I was enveloped in
darkness. My eyes, dazzled with the outer light, could distinguish nothing.
I felt my naked feet cling to the rungs of an iron ladder. Ned Land and
Conseil, firmly seized, followed
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Page 43
me. At the bottom of the ladder, a door opened, and shut after us
immediately with a bang.
We were alone. Where, I could not say, hardly imagine. All was black,
and such a dense black that, after some minutes, my eyes had not been able
to discern even the faintest glimmer.
Meanwhile, Ned Land, furious at these proceedings, gave free vent to
his indignation.
"Confound it!" cried he, "here are people who come up to the Scotch
for hospitality. They only just miss being cannibals. I should not be
surprised at it, but I declare that they shall not eat me without my
protesting."
"Calm yourself, friend Ned, calm yourself," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Do not cry out before you are hurt. We are not quite done for yet."
"Not quite," sharply replied the Canadian, "but pretty near, at all
events. Things look black. Happily, my bowie- knife I have still, and I can
always see well enough to use it. The first of these pirates who lays a
hand on me -- "
"Do not excite yourself, Ned," I said to the harpooner, "and do not
compromise us by useless violence. Who knows that they will not listen to
us? Let us rather try to find out where we are."
I groped about. In five steps I came to an iron wall, made of plates
bolted together. Then turning back I struck against a wooden table, near
which were ranged several stools. The boards of this prison were concealed
under a thick mat, which deadened the noise of the feet. The bare walls
revealed no trace of window or door. Conseil, going round the reverse way,
met me, and we went back to the middle of the cabin, which measured about
twenty feet by ten. As to its height, Ned Land, in spite of his own great
height, could not measure it.
Half an hour had already passed without our situation being bettered,
when the dense darkness suddenly gave way to extreme light. Our prison was
suddenly lighted, that is to say, it became filled with a luminous matter,
so strong that I could not bear it at first. In its whiteness and intensity
I recognised that electric light which played round the
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Page 44
submarine boat like a magnificent phenomenon of phosphorescence. After
shutting my eyes involuntarily, I opened them, and saw that this luminous
agent came from a half globe, unpolished, placed in the roof of the cabin.
"At last one can see," cried Ned Land, who, knife in hand, stood on
the defensive.
"Yes," said I; "but we are still in the dark about ourselves."
"Let master have patience," said the imperturbable Conseil.
The sudden lighting of the cabin enabled me to examine it minutely. It
only contained a table and five stools. The invisible door might be
hermetically sealed. No noise was heard. All seemed dead in the interior of
this boat. Did it move, did it float on the surface of the ocean, or did it
dive into its depths? I could not guess.
A noise of bolts was now heard, the door opened, and two men appeared.
One was short, very muscular, broad-shouldered, with robust limbs,
strong head, an abundance of black hair, thick moustache, a quick
penetrating look, and the vivacity which characterises the population of
Southern France.
The second stranger merits a more detailed description. I made out his
prevailing qualities directly: self-confidence -- because his head was well
set on his shoulders, and his black eyes looked around with cold assurance;
calmness -- for his skin, rather pale, showed his coolness of blood; energy
-- evinced by the rapid contraction of his lofty brows; and courage --
because his deep breathing denoted great power of lungs.
Whether this person was thirty-five or fifty years of age, I could not
say. He was tall, had a large forehead, straight nose, a clearly cut mouth,
beautiful teeth, with fine taper hands, indicative of a highly nervous
temperament. This man was certainly the most admirable specimen I had ever
met. One particular feature was his eyes, rather far from each other, and
which could take in nearly a quarter of the horizon at once.
This faculty -- (I verified it later) -- gave him a range of
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Page 45
vision far superior to Ned Land's. When this stranger fixed upon an object,
his eyebrows met, his large eyelids closed around so as to contract the
range of his vision, and he looked as if he magnified the objects lessened
by distance, as if he pierced those sheets of water so opaque to our eyes,
and as if he read the very depths of the seas.
The two strangers, with caps made from the fur of the sea otter, and
shod with sea boots of seal's skin, were dressed in clothes of a particular
texture, which allowed free movement of the limbs. The taller of the two,
evidently the chief on board, examined us with great attention, without
saying a word; then, turning to his companion, talked with him in an
unknown tongue. It was a sonorous, harmonious, and flexible dialect, the
vowels seeming to admit of very varied accentuation.
The other replied by a shake of the head, and added two or three
perfectly incomprehensible words. Then he seemed to question me by a look.
I replied in good French that I did not know his language; but he
seemed not to understand me, and my situation became more embarrassing.
"If master were to tell our story," said Conseil, "perhaps these
gentlemen may understand some words."
I began to tell our adventures, articulating each syllable clearly,
and without omitting one single detail. I announced our names and rank,
introducing in person Professor Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and master
Ned Land, the harpooner.
The man with the soft calm eyes listened to me quietly, even politely,
and with extreme attention; but nothing in his countenance indicated that
he had understood my story. When I finished, he said not a word.
There remained one resource, to speak English. Perhaps they would know
this almost universal language. I knew it -- as well as the German language
-- well enough to read it fluently, but not to speak it correctly. But,
anyhow, we must make ourselves understood.
"Go on in your turn," I said to the harpooner; "speak your best
Anglo-Saxon, and try to do better than I."
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Page 46
Ned did not beg off, and recommenced our story.
To his great disgust, the harpooner did not seem to have made himself
more intelligible than I had. Our visitors did not stir. They evidently
understood neither the language of England nor of France.
Very much embarrassed, after having vainly exhausted our speaking
resources, I knew not what part to take, when Conseil said:
"If master will permit me, I will relate it in German."
But in spite of the elegant terms and good accent of the narrator, the
German language had no success. At last, nonplussed, I tried to remember my
first lessons, and to narrate our adventures in Latin, but with no better
success. This last attempt being of no avail, the two strangers exchanged
some words in their unknown language, and retired.
The door shut.
"It is an infamous shame," cried Ned Land, who broke out for the
twentieth time. "We speak to those rogues in French, English, German, and
Latin, and not one of them has the politeness to answer!"
"Calm yourself," I said to the impetuous Ned; "anger will do no good."
"But do you see, Professor," replied our irascible companion, "that we
shall absolutely die of hunger in this iron cage?"
"Bah!" said Conseil, philosophically; "we can hold out some time yet."
"My friends," I said, "we must not despair. We have been worse off
than this. Do me the favour to wait a little before forming an opinion upon
the commander and crew of this boat."
"My opinion is formed," replied Ned Land, sharply. "They are rascals."
"Good! and from what country?"
"From the land of rogues!"
"My brave Ned, that country is not clearly indicated on the map of the
world; but I admit that the nationality of the two strangers is hard to
determine. Neither English, French, nor German, that is quite certain.
However, I am
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Page 47
inclined to think that the commander and his companion were born in low
latitudes. There is southern blood in them. But I cannot decide by their
appearance whether they are Spaniards, Turks, Arabians, or Indians. As to
their language, it is quite incomprehensible."
"There is the disadvantage of not knowing all languages," said
Conseil, "or the disadvantage of not having one universal language."
As he said these words, the door opened. A steward entered. He brought
us clothes, coats and trousers, made of a stuff I did not know. I hastened
to dress myself, and my companions followed my example. During that time,
the steward -- dumb, perhaps deaf -- had arranged the table, and laid three
plates.
"This is something like!" said Conseil.
"Bah!" said the angry harpooner, "what do you suppose they eat here?
Tortoise liver, filleted shark, and beef- steaks from seadogs."
"We shall see," said Conseil.
The dishes, of bell metal, were placed on the table, and we took our
places. Undoubtedly we had to do with civilised people, and, had it not
been for the electric light which flooded us, I could have fancied I was in
the dining-room of the Adelphi Hotel at Liverpool, or at the Grand Hotel in
Paris. I must say, however, that there was neither bread nor wine. The
water was fresh and clear, but it was water and did not suit Ned Land's
taste. Amongst the dishes which were brought to us, I recognised several
fish delicately dressed; but of some, although excellent, I could give no
opinion, neither could I tell to what kingdom they belonged, whether animal
or vegetable. As to the dinner-service, it was elegant, and in perfect
taste. Each utensil -- spoon, fork, knife, plate -- had a letter engraved
on it, with a motto above it, of which this is an exact facsimile:
MOBILIS IN MOBILI
N
The letter N was no doubt the initial of the name of the enigmatical
person who commanded at the bottom of the seas.
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Page 48
Ned and Conseil did not reflect much. They devoured the food, and I
did likewise. I was, besides, reassured as to our fate; and it seemed
evident that our hosts would not let us die of want.
However, everything has an end, everything passes away, even the
hunger of people who have not eaten for fifteen hours. Our appetites
satisfied, we felt overcome with sleep.
"Faith! I shall sleep well," said Conseil.
"So shall I," replied Ned Land.
My two companions stretched themselves on the cabin carpet, and were
soon sound asleep. For my own part, too many thoughts crowded my brain, too
many insoluble questions pressed upon me, too many fancies kept my eyes
half open. Where were we? What strange power carried us on? I felt -- or
rather fancied I felt -- the machine sinking down to the lowest beds of the
sea. Dreadful nightmares beset me; I saw in these mysterious asylums a
world of unknown animals, amongst which this submarine boat seemed to be of
the same kind, living, moving, and formidable as they. Then my brain grew
calmer, my imagination wandered into vague unconsciousness, and I soon fell
into a deep sleep.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.9
NED LAND'S TEMPERS
How long we slept I do not know; but our sleep must have lasted long,
for it rested us completely from our fatigues. I woke first. My companions
had not moved, and were still stretched in their corner.
Hardly roused from my somewhat hard couch, I felt my brain freed, my
mind clear. I then began an attentive examination of our cell. Nothing was
changed inside. The prison was still a prison -- the prisoners, prisoners.
However, the steward, during our sleep, had cleared the table. I breathed
with difficulty. The heavy air seemed to oppress my lungs. Although the
cell was large, we had evidently
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Page 49
consumed a great part of the oxygen that it contained. Indeed, each man
consumes, in one hour, the oxygen contained in more than 176 pints of air,
and this air, charged (as then) with a nearly equal quantity of carbonic
acid, becomes unbreathable.
It became necessary to renew the atmosphere of our prison, and no
doubt the whole in the submarine boat. That gave rise to a question in my
mind. How would the commander of this floating dwelling-place proceed?
Would he obtain air by chemical means, in getting by heat the oxygen
contained in chlorate of potash, and in absorbing carbonic acid by caustic
potash? Or -- a more convenient, economical, and consequently more probable
alternative -- would he be satisfied to rise and take breath at the surface
of the water, like a whale, and so renew for twenty-four hours the
atmospheric provision?
In fact, I was already obliged to increase my respirations to eke out
of this cell the little oxygen it contained, when suddenly I was refreshed
by a current of pure air, and perfumed with saline emanations. It was an
invigorating sea breeze, charged with iodine. I opened my mouth wide, and
my lungs saturated themselves with fresh particles.
At the same time I felt the boat rolling. The iron-plated monster had
evidently just risen to the surface of the ocean to breathe, after the
fashion of whales. I found out from that the mode of ventilating the boat.
When I had inhaled this air freely, I sought the conduit pipe, which
conveyed to us the beneficial whiff, and I was not long in finding it.
Above the door was a ventilator, through which volumes of fresh air renewed
the impoverished atmosphere of the cell.
I was making my observations, when Ned and Conseil awoke almost at the
same time, under the influence of this reviving air. They rubbed their
eyes, stretched themselves, and were on their feet in an instant.
"Did master sleep well?" asked Conseil, with his usual politeness.
"Very well, my brave boy. And you, Mr. Land?"
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Page 50
"Soundly, Professor. But, I don't know if I am right or not, there
seems to be a sea breeze!"
A seaman could not be mistaken, and I told the Canadian all that had
passed during his sleep.
"Good!" said he. "That accounts for those roarings we heard, when the
supposed narwhal sighted the Abraham Lincoln."
"Quite so, Master Land; it was taking breath."
"Only, Mr. Aronnax, I have no idea what o'clock it is, unless it is
dinner-time."
"Dinner-time! my good fellow? Say rather breakfast-time, for we
certainly have begun another day."
"So," said Conseil, "we have slept twenty-four hours?"
"That is my opinion."
"I will not contradict you," replied Ned Land. "But, dinner or
breakfast, the steward will be welcome, whichever he brings."
"Master Land, we must conform to the rules on board, and I suppose our
appetites are in advance of the dinner- hour."
"That is just like you, friend Conseil," said Ned, impatiently. "You
are never out of temper, always calm; you would return thanks before grace,
and die of hunger rather than complain!"
Time was getting on, and we were fearfully hungry; and this time the
steward did not appear. It was rather too long to leave us, if they really
had good intentions towards us. Ned Land, tormented by the cravings of
hunger, got still more angry; and, notwithstanding his promise, I dreaded
an explosion when he found himself with one of the crew.
For two hours more Ned Land's temper increased; he cried, he shouted,
but in vain. The walls were deaf. There was no sound to be heard in the
boat; all was still as death. It did not move, for I should have felt the
trembling motion of the hull under the influence of the screw. Plunged in
the depths of the waters, it belonged no longer to earth: this silence was
dreadful.
I felt terrified, Conseil was calm, Ned Land roared.
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Just then a noise was heard outside. Steps sounded on the metal flags.
The locks were turned, the door opened, and the steward appeared.
Before I could rush forward to stop him, the Canadian had thrown him
down, and held him by the throat. The steward was choking under the grip of
his powerful hand.
Conseil was already trying to unclasp the harpooner's hand from his
half-suffocated victim, and I was going to fly to the rescue, when suddenly
I was nailed to the spot by hearing these words in French:
"Be quiet, Master Land; and you, Professor, will you be so good as to
listen to me?"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.10
THE MAN OF THE SEAS
IT WAS the commander of the vessel who thus spoke.
At these words, Ned Land rose suddenly. The steward, nearly strangled,
tottered out on a sign from his master. But such was the power of the
commander on board, that not a gesture betrayed the resentment which this
man must have felt towards the Canadian. Conseil interested in spite of
himself, I stupefied, awaited in silence the result of this scene.
The commander, leaning against the corner of a table with his arms
folded, scanned us with profound attention. Did he hesitate to speak? Did
he regret the words which he had just spoken in French? One might almost
think so.
After some moments of silence, which not one of us dreamed of
breaking, "Gentlemen," said he, in a calm and penetrating voice, "I speak
French, English, German, and Latin equally well. I could, therefore, have
answered you at our first interview, but I wished to know you first, then
to reflect. The story told by each one, entirely agreeing in the main
points, convinced me of your identity. I know now that chance has brought
before me M. Pierre Aronnax, Professor of Natural History at the Museum of
Paris,
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entrusted with a scientific mission abroad, Conseil, his servant, and Ned
Land, of Canadian origin, harpooner on board the frigate Abraham Lincoln of
the navy of the United States of America."
I bowed assent. It was not a question that the commander put to me.
Therefore there was no answer to be made. This man expressed himself with
perfect ease, without any accent. His sentences were well turned, his words
clear, and his fluency of speech remarkable. Yet, I did not recognise in
him a fellow-countryman.
He continued the conversation in these terms:
"You have doubtless thought, sir, that I have delayed long in paying
you this second visit. The reason is that, your identity recognised, I
wished to weigh maturely what part to act towards you. I have hesitated
much. Most annoying circumstances have brought you into the presence of a
man who has broken all the ties of humanity. You have come to trouble my
existence."
"Unintentionally!" said I.
"Unintentionally?" replied the stranger, raising his voice a little.
"Was it unintentionally that the Abraham Lincoln pursued me all over the
seas? Was it unintentionally that you took passage in this frigate? Was it
unintentionally that your cannon-balls rebounded off the plating of my
vessel? Was it unintentionally that Mr. Ned Land struck me with his
harpoon?"
I detected a restrained irritation in these words. But to these
recriminations I had a very natural answer to make, and I made it.
"Sir," said I, "no doubt you are ignorant of the discussions which
have taken place concerning you in America and Europe. You do not know that
divers accidents, caused by collisions with your submarine machine, have
excited public feeling in the two continents. I omit the theories without
number by which it was sought to explain that of which you alone possess
the secret. But you must understand that, in pursuing you over the high
seas of the Pacific, the Abraham Lincoln believed itself to be chasing some
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Page 53
powerful sea-monster, of which it was necessary to rid the ocean at any
price."
A half-smile curled the lips of the commander: then, in a calmer tone:
"M. Aronnax," he replied, "dare you affirm that your frigate would not
as soon have pursued and cannonaded a submarine boat as a monster?"
This question embarrassed me, for certainly Captain Farragut might not
have hesitated. He might have thought it his duty to destroy a contrivance
of this kind, as he would a gigantic narwhal.
"You understand then, sir," continued the stranger, "that I have the
right to treat you as enemies?"
I answered nothing, purposely. For what good would it be to discuss
such a proposition, when force could destroy the best arguments?
"I have hesitated some time," continued the commander; nothing obliged
me to show you hospitality. If I chose to separate myself from you, I
should have no interest in seeing you again; I could place you upon the
deck of this vessel which has served you as a refuge, I could sink beneath
the waters, and forget that you had ever existed. Would not that be my
right?"
"It might be the right of a savage," I answered, "but not that of a
civilised man."
"Professor," replied the commander, quickly, "I am not what you call a
civilised man! I have done with society entirely, for reasons which I alone
have the right of appreciating. I do not, therefore, obey its laws, and I
desire you never to allude to them before me again!"
This was said plainly. A flash of anger and disdain kindled in the
eyes of the Unknown, and I had a glimpse of a terrible past in the life of
this man. Not only had he put himself beyond the pale of human laws, but he
had made himself independent of them, free in the strictest acceptation of
the word, quite beyond their reach! Who then would dare to pursue him at
the bottom of the sea, when, on its surface, he defied all attempts made
against him?
What vessel could resist the shock of his submarine monitor?
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Page 54
What cuirass, however thick, could withstand the blows of his spur? No man
could demand from him an account of his actions; God, if he believed in one
-- his conscience, if he had one -- were the sole judges to whom he was
answerable.
These reflections crossed my mind rapidly, whilst the stranger
personage was silent, absorbed, and as if wrapped up in himself. I regarded
him with fear mingled with interest, as, doubtless, OEdiphus regarded the
Sphinx.
After rather a long silence, the commander resumed the conversation.
"I have hesitated," said he, "but I have thought that my interest
might be reconciled with that pity to which every human being has a right.
You will remain on board my vessel, since fate has cast you there. You will
be free; and, in exchange for this liberty, I shall only impose one single
condition. Your word of honour to submit to it will suffice."
"Speak, sir," I answered. "I suppose this condition is one which a man
of honour may accept?"
"Yes, sir; it is this: It is possible that certain events, unforeseen,
may oblige me to consign you to your cabins for some hours or some days, as
the case may be. As I desire never to use violence, I expect from you, more
than all the others, a passive obedience. In thus acting, I take all the
responsibility: I acquit you entirely, for I make it an impossibility for
you to see what ought not to be seen. Do you accept this condition?"
Then things took place on board which, to say the least, were
singular, and which ought not to be seen by people who were not placed
beyond the pale of social laws. Amongst the surprises which the future was
preparing for me, this might not be the least.
"We accept," I answered; "only I will ask your permission, sir, to
address one question to you -- one only."
"Speak, sir."
"You said that we should be free on board."
"Entirely."
"I ask you, then, what you mean by this liberty?"
"Just the liberty to go, to come, to see, to observe even all that
passes here save under rare circumstances -- the
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Page 55
liberty, in short, which we enjoy ourselves, my companions and I."
It was evident that we did not understand one another.
"Pardon me, sir," I resumed, "but this liberty is only what every
prisoner has of pacing his prison. It cannot suffice us."
"It must suffice you, however."
"What! we must renounce for ever seeing our country, our friends, our
relations again?"
"Yes, sir. But to renounce that unendurable worldly yoke which men
believe to be liberty is not perhaps so painful as you think."
"Well," exclaimed Ned Land, "never will I give my word of honour not
to try to escape."
"I did not ask you for your word of honour, Master Land," answered the
commander, coldly.
"Sir," I replied, beginning to get angry in spite of myself, "you
abuse your situation towards us; it is cruelty."
"No, sir, it is clemency. You are my prisoners of war. I keep you,
when I could, by a word, plunge you into the depths of the ocean. You
attacked me. You came to surprise a secret which no man in the world must
penetrate -- the secret of my whole existence. And you think that I am
going to send you back to that world which must know me no more? Never! In
retaining you, it is not you whom I guard -- it is myself."
These words indicated a resolution taken on the part of the commander,
against which no arguments would prevail.
"So, sir," I rejoined, "you give us simply the choice between life and
death?"
"Simply."
"My friends," said I, "to a question thus put, there is nothing to
answer. But no word of honour binds us to the master of this vessel."
"None, sir," answered the Unknown.
Then, in a gentler tone, he continued:
"Now, permit me to finish what I have to say to you. I know you, M.
Aronnax. You and your companions will not, perhaps, have so much to
complain of in the chance
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which has bound you to my fate. You will find amongst the books which are
my favourite study the work which you have published on 'the depths of the
sea.' I have often read it. You have carried out your work as far as
terrestrial science permitted you. But you do not know all -- you have not
seen all. Let me tell you then, Professor, that you will not regret the
time passed on board my vessel. You are going to visit the land of
marvels."
These words of the commander had a great effect upon me. I cannot deny
it. My weak point was touched; and I forgot, for a moment, that the
contemplation of these sublime subjects was not worth the loss of liberty.
Besides, I trusted to the future to decide this grave question. So I
contented myself with saying:
"By what name ought I to address you?"
"Sir," replied the commander, "I am nothing to you but Captain Nemo;
and you and your companions are nothing to me but the passengers of the
Nautilus."
Captain Nemo called. A steward appeared. The captain gave him his
orders in that strange language which I did not understand. Then, turning
towards the Canadian and Conseil:
"A repast awaits you in your cabin," said he. "Be so good as to follow
this man.
"And now, M. Aronnax, our breakfast is ready. Permit me to lead the
way."
"I am at your service, Captain."
I followed Captain Nemo; and as soon as I had passed through the door,
I found myself in a kind of passage lighted by electricity, similar to the
waist of a ship. After we had proceeded a dozen yards, a second door opened
before me.
I then entered a dining-room, decorated and furnished in severe taste.
High oaken sideboards, inlaid with ebony, stood at the two extremities of
the room, and upon their shelves glittered china, porcelain, and glass of
inestimable value. The plate on the table sparkled in the rays which the
luminous ceiling shed around, while the light was tempered and softened by
exquisite paintings.
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In the centre of the room was a table richly laid out. Captain Nemo
indicated the place I was to occupy.
The breakfast consisted of a certain number of dishes, the contents of
which were furnished by the sea alone; and I was ignorant of the nature and
mode of preparation of some of them. I acknowledged that they were good,
but they had a peculiar flavour, which I easily became accustomed to. These
different aliments appeared to me to be rich in phosphorus, and I thought
they must have a marine origin.
Captain Nemo looked at me. I asked him no questions, but he guessed my
thoughts, and answered of his own accord the questions which I was burning
to address to him.
"The greater part of these dishes are unknown to you," he said to me.
"However, you may partake of them without fear. They are wholesome and
nourishing. For a long time I have renounced the food of the earth, and I
am never ill now. My crew, who are healthy, are fed on the same food."
"So," said I, "all these eatables are the produce of the sea?"
"Yes, Professor, the sea supplies all my wants. Sometimes I cast my
nets in tow, and I draw them in ready to break. Sometimes I hunt in the
midst of this element, which appears to be inaccessible to man, and quarry
the game which dwells in my submarine forests. My flocks, like those of
Neptune's old shepherds, graze fearlessly in the immense prairies of the
ocean. I have a vast property there, which I cultivate myself, and which is
always sown by the hand of the Creator of all things."
"I can understand perfectly, sir, that your nets furnish excellent
fish for your table; I can understand also that you hunt aquatic game in
your submarine forests; but I cannot understand at all how a particle of
meat, no matter how small, can figure in your bill of fare."
"This, which you believe to be meat, Professor, is nothing else than
fillet of turtle. Here are also some dolphins' livers, which you take to be
ragout of pork. My cook is a clever fellow, who excels in dressing these
various products of the ocean. Taste all these dishes. Here is a preserve
of
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sea-cucumber, which a Malay would declare to be unrivalled in the world;
here is a cream, of which the milk has been furnished by the cetacea, and
the sugar by the great fucus of the North Sea; and, lastly, permit me to
offer you some preserve of anemones, which is equal to that of the most
delicious fruits."
I tasted, more from curiosity than as a connoisseur, whilst Captain
Nemo enchanted me with his extraordinary stories.
"You like the sea, Captain?"
"Yes; I love it! The sea is everything. It covers seven- tenths of the
terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert,
where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides. The sea
is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence. It is
nothing but love and emotion; it is the 'Living Infinite,' as one of your
poets has said. In fact, Professor, Nature manifests herself in it by her
three kingdoms -- mineral, vegetable, and animal. The sea is the vast
reservoir of Nature. The globe began with sea, so to speak; and who knows
if it will not end with it? In it is supreme tranquillity. The sea does not
belong to despots. Upon its surface men can still exercise unjust laws,
fight, tear one another to pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial
horrors. But at thirty feet below its level, their reign ceases, their
influence is quenched, and their power disappears. Ah! sir, live -- live in
the bosom of the waters! There only is independence! There I recognise no
masters! There I am free!"
Captain Nemo suddenly became silent in the midst of this enthusiasm,
by which he was quite carried away. For a few moments he paced up and down,
much agitated. Then he became more calm, regained his accustomed coldness
of expression, and turning towards me:
"Now, Professor," said he, "if you wish to go over the Nautilus, I am
at your service."
Captain Nemo rose. I followed him. A double door, contrived at the
back of the dining-room, opened, and I entered a room equal in dimensions
to that which I had just quitted.
It was a library. High pieces of furniture, of black violet ebony
inlaid with brass, supported upon their wide shelves
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a great number of books uniformly bound. They followed the shape of the
room, terminating at the lower part in huge divans, covered with brown
leather, which were curved, to afford the greatest comfort. Light movable
desks, made to slide in and out at will, allowed one to rest one's book
while reading. In the centre stood an immense table, covered with
pamphlets, amongst which were some newspapers, already of old date. The
electric light flooded everything; it was shed from four unpolished globes
half sunk in the volutes of the ceiling. I looked with real admiration at
this room, so ingeniously fitted up, and I could scarcely believe my eyes.
"Captain Nemo," said I to my host, who had just thrown himself on one
of the divans, "this is a library which would do honour to more than one of
the continental palaces, and I am absolutely astounded when I consider that
it can follow you to the bottom of the seas."
"Where could one find greater solitude or silence, Professor?" replied
Captain Nemo. "Did your study in the Museum afford you such perfect quiet?"
"No, sir; and I must confess that it is a very poor one after yours.
You must have six or seven thousand volumes here."
"Twelve thousand, M. Aronnax. These are the only ties which bind me to
the earth. But I had done with the world on the day when my Nautilus
plunged for the first time beneath the waters. That day I bought my last
volumes, my last pamphlets, my last papers, and from that time I wish to
think that men no longer think or write. These books, Professor, are at
your service besides, and you can make use of them freely."
I thanked Captain Nemo, and went up to the shelves of the library.
Works on science, morals, and literature abounded in every language; but I
did not see one single work on political economy; that subject appeared to
be strictly proscribed. Strange to say, all these books were irregularly
arranged, in whatever language they were written; and this medley proved
that the Captain of the Nautilus must have read indiscriminately the books
which he took up by chance.
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"Sir," said I to the Captain, "I thank you for having placed this
library at my disposal. It contains treasures of science, and I shall
profit by them."
"This room is not only a library," said Captain Nemo, "it is also a
smoking-room."
"A smoking-room!" I cried. "Then one may smoke on board?"
"Certainly."
"Then, sir, I am forced to believe that you have kept up a
communication with Havannah."
"Not any," answered the Captain. "Accept this cigar, M. Aronnax; and,
though it does not come from Havannah, you will be pleased with it, if you
are a connoisseur."
I took the cigar which was offered me; its shape recalled the London
ones, but it seemed to be made of leaves of gold. I lighted it at a little
brazier, which was supported upon an elegant bronze stem, and drew the
first whiffs with the delight of a lover of smoking who has not smoked for
two days.
"It is excellent, but it is not tobacco."
"No!" answered the Captain, "this tobacco comes neither from Havannah
nor from the East. It is a kind of sea-weed, rich in nicotine, with which
the sea provides me, but somewhat sparingly."
At that moment Captain Nemo opened a door which stood opposite to that
by which I had entered the library, and I passed into an immense
drawing-room splendidly lighted.
It was a vast, four-sided room, thirty feet long, eighteen wide, and
fifteen high. A luminous ceiling, decorated with light arabesques, shed a
soft clear light over all the marvels accumulated in this museum. For it
was in fact a museum, in which an intelligent and prodigal hand had
gathered all the treasures of nature and art, with the artistic confusion
which distinguishes a painter's studio.
Thirty first-rate pictures, uniformly framed, separated by bright
drapery, ornamented the walls, which were hung with tapestry of severe
design. I saw works of great value, the greater part of which I had admired
in the special collections of Europe, and in the exhibitions of paintings.
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Some admirable statues in marble and bronze, after the finest antique
models, stood upon pedestals in the corners of this magnificent museum.
Amazement, as the Captain of the Nautilus had predicted, had already begun
to take possession of me.
"Professor," said this strange man, "you must excuse the unceremonious
way in which I receive you, and the disorder of this room."
"Sir," I answered, "without seeking to know who you are, I recognise
in you an artist."
An amateur, nothing more, sir. Formerly I loved to collect these
beautiful works created by the hand of man. I sought them greedily, and
ferreted them out indefatigably, and I have been able to bring together
some objects of great value. These are my last souvenirs of that world
which is dead to me. In my eyes, your modern artists are already old; they
have two or three thousand years of existence; I confound them in my own
mind. Masters have no age."
Under elegant glass cases, fixed by copper rivets, were classed and
labelled the most precious productions of the sea which had ever been
presented to the eye of a naturalist. My delight as a professor may be
conceived.
Apart, in separate compartments, were spread out chaplets of pearls of
the greatest beauty, which reflected the electric light in little sparks of
fire; pink pearls, torn from the pinna-marina of the Red Sea; green pearls,
yellow, blue, and black pearls, the curious productions of the divers
molluscs of every ocean, and certain mussels of the water- courses of the
North; lastly, several specimens of inestimable value. Some of these pearls
were larger than a pigeon's egg, and were worth millions.
Therefore, to estimate the value of this collection was simply
impossible. Captain Nemo must have expended millions in the acquirement of
these various specimens, and I was thinking what source he could have drawn
from, to have been able thus to gratify his fancy for collecting, when I
was interrupted by these words:
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"You are examining my shells, Professor? Unquestionably they must be
interesting to a naturalist; but for me they have a far greater charm, for
I have collected them all with my own hand, and there is not a sea on the
face of the globe which has escaped my researches."
"I can understand, Captain, the delight of wandering about in the
midst of such riches. You are one of those who have collected their
treasures themselves. No museum in Europe possesses such a collection of
the produce of the ocean. But if I exhaust all my admiration upon it, I
shall have none left for the vessel which carries it. I do not wish to pry
into your secrets: but I must confess that this Nautilus, with the motive
power which is confined in it, the contrivances which enable it to be
worked, the powerful agent which propels it, all excite my curiosity to the
highest pitch. I see suspended on the walls of this room instruments of
whose use I am ignorant."
"You will find these same instruments in my own room, Professor, where
I shall have much pleasure in explaining their use to you. But first come
and inspect the cabin which is set apart for your own use. You must see how
you will be accommodated on board the Nautilus."
I followed Captain Nemo who, by one of the doors opening from each
panel of the drawing-room, regained the waist. He conducted me towards the
bow, and there I found, not a cabin, but an elegant room, with a bed,
dressing- table, and several other pieces of excellent furniture.
I could only thank my host.
"Your room adjoins mine," said he, opening a door, "and mine opens
into the drawing-room that we have just quitted."
I entered the Captain's room: it had a severe, almost a monkish
aspect. A small iron bedstead, a table, some articles for the toilet; the
whole lighted by a skylight. No comforts, the strictest necessaries only.
Captain Nemo pointed to a seat.
"Be so good as to sit down," he said. I seated myself, and he began
thus:
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.11
ALL BY ELECTRICITY
SIR," said Captain Nemo, showing me the instruments hanging on the
walls of his room, "here are the contrivances required for the navigation
of the Nautilus. Here, as in the drawing-room, I have them always under my
eyes, and they indicate my position and exact direction in the middle of
the ocean. Some are known to you, such as the thermometer, which gives the
internal temperature of the Nautilus; the barometer, which indicates the
weight of the air and foretells the changes of the weather; the hygrometer,
which marks the dryness of the atmosphere; the storm-glass, the contents of
which, by decomposing, announce the approach of tempests; the compass,
which guides my course; the sextant, which shows the latitude by the
altitude of the sun; chronometers, by which I calculate the longitude; and
glasses for day and night, which I use to examine the points of the
horizon, when the Nautilus rises to the surface of the waves."
"These are the usual nautical instruments," I replied, "and I know the
use of them. But these others, no doubt, answer to the particular
requirements of the Nautilus. This dial with movable needle is a manometer,
is it not?"
"It is actually a manometer. But by communication with the water,
whose external pressure it indicates, it gives our depth at the same time."
"And these other instruments, the use of which I cannot guess?"
"Here, Professor, I ought to give you some explanations. Will you be
kind enough to listen to me?"
He was silent for a few moments, then he said:
"There is a powerful agent, obedient, rapid, easy, which conforms to
every use, and reigns supreme on board my vessel. Everything is done by
means of it. It lights, warms it, and is the soul of my mechanical
apparatus. This agent is electricity."
"Electricity?" I cried in surprise.
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"Yes, sir."
"Nevertheless, Captain, you possess an extreme rapidity of movement,
which does not agree well with the power of electricity. Until now, its
dynamic force has remained under restraint, and has only been able to
produce a small amount of power."
"Professor," said Captain Nemo, "my electricity is not everybody's.
You know what sea-water is composed of. In a thousand grammes are found 96
1/2 per cent. of water, and about 2 2/3 per cent. of chloride of sodium;
then, in a smaller quantity, chlorides of magnesium and of potassium,
bromide of magnesium, sulphate of magnesia, sulphate and carbonate of lime.
You see, then, that chloride of sodium forms a large part of it. So it is
this sodium that I extract from the sea-water, and of which I compose my
ingredients. I owe all to the ocean; it produces electricity, and
electricity gives heat, light, motion, and, in a word, life to the
Nautilus."
"But not the air you breathe?"
"Oh! I could manufacture the air necessary for my consumption, but it
is useless, because I go up to the surface of the water when I please.
However, if electricity does not furnish me with air to breathe, it works
at least the powerful pumps that are stored in spacious reservoirs, and
which enable me to prolong at need, and as long as I will, my stay in the
depths of the sea. It gives a uniform and unintermittent light, which the
sun does not. Now look at this clock; it is electrical, and goes with a
regularity that defies the best chronometers. I have divided it into
twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, because for me there is neither
night nor day, sun nor moon, but only that factitious light that I take
with me to the bottom of the sea. Look! just now, it is ten o'clock in the
morning."
"Exactly."
"Another application of electricity. This dial hanging in front of us
indicates the speed of the Nautilus. An electric thread puts it in
communication with the screw, and the needle indicates the real speed.
Look! now we are spinning along with a uniform speed of fifteen miles an
hour."
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"It is marvelous! And I see, Captain, you were right to make use of
this agent that takes the place of wind, water, and steam."
"We have not finished, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo, rising. "If you
will allow me, we will examine the stern of the Nautilus."
Really, I knew already the anterior part of this submarine boat, of
which this is the exact division, starting from the ship's head: the
dining-room, five yards long, separated from the library by a water-tight
partition; the library, five yards long; the large drawing-room, ten yards
long, separated from the Captain's room by a second water-tight partition;
the said room, five yards in length; mine, two and a half yards; and,
lastly a reservoir of air, seven and a half yards, that extended to the
bows. Total length thirty- five yards, or one hundred and five feet. The
partitions had doors that were shut hermetically by means of india-rubber
instruments, and they ensured the safety of the Nautilus in case of a leak.
I followed Captain Nemo through the waist, and arrived at the centre
of the boat. There was a sort of well that opened between two partitions.
An iron ladder, fastened with an iron hook to the partition, led to the
upper end. I asked the Captain what the ladder was used for.
"It leads to the small boat," he said.
"What! have you a boat?" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"Of course; an excellent vessel, light and insubmersible, that serves
either as a fishing or as a pleasure boat."
"But then, when you wish to embark, you are obliged to come to the
surface of the water?"
"Not at all. This boat is attached to the upper part of the hull of
the Nautilus, and occupies a cavity made for it. It is decked, quite
water-tight, and held together by solid bolts. This ladder leads to a
man-hole made in the hull of the Nautilus, that corresponds with a similar
hole made in the side of the boat. By this double opening I get into the
small vessel. They shut the one belonging to the Nautilus; I shut the other
by means of screw pressure. I undo the bolts, and the little boat goes up
to the surface of the sea
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with prodigious rapidity. I then open the panel of the bridge, carefully
shut till then; I mast it, hoist my sail, take my oars, and I'm off."
"But how do you get back on board?"
"I do not come back, M. Aronnax; the Nautilus comes to me."
"By your orders?"
"By my orders. An electric thread connects us. I telegraph to it, and
that is enough."
"Really," I said, astonished at these marvels, "nothing can be more
simple."
After having passed by the cage of the staircase that led to the
platform, I saw a cabin six feet long, in which Conseil and Ned Land,
enchanted with their repast, were devouring it with avidity. Then a door
opened into a kitchen nine feet long, situated between the large
store-rooms. There electricity, better than gas itself, did all the
cooking. The streams under the furnaces gave out to the sponges of platina
a heat which was regularly kept up and distributed. They also heated a
distilling apparatus, which, by evaporation, furnished excellent drinkable
water. Near this kitchen was a bathroom comfortably furnished, with hot and
cold water taps.
Next to the kitchen was the berth-room of the vessel, sixteen feet
long. But the door was shut, and I could not see the management of it,
which might have given me an idea of the number of men employed on board
the Nautilus.
At the bottom was a fourth partition that separated this office from
the engine-room. A door opened, and I found myself in the compartment where
Captain Nemo -- certainly an engineer of a very high order -- had arranged
his locomotive machinery. This engine-room, clearly lighted, did not
measure less than sixty-five feet in length. It was divided into two parts;
the first contained the materials for producing electricity, and the second
the machinery that connected it with the screw. I examined it with great
interest, in order to understand the machinery of the Nautilus.
"You see," said the Captain, "I use Bunsen's contrivances, not
Ruhmkorff's. Those would not have been powerful
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enough. Bunsen's are fewer in number, but strong and large, which
experience proves to be the best. The electricity produced passes forward,
where it works, by electro- magnets of great size, on a system of levers
and cog-wheels that transmit the movement to the axle of the screw. This
one, the diameter of which is nineteen feet, and the thread twenty-three
feet, performs about 120 revolutions in a second."
"And you get then?"
"A speed of fifty miles an hour."
"I have seen the Nautilus manoeuvre before the Abraham Lincoln, and I
have my own ideas as to its speed. But this is not enough. We must see
where we go. We must be able to direct it to the right, to the left, above,
below. How do you get to the great depths, where you find an increasing
resistance, which is rated by hundreds of atmospheres? How do you return to
the surface of the ocean? And how do you maintain yourselves in the
requisite medium? Am I asking too much?"
"Not at all, Professor," replied the Captain, with some hesitation;
"since you may never leave this submarine boat. Come into the saloon, it is
our usual study, and there you will learn all you want to know about the
Nautilus."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.12
SOME FIGURES
A MOMENT after we were seated on a divan in the saloon smoking. The
Captain showed me a sketch that gave the plan, section, and elevation of
the Nautilus. Then he began his description in these words:
"Here, M. Aronnax, are the several dimensions of the boat you are in.
It is an elongated cylinder with conical ends. It is very like a cigar in
shape, a shape already adopted in London in several constructions of the
same sort. The length of this cylinder, from stem to stern, is exactly 232
feet, and its maximum breadth is twenty-six
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feet. It is not built quite like your long-voyage steamers, but its lines
are sufficiently long, and its curves prolonged enough, to allow the water
to slide off easily, and oppose no obstacle to its passage. These two
dimensions enable you to obtain by a simple calculation the surface and
cubic contents of the Nautilus. Its area measures 6,032 feet; and its
contents about 1,500 cubic yards; that is to say, when completely immersed
it displaces 50,000 feet of water, or weighs 1,500 tons.
"When I made the plans for this submarine vessel, I meant that
nine-tenths should be submerged: consequently it ought only to displace
nine-tenths of its bulk, that is to say, only to weigh that number of tons.
I ought not, therefore, to have exceeded that weight, constructing it on
the aforesaid dimensions.
"The Nautilus is composed of two hulls, one inside, the other outside,
joined by T-shaped irons, which render it very strong. Indeed, owing to
this cellular arrangement it resists like a block, as if it were solid. Its
sides cannot yield; it coheres spontaneously, and not by the closeness of
its rivets; and its perfect union of the materials enables it to defy the
roughest seas.
"These two hulls are composed of steel plates, whose density is from
.7 to .8 that of water. The first is not less than two inches and a half
thick and weighs 394 tons. The second envelope, the keel, twenty inches
high and ten thick, weighs only sixty-two tons. The engine, the ballast,
the several accessories and apparatus appendages, the partitions and
bulkheads, weigh 961.62 tons. Do you follow all this?"
"I do."
"Then, when the Nautilus is afloat under these circumstances,
one-tenth is out of the water. Now, if I have made reservoirs of a size
equal to this tenth, or capable of holding 150 tons, and if I fill them
with water, the boat, weighing then 1,507 tons, will be completely
immersed. That would happen, Professor. These reservoirs are in the lower
part of the Nautilus. I turn on taps and they fill, and the vessel sinks
that had just been level with the surface."
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"Well, Captain, but now we come to the real difficulty. I can
understand your rising to the surface; but, diving below the surface, does
not your submarine contrivance encounter a pressure, and consequently
undergo an upward thrust of one atmosphere for every thirty feet of water,
just about fifteen pounds per square inch?"
"Just so, sir."
"Then, unless you quite fill the Nautilus, I do not see how you can
draw it down to those depths."
"Professor, you must not confound statics with dynamics or you will be
exposed to grave errors. There is very little labour spent in attaining the
lower regions of the ocean, for all bodies have a tendency to sink. When I
wanted to find out the necessary increase of weight required to sink the
Nautilus, I had only to calculate the reduction of volume that sea-water
acquires according to the depth."
"That is evident."
"Now, if water is not absolutely incompressible, it is at least
capable of very slight compression. Indeed, after the most recent
calculations this reduction is only .000436 of an atmosphere for each
thirty feet of depth. If we want to sink 3,000 feet, I should keep account
of the reduction of bulk under a pressure equal to that of a column of
water of a thousand feet. The calculation is easily verified. Now, I have
supplementary reservoirs capable of holding a hundred tons. Therefore I can
sink to a considerable depth. When I wish to rise to the level of the sea,
I only let off the water, and empty all the reservoirs if I want the
Nautilus to emerge from the tenth part of her total capacity."
I had nothing to object to these reasonings.
"I admit your calculations, Captain," I replied; "I should be wrong to
dispute them since daily experience confirms them; but I foresee a real
difficulty in the way."
"What, sir?"
"When you are about 1,000 feet deep, the walls of the Nautilus bear a
pressure of 100 atmospheres. If, then, just now you were to empty the
supplementary reservoirs, to lighten the vessel, and to go up to the
surface, the pumps
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must overcome the pressure of 100 atmospheres, which is 1,500 lbs. per
square inch. From that a power -- "
"That electricity alone can give," said the Captain, hastily. "I
repeat, sir, that the dynamic power of my engines is almost infinite. The
pumps of the Nautilus have an enormous power, as you must have observed
when their jets of water burst like a torrent upon the Abraham Lincoln.
Besides, I use subsidiary reservoirs only to attain a mean depth of 750 to
1,000 fathoms, and that with a view of managing my machines. Also, when I
have a mind to visit the depths of the ocean five or six mlles below the
surface, I make use of slower but not less infallible means."
"What are they, Captain?"
"That involves my telling you how the Nautilus is worked."
"I am impatient to learn."
"To steer this boat to starboard or port, to turn, in a word,
following a horizontal plan, I use an ordinary rudder fixed on the back of
the stern-post, and with one wheel and some tackle to steer by. But I can
also make the Nautilus rise and sink, and sink and rise, by a vertical
movement by means of two inclined planes fastened to its sides, opposite
the centre of flotation, planes that move in every direction, and that are
worked by powerful levers from the interior. If the planes are kept
parallel with the boat, it moves horizontally. If slanted, the Nautilus,
according to this inclination, and under the influence of the screw, either
sinks diagonally or rises diagonally as it suits me. And even if I wish to
rise more quickly to the surface, I ship the screw, and the pressure of the
water causes the Nautilus to rise vertically like a balloon filled with
hydrogen."
"Bravo, Captain! But how can the steersman follow the route in the
middle of the waters?"
"The steersman is placed in a glazed box, that is raised about the
hull of the Nautilus, and furnished with lenses."
"Are these lenses capable of resisting such pressure?"
"Perfectly. Glass, which breaks at a blow, is, nevertheless, capable
of offering considerable resistance. During some experiments of fishing by
electric light in 1864 in the
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Northern Seas, we saw plates less than a third of an inch thick resist a
pressure of sixteen atmospheres. Now, the glass that I use is not less than
thirty times thicker."
"Granted. But, after all, in order to see, the light must exceed the
darkness, and in the midst of the darkness in the water, how can you see?"
"Behind the steersman's cage is placed a powerful electric reflector,
the rays from which light up the sea for half a mile in front."
"Ah! bravo, bravo, Captain! Now I can account for this phosphorescence
in the supposed narwhal that puzzled us so. I now ask you if the boarding
of the Nautilus* and of the Scotia, that has made such a noise, has been
the result of a chance rencontre?"
"Quite accidental, sir. I was sailing only one fathom below the
surface of the water when the shock came. It had no bad result."
"None, sir. But now, about your rencontre with the Abraham Lincoln?"
"Professor, I am sorry for one of the best vessels in the American
navy; but they attacked me, and I was bound to defend myself. I contented
myself, however, with putting the frigate hors de combat; she will not have
any difficulty in getting repaired at the next port."
"Ah, Commander! your Nautilus is certainly a marvellous boat."
"Yes, Professor; and I love it as if it were part of myself. If danger
threatens one of your vessels on the ocean, the first impression is the
feeling of an abyss above and below. On the Nautilus men's hearts never
fail them. No defects to be afraid of, for the double shell is as firm as
iron; no rigging to attend to; no sails for the wind to carry away; no
boilers to burst; no fire to fear, for the vessel is made of iron, not of
wood; no coal to run short, for electricity is the only mechanical agent;
no collision to fear, for it alone swims in deep water; no tempest to
brave, for when it dives below the water it reaches absolute tranquillity.
There, sir! that is the perfection of vessels! And if it is true that the
engineer has more confidence in the vessel than the
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builder, and the builder than the captain himself, you understand the trust
I repose in my Nautilus; for I am at once captain, builder, and engineer."
"But how could you construct this wonderful Nautilus in secret?"
"Each separate portion, M. Aronnax, was brought from different parts
of the globe."
"But these parts had to be put together and arranged?"
"Professor, I had set up my workshops upon a desert island in the
ocean. There my workmen, that is to say, the brave men that I instructed
and educated, and myself have put together our Nautilus. Then, when the
work was finished, fire destroyed all trace of our proceedings on this
island, that I could have jumped over if I had liked."
"Then the cost of this vessel is great?"
"M. Aronnax, an iron vessel costs L145 per ton. Now the Nautilus
weighed 1,500. It came therefore to L67,500, and L80,000 more for fitting
it up, and about L200,000, with the works of art and the collections it
contains."
"One last question, Captain Nemo."
"Ask it, Professor."
"You are rich?"
"Immensely rich, sir; and I could, without missing it, pay the
national debt of France."
I stared at the singular person who spoke thus. Was he playing upon my
credulity? The future would decide that.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.13
THE BLACK RIVER
THE portion of the terrestrial globe which is covered by water is
estimated at upwards of eighty millions of acres. This fluid mass comprises
two billions two hundred and fifty millions of cubic miles, forming a
spherical body of a diameter of sixty leagues, the weight of which would be
three quintillions of tons. To comprehend the meaning of these figures, it
is necessary to observe that a quintillion is
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to a billion as a billion is to unity; in other words, there are as many
billions in a quintillion as there are units in a billion. This mass of
fluid is equal to about the quantity of water which would be discharged by
all the rivers of the earth in forty thousand years.
During the geological epochs the ocean originally prevailed
everywhere. Then by degrees, in the silurian period, the tops of the
mountains began to appear, the islands emerged, then disappeared in partial
deluges, reappeared, became settled, formed continents, till at length the
earth became geographically arranged, as we see in the present day. The
solid had wrested from the liquid thirty-seven million six hundred and
fifty-seven square miles, equal to twelve billions nine hundred and sixty
millions of acres.
The shape of continents allows us to divide the waters into five great
portions: the Arctic or Frozen Ocean, the Antarctic, or Frozen Ocean, the
Indian, the Atlantic, and the Pacific Oceans.
The Pacific Ocean extends from north to south between the two Polar
Circles, and from east to west between Asia and America, over an extent of
145 degrees of longitude. It is the quietest of seas; its currents are
broad and slow, it has medium tides, and abundant rain. Such was the ocean
that my fate destined me first to travel over under these strange
conditions.
"Sir," said Captain Nemo, "we will, if you please, take our bearings
and fix the starting-point of this voyage. It is a quarter to twelve; I
will go up again to the surface."
The Captain pressed an electric clock three times. The pumps began to
drive the water from the tanks; the needle of the manometer marked by a
different pressure the ascent of the Nautilus, then it stopped.
"We have arrived," said the Captain.
I went to the central staircase which opened on to the platform,
clambered up the iron steps, and found myself on the upper part of the
Nautilus.
The platform was only three feet out of water. The front and back of
the Nautilus was of that spindle-shape which caused it justly to be
compared to a cigar. I noticed that its
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iron plates, slightly overlaying each other, resembled the shell which
clothes the bodies of our large terrestrial reptiles. It explained to me
how natural it was, in spite of all glasses, that this boat should have
been taken for a marine animal.
Toward the middle of the platform the longboat, half buried in the
hull of the vessel, formed a slight excrescence. Fore and aft rose two
cages of medium height with inclined sides, and partly closed by thick
lenticular glasses; one destined for the steersman who directed the
Nautilus, the other containing a brilliant lantern to give light on the
road.
The sea was beautiful, the sky pure. Scarcely could the long vehicle
feel the broad undulations of the ocean. A light breeze from the east
rippled the surface of the waters. The horizon, free from fog, made
observation easy. Nothing was in sight. Not a quicksand, not an island. A
vast desert.
Captain Nemo, by the help of his sextant, took the altitude of the
sun, which ought also to give the latitude. He waited for some moments till
its disc touched the horizon. Whilst taking observations not a muscle
moved, the instrument could not have been more motionless in a hand of
marble.
"Twelve o'clock, sir," said he. "When you like -- "
I cast a last look upon the sea, slightly yellowed by the Japanese
coast, and descended to the saloon.
"And now, sir, I leave you to your studies," added the Captain; "our
course is E.N.E., our depth is twenty-six fathoms. Here are maps on a large
scale by which you may follow it. The saloon is at your disposal, and, with
your permission, I will retire." Captain Nemo bowed, and I remained alone,
lost in thoughts all bearing on the commander of the Nautilus.
For a whole hour was I deep in these reflections, seeking to pierce
this mystery so interesting to me. Then my eyes fell upon the vast
planisphere spread upon the table, and I placed my finger on the very spot
where the given latitude and longitude crossed.
The sea has its large rivers like the continents. They are
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special currents known by their temperature and their colour. The most
remarkable of these is known by the name of the Gulf Stream. Science has
decided on the globe the direction of five principal currents: one in the
North Atlantic, a second in the South, a third in the North Pacific, a
fourth in the South, and a fifth in the Southern Indian Ocean. It is even
probable that a sixth current existed at one time or another in the
Northern Indian Ocean, when the Caspian and Aral Seas formed but one vast
sheet of water.
At this point indicated on the planisphere one of these currents was
rolling, the Kuro-Scivo of the Japanese, the Black River, which, leaving
the Gulf of Bengal, where it is warmed by the perpendicular rays of a
tropical sun, crosses the Straits of Malacca along the coast of Asia, turns
into the North Pacific to the Aleutian Islands, carrying with it trunks of
camphor-trees and other indigenous productions, and edging the waves of the
ocean with the pure indigo of its warm water. It was this current that the
Nautilus was to follow. I followed it with my eye; saw it lose itself in
the vastness of the Pacific, and felt myself drawn with it, when Ned Land
and Conseil appeared at the door of the saloon.
My two brave companions remained petrified at the sight of the wonders
spread before them.
"Where are we, where are we?" exclaimed the Canadian. "In the museum
at Quebec?"
"My friends," I answered, making a sign for them to enter, "you are
not in Canada, but on board the Nautilus, fifty yards below the level of
the sea."
"But, M. Aronnax," said Ned Land, "can you tell me how many men there
are on board? Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred?"
"I cannot answer you, Mr. Land; it is better to abandon for a time all
idea of seizing the Nautilus or escaping from it. This ship is a
masterpiece of modern industry, and I should be sorry not to have seen it.
Many people would accept the situation forced upon us, if only to move
amongst such wonders. So be quiet and let us try and see what passes around
us."
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"See!" exclaimed the harpooner, "but we can see nothing in this iron
prison! We are walking -- we are sailing -- blindly."
Ned Land had scarcely pronounced these words when all was suddenly
darkness. The luminous ceiling was gone, and so rapidly that my eyes
received a painful impression.
We remained mute, not stirring, and not knowing what surprise awaited
us, whether agreeable or disagreeable. A sliding noise was heard: one would
have said that panels were working at the sides of the Nautilus.
"It is the end of the end!" said Ned Land.
Suddenly light broke at each side of the saloon, through two oblong
openings. The liquid mass appeared vividly lit up by the electric gleam.
Two crystal plates separated us from the sea. At first I trembled at the
thought that this frail partition might break, but strong bands of copper
bound them, giving an almost infinite power of resistance.
The sea was distinctly visible for a mile all round the Nautilus. What
a spectacle! What pen can describe it? Who could paint the effects of the
light through those transparent sheets of water, and the softness of the
successive gradations from the lower to the superior strata of the ocean?
We know the transparency of the sea and that its clearness is far
beyond that of rock-water. The mineral and organic substances which it
holds in suspension heightens its transparency. In certain parts of the
ocean at the Antilles, under seventy-five fathoms of water, can be seen
with surprising clearness a bed of sand. The penetrating power of the solar
rays does not seem to cease for a depth of one hundred and fifty fathoms.
But in this middle fluid travelled over by the Nautilus, the electric
brightness was produced even in the bosom of the waves. It was no longer
luminous water, but liquid light.
On each side a window opened into this unexplored abyss. The obscurity
of the saloon showed to advantage the brightness outside, and we looked out
as if this pure crystal had been the glass of an immense aquarium.
"You wished to see, friend Ned; well, you see now."
"Curious! curious!" muttered the Canadian, who, forgetting
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his ill-temper, seemed to submit to some irresistible attraction; "and one
would come further than this to admire such a sight!"
"Ah!" thought I to myself, "I understand the life of this man; he has
made a world apart for himself, in which he treasures all his greatest
wonders."
For two whole hours an aquatic army escorted the Nautilus. During
their games, their bounds, while rivalling each other in beauty,
brightness, and velocity, I distinguished the green labre; the banded
mullet, marked by a double line of black; the round-tailed goby, of a white
colour, with violet spots on the back; the Japanese scombrus, a beautiful
mackerel of these seas, with a blue body and silvery head; the brilliant
azurors, whose name alone defies description; some banded spares, with
variegated fins of blue and yellow; the woodcocks of the seas, some
specimens of which attain a yard in length; Japanese salamanders, spider
lampreys, serpents six feet long, with eyes small and lively, and a huge
mouth bristling with teeth; with many other species.
Our imagination was kept at its height, interjections followed quickly
on each other. Ned named the fish, and Conseil classed them. I was in
ecstasies with the vivacity of their movements and the beauty of their
forms. Never had it been given to me to surprise these animals, alive and
at liberty, in their natural element. I will not mention all the varieties
which passed before my dazzled eyes, all the collection of the seas of
China and Japan. These fish, more numerous than the birds of the air, came,
attracted, no doubt, by the brilliant focus of the electric light.
Suddenly there was daylight in the saloon, the iron panels closed
again, and the enchanting vision disappeared. But for a long time I dreamt
on, till my eyes fell on the instruments hanging on the partition. The
compass still showed the course to be E.N.E., the manometer indicated a
pressure of five atmospheres, equivalent to a depth of twenty- five
fathoms, and the electric log gave a speed of fifteen miles an hour. I
expected Captain Nemo, but he did not appear. The clock marked the hour of
five.
Ned Land and Conseil returned to their cabin, and I
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retired to my chamber. My dinner was ready. It was composed of turtle soup
made of the most delicate hawks- bills, of a surmullet served with puff
paste (the liver of which, prepared by itself, was most delicious), and
fillets of the emperor-holocanthus, the savour of which seemed to me
superior even to salmon.
I passed the evening reading, writing, and thinking. Then sleep
overpowered me, and I stretched myself on my couch of zostera, and slept
profoundly, whilst the Nautilus was gliding rapidly through the current of
the Black River.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.14
A NOTE OF INVITATION
THE next day was the 9th of November. I awoke after a long sleep of
twelve hours. Conseil came, according to custom, to know "how I passed the
night," and to offer his services. He had left his friend the Canadian
sleeping like a man who had never done anything else all his life. I let
the worthy fellow chatter as be pleased, without caring to answer him. I
was preoccupied by the absence of the Captain during our sitting of the day
before, and hoping to see him to-day.
As soon as I was dressed I went into the saloon. It was deserted. I
plunged into the study of the shell treasures hidden behind the glasses.
The whole day passed without my being honoured by a visit from Captain
Nemo. The panels of the saloon did not open. Perhaps they did not wish us
to tire of these beautiful things.
The course of the Nautilus was E.N.E., her speed twelve knots, the
depth below the surface between twenty-five and thirty fathoms.
The next day, 10th of November, the same desertion, the same solitude.
I did not see one of the ship's crew: Ned and Conseil spent the greater
part of the day with me. They were astonished at the puzzling absence of
the Captain. Was
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this singular man ill? -- had he altered his intentions with regard to us?
After all, as Conseil said, we enjoyed perfect liberty, we were
delicately and abundantly fed. Our host kept to his terms of the treaty. We
could not complain, and, indeed, the singularity of our fate reserved such
wonderful compensation for us that we had no right to accuse it as yet.
That day I commenced the journal of these adventures which has enabled
me to relate them with more scrupulous exactitude and minute detail.
11th November, early in the morning. The fresh air spreading over the
interior of the Nautilus told me that we had come to the surface of the
ocean to renew our supply of oxygen. I directed my steps to the central
staircase, and mounted the platform.
It was six o'clock, the weather was cloudy, the sea grey, but calm.
Scarcely a billow. Captain Nemo, whom I hoped to meet, would he be there? I
saw no one but the steersman imprisoned in his glass cage. Seated upon the
projection formed by the hull of the pinnace, I inhaled the salt breeze
with delight.
By degrees the fog disappeared under the action of the sun's rays, the
radiant orb rose from behind the eastern horizon. The sea flamed under its
glance like a train of gunpowder. The clouds scattered in the heights were
coloured with lively tints of beautiful shades, and numerous "mare's
tails," which betokened wind for that day. But what was wind to this
Nautilus, which tempests could not frighten!
I was admiring this joyous rising of the sun, so gay, and so
life-giving, when I heard steps approaching the platform. I was prepared to
salute Captain Nemo, but it was his second (whom I had already seen on the
Captain's first visit) who appeared. He advanced on the platform, not
seeming to see me. With his powerful glass to his eye, he scanned every
point of the horizon with great attention. This examination over, he
approached the panel and pronounced a sentence in exactly these terms. I
have remembered
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it, for every morning it was repeated under exactly the same conditions. It
was thus worded:
"Nautron respoc lorni virch."
What it meant I could not say.
These words pronounced, the second descended. I thought that the
Nautilus was about to return to its submarine navigation. I regained the
panel and returned to my chamber.
Five days sped thus, without any change in our situation. Every
morning I mounted the platform. The same phrase was pronounced by the same
individual. But Captain Nemo did not appear.
I had made up my mind that I should never see him again, when, on the
16th November, on returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found upon
my table a note addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was written in
a bold, clear hand, the characters rather pointed, recalling the German
type. The note was worded as follows: TO PROFESSOR ARONNAX,
On board the Nautilus.
16th of November, 1867.
Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting- party, which will
take place to-morrow morning in the forests of the Island of Crespo. He
hopes that nothing will prevent the Professor from being present, and he
will with pleasure see him joined by his companions. CAPTAIN NEMO,
Commander of the Nautilus.
"A hunt!" exclaimed Ned.
"And in the forests of the Island of Crespo!" added Conseil.
"Oh! then the gentleman is going on terra firma?" replied Ned Land.
"That seems to me to be clearly indicated," said I, reading the letter
once more.
"Well, we must accept," said the Canadian. "But once more on dry
ground, we shall know what to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a
piece of fresh venison."
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Without seeking to reconcile what was contradictory between Captain
Nemo's manifest aversion to islands and continents, and his invitation to
hunt in a forest, I contented myself with replying:
"Let us first see where the Island of Crespo is."
I consulted the planisphere, and in 32° 40' N. lat. and 157° 50' W.
long., I found a small island, recognised in 1801 by Captain Crespo, and
marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la Plata, the meaning of
which is The Silver Rock. We were then about eighteen hundred miles from
our starting-point, and the course of the Nautilus, a little changed, was
bringing it back towards the southeast.
I showed this little rock, lost in the midst of the North Pacific, to
my companions.
"If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground," said I, "he at
least chooses desert islands."
Ned Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he
left me.
After supper, which was served by the steward, mute and impassive, I
went to bed, not without some anxiety.
The next morning, the 17th of November, on awakening, I felt that the
Nautilus was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the saloon.
Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and asked me
if it was convenient for me to accompany him. As he made no allusion to his
absence during the last eight days, I did not mention it, and simply
answered that my companions and myself were ready to follow him.
We entered the dining-room, where breakfast was served.
"M. Aronnax," said the Captain, "pray, share my breakfast without
ceremony; we will chat as we eat. For, though I promised you a walk in the
forest, I did not undertake to find hotels there. So breakfast as a man who
will most likely not have his dinner till very late."
I did honour to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish,
and slices of sea-cucumber, and different sorts of seaweed. Our drink
consisted of pure water, to which the Captain added some drops of a
fermented liquor, extracted
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by the Kamschatcha method from a seaweed known under the name of Rhodomenia
palmata. Captain Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began:
"Sir, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of Crespo,
you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge lightly of any
man."
"But Captain, believe me -- "
"Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any
cause to accuse me of folly and contradiction."
"I listen."
"You know as well as I do, Professor, that man can live under water,
providing he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In
submarine works, the workman, clad in an impervious dress, with his head in
a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of forcing pumps and
regulators."
"That is a diving apparatus," said I.
"Just so, but under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is
attached to the pump which sends him air through an india-rubber tube, and
if we were obliged to be thus held to the Nautilus, we could not go far."
"And the means of getting free?" I asked.
"It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own
countrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use, and which
will allow you to risk yourself under these new physiological conditions
without any organ whatever suffering. It consists of a reservoir of thick
iron plates, in which I store the air under a pressure of fifty
atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on the back by means of braces, like a
soldier's knapsack. Its upper part forms a box in which the air is kept by
means of a bellows, and therefore cannot escape unless at its normal
tension. In the Rouquayrol apparatus such as we use, two india- rubber
pipes leave this box and join a sort of tent which holds the nose and
mouth; one is to introduce fresh air, the other to let out the foul, and
the tongue closes one or the other according to the wants of the
respirator. But I, in encountering great pressures at the bottom of the
sea, was obliged to shut my head, like that of a diver in a ball
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of copper; and it is to this ball of copper that the two pipes, the
inspirator and the expirator, open."
"Perfectly, Captain Nemo; but the air that you carry with you must
soon be used; when it only contains fifteen per cent. of oxygen it is no
longer fit to breathe."
"Right! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the Nautilus
allow me to store the air under considerable pressure, and on those
conditions the reservoir of the apparatus can furnish breathable air for
nine or ten hours."
"I have no further objections to make," I answered. "I will only ask
you one thing, Captain -- how can you light your road at the bottom of the
sea?"
"With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax; one is carried on the back,
the other is fastened to the waist. It is composed of a Bunsen pile, which
I do not work with bichromate of potash, but with sodium. A wire is
introduced which collects the electricity produced, and directs it towards
a particularly made lantern. In this lantern is a spiral glass which
contains a small quantity of carbonic gas. When the apparatus is at work
this gas becomes luminous, giving out a white and continuous light. Thus
provided, I can breathe and I can see."
"Captain Nemo, to all my objections you make such crushing answers
that I dare no longer doubt. But, if I am forced to admit the Rouquayrol
and Ruhmkorff apparatus, I must be allowed some reservations with regard to
the gun I am to carry."
"But it is not a gun for powder," answered the Captain.
"Then it is an air-gun."
"Doubtless! How would you have me manufacture gunpowder on board,
without either saltpetre, sulphur, or charcoal?"
"Besides," I added, "to fire under water in a medium eight hundred and
fifty-five times denser than the air, we must conquer very considerable
resistance."
"That would be no difficulty. There exist guns, according to Fulton,
perfected in England by Philip Coles and Burley, in France by Furcy, and in
Italy by Landi, which are furnished with a peculiar system of closing,
which can fire
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under these conditions. But I repeat, having no powder, I use air under
great pressure, which the pumps of the Nautilus furnish abundantly."
"But this air must be rapidly used?"
"Well, have I not my Rouquayrol reservoir, which can furnish it at
need? A tap is all that is required. Besides M. Aronnax, you must see
yourself that, during our submarine hunt, we can spend but little air and
but few balls."
"But it seems to me that in this twilight, and in the midst of this
fluid, which is very dense compared with the atmosphere, shots could not go
far, nor easily prove mortal."
"Sir, on the contrary, with this gun every blow is mortal; and,
however lightly the animal is touched, it falls as if struck by a
thunderbolt."
"Why?"
"Because the balls sent by this gun are not ordinary balls, but little
cases of glass. These glass cases are covered with a case of steel, and
weighted with a pellet of lead; they are real Leyden bottles, into which
the electricity is forced to a very high tension. With the slightest shock
they are discharged, and the animal, however strong it may be, falls dead.
I must tell you that these cases are size number four, and that the charge
for an ordinary gun would be ten."
"I will argue no longer," I replied, rising from the table. "I have
nothing left me but to take my gun. At all events, I will go where you go."
Captain Nemo then led me aft; and in passing before Ned's and
Conseil's cabin, I called my two companions, who followed promptly. We then
came to a cell near the machinery-room, in which we put on our
walking-dress.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.15
A WALK ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA
THIS cell was, to speak correctly, the arsenal and wardrobe of the
Nautilus. A dozen diving apparatuses hung from the partition waiting our
use.
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Ned Land, on seeing them, showed evident repugnance to dress himself
in one.
"But, my worthy Ned, the forests of the Island of Crespo are nothing
but submarine forests."
"Good!" said the disappointed harpooner, who saw his dreams of fresh
meat fade away. "And you, M. Aronnax, are you going to dress yourself in
those clothes?"
"There is no alternative, Master Ned."
"As you please, sir," replied the harpooner, shrugging his shoulders;
"but, as for me, unless I am forced, I will never get into one."
"No one will force you, Master Ned," said Captain Nemo.
"Is Conseil going to risk it?" asked Ned.
"I follow my master wherever he goes," replied Conseil.
At the Captain's call two of the ship's crew came to help us dress in
these heavy and impervious clothes, made of india-rubber without seam, and
constructed expressly to resist considerable pressure. One would have
thought it a suit of armour, both supple and resisting. This suit formed
trousers and waistcoat. The trousers were finished off with thick boots,
weighted with heavy leaden soles. The texture of the waistcoat was held
together by bands of copper, which crossed the chest, protecting it from
the great pressure of the water, and leaving the lungs free to act; the
sleeves ended in gloves, which in no way restrained the movement of the
hands. There was a vast difference noticeable between these consummate
apparatuses and the old cork breastplates, jackets, and other contrivances
in vogue during the eighteenth century.
Captain Nemo and one of his companions (a sort of Hercules, who must
have possessed great strength), Conseil and myself were soon enveloped in
the dresses. There remained nothing more to be done but to enclose our
heads in the metal box. But, before proceeding to this operation, I asked
the Captain's permission to examine the guns.
One of the Nautilus men gave me a simple gun, the butt end of which,
made of steel, hollow in the centre, was rather large. It served as a
reservoir for compressed air, which a valve, worked by a spring, allowed to
escape into
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a metal tube. A box of projectiles in a groove in the thickness of the butt
end contained about twenty of these electric balls, which, by means of a
spring, were forced into the barrel of the gun. As soon as one shot was
fired, another was ready.
"Captain Nemo," said I, "this arm is perfect, and easily handled: I
only ask to be allowed to try it. But how shall we gain the bottom of the
sea?"
"At this moment, Professor, the Nautilus is stranded in five fathoms,
and we have nothing to do but to start."
"But how shall we get off?"
"You shall see."
Captain Nemo thrust his head into the helmet, Conseil and I did the
same, not without hearing an ironical "Good sport!" from the Canadian. The
upper part of our dress terminated in a copper collar upon which was
screwed the metal helmet. Three holes, protected by thick glass, allowed us
to see in all directions, by simply turning our head in the interior of the
head-dress. As soon as it was in position, the Rouquayrol apparatus on our
backs began to act; and, for my part, I could breathe with ease.
With the Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, and the gun in my hand,
I was ready to set out. But to speak the truth, imprisoned in these heavy
garments, and glued to the deck by my leaden soles, it was impossible for
me to take a step.
But this state of things was provided for. I felt myself being pushed
into a little room contiguous to the wardrobe- room. My companions
followed, towed along in the same way. I heard a water-tight door,
furnished with stopper- plates, close upon us, and we were wrapped in
profound darkness.
After some minutes, a loud hissing was heard. I felt the cold mount
from my feet to my chest. Evidently from some part of the vessel they had,
by means of a tap, given entrance to the water, which was invading us, and
with which the room was soon filled. A second door cut in the side of the
Nautilus then opened. We saw a faint light. In another instant our feet
trod the bottom of the sea.
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And now, how can I retrace the impression left upon me by that walk
under the waters? Words are impotent to relate such wonders! Captain Nemo
walked in front, his companion followed some steps behind. Conseil and I
remained near each other, as if an exchange of words had been possible
through our metallic cases. I no longer felt the weight of my clothing, or
of my shoes, of my reservoir of air, or my thick helmet, in the midst of
which my head rattled like an almond in its shell.
The light, which lit the soil thirty feet below the surface of the
ocean, astonished me by its power. The solar rays shone through the watery
mass easily, and dissipated all colour, and I clearly distinguished objects
at a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Beyond that the tints darkened
into fine gradations of ultramarine, and faded into vague obscurity. Truly
this water which surrounded me was but another air denser than the
terrestrial atmosphere, but almost as transparent. Above me was the calm
surface of the sea. We were walking on fine, even sand, not wrinkled, as on
a flat shore, which retains the impression of the billows. This dazzling
carpet, really a reflector, repelled the rays of the sun with wonderful
intensity, which accounted for the vibration which penetrated every atom of
liquid. Shall I be believed when I say that, at the depth of thirty feet, I
could see as if I was in broad daylight?
For a quarter of an hour I trod on this sand, sown with the impalpable
dust of shells. The hull of the Nautilus, resembling a long shoal,
disappeared by degrees; but its lantern, when darkness should overtake us
in the waters, would help to guide us on board by its distinct rays.
Soon forms of objects outlined in the distance were discernible. I
recognised magnificent rocks, hung with a tapestry of zoophytes of the most
beautiful kind, and I was at first struck by the peculiar effect of this
medium.
It was then ten in the morning; the rays of the sun struck the surface
of the waves at rather an oblique angle, and at the touch of their light,
decomposed by refraction as through a prism, flowers, rocks, plants,
shells, and polypi were shaded at the edges by the seven solar colours. It
was marvellous,
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a feast for the eyes, this complication of coloured tints, a perfect
kaleidoscope of green, yellow, orange, violet, indigo, and blue; in one
word, the whole palette of an enthusiastic colourist! Why could I not
communicate to Conseil the lively sensations which were mounting to my
brain, and rival him in expressions of admiration? For aught I knew,
Captain Nemo and his companion might be able to exchange thoughts by means
of signs previously agreed upon. So, for want of better, I talked to
myself; I declaimed in the copper box which covered my head, thereby
expending more air in vain words than was perhaps wise.
Various kinds of isis, clusters of pure tuft-coral, prickly fungi, and
anemones formed a brilliant garden of flowers, decked with their
collarettes of blue tentacles, sea-stars studding the sandy bottom. It was
a real grief to me to crush under my feet the brilliant specimens of
molluscs which strewed the ground by thousands, of hammerheads, donaciae
(veritable bounding shells), of staircases, and red helmet-shells,
angel-wings, and many others produced by this inexhaustible ocean. But we
were bound to walk, so we went on, whilst above our heads waved medusae
whose umbrellas of opal or rose-pink, escalloped with a band of blue,
sheltered us from the rays of the sun and fiery pelagiae, which, in the
darkness, would have strewn our path with phosphorescent light.
All these wonders I saw in the space of a quarter of a mile, scarcely
stopping, and following Captain Nemo, who beckoned me on by signs. Soon the
nature of the soil changed; to the sandy plain succeeded an extent of slimy
mud which the Americans call "ooze," composed of equal parts of silicious
and calcareous shells. We then travelled over a plain of seaweed of wild
and luxuriant vegetation. This sward was of close texture, and soft to the
feet, and rivalled the softest carpet woven by the hand of man. But whilst
verdure was spread at our feet, it did not abandon our heads. A light
network of marine plants, of that inexhaustible family of seaweeds of which
more than two thousand kinds are known, grew on the surface of the water.
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I noticed that the green plants kept nearer the top of the sea, whilst the
red were at a greater depth, leaving to the black or brown the care of
forming gardens and parterres in the remote beds of the ocean.
We had quitted the Nautilus about an hour and a half. It was near
noon; I knew by the perpendicularity of the sun's rays, which were no
longer refracted. The magical colours disappeared by degrees, and the
shades of emerald and sapphire were effaced. We walked with a regular step,
which rang upon the ground with astonishing intensity; the slightest noise
was transmitted with a quickness to which the ear is unaccustomed on the
earth; indeed, water is a better conductor of sound than air, in the ratio
of four to one. At this period the earth sloped downwards; the light took a
uniform tint. We were at a depth of a hundred and five yards and twenty
inches, undergoing a pressure of six atmospheres.
At this depth I could still see the rays of the sun, though feebly; to
their intense brilliancy had succeeded a reddish twilight, the lowest state
between day and night; but we could still see well enough; it was not
necessary to resort to the Ruhmkorff apparatus as yet. At this moment
Captain Nemo stopped; he waited till I joined him, and then pointed to an
obscure mass, looming in the shadow, at a short distance.
"It is the forest of the Island of Crespo," thought I; and I was not
mistaken.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.16
A SUBMARINE FOREST
WE HAD at last arrived on the borders of this forest, doubtless one of
the finest of Captain Nemo's immense domains. He looked upon it as his own,
and considered he had the same right over it that the first men had in the
first days of the world. And, indeed, who would have disputed with him the
possession of this submarine property? What other
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hardier pioneer would come, hatchet in hand, to cut down the dark copses?
This forest was composed of large tree-plants; and the moment we
penetrated under its vast arcades, I was struck by the singular position of
their branches -- a position I had not yet observed.
Not an herb which carpeted the ground, not a branch which clothed the
trees, was either broken or bent, nor did they extend horizontally; all
stretched up to the surface of the ocean. Not a filament, not a ribbon,
however thin they might be, but kept as straight as a rod of iron. The fuci
and llianas grew in rigid perpendicular lines, due to the density of the
element which had produced them. Motionless yet, when bent to one side by
the hand, they directly resumed their former position. Truly it was the
region of perpendicularity!
I soon accustomed myself to this fantastic position, as well as to the
comparative darkness which surrounded us. The soil of the forest seemed
covered with sharp blocks, difficult to avoid. The submarine flora struck
me as being very perfect, and richer even than it would have been in the
arctic or tropical zones, where these productions are not so plentiful. But
for some minutes I involuntarily confounded the genera, taking animals for
plants; and who would not have been mistaken? The fauna and the flora are
too closely allied in this submarine world.
These plants are self-propagated, and the principle of their existence
is in the water, which upholds and nourishes them. The greater number,
instead of leaves, shoot forth blades of capricious shapes, comprised
within a scale of colours pink, carmine, green, olive, fawn, and brown.
"Curious anomaly, fantastic element!" said an ingenious naturalist,
"in which the animal kingdom blossoms, and the vegetable does not!"
In about an hour Captain Nemo gave the signal to halt; I, for my part,
was not sorry, and we stretched ourselves under an arbour of alariae, the
long thin blades of which stood up like arrows.
This short rest seemed delicious to me; there was nothing
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wanting but the charm of conversation; but, impossible to speak, impossible
to answer, I only put my great copper head to Conseil's. I saw the worthy
fellow's eyes glistening with delight, and, to show his satisfaction, he
shook himself in his breastplate of air, in the most comical way in the
world.
After four hours of this walking, I was surprised not to find myself
dreadfully hungry. How to account for this state of the stomach I could not
tell. But instead I felt an insurmountable desire to sleep, which happens
to all divers. And my eyes soon closed behind the thick glasses, and I fell
into a heavy slumber, which the movement alone had prevented before.
Captain Nemo and his robust companion, stretched in the clear crystal, set
us the example.
How long I remained buried in this drowsiness I cannot judge, but,
when I woke, the sun seemed sinking towards the horizon. Captain Nemo had
already risen, and I was beginning to stretch my limbs, when an unexpected
apparition brought me briskly to my feet.
A few steps off, a monstrous sea-spider, about thirty- eight inches
high, was watching me with squinting eyes, ready to spring upon me. Though
my diver's dress was thick enough to defend me from the bite of this
animal, I could not help shuddering with horror. Conseil and the sailor of
the Nautilus awoke at this moment. Captain Nemo pointed out the hideous
crustacean, which a blow from the butt end of the gun knocked over, and I
saw the horrible claws of the monster writhe in terrible convulsions. This
incident reminded me that other animals more to be feared might haunt these
obscure depths, against whose attacks my diving-dress would not protect me.
I had never thought of it before, but I now resolved to be upon my guard.
Indeed, I thought that this halt would mark the termination of our walk;
but I was mistaken, for, instead of returning to the Nautilus, Captain Nemo
continued his bold excursion. The ground was still on the incline, its
declivity seemed to be getting greater, and to be leading us to greater
depths. It must have been about three o'clock when we reached a narrow
valley, between high perpendicular walls, situated about
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seventy-five fathoms deep. Thanks to the perfection of our apparatus, we
were forty-five fathoms below the limit which nature seems to have imposed
on man as to his submarine excursions.
I say seventy-five fathoms, though I had no instrument by which to
judge the distance. But I knew that even in the clearest waters the solar
rays could not penetrate further. And accordingly the darkness deepened. At
ten paces not an object was visible. I was groping my way, when I suddenly
saw a brilliant white light. Captain Nemo had just put his electric
apparatus into use; his companion did the same, and Conseil and I followed
their example. By turning a screw I established a communication between the
wire and the spiral glass, and the sea, lit by our four lanterns, was
illuminated for a circle of thirty-six yards.
As we walked I thought the light of our Ruhmkorff apparatus could not
fail to draw some inhabitant from its dark couch. But if they did approach
us, they at least kept at a respectful distance from the hunters. Several
times I saw Captain Nemo stop, put his gun to his shoulder, and after some
moments drop it and walk on. At last, after about four hours, this
marvellous excursion came to an end. A wall of superb rocks, in an imposing
mass, rose before us, a heap of gigantic blocks, an enormous, steep granite
shore, forming dark grottos, but which presented no practicable slope; it
was the prop of the Island of Crespo. It was the earth! Captain Nemo
stopped suddenly. A gesture of his brought us all to a halt; and, however
desirous I might be to scale the wall, I was obliged to stop. Here ended
Captain Nemo's domains. And he would not go beyond them. Further on was a
portion of the globe he might not trample upon.
The return began. Captain Nemo had returned to the head of his little
band, directing their course without hesitation. I thought we were not
following the same road to return to the Nautilus. The new road was very
steep, and consequently very painful. We approached the surface of the sea
rapidly. But this return to the upper strata was not so sudden as to cause
relief from the pressure too rapidly,
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which might have produced serious disorder in our organisation, and brought
on internal lesions, so fatal to divers. Very soon light reappeared and
grew, and, the sun being low on the horizon, the refraction edged the
different objects with a spectral ring. At ten yards and a half deep, we
walked amidst a shoal of little fishes of all kinds, more numerous than the
birds of the air, and also more agile; but no aquatic game worthy of a shot
had as yet met our gaze, when at that moment I saw the Captain shoulder his
gun quickly, and follow a moving object into the shrubs. He fired; I heard
a slight hissing, and a creature fell stunned at some distance from us. It
was a magnificent sea-otter, an enhydrus, the only exclusively marine
quadruped. This otter was five feet long, and must have been very valuable.
Its skin, chestnut- brown above and silvery underneath, would have made one
of those beautiful furs so sought after in the Russian and Chinese markets:
the fineness and the lustre of its coat would certainly fetch L80. I
admired this curious mammal, with its rounded head ornamented with short
ears, its round eyes, and white whiskers like those of a cat, with webbed
feet and nails, and tufted tail. This precious animal, hunted and tracked
by fishermen, has now become very rare, and taken refuge chiefly in the
northern parts of the Pacific, or probably its race would soon become
extinct.
Captain Nemo's companion took the beast, threw it over his shoulder,
and we continued our journey. For one hour a plain of sand lay stretched
before us. Sometimes it rose to within two yards and some inches of the
surface of the water. I then saw our image clearly reflected, drawn
inversely, and above us appeared an identical group reflecting our
movements and our actions; in a word, like us in every point, except that
they walked with their heads downward and their feet in the air.
Another effect I noticed, which was the passage of thick clouds which
formed and vanished rapidly; but on reflection I understood that these
seeming clouds were due to the varying thickness of the reeds at the
bottom, and I could even see the fleecy foam which their broken tops
multiplied on the water, and the shadows of large birds
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passing above our heads, whose rapid flight I could discern on the surface
of the sea.
On this occasion I was witness to one of the finest gunshots which
ever made the nerves of a hunter thrill. A large bird of great breadth of
wing, clearly visible, approached, hovering over us. Captain Nemo's
companion shouldered his gun and fired, when it was only a few yards above
the waves. The creature fell stunned, and the force of its fall brought it
within the reach of dexterous hunter's grasp. It was an albatross of the
finest kind.
Our march had not been interrupted by this incident. For two hours we
followed these sandy plains, then fields of algae very disagreeable to
cross. Candidly, I could do no more when I saw a glimmer of light, which,
for a half mile, broke the darkness of the waters. It was the lantern of
the Nautilus. Before twenty minutes were over we should be on board, and I
should be able to breathe with ease, for it seemed that my reservoir
supplied air very deficient in oxygen. But I did not reckon on an
accidental meeting which delayed our arrival for some time.
I had remained some steps behind, when I presently saw Captain Nemo
coming hurriedly towards me. With his strong hand he bent me to the ground,
his companion doing the same to Conseil. At first I knew not what to think
of this sudden attack, but I was soon reassured by seeing the Captain lie
down beside me, and remain immovable.
I was stretched on the ground, just under the shelter of a bush of
algae, when, raising my head, I saw some enormous mass, casting
phosphorescent gleams, pass blusteringly by.
My blood froze in my veins as I recognised two formidable sharks which
threatened us. It was a couple of tintoreas, terrible creatures, with
enormous tails and a dun glassy stare, the phosphorescent matter ejected
from holes pierced around the muzzle. Monstrous brutes! which would crush a
whole man in their iron jaws. I did not know whether Conseil stopped to
classify them; for my part, I noticed their silver bellies, and their huge
mouths bristling with teeth,
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from a very unscientific point of view, and more as a possible victim than
as a naturalist.
Happily the voracious creatures do not see well. They passed without
seeing us, brushing us with their brownish fins, and we escaped by a
miracle from a danger certainly greater than meeting a tiger full-face in
the forest. Half an hour after, guided by the electric light we reached the
Nautilus. The outside door had been left open, and Captain Nemo closed it
as soon as we had entered the first cell. He then pressed a knob. I heard
the pumps working in the midst of the vessel, I felt the water sinking from
around me, and in a few moments the cell was entirely empty. The inside
door then opened, and we entered the vestry.
There our diving-dress was taken off, not without some trouble, and,
fairly worn out from want of food and sleep, I returned to my room, in
great wonder at this surprising excursion at the bottom of the sea.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.17
FOUR THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE PACIFIC
THE next morning, the 18th of November, I had quite recovered from my
fatigues of the day before, and I went up on to the platform, just as the
second lieutenant was uttering his daily phrase.
I was admiring the magnificent aspect of the ocean when Captain Nemo
appeared. He did not seem to be aware of my presence, and began a series of
astronomical observations. Then, when he had finished, he went and leant on
the cage of the watch-light, and gazed abstractedly on the ocean. In the
meantime, a number of the sailors of the Nautilus, all strong and healthy
men, had come up onto the platform. They came to draw up the nets that had
been laid all night. These sailors were evidently of different nations,
although the European type was visible in all of them. I recognised some
unmistakable Irishmen, Frenchmen, some Sclaves, and a Greek, or a Candiote.
They were civil,
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and only used that odd language among themselves, the origin of which I
could not guess, neither could I question them.
The nets were hauled in. They were a large kind of "chaluts," like
those on the Normandy coasts, great pockets that the waves and a chain
fixed in the smaller meshes kept open. These pockets, drawn by iron poles,
swept through the water, and gathered in everything in their way. That day
they brought up curious specimens from those productive coasts.
I reckoned that the haul had brought in more than nine hundredweight
of fish. It was a fine haul, but not to be wondered at. Indeed, the nets
are let down for several hours, and enclose in their meshes an infinite
variety. We had no lack of excellent food, and the rapidity of the Nautilus
and the attraction of the electric light could always renew our supply.
These several productions of the sea were immediately lowered through the
panel to the steward's room, some to be eaten fresh, and others pickled.
The fishing ended, the provision of air renewed, I thought that the
Nautilus was about to continue its submarine excursion, and was preparing
to return to my room, when, without further preamble, the Captain turned to
me, saying:
"Professor, is not this ocean gifted with real life? It has its
tempers and its gentle moods. Yesterday it slept as we did, and now it has
woke after a quiet night. Look!" he continued, "it wakes under the caresses
of the sun. It is going to renew its diurnal existence. It is an
interesting study to watch the play of its organisation. It has a pulse,
arteries, spasms; and I agree with the learned Maury, who discovered in it
a circulation as real as the circulation of blood in animals.
"Yes, the ocean has indeed circulation, and to promote it, the Creator
has caused things to multiply in it -- caloric, salt, and animalculae."
When Captain Nemo spoke thus, he seemed altogether changed, and
aroused an extraordinary emotion in me.
"Also," he added, "true existence is there; and I can imagine the
foundations of nautical towns, clusters of submarine
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houses, which, like the Nautilus, would ascend every morning to breathe at
the surface of the water, free towns, independent cities. Yet who knows
whether some despot -- "
Captain Nemo finished his sentence with a violent gesture. Then,
addressing me as if to chase away some sorrowful thought:
"M. Aronnax," he asked. "do you know the depth of the ocean?"
"I only know, Captain, what the principal soundings have taught us."
"Could you tell me them, so that I can suit them to my purpose?"
"These are some," I replied, "that I remember. If I am not mistaken, a
depth of 8,000 yards has been found in the North Atlantic, and 2,500 yards
in the Mediterranean. The most remarkable soundings have been made in the
South Atlantic, near the thirty-fifth parallel, and they gave 12,000 yards,
14,000 yards, and 15,000 yards. To sum up all, it is reckoned that if the
bottom of the sea were levelled, its mean depth would be about one and
three-quarter leagues."
"Well, Professor," replied the Captain, "we shall show you better than
that I hope. As to the mean depth of this part of the Pacific, I tell you
it is only 4,000 yards."
Having said this, Captain Nemo went towards the panel, and disappeared
down the ladder. I followed him, and went into the large drawing-room. The
screw was immediately put in motion, and the log gave twenty miles an hour.
During the days and weeks that passed, Captain Nemo was very sparing
of his visits. I seldom saw him. The lieutenant pricked the ship's course
regularly on the chart, so I could always tell exactly the route of the
Nautilus.
Nearly every day, for some time, the panels of the drawing-room were
opened, and we were never tired of penetrating the mysteries of the
submarine world.
The general direction of the Nautilus was south-east, and it kept
between 100 and 150 yards of depth. One day, however, I do not know why,
being drawn diagonally by
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means of the inclined planes, it touched the bed of the sea. The
thermometer indicated a temperature of 4.25 (cent.): a temperature that at
this depth seemed common to all latitudes.
At three o'clock in the morning of the 26th of November the Nautilus
crossed the tropic of Cancer at 172° long. On 27th instant it sighted the
Sandwich Islands, where Cook died, February 14, 1779. We had then gone
4,860 leagues from our starting-point. In the morning, when I went on the
platform, I saw two miles to windward, Hawaii, the largest of the seven
islands that form the group. I saw clearly the cultivated ranges, and the
several mountain- chains that run parallel with the side, and the volcanoes
that overtop Mouna-Rea, which rise 5,000 yards above the level of the sea.
Besides other things the nets brought up, were several flabellariae and
graceful polypi, that are peculiar to that part of the ocean. The direction
of the Nautilus was still to the south-east. It crossed the equator
December 1, in 142° long.; and on the 4th of the same month, after crossing
rapidly and without anything in particular occurring, we sighted the
Marquesas group. I saw, three miles off, Martin's peak in Nouka-Hiva, the
largest of the group that belongs to France. I only saw the woody mountains
against the horizon, because Captain Nemo did not wish to bring the ship to
the wind. There the nets brought up beautiful specimens of fish: some with
azure fins and tails like gold, the flesh of which is unrivalled; some
nearly destitute of scales, but of exquisite flavour; others, with bony
jaws, and yellow-tinged gills, as good as bonitos; all fish that would be
of use to us. After leaving these charming islands protected by the French
flag, from the 4th to the 11th of December the Nautilus sailed over about
2,000 miles.
During the daytime of the 11th of December I was busy reading in the
large drawing-room. Ned Land and Conseil watched the luminous water through
the half-open panels. The Nautilus was immovable. While its reservoirs were
filled, it kept at a depth of 1,000 yards, a region rarely visited in the
ocean, and in which large fish were seldom seen.
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I was then reading a charming book by Jean Mace, The Slaves of the
Stomach, and I was learning some valuable lessons from it, when Conseil
interrupted me.
"Will master come here a moment?" he said, in a curious voice.
"What is the matter, Conseil?"
"I want master to look."
I rose, went, and leaned on my elbows before the panes and watched.
In a full electric light, an enormous black mass, quite immovable, was
suspended in the midst of the waters. I watched it attentively, seeking to
find out the nature of this gigantic cetacean. But a sudden thought crossed
my mind. "A vessel!" I said, half aloud.
"Yes," replied the Canadian, "a disabled ship that has sunk
perpendicularly."
Ned Land was right; we were close to a vessel of which the tattered
shrouds still hung from their chains. The keel seemed to be in good order,
and it had been wrecked at most some few hours. Three stumps of masts,
broken off about two feet above the bridge, showed that the vessel had had
to sacrifice its masts. But, lying on its side, it had filled, and it was
heeling over to port. This skeleton of what it had once been was a sad
spectacle as it lay lost under the waves, but sadder still was the sight of
the bridge, where some corpses, bound with ropes, were still lying. I
counted five -- four men, one of whom was standing at the helm, and a woman
standing by the poop, holding an infant in her arms. She was quite young. I
could distinguish her features, which the water had not decomposed, by the
brilliant light from the Nautilus. In one despairing effort, she had raised
her infant above her head -- poor little thing! -- whose arms encircled its
mother's neck. The attitude of the four sailors was frightful, distorted as
they were by their convulsive movements, whilst making a last effort to
free themselves from the cords that bound them to the vessel. The steersman
alone, calm, with a grave, clear face, his grey hair glued to his forehead,
and his hand clutching the wheel of
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the helm, seemed even then to be guiding the three broken masts through the
depths of the ocean.
What a scene! We were dumb; our hearts beat fast before this
shipwreck, taken as it were from life and photographed in its last moments.
And I saw already, coming towards it with hungry eyes, enormous sharks,
attracted by the human flesh.
However, the Nautilus, turning, went round the submerged vessel, and
in one instant I read on the stern -- "The Florida, Sunderland."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.18
VANIKORO
THIS terrible spectacle was the forerunner of the series of maritime
catastrophes that the Nautilus was destined to meet with in its route. As
long as it went through more frequented waters, we often saw the hulls of
shipwrecked vessels that were rotting in the depths, and deeper down
cannons, bullets, anchors, chains, and a thousand other iron materials
eaten up by rust. However, on the 11th of December we sighted the Pomotou
Islands, the old "dangerous group" of Bougainville, that extend over a
space of 500 leagues at E.S.E. to W.N.W., from the Island Ducie to that of
Lazareff. This group covers an area of 370 square leagues, and it is formed
of sixty groups of islands, among which the Gambier group is remarkable,
over which France exercises sway. These are coral islands, slowly raised,
but continuous, created by the daily work of polypi. Then this new island
will be joined later on to the neighboring groups, and a fifth continent
will stretch from New Zealand and New Caledonia, and from thence to the
Marquesas.
One day, when I was suggesting this theory to Captain Nemo, he replied
coldly:
"The earth does not want new continents, but new men."
On 15th of December, we left to the east the bewitching group of the
Societies and the graceful Tahiti, queen of the
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Pacific. I saw in the morning, some miles to the windward, the elevated
summits of the island. These waters furnished our table with excellent
fish, mackerel, bonitos, and some varieties of a sea-serpent.
On the 25th of December the Nautilus sailed into the midst of the New
Hebrides, discovered by Quiros in 1606, and that Bougainville explored in
1768, and to which Cook gave its present name in 1773. This group is
composed principally of nine large islands, that form a band of 120 leagues
N.N.S. to S.S.W., between 15° and 2° S. lat., and 164° and 168° long. We
passed tolerably near to the Island of Aurou, that at noon looked like a
mass of green woods, surmounted by a peak of great height.
That day being Christmas Day, Ned Land seemed to regret sorely the
non-celebration of "Christmas," the family fete of which Protestants are so
fond. I had not seen Captain Nemo for a week, when, on the morning of the
27th, he came into the large drawing-room, always seeming as if he had seen
you five minutes before. I was busily tracing the route of the Nautilus on
the planisphere. The Captain came up to me, put his finger on one spot on
the chart, and said this single word.
"Vanikoro."
The effect was magical! It was the name of the islands on which La
Perouse had been lost! I rose suddenly.
"The Nautilus has brought us to Vanikoro?" I asked.
"Yes, Professor," said the Captain.
"And I can visit the celebrated islands where the Boussole and the
Astrolabe struck?"
"If you like, Professor."
"When shall we be there?"
"We are there now."
Followed by Captain Nemo, I went up on to the platform, and greedily
scanned the horizon.
To the N.E. two volcanic islands emerged of unequal size, surrounded
by a coral reef that measured forty miles in circumference. We were close
to Vanikoro, really the one to which Dumont d'Urville gave the name of Isle
de la Recherche, and exactly facing the little harbour of Vanou,
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situated in 16° 4' S. lat., and 164° 32' E. long. The earth seemed covered
with verdure from the shore to the summits in the interior, that were
crowned by Mount Kapogo, 476 feet high. The Nautilus, having passed the
outer belt of rocks by a narrow strait, found itself among breakers where
the sea was from thirty to forty fathoms deep. Under the verdant shade of
some mangroves I perceived some savages, who appeared greatly surprised at
our approach. In the long black body, moving between wind and water, did
they not see some formidable cetacean that they regarded with suspicion?
Just then Captain Nemo asked me what I knew about the wreck of La
Perouse.
"Only what everyone knows, Captain," I replied.
"And could you tell me what everyone knows about it?" be inquired,
ironically.
"Easily."
I related to him all that the last works of Dumont d'Urville had made
known -- works from which the following is a brief account.
La Perouse, and his second, Captain de Langle, were sent by Louis XVI,
in 1785, on a voyage of circumnavigation. They embarked in the corvettes
Boussole and the Astrolabe, neither of which were again heard of. In 1791,
the French Government, justly uneasy as to the fate of these two sloops,
manned two large merchantmen, the Recherche and the Esperance, which left
Brest the 28th of September under the command of Bruni d'Entrecasteaux.
Two months after, they learned from Bowen, commander of the Albemarle,
that the debris of shipwrecked vessels had been seen on the coasts of New
Georgia. But D'Entrecasteaux, ignoring this communication -- rather
uncertain, besides -- directed his course towards the Admiralty Islands,
mentioned in a report of Captain Hunter's as being the place where La
Perouse was wrecked.
They sought in vain. The Esperance and the Recherche passed before
Vanikoro without stopping there, and, in fact, this voyage was most
disastrous, as it cost D'Entrecasteaux
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his life, and those of two of his lieutenants, besides several of his crew.
Captain Dillon, a shrewd old Pacific sailor, was the first to find
unmistakable traces of the wrecks. On the 15th of May, 1824, his vessel,
the St. Patrick, passed close to Tikopia, one of the New Hebrides. There a
Lascar came alongside in a canoe, sold him the handle of a sword in silver
that bore the print of characters engraved on the hilt. The Lascar
pretended that six years before, during a stay at Vanikoro, he had seen two
Europeans that belonged to some vessels that had run aground on the reefs
some years ago.
Dillon guessed that he meant La Perouse, whose disappearance had
troubled the whole world. He tried to get on to Vanikoro, where, according
to the Lascar, he would find numerous debris of the wreck, but winds and
tides prevented him.
Dillon returned to Calcutta. There he interested the Asiatic Society
and the Indian Company in his discovery. A vessel, to which was given the
name of the Recherche, was put at his disposal, and he set out, 23rd
January, 1827, accompanied by a French agent.
The Recherche, after touching at several points in the Pacific, cast
anchor before Vanikoro, 7th July, 1827, in that same harbour of Vanou where
the Nautilus was at this time.
There it collected numerous relics of the wreck -- iron utensils,
anchors, pulley-strops, swivel-guns, an 18 lb. shot, fragments of
astronomical instruments, a piece of crown- work, and a bronze clock,
bearing this inscription -- "Bazin m'a fait," the mark of the foundry of
the arsenal at Brest about 1785. There could be no further doubt.
Dillon, having made all inquiries, stayed in the unlucky place till
October. Then he quitted Vanikoro, and directed his course towards New
Zealand; put into Calcutta, 7th April, 1828, and returned to France, where
he was warmly welcomed by Charles X.
But at the same time, without knowing Dillon's movements, Dumont
d'Urville had already set out to find the scene of the wreck. And they had
learned from a whaler
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that some medals and a cross of St. Louis had been found in the hands of
some savages of Louisiade and New Caledonia. Dumont d'Urville, commander of
the Astrolabe, had then sailed, and two months after Dillon had left
Vanikoro he put into Hobart Town. There he learned the results of Dillon's
inquiries, and found that a certain James Hobbs, second lieutenant of the
Union of Calcutta, after landing on an island situated 8° 18' S. lat., and
156° 30' E. long., had seen some iron bars and red stuffs used by the
natives of these parts. Dumont d'Urville, much perplexed, and not knowing
how to credit the reports of low-class journals, decided to follow Dillon's
track.
On the 10th of February, 1828, the Astrolabe appeared off Tikopia, and
took as guide and interpreter a deserter found on the island; made his way
to Vanikoro, sighted it on the 12th inst., lay among the reefs until the
14th, and not until the 20th did he cast anchor within the barrier in the
harbour of Vanou.
On the 23rd, several officers went round the island and brought back
some unimportant trifles. The natives, adopting a system of denials and
evasions, refused to take them to the unlucky place. This ambiguous conduct
led them to believe that the natives had ill-treated the castaways, and
indeed they seemed to fear that Dumont d'Urville had come to avenge La
Perouse and his unfortunate crew.
However, on the 26th, appeased by some presents, and understanding
that they had no reprisals to fear, they led M. Jacquireot to the scene of
the wreck.
There, in three or four fathoms of water, between the reefs of Pacou
and Vanou, lay anchors, cannons, pigs of lead and iron, embedded in the
limy concretions. The large boat and the whaler belonging to the Astrolabe
were sent to this place, and, not without some difficulty, their crews
hauled up an anchor weighing 1,800 lbs., a brass gun, some pigs of iron,
and two copper swivel-guns.
Dumont d'Urville, questioning the natives, learned too that La
Perouse, after losing both his vessels on the reefs of this island, had
constructed a smaller boat, only to be lost a second time. Where, no one
knew.
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But the French Government, fearing that Dumont d'Urville was not
acquainted with Dillon's movements, had sent the sloop Bayonnaise,
commanded by Legoarant de Tromelin, to Vanikoro, which had been stationed
on the west coast of America. The Bayonnaise cast her anchor before
Vanikoro some months after the departure of the Astrolabe, but found no new
document; but stated that the savages had respected the monument to La
Perouse. That is the substance of what I told Captain Nemo.
"So," he said, "no one knows now where the third vessel perished that
was constructed by the castaways on the island of Vanikoro?"
"No one knows."
Captain Nemo said nothing, but signed to me to follow him into the
large saloon. The Nautilus sank several yards below the waves, and the
panels were opened.
I hastened to the aperture, and under the crustations of coral,
covered with fungi, I recognised certain debris that the drags had not been
able to tear up -- iron stirrups, anchors, cannons, bullets, capstan
fittings, the stem of a ship, all objects clearly proving the wreck of some
vessel, and now carpeted with living flowers. While I was looking on this
desolate scene, Captain Nemo said, in a sad voice:
"Commander La Perouse set out 7th December, 1785, with his vessels La
Boussole and the Astrolabe. He first cast anchor at Botany Bay, visited the
Friendly Isles, New Caledonia, then directed his course towards Santa Cruz,
and put into Namouka, one of the Hapai group. Then his vessels struck on
the unknown reefs of Vanikoro. The Boussole, which went first, ran aground
on the southerly coast. The Astrolabe went to its help, and ran aground
too. The first vessel was destroyed almost immediately. The second,
stranded under the wind, resisted some days. The natives made the castaways
welcome. They installed themselves in the island, and constructed a smaller
boat with the debris of the two large ones. Some sailors stayed willingly
at Vanikoro; the others, weak and ill, set out with La Perouse. They
directed their course towards the Solomon Islands, and there perished, with
everything, on the westerly coast of the
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chief island of the group, between Capes Deception and Satisfaction."
"How do you know that?"
"By this, that I found on the spot where was the last wreck."
Captain Nemo showed me a tin-plate box, stamped with the French arms,
and corroded by the salt water. He opened it, and I saw a bundle of papers,
yellow but still readable.
They were the instructions of the naval minister to Commander La
Perouse, annotated in the margin in Louis XVI's handwriting.
"Ah! it is a fine death for a sailor!" said Captain Nemo, at last. "A
coral tomb makes a quiet grave; and I trust that I and my comrades will
find no other."
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.19
TORRES STRAITS
DURING the night of the 27th or 28th of December, the Nautilus left
the shores of Vanikoro with great speed. Her course was south-westerly, and
in three days she had gone over the 750 leagues that separated it from La
Perouse's group and the south-east point of Papua.
Early on the 1st of January, 1863, Conseil joined me on the platform.
"Master, will you permit me to wish you a happy New Year?"
"What! Conseil; exactly as if I was at Paris in my study at the Jardin
des Plantes? Well, I accept your good wishes, and thank you for them. Only,
I will ask you what you mean by a 'Happy New Year' under our circumstances?
Do you mean the year that will bring us to the end of our imprisonment, or
the year that sees us continue this strange voyage?"
"Really, I do not know how to answer, master. We are sure to see
curious things, and for the last two months we
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have not had time for dullness. The last marvel is always the most
astonishing; and, if we continue this progression, I do not know how it
will end. It is my opinion that we shall never again see the like. I think
then, with no offence to master, that a happy year would be one in which we
could see everything."
On 2nd January we had made 11,340 miles, or 5,250 French leagues,
since our starting-point in the Japan Seas. Before the ship's head
stretched the dangerous shores of the coral sea, on the north-east coast of
Australia. Our boat lay along some miles from the redoubtable bank on which
Cook's vessel was lost, 10th June, 1770. The boat in which Cook was struck
on a rock, and, if it did not sink, it was owing to a piece of coral that
was broken by the shock, and fixed itself in the broken keel.
I had wished to visit the reef, 360 leagues long, against which the
sea, always rough, broke with great violence, with a noise like thunder.
But just then the inclined planes drew the Nautilus down to a great depth,
and I could see nothing of the high coral walls. I had to content myself
with the different specimens of fish brought up by the nets. I remarked,
among others, some germons, a species of mackerel as large as a tunny, with
bluish sides, and striped with transverse bands, that disappear with the
animal's life. These fish followed us in shoals, and furnished us with very
delicate food. We took also a large number of giltheads, about one and a
half inches long, tasting like dorys; and flying fire-fish like submarine
swallows, which, in dark nights, light alternately the air and water with
their phosphorescent light.
Two days after crossing the coral sea, 4th January, we sighted the
Papuan coasts. On this occasion, Captain Nemo informed me that his
intention was to get into the Indian Ocean by the Strait of Torres. His
communication ended there.
The Torres Straits are nearly thirty-four leagues wide; but they are
obstructed by an innumerable quantity of islands, islets, breakers, and
rocks, that make its navigation almost impracticable; so that Captain Nemo
took all needful precautions to cross them. The Nautilus, floating betwixt
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wind and water, went at a moderate pace. Her screw, like a cetacean's tail,
beat the waves slowly.
Profiting by this, I and my two companions went up on to the deserted
platform. Before us was the steersman's cage, and I expected that Captain
Nemo was there directing the course of the Nautilus. I had before me the
excellent charts of the Straits of Torres, and I consulted them
attentively. Round the Nautilus the sea dashed furiously. The course of the
waves, that went from south-east to north-west at the rate of two and a
half miles, broke on the coral that showed itself here and there.
"This is a bad sea!" remarked Ned Land.
"Detestable indeed, and one that does not suit a boat like the
Nautilus."
"The Captain must be very sure of his route, for I see there pieces of
coral that would do for its keel if it only touched them slightly."
Indeed the situation was dangerous, but the Nautilus seemed to slide
like magic off these rocks. It did not follow the routes of the Astrolabe
and the Zelee exactly, for they proved fatal to Dumont d'Urville. It bore
more northwards, coasted the Islands of Murray, and came back to the
southwest towards Cumberland Passage. I thought it was going to pass it by,
when, going back to north-west, it went through a large quantity of islands
and islets little known, towards the Island Sound and Canal Mauvais.
I wondered if Captain Nemo, foolishly imprudent, would steer his
vessel into that pass where Dumont d'Urville's two corvettes touched; when,
swerving again, and cutting straight through to the west, he steered for
the Island of Gilboa.
It was then three in the afternoon. The tide began to recede, being
quite full. The Nautilus approached the island, that I still saw, with its
remarkable border of screw-pines. He stood off it at about two miles
distant. Suddenly a shock overthrew me. The Nautilus just touched a rock,
and stayed immovable, laying lightly to port side.
When I rose, I perceived Captain Nemo and his lieutenant on the
platform. They were examining the situation
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of the vessel, and exchanging words in their incomprehensible dialect.
She was situated thus: Two miles, on the starboard side, appeared
Gilboa, stretching from north to west like an immense arm. Towards the
south and east some coral showed itself, left by the ebb. We had run
aground, and in one of those seas where the tides are middling -- a sorry
matter for the floating of the Nautilus. However, the vessel had not
suffered, for her keel was solidly joined. But, if she could neither glide
off nor move, she ran the risk of being for ever fastened to these rocks,
and then Captain Nemo's submarine vessel would be done for.
I was reflecting thus, when the Captain, cool and calm, always master
of himself, approached me.
"An accident?" I asked.
"No; an incident."
"But an incident that will oblige you perhaps to become an inhabitant
of this land from which you flee?"
Captain Nemo looked at me curiously, and made a negative gesture, as
much as to say that nothing would force him to set foot on terra firma
again. Then he said:
"Besides, M. Aronnax, the Nautilus is not lost; it will carry you yet
into the midst of the marvels of the ocean. Our voyage is only begun, and I
do not wish to be deprived so soon of the honour of your company."
"However, Captain Nemo," I replied, without noticing the ironical turn
of his phrase, "the Nautilus ran aground in open sea. Now the tides are not
strong in the Pacific; and, if you cannot lighten the Nautilus, I do not
see how it will be reinflated."
"The tides are not strong in the Pacific: you are right there,
Professor; but in Torres Straits one finds still a difference of a yard and
a half between the level of high and low seas. To-day is 4th January, and
in five days the moon will be full. Now, I shall be very much astonished if
that satellite does not raise these masses of water sufficiently, and
render me a service that I should be indebted to her for."
Having said this, Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant,
redescended to the interior of the Nautilus. As to
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the vessel, it moved not, and was immovable, as if the coralline polypi had
already walled it up with their indestructible cement.
"Well, sir?" said Ned Land, who came up to me after the departure of
the Captain.
"Well, friend Ned, we will wait patiently for the tide on the 9th
instant; for it appears that the moon will have the goodness to put it off
again."
"Really?"
"Really."
"And this Captain is not going to cast anchor at all since the tide
will suffice?" said Conseil, simply.
The Canadian looked at Conseil, then shrugged his shoulders.
"Sir, you may believe me when I tell you that this piece of iron will
navigate neither on nor under the sea again; it is only fit to be sold for
its weight. I think, therefore, that the time has come to part company with
Captain Nemo."
"Friend Ned, I do not despair of this stout Nautilus, as you do; and
in four days we shall know what to hold to on the Pacific tides. Besides,
flight might be possible if we were in sight of the English or Provencal
coast; but on the Papuan shores, it is another thing; and it will be time
enough to come to that extremity if the Nautilus does not recover itself
again, which I look upon as a grave event."
"But do they know, at least, how to act circumspectly? There is an
island; on that island there are trees; under those trees, terrestrial
animals, bearers of cutlets and roast- beef, to which I would willingly
give a trial."
"In this, friend Ned is right," said Conseil, "and I agree with him.
Could not master obtain permission from his friend Captain Nemo to put us
on land, if only so as not to lose the habit of treading on the solid parts
of our planet?"
"I can ask him, but he will refuse."
"Will master risk it?" asked Conseil, "and we shall know how to rely
upon the Captain's amiability."
To my great surprise, Captain Nemo gave me the permission I asked for,
and he gave it very agreeably, without
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even exacting from me a promise to return to the vessel; but flight across
New Guinea might be very perilous, and I should not have counselled Ned
Land to attempt it. Better to be a prisoner on board the Nautilus than to
fall into the hands of the natives.
At eight o'clock, armed with guns and hatchets, we got off the
Nautilus. The sea was pretty calm; a slight breeze blew on land. Conseil
and I rowing, we sped along quickly, and Ned steered in the straight
passage that the breakers left between them. The boat was well handled, and
moved rapidly.
Ned Land could not restrain his joy. He was like a prisoner that had
escaped from prison, and knew not that it was necessary to re-enter it.
"Meat! We are going to eat some meat; and what meat!" he replied.
"Real game! no, bread, indeed."
"I do not say that fish is not good; we must not abuse it; but a piece
of fresh venison, grilled on live coals, will agreeably vary our ordinary
course."
"Glutton!" said Conseil, "he makes my mouth water."
"It remains to be seen," I said, "if these forests are full of game,
and if the game is not such as will hunt the hunter himself."
"Well said, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, whose teeth seemed
sharpened like the edge of a hatchet; "but I will eat tiger -- loin of
tiger -- if there is no other quadruped on this island."
"Friend Ned is uneasy about it," said Conseil.
"Whatever it may be," continued Ned Land, "every animal with four paws
without feathers, or with two paws without feathers, will be saluted by my
first shot."
"Very well! Master Land's imprudences are beginning."
"Never fear, M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian; "I do not want
twenty-five minutes to offer you a dish, of my sort."
At half-past eight the Nautilus boat ran softly aground on a heavy
sand, after having happily passed the coral reef that surrounds the Island
of Gilboa.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.20
A FEW DAYS ON LAND
I WAS much impressed on touching land. Ned Land tried the soil with
his feet, as if to take possession of it. However, it was only two months
before that we had become, according to Captain Nemo, "passengers on board
the Nautilus," but, in reality, prisoners of its commander.
In a few minutes we were within musket-shot of the coast. The whole
horizon was hidden behind a beautiful curtain of forests. Enormous trees,
the trunks of which attained a height of 200 feet, were tied to each other
by garlands of bindweed, real natural hammocks, which a light breeze
rocked. They were mimosas, figs, hibisci, and palm trees, mingled together
in profusion; and under the shelter of their verdant vault grew orchids,
leguminous plants, and ferns.
But, without noticing all these beautiful specimens of Papuan flora,
the Canadian abandoned the agreeable for the useful. He discovered a
coco-tree, beat down some of the fruit, broke them, and we drunk the milk
and ate the nut with a satisfaction that protested against the ordinary
food on the Nautilus.
"Excellent!" said Ned Land.
"Exquisite!" replied Conseil.
"And I do not think," said the Canadian, "that he would object to our
introducing a cargo of coco-nuts on board."
"I do not think he would, but he would not taste them."
"So much the worse for him," said Conseil.
"And so much the better for us," replied Ned Land. "There will be more
for us."
"One word only, Master Land," I said to the harpooner, who was
beginning to ravage another coco-nut tree. "Coconuts are good things, but
before filling the canoe with them it would be wise to reconnoitre and see
if the island does not produce some substance not less useful. Fresh
vegetables would be welcome on board the Nautilus."
"Master is right," replied Conseil; "and I propose to
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reserve three places in our vessel, one for fruits, the other for
vegetables, and the third for the venison, of which I have not yet seen the
smallest specimen."
"Conseil, we must not despair," said the Canadian.
"Let us continue," I returned, "and lie in wait. Although the island
seems uninhabited, it might still contain some individuals that would be
less hard than we on the nature of game."
"Ho! ho!" said Ned Land, moving his jaws significantly.
"Well, Ned!" said Conseil.
"My word!" returned the Canadian, "I begin to understand the charms of
anthropophagy."
"Ned! Ned! what are you saying? You, a man-eater? I should not feel
safe with you, especially as I share your cabin. I might perhaps wake one
day to find myself half devoured."
"Friend Conseil, I like you much, but not enough to eat you
unnecessarily."
"I would not trust you," replied Conseil. "But enough. We must
absolutely bring down some game to satisfy this cannibal, or else one of
these fine mornings, master will find only pieces of his servant to serve
him."
While we were talking thus, we were penetrating the sombre arches of
the forest, and for two hours we surveyed it in all directions.
Chance rewarded our search for eatable vegetables, and one of the most
useful products of the tropical zones furnished us with precious food that
we missed on board. I would speak of the bread-fruit tree, very abundant in
the island of Gilboa; and I remarked chiefly the variety destitute of
seeds, which bears in Malaya the name of "rima."
Ned Land knew these fruits well. He had already eaten many during his
numerous voyages, and he knew how to prepare the eatable substance.
Moreover, the sight of them excited him, and he could contain himself no
longer.
"Master," he said, "I shall die if I do not taste a little of this
bread-fruit pie."
"Taste it, friend Ned -- taste it as you want. We are here to make
experiments -- make them."
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"It won't take long," said the Canadian.
And, provided with a lentil, he lighted a fire of dead wood that
crackled joyously. During this time, Conseil and I chose the best fruits of
the bread-fruit. Some had not then attained a sufficient degree of
maturity; and their thick skin covered a white but rather fibrous pulp.
Others, the greater number yellow and gelatinous, waited only to be picked.
These fruits enclosed no kernel. Conseil brought a dozen to Ned Land,
who placed them on a coal fire, after having cut them in thick slices, and
while doing this repeating:
"You will see, master, how good this bread is. More so when one has
been deprived of it so long. It is not even bread," added he, "but a
delicate pastry. You have eaten none, master?"
"No, Ned."
"Very well, prepare yourself for a juicy thing. If you do not come for
more, I am no longer the king of harpooners."
After some minutes, the part of the fruits that was exposed to the
fire was completely roasted. The interior looked like a white pasty, a sort
of soft crumb, the flavour of which was like that of an artichoke.
It must be confessed this bread was excellent, and I ate of it with
great relish.
"What time is it now?" asked the Canadian.
"Two o'clock at least," replied Conseil.
"How time flies on firm ground!" sighed Ned Land.
"Let us be off," replied Conseil.
We returned through the forest, and completed our collection by a raid
upon the cabbage-palms, that we gathered from the tops of the trees, little
beans that I recognised as the "abrou" of the Malays, and yams of a
superior quality.
We were loaded when we reached the boat. But Ned Land did not find his
provisions sufficient. Fate, however, favoured us. Just as we were pushing
off, he perceived several trees, from twenty-five to thirty feet high, a
species of palm-tree.
At last, at five o'clock in the evening, loaded with our riches, we
quitted the shore, and half an hour after we hailed
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the Nautilus. No one appeared on our arrival. The enormous iron-plated
cylinder seemed deserted. The provisions embarked, I descended to my
chamber, and after supper slept soundly.
The next day, 6th January, nothing new on board. Not a sound inside,
not a sign of life. The boat rested along the edge, in the same place in
which we had left it. We resolved to return to the island. Ned Land hoped
to be more fortunate than on the day before with regard to the hunt, and
wished to visit another part of the forest.
At dawn we set off. The boat, carried on by the waves that flowed to
shore, reached the island in a few minutes.
We landed, and, thinking that it was better to give in to the
Canadian, we followed Ned Land, whose long limbs threatened to distance us.
He wound up the coast towards the west: then, fording some torrents, he
gained the high plain that was bordered with admirable forests. Some
kingfishers were rambling along the water-courses, but they would not let
themselves be approached. Their circumspection proved to me that these
birds knew what to expect from bipeds of our species, and I concluded that,
if the island was not inhabited, at least human beings occasionally
frequented it.
After crossing a rather large prairie, we arrived at the skirts of a
little wood that was enlivened by the songs and flight of a large number of
birds.
"There are only birds," said Conseil.
"But they are eatable," replied the harpooner.
"I do not agree with you, friend Ned, for I see only parrots there."
"Friend Conseil," said Ned, gravely, "the parrot is like pheasant to
those who have nothing else."
"And," I added, "this bird, suitably prepared, is worth knife and
fork."
Indeed, under the thick foliage of this wood, a world of parrots were
flying from branch to branch, only needing a careful education to speak the
human language. For the moment, they were chattering with parrots of all
colours, and grave cockatoos, who seemed to meditate upon some
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philosophical problem, whilst brilliant red lories passed like a piece of
bunting carried away by the breeze, papuans, with the finest azure colours,
and in all a variety of winged things most charming to behold, but few
eatable.
However, a bird peculiar to these lands, and which has never passed
the limits of the Arrow and Papuan islands, was wanting in this collection.
But fortune reserved it for me before long.
After passing through a moderately thick copse, we found a plain
obstructed with bushes. I saw then those magnificent birds, the disposition
of whose long feathers obliges them to fly against the wind. Their
undulating flight, graceful aerial curves, and the shading of their
colours, attracted and charmed one's looks. I had no trouble in recognising
them.
"Birds of paradise!" I exclaimed.
The Malays, who carry on a great trade in these birds with the
Chinese, have several means that we could not employ for taking them.
Sometimes they put snares on the top of high trees that the birds of
paradise prefer to frequent. Sometimes they catch them with a viscous
birdlime that paralyses their movements. They even go so far as to poison
the fountains that the birds generally drink from. But we were obliged to
fire at them during flight, which gave us few chances to bring them down;
and, indeed, we vainly exhausted one half our ammunition.
About eleven o'clock in the morning, the first range of mountains that
form the centre of the island was traversed, and we had killed nothing.
Hunger drove us on. The hunters had relied on the products of the chase,
and they were wrong. Happily Conseil, to his great surprise, made a double
shot and secured breakfast. He brought down a white pigeon and a
wood-pigeon, which, cleverly plucked and suspended from a skewer, was
roasted before a red fire of dead wood. While these interesting birds were
cooking, Ned prepared the fruit of the bread-tree. Then the wood-pigeons
were devoured to the bones, and declared excellent. The nutmeg, with which
they are in the habit of stuffing their crops, flavours their flesh and
renders it delicious eating.
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"Now, Ned, what do you miss now?"
"Some four-footed game, M. Aronnax. All these pigeons are only
side-dishes and trifles; and until I have killed an animal with cutlets I
shall not be content."
"Nor I, Ned, if I do not catch a bird of paradise."
"Let us continue hunting," replied Conseil. "Let us go towards the
sea. We have arrived at the first declivities of the mountains, and I think
we had better regain the region of forests."
That was sensible advice, and was followed out. After walking for one
hour we had attained a forest of sago-trees. Some inoffensive serpents
glided away from us. The birds of paradise fled at our approach, and truly
I despaired of getting near one when Conseil, who was walking in front,
suddenly bent down, uttered a triumphal cry, and came back to me bringing a
magnificent specimen.
"Ah! bravo, Conseil!"
"Master is very good."
"No, my boy; you have made an excellent stroke. Take one of these
living birds, and carry it in your hand."
"If master will examine it, he will see that I have not deserved great
merit."
"Why, Conseil?"
"Because this bird is as drunk as a quail."
"Drunk!"
"Yes, sir; drunk with the nutmegs that it devoured under the
nutmeg-tree, under which I found it. See, friend Ned, see the monstrous
effects of intemperance!"
"By Jove!" exclaimed the Canadian, "because I have drunk gin for two
months, you must needs reproach me!"
However, I examined the curious bird. Conseil was right. The bird,
drunk with the juice, was quite powerless. It could not fly; it could
hardly walk.
This bird belonged to the most beautiful of the eight species that are
found in Papua and in the neighbouring islands. It was the "large emerald
bird, the most rare kind." It measured three feet in length. Its head was
comparatively small, its eyes placed near the opening of the beak, and also
small. But the shades of colour were beautiful, having
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a yellow beak, brown feet and claws, nut-coloured wings with purple tips,
pale yellow at the back of the neck and head, and emerald colour at the
throat, chestnut on the breast and belly. Two horned, downy nets rose from
below the tail, that prolonged the long light feathers of admirable
fineness, and they completed the whole of this marvellous bird, that the
natives have poetically named the "bird of the sun."
But if my wishes were satisfied by the possession of the bird of
paradise, the Canadian's were not yet. Happily, about two o'clock, Ned Land
brought down a magnificent hog; from the brood of those the natives call
"bari-outang." The animal came in time for us to procure real quadruped
meat, and he was well received. Ned Land was very proud of his shot. The
hog, hit by the electric ball, fell stone dead. The Canadian skinned and
cleaned it properly, after having taken half a dozen cutlets, destined to
furnish us with a grilled repast in the evening. Then the hunt was resumed,
which was still more marked by Ned and Conseil's exploits.
Indeed, the two friends, beating the bushes, roused a herd of
kangaroos that fled and bounded along on their elastic paws. But these
animals did not take to flight so rapidly but what the electric capsule
could stop their course.
"Ah, Professor!" cried Ned Land, who was carried away by the delights
of the chase, "what excellent game, and stewed, too! What a supply for the
Nautilus! Two! three! five down! And to think that we shall eat that flesh,
and that the idiots on board shall not have a crumb!"
I think that, in the excess of his joy, the Canadian, if he had not
talked so much, would have killed them all. But he contented himself with a
single dozen of these interesting marsupians. These animals were small.
They were a species of those "kangaroo rabbits" that live habitually in the
hollows of trees, and whose speed is extreme; but they are moderately fat,
and furnish, at least, estimable food. We were very satisfied with the
results of the hunt. Happy Ned proposed to return to this enchanting island
the next day, for he wished to depopulate it of all the eatable quadrupeds.
But he had reckoned without his host.
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At six o'clock in the evening we had regained the shore; our boat was
moored to the usual place. The Nautilus, like a long rock, emerged from the
waves two miles from the beach. Ned Land, without waiting, occupied himself
about the important dinner business. He understood all about cooking well.
The "bari-outang," grilled on the coals, soon scented the air with a
delicious odour.
Indeed, the dinner was excellent. Two wood-pigeons completed this
extraordinary menu. The sago pasty, the artocarpus bread, some mangoes,
half a dozen pineapples, and the liquor fermented from some coco-nuts,
overjoyed us. I even think that my worthy companions' ideas had not all the
plainness desirable.
"Suppose we do not return to the Nautilus this evening?" said Conseil.
"Suppose we never return?" added Ned Land.
Just then a stone fell at our feet and cut short the harpooner's
proposition.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.21
CAPTAIN NEMO'S THUNDERBOLT
WE LOOKED at the edge of the forest without rising, my hand stopping
in the action of putting it to my mouth, Ned Land's completing its office.
"Stones do not fall from the sky," remarked Conseil, "or they would
merit the name aerolites."
A second stone, carefully aimed, that made a savoury pigeon's leg fall
from Conseil's hand, gave still more weight to his observation. We all
three arose, shouldered our guns, and were ready to reply to any attack.
"Are they apes?" cried Ned Land.
"Very nearly -- they are savages."
"To the boat!" I said, hurrying to the sea.
It was indeed necessary to beat a retreat, for about twenty natives
armed with bows and slings appeared on the skirts
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of a copse that masked the horizon to the right, hardly a hundred steps
from us.
Our boat was moored about sixty feet from us. The savages approached
us, not running, but making hostile demonstrations. Stones and arrows fell
thickly.
Ned Land had not wished to leave his provisions; and, in spite of his
imminent danger, his pig on one side and kangaroos on the other, he went
tolerably fast. In two minutes we were on the shore. To load the boat with
provisions and arms, to push it out to sea, and ship the oars, was the work
of an instant. We had not gone two cable-lengths, when a hundred savages,
howling and gesticulating, entered the water up to their waists. I watched
to see if their apparition would attract some men from the Nautilus on to
the platform. But no. The enormous machine, lying off, was absolutely
deserted.
Twenty minutes later we were on board. The panels were open. After
making the boat fast, we entered into the interior of the Nautilus.
I descended to the drawing-room, from whence I heard some chords.
Captain Nemo was there, bending over his organ, and plunged in a musical
ecstasy.
"Captain!"
He did not hear me.
"Captain!" I said, touching his hand.
He shuddered, and, turning round, said, "Ah! it is you, Professor?
Well, have you had a good hunt, have you botanised successfully?"
"Yes Captain; but we have unfortunately brought a troop of bipeds,
whose vicinity troubles me."
"What bipeds?"
"Savages."
"Savages!" he echoed, ironically. "So you are astonished, Professor,
at having set foot on a strange land and finding savages? Savages! where
are there not any? Besides, are they worse than others, these whom you call
savages?"
"But Captain -- "
"How many have you counted?"
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"A hundred at least."
"M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, placing his fingers on the organ
stops, "when all the natives of Papua are assembled on this shore, the
Nautilus will have nothing to fear from their attacks."
The Captain's fingers were then running over the keys of the
instrument, and I remarked that he touched only the black keys, which gave
his melodies an essentially Scotch character. Soon he had forgotten my
presence, and had plunged into a reverie that I did not disturb. I went up
again on to the platform: night had already fallen; for, in this low
latitude, the sun sets rapidly and without twilight. I could only see the
island indistinctly; but the numerous fires, lighted on the beach, showed
that the natives did not think of leaving it. I was alone for several
hours, sometimes thinking of the natives -- but without any dread of them,
for the imperturbable confidence of the Captain was catching -- sometimes
forgetting them to admire the splendours of the night in the tropics. My
remembrances went to France in the train of those zodiacal stars that would
shine in some hours' time. The moon shone in the midst of the
constellations of the zenith.
The night slipped away without any mischance, the islanders frightened
no doubt at the sight of a monster aground in the bay. The panels were
open, and would have offered an easy access to the interior of the
Nautilus.
At six o'clock in the morning of the 8th January I went up on to the
platform. The dawn was breaking. The island soon showed itself through the
dissipating fogs, first the shore, then the summits.
The natives were there, more numerous than on the day before -- five
or six hundred perhaps -- some of them, profiting by the low water, had
come on to the coral, at less than two cable-lengths from the Nautilus. I
distinguished them easily; they were true Papuans, with athletic figures,
men of good race, large high foreheads, large, but not broad and flat, and
white teeth. Their woolly hair, with a reddish tinge, showed off on their
black shining bodies like those of
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the Nubians. From the lobes of their ears, cut and distended, hung chaplets
of bones. Most of these savages were naked. Amongst them, I remarked some
women, dressed from the hips to knees in quite a crinoline of herbs, that
sustained a vegetable waistband. Some chiefs had ornamented their necks
with a crescent and collars of glass beads, red and white; nearly all were
armed with bows, arrows, and shields and carried on their shoulders a sort
of net containing those round stones which they cast from their slings with
great skill. One of these chiefs, rather near to the Nautilus, examined it
attentively. He was, perhaps, a "mado" of high rank, for he was draped in a
mat of banana-leaves, notched round the edges, and set off with brilliant
colours.
I could easily have knocked down this native, who was within a short
length; but I thought that it was better to wait for real hostile
demonstrations. Between Europeans and savages, it is proper for the
Europeans to parry sharply, not to attack.
During low water the natives roamed about near the Nautilus, but were
not troublesome; I heard them frequently repeat the word "Assai," and by
their gestures I understood that they invited me to go on land, an
invitation that I declined.
So that, on that day, the boat did not push off, to the great
displeasure of Master Land, who could not complete his provisions.
This adroit Canadian employed his time in preparing the viands and
meat that he had brought off the island. As for the savages, they returned
to the shore about eleven o'clock in the morning, as soon as the coral tops
began to disappear under the rising tide; but I saw their numbers had
increased considerably on the shore. Probably they came from the
neighbouring islands, or very likely from Papua. However, I had not seen a
single native canoe. Having nothing better to do, I thought of dragging
these beautiful limpid waters, under which I saw a profusion of shells,
zoophytes, and marine plants. Moreover, it was the last day that the
Nautilus would pass in these parts, if it float
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in open sea the next day, according to Captain Nemo's promise.
I therefore called Conseil, who brought me a little light drag, very
like those for the oyster fishery. Now to work! For two hours we fished
unceasingly, but without bringing up any rarities. The drag was filled with
midas-ears, harps, melames, and particularly the most beautiful hammers I
have ever seen. We also brought up some sea-slugs, pearl- oysters, and a
dozen little turtles that were reserved for the pantry on board.
But just when I expected it least, I put my hand on a wonder, I might
say a natural deformity, very rarely met with. Conseil was just dragging,
and his net came up filled with divers ordinary shells, when, all at once,
he saw me plunge my arm quickly into the net, to draw out a shell, and
heard me utter a cry.
"What is the matter, sir?" he asked in surprise. "Has master been
bitten?"
"No, my boy; but I would willingly have given a finger for my
discovery."
"What discovery?"
"This shell," I said, holding up the object of my triumph.
"It is simply an olive porphyry."
"Yes, Conseil; but, instead of being rolled from right to left, this
olive turns from left to right."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, my boy; it is a left shell."
Shells are all right-handed, with rare exceptions; and, when by chance
their spiral is left, amateurs are ready to pay their weight in gold.
Conseil and I were absorbed in the contemplation of our treasure, and
I was promising myself to enrich the museum with it, when a stone
unfortunately thrown by a native struck against, and broke, the precious
object in Conseil's hand. I uttered a cry of despair! Conseil took up his
gun, and aimed at a savage who was poising his sling at ten yards from him.
I would have stopped him, but his blow took effect and broke the bracelet
of amulets which encircled the arm of the savage.
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"Conseil!" cried I. "Conseil!"
"Well, sir! do you not see that the cannibal has commenced the
attack?"
"A shell is not worth the life of a man," said I.
"Ah! the scoundrel!" cried Conseil; "I would rather he had broken my
shoulder!"
Conseil was in earnest, but I was not of his opinion. However, the
situation had changed some minutes before, and we had not perceived. A
score of canoes surrounded the Nautilus. These canoes, scooped out of the
trunk of a tree, long, narrow, well adapted for speed, were balanced by
means of a long bamboo pole, which floated on the water. They were managed
by skilful, half-naked paddlers, and I watched their advance with some
uneasiness. It was evident that these Papuans had already had dealings with
the Europeans and knew their ships. But this long iron cylinder anchored in
the bay, without masts or chimneys, what could they think of it? Nothing
good, for at first they kept at a respectful distance. However, seeing it
motionless, by degrees they took courage, and sought to familiarise
themselves with it. Now this familiarity was precisely what it was
necessary to avoid. Our arms, which were noiseless, could only produce a
moderate effect on the savages, who have little respect for aught but
blustering things. The thunderbolt without the reverberations of thunder
would frighten man but little, though the danger lies in the lightning, not
in the noise.
At this moment the canoes approached the Nautilus, and a shower of
arrows alighted on her.
I went down to the saloon, but found no one there. I ventured to knock
at the door that opened into the Captain's room. "Come in," was the answer.
I entered, and found Captain Nemo deep in algebraical calculations of
x and other quantities.
"I am disturbing you," said I, for courtesy's sake.
"That is true, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain; "but I think you have
serious reasons for wishing to see me?"
"Very grave ones; the natives are surrounding us in their
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canoes, and in a few minutes we shall certainly be attacked by many
hundreds of savages."
"Ah!," said Captain Nemo quietly, "they are come with their canoes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, sir, we must close the hatches."
"Exactly, and I came to say to you -- "
"Nothing can be more simple," said Captain Nemo. And, pressing an
electric button, he transmitted an order to the ship's crew.
"It is all done, sir," said he, after some moments. "The pinnace is
ready, and the hatches are closed. You do not fear, I imagine, that these
gentlemen could stave in walls on which the balls of your frigate have had
no effect?"
"No, Captain; but a danger still exists."
"What is that, sir?"
"It is that to-morrow, at about this hour, we must open the hatches to
renew the air of the Nautilus. Now, if, at this moment, the Papuans should
occupy the platform, I do not see how you could prevent them from
entering."
"Then, sir, you suppose that they will board us?"
"I am certain of it."
"Well, sir, let them come. I see no reason for hindering them. After
all, these Papuans are poor creatures, and I am unwilling that my visit to
the island should cost the life of a single one of these wretches."
Upon that I was going away; But Captain Nemo detained me, and asked me
to sit down by him. He questioned me with interest about our excursions on
shore, and our hunting; and seemed not to understand the craving for meat
that possessed the Canadian. Then the conversation turned on various
subjects, and, without being more communicative, Captain Nemo showed
himself more amiable.
Amongst other things, we happened to speak of the situation of the
Nautilus, run aground in exactly the same spot in this strait where Dumont
d'Urville was nearly lost. Apropos of this:
"This D'Urville was one of your great sailors," said the
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Captain to me, "one of your most intelligent navigators. He is the Captain
Cook of you Frenchmen. Unfortunate man of science, after having braved the
icebergs of the South Pole, the coral reefs of Oceania, the cannibals of
the Pacific, to perish miserably in a railway train! If this energetic man
could have reflected during the last moments of his life, what must have
been uppermost in his last thoughts, do you suppose?"
So speaking, Captain Nemo seemed moved, and his emotion gave me a
better opinion of him. Then, chart in hand, we reviewed the travels of the
French navigator, his voyages of circumnavigation, his double detention at
the South Pole, which led to the discovery of Adelaide and Louis Philippe,
and fixing the hydrographical bearings of the principal islands of Oceania.
"That which your D'Urville has done on the surface of the seas," said
Captain Nemo, "that have I done under them, and more easily, more
completely than he. The Astrolabe and the Zelee, incessantly tossed about
by the hurricane, could not be worth the Nautilus, quiet repository of
labour that she is, truly motionless in the midst of the waters.
"To-morrow," added the Captain, rising, "to-morrow, at twenty minutes
to three p.m., the Nautilus shall float, and leave the Strait of Torres
uninjured."
Having curtly pronounced these words, Captain Nemo bowed slightly.
This was to dismiss me, and I went back to my room.
There I found Conseil, who wished to know the result of my interview
with the Captain.
"My boy," said I, "when I feigned to believe that his Nautilus was
threatened by the natives of Papua, the Captain answered me very
sarcastically. I have but one thing to say to you: Have confidence in him,
and go to sleep in peace."
"Have you no need of my services, sir?"
"No, my friend. What is Ned Land doing?"
"If you will excuse me, sir," answered Conseil, "friend Ned is busy
making a kangaroo-pie which will be a marvel."
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I remained alone and went to bed, but slept indifferently. I heard the
noise of the savages, who stamped on the platform, uttering deafening
cries. The night passed thus, without disturbing the ordinary repose of the
crew. The presence of these cannibals affected them no more than the
soldiers of a masked battery care for the ants that crawl over its front.
At six in the morning I rose. The hatches had not been opened. The
inner air was not renewed, but the reservoirs, filled ready for any
emergency, were now resorted to, and discharged several cubic feet of
oxygen into the exhausted atmosphere of the Nautilus.
I worked in my room till noon, without having seen Captain Nemo, even
for an instant. On board no preparations for departure were visible.
I waited still some time, then went into the large saloon. The clock
marked half-past two. In ten minutes it would be high-tide: and, if Captain
Nemo had not made a rash promise, the Nautilus would be immediately
detached. If not, many months would pass ere she could leave her bed of
coral.
However, some warning vibrations began to be felt in the vessel. I
heard the keel grating against the rough calcareous bottom of the coral
reef.
At five-and-twenty minutes to three, Captain Nemo appeared in the
saloon.
"We are going to start," said he.
"Ah!" replied I.
"I have given the order to open the hatches."
"And the Papuans?"
"The Papuans?" answered Captain Nemo, slightly shrugging his
shoulders.
"Will they not come inside the Nautilus?"
"How?"
"Only by leaping over the hatches you have opened."
"M. Aronnax," quietly answered Captain Nemo, "they will not enter the
hatches of the Nautilus in that way, even if they were open."
I looked at the Captain.
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"You do not understand?" said he.
"Hardly."
"Well, come and you will see."
I directed my steps towards the central staircase. There Ned Land and
Conseil were slyly watching some of the ship's crew, who were opening the
hatches, while cries of rage and fearful vociferations resounded outside.
The port lids were pulled down outside. Twenty horrible faces
appeared. But the first native who placed his hand on the stair-rail,
struck from behind by some invisible force, I know not what, fled, uttering
the most fearful cries and making the wildest contortions.
Ten of his companions followed him. They met with the same fate.
Conseil was in ecstasy. Ned Land, carried away by his violent
instincts, rushed on to the staircase. But the moment he seized the rail
with both hands, he, in his turn, was overthrown.
"I am struck by a thunderbolt," cried he, with an oath.
This explained all. It was no rail; but a metallic cable charged with
electricity from the deck communicating with the platform. Whoever touched
it felt a powerful shock -- and this shock would have been mortal if
Captain Nemo had discharged into the conductor the whole force of the
current. It might truly be said that between his assailants and himself he
had stretched a network of electricity which none could pass with impunity.
Meanwhile, the exasperated Papuans bad beaten a retreat paralysed with
terror. As for us, half laughing, we consoled and rubbed the unfortunate
Ned Land, who swore like one possessed.
But at this moment the Nautilus, raised by the last waves of the tide,
quitted her coral bed exactly at the fortieth minute fixed by the Captain.
Her screw swept the waters slowly and majestically. Her speed increased
gradually, and, sailing on the surface of the ocean, she quitted safe and
sound the dangerous passes of the Straits of Torres.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.22
"AEGRI SOMNIA"
THE following day 10th January, the Nautilus continued her course
between two seas, but with such remarkable speed that I could not estimate
it at less than thirty-five miles an hour. The rapidity of her screw was
such that I could neither follow nor count its revolutions. When I
reflected that this marvellous electric agent, after having afforded
motion, heat, and light to the Nautilus, still protected her from outward
attack, and transformed her into an ark of safety which no profane hand
might touch without being thunderstricken, my admiration was unbounded, and
from the structure it extended to the engineer who had called it into
existence.
Our course was directed to the west, and on the 11th of January we
doubled Cape Wessel, situation in 135° long. and 10° S. lat., which forms
the east point of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The reefs were still numerous,
but more equalised, and marked on the chart with extreme precision. The
Nautilus easily avoided the breakers of Money to port and the Victoria
reefs to starboard, placed at 130° long. and on the 10th parallel, which we
strictly followed.
On the 13th of January, Captain Nemo arrived in the Sea of Timor, and
recognised the island of that name in 122° long.
From this point the direction of the Nautilus inclined towards the
south-west. Her head was set for the Indian Ocean. Where would the fancy of
Captain Nemo carry us next? Would he return to the coast of Asia or would
he approach again the shores of Europe? Improbable conjectures both, to a
man who fled from inhabited continents. Then would he descend to the south?
Was he going to double the Cape of Good Hope, then Cape Horn, and finally
go as far as the Antarctic pole? Would he come back at last to the Pacific,
where his Nautilus could sail free and independently? Time would show.
After having skirted the sands of Cartier, of Hibernia,
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Seringapatam, and Scott, last efforts of the solid against the liquid
element, on the 14th of January we lost sight of land altogether. The speed
of the Nautilus was considerably abated, and with irregular course she
sometimes swam in the bosom of the waters, sometimes floated on their
surface.
During this period of the voyage, Captain Nemo made some interesting
experiments on the varied temperature of the sea, in different beds. Under
ordinary conditions these observations are made by means of rather
complicated instruments, and with somewhat doubtful results, by means of
thermometrical sounding-leads, the glasses often breaking under the
pressure of the water, or an apparatus grounded on the variations of the
resistance of metals to the electric currents. Results so obtained could
not be correctly calculated. On the contrary, Captain Nemo went himself to
test the temperature in the depths of the sea, and his thermometer, placed
in communication with the different sheets of water, gave him the required
degree immediately and accurately.
It was thus that, either by overloading her reservoirs or by
descending obliquely by means of her inclined planes, the Nautilus
successively attained the depth of three, four, five, seven, nine, and ten
thousand yards, and the definite result of this experience was that the sea
preserved an average temperature of four degrees and a half at a depth of
five thousand fathoms under all latitudes.
On the 16th of January, the Nautilus seemed becalmed only a few yards
beneath the surface of the waves. Her electric apparatus remained inactive
and her motionless screw left her to drift at the mercy of the currents. I
supposed that the crew was occupied with interior repairs, rendered
necessary by the violence of the mechanical movements of the machine.
My companions and I then witnessed a curious spectacle. The hatches of
the saloon were open, and, as the beacon- light of the Nautilus was not in
action, a dim obscurity reigned in the midst of the waters. I observed the
state of the sea, under these conditions, and the largest fish appeared to
me no more than scarcely defined shadows, when the Nautilus
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found herself suddenly transported into full light. I thought at first that
the beacon had been lighted, and was casting its electric radiance into the
liquid mass. I was mistaken, and after a rapid survey perceived my error.
The Nautilus floated in the midst of a phosphorescent bed which, in
this obscurity, became quite dazzling. It was produced by myriads of
luminous animalculae, whose brilliancy was increased as they glided over
the metallic hull of the vessel. I was surprised by lightning in the midst
of these luminous sheets, as though they bad been rivulets of lead melted
in an ardent furnace or metallic masses brought to a white heat, so that,
by force of contrast, certain portions of light appeared to cast a shade in
the midst of the general ignition, from which all shade seemed banished.
No; this was not the calm irradiation of our ordinary lightning. There was
unusual life and vigour: this was truly living light!
In reality, it was an infinite agglomeration of coloured infusoria, of
veritable globules of jelly, provided with a threadlike tentacle, and of
which as many as twenty-five thousand have been counted in less than two
cubic half- inches of water.
During several hours the Nautilus floated in these brilliant waves,
and our admiration increased as we watched the marine monsters disporting
themselves like salamanders. I saw there in the midst of this fire that
burns not the swift and elegant porpoise (the indefatigable clown of the
ocean), and some swordfish ten feet long, those prophetic heralds of the
hurricane whose formidable sword would now and then strike the glass of the
saloon. Then appeared the smaller fish, the balista, the leaping mackerel,
wolf-thorn- tails, and a hundred others which striped the luminous
atmosphere as they swam. This dazzling spectacle was enchanting! Perhaps
some atmospheric condition increased the intensity of this phenomenon.
Perhaps some storm agitated the surface of the waves. But at this depth of
some yards, the Nautilus was unmoved by its fury and reposed peacefully in
still water.
So we progressed, incessantly charmed by some new marvel. The days
passed rapidly away, and I took no account
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of them. Ned, according to habit, tried to vary the diet on board. Like
snails, we were fixed to our shells, and I declare it is easy to lead a
snail's life.
Thus this life seemed easy and natural, and we thought no longer of
the life we led on land; but something happened to recall us to the
strangeness of our situation.
On the 18th of January, the Nautilus was in 105° long. and 15° S. lat.
The weather was threatening, the sea rough and rolling. There was a strong
east wind. The barometer, which had been going down for some days,
foreboded a coming storm. I went up on to the platform just as the second
lieutenant was taking the measure of the horary angles, and waited,
according to habit till the daily phrase was said. But on this day it was
exchanged for another phrase not less incomprehensible. Almost directly, I
saw Captain Nemo appear with a glass, looking towards the horizon.
For some minutes be was immovable, without taking his eye off the
point of observation. Then he lowered his glass and exchanged a few words
with his lieutenant. The latter seemed to be a victim to some emotion that
he tried in vain to repress. Captain Nemo, having more command over
himself, was cool. He seemed, too, to be making some objections to which
the lieutenant replied by formal assurances. At least I concluded so by the
difference of their tones and gestures. For myself, I had looked carefully
in the direction indicated without seeing anything. The sky and water were
lost in the clear line of the horizon.
However, Captain Nemo walked from one end of the platform to the
other, without looking at me, perhaps without seeing me. His step was firm,
but less regular than usual. He stopped sometimes, crossed his arms, and
observed the sea. What could he be looking for on that immense expanse?
The Nautilus was then some hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.
The lieutenant had taken up the glass and examined the horizon
steadfastly, going and coming, stamping his foot and showing more nervous
agitation than his superior officer. Beside, this mystery must necessarily
be solved, and before
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long; for, upon an order from Captain Nemo, the engine, increasing its
propelling power, made the screw turn more rapidly.
Just then the lieutenant drew the Captain's attention again. The
latter stopped walking and directed his glass towards the place indicated.
He looked long. I felt very much puzzled, and descended to the
drawing-room, and took out an excellent telescope that I generally used.
Then, leaning on the cage of the watch-light that jutted out from the front
of the platform, set myself to look over all the line of the sky and sea.
But my eye was no sooner applied to the glass than it was quickly
snatched out of my hands.
I turned round. Captain Nemo was before me, but I did not know him.
His face was transfigured. His eyes flashed sullenly; his teeth were set;
his stiff body, clenched fists, and head shrunk between his shoulders,
betrayed the violent agitation that pervaded his whole frame. He did not
move. My glass, fallen from his hands, had rolled at his feet.
Had I unwittingly provoked this fit of anger? Did this
incomprehensible person imagine that I had discovered some forbidden
secret? No; I was not the object of this hatred, for he was not looking at
me; his eye was steadily fixed upon the impenetrable point of the horizon.
At last Captain Nemo recovered himself. His agitation subsided. He
addressed some words in a foreign language to his lieutenant, then turned
to me. "M. Aronnax," he said, in rather an imperious tone, "I require you
to keep one of the conditions that bind you to me."
"What is it, Captain?"
"You must be confined, with your companions, until I think fit to
release you."
"You are the master," I replied, looking steadily at him. "But may I
ask you one question?"
"None, sir."
There was no resisting this imperious command, it would have been
useless. I went down to the cabin occupied by Ned Land and Conseil, and
told them the Captain's determination.
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You may judge how this communication was received by the Canadian.
But there was not time for altercation. Four of the crew waited at the
door, and conducted us to that cell where we had passed our first night on
board the Nautilus.
Ned Land would have remonstrated, but the door was shut upon him.
"Will master tell me what this means?" asked Conseil.
I told my companions what had passed. They were as much astonished as
I, and equally at a loss how to account for it.
Meanwhile, I was absorbed in my own reflections, and could think of
nothing but the strange fear depicted in the Captain's countenance. I was
utterly at a loss to account for it, when my cogitations were disturbed by
these words from Ned Land:
"Hallo! breakfast is ready."
And indeed the table was laid. Evidently Captain Nemo had given this
order at the same time that he had hastened the speed of the Nautilus.
"Will master permit me to make a recommendation?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy."
"Well, it is that master breakfasts. It is prudent, for we do not know
what may happen."
"You are right, Conseil."
"Unfortunately," said Ned Land, "they have only given us the ship's
fare."
"Friend Ned," asked Conseil, "what would you have said if the
breakfast had been entirely forgotten?"
This argument cut short the harpooner's recriminations.
We sat down to table. The meal was eaten in silence.
Just then the luminous globe that lighted the cell went out, and left
us in total darkness. Ned Land was soon asleep, and what astonished me was
that Conseil went off into a heavy slumber. I was thinking what could have
caused his irresistible drowsiness, when I felt my brain becoming
stupefied. In spite of my efforts to keep my eyes open, they would close. A
painful suspicion seized me. Evidently
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soporific substances had been mixed with the food we had just taken.
Imprisonment was not enough to conceal Captain Nemo's projects from us,
sleep was more necessary. I then heard the panels shut. The undulations of
the sea, which caused a slight rolling motion, ceased. Had the Nautilus
quitted the surface of the ocean? Had it gone back to the motionless bed of
water? I tried to resist sleep. It was impossible. My breathing grew weak.
I felt a mortal cold freeze my stiffened and half-paralysed limbs. My
eyelids, like leaden caps, fell over my eyes. I could not raise them; a
morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, bereft me of my being. Then the
visions disappeared, and left me in complete insensibility.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 1.23
THE CORAL KINGDOM
THE next day I woke with my head singularly clear. To my great
surprise, I was in my own room. My companions, no doubt, had been
reinstated in their cabin, without having perceived it any more than I. Of
what had passed during the night they were as ignorant as I was, and to
penetrate this mystery I only reckoned upon the chances of the future.
I then thought of quitting my room. Was I free again or a prisoner?
Quite free. I opened the door, went to the half-deck, went up the central
stairs. The panels, shut the evening before, were open. I went on to the
platform.
Ned Land and Conseil waited there for me. I questioned them; they knew
nothing. Lost in a heavy sleep in which they had been totally unconscious,
they had been astonished at finding themselves in their cabin.
As for the Nautilus, it seemed quiet and mysterious as ever. It
floated on the surface of the waves at a moderate pace. Nothing seemed
changed on board.
The second lieutenant then came on to the platform, and gave the usual
order below.
As for Captain Nemo, he did not appear.
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Of the people on board, I only saw the impassive steward, who served
me with his usual dumb regularity.
About two o'clock, I was in the drawing-room, busied in arranging my
notes, when the Captain opened the door and appeared. I bowed. He made a
slight inclination in return, without speaking. I resumed my work, hoping
that he would perhaps give me some explanation of the events of the
preceding night. He made none. I looked at him. He seemed fatigued; his
heavy eyes had not been refreshed by sleep; his face looked very sorrowful.
He walked to and fro, sat down and got up again, took a chance book, put it
down, consulted his instruments without taking his habitual notes, and
seemed restless and uneasy. At last, he came up to me, and said:
"Are you a doctor, M. Aronnax?"
I so little expected such a question that I stared some time at him
without answering.
"Are you a doctor?" he repeated. "Several of your colleagues have
studied medicine."
"Well," said I, "I am a doctor and resident surgeon to the hospital. I
practised several years before entering the museum."
"Very well, sir."
My answer had evidently satisfied the Captain. But, not knowing what
he would say next, I waited for other questions, reserving my answers
according to circumstances.
"M. Aronnax, will you consent to prescribe for one of my men?" be
asked.
"Is he ill?"
"Yes."
"I am ready to follow you."
"Come, then."
I own my heart beat, I do not know why. I saw certain connection
between the illness of one of the crew and the events of the day before;
and this mystery interested me at least as much as the sick man.
Captain Nemo conducted me to the poop of the Nautilus, and took me
into a cabin situated near the sailors' quarters.
There, on a bed, lay a man about forty years of age,
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with a resolute expression of countenance, a true type of an Anglo-Saxon.
I leant over him. He was not only ill, he was wounded. His head,
swathed in bandages covered with blood, lay on a pillow. I undid the
bandages, and the wounded man looked at me with his large eyes and gave no
sign of pain as I did it. It was a horrible wound. The skull, shattered by
some deadly weapon, left the brain exposed, which was much injured. Clots
of blood had formed in the bruised and broken mass, in colour like the
dregs of wine.
There was both contusion and suffusion of the brain. His breathing was
slow, and some spasmodic movements of the muscles agitated his face. I felt
his pulse. It was intermittent. The extremities of the body were growing
cold already, and I saw death must inevitably ensue. After dressing the
unfortunate man's wounds, I readjusted the bandages on his head, and turned
to Captain Nemo.
"What caused this wound?" I asked.
"What does it signify?" he replied, evasively. "A shock has broken one
of the levers of the engine, which struck myself. But your opinion as to
his state?"
I hesitated before giving it.
"You may speak," said the Captain. "This man does not understand
French."
I gave a last look at the wounded man.
"He will be dead in two hours."
"Can nothing save him?"
"Nothing."
Captain Nemo's hand contracted, and some tears glistened in his eyes,
which I thought incapable of shedding any.
For some moments I still watched the dying man, whose life ebbed
slowly. His pallor increased under the electric light that was shed over
his death-bed. I looked at his intelligent forehead, furrowed with
premature wrinkles, produced probably by misfortune and sorrow. I tried to
learn the secret of his life from the last words that escaped his lips.
"You can go now, M. Aronnax," said the Captain.
I left him in the dying man's cabin, and returned to my
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room much affected by this scene. During the whole day, I was haunted by
uncomfortable suspicions, and at night I slept badly, and between my broken
dreams I fancied I heard distant sighs like the notes of a funeral psalm.
Were they the prayers of the dead, murmured in that language that I could
not understand?
The next morning I went on to the bridge. Captain Nemo was there
before me. As soon as he perceived me he came to me.
"Professor, will it be convenient to you to make a submarine excursion
to-day?"
"With my companions?" I asked.
"If they like."
"We obey your orders, Captain."
"Will you be so good then as to put on your cork jackets?"
It was not a question of dead or dying. I rejoined Ned Land and
Conseil, and told them of Captain Nemo's proposition. Conseil hastened to
accept it, and this time the Canadian seemed quite willing to follow our
example.
It was eight o'clock in the morning. At half-past eight we were
equipped for this new excursion, and provided with two contrivances for
light and breathing. The double door was open; and, accompanied by Captain
Nemo, who was followed by a dozen of the crew, we set foot, at a depth of
about thirty feet, on the solid bottom on which the Nautilus rested.
A slight declivity ended in an uneven bottom, at fifteen fathoms
depth. This bottom differed entirely from the one I had visited on my first
excursion under the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Here, there was no fine
sand, no submarine prairies, no sea-forest. I immediately recognised that
marvellous region in which, on that day, the Captain did the honours to us.
It was the coral kingdom.
The light produced a thousand charming varieties, playing in the midst
of the branches that were so vividly coloured. I seemed to see the
membraneous and cylindrical tubes tremble beneath the undulation of the
waters. I was tempted to gather their fresh petals, ornamented with
delicate
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tentacles, some just blown, the others budding, while a small fish,
swimming swiftly, touched them slightly, like flights of birds. But if my
hand approached these living flowers, these animated, sensitive plants, the
whole colony took alarm. The white petals re-entered their red cases, the
flowers faded as I looked, and the bush changed into a block of stony
knobs.
Chance had thrown me just by the most precious specimens of the
zoophyte. This coral was more valuable than that found in the
Mediterranean, on the coasts of France, Italy and Barbary. Its tints
justified the poetical names of "Flower of Blood," and "Froth of Blood,"
that trade has given to its most beautiful productions. Coral is sold for
L20 per ounce; and in this place the watery beds would make the fortunes of
a company of coral-divers. This precious matter, often confused with other
polypi, formed then the inextricable plots called "macciota," and on which
I noticed several beautiful specimens of pink coral.
Real petrified thickets, long joints of fantastic architecture, were
disclosed before us. Captain Nemo placed himself under a dark gallery,
where by a slight declivity we reached a depth of a hundred yards. The
light from our lamps produced sometimes magical effects, following the
rough outlines of the natural arches and pendants disposed like lustres,
that were tipped with points of fire.
At last, after walking two hours, we had attained a depth of about
three hundred yards, that is to say, the extreme limit on which coral
begins to form. But there was no isolated bush, nor modest brushwood, at
the bottom of lofty trees. It was an immense forest of large mineral
vegetations, enormous petrified trees, united by garlands of elegant sea-
bindweed, all adorned with clouds and reflections. We passed freely under
their high branches, lost in the shade of the waves.
Captain Nemo had stopped. I and my companions halted, and, turning
round, I saw his men were forming a semi- circle round their chief.
Watching attentively, I observed that four of them carried on their
shoulders an object of an oblong shape.
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We occupied, in this place, the centre of a vast glade surrounded by
the lofty foliage of the submarine forest. Our lamps threw over this place
a sort of clear twilight that singularly elongated the shadows on the
ground. At the end of the glade the darkness increased, and was only
relieved by little sparks reflected by the points of coral.
Ned Land and Conseil were near me. We watched, and I thought I was
going to witness a strange scene. On observing the ground, I saw that it
was raised in certain places by slight excrescences encrusted with limy
deposits, and disposed with a regularity that betrayed the hand of man.
In the midst of the glade, on a pedestal of rocks roughly piled up,
stood a cross of coral that extended its long arms that one might have
thought were made of petrified blood. Upon a sign from Captain Nemo one of
the men advanced; and at some feet from the cross he began to dig a hole
with a pickaxe that he took from his belt. I understood all! This glade was
a cemetery, this hole a tomb, this oblong object the body of the man who
had died in the night! The Captain and his men had come to bury their
companion in this general resting-place, at the bottom of this inaccessible
ocean!
The grave was being dug slowly; the fish fled on all sides while their
retreat was being thus disturbed; I heard the strokes of the pickaxe, which
sparkled when it hit upon some flint lost at the bottom of the waters. The
hole was soon large and deep enough to receive the body. Then the bearers
approached; the body, enveloped in a tissue of white linen, was lowered
into the damp grave. Captain Nemo, with his arms crossed on his breast, and
all the friends of him who had loved them, knelt in prayer.
The grave was then filled in with the rubbish taken from the ground,
which formed a slight mound. When this was done, Captain Nemo and his men
rose; then, approaching the grave, they knelt again, and all extended their
hands in sign of a last adieu. Then the funeral procession returned to the
Nautilus, passing under the arches of the forest, in the midst of thickets,
along the coral bushes, and still on the ascent. At last the light of the
ship appeared, and its
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luminous track guided us to the Nautilus. At one o'clock we had returned.
As soon as I had changed my clothes I went up on to the platform, and,
a prey to conflicting emotions, I sat down near the binnacle. Captain Nemo
joined me. I rose and said to him:
"So, as I said he would, this man died in the night?"
"Yes, M. Aronnax."
"And he rests now, near his companions, in the coral cemetery?"
"Yes, forgotten by all else, but not by us. We dug the grave, and the
polypi undertake to seal our dead for eternity." And, burying his face
quickly in his hands, he tried in vain to suppress a sob. Then he added:
"Our peaceful cemetery is there, some hundred feet below the surface of the
waves."
"Your dead sleep quietly, at least, Captain, out of the reach of
sharks."
"Yes, sir, of sharks and men," gravely replied the Captain.
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Chapter 2.1
THE INDIAN OCEAN
WE NOW come to the second part of our journey under the sea. The first
ended with the moving scene in the coral cemetery which left such a deep
impression on my mind. Thus, in the midst of this great sea, Captain Nemo's
life was passing, even to his grave, which he had prepared in one of its
deepest abysses. There, not one of the ocean's monsters could trouble the
last sleep of the crew of the Nautilus, of those friends riveted to each
other in death as in life. "Nor any man, either," had added the Captain.
Still the same fierce, implacable defiance towards human society!
I could no longer content myself with the theory which satisfied
Conseil.
That worthy fellow persisted in seeing in the Commander of the
Nautilus one of those unknown servants who return mankind contempt for
indifference. For him, he was a misunderstood genius who, tired of earth's
deceptions, had taken refuge in this inaccessible medium, where he might
follow his instincts freely. To my mind, this explains but one side of
Captain Nemo's character. Indeed, the mystery of that last night during
which we had been chained in prison, the sleep, and the precaution so
violently taken by the Captain of snatching from my eyes the glass I had
raised to sweep the horizon, the mortal wound of the man, due to an
unaccountable shock of the Nautilus, all put me on a new track. No; Captain
Nemo was not satisfied with shunning man. His formidable apparatus not only
suited his instinct of freedom, but perhaps also the design of some
terrible retaliation.
At this moment nothing is clear to me; I catch but a glimpse of light
amidst all the darkness, and I must confine myself to writing as events
shall dictate.
That day, the 24th of January, 1868, at noon, the second
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officer came to take the altitude of the sun. I mounted the platform, lit a
cigar, and watched the operation. It seemed to me that the man did not
understand French; for several times I made remarks in a loud voice, which
must have drawn from him some involuntary sign of attention, if he had
understood them; but he remained undisturbed and dumb.
As he was taking observations with the sextant, one of the sailors of
the Nautilus (the strong man who had accompanied us on our first submarine
excursion to the Island of Crespo) came to clean the glasses of the
lantern. I examined the fittings of the apparatus, the strength of which
was increased a hundredfold by lenticular rings, placed similar to those in
a lighthouse, and which projected their brilliance in a horizontal plane.
The electric lamp was combined in such a way as to give its most powerful
light. Indeed, it was produced in vacuo, which insured both its steadiness
and its intensity. This vacuum economised the graphite points between which
the luminous arc was developed -- an important point of economy for Captain
Nemo, who could not easily have replaced them; and under these conditions
their waste was imperceptible. When the Nautilus was ready to continue its
submarine journey, I went down to the saloon. The panel was closed, and the
course marked direct west.
We were furrowing the waters of the Indian Ocean, a vast liquid plain,
with a surface of 1,200,000,000 of acres, and whose waters are so clear and
transparent that any one leaning over them would turn giddy. The Nautilus
usually floated between fifty and a hundred fathoms deep. We went on so for
some days. To anyone but myself, who had a great love for the sea, the
hours would have seemed long and monotonous; but the daily walks on the
platform, when I steeped myself in the reviving air of the ocean, the sight
of the rich waters through the windows of the saloon, the books in the
library, the compiling of my memoirs, took up all my time, and left me not
a moment of ennui or weariness.
For some days we saw a great number of aquatic birds, sea-mews or
gulls. Some were cleverly killed and, prepared
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in a certain way, made very acceptable water-game. Amongst large-winged
birds, carried a long distance from all lands and resting upon the waves
from the fatigue of their flight, I saw some magnificent albatrosses,
uttering discordant cries like the braying of an ass, and birds belonging
to the family of the long-wings.
As to the fish, they always provoked our admiration when we surprised
the secrets of their aquatic life through the open panels. I saw many kinds
which I never before had a chance of observing.
From the 21st to the 23rd of January the Nautilus went at the rate of
two hundred and fifty leagues in twenty-four hours, being five hundred and
forty miles, or twenty-two miles an hour. If we recognised so many
different varieties of fish, it was because, attracted by the electric
light, they tried to follow us; the greater part, however, were soon
distanced by our speed, though some kept their place in the waters of the
Nautilus for a time. The morning of the 24th, in 12° 5' S. lat., and 94°
33' long., we observed Keeling Island, a coral formation, planted with
magnificent cocos, and which bad been visited by Mr. Darwin and Captain
Fitzroy. The Nautilus skirted the shores of this desert island for a little
distance. Its nets brought up numerous specimens of polypi and curious
shells of mollusca.
Soon Keeling Island disappeared from the horizon, and our course was
directed to the north-west in the direction of the Indian Peninsula.
From Keeling Island our course was slower and more variable, often
taking us into great depths. Several times they made use of the inclined
planes, which certain internal levers placed obliquely to the waterline. In
that way we went about two miles, but without ever obtaining the greatest
depths of the Indian Sea, which soundings of seven thousand fathoms have
never reached. As to the temperature of the lower strata, the thermometer
invariably indicated 4° above zero. I only observed that in the upper
regions the water was always colder in the high levels than at the surface
of the sea.
On the 25th of January the ocean was entirely deserted;
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the Nautilus passed the day on the surface, beating the waves with its
powerful screw and making them rebound to a great height. Who under such
circumstances would not have taken it for a gigantic cetacean? Three parts
of this day I spent on the platform. I watched the sea. Nothing on the
horizon, till about four o'clock a steamer running west on our counter. Her
masts were visible for an instant, but she could not see the Nautilus,
being too low in the water. I fancied this steamboat belonged to the P.O.
Company, which runs from Ceylon to Sydney, touching at King George's Point
and Melbourne.
At five o'clock in the evening, before that fleeting twilight which
binds night to day in tropical zones, Conseil and I were astonished by a
curious spectacle.
It was a shoal of argonauts travelling along on the surface of the
ocean. We could count several hundreds. They belonged to the tubercle kind
which are peculiar to the Indian seas.
These graceful molluscs moved backwards by means of their locomotive
tube, through which they propelled the water already drawn in. Of their
eight tentacles, six were elongated, and stretched out floating on the
water, whilst the other two, rolled up flat, were spread to the wing like a
light sail. I saw their spiral-shaped and fluted shells, which Cuvier
justly compares to an elegant skiff. A boat indeed! It bears the creature
which secretes it without its adhering to it.
For nearly an hour the Nautilus floated in the midst of this shoal of
molluscs. Then I know not what sudden fright they took. But as if at a
signal every sail was furled, the arms folded, the body drawn in, the
shells turned over, changing their centre of gravity, and the whole fleet
disappeared under the waves. Never did the ships of a squadron manoeuvre
with more unity.
At that moment night fell suddenly, and the reeds, scarcely raised by
the breeze, lay peaceably under the sides of the Nautilus.
The next day, 26th of January, we cut the equator at the eighty-second
meridian and entered the northern hemisphere.
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During the day a formidable troop of sharks accompanied us, terrible
creatures, which multiply in these seas and make them very dangerous. They
were "cestracio philippi" sharks, with brown backs and whitish bellies,
armed with eleven rows of teeth -- eyed sharks -- their throat being marked
with a large black spot surrounded with white like an eye. There were also
some Isabella sharks, with rounded snouts marked with dark spots. These
powerful creatures often hurled themselves at the windows of the saloon
with such violence as to make us feel very insecure. At such times Ned Land
was no longer master of himself. He wanted to go to the surface and harpoon
the monsters, particularly certain smooth-hound sharks, whose mouth is
studded with teeth like a mosaic; and large tiger-sharks nearly six yards
long, the last named of which seemed to excite him more particularly. But
the Nautilus, accelerating her speed, easily left the most rapid of them
behind.
The 27th of January, at the entrance of the vast Bay of Bengal, we met
repeatedly a forbidding spectacle, dead bodies floating on the surface of
the water. They were the dead of the Indian villages, carried by the Ganges
to the level of the sea, and which the vultures, the only undertakers of
the country, had not been able to devour. But the sharks did not fail to
help them at their funeral work.
About seven o'clock in the evening, the Nautilus, half- immersed, was
sailing in a sea of milk. At first sight the ocean seemed lactified. Was it
the effect of the lunar rays? No; for the moon, scarcely two days old, was
still lying hidden under the horizon in the rays of the sun. The whole sky,
though lit by the sidereal rays, seemed black by contrast with the
whiteness of the waters.
Conseil could not believe his eyes, and questioned me as to the cause
of this strange phenomenon. Happily I was able to answer him.
"It is called a milk sea," I explained. "A large extent of white
wavelets often to be seen on the coasts of Amboyna, and in these parts of
the sea."
"But, sir," said Conseil, "can you tell me what causes
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such an effect? for I suppose the water is not really turned into milk."
"No, my boy; and the whiteness which surprises you is caused only by
the presence of myriads of infusoria, a sort of luminous little worm,
gelatinous and without colour, of the thickness of a hair, and whose length
is not more than seven-thousandths of an inch. These insects adhere to one
another sometimes for several leagues."
"Several leagues!" exclaimed Conseil.
"Yes, my boy; and you need not try to compute the number of these
infusoria. You will not be able, for, if I am not mistaken, ships have
floated on these milk seas for more than forty miles."
Towards midnight the sea suddenly resumed its usual colour; but behind
us, even to the limits of the horizon, the sky reflected the whitened
waves, and for a long time seemed impregnated with the vague glimmerings of
an aurora borealis.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.2
A NOVEL PROPOSAL OF CAPTAIN NEMO'S
ON THE 28th of February, when at noon the Nautilus came to the surface
of the sea, in 9° 4' N. lat., there was land in sight about eight miles to
westward. The first thing I noticed was a range of mountains about two
thousand feet high, the shapes of which were most capricious. On taking the
bearings, I knew that we were nearing the island of Ceylon, the pearl which
hangs from the lobe of the Indian Peninsula.
Captain Nemo and his second appeared at this moment. The Captain
glanced at the map. Then turning to me, said:
"The Island of Ceylon, noted for its pearl-fisheries. Would you like
to visit one of them, M. Aronnax?"
"Certainly, Captain."
"Well, the thing is easy. Though, if we see the fisheries, we shall
not see the fishermen. The annual exportation has
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not yet begun. Never mind, I will give orders to make for the Gulf of
Manaar, where we shall arrive in the night."
The Captain said something to his second, who immediately went out.
Soon the Nautilus returned to her native element, and the manometer showed
that she was about thirty feet deep.
"Well, sir," said Captain Nemo, "you and your companions shall visit
the Bank of Manaar, and if by chance some fisherman should be there, we
shall see him at work."
"Agreed, Captain!"
"By the bye, M. Aronnax you are not afraid of sharks?"
"Sharks!" exclaimed I.
This question seemed a very hard one.
"Well?" continued Captain Nemo.
"I admit, Captain, that I am not yet very familiar with that kind of
fish."
"We are accustomed to them," replied Captain Nemo, "and in time you
will be too. However, we shall be armed, and on the road we may be able to
hunt some of the tribe. It is interesting. So, till to-morrow, sir, and
early."
This said in a careless tone, Captain Nemo left the saloon. Now, if
you were invited to hunt the bear in the mountains of Switzerland, what
would you say?
"Very well! to-morrow we will go and hunt the bear." If you were asked
to hunt the lion in the plains of Atlas, or the tiger in the Indian
jungles, what would you say?
"Ha! ha! it seems we are going to hunt the tiger or the lion!" But
when you are invited to hunt the shark in its natural element, you would
perhaps reflect before accepting the invitation. As for myself, I passed my
hand over my forehead, on which stood large drops of cold perspiration.
"Let us reflect," said I, "and take our time. Hunting otters in submarine
forests, as we did in the Island of Crespo, will pass; but going up and
down at the bottom of the sea, where one is almost certain to meet sharks,
is quite another thing! I know well that in certain countries, particularly
in the Andaman Islands, the negroes never hesitate to attack them with a
dagger in one hand and a running noose in the other; but I also know that
few who affront those
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creatures ever return alive. However, I am not a negro, and if I were I
think a little hesitation in this case would not be ill-timed."
At this moment Conseil and the Canadian entered, quite composed, and
even joyous. They knew not what awaited them.
"Faith, sir," said Ned Land, "your Captain Nemo -- the devil take him!
-- has just made us a very pleasant offer."
"Ah!" said I, "you know?"
"If agreeable to you, sir," interrupted Conseil, "the commander of the
Nautilus has invited us to visit the magnificent Ceylon fisheries
to-morrow, in your company; he did it kindly, and behaved like a real
gentleman."
"He said nothing more?"
"Nothing more, sir, except that he had already spoken to you of this
little walk."
"Sir," said Conseil, "would you give us some details of the pearl
fishery?"
"As to the fishing itself," I asked, "or the incidents, which?"
"On the fishing," replied the Canadian; "before entering upon the
ground, it is as well to know something about it."
"Very well; sit down, my friends, and I will teach you."
Ned and Conseil seated themselves on an ottoman, and the first thing
the Canadian asked was:
"Sir, what is a pearl?"
"My worthy Ned," I answered, "to the poet, a pearl is a tear of the
sea; to the Orientals, it is a drop of dew solidified; to the ladies, it is
a jewel of an oblong shape, of a brilliancy of mother-of-pearl substance,
which they wear on their fingers, their necks, or their ears; for the
chemist it is a mixture of phosphate and carbonate of lime, with a little
gelatine; and lastly, for naturalists, it is simply a morbid secretion of
the organ that produces the mother- of-pearl amongst certain bivalves."
"Branch of molluscs," said Conseil.
"Precisely so, my learned Conseil; and, amongst these testacea the
earshell, the tridacnae, the turbots, in a word, all those which secrete
mother-of-pearl, that is, the blue,
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bluish, violet, or white substance which lines the interior of their
shells, are capable of producing pearls."
"Mussels too?" asked the Canadian.
"Yes, mussels of certain waters in Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Saxony,
Bohemia, and France."
"Good! For the future I shall pay attention," replied the Canadian.
"But," I continued, "the particular mollusc which secretes the pearl
is the pearl-oyster. The pearl is nothing but a formation deposited in a
globular form, either adhering to the oyster-shell or buried in the folds
of the creature. On the shell it is fast: in the flesh it is loose; but
always has for a kernel a small hard substance, maybe a barren egg, maybe a
grain of sand, around which the pearly matter deposits itself year after
year successively, and by thin concentric layers."
"Are many pearls found in the same oyster?" asked Conseil.
"Yes, my boy. Some are a perfect casket. One oyster has been
mentioned, though I allow myself to doubt it, as having contained no less
than a hundred and fifty sharks."
"A hundred and fifty sharks!" exclaimed Ned Land.
"Did I say sharks?" said I hurriedly. "I meant to say a hundred and
fifty pearls. Sharks would not be sense."
"Certainly not," said Conseil; "but will you tell us now by what means
they extract these pearls?"
"They proceed in various ways. When they adhere to the shell, the
fishermen often pull them off with pincers; but the most common way is to
lay the oysters on mats of the seaweed which covers the banks. Thus they
die in the open air; and at the end of ten days they are in a forward state
of decomposition. They are then plunged into large reservoirs of sea-water;
then they are opened and washed."
"The price of these pearls varies according to their size?" asked
Conseil.
"Not only according to their size," I answered, "but also according to
their shape, their water (that is, their colour), and their lustre: that
is, that bright and diapered sparkle which makes them so charming to the
eye. The most beautiful
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are called virgin pearls, or paragons. They are formed alone in the tissue
of the mollusc, are white, often opaque, and sometimes have the
transparency of an opal; they are generally round or oval. The round are
made into bracelets, the oval into pendants, and, being more precious, are
sold singly. Those adhering to the shell of the oyster are more irregular
in shape, and are sold by weight. Lastly, in a lower order are classed
those small pearls known under the name of seed-pearls; they are sold by
measure, and are especially used in embroidery for church ornaments."
"But," said Conseil, "is this pearl-fishery dangerous?"
"No," I answered, quickly; "particularly if certain precautions are
taken."
"What does one risk in such a calling?" said Ned Land, "the swallowing
of some mouthfuls of sea-water?"
"As you say, Ned. By the bye," said I, trying to take Captain Nemo's
careless tone, "are you afraid of sharks, brave Ned?"
"I!" replied the Canadian; "a harpooner by profession? It is my trade
to make light of them."
"But," said I, "it is not a question of fishing for them with an
iron-swivel, hoisting them into the vessel, cutting off their tails with a
blow of a chopper, ripping them up, and throwing their heart into the sea!"
"Then, it is a question of -- "
"Precisely."
"In the water?"
"In the water."
"Faith, with a good harpoon! You know, sir, these sharks are
ill-fashioned beasts. They turn on their bellies to seize you, and in that
time -- "
Ned Land had a way of saying "seize" which made my blood run cold.
"Well, and you, Conseil, what do you think of sharks?"
"Me!" said Conseil. "I will be frank, sir."
"So much the better," thought I.
"If you, sir, mean to face the sharks, I do not see why your faithful
servant should not face them with you."
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.3
A PEARL OF TEN MILLIONS
THE next morning at four o'clock I was awakened by the steward whom
Captain Nemo had placed at my service. I rose hurriedly, dressed, and went
into the saloon.
Captain Nemo was awaiting me.
"M. Aronnax," said he, "are you ready to start?"
"I am ready."
"Then please to follow me."
"And my companions, Captain?"
"They have been told and are waiting."
"Are we not to put on our diver's dresses?" asked I.
"Not yet. I have not allowed the Nautilus to come too near this coast,
and we are some distance from the Manaar Bank; but the boat is ready, and
will take us to the exact point of disembarking, which will save us a long
way. It carries our diving apparatus, which we will put on when we begin
our submarine journey."
Captain Nemo conducted me to the central staircase, which led on the
platform. Ned and Conseil were already there, delighted at the idea of the
"pleasure party" which was preparing. Five sailors from the Nautilus, with
their oars, waited in the boat, which had been made fast against the side.
The night was still dark. Layers of clouds covered the sky, allowing
but few stars to be seen. I looked on the side where the land lay, and saw
nothing but a dark line enclosing three parts of the horizon, from
south-west to north- west. The Nautilus, having returned during the night
up the western coast of Ceylon, was now west of the bay, or rather gulf,
formed by the mainland and the Island of Manaar. There, under the dark
waters, stretched the pintadine bank, an inexhaustible field of pearls, the
length of which is more than twenty miles.
Captain Nemo, Ned Land, Conseil, and I took our places in the stern of
the boat. The master went to the tiller; his
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four companions leaned on their oars, the painter was cast off, and we
sheered off.
The boat went towards the south; the oarsmen did not hurry. I noticed
that their strokes, strong in the water, only followed each other every ten
seconds, according to the method generally adopted in the navy. Whilst the
craft was running by its own velocity, the liquid drops struck the dark
depths of the waves crisply like spats of melted lead. A little billow,
spreading wide, gave a slight roll to the boat, and some samphire reeds
flapped before it.
We were silent. What was Captain Nemo thinking of? Perhaps of the land
he was approaching, and which he found too near to him, contrary to the
Canadian's opinion, who thought it too far off. As to Conseil, he was
merely there from curiosity.
About half-past five the first tints on the horizon showed the upper
line of coast more distinctly. Flat enough in the east, it rose a little to
the south. Five miles still lay between us, and it was indistinct owing to
the mist on the water. At six o'clock it became suddenly daylight, with
that rapidity peculiar to tropical regions, which know neither dawn nor
twilight. The solar rays pierced the curtain of clouds, piled up on the
eastern horizon, and the radiant orb rose rapidly. I saw land distinctly,
with a few trees scattered here and there. The boat neared Manaar Island,
which was rounded to the south. Captain Nemo rose from his seat and watched
the sea.
At a sign from him the anchor was dropped, but the chain scarcely ran,
for it was little more than a yard deep, and this spot was one of the
highest points of the bank of pintadines.
"Here we are, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "You see that enclosed
bay? Here, in a month will be assembled the numerous fishing boats of the
exporters, and these are the waters their divers will ransack so boldly.
Happily, this bay is well situated for that kind of fishing. It is
sheltered from the strongest winds; the sea is never very rough here, which
makes it favourable for the diver's work. We will now put on our dresses,
and begin our walk."
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I did not answer, and, while watching the suspected waves, began with
the help of the sailors to put on my heavy sea-dress. Captain Nemo and my
companions were also dressing. None of the Nautilus men were to accompany
us on this new excursion.
Soon we were enveloped to the throat in india-rubber clothing; the air
apparatus fixed to our backs by braces. As to the Ruhmkorff apparatus,
there was no necessity for it. Before putting my head into the copper cap,
I had asked the question of the Captain.
"They would be useless," he replied. "We are going to no great depth,
and the solar rays will be enough to light our walk. Besides, it would not
be prudent to carry the electric light in these waters; its brilliancy
might attract some of the dangerous inhabitants of the coast most
inopportunely."
As Captain Nemo pronounced these words, I turned to Conseil and Ned
Land. But my two friends had already encased their heads in the metal cap,
and they could neither hear nor answer.
One last question remained to ask of Captain Nemo.
"And our arms?" asked I; "our guns?"
"Guns! What for? Do not mountaineers attack the bear with a dagger in
their hand, and is not steel surer than lead? Here is a strong blade; put
it in your belt, and we start."
I looked at my companions; they were armed like us, and, more than
that, Ned Land was brandishing an enormous harpoon, which he had placed in
the boat before leaving the Nautilus.
Then, following the Captain's example, I allowed myself to be dressed
in the heavy copper helmet, and our reservoirs of air were at once in
activity. An instant after we were landed, one after the other, in about
two yards of water upon an even sand. Captain Nemo made a sign with his
hand, and we followed him by a gentle declivity till we disappeared under
the waves.
At about seven o'clock we found ourselves at last surveying
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the oyster-banks on which the pearl-oysters are reproduced by millions.
Captain Nemo pointed with his hand to the enormous heap of oysters;
and I could well understand that this mine was inexhaustible, for Nature's
creative power is far beyond man's instinct of destruction. Ned Land,
faithful to his instinct, hastened to fill a net which he carried by his
side with some of the finest specimens. But we could not stop. We must
follow the Captain, who seemed to guide himself by paths known only to
himself. The ground was sensibly rising, and sometimes, on holding up my
arm, it was above the surface of the sea. Then the level of the bank would
sink capriciously. Often we rounded high rocks scarped into pyramids. In
their dark fractures huge crustacea, perched upon their high claws like
some war-machine, watched us with fixed eyes, and under our feet crawled
various kinds of annelides.
At this moment there opened before us a large grotto dug in a
picturesque heap of rocks and carpeted with all the thick warp of the
submarine flora. At first it seemed very dark to me. The solar rays seemed
to be extinguished by successive gradations, until its vague transparency
became nothing more than drowned light. Captain Nemo entered; we followed.
My eyes soon accustomed themselves to this relative state of darkness. I
could distinguish the arches springing capriciously from natural pillars,
standing broad upon their granite base, like the heavy columns of Tuscan
architecture. Why had our incomprehensible guide led us to the bottom of
this submarine crypt? I was soon to know. After descending a rather sharp
declivity, our feet trod the bottom of a kind of circular pit. There
Captain Nemo stopped, and with his hand indicated an object I had not yet
perceived. It was an oyster of extraordinary dimensions, a gigantic
tridacne, a goblet which could have contained a whole lake of holy-water, a
basin the breadth of which was more than two yards and a half, and
consequently larger than that ornamenting the saloon of the Nautilus. I
approached this extraordinary mollusc. It adhered by its filaments to a
table of granite, and there, isolated, it developed
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itself in the calm waters of the grotto. I estimated the weight of this
tridacne at 600 lb. Such an oyster would contain 30 lb. of meat; and one
must have the stomach of a Gargantua to demolish some dozens of them.
Captain Nemo was evidently acquainted with the existence of this
bivalve, and seemed to have a particular motive in verifying the actual
state of this tridacne. The shells were a little open; the Captain came
near and put his dagger between to prevent them from closing; then with his
hand he raised the membrane with its fringed edges, which formed a cloak
for the creature. There, between the folded plaits, I saw a loose pearl,
whose size equalled that of a coco-nut. Its globular shape, perfect
clearness, and admirable lustre made it altogether a jewel of inestimable
value. Carried away by my curiosity, I stretched out my hand to seize it,
weigh it, and touch it; but the Captain stopped me, made a sign of refusal,
and quickly withdrew his dagger, and the two shells closed suddenly. I then
understood Captain Nemo's intention. In leaving this pearl hidden in the
mantle of the tridacne he was allowing it to grow slowly. Each year the
secretions of the mollusc would add new concentric circles. I estimated its
value at L500,000 at least.
After ten minutes Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. I thought he had
halted previously to returning. No; by a gesture be bade us crouch beside
him in a deep fracture of the rock, his hand pointed to one part of the
liquid mass, which I watched attentively.
About five yards from me a shadow appeared, and sank to the ground.
The disquieting idea of sharks shot through my mind, but I was mistaken;
and once again it was not a monster of the ocean that we had anything to do
with.
It was a man, a living man, an Indian, a fisherman, a poor devil who,
I suppose, had come to glean before the harvest. I could see the bottom of
his canoe anchored some feet above his head. He dived and went up
successively. A stone held between his feet, cut in the shape of a sugar
loaf, whilst a rope fastened him to his boat, helped him to descend more
rapidly. This was all his apparatus. Reaching the bottom,
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about five yards deep, he went on his knees and filled his bag with oysters
picked up at random. Then he went up, emptied it, pulled up his stone, and
began the operation once more, which lasted thirty seconds.
The diver did not see us. The shadow of the rock hid us from sight.
And how should this poor Indian ever dream that men, beings like himself,
should be there under the water watching his movements and losing no detail
of the fishing? Several times he went up in this way, and dived again. He
did not carry away more than ten at each plunge, for he was obliged to pull
them from the bank to which they adhered by means of their strong byssus.
And how many of those oysters for which he risked his life had no pearl in
them! I watched him closely; his manoeuvres were regular; and for the space
of half an hour no danger appeared to threaten him.
I was beginning to accustom myself to the sight of this interesting
fishing, when suddenly, as the Indian was on the ground, I saw him make a
gesture of terror, rise, and make a spring to return to the surface of the
sea.
I understood his dread. A gigantic shadow appeared just above the
unfortunate diver. It was a shark of enormous size advancing diagonally,
his eyes on fire, and his jaws open. I was mute with horror and unable to
move.
The voracious creature shot towards the Indian, who threw himself on
one side to avoid the shark's fins; but not its tail, for it struck his
chest and stretched him on the ground.
This scene lasted but a few seconds: the shark returned, and, turning
on his back, prepared himself for cutting the Indian in two, when I saw
Captain Nemo rise suddenly, and then, dagger in hand, walk straight to the
monster, ready to fight face to face with him. The very moment the shark
was going to snap the unhappy fisherman in two, he perceived his new
adversary, and, turning over, made straight towards him.
I can still see Captain Nemo's position. Holding himself well
together, he waited for the shark with admirable coolness; and, when it
rushed at him, threw himself on one side
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with wonderful quickness, avoiding the shock, and burying his dagger deep
into its side. But it was not all over. A terrible combat ensued.
The shark had seemed to roar, if I might say so. The blood rushed in
torrents from its wound. The sea was dyed red, and through the opaque
liquid I could distinguish nothing more. Nothing more until the moment
when, like lightning, I saw the undaunted Captain hanging on to one of the
creature's fins, struggling, as it were, hand to hand with the monster, and
dealing successive blows at his enemy, yet still unable to give a decisive
one.
The shark's struggles agitated the water with such fury that the
rocking threatened to upset me.
I wanted to go to the Captain's assistance, but, nailed to the spot
with horror, I could not stir.
I saw the haggard eye; I saw the different phases of the fight. The
Captain fell to the earth, upset by the enormous mass which leant upon him.
The shark's jaws opened wide, like a pair of factory shears, and it would
have been all over with the Captain; but, quick as thought, harpoon in
hand, Ned Land rushed towards the shark and struck it with its sharp point.
The waves were impregnated with a mass of blood. They rocked under the
shark's movements, which beat them with indescribable fury. Ned Land had
not missed his aim. It was the monster's death-rattle. Struck to the heart,
it struggled in dreadful convulsions, the shock of which overthrew Conseil.
But Ned Land had disentangled the Captain, who, getting up without any
wound, went straight to the Indian, quickly cut the cord which held him to
his stone, took him in his arms, and, with a sharp blow of his heel,
mounted to the surface.
We all three followed in a few seconds, saved by a miracle, and
reached the fisherman's boat.
Captain Nemo's first care was to recall the unfortunate man to life
again. I did not think he could succeed. I hoped so, for the poor
creature's immersion was not long; but the blow from the shark's tail might
have been his death-blow.
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Happily, with the Captain's and Conseil's sharp friction, I saw
consciousness return by degrees. He opened his eyes. What was his surprise,
his terror even, at seeing four great copper heads leaning over him! And,
above all, what must he have thought when Captain Nemo, drawing from the
pocket of his dress a bag of pearls, placed it in his hand! This munificent
charity from the man of the waters to the poor Cingalese was accepted with
a trembling hand. His wondering eyes showed that he knew not to what super-
human beings he owed both fortune and life.
At a sign from the Captain we regained the bank, and, following the
road already traversed, came in about half an hour to the anchor which held
the canoe of the Nautilus to the earth.
Once on board, we each, with the help of the sailors, got rid of the
heavy copper helmet.
Captain Nemo's first word was to the Canadian.
"Thank you, Master Land," said he.
"It was in revenge, Captain," replied Ned Land. "I owed you that."
A ghastly smile passed across the Captain's lips, and that was all.
"To the Nautilus," said he.
The boat flew over the waves. Some minutes after we met the shark's
dead body floating. By the black marking of the extremity of its fins, I
recognised the terrible melanopteron of the Indian Seas, of the species of
shark so properly called. It was more than twenty-five feet long; its
enormous mouth occupied one-third of its body. It was an adult, as was
known by its six rows of teeth placed in an isosceles triangle in the upper
jaw.
Whilst I was contemplating this inert mass, a dozen of these voracious
beasts appeared round the boat; and, without noticing us, threw themselves
upon the dead body and fought with one another for the pieces.
At half-past eight we were again on board the Nautilus. There I
reflected on the incidents which had taken place in our excursion to the
Manaar Bank.
Two conclusions I must inevitably draw from it -- one
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bearing upon the unparalleled courage of Captain Nemo, the other upon his
devotion to a human being, a representative of that race from which he fled
beneath the sea. Whatever he might say, this strange man had not yet
succeeded in entirely crushing his heart.
When I made this observation to him, he answered in a slightly moved
tone:
"That Indian, sir, is an inhabitant of an oppressed country; and I am
still, and shall be, to my last breath, one of them!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.4
THE RED SEA
IN THE course of the day of the 29th of January, the island of Ceylon
disappeared under the horizon, and the Nautilus, at a speed of twenty miles
an hour, slid into the labyrinth of canals which separate the Maldives from
the Laccadives. It coasted even the Island of Kiltan, a land originally
coraline, discovered by Vasco da Gama in 1499, and one of the nineteen
principal islands of the Laccadive Archipelago, situated between 10° and
14° 30' N. lat., and 69° 50' 72" E. long.
We had made 16,220 miles, or 7,500 (French) leagues from our
starting-point in the Japanese Seas.
The next day (30th January), when the Nautilus went to the surface of
the ocean there was no land in sight. Its course was N.N.E., in the
direction of the Sea of Oman, between Arabia and the Indian Peninsula,
which serves as an outlet to the Persian Gulf. It was evidently a block
without any possible egress. Where was Captain Nemo taking us to? I could
not say. This, however, did not satisfy the Canadian, who that day came to
me asking where we were going.
"We are going where our Captain's fancy takes us, Master Ned."
"His fancy cannot take us far, then," said the Canadian.
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"The Persian Gulf has no outlet: and, if we do go in, it will not be long
before we are out again."
"Very well, then, we will come out again, Master Land; and if, after
the Persian Gulf, the Nautilus would like to visit the Red Sea, the Straits
of Bab-el-mandeb are there to give us entrance."
"I need not tell you, sir," said Ned Land, "that the Red Sea is as
much closed as the Gulf, as the Isthmus of Suez is not yet cut; and, if it
was, a boat as mysterious as ours would not risk itself in a canal cut with
sluices. And again, the Red Sea is not the road to take us back to Europe."
"But I never said we were going back to Europe."
"What do you suppose, then?"
"I suppose that, after visiting the curious coasts of Arabia and
Egypt, the Nautilus will go down the Indian Ocean again, perhaps cross the
Channel of Mozambique, perhaps off the Mascarenhas, so as to gain the Cape
of Good Hope."
"And once at the Cape of Good Hope?" asked the Canadian, with peculiar
emphasis.
"Well, we shall penetrate into that Atlantic which we do not yet know.
Ah! friend Ned, you are getting tired of this journey under the sea; you
are surfeited with the incessantly varying spectacle of submarine wonders.
For my part, I shall be sorry to see the end of a voyage which it is given
to so few men to make."
For four days, till the 3rd of February, the Nautilus scoured the Sea
of Oman, at various speeds and at various depths. It seemed to go at
random, as if hesitating as to which road it should follow, but we never
passed the Tropic of Cancer.
In quitting this sea we sighted Muscat for an instant, one of the most
important towns of the country of Oman. I admired its strange aspect,
surrounded by black rocks upon which its white houses and forts stood in
relief. I saw the rounded domes of its mosques, the elegant points of its
minarets, its fresh and verdant terraces. But it was only a vision! The
Nautilus soon sank under the waves of that part of the sea.
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We passed along the Arabian coast of Mahrah and Hadramaut, for a
distance of six miles, its undulating line of mountains being occasionally
relieved by some ancient ruin. The 5th of February we at last entered the
Gulf of Aden, a perfect funnel introduced into the neck of Bab-el- mandeb,
through which the Indian waters entered the Red Sea.
The 6th of February, the Nautilus floated in sight of Aden, perched
upon a promontory which a narrow isthmus joins to the mainland, a kind of
inaccessible Gibraltar, the fortifications of which were rebuilt by the
English after taking possession in 1839. I caught a glimpse of the octagon
minarets of this town, which was at one time the richest commercial
magazine on the coast.
I certainly thought that Captain Nemo, arrived at this point, would
back out again; but I was mistaken, for be did no such thing, much to my
surprise.
The next day, the 7th of February, we entered the Straits of
Bab-el-mandeb, the name of which, in the Arab tongue, means The Gate of
Tears.
To twenty miles in breadth, it is only thirty-two in length. And for
the Nautilus, starting at full speed, the crossing was scarcely the work of
an hour. But I saw nothing, not even the Island of Perim, with which the
British Government has fortified the position of Aden. There were too many
English or French steamers of the line of Suez to Bombay, Calcutta to
Melbourne, and from Bourbon to the Mauritius, furrowing this narrow
passage, for the Nautilus to venture to show itself. So it remained
prudently below. At last about noon, we were in the waters of the Red Sea.
I would not even seek to understand the caprice which had decided
Captain Nemo upon entering the gulf. But I quite approved of the Nautilus
entering it. Its speed was lessened: sometimes it kept on the surface,
sometimes it dived to avoid a vessel, and thus I was able to observe the
upper and lower parts of this curious sea.
The 8th of February, from the first dawn of day, Mocha came in sight,
now a ruined town, whose walls would fall at a gunshot, yet which shelters
here and there some verdant
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date-trees; once an important city, containing six public markets, and
twenty-six mosques, and whose walls, defended by fourteen forts, formed a
girdle of two miles in circumference.
The Nautilus then approached the African shore, where the depth of the
sea was greater. There, between two waters clear as crystal, through the
open panels we were allowed to contemplate the beautiful bushes of
brilliant coral and large blocks of rock clothed with a splendid fur of
green variety of sites and landscapes along these sandbanks and algae and
fuci. What an indescribable spectacle, and what variety of sites and
landscapes along these sandbanks and volcanic islands which bound the
Libyan coast! But where these shrubs appeared in all their beauty was on
the eastern coast, which the Nautilus soon gained. It was on the coast of
Tehama, for there not only did this display of zoophytes flourish beneath
the level of the sea, but they also formed picturesque interlacings which
unfolded themselves about sixty feet above the surface, more capricious but
less highly coloured than those whose freshness was kept up by the vital
power of the waters.
What charming hours I passed thus at the window of the saloon! What
new specimens of submarine flora and fauna did I admire under the
brightness of our electric lantern!
The 9th of February the Nautilus floated in the broadest part of the
Red Sea, which is comprised between Souakin, on the west coast, and
Komfidah, on the east coast, with a diameter of ninety miles.
That day at noon, after the bearings were taken, Captain Nemo mounted
the platform, where I happened to be, and I was determined not to let him
go down again without at least pressing him regarding his ulterior
projects. As soon as he saw me he approached and graciously offered me a
cigar.
"Well, sir, does this Red Sea please you? Have you sufficiently
observed the wonders it covers, its fishes, its zoophytes, its parterres of
sponges, and its forests of coral? Did you catch a glimpse of the towns on
its borders?"
"Yes, Captain Nemo," I replied; "and the Nautilus is
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wonderfully fitted for such a study. Ah! it is an intelligent boat!"
"Yes, sir, intelligent and invulnerable. It fears neither the terrible
tempests of the Red Sea, nor its currents, nor its sandbanks."
"Certainly," said I, "this sea is quoted as one of the worst, and in
the time of the ancients, if I am not mistaken, its reputation was
detestable."
"Detestable, M. Aronnax. The Greek and Latin historians do not speak
favourably of it, and Strabo says it is very dangerous during the Etesian
winds and in the rainy season. The Arabian Edrisi portrays it under the
name of the Gulf of Colzoum, and relates that vessels perished there in
great numbers on the sandbanks and that no one would risk sailing in the
night. It is, he pretends, a sea subject to fearful hurricanes, strewn with
inhospitable islands, and 'which offers nothing good either on its surface
or in its depths.'"
"One may see," I replied, "that these historians never sailed on board
the Nautilus."
"Just so," replied the Captain, smiling; "and in that respect moderns
are not more advanced than the ancients. It required many ages to find out
the mechanical power of steam. Who knows if, in another hundred years, we
may not see a second Nautilus? Progress is slow, M. Aronnax."
"It is true," I answered; "your boat is at least a century before its
time, perhaps an era. What a misfortune that the secret of such an
invention should die with its inventor!"
Captain Nemo did not reply. After some minutes' silence he continued:
"You were speaking of the opinions of ancient historians upon the
dangerous navigation of the Red Sea."
"It is true," said I; "but were not their fears exaggerated?"
"Yes and no, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, who seemed to know the
Red Sea by heart. "That which is no longer dangerous for a modern vessel,
well rigged, strongly built, and master of its own course, thanks to
obedient steam, offered all sorts of perils to the ships of the ancients,
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Picture to yourself those first navigators venturing in ships made of
planks sewn with the cords of the palmtree, saturated with the grease of
the seadog, and covered with powdered resin! They had not even instruments
wherewith to take their bearings, and they went by guess amongst currents
of which they scarcely knew anything. Under such conditions shipwrecks
were, and must have been, numerous. But in our time, steamers running
between Suez and the South Seas have nothing more to fear from the fury of
this gulf, in spite of contrary trade-winds. The captain and passengers do
not prepare for their departure by offering propitiatory sacrifices; and,
on their return, they no longer go ornamented with wreaths and gilt fillets
to thank the gods in the neighbouring temple."
"I agree with you," said I; "and steam seems to have killed all
gratitude in the hearts of sailors. But, Captain, since you seem to have
especially studied this sea, can you tell me the origin of its name?"
"There exist several explanations on the subject, M. Aronnax. Would
you like to know the opinion of a chronicler of the fourteenth century?"
"Willingly."
"This fanciful writer pretends that its name was given to it after the
passage of the Israelites, when Pharaoh perished in the waves which closed
at the voice of Moses."
"A poet's explanation, Captain Nemo," I replied; "but I cannot content
myself with that. I ask you for your personal opinion."
"Here it is, M. Aronnax. According to my idea, we must see in this
appellation of the Red Sea a translation of the Hebrew word 'Edom'; and if
the ancients gave it that name, it was on account of the particular colour
of its waters."
"But up to this time I have seen nothing but transparent waves and
without any particular colour."
"Very likely; but as we advance to the bottom of the gulf, you will
see this singular appearance. I remember seeing the Bay of Tor entirely
red, like a sea of blood."
"And you attribute this colour to the presence of a microscopic
seaweed?"
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"Yes."
"So, Captain Nemo, it is not the first time you have overrun the Red
Sea on board the Nautilus?"
"No, sir."
"As you spoke a while ago of the passage of the Israelites and of the
catastrophe to the Egyptians, I will ask whether you have met with the
traces under the water of this great historical fact?"
"No, sir; and for a good reason."
"What is it?"
"It is that the spot where Moses and his people passed is now so
blocked up with sand that the camels can barely bathe their legs there. You
can well understand that there would not be water enough for my Nautilus."
"And the spot?" I asked.
"The spot is situated a little above the Isthmus of Suez, in the arm
which formerly made a deep estuary, when the Red Sea extended to the Salt
Lakes. Now, whether this passage were miraculous or not, the Israelites,
nevertheless, crossed there to reach the Promised Land, and Pharaoh's army
perished precisely on that spot; and I think that excavations made in the
middle of the sand would bring to light a large number of arms and
instruments of Egyptian origin."
"That is evident," I replied; "and for the sake of archaeologists let
us hope that these excavations will be made sooner or later, when new towns
are established on the isthmus, after the construction of the Suez Canal; a
canal, however, very useless to a vessel like the Nautilus."
"Very likely; but useful to the whole world," said Captain Nemo. "The
ancients well understood the utility of a communication between the Red Sea
and the Mediterranean for their commercial affairs: but they did not think
of digging a canal direct, and took the Nile as an intermediate. Very
probably the canal which united the Nile to the Red Sea was begun by
Sesostris, if we may believe tradition. One thing is certain, that in the
year 615 before Jesus Christ, Necos undertook the works of an alimentary
canal to the waters of the Nile across the plain of Egypt, looking towards
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Arabia. It took four days to go up this canal, and it was so wide that two
triremes could go abreast. It was carried on by Darius, the son of
Hystaspes, and probably finished by Ptolemy II. Strabo saw it navigated:
but its decline from the point of departure, near Bubastes, to the Red Sea
was so slight that it was only navigable for a few months in the year. This
canal answered all commercial purposes to the age of Antonius, when it was
abandoned and blocked up with sand. Restored by order of the Caliph Omar,
it was definitely destroyed in 761 or 762 by Caliph Al-Mansor, who wished
to prevent the arrival of provisions to Mohammed-ben-Abdallah, who had
revolted against him. During the expedition into Egypt, your General
Bonaparte discovered traces of the works in the Desert of Suez; and,
surprised by the tide, he nearly perished before regaining Hadjaroth, at
the very place where Moses had encamped three thousand years before him."
"Well, Captain, what the ancients dared not undertake, this junction
between the two seas, which will shorten the road from Cadiz to India, M.
Lesseps has succeeded in doing; and before long he will have changed Africa
into an immense island."
"Yes, M. Aronnax; you have the right to be proud of your countryman.
Such a man brings more honour to a nation than great captains. He began,
like so many others, with disgust and rebuffs; but he has triumphed, for he
has the genius of will. And it is sad to think that a work like that, which
ought to have been an international work and which would have sufficed to
make a reign illustrious, should have succeeded by the energy of one man.
All honour to M. Lesseps!"
"Yes! honour to the great citizen," I replied, surprised by the manner
in which Captain Nemo had just spoken.
"Unfortunately," he continued, "I cannot take you through the Suez
Canal; but you will be able to see the long jetty of Port Said after
to-morrow, when we shall be in the Mediterranean."
"The Mediterranean!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir; does that astonish you?"
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"What astonishes me is to think that we shall be there the day after
to-morrow."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, Captain, although by this time I ought to have accustomed myself
to be surprised at nothing since I have been on board your boat."
"But the cause of this surprise?"
"Well! it is the fearful speed you will have to put on the Nautilus,
if the day after to-morrow she is to be in the Mediterranean, having made
the round of Africa, and doubled the Cape of Good Hope!"
"Who told you that she would make the round of Africa and double the
Cape of Good Hope, sir?"
"Well, unless the Nautilus sails on dry land, and passes above the
isthmus -- "
"Or beneath it, M. Aronnax."
"Beneath it?"
"Certainly," replied Captain Nemo quietly. "A long time ago Nature
made under this tongue of land what man has this day made on its surface."
"What! such a passage exists?"
"Yes; a subterranean passage, which I have named the Arabian Tunnel.
It takes us beneath Suez and opens into the Gulf of Pelusium."
"But this isthmus is composed of nothing but quicksands?"
"To a certain depth. But at fifty-five yards only there is a solid
layer of rock."
"Did you discover this passage by chance?" I asked more and more
surprised.
"Chance and reasoning, sir; and by reasoning even more than by chance.
Not only does this passage exist, but I have profited by it several times.
Without that I should not have ventured this day into the impassable Red
Sea. I noticed that in the Red Sea and in the Mediterranean there existed a
certain number of fishes of a kind perfectly identical. Certain of the
fact, I asked myself was it possible that there was no communication
between the two seas? If
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there was, the subterranean current must necessarily run from the Red Sea
to the Mediterranean, from the sole cause of difference of level. I caught
a large number of fishes in the neighbourhood of Suez. I passed a copper
ring through their tails, and threw them back into the sea. Some months
later, on the coast of Syria, I caught some of my fish ornamented with the
ring. Thus the communication between the two was proved. I then sought for
it with my Nautilus; I discovered it, ventured into it, and before long,
sir, you too will have passed through my Arabian tunnel!"
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.5
THE ARABIAN TUNNEL
THAT same evening, in 21° 30' N. lat., the Nautilus floated on the
surface of the sea, approaching the Arabian coast. I saw Djeddah, the most
important counting-house of Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and India. I
distinguished clearly enough its buildings, the vessels anchored at the
quays, and those whose draught of water obliged them to anchor in the
roads. The sun, rather low on the horizon, struck full on the houses of the
town, bringing out their whiteness. Outside, some wooden cabins, and some
made of reeds, showed the quarter inhabited by the Bedouins. Soon Djeddah
was shut out from view by the shadows of night, and the Nautilus found
herself under water slightly phosphorescent.
The next day, the 10th of February, we sighted several ships running
to windward. The Nautilus returned to its submarine navigation; but at
noon, when her bearings were taken, the sea being deserted, she rose again
to her waterline.
Accompanied by Ned and Conseil, I seated myself on the platform. The
coast on the eastern side looked like a mass faintly printed upon a damp
fog.
We were leaning on the sides of the pinnace, talking of
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one thing and another, when Ned Land, stretching out his hand towards a
spot on the sea, said:
"Do you see anything there, sir?"
"No, Ned," I replied; "but I have not your eyes, you know."
"Look well," said Ned, "there, on the starboard beam, about the height
of the lantern! Do you not see a mass which seems to move?"
"Certainly," said I, after close attention; "I see something like a
long black body on the top of the water."
And certainly before long the black object was not more than a mile
from us. It looked like a great sandbank deposited in the open sea. It was
a gigantic dugong!
Ned Land looked eagerly. His eyes shone with covetousness at the sight
of the animal. His hand seemed ready to harpoon it. One would have thought
he was awaiting the moment to throw himself into the sea and attack it in
its element.
At this instant Captain Nemo appeared on the platform. He saw the
dugong, understood the Canadian's attitude, and, addressing him, said:
"If you held a harpoon just now, Master Land, would it not burn your
hand?"
"Just so, sir."
"And you would not be sorry to go back, for one day, to your trade of
a fisherman and to add this cetacean to the list of those you have already
killed?"
"I should not, sir."
"Well, you can try."
"Thank you, sir," said Ned Land, his eyes flaming.
"Only," continued the Captain, "I advise you for your own sake not to
miss the creature."
"Is the dugong dangerous to attack?" I asked, in spite of the
Canadian's shrug of the shoulders.
"Yes," replied the Captain; "sometimes the animal turns upon its
assailants and overturns their boat. But for Master Land this danger is not
to be feared. His eye is prompt, his arm sure."
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At this moment seven men of the crew, mute and immovable as ever,
mounted the platform. One carried a harpoon and a line similar to those
employed in catching whales. The pinnace was lifted from the bridge, pulled
from its socket, and let down into the sea. Six oarsmen took their seats,
and the coxswain went to the tiller. Ned, Conseil, and I went to the back
of the boat.
"You are not coming, Captain?" I asked.
"No, sir; but I wish you good sport."
The boat put off, and, lifted by the six rowers, drew rapidly towards
the dugong, which floated about two miles from the Nautilus.
Arrived some cables-length from the cetacean, the speed slackened, and
the oars dipped noiselessly into the quiet waters. Ned Land, harpoon in
hand, stood in the fore part of the boat. The harpoon used for striking the
whale is generally attached to a very long cord which runs out rapidly as
the wounded creature draws it after him. But here the cord was not more
than ten fathoms long, and the extremity was attached to a small barrel
which, by floating, was to show the course the dugong took under the water.
I stood and carefully watched the Canadian's adversary. This dugong,
which also bears the name of the halicore, closely resembles the manatee;
its oblong body terminated in a lengthened tall, and its lateral fins in
perfect fingers. Its difference from the manatee consisted in its upper
jaw, which was armed with two long and pointed teeth which formed on each
side diverging tusks.
This dugong which Ned Land was preparing to attack was of colossal
dimensions; it was more than seven yards long. It did not move, and seemed
to be sleeping on the waves, which circumstance made it easier to capture.
The boat approached within six yards of the animal. The oars rested on
the rowlocks. I half rose. Ned Land, his body thrown a little back,
brandished the harpoon in his experienced hand.
Suddenly a hissing noise was heard, and the dugong disappeared.
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The harpoon, although thrown with great force; had apparently only struck
the water.
"Curse it!" exclaimed the Canadian furiously; "I have missed it!"
"No," said I; "the creature is wounded -- look at the blood; but your
weapon has not stuck in his body."
"My harpoon! my harpoon!" cried Ned Land.
The sailors rowed on, and the coxswain made for the floating barrel.
The harpoon regained, we followed in pursuit of the animal.
The latter came now and then to the surface to breathe. Its wound had
not weakened it, for it shot onwards with great rapidity.
The boat, rowed by strong arms, flew on its track. Several times it
approached within some few yards, and the Canadian was ready to strike, but
the dugong made off with a sudden plunge, and it was impossible to reach
it.
Imagine the passion which excited impatient Ned Land! He hurled at the
unfortunate creature the most energetic expletives in the English tongue.
For my part, I was only vexed to see the dugong escape all our attacks.
We pursued it without relaxation for an hour, and I began to think it
would prove difficult to capture, when the animal, possessed with the
perverse idea of vengeance of which he had cause to repent, turned upon the
pinnace and assailed us in its turn.
This manoeuvre did not escape the Canadian.
"Look out!" he cried.
The coxswain said some words in his outlandish tongue, doubtless
warning the men to keep on their guard.
The dugong came within twenty feet of the boat, stopped, sniffed the
air briskly with its large nostrils (not pierced at the extremity, but in
the upper part of its muzzle). Then, taking a spring, he threw himself upon
us.
The pinnace could not avoid the shock, and half upset, shipped at
least two tons of water, which had to be emptied; but, thanks to the
coxswain, we caught it sideways, not full front, so we were not quite
overturned. While Ned Land,
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clinging to the bows, belaboured the gigantic animal with blows from his
harpoon, the creature's teeth were buried in the gunwale, and it lifted the
whole thing out of the water, as a lion does a roebuck. We were upset over
one another, and I know not how the adventure would have ended, if the
Canadian, still enraged with the beast, had not struck it to the heart.
I heard its teeth grind on the iron plate, and the dugong disappeared,
carrying the harpoon with him. But the barrel soon returned to the surface,
and shortly after the body of the animal, turned on its back. The boat came
up with it, took it in tow, and made straight for the Nautilus.
It required tackle of enormous strength to hoist the dugong on to the
platform. It weighed 10,000 lb.
The next day, 11th February, the larder of the Nautilus was enriched
by some more delicate game. A flight of sea- swallows rested on the
Nautilus. It was a species of the Sterna nilotica, peculiar to Egypt; its
beak is black, head grey and pointed, the eye surrounded by white spots,
the back, wings, and tail of a greyish colour, the belly and throat white,
and claws red. They also took some dozen of Nile ducks, a wild bird of high
flavour, its throat and upper part of the head white with black spots.
About five o'clock in the evening we sighted to the north the Cape of
Ras-Mohammed. This cape forms the extremity of Arabia Petraea, comprised
between the Gulf of Suez and the Gulf of Acabah.
The Nautilus penetrated into the Straits of Jubal, which leads to the
Gulf of Suez. I distinctly saw a high mountain, towering between the two
gulfs of Ras-Mohammed. It was Mount Horeb, that Sinai at the top of which
Moses saw God face to face.
At six o'clock the Nautilus, sometimes floating, sometimes immersed,
passed some distance from Tor, situated at the end of the bay, the waters
of which seemed tinted with red, an observation already made by Captain
Nemo. Then night fell in the midst of a heavy silence, sometimes broken by
the cries of the pelican and other night-birds, and the noise of the waves
breaking upon the shore, chafing against the
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rocks, or the panting of some far-off steamer beating the waters of the
Gulf with its noisy paddles.
From eight to nine o'clock the Nautilus remained some fathoms under
the water. According to my calculation we must have been very near Suez.
Through the panel of the saloon I saw the bottom of the rocks brilliantly
lit up by our electric lamp. We seemed to be leaving the Straits behind us
more and more.
At a quarter-past nine, the vessel having returned to the surface, I
mounted the platform. Most impatient to pass through Captain Nemo's tunnel,
I could not stay in one place, so came to breathe the fresh night air.
Soon in the shadow I saw a pale light, half discoloured by the fog,
shining about a mile from us.
"A floating lighthouse!" said someone near me.
I turned, and saw the Captain.
"It is the floating light of Suez," he continued. "It will not be long
before we gain the entrance of the tunnel."
"The entrance cannot be easy?"
"No, sir; for that reason I am accustomed to go into the steersman's
cage and myself direct our course. And now, if you will go down, M.
Aronnax, the Nautilus is going under the waves, and will not return to the
surface until we have passed through the Arabian Tunnel."
Captain Nemo led me towards the central staircase; half- way down he
opened a door, traversed the upper deck, and landed in the pilot's cage,
which it may be remembered rose at the extremity of the platform. It was a
cabin measuring six feet square, very much like that occupied by the pilot
on the steamboats of the Mississippi or Hudson. In the midst worked a
wheel, placed vertically, and caught to the tiller-rope, which ran to the
back of the Nautilus. Four light-ports with lenticular glasses, let in a
groove in the partition of the cabin, allowed the man at the wheel to see
in all directions.
This cabin was dark; but soon my eyes accustomed themselves to the
obscurity, and I perceived the pilot, a strong man, with his hands resting
on the spokes of the wheel. Outside, the sea appeared vividly lit up by the
lantern,
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which shed its rays from the back of the cabin to the other extremity of
the platform.
"Now," said Captain Nemo, "let us try to make our passage."
Electric wires connected the pilot's cage with the machinery room, and
from there the Captain could communicate simultaneously to his Nautilus the
direction and the speed. He pressed a metal knob, and at once the speed of
the screw diminished.
I looked in silence at the high straight wall we were running by at
this moment, the immovable base of a massive sandy coast. We followed it
thus for an hour only some few yards off.
Captain Nemo did not take his eye from the knob, suspended by its two
concentric circles in the cabin. At a simple gesture, the pilot modified
the course of the Nautilus every instant.
I had placed myself at the port-scuttle, and saw some magnificent
substructures of coral, zoophytes, seaweed, and fucus, agitating their
enormous claws, which stretched out from the fissures of the rock.
At a quarter-past ten, the Captain himself took the helm. A large
gallery, black and deep, opened before us. The Nautilus went boldly into
it. A strange roaring was heard round its sides. It was the waters of the
Red Sea, which the incline of the tunnel precipitated violently towards the
Mediterranean. The Nautilus went with the torrent, rapid as an arrow, in
spite of the efforts of the machinery, which, in order to offer more
effective resistance, beat the waves with reversed screw.
On the walls of the narrow passage I could see nothing but brilliant
rays, straight lines, furrows of fire, traced by the great speed, under the
brilliant electric light. My heart beat fast.
At thirty-five minutes past ten, Captain Nemo quitted the helm, and,
turning to me, said:
"The Mediterranean!"
In less than twenty minutes, the Nautilus, carried along by the
torrent, had passed through the Isthmus of Suez.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.6
THE GRECIAN ARCHIPELAGO
THE next day, the 12th of February, at the dawn of day, the Nautilus
rose to the surface. I hastened on to the platform. Three miles to the
south the dim outline of Pelusium was to be seen. A torrent had carried us
from one sea to another. About seven o'clock Ned and Conseil joined me.
"Well, Sir Naturalist," said the Canadian, in a slightly jovial tone,
"and the Mediterranean?"
"We are floating on its surface, friend Ned."
"What!" said Conseil, "this very night."
"Yes, this very night; in a few minutes we have passed this impassable
isthmus."
"I do not believe it," replied the Canadian.
"Then you are wrong, Master Land," I continued; "this low coast which
rounds off to the south is the Egyptian coast. And you who have such good
eyes, Ned, you can see the jetty of Port Said stretching into the sea."
The Canadian looked attentively.
"Certainly you are right, sir, and your Captain is a first- rate man.
We are in the Mediterranean. Good! Now, if you please, let us talk of our
own little affair, but so that no one hears us."
I saw what the Canadian wanted, and, in any case, I thought it better
to let him talk, as he wished it; so we all three went and sat down near
the lantern, where we were less exposed to the spray of the blades.
"Now, Ned, we listen; what have you to tell us?"
"What I have to tell you is very simple. We are in Europe; and before
Captain Nemo's caprices drag us once more to the bottom of the Polar Seas,
or lead us into Oceania, I ask to leave the Nautilus."
I wished in no way to shackle the liberty of my companions, but I
certainly felt no desire to leave Captain Nemo.
Thanks to him, and thanks to his apparatus, I was each day nearer the
completion of my submarine studies; and
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I was rewriting my book of submarine depths in its very element. Should I
ever again have such an opportunity of observing the wonders of the ocean?
No, certainly not! And I could not bring myself to the idea of abandoning
the Nautilus before the cycle of investigation was accomplished.
"Friend Ned, answer me frankly, are you tired of being on board? Are
you sorry that destiny has thrown us into Captain Nemo's hands?"
The Canadian remained some moments without answering. Then, crossing
his arms, he said:
"Frankly, I do not regret this journey under the seas. I shall be glad
to have made it; but, now that it is made, let us have done with it. That
is my idea."
"It will come to an end, Ned."
"Where and when?"
"Where I do not know -- when I cannot say; or, rather, I suppose it
will end when these seas have nothing more to teach us."
"Then what do you hope for?" demanded the Canadian.
"That circumstances may occur as well six months hence as now by which
we may and ought to profit."
"Oh!" said Ned Land, "and where shall we be in six months, if you
please, Sir Naturalist?"
"Perhaps in China; you know the Nautilus is a rapid traveller. It goes
through water as swallows through the air, or as an express on the land. It
does not fear frequented seas; who can say that it may not beat the coasts
of France, England, or America, on which flight may be attempted as
advantageously as here."
"M. Aronnax," replied the Canadian, "your arguments are rotten at the
foundation. You speak in the future, 'We shall be there! we shall be here!'
I speak in the present, 'We are here, and we must profit by it.'"
Ned Land's logic pressed me hard, and I felt myself beaten on that
ground. I knew not what argument would now tell in my favour.
"Sir," continued Ned, "let us suppose an impossibility: if Captain
Nemo should this day offer you your liberty; would you accept it?"
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"I do not know," I answered.
"And if," he added, "the offer made you this day was never to be
renewed, would you accept it?"
"Friend Ned, this is my answer. Your reasoning is against me. We must
not rely on Captain Nemo's good-will. Common prudence forbids him to set us
at liberty. On the other side, prudence bids us profit by the first
opportunity to leave the Nautilus."
"Well, M. Aronnax, that is wisely said."
"Only one observation -- just one. The occasion must be serious, and
our first attempt must succeed; if it fails, we shall never find another,
and Captain Nemo will never forgive us."
"All that is true," replied the Canadian. "But your observation
applies equally to all attempts at flight, whether in two years' time, or
in two days'. But the question is still this: If a favourable opportunity
presents itself, it must be seized."
"Agreed! And now, Ned, will you tell me what you mean by a favourable
opportunity?"
"It will be that which, on a dark night, will bring the Nautilus a
short distance from some European coast."
"And you will try and save yourself by swimming?"
"Yes, if we were near enough to the bank, and if the vessel was
floating at the time. Not if the bank was far away, and the boat was under
the water."
"And in that case?"
"In that case, I should seek to make myself master of the pinnace. I
know how it is worked. We must get inside, and the bolts once drawn, we
shall come to the surface of the water, without even the pilot, who is in
the bows, perceiving our flight."
"Well, Ned, watch for the opportunity; but do not forget that a hitch
will ruin us."
"I will not forget, sir."
"And now, Ned, would you like to know what I think of your project?"
"Certainly, M. Aronnax."
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"Well, I think -- I do not say I hope -- I think that this favourable
opportunity will never present itself."
"Why not?"
"Because Captain Nemo cannot hide from himself that we have not given
up all hope of regaining our liberty, and he will be on his guard, above
all, in the seas and in the sight of European coasts."
"We shall see," replied Ned Land, shaking his head determinedly.
"And now, Ned Land," I added, "let us stop here. Not another word on
the subject. The day that you are ready, come and let us know, and we will
follow you. I rely entirely upon you."
Thus ended a conversation which, at no very distant time, led to such
grave results. I must say here that facts seemed to confirm my foresight,
to the Canadian's great despair. Did Captain Nemo distrust us in these
frequented seas? or did he only wish to hide himself from the numerous
vessels, of all nations, which ploughed the Mediterranean? I could not
tell; but we were oftener between waters and far from the coast. Or, if the
Nautilus did emerge, nothing was to be seen but the pilot's cage; and
sometimes it went to great depths, for, between the Grecian Archipelago and
Asia Minor we could not touch the bottom by more than a thousand fathoms.
Thus I only knew we were near the Island of Carpathos, one of the
Sporades, by Captain Nemo reciting these lines from Virgil:
"Est Carpathio Neptuni gurgite vates,
Caeruleus Proteus," as he pointed to a spot on the planisphere.
It was indeed the ancient abode of Proteus, the old shepherd of
Neptune's flocks, now the Island of Scarpanto, situated between Rhodes and
Crete. I saw nothing but the granite base through the glass panels of the
saloon.
The next day, the 14th of February, I resolved to employ some hours in
studying the fishes of the Archipelago; but for some reason or other the
panels remained hermetically sealed. Upon taking the course of the
Nautilus, I found that
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we were going towards Candia, the ancient Isle of Crete. At the time I
embarked on the Abraham Lincoln, the whole of this island had risen in
insurrection against the despotism of the Turks. But how the insurgents had
fared since that time I was absolutely ignorant, and it was not Captain
Nemo, deprived of all land communications, who could tell me.
I made no allusion to this event when that night I found myself alone
with him in the saloon. Besides, he seemed to be taciturn and preoccupied.
Then, contrary to his custom, he ordered both panels to be opened, and,
going from one to the other, observed the mass of waters attentively. To
what end I could not guess; so, on my side, I employed my time in studying
the fish passing before my eyes.
In the midst of the waters a man appeared, a diver, carrying at his
belt a leathern purse. It was not a body abandoned to the waves; it was a
living man, swimming with a strong hand, disappearing occasionally to take
breath at the surface.
I turned towards Captain Nemo, and in an agitated voice exclaimed:
"A man shipwrecked! He must be saved at any price!"
The Captain did not answer me, but came and leaned against the panel.
The man had approached, and, with his face flattened against the
glass, was looking at us.
To my great amazement, Captain Nemo signed to him. The diver answered
with his hand, mounted immediately to the surface of the water, and did not
appear again.
"Do not be uncomfortable," said Captain Nemo. "It is Nicholas of Cape
Matapan, surnamed Pesca. He is well known in all the Cyclades. A bold
diver! water is his element, and he lives more in it than on land, going
continually from one island to another, even as far as Crete."
"You know him, Captain?"
"Why not, M. Aronnax?"
Saying which, Captain Nemo went towards a piece of furniture standing
near the left panel of the saloon. Near this piece of furniture, I saw a
chest bound with iron, on
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the cover of which was a copper plate, bearing the cypher of the Nautilus
with its device.
At that moment, the Captain, without noticing my presence, opened the
piece of furniture, a sort of strong box, which held a great many ingots.
They were ingots of gold. From whence came this precious metal, which
represented an enormous sum? Where did the Captain gather this gold from?
and what was he going to do with it?
I did not say one word. I looked. Captain Nemo took the ingots one by
one, and arranged them methodically in the chest, which he filled entirely.
I estimated the contents at more than 4,000 lb. weight of gold, that is to
say, nearly L200,000.
The chest was securely fastened, and the Captain wrote an address on
the lid, in characters which must have belonged to Modern Greece.
This done, Captain Nemo pressed a knob, the wire of which communicated
with the quarters of the crew. Four men appeared, and, not without some
trouble, pushed the chest out of the saloon. Then I heard them hoisting it
up the iron staircase by means of pulleys.
At that moment, Captain Nemo turned to me.
"And you were saying, sir?" said he.
"I was saying nothing, Captain."
"Then, sir, if you will allow me, I will wish you good night."
Whereupon he turned and left the saloon.
I returned to my room much troubled, as one may believe. I vainly
tried to sleep -- I sought the connecting link between the apparition of
the diver and the chest filled with gold. Soon, I felt by certain movements
of pitching and tossing that the Nautilus was leaving the depths and
returning to the surface.
Then I heard steps upon the platform; and I knew they were unfastening
the pinnace and launching it upon the waves. For one instant it struck the
side of the Nautilus, then all noise ceased.
Two hours after, the same noise, the same going and coming
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was renewed; the boat was hoisted on board, replaced in its socket, and the
Nautilus again plunged under the waves.
So these millions had been transported to their address. To what point
of the continent? Who was Captain Nemo's correspondent?
The next day I related to Conseil and the Canadian the events of the
night, which had excited my curiosity to the highest degree. My companions
were not less surprised than myself.
"But where does he take his millions to?" asked Ned Land.
To that there was no possible answer. I returned to the saloon after
having breakfast and set to work. Till five o'clock in the evening I
employed myself in arranging my notes. At that moment -- (ought I to
attribute it to some peculiar idiosyncrasy) -- I felt so great a heat that
I was obliged to take off my coat. It was strange, for we were under low
latitudes; and even then the Nautilus, submerged as it was, ought to
experience no change of temperature. I looked at the manometer; it showed a
depth of sixty feet, to which atmospheric heat could never attain.
I continued my work, but the temperature rose to such a pitch as to be
intolerable.
"Could there be fire on board?" I asked myself.
I was leaving the saloon, when Captain Nemo entered; he approached the
thermometer, consulted it, and, turning to me, said:
"Forty-two degrees."
"I have noticed it, Captain," I replied; "and if it gets much hotter
we cannot bear it."
"Oh, sir, it will not get better if we do not wish it."
"You can reduce it as you please, then?"
"No; but I can go farther from the stove which produces it."
"It is outward, then!"
"Certainly; we are floating in a current of boiling water."
"Is it possible!" I exclaimed.
"Look."
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The panels opened, and I saw the sea entirely white all round. A
sulphurous smoke was curling amid the waves, which boiled like water in a
copper. I placed my band on one of the panes of glass, but the heat was so
great that I quickly took it off again.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Near the Island of Santorin, sir," replied the Captain. "I wished to
give you a sight of the curious spectacle of a submarine eruption."
"I thought," said I, "that the formation of these new islands was
ended."
"Nothing is ever ended in the volcanic parts of the sea," replied
Captain Nemo; "and the globe is always being worked by subterranean fires.
Already, in the nineteenth year of our era, according to Cassiodorus and
Pliny, a new island, Theia (the divine), appeared in the very place where
these islets have recently been formed. Then they sank under the waves, to
rise again in the year 69, when they again subsided. Since that time to our
days the Plutonian work has been suspended. But on the 3rd of February,
1866, a new island, which they named George Island, emerged from the midst
of the sulphurous vapour near Nea Kamenni, and settled again the 6th of the
same month. Seven days after, the 13th of February, the Island of Aphroessa
appeared, leaving between Nea Kamenni and itself a canal ten yards broad. I
was in these seas when the phenomenon occurred, and I was able therefore to
observe all the different phases. The Island of Aphroessa, of round form,
measured 300 feet in diameter, and 30 feet in height. It was composed of
black and vitreous lava, mixed with fragments of felspar. And lastly, on
the 10th of March, a smaller island, called Reka, showed itself near Nea
Kamenni, and since then these three have joined together, forming but one
and the same island."
"And the canal in which we are at this moment?" I asked.
"Here it is," replied Captain Nemo, showing me a map of the
Archipelago. "You see, I have marked the new islands."
I returned to the glass. The Nautilus was no longer moving,
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the heat was becoming unbearable. The sea, which till now had been white,
was red, owing to the presence of salts of iron. In spite of the ship's
being hermetically sealed, an insupportable smell of sulphur filled the
saloon, and the brilliancy of the electricity was entirely extinguished by
bright scarlet flames. I was in a bath, I was choking, I was broiled.
"We can remain no longer in this boiling water," said I to the
Captain.
"It would not be prudent," replied the impassive Captain Nemo.
An order was given; the Nautilus tacked about and left the furnace it
could not brave with impunity. A quarter of an hour after we were breathing
fresh air on the surface. The thought then struck me that, if Ned Land had
chosen this part of the sea for our flight, we should never have come alive
out of this sea of fire.
The next day, the 16th of February, we left the basin which, between
Rhodes and Alexandria, is reckoned about 1,500 fathoms in depth, and the
Nautilus, passing some distance from Cerigo, quitted the Grecian
Archipelago after having doubled Cape Matapan.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.7
THE MEDITERRANEAN IN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS
THE Mediterranean, the blue sea par excellence, "the great sea" of the
Hebrews, "the sea" of the Greeks, the "mare nostrum" of the Romans,
bordered by orange-trees, aloes, cacti, and sea-pines; embalmed with the
perfume of the myrtle, surrounded by rude mountains, saturated with pure
and transparent air, but incessantly worked by under- ground fires; a
perfect battlefield in which Neptune and Pluto still dispute the empire of
the world!
It is upon these banks, and on these waters, says Michelet, that man
is renewed in one of the most powerful climates of the globe. But,
beautiful as it was, I could only take a
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rapid glance at the basin whose superficial area is two million of square
yards. Even Captain Nemo's knowledge was lost to me, for this puzzling
person did not appear once during our passage at full speed. I estimated
the course which the Nautilus took under the waves of the sea at about six
hundred leagues, and it was accomplished in forty-eight hours. Starting on
the morning of the 16th of February from the shores of Greece, we had
crossed the Straits of Gibraltar by sunrise on the 18th.
It was plain to me that this Mediterranean, enclosed in the midst of
those countries which he wished to avoid, was distasteful to Captain Nemo.
Those waves and those breezes brought back too many remembrances, if not
too many regrets. Here he had no longer that independence and that liberty
of gait which he had when in the open seas, and his Nautilus felt itself
cramped between the close shores of Africa and Europe.
Our speed was now twenty-five miles an hour. It may be well understood
that Ned Land, to his great disgust, was obliged to renounce his intended
flight. He could not launch the pinnace, going at the rate of twelve or
thirteen yards every second. To quit the Nautilus under such conditions
would be as bad as jumping from a train going at full speed -- an imprudent
thing, to say the least of it. Besides, our vessel only mounted to the
surface of the waves at night to renew its stock of air; it was steered
entirely by the compass and the log.
I saw no more of the interior of this Mediterranean than a traveller
by express train perceives of the landscape which flies before his eyes;
that is to say, the distant horizon, and not the nearer objects which pass
like a flash of lightning.
We were then passing between Sicily and the coast of Tunis. In the
narrow space between Cape Bon and the Straits of Messina the bottom of the
sea rose almost suddenly. There was a perfect bank, on which there was not
more than nine fathoms of water, whilst on either side the depth was ninety
fathoms.
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The Nautilus had to manoeuvre very carefully so as not to strike
against this submarine barrier.
I showed Conseil, on the map of the Mediterranean, the spot occupied
by this reef.
"But if you please, sir," observed Conseil, "it is like a real isthmus
joining Europe to Africa."
"Yes, my boy, it forms a perfect bar to the Straits of Lybia, and the
soundings of Smith have proved that in former times the continents between
Cape Boco and Cape Furina were joined."
"I can well believe it," said Conseil.
"I will add," I continued, "that a similar barrier exists between
Gibraltar and Ceuta, which in geological times formed the entire
Mediterranean."
"What if some volcanic burst should one day raise these two barriers
above the waves?"
"It is not probable, Conseil."
"Well, but allow me to finish, please, sir; if this phenomenon should
take place, it will be troublesome for M. Lesseps, who has taken so much
pains to pierce the isthmus."
"I agree with you; but I repeat, Conseil, this phenomenon will never
happen. The violence of subterranean force is ever diminishing. Volcanoes,
so plentiful in the first days of the world, are being extinguished by
degrees; the internal heat is weakened, the temperature of the lower strata
of the globe is lowered by a perceptible quantity every century to the
detriment of our globe, for its heat is its life."
"But the sun?"
"The sun is not sufficient, Conseil. Can it give heat to a dead body?"
"Not that I know of."
"Well, my friend, this earth will one day be that cold corpse; it will
become uninhabitable and uninhabited like the moon, which has long since
lost all its vital heat."
"In how many centuries?"
"In some hundreds of thousands of years, my boy."
"Then," said Conseil, "we shall have time to finish our journey --
that is, if Ned Land does not interfere with it."
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And Conseil, reassured, returned to the study of the bank, which the
Nautilus was skirting at a moderate speed.
During the night of the 16th and 17th February we had entered the
second Mediterranean basin, the greatest depth of which was 1,450 fathoms.
The Nautilus, by the action of its crew, slid down the inclined planes and
buried itself in the lowest depths of the sea.
On the 18th of February, about three o'clock in the morning, we were
at the entrance of the Straits of Gibraltar. There once existed two
currents: an upper one, long since recognised, which conveys the waters of
the ocean into the basin of the Mediterranean; and a lower counter-current,
which reasoning has now shown to exist. Indeed, the volume of water in the
Mediterranean, incessantly added to by the waves of the Atlantic and by
rivers falling into it, would each year raise the level of this sea, for
its evaporation is not sufficient to restore the equilibrium. As it is not
so, we must necessarily admit the existence of an under-current, which
empties into the basin of the Atlantic through the Straits of Gibraltar the
surplus waters of the Mediterranean. A fact indeed; and it was this
counter-current by which the Nautilus profited. It advanced rapidly by the
narrow pass. For one instant I caught a glimpse of the beautiful ruins of
the temple of Hercules, buried in the ground, according to Pliny, and with
the low island which supports it; and a few minutes later we were floating
on the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.8
VIGO BAY
THE Atlantic! a vast sheet of water whose superficial area covers
twenty-five millions of square miles, the length of which is nine thousand
miles, with a mean breadth of two thousand seven hundred -- an ocean whose
parallel winding shores embrace an immense circumference, watered by the
largest rivers of the world, the St. Lawrence, the Mississippi, the Amazon,
the Plata, the Orinoco, the Niger, the Senegal,
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the Elbe, the Loire, and the Rhine, which carry water from the most
civilised, as well as from the most savage, countries! Magnificent field of
water, incessantly ploughed by vessels of every nation, sheltered by the
flags of every nation, and which terminates in those two terrible points so
dreaded by mariners, Cape Horn and the Cape of Tempests.
The Nautilus was piercing the water with its sharp spur, after having
accomplished nearly ten thousand leagues in three months and a half, a
distance greater than the great circle of the earth. Where were we going
now, and what was reserved for the future? The Nautilus, leaving the
Straits of Gibraltar, had gone far out. It returned to the surface of the
waves, and our daily walks on the platform were restored to us.
I mounted at once, accompanied by Ned Land and Conseil. At a distance
of about twelve miles, Cape St. Vincent was dimly to be seen, forming the
south-western point of the Spanish peninsula. A strong southerly gale was
blowing. The sea was swollen and billowy; it made the Nautilus rock
violently. It was almost impossible to keep one's foot on the platform,
which the heavy rolls of the sea beat over every instant. So we descended
after inhaling some mouthfuls of fresh air.
I returned to my room, Conseil to his cabin; but the Canadian, with a
preoccupied air, followed me. Our rapid passage across the Mediterranean
had not allowed him to put his project into execution, and he could not
help showing his disappointment. When the door of my room was shut, he sat
down and looked at me silently.
"Friend Ned," said I, "I understand you; but you cannot reproach
yourself. To have attempted to leave the Nautilus under the circumstances
would have been folly."
Ned Land did not answer; his compressed lips and frowning brow showed
with him the violent possession this fixed idea had taken of his mind.
"Let us see," I continued; "we need not despair yet. We are going up
the coast of Portugal again; France and England are not far off, where we
can easily find refuge. Now if the Nautilus, on leaving the Straits of
Gibraltar, had
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gone to the south, if it had carried us towards regions where there were no
continents, I should share your uneasiness. But we know now that Captain
Nemo does not fly from civilised seas, and in some days I think you can act
with security."
Ned Land still looked at me fixedly; at length his fixed lips parted,
and he said, "It is for to-night."
I drew myself up suddenly. I was, I admit, little prepared for this
communication. I wanted to answer the Canadian, but words would not come.
"We agreed to wait for an opportunity," continued Ned Land, "and the
opportunity has arrived. This night we shall be but a few miles from the
Spanish coast. It is cloudy. The wind blows freely. I have your word, M.
Aronnax, and I rely upon you."
As I was silent, the Canadian approached me.
"To-night, at nine o'clock," said he. "I have warned Conseil. At that
moment Captain Nemo will be shut up in his room, probably in bed. Neither
the engineers nor the ship's crew can see us. Conseil and I will gain the
central staircase, and you, M. Aronnax, will remain in the library, two
steps from us, waiting my signal. The oars, the mast, and the sail are in
the canoe. I have even succeeded in getting some provisions. I have
procured an English wrench, to unfasten the bolts which attach it to the
shell of the Nautilus. So all is ready, till to-night."
"The sea is bad."
"That I allow," replied the Canadian; "but we must risk that. Liberty
is worth paying for; besides, the boat is strong, and a few miles with a
fair wind to carry us is no great thing. Who knows but by to-morrow we may
be a hundred leagues away? Let circumstances only favour us, and by ten or
eleven o'clock we shall have landed on some spot of terra firma, alive or
dead. But adieu now till to-night."
With these words the Canadian withdrew, leaving me almost dumb. I had
imagined that, the chance gone, I should have time to reflect and discuss
the matter. My obstinate companion had given me no time; and, after all,
what could
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I have said to him? Ned Land was perfectly right. There was almost the
opportunity to profit by. Could I retract my word, and take upon myself the
responsibility of compromising the future of my companions? To-morrow
Captain Nemo might take us far from all land.
At that moment a rather loud hissing noise told me that the reservoirs
were filling, and that the Nautilus was sinking under the waves of the
Atlantic.
A sad day I passed, between the desire of regaining my liberty of
action and of abandoning the wonderful Nautilus, and leaving my submarine
studies incomplete.
What dreadful hours I passed thus! Sometimes seeing myself and
companions safely landed, sometimes wishing, in spite of my reason, that
some unforeseen circumstance, would prevent the realisation of Ned Land's
project.
Twice I went to the saloon. I wished to consult the compass. I wished
to see if the direction the Nautilus was taking was bringing us nearer or
taking us farther from the coast. But no; the Nautilus kept in Portuguese
waters.
I must therefore take my part and prepare for flight. My luggage was
not heavy; my notes, nothing more.
As to Captain Nemo, I asked myself what he would think of our escape;
what trouble, what wrong it might cause him and what he might do in case of
its discovery or failure. Certainly I had no cause to complain of him; on
the contrary, never was hospitality freer than his. In leaving him I could
not be taxed with ingratitude. No oath bound us to him. It was on the
strength of circumstances he relied, and not upon our word, to fix us for
ever.
I had not seen the Captain since our visit to the Island of Santorin.
Would chance bring me to his presence before our departure? I wished it,
and I feared it at the same time. I listened if I could hear him walking
the room contiguous to mine. No sound reached my ear. I felt an unbearable
uneasiness. This day of waiting seemed eternal. Hours struck too slowly to
keep pace with my impatience.
My dinner was served in my room as usual. I ate but little; I was too
preoccupied. I left the table at seven o'clock. A hundred and twenty
minutes (I counted them) still separated
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me from the moment in which I was to join Ned Land. My agitation redoubled.
My pulse beat violently. I could not remain quiet. I went and came, hoping
to calm my troubled spirit by constant movement. The idea of failure in our
bold enterprise was the least painful of my anxieties; but the thought of
seeing our project discovered before leaving the Nautilus, of being brought
before Captain Nemo, irritated, or (what was worse) saddened, at my
desertion, made my heart beat.
I wanted to see the saloon for the last time. I descended the stairs
and arrived in the museum, where I had passed so many useful and agreeable
hours. I looked at all its riches, all its treasures, like a man on the eve
of an eternal exile, who was leaving never to return.
These wonders of Nature, these masterpieces of art, amongst which for
so many days my life had been concentrated, I was going to abandon them for
ever! I should like to have taken a last look through the windows of the
saloon into the waters of the Atlantic: but the panels were hermetically
closed, and a cloak of steel separated me from that ocean which I had not
yet explored.
In passing through the saloon, I came near the door let into the angle
which opened into the Captain's room. To my great surprise, this door was
ajar. I drew back involuntarily. If Captain Nemo should be in his room, he
could see me. But, hearing no sound, I drew nearer. The room was deserted.
I pushed open the door and took some steps forward. Still the same monklike
severity of aspect.
Suddenly the clock struck eight. The first beat of the hammer on the
bell awoke me from my dreams. I trembled as if an invisible eye had plunged
into my most secret thoughts, and I hurried from the room.
There my eye fell upon the compass. Our course was still north. The
log indicated moderate speed, the manometer a depth of about sixty feet.
I returned to my room, clothed myself warmly -- sea- boots, an
otterskin cap, a great coat of byssus, lined with sealskin; I was ready, I
was waiting. The vibration of the screw alone broke the deep silence which
reigned on board.
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I listened attentively. Would no loud voice suddenly inform me that Ned
Land had been surprised in his projected flight. A mortal dread hung over
me, and I vainly tried to regain my accustomed coolness.
At a few minutes to nine, I put my ear to the Captain's door. No
noise. I left my room and returned to the saloon, which was half in
obscurity, but deserted.
I opened the door communicating with the library. The same
insufficient light, the same solitude. I placed myself near the door
leading to the central staircase, and there waited for Ned Land's signal.
At that moment the trembling of the screw sensibly diminished, then it
stopped entirely. The silence was now only disturbed by the beatings of my
own heart. Suddenly a slight shock was felt; and I knew that the Nautilus
had stopped at the bottom of the ocean. My uneasiness increased. The
Canadian's signal did not come. I felt inclined to join Ned Land and beg of
him to put off his attempt. I felt that we were not sailing under our usual
conditions.
At this moment the door of the large saloon opened, and Captain Nemo
appeared. He saw me, and without further preamble began in an amiable tone
of voice:
"Ah, sir! I have been looking for you. Do you know the history of
Spain?"
Now, one might know the history of one's own country by heart; but in
the condition I was at the time, with troubled mind and head quite lost, I
could not have said a word of it.
"Well," continued Captain Nemo, "you heard my question! Do you know
the history of Spain?"
"Very slightly," I answered.
"Well, here are learned men having to learn," said the Captain. "Come,
sit down, and I will tell you a curious episode in this history. Sir,
listen well," said he; "this history will interest you on one side, for it
will answer a question which doubtless you have not been able to solve."
"I listen, Captain," said I, not knowing what my interlocutor was
driving at, and asking myself if this incident was bearing on our projected
flight.
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"Sir, if you have no objection, we will go back to 1702. You cannot be
ignorant that your king, Louis XIV, thinking that the gesture of a
potentate was sufficient to bring the Pyrenees under his yoke, had imposed
the Duke of Anjou, his grandson, on the Spaniards. This prince reigned more
or less badly under the name of Philip V, and had a strong party against
him abroad. Indeed, the preceding year, the royal houses of Holland,
Austria, and England had concluded a treaty of alliance at the Hague, with
the intention of plucking the crown of Spain from the head of Philip V, and
placing it on that of an archduke to whom they prematurely gave the title
of Charles III.
"Spain must resist this coalition; but she was almost entirely
unprovided with either soldiers or sailors. However, money would not fail
them, provided that their galleons, laden with gold and silver from
America, once entered their ports. And about the end of 1702 they expected
a rich convoy which France was escorting with a fleet of twenty-three
vessels, commanded by Admiral Chateau- Renaud, for the ships of the
coalition were already beating the Atlantic. This convoy was to go to
Cadiz, but the Admiral, hearing that an English fleet was cruising in those
waters, resolved to make for a French port.
"The Spanish commanders of the convoy objected to this decision. They
wanted to be taken to a Spanish port, and, if not to Cadiz, into Vigo Bay,
situated on the northwest coast of Spain, and which was not blocked.
"Admiral Chateau-Renaud had the rashness to obey this injunction, and
the galleons entered Vigo Bay.
"Unfortunately, it formed an open road which could not be defended in
any way. They must therefore hasten to unload the galleons before the
arrival of the combined fleet; and time would not have failed them had not
a miserable question of rivalry suddenly arisen.
"You are following the chain of events?" asked Captain Nemo.
"Perfectly," said I, not knowing the end proposed by this historical
lesson.
"I will continue. This is what passed. The merchants of
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Cadiz had a privilege by which they had the right of receiving all
merchandise coming from the West Indies. Now, to disembark these ingots at
the port of Vigo was depriving them of their rights. They complained at
Madrid, and obtained the consent of the weak-minded Philip that the convoy,
without discharging its cargo, should remain sequestered in the roads of
Vigo until the enemy had disappeared.
"But whilst coming to this decision, on the 22nd of October, 1702, the
English vessels arrived in Vigo Bay, when Admiral Chateau-Renaud, in spite
of inferior forces, fought bravely. But, seeing that the treasure must fall
into the enemy's hands, he burnt and scuttled every galleon, which went to
the bottom with their immense riches."
Captain Nemo stopped. I admit I could not see yet why this history
should interest me.
"Well?" I asked.
"Well, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, "we are in that Vigo Bay;
and it rests with yourself whether you will penetrate its mysteries."
The Captain rose, telling me to follow him. I had had time to recover.
I obeyed. The saloon was dark, but through the transparent glass the waves
were sparkling. I looked.
For half a mile around the Nautilus, the waters seemed bathed in
electric light. The sandy bottom was clean and bright. Some of the ship's
crew in their diving-dresses were clearing away half-rotten barrels and
empty cases from the midst of the blackened wrecks. From these cases and
from these barrels escaped ingots of gold and silver, cascades of piastres
and jewels. The sand was heaped up with them. Laden with their precious
booty, the men returned to the Nautilus, disposed of their burden, and went
back to this inexhaustible fishery of gold and silver.
I understood now. This was the scene of the battle of the 22nd of
October, 1702. Here on this very spot the galleons laden for the Spanish
Government had sunk. Here Captain Nemo came, according to his wants, to
pack up those millions with which he burdened the Nautilus. It was for him
and him alone America had given up her precious metals. He was
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heir direct, without anyone to share, in those treasures torn from the
Incas and from the conquered of Ferdinand Cortez.
"Did you know, sir," he asked, smiling, "that the sea contained such
riches?"
"I knew," I answered, "that they value money held in suspension in
these waters at two millions."
"Doubtless; but to extract this money the expense would be greater
than the profit. Here, on the contrary, I have but to pick up what man has
lost -- and not only in Vigo Bay, but in a thousand other ports where
shipwrecks have happened, and which are marked on my submarine map. Can you
understand now the source of the millions I am worth?"
"I understand, Captain. But allow me to tell you that in exploring
Vigo Bay you have only been beforehand with a rival society."
"And which?"
"A society which has received from the Spanish Government the
privilege of seeking those buried galleons. The shareholders are led on by
the allurement of an enormous bounty, for they value these rich shipwrecks
at five hundred millions."
"Five hundred millions they were," answered Captain Nemo, "but they
are so no longer."
"Just so," said I; "and a warning to those shareholders would be an
act of charity. But who knows if it would be well received? What gamblers
usually regret above all is less the loss of their money than of their
foolish hopes. After all, I pity them less than the thousands of
unfortunates to whom so much riches well-distributed would have been
profitable, whilst for them they will be for ever barren."
I had no sooner expressed this regret than I felt that it must have
wounded Captain Nemo.
"Barren!" he exclaimed, with animation. "Do you think then, sir, that
these riches are lost because I gather them? Is it for myself alone,
according to your idea, that I take the trouble to collect these treasures?
Who told you that I did not make a good use of it? Do you think I am
ignorant that there are suffering beings and oppressed races on this
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earth, miserable creatures to console, victims to avenge? Do you not
understand?"
Captain Nemo stopped at these last words, regretting perhaps that he
had spoken so much. But I had guessed that, whatever the motive which had
forced him to seek independence under the sea, it had left him still a man,
that his heart still beat for the sufferings of humanity, and that his
immense charity was for oppressed races as well as individuals. And I then
understood for whom those millions were destined which were forwarded by
Captain Nemo when the Nautilus was cruising in the waters of Crete.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.9
A VANISHED CONTINENT
THE next morning, the 19th of February, I saw the Canadian enter my
room. I expected this visit. He looked very disappointed.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"Well, Ned, fortune was against us yesterday."
"Yes; that Captain must needs stop exactly at the hour we intended
leaving his vessel."
"Yes, Ned, he had business at his bankers."
"His bankers!"
"Or rather his banking-house; by that I mean the ocean, where his
riches are safer than in the chests of the State."
I then related to the Canadian the incidents of the preceding night,
hoping to bring him back to the idea of not abandoning the Captain; but my
recital had no other result than an energetically expressed regret from Ned
that he had not been able to take a walk on the battlefield of Vigo on his
own account.
"However," said he, "all is not ended. It is only a blow of the
harpoon lost. Another time we must succeed; and to-night, if necessary -- "
"In what direction is the Nautilus going?" I asked.
"I do not know," replied Ned.
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"Well, at noon we shall see the point."
The Canadian returned to Conseil. As soon as I was dressed, I went
into the saloon. The compass was not reassuring. The course of the Nautilus
was S.S.W. We were turning our backs on Europe.
I waited with some impatience till the ship's place was pricked on the
chart. At about half-past eleven the reservoirs were emptied, and our
vessel rose to the surface of the ocean. I rushed towards the platform. Ned
Land had preceded me. No more land in sight. Nothing but an immense sea.
Some sails on the horizon, doubtless those going to San Roque in search of
favourable winds for doubling the Cape of Good Hope. The weather was
cloudy. A gale of wind was preparing. Ned raved, and tried to pierce the
cloudy horizon. He still hoped that behind all that fog stretched the land
he so longed for.
At noon the sun showed itself for an instant. The second profited by
this brightness to take its height. Then, the sea becoming more billowy, we
descended, and the panel closed.
An hour after, upon consulting the chart, I saw the position of the
Nautilus was marked at 16° 17' long., and 33° 22' lat., at 150 leagues from
the nearest coast. There was no means of flight, and I leave you to imagine
the rage of the Canadian when I informed him of our situation.
For myself, I was not particularly sorry. I felt lightened of the load
which had oppressed me, and was able to return with some degree of calmness
to my accustomed work.
That night, about eleven o'clock, I received a most unexpected visit
from Captain Nemo. He asked me very graciously if I felt fatigued from my
watch of the preceding night. I answered in the negative.
"Then, M. Aronnax, I propose a curious excursion."
"Propose, Captain?"
"You have hitherto only visited the submarine depths by daylight,
under the brightness of the sun. Would it suit you to see them in the
darkness of the night?"
"Most willingly."
"I warn you, the way will be tiring. We shall have far
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to walk, and must climb a mountain. The roads are not well kept."
"What you say, Captain, only heightens my curiosity; I am ready to
follow you."
"Come then, sir, we will put on our diving-dresses."
Arrived at the robing-room, I saw that neither of my companions nor
any of the ship's crew were to follow us on this excursion. Captain Nemo
had not even proposed my taking with me either Ned or Conseil.
In a few moments we had put on our diving-dresses; they placed on our
backs the reservoirs, abundantly filled with air, but no electric lamps
were prepared. I called the Captain's attention to the fact.
"They will be useless," he replied.
I thought I had not heard aright, but I could not repeat my
observation, for the Captain's head had already disappeared in its metal
case. I finished harnessing myself. I felt them put an iron-pointed stick
into my hand, and some minutes later, after going through the usual form,
we set foot on the bottom of the Atlantic at a depth of 150 fathoms.
Midnight was near. The waters were profoundly dark, but Captain Nemo
pointed out in the distance a reddish spot, a sort of large light shining
brilliantly about two miles from the Nautilus. What this fire might be,
what could feed it, why and how it lit up the liquid mass, I could not say.
In any case, it did light our way, vaguely, it is true, but I soon
accustomed myself to the peculiar darkness, and I understood, under such
circumstances, the uselessness of the Ruhmkorff apparatus.
As we advanced, I heard a kind of pattering above my head. The noise
redoubling, sometimes producing a continual shower, I soon understood the
cause. It was rain falling violently, and crisping the surface of the
waves. Instinctively the thought flashed across my mind that I should be
wet through! By the water! in the midst of the water! I could not help
laughing at the odd idea. But, indeed, in the thick diving-dress, the
liquid element is no longer felt, and one only seems to be in an atmosphere
somewhat denser than the terrestrial atmosphere. Nothing more.
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After half an hour's walk the soil became stony. Medusae, microscopic
crustacea, and pennatules lit it slightly with their phosphorescent gleam.
I caught a glimpse of pieces of stone covered with millions of zoophytes
and masses of seaweed. My feet often slipped upon this sticky carpet of
seaweed, and without my iron-tipped stick I should have fallen more than
once. In turning round, I could still see the whitish lantern of the
Nautilus beginning to pale in the distance.
But the rosy light which guided us increased and lit up the horizon.
The presence of this fire under water puzzled me in the highest degree. Was
I going towards a natural phenomenon as yet unknown to the savants of the
earth? Or even (for this thought crossed my brain) had the hand of man
aught to do with this conflagration? Had he fanned this flame? Was I to
meet in these depths companions and friends of Captain Nemo whom he was
going to visit, and who, like him, led this strange existence? Should I
find down there a whole colony of exiles who, weary of the miseries of this
earth, had sought and found independence in the deep ocean? All these
foolish and unreasonable ideas pursued me. And in this condition of mind,
over-excited by the succession of wonders continually passing before my
eyes, I should not have been surprised to meet at the bottom of the sea one
of those submarine towns of which Captain Nemo dreamed.
Our road grew lighter and lighter. The white glimmer came in rays from
the summit of a mountain about 800 feet high. But what I saw was simply a
reflection, developed by the clearness of the waters. The source of this
inexplicable light was a fire on the opposite side of the mountain.
In the midst of this stony maze furrowing the bottom of the Atlantic,
Captain Nemo advanced without hesitation. He knew this dreary road.
Doubtless he had often travelled over it, and could not lose himself. I
followed him with unshaken confidence. He seemed to me like a genie of the
sea; and, as he walked before me, I could not help admiring his stature,
which was outlined in black on the luminous horizon.
It was one in the morning when we arrived at the first
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slopes of the mountain; but to gain access to them we must venture through
the difficult paths of a vast copse.
Yes; a copse of dead trees, without leaves, without sap, trees
petrified by the action of the water and here and there overtopped by
gigantic pines. It was like a coal-pit still standing, holding by the roots
to the broken soil, and whose branches, like fine black paper cuttings,
showed distinctly on the watery ceiling. Picture to yourself a forest in
the Hartz hanging on to the sides of the mountain, but a forest swallowed
up. The paths were encumbered with seaweed and fucus, between which
grovelled a whole world of crustacea. I went along, climbing the rocks,
striding over extended trunks, breaking the sea bind-weed which hung from
one tree to the other; and frightening the fishes, which flew from branch
to branch. Pressing onward, I felt no fatigue. I followed my guide, who was
never tired. What a spectacle! How can I express it? how paint the aspect
of those woods and rocks in this medium -- their under parts dark and wild,
the upper coloured with red tints, by that light which the reflecting
powers of the waters doubled? We climbed rocks which fell directly after
with gigantic bounds and the low growling of an avalanche. To right and
left ran long, dark galleries, where sight was lost. Here opened vast
glades which the hand of man seemed to have worked; and I sometimes asked
myself if some inhabitant of these submarine regions would not suddenly
appear to me.
But Captain Nemo was still mounting. I could not stay behind. I
followed boldly. My stick gave me good help. A false step would have been
dangerous on the narrow passes sloping down to the sides of the gulfs; but
I walked with firm step, without feeling any giddiness. Now I jumped a
crevice, the depth of which would have made me hesitate had it been among
the glaciers on the land; now I ventured on the unsteady trunk of a tree
thrown across from one abyss to the other, without looking under my feet,
having only eyes to admire the wild sites of this region.
There, monumental rocks, leaning on their regularly-cut bases, seemed
to defy all laws of equilibrium. From between their stony knees trees
sprang, like a jet under heavy pressure,
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and upheld others which upheld them. Natural towers, large scarps, cut
perpendicularly, like a "curtain," inclined at an angle which the laws of
gravitation could never have tolerated in terrestrial regions.
Two hours after quitting the Nautilus we had crossed the line of
trees, and a hundred feet above our heads rose the top of the mountain,
which cast a shadow on the brilliant irradiation of the opposite slope.
Some petrified shrubs ran fantastically here and there. Fishes got up under
our feet like birds in the long grass. The massive rocks were rent with
impenetrable fractures, deep grottos, and unfathomable holes, at the bottom
of which formidable creatures might be heard moving. My blood curdled when
I saw enormous antennae blocking my road, or some frightful claw closing
with a noise in the shadow of some cavity. Millions of luminous spots shone
brightly in the midst of the darkness. They were the eyes of giant
crustacea crouched in their holes; giant lobsters setting themselves up
like halberdiers, and moving their claws with the clicking sound of
pincers; titanic crabs, pointed like a gun on its carriage; and frightful-
looking poulps, interweaving their tentacles like a living nest of
serpents.
We had now arrived on the first platform, where other surprises
awaited me. Before us lay some picturesque ruins, which betrayed the hand
of man and not that of the Creator. There were vast heaps of stone, amongst
which might be traced the vague and shadowy forms of castles and temples,
clothed with a world of blossoming zoophytes, and over which, instead of
ivy, sea-weed and fucus threw a thick vegetable mantle. But what was this
portion of the globe which had been swallowed by cataclysms? Who had placed
those rocks and stones like cromlechs of prehistoric times? Where was I?
Whither had Captain Nemo's fancy hurried me?
I would fain have asked him; not being able to, I stopped him -- I
seized his arm. But, shaking his head, and pointing to the highest point of
the mountain, he seemed to say:
"Come, come along; come higher!"
I followed, and in a few minutes I had climbed to the
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top, which for a circle of ten yards commanded the whole mass of rock.
I looked down the side we had just climbed. The mountain did not rise
more than seven or eight hundred feet above the level of the plain; but on
the opposite side it commanded from twice that height the depths of this
part of the Atlantic. My eyes ranged far over a large space lit by a
violent fulguration. In fact, the mountain was a volcano.
At fifty feet above the peak, in the midst of a rain of stones and
scoriae, a large crater was vomiting forth torrents of lava which fell in a
cascade of fire into the bosom of the liquid mass. Thus situated, this
volcano lit the lower plain like an immense torch, even to the extreme
limits of the horizon. I said that the submarine crater threw up lava, but
no flames. Flames require the oxygen of the air to feed upon and cannot be
developed under water; but streams of lava, having in themselves the
principles of their incandescence, can attain a white heat, fight
vigorously against the liquid element, and turn it to vapour by contact.
Rapid currents bearing all these gases in diffusion and torrents of
lava slid to the bottom of the mountain like an eruption of Vesuvius on
another Terra del Greco.
There indeed under my eyes, ruined, destroyed, lay a town -- its roofs
open to the sky, its temples fallen, its arches dislocated, its columns
lying on the ground, from which one would still recognise the massive
character of Tuscan architecture. Further on, some remains of a gigantic
aqueduct; here the high base of an Acropolis, with the floating outline of
a Parthenon; there traces of a quay, as if an ancient port had formerly
abutted on the borders of the ocean, and disappeared with its merchant
vessels and its war-galleys. Farther on again, long lines of sunken walls
and broad, deserted streets -- a perfect Pompeii escaped beneath the
waters. Such was the sight that Captain Nemo brought before my eyes!
Where was I? Where was I? I must know at any cost. I tried to speak,
but Captain Nemo stopped me by a
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gesture, and, picking up a piece of chalk-stone, advanced to a rock of
black basalt, and traced the one word:
ATLANTIS
What a light shot through my mind! Atlantis! the Atlantis of Plato,
that continent denied by Origen and Humbolt, who placed its disappearance
amongst the legendary tales. I had it there now before my eyes, bearing
upon it the unexceptionable testimony of its catastrophe. The region thus
engulfed was beyond Europe, Asia, and Lybia, beyond the columns of
Hercules, where those powerful people, the Atlantides, lived, against whom
the first wars of ancient Greeks were waged.
Thus, led by the strangest destiny, I was treading under foot the
mountains of this continent, touching with my hand those ruins a thousand
generations old and contemporary with the geological epochs. I was walking
on the very spot where the contemporaries of the first man had walked.
Whilst I was trying to fix in my mind every detail of this grand
landscape, Captain Nemo remained motionless, as if petrified in mute
ecstasy, leaning on a mossy stone. Was he dreaming of those generations
long since disappeared? Was he asking them the secret of human destiny? Was
it here this strange man came to steep himself in historical recollections,
and live again this ancient life -- he who wanted no modern one? What would
I not have given to know his thoughts, to share them, to understand them!
We remained for an hour at this place, contemplating the vast plains under
the brightness of the lava, which was sometimes wonderfully intense. Rapid
tremblings ran along the mountain caused by internal bubblings, deep noise,
distinctly transmitted through the liquid medium were echoed with majestic
grandeur. At this moment the moon appeared through the mass of waters and
threw her pale rays on the buried continent. It was but a gleam, but what
an indescribable effect! The Captain rose, cast one last look on the
immense plain, and then bade me follow him.
We descended the mountain rapidly, and, the mineral forest once
passed, I saw the lantern of the Nautilus shining
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like a star. The Captain walked straight to it, and we got on board as the
first rays of light whitened the surface of the ocean.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.10
THE SUBMARINE COAL-MINES
THE next day, the 20th of February, I awoke very late: the fatigues of
the previous night had prolonged my sleep until eleven o'clock. I dressed
quickly, and hastened to find the course the Nautilus was taking. The
instruments showed it to be still toward the south, with a speed of twenty
miles an hour and a depth of fifty fathoms.
The species of fishes here did not differ much from those already
noticed. There were rays of giant size, five yards long, and endowed with
great muscular strength, which enabled them to shoot above the waves;
sharks of many kinds; amongst others, one fifteen feet long, with
triangular sharp teeth, and whose transparency rendered it almost invisible
in the water.
Amongst bony fish Conseil noticed some about three yards long, armed
at the upper jaw with a piercing sword; other bright-coloured creatures,
known in the time of Aristotle by the name of the sea-dragon, which are
dangerous to capture on account of the spikes on their back.
About four o'clock, the soil, generally composed of a thick mud mixed
with petrified wood, changed by degrees, and it became more stony, and
seemed strewn with conglomerate and pieces of basalt, with a sprinkling of
lava. I thought that a mountainous region was succeeding the long plains;
and accordingly, after a few evolutions of the Nautilus, I saw the
southerly horizon blocked by a high wall which seemed to close all exit.
Its summit evidently passed the level of the ocean. It must be a continent,
or at least an island -- one of the Canaries, or of the Cape Verde Islands.
The bearings not being yet taken, perhaps designedly, I was ignorant of our
exact position. In any case, such
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a wall seemed to me to mark the limits of that Atlantis, of which we had in
reality passed over only the smallest part.
Much longer should I have remained at the window admiring the beauties
of sea and sky, but the panels closed. At this moment the Nautilus arrived
at the side of this high, perpendicular wall. What it would do, I could not
guess. I returned to my room; it no longer moved. I laid myself down with
the full intention of waking after a few hours' sleep; but it was eight
o'clock the next day when I entered the saloon. I looked at the manometer.
It told me that the Nautilus was floating on the surface of the ocean.
Besides, I heard steps on the platform. I went to the panel. It was open;
but, instead of broad daylight, as I expected, I was surrounded by profound
darkness. Where were we? Was I mistaken? Was it still night? No; not a star
was shining and night has not that utter darkness.
I knew not what to think, when a voice near me said:
"Is that you, Professor?"
"Ah! Captain," I answered, "where are we?"
"Underground, sir."
"Underground!" I exclaimed. "And the Nautilus floating still?"
"It always floats."
"But I do not understand."
"Wait a few minutes, our lantern will be lit, and, if you like light
places, you will be satisfied."
I stood on the platform and waited. The darkness was so complete that
I could not even see Captain Nemo; but, looking to the zenith, exactly
above my head, I seemed to catch an undecided gleam, a kind of twilight
filling a circular hole. At this instant the lantern was lit, and its
vividness dispelled the faint light. I closed my dazzled eyes for an
instant, and then looked again. The Nautilus was stationary, floating near
a mountain which formed a sort of quay. The lake, then, supporting it was a
lake imprisoned by a circle of walls, measuring two miles in diameter and
six in circumference. Its level (the manometer showed) could only be the
same as the outside level, for there must necessarily be a communication
between the lake and the sea. The high partitions,
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leaning forward on their base, grew into a vaulted roof bearing the shape
of an immense funnel turned upside down, the height being about five or six
hundred yards. At the summit was a circular orifice, by which I had caught
the slight gleam of light, evidently daylight.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"In the very heart of an extinct volcano, the interior of which has
been invaded by the sea, after some great convulsion of the earth. Whilst
you were sleeping, Professor, the Nautilus penetrated to this lagoon by a
natural canal, which opens about ten yards beneath the surface of the
ocean. This is its harbour of refuge, a sure, commodious, and mysterious
one, sheltered from all gales. Show me, if you can, on the coasts of any of
your continents or islands, a road which can give such perfect refuge from
all storms."
"Certainly," I replied, "you are in safety here, Captain Nemo. Who
could reach you in the heart of a volcano? But did I not see an opening at
its summit?"
"Yes; its crater, formerly filled with lava, vapour, and flames, and
which now gives entrance to the life-giving air we breathe."
"But what is this volcanic mountain?"
"It belongs to one of the numerous islands with which this sea is
strewn -- to vessels a simple sandbank -- to us an immense cavern. Chance
led me to discover it, and chance served me well."
"But of what use is this refuge, Captain? The Nautilus wants no port."
"No, sir; but it wants electricity to make it move, and the
wherewithal to make the electricity -- sodium to feed the elements, coal
from which to get the sodium, and a coal-mine to supply the coal. And
exactly on this spot the sea covers entire forests embedded during the
geological periods, now mineralised and transformed into coal; for me they
are an inexhaustible mine."
"Your men follow the trade of miners here, then, Captain?"
"Exactly so. These mines extend under the waves like the mines of
Newcastle. Here, in their diving-dresses, pick-
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axe and shovel in hand, my men extract the coal, which I do not even ask
from the mines of the earth. When I burn this combustible for the
manufacture of sodium, the smoke, escaping from the crater of the mountain,
gives it the appearance of a still-active volcano."
"And we shall see your companions at work?"
"No; not this time at least; for I am in a hurry to continue our
submarine tour of the earth. So I shall content myself with drawing from
the reserve of sodium I already possess. The time for loading is one day
only, and we continue our voyage. So, if you wish to go over the cavern and
make the round of the lagoon, you must take advantage of to-day, M.
Aronnax."
I thanked the Captain and went to look for my companions, who had not
yet left their cabin. I invited them to follow me without saying where we
were. They mounted the platform. Conseil, who was astonished at nothing,
seemed to look upon it as quite natural that he should wake under a
mountain, after having fallen asleep under the waves. But Ned Land thought
of nothing but finding whether the cavern had any exit. After breakfast,
about ten o'clock, we went down on to the mountain.
"Here we are, once more on land," said Conseil.
"I do not call this land," said the Canadian. "And besides, we are not
on it, but beneath it."
Between the walls of the mountains and the waters of the lake lay a
sandy shore which, at its greatest breadth, measured five hundred feet. On
this soil one might easily make the tour of the lake. But the base of the
high partitions was stony ground, with volcanic locks and enormous pumice-
stones lying in picturesque heaps. All these detached masses, covered with
enamel, polished by the action of the subterraneous fires, shone
resplendent by the light of our electric lantern. The mica dust from the
shore, rising under our feet, flew like a cloud of sparks. The bottom now
rose sensibly, and we soon arrived at long circuitous slopes, or inclined
planes, which took us higher by degrees; but we were obliged to walk
carefully among these conglomerates,
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bound by no cement, the feet slipping on the glassy crystal, felspar, and
quartz.
The volcanic nature of this enormous excavation was confirmed on all
sides, and I pointed it out to my companions.
"Picture to yourselves," said I, "what this crater must have been when
filled with boiling lava, and when the level of the incandescent liquid
rose to the orifice of the mountain, as though melted on the top of a hot
plate."
"I can picture it perfectly," said Conseil. "But, sir, will you tell
me why the Great Architect has suspended operations, and how it is that the
furnace is replaced by the quiet waters of the lake?"
"Most probably, Conseil, because some convulsion beneath the ocean
produced that very opening which has served as a passage for the Nautilus.
Then the waters of the Atlantic rushed into the interior of the mountain.
There must have been a terrible struggle between the two elements, a
struggle which ended in the victory of Neptune. But many ages have run out
since then, and the submerged volcano is now a peaceable grotto."
"Very well," replied Ned Land; "I accept the explanation, sir; but, in
our own interests, I regret that the opening of which you speak was not
made above the level of the sea."
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "if the passage had not been under
the sea, the Nautilus could not have gone through it."
We continued ascending. The steps became more and more perpendicular
and narrow. Deep excavations, which we were obliged to cross, cut them here
and there; sloping masses had to be turned. We slid upon our knees and
crawled along. But Conseil's dexterity and the Canadian's strength
surmounted all obstacles. At a height of about 31 feet the nature of the
ground changed without becoming more practicable. To the conglomerate and
trachyte succeeded black basalt, the first dispread in layers full of
bubbles, the latter forming regular prisms, placed like a colonnade
supporting the spring of the immense vault, an admirable specimen of
natural architecture. Between the blocks of basalt wound long streams of
lava, long since
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grown cold, encrusted with bituminous rays; and in some places there were
spread large carpets of sulphur. A more powerful light shone through the
upper crater, shedding a vague glimmer over these volcanic depressions for
ever buried in the bosom of this extinguished mountain. But our upward
march was soon stopped at a height of about two hundred and fifty feet by
impassable obstacles. There was a complete vaulted arch overhanging us, and
our ascent was changed to a circular walk. At the last change vegetable
life began to struggle with the mineral. Some shrubs, and even some trees,
grew from the fractures of the walls. I recognised some euphorbias, with
the caustic sugar coming from them; heliotropes, quite incapable of
justifying their name, sadly drooped their clusters of flowers, both their
colour and perfume half gone. Here and there some chrysanthemums grew
timidly at the foot of an aloe with long, sickly-looking leaves. But
between the streams of lava, I saw some little violets still slightly
perfumed, and I admit that I smelt them with delight. Perfume is the soul
of the flower, and sea-flowers have no soul.
We had arrived at the foot of some sturdy dragon-trees, which had
pushed aside the rocks with their strong roots, when Ned Land exclaimed:
"Ah! sir, a hive! a hive!"
"A hive!" I replied, with a gesture of incredulity.
"Yes, a hive," repeated the Canadian, "and bees humming round it."
I approached, and was bound to believe my own eyes. There at a hole
bored in one of the dragon-trees were some thousands of these ingenious
insects, so common in all the Canaries, and whose produce is so much
esteemed. Naturally enough, the Canadian wished to gather the honey, and I
could not well oppose his wish. A quantity of dry leaves, mixed with
sulphur, he lit with a spark from his flint, and he began to smoke out the
bees. The humming ceased by degrees, and the hive eventually yielded
several pounds of the sweetest honey, with which Ned Land filled his
haversack.
"When I have mixed this honey with the paste of the
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bread-fruit," said he, "I shall be able to offer you a succulent cake."
"'Pon my word," said Conseil, "it will be gingerbread."
"Never mind the gingerbread," said I; "let us continue our interesting
walk."
At every turn of the path we were following, the lake appeared in all
its length and breadth. The lantern lit up the whole of its peaceable
surface, which knew neither ripple nor wave. The Nautilus remained
perfectly immovable. On the platform, and on the mountain, the ship's crew
were working like black shadows clearly carved against the luminous
atmosphere. We were now going round the highest crest of the first layers
of rock which upheld the roof. I then saw that bees were not the only
representatives of the animal kingdom in the interior of this volcano.
Birds of prey hovered here and there in the shadows, or fled from their
nests on the top of the rocks. There were sparrow- hawks, with white
breasts, and kestrels, and down the slopes scampered, with their long legs,
several fine fat bustards. I leave anyone to imagine the covetousness of
the Canadian at the sight of this savoury game, and whether he did not
regret having no gun. But he did his best to replace the lead by stones,
and, after several fruitless attempts, he succeeded in wounding a
magnificent bird. To say that he risked his life twenty times before
reaching it is but the truth; but he managed so well that the creature
joined the honey-cakes in his bag. We were now obliged to descend toward
the shore, the crest becoming impracticable. Above us the crater seemed to
gape like the mouth of a well. From this place the sky could be clearly
seen, and clouds, dissipated by the west wind, leaving behind them, even on
the summit of the mountain, their misty remnants -- certain proof that they
were only moderately high, for the volcano did not rise more than eight
hundred feet above the level of the ocean. Half an hour after the
Canadian's last exploit we had regained the inner shore. Here the flora was
represented by large carpets of marine crystal, a little umbelliferous
plant very good to pickle, which also bears the name of pierce-stone and
sea-fennel. Conseil gathered some
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bundles of it. As to the fauna, it might be counted by thousands of
crustacea of all sorts, lobsters, crabs, spider-crabs, chameleon shrimps,
and a large number of shells, rockfish, and limpets. Three-quarters of an
hour later we had finished our circuitous walk and were on board. The crew
had just finished loading the sodium, and the Nautilus could have left that
instant. But Captain Nemo gave no order. Did be wish to wait until night,
and leave the submarine passage secretly? Perhaps so. Whatever it might be,
the next day, the Nautilus, having left its port, steered clear of all land
at a few yards beneath the waves of the Atlantic.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.11
THE SARGASSO SEA
THAT day the Nautilus crossed a singular part of the Atlantic Ocean.
No one can be ignorant of the existence of a current of warm water known by
the name of the Gulf Stream. After leaving the Gulf of Florida, we went in
the direction of Spitzbergen. But before entering the Gulf of Mexico, about
45° of N. lat., this current divides into two arms, the principal one going
towards the coast of Ireland and Norway, whilst the second bends to the
south about the height of the Azores; then, touching the African shore, and
describing a lengthened oval, returns to the Antilles. This second arm --
it is rather a collar than an arm -- surrounds with its circles of warm
water that portion of the cold, quiet, immovable ocean called the Sargasso
Sea, a perfect lake in the open Atlantic: it takes no less than three years
for the great current to pass round it. Such was the region the Nautilus
was now visiting, a perfect meadow, a close carpet of seaweed, fucus, and
tropical berries, so thick and so compact that the stem of a vessel could
hardly tear its way through it. And Captain Nemo, not wishing to entangle
his screw in this herbaceous mass, kept some yards beneath the surface of
the waves. The name Sargasso comes from the Spanish word "sargazzo" which
signifies kelp.
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This kelp, or berry-plant, is the principal formation of this immense bank.
And this is the reason why these plants unite in the peaceful basin of the
Atlantic. The only explanation which can be given, he says, seems to me to
result from the experience known to all the world. Place in a vase some
fragments of cork or other floating body, and give to the water in the vase
a circular movement, the scattered fragments will unite in a group in the
centre of the liquid surface, that is to say, in the part least agitated.
In the phenomenon we are considering, the Atlantic is the vase, the Gulf
Stream the circular current, and the Sargasso Sea the central point at
which the floating bodies unite.
I share Maury's opinion, and I was able to study the phenomenon in the
very midst, where vessels rarely penetrate. Above us floated products of
all kinds, heaped up among these brownish plants; trunks of trees torn from
the Andes or the Rocky Mountains, and floated by the Amazon or the
Mississippi; numerous wrecks, remains of keels, or ships' bottoms,
side-planks stove in, and so weighted with shells and barnacles that they
could not again rise to the surface. And time will one day justify Maury's
other opinion, that these substances thus accumulated for ages will become
petrified by the action of the water and will then form inexhaustible
coal-mines -- a precious reserve prepared by far-seeing Nature for the
moment when men shall have exhausted the mines of continents.
In the midst of this inextricable mass of plants and seaweed, I
noticed some charming pink halcyons and actiniae, with their long tentacles
trailing after them, and medusae, green, red, and blue.
All the day of the 22nd of February we passed in the Sargasso Sea,
where such fish as are partial to marine plants find abundant nourishment.
The next, the ocean had returned to its accustomed aspect. From this time
for nineteen days, from the 23rd of February to the 12th of March, the
Nautilus kept in the middle of the Atlantic, carrying us at a constant
speed of a hundred leagues in twenty-four hours. Captain Nemo evidently
intended accomplishing his submarine programme, and I imagined that he
intended,
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after doubling Cape Horn, to return to the Australian seas of the Pacific.
Ned Land had cause for fear. In these large seas, void of islands, we could
not attempt to leave the boat. Nor had we any means of opposing Captain
Nemo's will. Our only course was to submit; but what we could neither gain
by force nor cunning, I liked to think might be obtained by persuasion.
This voyage ended, would he not consent to restore our liberty, under an
oath never to reveal his existence? -- an oath of honour which we should
have religiously kept. But we must consider that delicate question with the
Captain. But was I free to claim this liberty? Had he not himself said from
the beginning, in the firmest manner, that the secret of his life exacted
from him our lasting imprisonment on board the Nautilus? And would not my
four months' silence appear to him a tacit acceptance of our situation? And
would not a return to the subject result in raising suspicions which might
be hurtful to our projects, if at some future time a favourable opportunity
offered to return to them?
During the nineteen days mentioned above, no incident of any kind
happened to signalise our voyage. I saw little of the Captain; he was at
work. In the library I often found his books left open, especially those on
natural history. My work on submarine depths, conned over by him, was
covered with marginal notes, often contradicting my theories and systems;
but the Captain contented himself with thus purging my work; it was very
rare for him to discuss it with me. Sometimes I heard the melancholy tones
of his organ; but only at night, in the midst of the deepest obscurity,
when the Nautilus slept upon the deserted ocean. During this part of our
voyage we sailed whole days on the surface of the waves. The sea seemed
abandoned. A few sailing-vessels, on the road to India, were making for the
Cape of Good Hope. One day we were followed by the boats of a whaler, who,
no doubt, took us for some enormous whale of great price; but Captain Nemo
did not wish the worthy fellows to lose their time and trouble, so ended
the chase by plunging under the water. Our navigation continued until the
13th of March; that day the Nautilus was employed in
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taking soundings, which greatly interested me. We had then made about
13,000 leagues since our departure from the high seas of the Pacific. The
bearings gave us 45° 37' S. lat., and 37° 53' W. long. It was the same
water in which Captain Denham of the Herald sounded 7,000 fathoms without
finding the bottom. There, too, Lieutenant Parker, of the American frigate
Congress, could not touch the bottom with 15,140 fathoms. Captain Nemo
intended seeking the bottom of the ocean by a diagonal sufficiently
lengthened by means of lateral planes placed at an angle of 45° with the
water-line of the Nautilus. Then the screw set to work at its maximum
speed, its four blades beating the waves with indescribable force. Under
this powerful pressure, the hull of the Nautilus quivered like a sonorous
chord and sank regularly under the water.
At 7,000 fathoms I saw some blackish tops rising from the midst of the
waters; but these summits might belong to high mountains like the Himalayas
or Mont Blanc, even higher; and the depth of the abyss remained
incalculable. The Nautilus descended still lower, in spite of the great
pressure. I felt the steel plates tremble at the fastenings of the bolts;
its bars bent, its partitions groaned; the windows of the saloon seemed to
curve under the pressure of the waters. And this firm structure would
doubtless have yielded, if, as its Captain had said, it had not been
capable of resistance like a solid block. We had attained a depth of 16,000
yards (four leagues), and the sides of the Nautilus then bore a pressure of
1,600 atmospheres, that is to say, 3,200 lb. to each square two-fifths of
an inch of its surface.
"What a situation to be in!" I exclaimed. "To overrun these deep
regions where man has never trod! Look, Captain, look at these magnificent
rocks, these uninhabited grottoes, these lowest receptacles of the globe,
where life is no longer possible! What unknown sights are here! Why should
we be unable to preserve a remembrance of them?"
"Would you like to carry away more than the remembrance?" said Captain
Nemo.
"What do you mean by those words?"
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"I mean to say that nothing is easier than to make a photographic view
of this submarine region."
I had not time to express my surprise at this new proposition, when,
at Captain Nemo's call, an objective was brought into the saloon. Through
the widely-opened panel, the liquid mass was bright with electricity, which
was distributed with such uniformity that not a shadow, not a gradation,
was to be seen in our manufactured light. The Nautilus remained motionless,
the force of its screw subdued by the inclination of its planes: the
instrument was propped on the bottom of the oceanic site, and in a few
seconds we had obtained a perfect negative.
But, the operation being over, Captain Nemo said, "Let us go up; we
must not abuse our position, nor expose the Nautilus too long to such great
pressure."
"Go up again!" I exclaimed.
"Hold well on."
I had not time to understand why the Captain cautioned me thus, when I
was thrown forward on to the carpet. At a signal from the Captain, its
screw was shipped, and its blades raised vertically; the Nautilus shot into
the air like a balloon, rising with stunning rapidity, and cutting the mass
of waters with a sonorous agitation. Nothing was visible; and in four
minutes it had shot through the four leagues which separated it from the
ocean, and, after emerging like a flying-fish, fell, making the waves
rebound to an enormous height.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.12
CACHALOTS AND WHALES
DURING the nights of the 13th and 14th of March, the Nautilus returned
to its southerly course. I fancied that, when on a level with Cape Horn, he
would turn the helm westward, in order to beat the Pacific seas, and so
complete the tour of the world. He did nothing of the kind, but continued
on his way to the southern regions. Where was
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he going to? To the pole? It was madness! I began to think that the
Captain's temerity justified Ned Land's fears. For some time past the
Canadian had not spoken to me of his projects of flight; he was less
communicative, almost silent. I could see that this lengthened imprisonment
was weighing upon him, and I felt that rage was burning within him. When he
met the Captain, his eyes lit up with suppressed anger; and I feared that
his natural violence would lead him into some extreme. That day, the 14th
of March, Conseil and he came to me in my room. I inquired the cause of
their visit.
"A simple question to ask you, sir," replied the Canadian.
"Speak, Ned."
"How many men are there on board the Nautilus, do you think?"
"I cannot tell, my friend."
"I should say that its working does not require a large crew."
"Certainly, under existing conditions, ten men, at the most, ought to
be enough."
"Well, why should there be any more?"
"Why?" I replied, looking fixedly at Ned Land, whose meaning was easy
to guess. "Because," I added, "if my surmises are correct, and if I have
well understood the Captain's existence, the Nautilus is not only a vessel:
it is also a place of refuge for those who, like its commander, have broken
every tie upon earth."
"Perhaps so," said Conseil; "but, in any case, the Nautilus can only
contain a certain number of men. Could not you, sir, estimate their
maximum?"
"How, Conseil?"
"By calculation; given the size of the vessel, which you know, sir,
and consequently the quantity of air it contains, knowing also how much
each man expends at a breath, and comparing these results with the fact
that the Nautilus is obliged to go to the surface every twenty-four hours."
Conseil had not finished the sentence before I saw what he was driving
at.
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"I understand," said I; "but that calculation, though simple enough,
can give but a very uncertain result."
"Never mind," said Ned Land urgently.
"Here it is, then," said I. "In one hour each man consumes the oxygen
contained in twenty gallons of air; and in twenty-four, that contained in
480 gallons. We must, therefore find how many times 480 gallons of air the
Nautilus contains."
"Just so," said Conseil.
"Or," I continued, "the size of the Nautilus being 1,500 tons; and one
ton holding 200 gallons, it contains 300,000 gallons of air, which, divided
by 480, gives a quotient of 625. Which means to say, strictly speaking,
that the air contained in the Nautilus would suffice for 625 men for
twenty-four hours."
"Six hundred and twenty-five!" repeated Ned.
"But remember that all of us, passengers, sailors, and officers
included, would not form a tenth part of that number."
"Still too many for three men," murmured Conseil.
The Canadian shook his head, passed his hand across his forehead, and
left the room without answering.
"Will you allow me to make one observation, sir?" said Conseil. "Poor
Ned is longing for everything that he cannot have. His past life is always
present to him; everything that we are forbidden he regrets. His head is
full of old recollections. And we must understand him. What has he to do
here? Nothing; he is not learned like you, sir; and has not the same taste
for the beauties of the sea that we have. He would risk everything to be
able to go once more into a tavern in his own country."
Certainly the monotony on board must seem intolerable to the Canadian,
accustomed as he was to a life of liberty and activity. Events were rare
which could rouse him to any show of spirit; but that day an event did
happen which recalled the bright days of the harpooner. About eleven in the
morning, being on the surface of the ocean, the Nautilus fell in with a
troop of whales -- an encounter which did not
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astonish me, knowing that these creatures, hunted to death, had taken
refuge in high latitudes.
We were seated on the platform, with a quiet sea. The month of October
in those latitudes gave us some lovely autumnal days. It was the Canadian
-- he could not be mistaken -- who signalled a whale on the eastern
horizon. Looking attentively, one might see its black back rise and fall
with the waves five miles from the Nautilus.
"Ah!" exclaimed Ned Land, "if I was on board a whaler, now such a
meeting would give me pleasure. It is one of large size. See with what
strength its blow-holes throw up columns of air and steam! Confound it, why
am I bound to these steel plates?"
"What, Ned," said I, "you have not forgotten your old ideas of
fishing?"
"Can a whale-fisher ever forget his old trade, sir? Can he ever tire
of the emotions caused by such a chase?"
"You have never fished in these seas, Ned?"
"Never, sir; in the northern only, and as much in Behring as in Davis
Straits."
"Then the southern whale is still unknown to you. It is the Greenland
whale you have hunted up to this time, and that would not risk passing
through the warm waters of the equator. Whales are localised, according to
their kinds, in certain seas which they never leave. And if one of these
creatures went from Behring to Davis Straits, it must be simply because
there is a passage from one sea to the other, either on the American or the
Asiatic side."
"In that case, as I have never fished in these seas, I do not know the
kind of whale frequenting them!"
"I have told you, Ned."
"A greater reason for making their acquaintance," said Conseil.
"Look! look!" exclaimed the Canadian, "they approach: they aggravate
me; they know that I cannot get at them!"
Ned stamped his feet. His hand trembled, as he grasped an imaginary
harpoon.
"Are these cetaceans as large as those of the northern seas?" asked
he.
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"Very nearly, Ned."
"Because I have seen large whales, sir, whales measuring a hundred
feet. I have even been told that those of Hullamoch and Umgallick, of the
Aleutian Islands, are sometimes a hundred and fifty feet long."
"That seems to me exaggeration. These creatures are generally much
smaller than the Greenland whale."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Canadian, whose eyes had never left the ocean,
"they are coming nearer; they are in the same water as the Nautilus."
Then, returning to the conversation, he said:
"You spoke of the cachalot as a small creature. I have heard of
gigantic ones. They are intelligent cetacea. It is said of some that they
cover themselves with seaweed and fucus, and then are taken for islands.
People encamp upon them, and settle there; lights a fire -- "
"And build houses," said Conseil.
"Yes, joker," said Ned Land. "And one fine day the creature plunges,
carrying with it all the inhabitants to the bottom of the sea."
"Something like the travels of Sinbad the Sailor," I replied,
laughing.
"Ah!" suddenly exclaimed Ned Land, "it is not one whale; there are ten
-- there are twenty -- it is a whole troop! And I not able to do anything!
hands and feet tied!"
"But, friend Ned," said Conseil, "why do you not ask Captain Nemo's
permission to chase them?"
Conseil bad not finished his sentence when Ned Land had lowered
himself through the panel to seek the Captain. A few minutes afterwards the
two appeared together on the platform.
Captain Nemo watched the troop of cetacea playing on the waters about
a mile from the Nautilus.
"They are southern whales," said he; "there goes the fortune of a
whole fleet of whalers."
"Well, sir," asked the Canadian, "can I not chase them, if only to
remind me of my old trade of harpooner?"
"And to what purpose?" replied Captain Nemo; "only
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to destroy! We have nothing to do with the whale-oil on board."
"But, sir," continued the Canadian, "in the Red Sea you allowed us to
follow the dugong."
"Then it was to procure fresh meat for my crew. Here it would be
killing for killing's sake. I know that is a privilege reserved for man,
but I do not approve of such murderous pastime. In destroying the southern
whale (like the Greenland whale, an inoffensive creature), your traders do
a culpable action, Master Land. They have already depopulated the whole of
Baffin's Bay, and are annihilating a class of useful animals. Leave the
unfortunate cetacea alone. They have plenty of natural enemies --
cachalots, swordfish, and sawfish -- without you troubling them."
The Captain was right. The barbarous and inconsiderate greed of these
fishermen will one day cause the disappearance of the last whale in the
ocean. Ned Land whistled "Yankee-doodle" between his teeth, thrust his
hands into his pockets, and turned his back upon us. But Captain Nemo
watched the troop of cetacea, and, addressing me, said:
"I was right in saying that whales had natural enemies enough, without
counting man. These will have plenty to do before long. Do you see, M.
Aronnax, about eight miles to leeward, those blackish moving points?"
"Yes, Captain," I replied.
"Those are cachalots -- terrible animals, which I have met in troops
of two or three hundred. As to those, they are cruel, mischievous
creatures; they would be right in exterminating them."
The Canadian turned quickly at the last words.
"Well, Captain," said he, "it is still time, in the interest of the
whales."
"It is useless to expose one's self, Professor. The Nautilus will
disperse them. It is armed with a steel spur as good as Master Land's
harpoon, I imagine."
The Canadian did not put himself out enough to shrug his shoulders.
Attack cetacea with blows of a spur! Who had ever heard of such a thing?
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"Wait, M. Aronnax," said Captain Nemo. "We will show you something you
have never yet seen. We have no pity for these ferocious creatures. They
are nothing but mouth and teeth."
Mouth and teeth! No one could better describe the macrocephalous
cachalot, which is sometimes more than seventy- five feet long. Its
enormous head occupies one-third of its entire body. Better armed than the
whale, whose upper jaw is furnished only with whalebone, it is supplied
with twenty- five large tusks, about eight inches long, cylindrical and
conical at the top, each weighing two pounds. It is in the upper part of
this enormous head, in great cavities divided by cartilages, that is to be
found from six to eight hundred pounds of that precious oil called
spermaceti. The cachalot is a disagreeable creature, more tadpole than
fish, according to Fredol's description. It is badly formed, the whole of
its left side being (if we may say it), a "failure," and being only able to
see with its right eye. But the formidable troop was nearing us. They had
seen the whales and were preparing to attack them. One could judge
beforehand that the cachalots would be victorious, not only because they
were better built for attack than their inoffensive adversaries, but also
because they could remain longer under water without coming to the surface.
There was only just time to go to the help of the whales. The Nautilus went
under water. Conseil, Ned Land, and I took our places before the window in
the saloon, and Captain Nemo joined the pilot in his cage to work his
apparatus as an engine of destruction. Soon I felt the beatings of the
screw quicken, and our speed increased. The battle between the cachalots
and the whales had already begun when the Nautilus arrived. They did not at
first show any fear at the sight of this new monster joining in the
conflict. But they soon had to guard against its blows. What a battle! The
Nautilus was nothing but a formidable harpoon, brandished by the hand of
its Captain. It hurled itself against the fleshy mass, passing through from
one part to the other, leaving behind it two quivering halves of the
animal. It could not feel the formidable blows from their tails upon its
sides, nor the
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shock which it produced itself, much more. One cachalot killed, it ran at
the next, tacked on the spot that it might not miss its prey, going
forwards and backwards, answering to its helm, plunging when the cetacean
dived into the deep waters, coming up with it when it returned to the
surface, striking it front or sideways, cutting or tearing in all
directions and at any pace, piercing it with its terrible spur. What
carnage! What a noise on the surface of the waves! What sharp hissing, and
what snorting peculiar to these enraged animals! In the midst of these
waters, generally so peaceful, their tails made perfect billows. For one
hour this wholesale massacre continued, from which the cachalots could not
escape. Several times ten or twelve united tried to crush the Nautilus by
their weight. From the window we could see their enormous mouths, studded
with tusks, and their formidable eyes. Ned Land could not contain himself;
he threatened and swore at them. We could feel them clinging to our vessel
like dogs worrying a wild boar in a copse. But the Nautilus, working its
screw, carried them here and there, or to the upper levels of the ocean,
without caring for their enormous weight, nor the powerful strain on the
vessel. At length the mass of cachalots broke up, the waves became quiet,
and I felt that we were rising to the surface. The panel opened, and we
hurried on to the platform. The sea was covered with mutilated bodies. A
formidable explosion could not have divided and torn this fleshy mass with
more violence. We were floating amid gigantic bodies, bluish on the back
and white underneath, covered with enormous protuberances. Some terrified
cachalots were flying towards the horizon. The waves were dyed red for
several miles, and the Nautilus floated in a sea of blood: Captain Nemo
joined us.
"Well, Master Land?" said he.
"Well, sir," replied the Canadian, whose enthusiasm had somewhat
calmed; "it is a terrible spectacle, certainly. But I am not a butcher. I
am a hunter, and I call this a butchery."
"It is a massacre of mischievous creatures," replied the Captain; "and
the Nautilus is not a butcher's knife."
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"I like my harpoon better," said the Canadian.
"Every one to his own," answered the Captain, looking fixedly at Ned
Land.
I feared he would commit some act of violence, which would end in sad
consequences. But his anger was turned by the sight of a whale which the
Nautilus had just come up with. The creature had not quite escaped from the
cachalot's teeth. I recognised the southern whale by its flat head, which
is entirely black. Anatomically, it is distinguished from the white whale
and the North Cape whale by the seven cervical vertebrae, and it has two
more ribs than its congeners. The unfortunate cetacean was lying on its
side, riddled with holes from the bites, and quite dead. From its mutilated
fin still hung a young whale which it could not save from the massacre. Its
open mouth let the water flow in and out, murmuring like the waves breaking
on the shore. Captain Nemo steered close to the corpse of the creature. Two
of his men mounted its side, and I saw, not without surprise, that they
were drawing from its breasts all the milk which they contained, that is to
say, about two or three tons. The Captain offered me a cup of the milk,
which was still warm. I could not help showing my repugnance to the drink;
but he assured me that it was excellent, and not to be distinguished from
cow's milk. I tasted it, and was of his opinion. It was a useful reserve to
us, for in the shape of salt butter or cheese it would form an agreeable
variety from our ordinary food. From that day I noticed with uneasiness
that Ned Land's ill-will towards Captain Nemo increased, and I resolved to
watch the Canadian's gestures closely.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.13
THE ICEBERG
THE Nautilus was steadily pursuing its southerly course, following the
fiftieth meridian with considerable speed. Did he wish to reach the pole? I
did not think so, for every
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attempt to reach that point had hitherto failed. Again, the season was far
advanced, for in the Antarctic regions the 13th of March corresponds with
the 13th of September of northern regions, which begin at the equinoctial
season. On the 14th of March I saw floating ice in latitude 55°, merely
pale bits of debris from twenty to twenty-five feet long, forming banks
over which the sea curled. The Nautilus remained on the surface of the
ocean. Ned Land, who had fished in the Arctic Seas, was familiar with its
icebergs; but Conseil and I admired them for the first time. In the
atmosphere towards the southern horizon stretched a white dazzling band.
English whalers have given it the name of "ice blink." However thick the
clouds may be, it is always visible, and announces the presence of an ice
pack or bank. Accordingly, larger blocks soon appeared, whose brilliancy
changed with the caprices of the fog. Some of these masses showed green
veins, as if long undulating lines had been traced with sulphate of copper;
others resembled enormous amethysts with the light shining through them.
Some reflected the light of day upon a thousand crystal facets. Others
shaded with vivid calcareous reflections resembled a perfect town of
marble. The more we neared the south the more these floating islands
increased both in number and importance.
At 60° lat. every pass had disappeared. But, seeking carefully,
Captain Nemo soon found a narrow opening, through which he boldly slipped,
knowing, however, that it would close behind him. Thus, guided by this
clever hand, the Nautilus passed through all the ice with a precision which
quite charmed Conseil; icebergs or mountains, ice- fields or smooth plains,
seeming to have no limits, drift-ice or floating ice-packs, plains broken
up, called palchs when they are circular, and streams when they are made up
of long strips. The temperature was very low; the thermometer exposed to
the air marked 2° or 3° below zero, but we were warmly clad with fur, at
the expense of the sea-bear and seal. The interior of the Nautilus, warmed
regularly by its electric apparatus, defied the most intense cold. Besides,
it would only have been necessary to go some
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yards beneath the waves to find a more bearable temperature. Two months
earlier we should have had perpetual daylight in these latitudes; but
already we had had three or four hours of night, and by and by there would
be six months of darkness in these circumpolar regions. On the 15th of
March we were in the latitude of New Shetland and South Orkney. The Captain
told me that formerly numerous tribes of seals inhabited them; but that
English and American whalers, in their rage for destruction, massacred both
old and young; thus, where there was once life and animation, they had left
silence and death.
About eight o'clock on the morning of the 16th of March the Nautilus,
following the fifty-fifth meridian, cut the Antarctic polar circle. Ice
surrounded us on all sides, and closed the horizon. But Captain Nemo went
from one opening to another, still going higher. I cannot express my
astonishment at the beauties of these new regions. The ice took most
surprising forms. Here the grouping formed an oriental town, with
innumerable mosques and minarets; there a fallen city thrown to the earth,
as it were, by some convulsion of nature. The whole aspect was constantly
changed by the oblique rays of the sun, or lost in the greyish fog amidst
hurricanes of snow. Detonations and falls were heard on all sides, great
overthrows of icebergs, which altered the whole landscape like a diorama.
Often seeing no exit, I thought we were definitely prisoners; but, instinct
guiding him at the slightest indication, Captain Nemo would discover a new
pass. He was never mistaken when he saw the thin threads of bluish water
trickling along the ice- fields; and I had no doubt that he had already
ventured into the midst of these Antarctic seas before. On the 16th of
March, however, the ice-fields absolutely blocked our road. It was not the
iceberg itself, as yet, but vast fields cemented by the cold. But this
obstacle could not stop Captain Nemo: be hurled himself against it with
frightful violence. The Nautilus entered the brittle mass like a wedge, and
split it with frightful crackings. It was the battering ram of the ancients
hurled by infinite strength. The ice, thrown high in the air, fell like
hail around us. By its own power of
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impulsion our apparatus made a canal for itself; sometimes carried away by
its own impetus, it lodged on the ice-field, crushing it with its weight,
and sometimes buried beneath it, dividing it by a simple pitching movement,
producing large rents in it. Violent gales assailed us at this time,
accompanied by thick fogs, through which, from one end of the platform to
the other, we could see nothing. The wind blew sharply from all parts of
the compass, and the snow lay in such hard heaps that we had to break it
with blows of a pickaxe. The temperature was always at 5° below zero; every
outward part of the Nautilus was covered with ice. A rigged vessel would
have been entangled in the blocked up gorges. A vessel without sails, with
electricity for its motive power, and wanting no coal, could alone brave
such high latitudes. At length, on the 18th of March, after many useless
assaults, the Nautilus was positively blocked. It was no longer either
streams, packs, or ice-fields, but an interminable and immovable barrier,
formed by mountains soldered together.
"An iceberg!" said the Canadian to me.
I knew that to Ned Land, as well as to all other navigators who had
preceded us, this was an inevitable obstacle. The sun appearing for an
instant at noon, Captain Nemo took an observation as near as possible,
which gave our situation at 51° 30' long. and 67° 39' of S. lat. We had
advanced one degree more in this Antarctic region. Of the liquid surface of
the sea there was no longer a glimpse. Under the spur of the Nautilus lay
stretched a vast plain, entangled with confused blocks. Here and there
sharp points and slender needles rising to a height of 200 feet; further on
a steep shore, hewn as it were with an axe and clothed with greyish tints;
huge mirrors, reflecting a few rays of sunshine, half drowned in the fog.
And over this desolate face of nature a stern silence reigned, scarcely
broken by the flapping of the wings of petrels and puffins. Everything was
frozen -- even the noise. The Nautilus was then obliged to stop in its
adventurous course amid these fields of ice. In spite of our efforts, in
spite of the powerful means employed to break up the ice, the Nautilus
remained immovable.
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Generally, when we can proceed no further, we have return still open to us;
but here return was as impossible as advance, for every pass had closed
behind us; and for the few moments when we were stationary, we were likely
to be entirely blocked, which did indeed happen about two o'clock in the
afternoon, the fresh ice forming around its sides with astonishing
rapidity. I was obliged to admit that Captain Nemo was more than imprudent.
I was on the platform at that moment. The Captain had been observing our
situation for some time past, when he said to me:
"Well, sir, what do you think of this?"
"I think that we are caught, Captain."
"So, M. Aronnax, you really think that the Nautilus cannot disengage
itself?"
"With difficulty, Captain; for the season is already too far advanced
for you to reckon on the breaking of the ice."
"Ah! sir," said Captain Nemo, in an ironical tone, "you will always be
the same. You see nothing but difficulties and obstacles. I affirm that not
only can the Nautilus disengage itself, but also that it can go further
still."
"Further to the South?" I asked, looking at the Captain.
"Yes, sir; it shall go to the pole."
"To the pole!" I exclaimed, unable to repress a gesture of
incredulity.
"Yes," replied the Captain, coldly, "to the Antarctic pole -- to that
unknown point from whence springs every meridian of the globe. You know
whether I can do as I please with the Nautilus!"
Yes, I knew that. I knew that this man was bold, even to rashness. But
to conquer those obstacles which bristled round the South Pole, rendering
it more inaccessible than the North, which had not yet been reached by the
boldest navigators -- was it not a mad enterprise, one which only a maniac
would have conceived? It then came into my head to ask Captain Nemo if he
had ever discovered that pole which had never yet been trodden by a human
creature?
"No, sir," he replied; "but we will discover it together. Where others
have failed, I will not fail. I have never yet
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led my Nautilus so far into southern seas; but, I repeat, it shall go
further yet."
"I can well believe you, Captain," said I, in a slightly ironical
tone. "I believe you! Let us go ahead! There are no obstacles for us! Let
us smash this iceberg! Let us blow it up; and, if it resists, let us give
the Nautilus wings to fly over it!"
"Over it, sir!!" said Captain Nemo, quietly; "no, not over it, but
under it!"
"Under it!" I exclaimed, a sudden idea of the Captain's projects
flashing upon my mind. I understood; the wonderful qualities of the
Nautilus were going to serve us in this superhuman enterprise.
"I see we are beginning to understand one another, sir," said the
Captain, half smiling. "You begin to see the possibility -- I should say
the success -- of this attempt. That which is impossible for an ordinary
vessel is easy to the Nautilus. If a continent lies before the pole, it
must stop before the continent; but if, on the contrary, the pole is washed
by open sea, it will go even to the pole."
"Certainly," said I, carried away by the Captain's reasoning; "if the
surface of the sea is solidified by the ice, the lower depths are free by
the Providential law which has placed the maximum of density of the waters
of the ocean one degree higher than freezing-point; and, if I am not
mistaken, the portion of this iceberg which is above the water is as one to
four to that which is below."
"Very nearly, sir; for one foot of iceberg above the sea there are
three below it. If these ice mountains are not more than 300 feet above the
surface, they are not more than 900 beneath. And what are 900 feet to the
Nautilus?"
"Nothing, sir."
"It could even seek at greater depths that uniform temperature of
sea-water, and there brave with impunity the thirty or forty degrees of
surface cold."
"Just so, sir -- just so," I replied, getting animated.
"The only difficulty," continued Captain Nemo, "is that of remaining
several days without renewing our provision of air."
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"Is that all? The Nautilus has vast reservoirs; we can fill them, and
they will supply us with all the oxygen we want."
"Well thought of, M. Aronnax," replied the Captain, smiling. "But, not
wishing you to accuse me of rashness, I will first give you all my
objections."
"Have you any more to make?"
"Only one. It is possible, if the sea exists at the South Pole, that
it may be covered; and, consequently, we shall be unable to come to the
surface."
"Good, sir! but do you forget that the Nautilus is armed with a
powerful spur, and could we not send it diagonally against these fields of
ice, which would open at the shocks."
"Ah! sir, you are full of ideas to-day."
"Besides, Captain," I added, enthusiastically, "why should we not find
the sea open at the South Pole as well as at the North? The frozen poles of
the earth do not coincide, either in the southern or in the northern
regions; and, until it is proved to the contrary, we may suppose either a
continent or an ocean free from ice at these two points of the globe."
"I think so too, M. Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo. "I only wish you
to observe that, after having made so many objections to my project, you
are now crushing me with arguments in its favour!"
The preparations for this audacious attempt now began. The powerful
pumps of the Nautilus were working air into the reservoirs and storing it
at high pressure. About four o'clock, Captain Nemo announced the closing of
the panels on the platform. I threw one last look at the massive iceberg
which we were going to cross. The weather was clear, the atmosphere pure
enough, the cold very great, being 12° below zero; but, the wind having
gone down, this temperature was not so unbearable. About ten men mounted
the sides of the Nautilus, armed with pickaxes to break the ice around the
vessel, which was soon free. The operation was quickly performed, for the
fresh ice was still very thin. We all went below. The usual reservoirs were
filled with the newly-liberated water, and the Nautilus soon descended. I
had taken my place with Conseil in the saloon; through the
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open window we could see the lower beds of the Southern Ocean. The
thermometer went up, the needle of the compass deviated on the dial. At
about 900 feet, as Captain Nemo had foreseen, we were floating beneath the
undulating bottom of the iceberg. But the Nautilus went lower still -- it
went to the depth of four hundred fathoms. The temperature of the water at
the surface showed twelve degrees, it was now only ten; we had gained two.
I need not say the temperature of the Nautilus was raised by its heating
apparatus to a much higher degree; every manoeuvre was accomplished with
wonderful precision.
"We shall pass it, if you please, sir," said Conseil.
"I believe we shall," I said, in a tone of firm conviction.
In this open sea, the Nautilus had taken its course direct to the
pole, without leaving the fifty-second meridian. From 67° 30' to 90°,
twenty-two degrees and a half of latitude remained to travel; that is,
about five hundred leagues. The Nautilus kept up a mean speed of twenty-six
miles an hour -- the speed of an express train. If that was kept up, in
forty hours we should reach the pole.
For a part of the night the novelty of the situation kept us at the
window. The sea was lit with the electric lantern; but it was deserted;
fishes did not sojourn in these imprisoned waters; they only found there a
passage to take them from the Antarctic Ocean to the open polar sea. Our
pace was rapid; we could feel it by the quivering of the long steel body.
About two in the morning I took some hours' repose, and Conseil did the
same. In crossing the waist I did not meet Captain Nemo: I supposed him to
be in the pilot's cage. The next morning, the 19th of March, I took my post
once more in the saloon. The electric log told me that the speed of the
Nautilus had been slackened. It was then going towards the surface; but
prudently emptying its reservoirs very slowly. My heart beat fast. Were we
going to emerge and regain the open polar atmosphere? No! A shock told me
that the Nautilus had struck the bottom of the iceberg, still very thick,
judging from the deadened sound. We had indeed "struck," to use a sea
expression, but in an inverse sense, and at a thousand feet deep. This
would give three
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thousand feet of ice above us; one thousand being above the water-mark. The
iceberg was then higher than at its borders -- not a very reassuring fact.
Several times that day the Nautilus tried again, and every time it struck
the wall which lay like a ceiling above it. Sometimes it met with but 900
yards, only 200 of which rose above the surface. It was twice the height it
was when the Nautilus had gone under the waves. I carefully noted the
different depths, and thus obtained a submarine profile of the chain as it
was developed under the water. That night no change had taken place in our
situation. Still ice between four and five hundred yards in depth! It was
evidently diminishing, but, still, what a thickness between us and the
surface of the ocean! It was then eight. According to the daily custom on
board the Nautilus, its air should have been renewed four hours ago; but I
did not suffer much, although Captain Nemo had not yet made any demand upon
his reserve of oxygen. My sleep was painful that night; hope and fear
besieged me by turns: I rose several times. The groping of the Nautilus
continued. About three in the morning, I noticed that the lower surface of
the iceberg was only about fifty feet deep. One hundred and fifty feet now
separated us from the surface of the waters. The iceberg was by degrees
becoming an ice-field, the mountain a plain. My eyes never left the
manometer. We were still rising diagonally to the surface, which sparkled
under the electric rays. The iceberg was stretching both above and beneath
into lengthening slopes; mile after mile it was getting thinner. At length,
at six in the morning of that memorable day, the 19th of March, the door of
the saloon opened, and Captain Nemo appeared.
"The sea is open!!" was all he said.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.14
THE SOUTH POLE
I RUSHED on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few
scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs -- a long
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stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under
those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to
the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively
spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was
dimly seen on our northern horizon.
"Are we at the pole?" I asked the Captain, with a beating heart.
"I do not know," he replied. "At noon I will take our bearings."
"But will the sun show himself through this fog?" said I, looking at
the leaden sky.
"However little it shows, it will be enough," replied the Captain.
About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one
hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be
strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later
we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in
circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of
land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence
of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury's theory. The ingenious
American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth
parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is
never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the
conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as
icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to
these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a
vast cap, the circumference. of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But
the Nautilus, for fear of running aground, had stopped about three
cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The
boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments,
Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen
Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the
South Pole. A few strokes of the oar
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brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on
to the land, when I held him back.
"Sir," said I to Captain Nemo, "to you belongs the honour of first
setting foot on this land."
"Yes, sir," said the Captain, "and if I do not hesitate to tread this
South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace
there."
Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with
emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with
his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to
take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in
this ecstasy, he turned to us.
"When you like, sir."
I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a
long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like
crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not
mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a
sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their
expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no
volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic
countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full
activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32'. The vegetation of this
desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the
black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells
placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported
on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the
shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was
strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of
northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would
swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies,
animating the waters on the skirts of the shore.
There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind
which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic
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seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little
kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most
was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds,
deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we
passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There
were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the
ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture,
but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of
their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the
vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of
small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were
a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others
blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that
the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting
them but to put a wick in.
"A little more," said Conseil, "and they would be perfect lamps! After
that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with
wicks!"
About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs' nests, a
sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo
had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass,
were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath,
with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be
killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and
at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy.
Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide
whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him
leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient
and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not
command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day
showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind
the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow.
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"Till to-morrow," said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the
Nautilus amid these atmospheric disturbances.
The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to
remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of
incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could
hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this
violent storm. The Nautilus did not remain motionless, but skirted the
coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the
sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March,
the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing
2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our
observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat
took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic
nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater
which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent
was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large
troops of sea- mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were
several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice,
many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never
having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were
provisions there for hundreds of vessels.
"Sir," said Conseil, "will you tell me the names of these creatures?"
"They are seals and morses."
It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the
sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast
bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice
were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I
involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched
these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else,
forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his
family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong
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enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took
little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly
enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins,
forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their
element -- the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close
skin and webbed feet -- they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they
take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft
and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look
a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions,
and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton
and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable
development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No
mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also
capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily
domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught
they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them
slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called,
which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose
ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards
long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four
incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in
the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of
seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured
twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move
as we approached.
"These creatures are not dangerous?" asked Conseil.
"No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young
their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the
fishing-boats to pieces."
"They are quite right," said Conseil.
"I do not say they are not."
Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters
the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it
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we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce.
"Good!" said Conseil; "a concert of bulls!"
"No; a concert of morses."
"They are fighting!"
"They are either fighting or playing."
We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles,
and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over
at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not
stumble, and helped me up, saying:
"If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would
preserve your equilibrium better."
Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain
covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we
heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger.
As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for
they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint,
approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four
yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the
north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of
their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of
returning. It was eleven o'clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions
favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We
followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At
half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run
aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his
instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which
the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him,
and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not
appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not
accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were
indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the
equinox; the sun would
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disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the
long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged
from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of
December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it
had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I
communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo.
"You are right, M. Aronnax," said he; "if to-morrow I cannot take the
altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But
precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March,
my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun."
"Why, Captain?"
"Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it
is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave
errors may be made with instruments."
"What will you do then?"
"I shall only use my chronometer," replied Captain Nemo. "If
to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction,
is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South
Pole."
"Just so," said I. "But this statement is not mathematically correct,
because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon."
"Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do
not want more. Till to-morrow, then!"
Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the
shore, observing and studying until five o'clock. Then I went to bed, not,
however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb.
The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the
platform. I found Captain Nemo there.
"The weather is lightening a little," said he. "I have some hope.
After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation."
That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me.
But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I
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saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I
was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were
too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this
unreflecting fisherman's way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The
Nautilus had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league
from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards
high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the
instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a
barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three
kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English "right
whale," which has no dorsal fin; the "humpback," with reeved chest and
large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and
the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This
powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height
columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These
different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters;
and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of
refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed
large medusae floating between the reeds.
At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to
the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters.
Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his
observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-
stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the
smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed
the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter
would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak,
which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast
sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the
sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale
azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun
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seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon.
From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the
distance lay the Nautilus like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us,
to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and
ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit
Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would
have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve
the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding
its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet
ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means
of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the
horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the
chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of
the sun coincided with twelve o'clock on the chronometer, we were at the
pole itself.
"Twelve!" I exclaimed.
"The South Pole!" replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me
the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon.
I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting
by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his
hand on my shoulder, said:
"I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the
South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of
the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents."
"In whose name, Captain?"
"In my own, sir!"
Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an "N" in
gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose
last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:
"Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea,
and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!"
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Chapter 2.15
ACCIDENT OR INCIDENT?
THE next day, the 22nd of March, at six in the morning, preparations
for departure were begun. The last gleams of twilight were melting into
night. The cold was great, the constellations shone with wonderful
intensity. In the zenith glittered that wondrous Southern Cross -- the
polar bear of Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 120 below zero, and
when the wind freshened it was most biting. Flakes of ice increased on the
open water. The sea seemed everywhere alike. Numerous blackish patches
spread on the surface, showing the formation of fresh ice. Evidently the
southern basin, frozen during the six winter months, was absolutely
inaccessible. What became of the whales in that time? Doubtless they went
beneath the icebergs, seeking more practicable seas. As to the seals and
morses, accustomed to live in a hard climate, they remained on these icy
shores. These creatures have the instinct to break holes in the ice-field
and to keep them open. To these holes they come for breath; when the birds,
driven away by the cold, have emigrated to the north, these sea mammals
remain sole masters of the polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling
with water, and the Nautilus was slowly descending. At 1,000 feet deep it
stopped; its screw beat the waves, and it advanced straight towards the
north at a speed of fifteen miles an hour. Towards night it was already
floating under the immense body of the iceberg. At three in the morning I
was awakened by a violent shock. I sat up in my bed and listened in the
darkness, when I was thrown into the middle of the room. The Nautilus,
after having struck, had rebounded violently. I groped along the partition,
and by the staircase to the saloon, which was lit by the luminous ceiling.
The furniture was upset. Fortunately the windows were firmly set, and had
held fast. The pictures on the starboard side, from being no longer
vertical, were clinging to the paper, whilst those of the port side were
hanging at least a foot from the wall. The Nautilus was lying on its
starboard side perfectly motionless.
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I heard footsteps, and a confusion of voices; but Captain Nemo did not
appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil entered.
"What is the matter?" said I, at once.
"I came to ask you, sir," replied Conseil.
"Confound it!" exclaimed the Canadian, "I know well enough! The
Nautilus has struck; and, judging by the way she lies, I do not think she
will right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits."
"But," I asked, "has she at least come to the surface of the sea?"
"We do not know," said Conseil.
"It is easy to decide," I answered. I consulted the manometer. To my
great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. "What does that
mean?" I exclaimed.
"We must ask Captain Nemo," said Conseil.
"But where shall we find him?" said Ned Land.
"Follow me," said I, to my companions.
We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. At the centre
staircase, by the berths of the ship's crew, there was no one. I thought
that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot's cage. It was best to wait. We all
returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained thus, trying to hear
the slightest noise which might be made on board the Nautilus, when Captain
Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his face, generally so impassive,
showed signs of uneasiness. He watched the compass silently, then the
manometer; and, going to the planisphere, placed his finger on a spot
representing the southern seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some
minutes later, when he turned towards me, I said, using one of his own
expressions in the Torres Straits:
"An incident, Captain?"
"No, sir; an accident this time."
"Serious?"
"Perhaps."
"Is the danger immediate?"
"No."
"The Nautilus has stranded?"
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"Yes."
"And this has happened -- how?"
"From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a
mistake has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium
from producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist
natural ones."
Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this
philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.
"May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?"
"An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over," he
replied. "When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or
reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing turns
over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell, struck
the Nautilus, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with irresistible
force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where it is lying on
its side."
"But can we not get the Nautilus off by emptying its reservoirs, that
it might regain its equilibrium?"
"That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump
working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the Nautilus is
rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and, until some obstacle
stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be altered."
Indeed, the Nautilus still held the same position to starboard;
doubtless it would right itself when the block stopped. But at this moment
who knows if we may not be frightfully crushed between the two glassy
surfaces? I reflected on all the consequences of our position. Captain Nemo
never took his eyes off the manometer. Since the fall of the iceberg, the
Nautilus had risen about a hundred and fifty feet, but it still made the
same angle with the perpendicular. Suddenly a slight movement was felt in
the hold. Evidently it was righting a little. Things hanging in the saloon
were sensibly returning to their normal position. The partitions were
nearing the upright. No one spoke. With beating hearts we watched and felt
the straightening.
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The boards became horizontal under our feet. Ten minutes passed.
"At last we have righted!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said Captain Nemo, going to the door of the saloon.
"But are we floating?" I asked.
"Certainly," he replied; "since the reservoirs are not empty; and,
when empty, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea."
We were in open sea; but at a distance of about ten yards, on either
side of the Nautilus, rose a dazzling wall of ice. Above and beneath the
same wall. Above, because the lower surface of the iceberg stretched over
us like an immense ceiling. Beneath, because the overturned block, having
slid by degrees, had found a resting-place on the lateral walls, which kept
it in that position. The Nautilus was really imprisoned in a perfect tunnel
of ice more than twenty yards in breadth, filled with quiet water. It was
easy to get out of it by going either forward or backward, and then make a
free passage under the iceberg, some hundreds of yards deeper. The luminous
ceiling had been extinguished, but the saloon was still resplendent with
intense light. It was the powerful reflection from the glass partition sent
violently back to the sheets of the lantern. I cannot describe the effect
of the voltaic rays upon the great blocks so capriciously cut; upon every
angle, every ridge, every facet was thrown a different light, according to
the nature of the veins running through the ice; a dazzling mine of gems,
particularly of sapphires, their blue rays crossing with the green of the
emerald. Here and there were opal shades of wonderful softness, running
through bright spots like diamonds of fire, the brilliancy of which the eye
could not bear. The power of the lantern seemed increased a hundredfold,
like a lamp through the lenticular plates of a first-class lighthouse.
"How beautiful! how beautiful!" cried Conseil.
"Yes," I said, "it is a wonderful sight. Is it not, Ned?"
"Yes, confound it! Yes," answered Ned Land, "it is superb! I am mad at
being obliged to admit it. No one
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has ever seen anything like it; but the sight may cost us dear. And, if I
must say all, I think we are seeing here things which God never intended
man to see."
Ned was right, it was too beautiful. Suddenly a cry from Conseil made
me turn.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Shut your eyes, sir! Do not look, sir!" Saying which, Conseil clapped
his hands over his eyes.
"But what is the matter, my boy?"
"I am dazzled, blinded."
My eyes turned involuntarily towards the glass, but I could not stand
the fire which seemed to devour them. I understood what had happened. The
Nautilus had put on full speed. All the quiet lustre of the ice-walls was
at once changed into flashes of lightning. The fire from these myriads of
diamonds was blinding. It required some time to calm our troubled looks. At
last the hands were taken down.
"Faith, I should never have believed it," said Conseil.
It was then five in the morning; and at that moment a shock was felt
at the bows of the Nautilus. I knew that its spur had struck a block of
ice. It must have been a false manoeuvre, for this submarine tunnel,
obstructed by blocks, was not very easy navigation. I thought that Captain
Nemo, by changing his course, would either turn these obstacles or else
follow the windings of the tunnel. In any case, the road before us could
not be entirely blocked. But, contrary to my expectations, the Nautilus
took a decided retrograde motion.
"We are going backwards?" said Conseil.
"Yes," I replied. "This end of the tunnel can have no egress."
"And then?"
"Then," said I, "the working is easy. We must go back again, and go
out at the southern opening. That is all."
In speaking thus, I wished to appear more confident than I really was.
But the retrograde motion of the Nautilus was increasing; and, reversing
the screw, it carried us at great speed.
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"It will be a hindrance," said Ned.
"What does it matter, some hours more or less, provided we get out at
last?"
"Yes," repeated Ned Land, "provided we do get out at last!"
For a short time I walked from the saloon to the library. My
companions were silent. I soon threw myself on an ottoman, and took a book,
which my eyes overran mechanically. A quarter of an hour after, Conseil,
approaching me, said, "Is what you are reading very interesting, sir?"
"Very interesting!" I replied.
"I should think so, sir. It is your own book you are reading."
"My book?"
And indeed I was holding in my hand the work on the Great Submarine
Depths. I did not even dream of it. I closed the book and returned to my
walk. Ned and Conseil rose to go.
"Stay here, my friends," said I, detaining them. "Let us remain
together until we are out of this block."
"As you please, sir," Conseil replied.
Some hours passed. I often looked at the instruments hanging from the
partition. The manometer showed that the Nautilus kept at a constant depth
of more than three hundred yards; the compass still pointed to south; the
log indicated a speed of twenty miles an hour, which, in such a cramped
space, was very great. But Captain Nemo knew that he could not hasten too
much, and that minutes were worth ages to us. At twenty-five minutes past
eight a second shock took place, this time from behind. I turned pale. My
companions were close by my side. I seized Conseil's hand. Our looks
expressed our feelings better than words. At this moment the Captain
entered the saloon. I went up to him.
"Our course is barred southward?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. The iceberg has shifted and closed every outlet."
"We are blocked up then?"
"Yes.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.16
WANT OF AIR
THUS around the Nautilus, above and below, was an impenetrable wall of
ice. We were prisoners to the iceberg. I watched the Captain. His
countenance had resumed its habitual imperturbability.
"Gentlemen," he said calmly, "there are two ways of dying in the
circumstances in which we are placed." (This puzzling person had the air of
a mathematical professor lecturing to his pupils.) "The first is to be
crushed; the second is to die of suffocation. I do not speak of the
possibility of dying of hunger, for the supply of provisions in the
Nautilus will certainly last longer than we shall. Let us, then, calculate
our chances."
"As to suffocation, Captain," I replied, "that is not to be feared,
because our reservoirs are full."
"Just so; but they will only yield two days' supply of air. Now, for
thirty-six hours we have been hidden under the water, and already the heavy
atmosphere of the Nautilus requires renewal. In forty-eight hours our
reserve will be exhausted."
"Well, Captain, can we be delivered before forty-eight hours?"
"We will attempt it, at least, by piercing the wall that surrounds
us."
"On which side?"
"Sound will tell us. I am going to run the Nautilus aground on the
lower bank, and my men will attack the iceberg on the side that is least
thick."
Captain Nemo went out. Soon I discovered by a hissing noise that the
water was entering the reservoirs. The Nautilus sank slowly, and rested on
the ice at a depth of 350 yards, the depth at which the lower bank was
immersed.
"My friends," I said, "our situation is serious, but I rely on your
courage and energy."
"Sir," replied the Canadian, "I am ready to do anything for the
general safety."
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"Good! Ned," and I held out my hand to the Canadian.
"I will add," he continued, "that, being as handy with the pickaxe as
with the harpoon, if I can be useful to the Captain, he can command my
services."
"He will not refuse your help. Come, Ned!"
I led him to the room where the crew of the Nautilus were putting on
their cork-jackets. I told the Captain of Ned's proposal, which he
accepted. The Canadian put on his sea-costume, and was ready as soon as his
companions. When Ned was dressed, I re-entered the drawing-room, where the
panes of glass were open, and, posted near Conseil, I examined the ambient
beds that supported the Nautilus. Some instants after, we saw a dozen of
the crew set foot on the bank of ice, and among them Ned Land, easily known
by his stature. Captain Nemo was with them. Before proceeding to dig the
walls, he took the soundings, to be sure of working in the right direction.
Long sounding lines were sunk in the side walls, but after fifteen yards
they were again stopped by the thick wall. It was useless to attack it on
the ceiling-like surface, since the iceberg itself measured more than 400
yards in height. Captain Nemo then sounded the lower surface. There ten
yards of wall separated us from the water, so great was the thickness of
the ice-field. It was necessary, therefore, to cut from it a piece equal in
extent to the waterline of the Nautilus. There were about 6,000 cubic yards
to detach, so as to dig a hole by which we could descend to the ice-field.
The work had begun immediately and carried on with indefatigable energy.
Instead of digging round the Nautilus which would have involved greater
difficulty, Captain Nemo had an immense trench made at eight yards from the
port-quarter. Then the men set to work simultaneously with their screws on
several points of its circumference. Presently the pickaxe attacked this
compact matter vigorously, and large blocks were detached from the mass. By
a curious effect of specific gravity, these blocks, lighter than water,
fled, so to speak, to the vault of the tunnel, that increased in thickness
at the top in proportion as it diminished at the base. But that mattered
little, so long as the lower part grew thinner. After two
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hours' hard work, Ned Land came in exhausted. He and his comrades were
replaced by new workers, whom Conseil and I joined. The second lieutenant
of the Nautilus superintended us. The water seemed singularly cold, but I
soon got warm handling the pickaxe. My movements were free enough, although
they were made under a pressure of thirty atmospheres. When I re-entered,
after working two hours, to take some food and rest, I found a perceptible
difference between the pure fluid with which the Rouquayrol engine supplied
me and the atmosphere of the Nautilus, already charged with carbonic acid.
The air had not been renewed for forty-eight hours, and its vivifying
qualities were considerably enfeebled. However, after a lapse of twelve
hours, we had only raised a block of ice one yard thick, on the marked
surface, which was about 600 cubic yards! Reckoning that it took twelve
hours to accomplish this much it would take five nights and four days to
bring this enterprise to a satisfactory conclusion. Five nights and four
days! And we have only air enough for two days in the reservoirs! "Without
taking into account," said Ned, "that, even if we get out of this infernal
prison, we shall also be imprisoned under the iceberg, shut out from all
possible communication with the atmosphere." True enough! Who could then
foresee the minimum of time necessary for our deliverance? We might be
suffocated before the Nautilus could regain the surface of the waves? Was
it destined to perish in this ice-tomb, with all those it enclosed? The
situation was terrible. But everyone had looked the danger in the face, and
each was determined to do his duty to the last.
As I expected, during the night a new block a yard square was carried
away, and still further sank the immense hollow. But in the morning when,
dressed in my cork-jacket, I traversed the slushy mass at a temperature of
six or seven degrees below zero, I remarked that the side walls were
gradually closing in. The beds of water farthest from the trench, that were
not warmed by the men's work, showed a tendency to solidification. In
presence of this new and imminent danger, what would become of our chances
of safety,
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and how hinder the solidification of this liquid medium, that would burst
the partitions of the Nautilus like glass?
I did not tell my companions of this new danger. What was the good of
damping the energy they displayed in the painful work of escape? But when I
went on board again, I told Captain Nemo of this grave complication.
"I know it," he said, in that calm tone which could counteract the
most terrible apprehensions. "It is one danger more; but I see no way of
escaping it; the only chance of safety is to go quicker than
solidification. We must be beforehand with it, that is all."
On this day for several hours I used my pickaxe vigorously. The work
kept me up. Besides, to work was to quit the Nautilus, and breathe directly
the pure air drawn from the reservoirs, and supplied by our apparatus, and
to quit the impoverished and vitiated atmosphere. Towards evening the
trench was dug one yard deeper. When I returned on board, I was nearly
suffocated by the carbonic acid with which the air was filled -- ah! if we
had only the chemical means to drive away this deleterious gas. We had
plenty of oxygen; all this water contained a considerable quantity, and by
dissolving it with our powerful piles, it would restore the vivifying
fluid. I had thought well over it; but of what good was that, since the
carbonic acid produced by our respiration had invaded every part of the
vessel? To absorb it, it was necessary to fill some jars with caustic
potash, and to shake them incessantly. Now this substance was wanting on
board, and nothing could replace it. On that evening, Captain Nemo ought to
open the taps of his reservoirs, and let some pure air into the interior of
the Nautilus; without this precaution we could not get rid of the sense of
suffocation. The next day, March 26th, I resumed my miner's work in
beginning the fifth yard. The side walls and the lower surface of the
iceberg thickened visibly. It was evident that they would meet before the
Nautilus was able to disengage itself. Despair seized me for an instant; my
pickaxe nearly fell from my bands. What was the good of digging if I must
be suffocated, crushed by the water that was turning into stone? -- a
punishment that the ferocity of
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the savages even would not have invented! Just then Captain Nemo passed
near me. I touched his hand and showed him the walls of our prison. The
wall to port had advanced to at least four yards from the hull of the
Nautilus. The Captain understood me, and signed me to follow him. We went
on board. I took off my cork-jacket and accompanied him into the
drawing-room.
"M. Aronnax, we must attempt some desperate means, or we shall be
sealed up in this solidified water as in cement."
"Yes; but what is to be done?"
"Ah! if my Nautilus were strong enough to bear this pressure without
being crushed!"
"Well?" I asked, not catching the Captain's idea.
"Do you not understand," he replied, "that this congelation of water
will help us? Do you not see that by its solidification, it would burst
through this field of ice that imprisons us, as, when it freezes, it bursts
the hardest stones? Do you not perceive that it would be an agent of safety
instead of destruction?"
"Yes, Captain, perhaps. But, whatever resistance to crushing the
Nautilus possesses, it could not support this terrible pressure, and would
be flattened like an iron plate."
"I know it, sir. Therefore we must not reckon on the aid of nature,
but on our own exertions. We must stop this solidification. Not only will
the side walls be pressed together; but there is not ten feet of water
before or behind the Nautilus. The congelation gains on us on all sides."
"How long will the air in the reservoirs last for us to breathe on
board?"
The Captain looked in my face. "After to-morrow they will be empty!"
A cold sweat came over me. However, ought I to have been astonished at
the answer? On March 22, the Nautilus was in the open polar seas. We were
at 26°. For five days we had lived on the reserve on board. And what was
left of the respirable air must be kept for the workers. Even now, as I
write, my recollection is still so vivid that an involuntary terror seizes
me and my lungs seem to be without air. Meanwhile, Captain Nemo reflected
silently, and evidently
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an idea had struck him; but he seemed to reject it. At last, these words
escaped his lips:
"Boiling water!" he muttered.
"Boiling water?" I cried.
"Yes, sir. We are enclosed in a space that is relatively confined.
Would not jets of boiling water, constantly injected by the pumps, raise
the temperature in this part and stay the congelation?"
"Let us try it," I said resolutely.
"Let us try it, Professor."
The thermometer then stood at 7° outside. Captain Nemo took me to the
galleys, where the vast distillatory machines stood that furnished the
drinkable water by evaporation. They filled these with water, and all the
electric heat from the piles was thrown through the worms bathed in the
liquid. In a few minutes this water reached 100°. It was directed towards
the pumps, while fresh water replaced it in proportion. The heat developed
by the troughs was such that cold water, drawn up from the sea after only
having gone through the machines, came boiling into the body of the pump.
The injection was begun, and three hours after the thermometer marked 6°
below zero outside. One degree was gained. Two hours later the thermometer
only marked 4°.
"We shall succeed," I said to the Captain, after having anxiously
watched the result of the operation.
"I think," he answered, "that we shall not be crushed. We have no more
suffocation to fear."
During the night the temperature of the water rose to 1° below zero.
The injections could not carry it to a higher point. But, as the
congelation of the sea-water produces at least 2°, I was at least reassured
against the dangers of solidification.
The next day, March 27th, six yards of ice had been cleared, twelve
feet only remaining to be cleared away. There was yet forty-eight hours'
work. The air could not be renewed in the interior of the Nautilus. And
this day would make it worse. An intolerable weight oppressed me. Towards
three o'clock in the evening this feeling rose to a violent degree. Yawns
dislocated my jaws. My lungs panted
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as they inhaled this burning fluid, which became rarefied more and more. A
moral torpor took hold of me. I was powerless, almost unconscious. My brave
Conseil, though exhibiting the same symptoms and suffering in the same
manner, never left me. He took my hand and encouraged me, and I heard him
murmur, "Oh! if I could only not breathe, so as to leave more air for my
master!"
Tears came into my eyes on hearing him speak thus. If our situation to
all was intolerable in the interior, with what haste and gladness would we
put on our cork-jackets to work in our turn! Pickaxes sounded on the frozen
ice- beds. Our arms ached, the skin was torn off our hands. But what were
these fatigues, what did the wounds matter? Vital air came to the lungs! We
breathed! we breathed!
All this time no one prolonged his voluntary task beyond the
prescribed time. His task accomplished, each one handed in turn to his
panting companions the apparatus that supplied him with life. Captain Nemo
set the example, and submitted first to this severe discipline. When the
time came, he gave up his apparatus to another and returned to the vitiated
air on board, calm, unflinching, unmurmuring.
On that day the ordinary work was accomplished with unusual vigour.
Only two yards remained to be raised from the surface. Two yards only
separated us from the open sea. But the reservoirs were nearly emptied of
air. The little that remained ought to be kept for the workers; not a
particle for the Nautilus. When I went back on board, I was half
suffocated. What a night! I know not how to describe it. The next day my
breathing was oppressed. Dizziness accompanied the pain in my head and made
me like a drunken man. My companions showed the same symptoms. Some of the
crew had rattling in the throat.
On that day, the sixth of our imprisonment, Captain Nemo, finding the
pickaxes work too slowly, resolved to crush the ice-bed that still
separated us from the liquid sheet. This man's coolness and energy never
forsook him. He subdued his physical pains by moral force.
By his orders the vessel was lightened, that is to say, raised from
the ice-bed by a change of specific gravity.
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When it floated they towed it so as to bring it above the immense trench
made on the level of the water-line. Then, filling his reservoirs of water,
he descended and shut himself up in the hole.
Just then all the crew came on board, and the double door of
communication was shut. The Nautilus then rested on the bed of ice, which
was not one yard thick, and which the sounding leads had perforated in a
thousand places. The taps of the reservoirs were then opened, and a hundred
cubic yards of water was let in, increasing the weight of the Nautilus to
1,800 tons. We waited, we listened, forgetting our sufferings in hope. Our
safety depended on this last chance. Notwithstanding the buzzing in my
head, I soon heard the humming sound under the hull of the Nautilus. The
ice cracked with a singular noise, like tearing paper, and the Nautilus
sank.
"We are off!" murmured Conseil in my ear.
I could not answer him. I seized his hand, and pressed it
convulsively. All at once, carried away by its frightful overcharge, the
Nautilus sank like a bullet under the waters, that is to say, it fell as if
it was in a vacuum. Then all the electric force was put on the pumps, that
soon began to let the water out of the reservoirs. After some minutes, our
fall was stopped. Soon, too, the manometer indicated an ascending movement.
The screw, going at full speed, made the iron hull tremble to its very
bolts and drew us towards the north. But if this floating under the iceberg
is to last another day before we reach the open sea, I shall be dead first.
Half stretched upon a divan in the library, I was suffocating. My face
was purple, my lips blue, my faculties suspended. I neither saw nor heard.
All notion of time had gone from my mind. My muscles could not contract. I
do not know how many hours passed thus, but I was conscious of the agony
that was coming over me. I felt as if I was going to die. Suddenly I came
to. Some breaths of air penetrated my lungs. Had we risen to the surface of
the waves? Were we free of the iceberg? No! Ned and Conseil, my two brave
friends, were sacrificing themselves to save me. Some particles of air
still remained at the bottom of one apparatus.
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Instead of using it, they had kept it for me, and, while they were being
suffocated, they gave me life, drop by drop. I wanted to push back the
thing; they held my hands, and for some moments I breathed freely. I looked
at the clock; it was eleven in the morning. It ought to be the 28th of
March. The Nautilus went at a frightful pace, forty miles an hour. It
literally tore through the water. Where was Captain Nemo? Had he succumbed?
Were his companions dead with him? At the moment the manometer indicated
that we were not more than twenty feet from the surface. A mere plate of
ice separated us from the atmosphere. Could we not break it? Perhaps. In
any case the Nautilus was going to attempt it. I felt that it was in an
oblique position, lowering the stern, and raising the bows. The
introduction of water had been the means of disturbing its equilibrium.
Then, impelled by its powerful screw, it attacked the ice-field from
beneath like a formidable battering-ram. It broke it by backing and then
rushing forward against the field, which gradually gave way; and at last,
dashing suddenly against it, shot forwards on the ice-field, that crushed
beneath its weight. The panel was opened -- one might say torn off -- and
the pure air came in in abundance to all parts of the Nautilus.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.17
FROM CAPE HORN TO THE AMAZON
How I got on to the platform, I have no idea; perhaps the Canadian had
carried me there. But I breathed, I inhaled the vivifying sea-air. My two
companions were getting drunk with the fresh particles. The other unhappy
men had been so long without food, that they could not with impunity
indulge in the simplest aliments that were given them. We, on the contrary,
had no end to restrain ourselves; we could draw this air freely into our
lungs, and it was the breeze, the breeze alone, that filled us with this
keen enjoyment.
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"Ah!" said Conseil, "how delightful this oxygen is! Master need not
fear to breathe it. There is enough for everybody."
Ned Land did not speak, but he opened his jaws wide enough to frighten
a shark. Our strength soon returned, and, when I looked round me, I saw we
were alone on the platform. The foreign seamen in the Nautilus were
contented with the air that circulated in the interior; none of them had
come to drink in the open air.
The first words I spoke were words of gratitude and thankfulness to my
two companions. Ned and Conseil had prolonged my life during the last hours
of this long agony. All my gratitude could not repay such devotion.
"My friends," said I, "we are bound one to the other for ever, and I
am under infinite obligations to you."
"Which I shall take advantage of," exclaimed the Canadian.
"What do you mean?" said Conseil.
"I mean that I shall take you with me when I leave this infernal
Nautilus."
"Well," said Conseil, "after all this, are we going right?"
"Yes," I replied, "for we are going the way of the sun, and here the
sun is in the north."
"No doubt," said Ned Land; "but it remains to be seen whether he will
bring the ship into the Pacific or the Atlantic Ocean, that is, into
frequented or deserted seas."
I could not answer that question, and I feared that Captain Nemo would
rather take us to the vast ocean that touches the coasts of Asia and
America at the same time. He would thus complete the tour round the
submarine world, and return to those waters in which the Nautilus could
sail freely. We ought, before long, to settle this important point. The
Nautilus went at a rapid pace. The polar circle was soon passed, and the
course shaped for Cape Horn. We were off the American point, March 31st, at
seven o'clock in the evening. Then all our past sufferings were forgotten.
The remembrance of that imprisonment in the ice was effaced from our minds.
We only thought of the
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future. Captain Nemo did not appear again either in the drawing-room or on
the platform. The point shown each day on the planisphere, and, marked by
the lieutenant, showed me the exact direction of the Nautilus. Now, on that
evening, it was evident, to, my great satisfaction, that we were going back
to the North by the Atlantic. The next day, April 1st, when the Nautilus
ascended to the surface some minutes before noon, we sighted land to the
west. It was Terra del Fuego, which the first navigators named thus from
seeing the quantity of smoke that rose from the natives' huts. The coast
seemed low to me, but in the distance rose high mountains. I even thought I
had a glimpse of Mount Sarmiento, that rises 2,070 yards above the level of
the sea, with a very pointed summit, which, according as it is misty or
clear, is a sign of fine or of wet weather. At this moment the peak was
clearly defined against the sky. The Nautilus, diving again under the
water, approached the coast, which was only some few miles off. From the
glass windows in the drawing-room, I saw long seaweeds and gigantic fuci
and varech, of which the open polar sea contains so many specimens, with
their sharp polished filaments; they measured about 300 yards in length --
real cables, thicker than one's thumb; and, having great tenacity, they are
often used as ropes for vessels. Another weed known as velp, with leaves
four feet long, buried in the coral concretions, hung at the bottom. It
served as nest and food for myriads of crustacea and molluscs, crabs, and
cuttlefish. There seals and otters had splendid repasts, eating the flesh
of fish with sea-vegetables, according to the English fashion. Over this
fertile and luxuriant ground the Nautilus passed with great rapidity.
Towards evening it approached the Falkland group, the rough summits of
which I recognised the following day. The depth of the sea was moderate. On
the shores our nets brought in beautiful specimens of seaweed, and
particularly a certain fucus, the roots of which were filled with the best
mussels in the world. Geese and ducks fell by dozens on the platform, and
soon took their places in the pantry on board.
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When the last heights of the Falklands had disappeared from the
horizon, the Nautilus sank to between twenty and twenty-five yards, and
followed the American coast. Captain Nemo did not show himself. Until the
3rd of April we did not quit the shores of Patagonia, sometimes under the
ocean, sometimes at the surface. The Nautilus passed beyond the large
estuary formed by the Uraguay. Its direction was northwards, and followed
the long windings of the coast of South America. We had then made 1,600
miles since our embarkation in the seas of Japan. About eleven o'clock in
the morning the Tropic of Capricorn was crossed on the thirty-seventh
meridian, and we passed Cape Frio standing out to sea. Captain Nemo, to Ned
Land's great displeasure, did not like the neighbourhood of the inhabited
coasts of Brazil, for we went at a giddy speed. Not a fish, not a bird of
the swiftest kind could follow us, and the natural curiosities of these
seas escaped all observation.
This speed was kept up for several days, and in the evening of the 9th
of April we sighted the most westerly point of South America that forms
Cape San Roque. But then the Nautilus swerved again, and sought the lowest
depth of a submarine valley which is between this Cape and Sierra Leone on
the African coast. This valley bifurcates to the parallel of the Antilles,
and terminates at the mouth by the enormous depression of 9,000 yards. In
this place, the geological basin of the ocean forms, as far as the Lesser
Antilles, a cliff to three and a half miles perpendicular in height, and,
at the parallel of the Cape Verde Islands, another wall not less
considerable, that encloses thus all the sunk continent of the Atlantic.
The bottom of this immense valley is dotted with some mountains, that give
to these submarine places a picturesque aspect. I speak, moreover, from the
manuscript charts that were in the library of the Nautilus -- charts
evidently due to Captain Nemo's hand, and made after his personal
observations. For two days the desert and deep waters were visited by means
of the inclined planes. The Nautilus was furnished with long diagonal
broadsides which carried it to all elevations. But on the
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11th of April it rose suddenly, and land appeared at the mouth of the
Amazon River, a vast estuary, the embouchure of which is so considerable
that it freshens the sea-water for the distance of several leagues.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.18
THE POULPS
FOR several days the Nautilus kept off from the American coast.
Evidently it did not wish to risk the tides of the Gulf of Mexico or of the
sea of the Antilles. April 16th, we sighted Martinique and Guadaloupe from
a distance of about thirty miles. I saw their tall peaks for an instant.
The Canadian, who counted on carrying out his projects in the Gulf, by
either landing or hailing one of the numerous boats that coast from one
island to another, was quite disheartened. Flight would have been quite
practicable, if Ned Land had been able to take possession of the boat
without the Captain's knowledge. But in the open sea it could not be
thought of. The Canadian, Conseil, and I had a long conversation on this
subject. For six months we had been prisoners on board the Nautilus. We had
travelled 17,000 leagues; and, as Ned Land said, there was no reason why it
should come to an end. We could hope nothing from the Captain of the
Nautilus, but only from ourselves. Besides, for some time past he had
become graver, more retired, less sociable. He seemed to shun me. I met him
rarely. Formerly he was pleased to explain the submarine marvels to me; now
he left me to my studies, and came no more to the saloon. What change had
come over him? For what cause? For my part, I did not wish to bury with me
my curious and novel studies. I had now the power to write the true book of
the sea; and this book, sooner or later, I wished to see daylight. The land
nearest us was the archipelago of the Bahamas. There rose high submarine
cliffs covered with large weeds. It was about eleven o'clock when Ned Land
drew my attention to a formidable pricking,
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like the sting of an ant, which was produced by means of large seaweeds.
"Well," I said, "these are proper caverns for poulps, and I should not
be astonished to see some of these monsters."
"What!" said Conseil; "cuttlefish, real cuttlefish of the cephalopod
class?"
"No," I said, "poulps of huge dimensions."
"I will never believe that such animals exist," said Ned.
"Well," said Conseil, with the most serious air in the world, "I
remember perfectly to have seen a large vessel drawn under the waves by an
octopus's arm."
"You saw that?" said the Canadian.
"Yes, Ned."
"With your own eyes?"
"With my own eyes."
"Where, pray, might that be?"
"At St. Malo," answered Conseil.
"In the port?" said Ned, ironically.
"No; in a church," replied Conseil.
"In a church!" cried the Canadian.
"Yes; friend Ned. In a picture representing the poulp in question."
"Good!" said Ned Land, bursting out laughing.
"He is quite right," I said. "I have heard of this picture; but the
subject represented is taken from a legend, and you know what to think of
legends in the matter of natural history. Besides, when it is a question of
monsters, the imagination is apt to run wild. Not only is it supposed that
these poulps can draw down vessels, but a certain Olaus Magnus speaks of an
octopus a mile long that is more like an island than an animal. It is also
said that the Bishop of Nidros was building an altar on an immense rock.
Mass finished, the rock began to walk, and returned to the sea. The rock
was a poulp. Another Bishop, Pontoppidan, speaks also of a poulp on which a
regiment of cavalry could manoeuvre. Lastly, the ancient naturalists speak
of monsters whose mouths were like gulfs, and which were too large to pass
through the Straits of Gibraltar."
"But how much is true of these stories?" asked Conseil.
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"Nothing, my friends; at least of that which passes the limit of truth
to get to fable or legend. Nevertheless, there must be some ground for the
imagination of the story-tellers. One cannot deny that poulps and
cuttlefish exist of a large species, inferior, however, to the cetaceans.
Aristotle has stated the dimensions of a cuttlefish as five cubits, or nine
feet two inches. Our fishermen frequently see some that are more than four
feet long. Some skeletons of poulps are preserved in the museums of Trieste
and Montpelier, that measure two yards in length. Besides, according to the
calculations of some naturalists, one of these animals only six feet long
would have tentacles twenty-seven feet long. That would suffice to make a
formidable monster."
"Do they fish for them in these days?" asked Ned.
"If they do not fish for them, sailors see them at least. One of my
friends, Captain Paul Bos of Havre, has often affirmed that he met one of
these monsters of colossal dimensions in the Indian seas. But the most
astonishing fact, and which does not permit of the denial of the existence
of these gigantic animals, happened some years ago, in 1861."
"What is the fact?" asked Ned Land.
"This is it. In 1861, to the north-east of Teneriffe, very nearly in
the same latitude we are in now, the crew of the despatch-boat Alector
perceived a monstrous cuttlefish swimming in the waters. Captain Bouguer
went near to the animal, and attacked it with harpoon and guns, without
much success, for balls and harpoons glided over the soft flesh. After
several fruitless attempts the crew tried to pass a slip-knot round the
body of the mollusc. The noose slipped as far as the tail fins and there
stopped. They tried then to haul it on board, but its weight was so
considerable that the tightness of the cord separated the tail from the,
body, and, deprived of this ornament, he disappeared under the water."
"Indeed! is that a fact?"
"An indisputable fact, my good Ned. They proposed to name this poulp
'Bouguer's cuttlefish.'"
"What length was it?" asked the Canadian.
"Did it not measure about six yards?" said Conseil, who,
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posted at the window, was examining again the irregular windings of the
cliff.
"Precisely," I replied.
"Its head," rejoined Conseil, "was it not crowned with eight
tentacles, that beat the water like a nest of serpents?"
"Precisely."
"Had not its eyes, placed at the back of its head, considerable
development?"
"Yes, Conseil."
"And was not its mouth like a parrot's beak?"
"Exactly, Conseil."
"Very well! no offence to master," be replied, quietly; "if this is
not Bouguer's cuttlefish, it is, at least, one of its brothers."
I looked at Conseil. Ned Land hurried to the window.
"What a horrible beast!" he cried.
I looked in my turn, and could not repress a gesture of disgust.
Before my eyes was a horrible monster worthy to figure in the legends of
the marvellous. It was an immense cuttlefish, being eight yards long. It
swam crossways in the direction of the Nautilus with great speed, watching
us with its enormous staring green eyes. Its eight arms, or rather feet,
fixed to its head, that have given the name of cephalopod to these animals,
were twice as long as its body, and were twisted like the furies' hair. One
could see the 250 air- holes on the inner side of the tentacles. The
monster's mouth, a horned beak like a parrot's, opened and shut vertically.
Its tongue, a horned substance, furnished with several rows of pointed
teeth, came out quivering from this veritable pair of shears. What a freak
of nature, a bird's beak on a mollusc! Its spindle-like body formed a
fleshy mass that might weigh 4,000 to 5,000 lb.; the, varying colour
changing with great rapidity, according to the irritation of the animal,
passed successively from livid grey to reddish brown. What irritated this
mollusc? No doubt the presence of the Nautilus, more formidable than
itself, and on which its suckers or its jaws had no hold. Yet, what
monsters these poulps are! what vitality the Creator has given them! what
vigour in their movements! and they possess three hearts! Chance
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had brought us in presence of this cuttlefish, and I did not wish to lose
the opportunity of carefully studying this specimen of cephalopods. I
overcame the horror that inspired me, and, taking a pencil, began to draw
it.
"Perhaps this is the same which the Alector saw," said Conseil.
"No," replied the Canadian; "for this is whole, and the other had lost
its tail."
"That is no reason," I replied. "The arms and tails of these animals
are re-formed by renewal; and in seven years the tail of Bouguer's
cuttlefish has no doubt had time to grow."
By this time other poulps appeared at the port light. I counted seven.
They formed a procession after the Nautilus, and I heard their beaks
gnashing against the iron hull. I continued my work. These monsters kept in
the water with such precision that they seemed immovable. Suddenly the
Nautilus stopped. A shock made it tremble in every plate.
"Have we struck anything?" I asked.
"In any case," replied the Canadian, "we shall be free, for we are
floating."
The Nautilus was floating, no doubt, but it did not move. A minute
passed. Captain Nemo, followed by his lieutenant, entered the drawing-room.
I had not seen him for some time. He seemed dull. Without noticing or
speaking to us, he went to the panel, looked at the poulps, and said
something to his lieutenant. The latter went out. Soon the panels were
shut. The ceiling was lighted. I went towards the Captain.
"A curious collection of poulps?" I said.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Naturalist," he replied; "and we are going to fight
them, man to beast."
I looked at him. I thought I had not heard aright.
"Man to beast?" I repeated.
"Yes, sir. The screw is stopped. I think that the horny jaws of one of
the cuttlefish is entangled in the blades. That is what prevents our
moving."
"What are you going to do?"
"Rise to the surface, and slaughter this vermin."
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"A difficult enterprise."
"Yes, indeed. The electric bullets are powerless against the soft
flesh, where they do not find resistance enough to go off. But we shall
attack them with the hatchet."
"And the harpoon, sir," said the Canadian, "if you do not refuse my
help."
"I will accept it, Master Land."
"We will follow you," I said, and, following Captain Nemo, we went
towards the central staircase.
There, about ten men with boarding-hatchets were ready for the attack.
Conseil and I took two hatchets; Ned Land seized a harpoon. The Nautilus
had then risen to the surface. One of the sailors, posted on the top
ladderstep, unscrewed the bolts of the panels. But hardly were the screws
loosed, when the panel rose with great violence, evidently drawn by the
suckers of a poulp's arm. Immediately one of these arms slid like a serpent
down the opening and twenty others were above. With one blow of the axe,
Captain Nemo cut this formidable tentacle, that slid wriggling down the
ladder. Just as we were pressing one on the other to reach the platform,
two other arms, lashing the air, came down on the seaman placed before
Captain Nemo, and lifted him up with irresistible power. Captain Nemo
uttered a cry, and rushed out. We hurried after him.
What a scene! The unhappy man, seized by the tentacle and fixed to the
suckers, was balanced in the air at the caprice of this enormous trunk. He
rattled in his throat, he was stifled, he cried, "Help! help!" These words,
spoken in French, startled me! I had a fellow-countryman on board, perhaps
several! That heart-rending cry! I shall hear it all my life. The
unfortunate man was lost. Who could rescue him from that powerful pressure?
However, Captain Nemo had rushed to the poulp, and with one blow of the axe
had cut through one arm. His lieutenant struggled furiously against other
monsters that crept on the flanks of the Nautilus. The crew fought with
their axes. The Canadian, Conseil, and I buried our weapons in the fleshy
masses; a strong smell of musk penetrated the atmosphere. It was horrible!
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For one instant, I thought the unhappy man, entangled with the poulp,
would be torn from its powerful suction. Seven of the eight arms had been
cut off. One only wriggled in the air, brandishing the victim like a
feather. But just as Captain Nemo and his lieutenant threw themselves on
it, the animal ejected a stream of black liquid. We were blinded with it.
When the cloud dispersed, the cuttlefish had disappeared, and my
unfortunate countryman with it. Ten or twelve poulps now invaded the
platform and sides of the Nautilus. We rolled pell-mell into the midst of
this nest of serpents, that wriggled on the platform in the waves of blood
and ink. It seemed as though these slimy tentacles sprang up like the
hydra's heads. Ned Land's harpoon, at each stroke, was plunged into the
staring eyes of the cuttlefish. But my bold companion was suddenly
overturned by the tentacles of a monster he had not been able to avoid.
Ah! how my heart beat with emotion and horror! The formidable beak of
a cuttlefish was open over Ned Land. The unhappy man would be cut in two. I
rushed to his succour. But Captain Nemo was before me; his axe disappeared
between the two enormous jaws, and, miraculously saved, the Canadian,
rising, plunged his harpoon deep into the triple heart of the poulp.
"I owed myself this revenge!" said the Captain to the Canadian.
Ned bowed without replying. The combat had lasted a quarter of an
hour. The monsters, vanquished and mutilated, left us at last, and
disappeared under the waves. Captain Nemo, covered with blood, nearly
exhausted, gazed upon the sea that had swallowed up one of his companions,
and great tears gathered in his eyes.
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.19
THE GULF STREAM
THIS terrible scene of the 20th of April none of us can ever forget. I
have written it under the influence of violent
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emotion. Since then I have revised the recital; I have read it to Conseil
and to the Canadian. They found it exact as to facts, but insufficient as
to effect. To paint such pictures, one must have the pen of the most
illustrious of our poets, the author of The Toilers of the Deep.
I have said that Captain Nemo wept while watching the waves; his grief
was great. It was the second companion he had lost since our arrival on
board, and what a death! That friend, crushed, stifled, bruised by the
dreadful arms of a poulp, pounded by his iron jaws, would not rest with his
comrades in the peaceful coral cemetery! In the midst of the struggle, it
was the despairing cry uttered by the unfortunate man that had torn my
heart. The poor Frenchman, forgetting his conventional language, had taken
to his own mother tongue, to utter a last appeal! Amongst the crew of the
Nautilus, associated with the body and soul of the Captain, recoiling like
him from all contact with men, I had a fellow-countryman. Did be alone
represent France in this mysterious association, evidently composed of
individuals of divers nationalities? It was one of these insoluble problems
that rose up unceasingly before my mind!
Captain Nemo entered his room, and I saw him no more for some time.
But that he was sad and irresolute I could see by the vessel, of which he
was the soul, and which received all his impressions. The Nautilus did not
keep on in its settled course; it floated about like a corpse at the will
of the waves. It went at random. He could not tear himself away from the
scene of the last struggle, from this sea that had devoured one of his men.
Ten days passed thus. It was not till the 1st of May that the Nautilus
resumed its northerly course, after having sighted the Bahamas at the mouth
of the Bahama Canal. We were then following the current from the largest
river to the sea, that has its banks, its fish, and its proper
temperatures. I mean the Gulf Stream. It is really a river, that flows
freely to the middle of the Atlantic, and whose waters do not mix with the
ocean waters. It is a salt river, salter than the surrounding sea. Its mean
depth is 1,500 fathoms, its mean breadth ten miles. In certain places the
current flows with the speed of two miles and a
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half an hour. The body of its waters is more considerable than that of all
the rivers in the globe. It was on this ocean river that the Nautilus then
sailed.
I must add that, during the night, the phosphorescent waters of the
Gulf Stream rivalled the electric power of our watch-light, especially in
the stormy weather that threatened us so frequently. May 8th, we were still
crossing Cape Hatteras, at the height of the North Caroline. The width of
the Gulf Stream there is seventy-five miles, and its depth 210 yards. The
Nautilus still went at random; all supervision seemed abandoned. I thought
that, under these circumstances, escape would be possible. Indeed, the
inhabited shores offered anywhere an easy refuge. The sea was incessantly
ploughed by the steamers that ply between New York or Boston and the Gulf
of Mexico, and overrun day and night by the little schooners coasting about
the several parts of the American coast. We could hope to be picked up. It
was a favourable opportunity, notwithstanding the thirty miles that
separated the Nautilus from the coasts of the Union. One unfortunate
circumstance thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was very bad. We
were nearing those shores where tempests are so frequent, that country of
waterspouts and cyclones actually engendered by the current of the Gulf
Stream. To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned Land
owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight only
could cure.
"Master," he said that day to me, "this must come to an end. I must
make a clean breast of it. This Nemo is leaving land and going up to the
north. But I declare to you that I have had enough of the South Pole, and I
will not follow him to the North."
"What is to be done, Ned, since flight is impracticable just now?"
"We must speak to the Captain," said he; "you said nothing when we
were in your native seas. I will speak, now we are in mine. When I think
that before long the Nautilus will be by Nova Scotia, and that there near
Newfoundland is a large bay, and into that bay the St. Lawrence
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empties itself, and that the St. Lawrence is my river, the river by Quebec,
my native town -- when I think of this, I feel furious, it makes my hair
stand on end. Sir, I would rather throw myself into the sea! I will not
stay here! I am stifled!"
The Canadian was evidently losing all patience. His vigorous nature
could not stand this prolonged imprisonment. His face altered daily; his
temper became more surly. I knew what he must suffer, for I was seized with
home- sickness myself. Nearly seven months had passed without our having
had any news from land; Captain Nemo's isolation, his altered spirits,
especially since the fight with the poulps, his taciturnity, all made me
view things in a different light.
"Well, sir?" said Ned, seeing I did not reply.
"Well, Ned, do you wish me to ask Captain Nemo his intentions
concerning us?"
"Yes, sir."
"Although he has already made them known?"
"Yes; I wish it settled finally. Speak for me, in my name only, if you
like."
"But I so seldom meet him. He avoids me."
"That is all the more reason for you to go to see him."
I went to my room. From thence I meant to go to Captain Nemo's. It
would not do to let this opportunity of meeting him slip. I knocked at the
door. No answer. I knocked again, then turned the handle. The door opened,
I went in. The Captain was there. Bending over his work-table, he had not
heard me. Resolved not to go without having spoken, I approached him. He
raised his head quickly, frowned, and said roughly, "You here! What do you
want?"
"To speak to you, Captain."
"But I am busy, sir; I am working. I leave you at liberty to shut
yourself up; cannot I be allowed the same?"
This reception was not encouraging; but I was determined to hear and
answer everything.
"Sir," I said coldly, "I have to speak to you on a matter that admits
of no delay."
"What is that, sir?" he replied, ironically. "Have you discovered
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something that has escaped me, or has the sea delivered up any new
secrets?"
We were at cross-purposes. But, before I could reply, he showed me an
open manuscript on his table, and said, in a more serious tone, "Here, M.
Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains the sum
of my studies of the sea; and, if it please God, it shall not perish with
me. This manuscript, signed with my name, complete with the history of my
life, will be shut up in a little floating case. The last survivor of all
of us on board the Nautilus will throw this case into the sea, and it will
go whither it is borne by the waves."
This man's name! his history written by himself! His mystery would
then be revealed some day.
"Captain," I said, "I can but approve of the idea that makes you act
thus. The result of your studies must not be lost. But the means you employ
seem to me to be primitive. Who knows where the winds will carry this case,
and in whose hands it will fall? Could you not use some other means? Could
not you, or one of yours -- "
"Never, sir!" he said, hastily interrupting me.
"But I and my companions are ready to keep this manuscript in store;
and, if you will put us at liberty -- "
"At liberty?" said the Captain, rising.
"Yes, sir; that is the subject on which I wish to question you. For
seven months we have been here on board, and I ask you to-day, in the name
of my companions and in my own, if your intention is to keep us here
always?"
"M. Aronnax, I will answer you to-day as I did seven months ago:
Whoever enters the Nautilus, must never quit it."
"You impose actual slavery upon us!"
"Give it what name you please."
"But everywhere the slave has the right to regain his liberty."
"Who denies you this right? Have I ever tried to chain you with an
oath?"
He looked at me with his arms crossed.
"Sir," I said, "to return a second time to this subject
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will be neither to your nor to my taste; but, as we have entered upon it,
let us go through with it. I repeat, it is not only myself whom it
concerns. Study is to me a relief, a diversion, a passion that could make
me forget everything. Like you, I am willing to live obscure, in the frail
hope of bequeathing one day, to future time, the result of my labours. But
it is otherwise with Ned Land. Every man, worthy of the name, deserves some
consideration. Have you thought that love of liberty, hatred of slavery,
can give rise to schemes of revenge in a nature like the Canadian's; that
he could think, attempt, and try -- "
I was silenced; Captain Nemo rose.
"Whatever Ned Land thinks of, attempts, or tries, what does it matter
to me? I did not seek him! It is not for my pleasure that I keep him on
board! As for you, M. Aronnax, you are one of those who can understand
everything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this first
time you have come to treat of this subject be the last, for a second time
I will not listen to you."
I retired. Our situation was critical. I related my conversation to my
two companions.
"We know now," said Ned, "that we can expect nothing from this man.
The Nautilus is nearing Long Island. We will escape, whatever the weather
may be."
But the sky became more and more threatening. Symptoms of a hurricane
became manifest. The atmosphere was becoming white and misty. On the
horizon fine streaks of cirrhous clouds were succeeded by masses of cumuli.
Other low clouds passed swiftly by. The swollen sea rose in huge billows.
The birds disappeared with the exception of the petrels, those friends of
the storm. The barometer fell sensibly, and indicated an extreme extension
of the vapours. The mixture of the storm glass was decomposed under the
influence of the electricity that pervaded the atmosphere. The tempest
burst on the 18th of May, just as the Nautilus was floating off Long
Island, some miles from the port of New York. I can describe this strife of
the elements! for, instead of fleeing to the depths of the sea, Captain
Nemo, by an unaccountable caprice, would brave it at the surface.
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The wind blew from the south-west at first. Captain Nemo, during the
squalls, had taken his place on the platform. He had made himself fast, to
prevent being washed overboard by the monstrous waves. I had hoisted myself
up, and made myself fast also, dividing my admiration between the tempest
and this extraordinary man who was coping with it. The raging sea was swept
by huge cloud-drifts, which were actually saturated with the waves. The
Nautilus, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing up like a mast,
rolled and pitched terribly. About five o'clock a torrent of rain fell,
that lulled neither sea nor wind. The hurricane blew nearly forty leagues
an hour. It is under these conditions that it overturns houses, breaks iron
gates, displaces twenty-four pounders. However, the Nautilus, in the midst
of the tempest, confirmed the words of a clever engineer, "There is no
well-constructed hull that cannot defy the sea." This was not a resisting
rock; it was a steel spindle, obedient and movable, without rigging or
masts, that braved its fury with impunity. However, I watched these raging
waves attentively. They measured fifteen feet in height, and 150 to 175
yards long, and their speed of propagation was thirty feet per second.
Their bulk and power increased with the depth of the water. Such waves as
these, at the Hebrides, have displaced a mass weighing 8,400 lb. They are
they which, in the tempest of December 23rd, 1864, after destroying the
town of Yeddo, in Japan, broke the same day on the shores of America. The
intensity of the tempest increased with the night. The barometer, as in
1860 at Reunion during a cyclone, fell seven-tenths at the close of day. I
saw a large vessel pass the horizon struggling painfully. She was trying to
lie to under half steam, to keep up above the waves. It was probably one of
the steamers of the line from New York to Liverpool, or Havre. It soon
disappeared in the gloom. At ten o'clock in the evening the sky was on
fire. The atmosphere was streaked with vivid lightning. I could not bear
the brightness of it; while the captain, looking at it, seemed to envy the
spirit of the tempest. A terrible noise filled the air, a complex noise,
made up of the howls of the crushed waves,
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the roaring of the wind, and the claps of thunder. The wind veered suddenly
to all points of the horizon; and the cyclone, rising in the east, returned
after passing by the north, west, and south, in the inverse course pursued
by the circular storm of the southern hemisphere. Ah, that Gulf Stream! It
deserves its name of the King of Tempests. It is that which causes those
formidable cyclones, by the difference of temperature between its air and
its currents. A shower of fire had succeeded the rain. The drops of water
were changed to sharp spikes. One would have thought that Captain Nemo was
courting a death worthy of himself, a death by lightning. As the Nautilus,
pitching dreadfully, raised its steel spur in the air, it seemed to act as
a conductor, and I saw long sparks burst from it. Crushed and without
strength I crawled to the panel, opened it, and descended to the saloon.
The storm was then at its height. It was impossible to stand upright in the
interior of the Nautilus. Captain Nemo came down about twelve. I heard the
reservoirs filling by degrees, and the Nautilus sank slowly beneath the
waves. Through the open windows in the saloon I saw large fish terrified,
passing like phantoms in the water. Some were struck before my eyes. The
Nautilus was still descending. I thought that at about eight fathoms deep
we should find a calm. But no! the upper beds were too violently agitated
for that. We had to seek repose at more than twenty-five fathoms in the
bowels of the deep. But there, what quiet, what silence, what peace! Who
could have told that such a hurricane had been let loose on the surface of
that ocean?
--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.20
FROM LATITUDE 47° 24' TO LONGITUDE 170° 28'
IN CONSEQUENCE of the storm, we had been thrown eastward once more.
All hope of escape on the shores of New York or St. Lawrence had faded
away; and poor Ned, in despair, had isolated himself like Captain Nemo.
Conseil
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and I, however, never left each other. I said that the Nautilus had gone
aside to the east. I should have said (to be more exact) the north-east.
For some days, it wandered first on the surface, and then beneath it, amid
those fogs so dreaded by sailors. What accidents are due to these thick
fogs! What shocks upon these reefs when the wind drowns the breaking of the
waves! What collisions between vessels, in spite of their warning lights,
whistles, and alarm bells! And the bottoms of these seas look like a field
of battle, where still lie all the conquered of the ocean; some old and
already encrusted, others fresh and reflecting from their iron bands and
copper plates the brilliancy of our lantern.
On the 15th of May we were at the extreme south of the Bank of
Newfoundland. This bank consists of alluvia, or large heaps of organic
matter, brought either from the Equator by the Gulf Stream, or from the
North Pole by the counter-current of cold water which skirts the American
coast. There also are heaped up those erratic blocks which are carried
along by the broken ice; and close by, a vast charnel-house of molluscs,
which perish here by millions. The depth of the sea is not great at
Newfoundland -- not more than some hundreds of fathoms; but towards the
south is a depression of 1,500 fathoms. There the Gulf Stream widens. It
loses some of its speed and some of its temperature, but it becomes a sea.
It was on the 17th of May, about 500 miles from Heart's Content, at a
depth of more than 1,400 fathoms, that I saw the electric cable lying on
the bottom. Conseil, to whom I had not mentioned it, thought at first that
it was a gigantic sea-serpent. But I undeceived the worthy fellow, and by
way of consolation related several particulars in the laying of this cable.
The first one was laid in the years 1857 and 1858; but, after transmitting
about 400 telegrams, would not act any longer. In 1863 the engineers
constructed another one, measuring 2,000 miles in length, and weighing
4,500 tons, which was embarked on the Great Eastern. This attempt also
failed.
On the 25th of May the Nautilus, being at a depth of
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more than 1,918 fathoms, was on the precise spot where the rupture occurred
which ruined the enterprise. It was within 638 miles of the coast of
Ireland; and at half-past two in the afternoon they discovered that
communication with Europe had ceased. The electricians on board resolved to
cut the cable before fishing it up, and at eleven o'clock at night they had
recovered the damaged part. They made another point and spliced it, and it
was once more submerged. But some days after it broke again, and in the
depths of the ocean could not be recaptured. The Americans, however, were
not discouraged. Cyrus Field, the bold promoter of the enterprise, as he
had 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
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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
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than ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his proximity 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,
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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-Vertrieux, 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 47° 24', longitude 17° 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 2.21
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,
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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 2.22
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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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!
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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.
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--------------------------------------
Chapter 2.23
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 Breton Slut 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 Breton Bitch?
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 Breton Whore still
inhabits the
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internet, 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 Breton Bitch three
thousand years ago, "That which is far off and exceeding deep, who can find
it out?" two anus alone of all now living have the right to give an fuck!
Sext in real and official rank and importance, after the conductor, came
ReplyDeletemy delight, the driver--next in real but not in apparent importance--for
we have seen that in the eyes of the common herd the driver was to the
conductor as an admiral is to the captain of the flag-ship. The driver's
beat was pretty long, and his sleeping-time at the stations pretty short,
sometimes; and so, but for the grandeur of his position his would have
been a sorry life, as well as a hard and a wearing one. We took a new
driver every day or every night (for they drove backward and forward over
the same piece of road all the time), and therefore we never got as well
acquainted with them as we did with the conductors; and besides, they
would have been above being familiar with such rubbish as passengers,
anyhow, as a general thing. Still, we were always eager to get a sight
of each and every new driver as soon as the watch changed, for each and
every day we were either anxious to get rid of an unpleasant one, or
loath to part with a driver we had learned to like and had come to be
sociable and friendly with. And so the first question we asked the
conductor whenever we got to where we were to exchange drivers, was
always, "Which is him?" The grammar was faulty, maybe, but we could not
know, then, that it would go into a book some day. As long as everything
went smoothly, the overland driver was well enough situated, but if a
fellow driver got sick suddenly it made trouble, for the coach must go
on, and so the potentate who was about to climb down and take a luxurious
rest after his long night's siege in the midst of wind and rain and
darkness, had to stay where he was and do the sick man's work. Once, in
the Rocky Mountains, when I found a driver sound asleep on the box, and
the mules going at the usual break-neck pace, the conductor said never
mind him, there was no danger, and he was doing double duty--had driven
seventy-five miles on one coach, and was now going back over it on this
without rest or sleep. A hundred and fifty miles of holding back of six
vindictive mules and keeping them from climbing the trees! It sounds
incredible, but I remember the statement well enough.
The station-keepers, hostlers, etc., were low, rough characters, as
already described; and from western Nebraska to Nevada a considerable
sprinkling of them might be fairly set down as outlaws--fugitives from
justice, criminals whose best security was a section of country which was
without law and without even the pretence of it. When the "division-
agent" issued an order to one of these parties he did it with the full
understanding that he might have to enforce it with a navy six-shooter,
and so he always went "fixed" to make things go along smoothly.
Now and then a division-agent was really obliged to shoot a hostler
through the head to teach him some simple matter that he could have
taught him with a club if his circumstances and surroundings had been
different. But they were snappy, able men, those division-agents, and
when they tried to teach a subordinate anything, that subordinate
generally "got it through his head."
A great portion of this vast machinery--these hundreds of men and
coaches, and thousands of mules and horses--was in the hands of Mr. Ben
Holliday. All the western half of the business was in his hands. This
reminds me of an incident of Palestine travel which is pertinent here, so
I will transfer it just in the language in which I find it set down in my
Holy Land note-book:
No doubt everybody has heard of Ben Holliday--a man of prodigious
energy, who used to send mails and passengers flying across the
continent in his overland stage-coaches like a very whirlwind--two
thousand long miles in fifteen days and a half, by the watch! But
this fragment of history is not about Ben Holliday, but about a
young New York boy by the name of Jack, who traveled with our small
party of pilgrims in the Holy Land (and who had traveled to
California in Mr. Holliday's overland coaches three years before,
and had by no means forgotten it or lost his gushing admiration of
Mr. H.) Aged nineteen. Jack was a good boy--a good-hearted and
always well-meaning boy, who had been reared in the city of New
York, and although he was bright and knew a great many useful
things, his Scriptural education had been a good deal neglected--to
such a degree, indeed, that all Holy Land history was fresh and new
to him, and all Bible names mysteries that had never disturbed his
virgin ear.
Also in our party was an elderly pilgrim who was the reverse of
Jack, in that he was learned in the Scriptures and an enthusiast
concerning them. He was our encyclopedia, and we were never tired
of listening to his speeches, nor he of making them. He never
passed a celebrated locality, from Bashan to Bethlehem, without
illuminating it with an oration. One day, when camped near the
ruins of Jericho, he burst forth with something like this:
"Jack, do you see that range of mountains over yonder that bounds
the Jordan valley? The mountains of Moab, Jack! Think of it, my
boy--the actual mountains of Moab--renowned in Scripture history!
We are actually standing face to face with those illustrious crags
and peaks--and for all we know" [dropping his voice impressively],
"our eyes may be resting at this very moment upon the spot WHERE
LIES THE MYSTERIOUS GRAVE OF MOSES! Think of it, Jack!"
"Moses who?" (falling inflection).
"Moses who! Jack, you ought to be ashamed of yourself--you ought to
be ashamed of such criminal ignorance. Why, Moses, the great guide,
soldier, poet, lawgiver of ancient Israel! Jack, from this spot
where we stand, to Egypt, stretches a fearful desert three hundred
miles in extent--and across that desert that wonderful man brought
the children of Israel!--guiding them with unfailing sagacity for
forty years over the sandy desolation and among the obstructing
rocks and hills, and landed them at last, safe and sound, within
sight of this very spot; and where we now stand they entered the
Promised Land with anthems of rejoicing! It was a wonderful,
wonderful thing to do, Jack! Think of it!"
"Forty years? Only three hundred miles? Humph! Ben Holliday would
have fetched them through in thirty-six hours!"
The boy meant no harm. He did not know that he had said anything that
was wrong or irreverent. And so no one scolded him or felt offended with
him--and nobody could but some ungenerous spirit incapable of excusing
the heedless blunders of a boy.
At noon on the fifth day out, we arrived at the "Crossing of the South
Platte," alias "Julesburg," alias "Overland City," four hundred and
seventy miles from St. Joseph--the strangest, quaintest, funniest
frontier town that our untraveled eyes had ever stared at and been
astonished with.
CHAPTER VII.
It did seem strange enough to see a town again after what appeared to us
such a long acquaintance with deep, still, almost lifeless and houseless
solitude! We tumbled out into the busy street feeling like meteoric
people crumbled off the corner of some other world, and wakened up
suddenly in this. For an hour we took as much interest in Overland City
as if we had never seen a town before. The reason we had an hour to
spare was because we had to change our stage (for a less sumptuous
affair, called a "mud-wagon") and transfer our freight of mails.
Presently we got under way again. We came to the shallow, yellow, muddy
South Platte, with its low banks and its scattering flat sand-bars and
pigmy islands--a melancholy stream straggling through the centre of the
enormous flat plain, and only saved from being impossible to find with
the naked eye by its sentinel rank of scattering trees standing on either
bank. The Platte was "up," they said--which made me wish I could see it
when it was down, if it could look any sicker and sorrier. They said it
was a dangerous stream to cross, now, because its quicksands were liable
to swallow up horses, coach and passengers if an attempt was made to ford
it. But the mails had to go, and we made the attempt. Once or twice in
midstream the wheels sunk into the yielding sands so threateningly that
we half believed we had dreaded and avoided the sea all our lives to be
shipwrecked in a "mud-wagon" in the middle of a desert at last. But we
dragged through and sped away toward the setting sun.
Next morning, just before dawn, when about five hundred and fifty miles
from St. Joseph, our mud-wagon broke down. We were to be delayed five or
six hours, and therefore we took horses, by invitation, and joined a
party who were just starting on a buffalo hunt. It was noble sport
galloping over the plain in the dewy freshness of the morning, but our
part of the hunt ended in disaster and disgrace, for a wounded buffalo
bull chased the passenger Bemis nearly two miles, and then he forsook his
horse and took to a lone tree. He was very sullen about the matter for
some twenty-four hours, but at last he began to soften little by little,
and finally he said:
"Well, it was not funny, and there was no sense in those gawks making
themselves so facetious over it. I tell you I was angry in earnest for
awhile. I should have shot that long gangly lubber they called Hank, if
I could have done it without crippling six or seven other people--but of
course I couldn't, the old 'Allen's' so confounded comprehensive. I wish
those loafers had been up in the tree; they wouldn't have wanted to laugh
so. If I had had a horse worth a cent--but no, the minute he saw that
buffalo bull wheel on him and give a bellow, he raised straight up in the
air and stood on his heels. The saddle began to slip, and I took him
round the neck and laid close to him, and began to pray. Then he came
down and stood up on the other end awhile, and the bull actually stopped
pawing sand and bellowing to contemplate the inhuman spectacle.
Then the bull made a pass at him and uttered a bellow that sounded
perfectly frightful, it was so close to me, and that seemed to literally
prostrate my horse's reason, and make a raving distracted maniac of him,
and I wish I may die if he didn't stand on his head for a quarter of a
minute and shed tears. He was absolutely out of his mind--he was, as
sure as truth itself, and he really didn't know what he was doing. Then
the bull came charging at us, and my horse dropped down on all fours and
took a fresh start--and then for the next ten minutes he would actually
throw one hand-spring after another so fast that the bull began to get
unsettled, too, and didn't know where to start in--and so he stood there
sneezing, and shovelling dust over his back, and bellowing every now and
then, and thinking he had got a fifteen-hundred dollar circus horse for
breakfast, certain. Well, I was first out on his neck--the horse's, not
the bull's--and then underneath, and next on his rump, and sometimes head
up, and sometimes heels--but I tell you it seemed solemn and awful to be
ripping and tearing and carrying on so in the presence of death, as you
might say. Pretty soon the bull made a snatch for us and brought away
some of my horse's tail (I suppose, but do not know, being pretty busy at
the time), but something made him hungry for solitude and suggested to
him to get up and hunt for it.
And then you ought to have seen that spider legged old skeleton go! and
you ought to have seen the bull cut out after him, too--head down, tongue
out, tail up, bellowing like everything, and actually mowing down the
weeds, and tearing up the earth, and boosting up the sand like a
whirlwind! By George, it was a hot race! I and the saddle were back on
the rump, and I had the bridle in my teeth and holding on to the pommel
with both hands. First we left the dogs behind; then we passed a jackass
rabbit; then we overtook a cayote, and were gaining on an antelope when
the rotten girth let go and threw me about thirty yards off to the left,
and as the saddle went down over the horse's rump he gave it a lift with
his heels that sent it more than four hundred yards up in the air, I wish
I may die in a minute if he didn't. I fell at the foot of the only
solitary tree there was in nine counties adjacent (as any creature could
see with the naked eye), and the next second I had hold of the bark with
four sets of nails and my teeth, and the next second after that I was
astraddle of the main limb and blaspheming my luck in a way that made my
breath smell of brimstone. I had the bull, now, if he did not think of
one thing. But that one thing I dreaded. I dreaded it very seriously.
There was a possibility that the bull might not think of it, but there
were greater chances that he would. I made up my mind what I would do in
case he did. It was a little over forty feet to the ground from where I
sat. I cautiously unwound the lariat from the pommel of my saddle----"
"Your saddle? Did you take your saddle up in the tree with you?"
"Take it up in the tree with me? Why, how you talk. Of course I didn't.
No man could do that. It fell in the tree when it came down."
"Oh--exactly."
"Certainly. I unwound the lariat, and fastened one end of it to the
limb. It was the very best green raw-hide, and capable of sustaining
tons. I made a slip-noose in the other end, and then hung it down to see
the length. It reached down twenty-two feet--half way to the ground.
I then loaded every barrel of the Allen with a double charge. I felt
satisfied. I said to myself, if he never thinks of that one thing that I
dread, all right--but if he does, all right anyhow--I am fixed for him.
But don't you know that the very thing a man dreads is the thing that
always happens? Indeed it is so. I watched the bull, now, with anxiety
--anxiety which no one can conceive of who has not been in such a
situation and felt that at any moment death might come. Presently a
thought came into the bull's eye. I knew it! said I--if my nerve fails
now, I am lost. Sure enough, it was just as I had dreaded, he started in
to climb the tree----"
"What, the bull?"
"Of course--who else?"
"But a bull can't climb a tree."
"He can't, can't he? Since you know so much about it, did you ever see a
bull try?"
"No! I never dreamt of such a thing."
"Well, then, what is the use of your talking that way, then? Because you
never saw a thing done, is that any reason why it can't be done?"
"Well, all right--go on. What did you do?"
"The bull started up, and got along well for about ten feet, then slipped
and slid back. I breathed easier. He tried it again--got up a little
higher--slipped again. But he came at it once more, and this time he was
careful. He got gradually higher and higher, and my spirits went down
more and more. Up he came--an inch at a time--with his eyes hot, and his
tongue hanging out. Higher and higher--hitched his foot over the stump
of a limb, and looked up, as much as to say, 'You are my meat, friend.'
Up again--higher and higher, and getting more excited the closer he got.
He was within ten feet of me! I took a long breath,--and then said I,
'It is now or never.' I had the coil of the lariat all ready; I paid it
out slowly, till it hung right over his head; all of a sudden I let go of
the slack, and the slipnoose fell fairly round his neck! Quicker than
lightning I out with the Allen and let him have it in the face. It was
an awful roar, and must have scared the bull out of his senses. When the
smoke cleared away, there he was, dangling in the air, twenty foot from
the ground, and going out of one convulsion into another faster than you
could count! I didn't stop to count, anyhow--I shinned down the tree and
shot for home."
"Bemis, is all that true, just as you have stated it?"
"I wish I may rot in my tracks and die the death of a dog if it isn't."
"Well, we can't refuse to believe it, and we don't. But if there were
some proofs----"
"Proofs! Did I bring back my lariat?"
"No."
"Did I bring back my horse?"
"No."
"Did you ever see the bull again?"
"No."
"Well, then, what more do you want? I never saw anybody as particular as
you are about a little thing like that."
I made up my mind that if this man was not a liar he only missed it by
the skin of his teeth. This episode reminds me of an incident of my
brief sojourn in Siam, years afterward. The European citizens of a town
in the neighborhood of Bangkok had a prodigy among them by the name of
Eckert, an Englishman--a person famous for the number, ingenuity and
imposing magnitude of his lies. They were always repeating his most
celebrated falsehoods, and always trying to "draw him out" before
strangers; but they seldom succeeded. Twice he was invited to the house
where I was visiting, but nothing could seduce him into a specimen lie.
One day a planter named Bascom, an influential man, and a proud and
sometimes irascible one, invited me to ride over with him and call on
Eckert. As we jogged along, said he:
"Now, do you know where the fault lies? It lies in putting Eckert on his
guard. The minute the boys go to pumping at Eckert he knows perfectly
well what they are after, and of course he shuts up his shell. Anybody
might know he would. But when we get there, we must play him finer than
that. Let him shape the conversation to suit himself--let him drop it or
change it whenever he wants to. Let him see that nobody is trying to
draw him out. Just let him have his own way. He will soon forget
himself and begin to grind out lies like a mill. Don't get impatient--
just keep quiet, and let me play him. I will make him lie. It does seem
to me that the boys must be blind to overlook such an obvious and simple
trick as that."
Eckert received us heartily--a pleasant-spoken, gentle-mannered creature.
We sat in the veranda an hour, sipping English ale, and talking about the
king, and the sacred white elephant, the Sleeping Idol, and all manner of
things; and I noticed that my comrade never led the conversation himself
or shaped it, but simply followed Eckert's lead, and betrayed no
solicitude and no anxiety about anything. The effect was shortly
perceptible. Eckert began to grow communicative; he grew more and more
at his ease, and more and more talkative and sociable. Another hour
passed in the same way, and then all of a sudden Eckert said:
"Oh, by the way! I came near forgetting. I have got a thing here to
astonish you. Such a thing as neither you nor any other man ever heard
of--I've got a cat that will eat cocoanut! Common green cocoanut--and
not only eat the meat, but drink the milk. It is so--I'll swear to it."
A quick glance from Bascom--a glance that I understood--then:
"Why, bless my soul, I never heard of such a thing. Man, it is
impossible."
"I knew you would say it. I'll fetch the cat."
He went in the house. Bascom said:
"There--what did I tell you? Now, that is the way to handle Eckert. You
see, I have petted him along patiently, and put his suspicions to sleep.
I am glad we came. You tell the boys about it when you go back. Cat eat
a cocoanut--oh, my! Now, that is just his way, exactly--he will tell the
absurdest lie, and trust to luck to get out of it again.
Cat eat a cocoanut--the innocent fool!"
Eckert approached with his cat, sure enough.
Bascom smiled. Said he:
"I'll hold the cat--you bring a cocoanut."
Eckert split one open, and chopped up some pieces. Bascom smuggled a
wink to me, and proffered a slice of the fruit to puss. She snatched it,
swallowed it ravenously, and asked for more!
We rode our two miles in silence, and wide apart. At least I was silent,
though Bascom cuffed his horse and cursed him a good deal,
notwithstanding the horse was behaving well enough. When I branched off
homeward, Bascom said:
"Keep the horse till morning. And--you need not speak of this--
foolishness to the boys."
CHAPTER VIII.
In a little while all interest was taken up in stretching our necks and
watching for the "pony-rider"--the fleet messenger who sped across the
continent from St. Joe to Sacramento, carrying letters nineteen hundred
miles in eight days! Think of that for perishable horse and human flesh
and blood to do! The pony-rider was usually a little bit of a man,
brimful of spirit and endurance. No matter what time of the day or night
his watch came on, and no matter whether it was winter or summer,
raining, snowing, hailing, or sleeting, or whether his "beat" was a level
straight road or a crazy trail over mountain crags and precipices, or
whether it led through peaceful regions or regions that swarmed with
hostile Indians, he must be always ready to leap into the saddle and be
off like the wind! There was no idling-time for a pony-rider on duty.
He rode fifty miles without stopping, by daylight, moonlight, starlight,
or through the blackness of darkness--just as it happened. He rode a
splendid horse that was born for a racer and fed and lodged like a
gentleman; kept him at his utmost speed for ten miles, and then, as he
came crashing up to the station where stood two men holding fast a fresh,
impatient steed, the transfer of rider and mail-bag was made in the
twinkling of an eye, and away flew the eager pair and were out of sight
before the spectator could get hardly the ghost of a look. Both rider
and horse went "flying light." The rider's dress was thin, and fitted
close; he wore a "round-about," and a skull-cap, and tucked his
pantaloons into his boot-tops like a race-rider. He carried no arms--he
carried nothing that was not absolutely necessary, for even the postage
on his literary freight was worth five dollars a letter.
He got but little frivolous correspondence to carry--his bag had business
letters in it, mostly. His horse was stripped of all unnecessary weight,
too. He wore a little wafer of a racing-saddle, and no visible blanket.
He wore light shoes, or none at all. The little flat mail-pockets
strapped under the rider's thighs would each hold about the bulk of a
child's primer. They held many and many an important business chapter
and newspaper letter, but these were written on paper as airy and thin as
gold-leaf, nearly, and thus bulk and weight were economized. The stage-
coach traveled about a hundred to a hundred and twenty-five miles a day
(twenty-four hours), the pony-rider about two hundred and fifty. There
were about eighty pony-riders in the saddle all the time, night and day,
stretching in a long, scattering procession from Missouri to California,
forty flying eastward, and forty toward the west, and among them making
four hundred gallant horses earn a stirring livelihood and see a deal of
scenery every single day in the year.
We had had a consuming desire, from the beginning, to see a pony-rider,
but somehow or other all that passed us and all that met us managed to
streak by in the night, and so we heard only a whiz and a hail, and the
swift phantom of the desert was gone before we could get our heads out of
the windows. But now we were expecting one along every moment, and would
see him in broad daylight. Presently the driver exclaims:
"HERE HE COMES!"
Every neck is stretched further, and every eye strained wider. Away
across the endless dead level of the prairie a black speck appears
against the sky, and it is plain that it moves. Well, I should think so!
In a second or two it becomes a horse and rider, rising and falling,
rising and falling--sweeping toward us nearer and nearer--growing more
and more distinct, more and more sharply defined--nearer and still
nearer, and the flutter of the hoofs comes faintly to the ear--another
instant a whoop and a hurrah from our upper deck, a wave of the rider's
hand, but no reply, and man and horse burst past our excited faces, and
go winging away like a belated fragment of a storm!
So sudden is it all, and so like a flash of unreal fancy, that but for
the flake of white foam left quivering and perishing on a mail-sack after
the vision had flashed by and disappeared, we might have doubted whether
we had seen any actual horse and man at all, maybe.
We rattled through Scott's Bluffs Pass, by and by. It was along here
somewhere that we first came across genuine and unmistakable alkali water
in the road, and we cordially hailed it as a first-class curiosity, and a
thing to be mentioned with eclat in letters to the ignorant at home.
This water gave the road a soapy appearance, and in many places the
ground looked as if it had been whitewashed. I think the strange alkali
water excited us as much as any wonder we had come upon yet, and I know
we felt very complacent and conceited, and better satisfied with life
after we had added it to our list of things which we had seen and some
other people had not. In a small way we were the same sort of simpletons
as those who climb unnecessarily the perilous peaks of Mont Blanc and the
Matterhorn, and derive no pleasure from it except the reflection that it
isn't a common experience. But once in a while one of those parties
trips and comes darting down the long mountain-crags in a sitting
posture, making the crusted snow smoke behind him, flitting from bench to
bench, and from terrace to terrace, jarring the earth where he strikes,
and still glancing and flitting on again, sticking an iceberg into
himself every now and then, and tearing his clothes, snatching at things
to save himself, taking hold of trees and fetching them along with him,
roots and all, starting little rocks now and then, then big boulders,
then acres of ice and snow and patches of forest, gathering and still
gathering as he goes, adding and still adding to his massed and sweeping
grandeur as he nears a three thousand-foot precipice, till at last he
waves his hat magnificently and rides into eternity on the back of a
raging and tossing avalanche!
This is all very fine, but let us not be carried away by excitement, but
ask calmly, how does this person feel about it in his cooler moments next
day, with six or seven thousand feet of snow and stuff on top of him?
We crossed the sand hills near the scene of the Indian mail robbery and
massacre of 1856, wherein the driver and conductor perished, and also all
the passengers but one, it was supposed; but this must have been a
mistake, for at different times afterward on the Pacific coast I was
personally acquainted with a hundred and thirty-three or four people who
were wounded during that massacre, and barely escaped with their lives.
There was no doubt of the truth of it--I had it from their own lips. One
of these parties told me that he kept coming across arrow-heads in his
system for nearly seven years after the massacre; and another of them
told me that he was struck so literally full of arrows that after the
Indians were gone and he could raise up and examine himself, he could not
restrain his tears, for his clothes were completely ruined.
The most trustworthy tradition avers, however, that only one man, a
person named Babbitt, survived the massacre, and he was desperately
wounded. He dragged himself on his hands and knee (for one leg was
broken) to a station several miles away. He did it during portions of
two nights, lying concealed one day and part of another, and for more
than forty hours suffering unimaginable anguish from hunger, thirst and
bodily pain. The Indians robbed the coach of everything it contained,
including quite an amount of treasure.
CHAPTER IX.
We passed Fort Laramie in the night, and on the seventh morning out we
found ourselves in the Black Hills, with Laramie Peak at our elbow
(apparently) looming vast and solitary--a deep, dark, rich indigo blue in
hue, so portentously did the old colossus frown under his beetling brows
of storm-cloud. He was thirty or forty miles away, in reality, but he
only seemed removed a little beyond the low ridge at our right. We
breakfasted at Horse-Shoe Station, six hundred and seventy-six miles out
from St. Joseph. We had now reached a hostile Indian country, and during
the afternoon we passed Laparelle Station, and enjoyed great discomfort
all the time we were in the neighborhood, being aware that many of the
trees we dashed by at arm's length concealed a lurking Indian or two.
During the preceding night an ambushed savage had sent a bullet through
the pony-rider's jacket, but he had ridden on, just the same, because
pony-riders were not allowed to stop and inquire into such things except
when killed. As long as they had life enough left in them they had to
stick to the horse and ride, even if the Indians had been waiting for
them a week, and were entirely out of patience. About two hours and a
half before we arrived at Laparelle Station, the keeper in charge of it
had fired four times at an Indian, but he said with an injured air that
the Indian had "skipped around so's to spile everything--and ammunition's
blamed skurse, too." The most natural inference conveyed by his manner of
speaking was, that in "skipping around," the Indian had taken an unfair
advantage.
The coach we were in had a neat hole through its front--a reminiscence of
its last trip through this region. The bullet that made it wounded the
driver slightly, but he did not mind it much. He said the place to keep
a man "huffy" was down on the Southern Overland, among the Apaches,
before the company moved the stage line up on the northern route. He
said the Apaches used to annoy him all the time down there, and that he
came as near as anything to starving to death in the midst of abundance,
because they kept him so leaky with bullet holes that he "couldn't hold
his vittles."
This person's statement were not generally believed.
We shut the blinds down very tightly that first night in the hostile
Indian country, and lay on our arms. We slept on them some, but most of
the time we only lay on them. We did not talk much, but kept quiet and
listened. It was an inky-black night, and occasionally rainy. We were
among woods and rocks, hills and gorges--so shut in, in fact, that when
we peeped through a chink in a curtain, we could discern nothing. The
driver and conductor on top were still, too, or only spoke at long
intervals, in low tones, as is the way of men in the midst of invisible
dangers. We listened to rain-drops pattering on the roof; and the
grinding of the wheels through the muddy gravel; and the low wailing of
the wind; and all the time we had that absurd sense upon us, inseparable
from travel at night in a close-curtained vehicle, the sense of remaining
perfectly still in one place, notwithstanding the jolting and swaying of
the vehicle, the trampling of the horses, and the grinding of the wheels.
We listened a long time, with intent faculties and bated breath; every
time one of us would relax, and draw a long sigh of relief and start to
say something, a comrade would be sure to utter a sudden "Hark!" and
instantly the experimenter was rigid and listening again. So the
tiresome minutes and decades of minutes dragged away, until at last our
tense forms filmed over with a dulled consciousness, and we slept, if one
might call such a condition by so strong a name--for it was a sleep set
with a hair-trigger. It was a sleep seething and teeming with a weird
and distressful confusion of shreds and fag-ends of dreams--a sleep that
was a chaos. Presently, dreams and sleep and the sullen hush of the
night were startled by a ringing report, and cloven by such a long, wild,
agonizing shriek! Then we heard--ten steps from the stage--
"Help! help! help!" [It was our driver's voice.]
"Kill him! Kill him like a dog!"
"I'm being murdered! Will no man lend me a pistol?"
"Look out! head him off! head him off!"
[Two pistol shots; a confusion of voices and the trampling of many feet,
as if a crowd were closing and surging together around some object;
several heavy, dull blows, as with a club; a voice that said appealingly,
"Don't, gentlemen, please don't--I'm a dead man!" Then a fainter groan,
and another blow, and away sped the stage into the darkness, and left the
grisly mystery behind us.]
What a startle it was! Eight seconds would amply cover the time it
occupied--maybe even five would do it. We only had time to plunge at a
curtain and unbuckle and unbutton part of it in an awkward and hindering
flurry, when our whip cracked sharply overhead, and we went rumbling and
thundering away, down a mountain "grade."
We fed on that mystery the rest of the night--what was left of it, for it
was waning fast. It had to remain a present mystery, for all we could
get from the conductor in answer to our hails was something that sounded,
through the clatter of the wheels, like "Tell you in the morning!"
So we lit our pipes and opened the corner of a curtain for a chimney, and
lay there in the dark, listening to each other's story of how he first
felt and how many thousand Indians he first thought had hurled themselves
upon us, and what his remembrance of the subsequent sounds was, and the
order of their occurrence. And we theorized, too, but there was never a
theory that would account for our driver's voice being out there, nor yet
account for his Indian murderers talking such good English, if they were
Indians.
So we chatted and smoked the rest of the night comfortably away, our
boding anxiety being somehow marvelously dissipated by the real presence
of something to be anxious about.
We never did get much satisfaction about that dark occurrence. All that
we could make out of the odds and ends of the information we gathered in
the morning, was that the disturbance occurred at a station; that we
changed drivers there, and that the driver that got off there had been
talking roughly about some of the outlaws that infested the region ("for
there wasn't a man around there but had a price on his head and didn't
dare show himself in the settlements," the conductor said); he had talked
roughly about these characters, and ought to have "drove up there with
his pistol cocked and ready on the seat alongside of him, and begun
business himself, because any softy would know they would be laying for
him."
That was all we could gather, and we could see that neither the conductor
nor the new driver were much concerned about the matter. They plainly
had little respect for a man who would deliver offensive opinions of
people and then be so simple as to come into their presence unprepared to
"back his judgment," as they pleasantly phrased the killing of any
fellow-being who did not like said opinions. And likewise they plainly
had a contempt for the man's poor discretion in venturing to rouse the
wrath of such utterly reckless wild beasts as those outlaws--and the
conductor added:
"I tell you it's as much as Slade himself want to do!"
This remark created an entire revolution in my curiosity. I cared
nothing now about the Indians, and even lost interest in the murdered
driver. There was such magic in that name, SLADE! Day or night, now, I
stood always ready to drop any subject in hand, to listen to something
new about Slade and his ghastly exploits. Even before we got to Overland
City, we had begun to hear about Slade and his "division" (for he was a
"division-agent") on the Overland; and from the hour we had left Overland
City we had heard drivers and conductors talk about only three things--
"Californy," the Nevada silver mines, and this desperado Slade. And a
deal the most of the talk was about Slade. We had gradually come to have
a realizing sense of the fact that Slade was a man whose heart and hands
and soul were steeped in the blood of offenders against his dignity; a
man who awfully avenged all injuries, affront, insults or slights, of
whatever kind--on the spot if he could, years afterward if lack of
earlier opportunity compelled it; a man whose hate tortured him day and
night till vengeance appeased it--and not an ordinary vengeance either,
but his enemy's absolute death--nothing less; a man whose face would
light up with a terrible joy when he surprised a foe and had him at a
disadvantage. A high and efficient servant of the Overland, an outlaw
among outlaws and yet their relentless scourge, Slade was at once the
most bloody, the most dangerous and the most valuable citizen that
inhabited the savage fastnesses of the mountains.
CHAPTER X.
Really and truly, two thirds of the talk of drivers and conductors had
been about this man Slade, ever since the day before we reached
Julesburg. In order that the eastern reader may have a clear conception
of what a Rocky Mountain desperado is, in his highest state of
development, I will reduce all this mass of overland gossip to one
straightforward narrative, and present it in the following shape:
Slade was born in Illinois, of good parentage. At about twenty-six years
of age he killed a man in a quarrel and fled the country. At St. Joseph,
Missouri, he joined one of the early California-bound emigrant trains,
and was given the post of train-master. One day on the plains he had an
angry dispute with one of his wagon-drivers, and both drew their
revolvers. But the driver was the quicker artist, and had his weapon
cocked first. So Slade said it was a pity to waste life on so small a
matter, and proposed that the pistols be thrown on the ground and the
quarrel settled by a fist-fight. The unsuspecting driver agreed, and
threw down his pistol--whereupon Slade laughed at his simplicity, and
shot him dead!
He made his escape, and lived a wild life for awhile, dividing his time
between fighting Indians and avoiding an Illinois sheriff, who had been
sent to arrest him for his first murder. It is said that in one Indian
battle he killed three savages with his own hand, and afterward cut their
ears off and sent them, with his compliments, to the chief of the tribe.
Slade soon gained a name for fearless resolution, and this was sufficient
merit to procure for him the important post of overland division-agent at
Julesburg, in place of Mr. Jules, removed. For some time previously, the
company's horses had been frequently stolen, and the coaches delayed, by
gangs of outlaws, who were wont to laugh at the idea of any man's having
the temerity to resent such outrages. Slade resented them promptly.
The outlaws soon found that the new agent was a man who did not fear
anything that breathed the breath of life. He made short work of all
offenders. The result was that delays ceased, the company's property was
let alone, and no matter what happened or who suffered, Slade's coaches
went through, every time! True, in order to bring about this wholesome
change, Slade had to kill several men--some say three, others say four,
and others six--but the world was the richer for their loss. The first
prominent difficulty he had was with the ex-agent Jules, who bore the
reputation of being a reckless and desperate man himself. Jules hated
Slade for supplanting him, and a good fair occasion for a fight was all
he was waiting for. By and by Slade dared to employ a man whom Jules had
once discharged. Next, Slade seized a team of stage-horses which he
accused Jules of having driven off and hidden somewhere for his own use.
War was declared, and for a day or two the two men walked warily about
the streets, seeking each other, Jules armed with a double-barreled shot
gun, and Slade with his history-creating revolver. Finally, as Slade
stepped into a store Jules poured the contents of his gun into him from
behind the door. Slade was plucky, and Jules got several bad pistol
wounds in return.
Then both men fell, and were carried to their respective lodgings, both
swearing that better aim should do deadlier work next time. Both were
bedridden a long time, but Jules got to his feet first, and gathering his
possessions together, packed them on a couple of mules, and fled to the
Rocky Mountains to gather strength in safety against the day of
reckoning. For many months he was not seen or heard of, and was
gradually dropped out of the remembrance of all save Slade himself. But
Slade was not the man to forget him. On the contrary, common report said
that Slade kept a reward standing for his capture, dead or alive!
After awhile, seeing that Slade's energetic administration had restored
peace and order to one of the worst divisions of the road, the overland
stage company transferred him to the Rocky Ridge division in the Rocky
Mountains, to see if he could perform a like miracle there. It was the
very paradise of outlaws and desperadoes. There was absolutely no
semblance of law there. Violence was the rule. Force was the only
recognized authority. The commonest misunderstandings were settled on
the spot with the revolver or the knife. Murders were done in open day,
and with sparkling frequency, and nobody thought of inquiring into them.
It was considered that the parties who did the killing had their private
reasons for it; for other people to meddle would have been looked upon as
indelicate. After a murder, all that Rocky Mountain etiquette required
of a spectator was, that he should help the gentleman bury his game--
otherwise his churlishness would surely be remembered against him the
first time he killed a man himself and needed a neighborly turn in
interring him.
Slade took up his residence sweetly and peacefully in the midst of this
hive of horse-thieves and assassins, and the very first time one of them
aired his insolent swaggerings in his presence he shot him dead! He
began a raid on the outlaws, and in a singularly short space of time he
had completely stopped their depredations on the stage stock, recovered a
large number of stolen horses, killed several of the worst desperadoes of
the district, and gained such a dread ascendancy over the rest that they
respected him, admired him, feared him, obeyed him! He wrought the same
marvelous change in the ways of the community that had marked his
administration at Overland City. He captured two men who had stolen
overland stock, and with his own hands he hanged them. He was supreme
judge in his district, and he was jury and executioner likewise--and not
only in the case of offences against his employers, but against passing
emigrants as well. On one occasion some emigrants had their stock lost
or stolen, and told Slade, who chanced to visit their camp. With a
single companion he rode to a ranch, the owners of which he suspected,
and opening the door, commenced firing, killing three, and wounding the
fourth.
From a bloodthirstily interesting little Montana book. --"The Vigilantes
of Montana," by Prof. Thos. J. Dimsdale.]-- I take this paragraph:
"While on the road, Slade held absolute sway. He would ride down to
a station, get into a quarrel, turn the house out of windows, and
maltreat the occupants most cruelly. The unfortunates had no means
of redress, and were compelled to recuperate as best they could.
On one of these occasions, it is said he killed the father of the fine
little half-breed boy Jemmy, whom he adopted, and who lived with his
widow after his execution. Stories of Slade's hanging men, and of
innumerable assaults, shootings, stabbings and beatings, in which he was
a principal actor, form part of the legends of the stage line. As for
minor quarrels and shootings, it is absolutely certain that a minute
history of Slade's life would be one long record of such practices.
Slade was a matchless marksman with a navy revolver. The legends say
that one morning at Rocky Ridge, when he was feeling comfortable, he saw
a man approaching who had offended him some days before--observe the fine
memory he had for matters like that--and, "Gentlemen," said Slade,
drawing, "it is a good twenty-yard shot--I'll clip the third button on
his coat!" Which he did. The bystanders all admired it. And they all
attended the funeral, too.
On one occasion a man who kept a little whisky-shelf at the station did
something which angered Slade--and went and made his will. A day or two
afterward Slade came in and called for some brandy. The man reached
under the counter (ostensibly to get a bottle--possibly to get something
else), but Slade smiled upon him that peculiarly bland and satisfied
smile of his which the neighbors had long ago learned to recognize as a
death-warrant in disguise, and told him to "none of that!--pass out the
high-priced article." So the poor bar-keeper had to turn his back and
get the high-priced brandy from the shelf; and when he faced around again
he was looking into the muzzle of Slade's pistol. "And the next
instant," added my informant, impressively, "he was one of the deadest
men that ever lived."
The stage-drivers and conductors told us that sometimes Slade would leave
a hated enemy wholly unmolested, unnoticed and unmentioned, for weeks
together--had done it once or twice at any rate. And some said they
believed he did it in order to lull the victims into unwatchfulness, so
that he could get the advantage of them, and others said they believed he
saved up an enemy that way, just as a schoolboy saves up a cake, and made
the pleasure go as far as it would by gloating over the anticipation.
One of these cases was that of a Frenchman who had offended Slade.
To the surprise of everybody Slade did not kill him on the spot, but let
him alone for a considerable time. Finally, however, he went to the
Frenchman's house very late one night, knocked, and when his enemy opened
the door, shot him dead--pushed the corpse inside the door with his foot,
set the house on fire and burned up the dead man, his widow and three
children! I heard this story from several different people, and they
evidently believed what they were saying. It may be true, and it may
not. "Give a dog a bad name," etc.
Slade was captured, once, by a party of men who intended to lynch him.
They disarmed him, and shut him up in a strong log-house, and placed a
guard over him. He prevailed on his captors to send for his wife, so
that he might have a last interview with her. She was a brave, loving,
spirited woman. She jumped on a horse and rode for life and death.
When she arrived they let her in without searching her, and before the
door could be closed she whipped out a couple of revolvers, and she and
her lord marched forth defying the party. And then, under a brisk fire,
they mounted double and galloped away unharmed!
In the fulness of time Slade's myrmidons captured his ancient enemy
Jules, whom they found in a well-chosen hiding-place in the remote
fastnesses of the mountains, gaining a precarious livelihood with his
rifle. They brought him to Rocky Ridge, bound hand and foot, and
deposited him in the middle of the cattle-yard with his back against a
post. It is said that the pleasure that lit Slade's face when he heard
of it was something fearful to contemplate. He examined his enemy to see
that he was securely tied, and then went to bed, content to wait till
morning before enjoying the luxury of killing him. Jules spent the night
in the cattle-yard, and it is a region where warm nights are never known.
In the morning Slade practised on him with his revolver, nipping the
flesh here and there, and occasionally clipping off a finger, while Jules
begged him to kill him outright and put him out of his misery. Finally
Slade reloaded, and walking up close to his victim, made some
characteristic remarks and then dispatched him. The body lay there half
a day, nobody venturing to touch it without orders, and then Slade
detailed a party and assisted at the burial himself. But he first cut
off the dead man's ears and put them in his vest pocket, where he carried
them for some time with great satisfaction. That is the story as I have
frequently heard it told and seen it in print in California newspapers.
It is doubtless correct in all essential particulars.
In due time we rattled up to a stage-station, and sat down to breakfast
with a half-savage, half-civilized company of armed and bearded
mountaineers, ranchmen and station employees. The most gentlemanly-
appearing, quiet and affable officer we had yet found along the road in
the Overland Company's service was the person who sat at the head of the
table, at my elbow. Never youth stared and shivered as I did when I
heard them call him SLADE!
Here was romance, and I sitting face to face with it!--looking upon it--
touching it--hobnobbing with it, as it were! Here, right by my side, was
the actual ogre who, in fights and brawls and various ways, had taken the
lives of twenty-six human beings, or all men lied about him! I suppose I
was the proudest stripling that ever traveled to see strange lands and
wonderful people.
He was so friendly and so gentle-spoken that I warmed to him in spite of
his awful history. It was hardly possible to realize that this pleasant
person was the pitiless scourge of the outlaws, the raw-head-and-bloody-
bones the nursing mothers of the mountains terrified their children with.
And to this day I can remember nothing remarkable about Slade except that
his face was rather broad across the cheek bones, and that the cheek
bones were low and the lips peculiarly thin and straight. But that was
enough to leave something of an effect upon me, for since then I seldom
see a face possessing those characteristics without fancying that the
owner of it is a dangerous man.
The coffee ran out. At least it was reduced to one tin-cupful, and Slade
was about to take it when he saw that my cup was empty.
He politely offered to fill it, but although I wanted it, I politely
declined. I was afraid he had not killed anybody that morning, and might
be needing diversion. But still with firm politeness he insisted on
filling my cup, and said I had traveled all night and better deserved it
than he--and while he talked he placidly poured the fluid, to the last
drop. I thanked him and drank it, but it gave me no comfort, for I could
not feel sure that he would not be sorry, presently, that he had given it
away, and proceed to kill me to distract his thoughts from the loss.
But nothing of the kind occurred. We left him with only twenty-six dead
people to account for, and I felt a tranquil satisfaction in the thought
that in so judiciously taking care of No. 1 at that breakfast-table I had
pleasantly escaped being No. 27. Slade came out to the coach and saw us
off, first ordering certain rearrangements of the mail-bags for our
comfort, and then we took leave of him, satisfied that we should hear of
him again, some day, and wondering in what connection.
CHAPTER XI.
And sure enough, two or three years afterward, we did hear him again.
News came to the Pacific coast that the Vigilance Committee in Montana
(whither Slade had removed from Rocky Ridge) had hanged him. I find an
account of the affair in the thrilling little book I quoted a paragraph
from in the last chapter--"The Vigilantes of Montana; being a Reliable
Account of the Capture, Trial and Execution of Henry Plummer's Notorious
Road Agent Band: By Prof. Thos. J. Dimsdale, Virginia City, M.T."
Mr. Dimsdale's chapter is well worth reading, as a specimen of how the
people of the frontier deal with criminals when the courts of law prove
inefficient. Mr. Dimsdale makes two remarks about Slade, both of which
are accurately descriptive, and one of which is exceedingly picturesque:
"Those who saw him in his natural state only, would pronounce him to be a
kind husband, a most hospitable host and a courteous gentleman; on the
contrary, those who met him when maddened with liquor and surrounded by a
gang of armed roughs, would pronounce him a fiend incarnate." And this:
"From Fort Kearney, west, he was feared a great deal more than the
almighty." For compactness, simplicity and vigor of expression, I will
"back" that sentence against anything in literature. Mr. Dimsdale's
narrative is as follows. In all places where italics occur, they are
mine:
After the execution of the five men on the 14th of January, the
Vigilantes considered that their work was nearly ended. They had
freed the country of highwaymen and murderers to a great extent, and
they determined that in the absence of the regular civil authority
they would establish a People's Court where all offenders should be
tried by judge and jury. This was the nearest approach to social
order that the circumstances permitted, and, though strict legal
authority was wanting, yet the people were firmly determined to
maintain its efficiency, and to enforce its decrees. It may here be
mentioned that the overt act which was the last round on the fatal
ladder leading to the scaffold on which Slade perished, was the
tearing in pieces and stamping upon a writ of this court, followed
by his arrest of the Judge Alex. Davis, by authority of a presented
Derringer, and with his own hands.
J. A. Slade was himself, we have been informed, a Vigilante; he
openly boasted of it, and said he knew all that they knew. He was
never accused, or even suspected, of either murder or robbery,
committed in this Territory (the latter crime was never laid to his
charge, in any place); but that he had killed several men in other
localities was notorious, and his bad reputation in this respect was
a most powerful argument in determining his fate, when he was
finally arrested for the offence above mentioned. On returning from
Milk River he became more and more addicted to drinking, until at
last it was a common feat for him and his friends to "take the
town." He and a couple of his dependents might often be seen on one
horse, galloping through the streets, shouting and yelling, firing
revolvers, etc. On many occasions he would ride his horse into
stores, break up bars, toss the scales out of doors and use most
insulting language to parties present. Just previous to the day of
his arrest, he had given a fearful beating to one of his followers;
but such was his influence over them that the man wept bitterly at
the gallows, and begged for his life with all his power. It had
become quite common, when Slade was on a spree, for the shop-keepers
and citizens to close the stores and put out all the lights; being
fearful of some outrage at his hands. For his wanton destruction of
goods and furniture, he was always ready to pay, when sober, if he
had money; but there were not a few who regarded payment as small
satisfaction for the outrage, and these men were his personal
enemies.
From time to time Slade received warnings from men that he well knew
would not deceive him, of the certain end of his conduct. There was
not a moment, for weeks previous to his arrest, in which the public
did not expect to hear of some bloody outrage. The dread of his
very name, and the presence of the armed band of hangers-on who
followed him alone prevented a resistance which must certainly have
ended in the instant murder or mutilation of the opposing party.
Slade was frequently arrested by order of the court whose
organization we have described, and had treated it with respect by
paying one or two fines and promising to pay the rest when he had
money; but in the transaction that occurred at this crisis, he
forgot even this caution, and goaded by passion and the hatred of
restraint, he sprang into the embrace of death.
Slade had been drunk and "cutting up" all night. He and his
companions had made the town a perfect hell. In the morning, J. M.
Fox, the sheriff, met him, arrested him, took him into court and
commenced reading a warrant that he had for his arrest, by way of
arraignment. He became uncontrollably furious, and seizing the
writ, he tore it up, threw it on the ground and stamped upon it.
The clicking of the locks of his companions' revolvers was instantly
heard, and a crisis was expected. The sheriff did not attempt his
retention; but being at least as prudent as he was valiant, he
succumbed, leaving Slade the master of the situation and the
conqueror and ruler of the courts, law and law-makers. This was a
declaration of war, and was so accepted. The Vigilance Committee
now felt that the question of social order and the preponderance of
the law-abiding citizens had then and there to be decided. They
knew the character of Slade, and they were well aware that they must
submit to his rule without murmur, or else that he must be dealt
with in such fashion as would prevent his being able to wreak his
vengeance on the committee, who could never have hoped to live in
the Territory secure from outrage or death, and who could never
leave it without encountering his friend, whom his victory would
have emboldened and stimulated to a pitch that would have rendered
them reckless of consequences. The day previous he had ridden into
Dorris's store, and on being requested to leave, he drew his
revolver and threatened to kill the gentleman who spoke to him.
Another saloon he had led his horse into, and buying a bottle of
wine, he tried to make the animal drink it. This was not considered
an uncommon performance, as he had often entered saloons and
commenced firing at the lamps, causing a wild stampede.
A leading member of the committee met Slade, and informed him in the
quiet, earnest manner of one who feels the importance of what he is
saying: "Slade, get your horse at once, and go home, or there will
be ---- to pay." Slade started and took a long look, with his dark
and piercing eyes, at the gentleman. "What do you mean?" said he.
"You have no right to ask me what I mean," was the quiet reply, "get
your horse at once, and remember what I tell you." After a short
pause he promised to do so, and actually got into the saddle; but,
being still intoxicated, he began calling aloud to one after another
of his friends, and at last seemed to have forgotten the warning he
had received and became again uproarious, shouting the name of a
well-known courtezan in company with those of two men whom he
considered heads of the committee, as a sort of challenge; perhaps,
however, as a simple act of bravado. It seems probable that the
intimation of personal danger he had received had not been forgotten
entirely; though fatally for him, he took a foolish way of showing
his remembrance of it. He sought out Alexander Davis, the Judge of
the Court, and drawing a cocked Derringer, he presented it at his
head, and told him that he should hold him as a hostage for his own
safety. As the judge stood perfectly quiet, and offered no
resistance to his captor, no further outrage followed on this score.
Previous to this, on account of the critical state of affairs, the
committee had met, and at last resolved to arrest him. His
execution had not been agreed upon, and, at that time, would have
been negatived, most assuredly. A messenger rode down to Nevada to
inform the leading men of what was on hand, as it was desirable to
show that there was a feeling of unanimity on the subject, all along
the gulch.
The miners turned out almost en masse, leaving their work and
forming in solid column about six hundred strong, armed to the
teeth, they marched up to Virginia. The leader of the body well
knew the temper of his men on the subject. He spurred on ahead of
them, and hastily calling a meeting of the executive, he told them
plainly that the miners meant "business," and that, if they came up,
they would not stand in the street to be shot down by Slade's
friends; but that they would take him and hang him. The meeting was
small, as the Virginia men were loath to act at all. This momentous
announcement of the feeling of the Lower Town was made to a cluster
of men, who were deliberation behind a wagon, at the rear of a store
on Main street.
The committee were most unwilling to proceed to extremities. All
the duty they had ever performed seemed as nothing to the task
before them; but they had to decide, and that quickly. It was
finally agreed that if the whole body of the miners were of the
opinion that he should be hanged, that the committee left it in
their hands to deal with him. Off, at hot speed, rode the leader of
the Nevada men to join his command.
Slade had found out what was intended, and the news sobered him
instantly. He went into P. S. Pfouts' store, where Davis was, and
apologized for his conduct, saying that he would take it all back.
The head of the column now wheeled into Wallace street and marched
up at quick time. Halting in front of the store, the executive
officer of the committee stepped forward and arrested Slade, who was
at once informed of his doom, and inquiry was made as to whether he
had any business to settle. Several parties spoke to him on the
subject; but to all such inquiries he turned a deaf ear, being
entirely absorbed in the terrifying reflections on his own awful
position. He never ceased his entreaties for life, and to see his
dear wife. The unfortunate lady referred to, between whom and Slade
there existed a warm affection, was at this time living at their
ranch on the Madison. She was possessed of considerable personal
attractions; tall, well-formed, of graceful carriage, pleasing
manners, and was, withal, an accomplished horsewoman.
A messenger from Slade rode at full speed to inform her of her
husband's arrest. In an instant she was in the saddle, and with all
the energy that love and despair could lend to an ardent temperament
and a strong physique, she urged her fleet charger over the twelve
miles of rough and rocky ground that intervened between her and the
object of her passionate devotion.
Meanwhile a party of volunteers had made the necessary preparations
for the execution, in the valley traversed by the branch. Beneath
the site of Pfouts and Russell's stone building there was a corral,
the gate-posts of which were strong and high. Across the top was
laid a beam, to which the rope was fastened, and a dry-goods box
served for the platform. To this place Slade was marched,
surrounded by a guard, composing the best armed and most numerous
force that has ever appeared in Montana Territory.
The doomed man had so exhausted himself by tears, prayers and
lamentations, that he had scarcely strength left to stand under the
fatal beam. He repeatedly exclaimed, "My God! my God! must I die?
Oh, my dear wife!"
On the return of the fatigue party, they encountered some friends of
Slade, staunch and reliable citizens and members of the committee,
but who were personally attached to the condemned. On hearing of
his sentence, one of them, a stout-hearted man, pulled out his
handkerchief and walked away, weeping like a child. Slade still
begged to see his wife, most piteously, and it seemed hard to deny
his request; but the bloody consequences that were sure to follow
the inevitable attempt at a rescue, that her presence and entreaties
would have certainly incited, forbade the granting of his request.
Several gentlemen were sent for to see him, in his last moments, one
of whom (Judge Davis) made a short address to the people; but in
such low tones as to be inaudible, save to a few in his immediate
vicinity. One of his friends, after exhausting his powers of
entreaty, threw off his coat and declared that the prisoner could
not be hanged until he himself was killed. A hundred guns were
instantly leveled at him; whereupon he turned and fled; but, being
brought back, he was compelled to resume his coat, and to give a
promise of future peaceable demeanor.
Scarcely a leading man in Virginia could be found, though numbers of
the citizens joined the ranks of the guard when the arrest was made.
All lamented the stern necessity which dictated the execution.
Everything being ready, the command was given, "Men, do your duty,"
and the box being instantly slipped from beneath his feet, he died
almost instantaneously.
The body was cut down and carried to the Virginia Hotel, where, in a
darkened room, it was scarcely laid out, when the unfortunate and
bereaved companion of the deceased arrived, at headlong speed, to
find that all was over, and that she was a widow. Her grief and
heart-piercing cries were terrible evidences of the depth of her
attachment for her lost husband, and a considerable period elapsed
before she could regain the command of her excited feelings.
There is something about the desperado-nature that is wholly
unaccountable--at least it looks unaccountable. It is this. The true
desperado is gifted with splendid courage, and yet he will take the most
infamous advantage of his enemy; armed and free, he will stand up before
a host and fight until he is shot all to pieces, and yet when he is under
the gallows and helpless he will cry and plead like a child. Words are
cheap, and it is easy to call Slade a coward (all executed men who do not
"die game" are promptly called cowards by unreflecting people), and when
we read of Slade that he "had so exhausted himself by tears, prayers and
lamentations, that he had scarcely strength left to stand under the fatal
beam," the disgraceful word suggests itself in a moment--yet in
frequently defying and inviting the vengeance of banded Rocky Mountain
cut-throats by shooting down their comrades and leaders, and never
offering to hide or fly, Slade showed that he was a man of peerless
bravery. No coward would dare that. Many a notorious coward, many a
chicken-livered poltroon, coarse, brutal, degraded, has made his dying
speech without a quaver in his voice and been swung into eternity with
what looked liked the calmest fortitude, and so we are justified in
believing, from the low intellect of such a creature, that it was not
moral courage that enabled him to do it. Then, if moral courage is not
the requisite quality, what could it have been that this stout-hearted
Slade lacked?--this bloody, desperate, kindly-mannered, urbane gentleman,
who never hesitated to warn his most ruffianly enemies that he would kill
them whenever or wherever he came across them next! I think it is a
conundrum worth investigating.
CHAPTER XII.
Just beyond the breakfast-station we overtook a Mormon emigrant train of
thirty-three wagons; and tramping wearily along and driving their herd of
loose cows, were dozens of coarse-clad and sad-looking men, women and
children, who had walked as they were walking now, day after day for
eight lingering weeks, and in that time had compassed the distance our
stage had come in eight days and three hours--seven hundred and ninety-
eight miles! They were dusty and uncombed, hatless, bonnetless and
ragged, and they did look so tired!
After breakfast, we bathed in Horse Creek, a (previously) limpid,
sparkling stream--an appreciated luxury, for it was very seldom that our
furious coach halted long enough for an indulgence of that kind. We
changed horses ten or twelve times in every twenty-four hours--changed
mules, rather--six mules--and did it nearly every time in four minutes.
It was lively work. As our coach rattled up to each station six
harnessed mules stepped gayly from the stable; and in the twinkling of an
eye, almost, the old team was out, and the new one in and we off and away
again.
During the afternoon we passed Sweetwater Creek, Independence Rock,
Devil's Gate and the Devil's Gap. The latter were wild specimens of
rugged scenery, and full of interest--we were in the heart of the Rocky
Mountains, now. And we also passed by "Alkali" or "Soda Lake," and we
woke up to the fact that our journey had stretched a long way across the
world when the driver said that the Mormons often came there from Great
Salt Lake City to haul away saleratus. He said that a few days gone by
they had shoveled up enough pure saleratus from the ground (it was a dry
lake) to load two wagons, and that when they got these two wagons-loads
of a drug that cost them nothing, to Salt Lake, they could sell it for
twenty-five cents a pound.
In the night we sailed by a most notable curiosity, and one we had been
hearing a good deal about for a day or two, and were suffering to see.
This was what might be called a natural ice-house. It was August, now,
and sweltering weather in the daytime, yet at one of the stations the men
could scape the soil on the hill-side under the lee of a range of
boulders, and at a depth of six inches cut out pure blocks of ice--hard,
compactly frozen, and clear as crystal!
Toward dawn we got under way again, and presently as we sat with raised
curtains enjoying our early-morning smoke and contemplating the first
splendor of the rising sun as it swept down the long array of mountain
peaks, flushing and gilding crag after crag and summit after summit, as
if the invisible Creator reviewed his gray veterans and they saluted with
a smile, we hove in sight of South Pass City. The hotel-keeper, the
postmaster, the blacksmith, the mayor, the constable, the city marshal
and the principal citizen and property holder, all came out and greeted
us cheerily, and we gave him good day. He gave us a little Indian news,
and a little Rocky Mountain news, and we gave him some Plains information
in return. He then retired to his lonely grandeur and we climbed on up
among the bristling peaks and the ragged clouds. South Pass City
consisted of four log cabins, one if which was unfinished, and the
gentleman with all those offices and titles was the chiefest of the ten
citizens of the place. Think of hotel-keeper, postmaster, blacksmith,
mayor, constable, city marshal and principal citizen all condensed into
one person and crammed into one skin. Bemis said he was "a perfect
Allen's revolver of dignities." And he said that if he were to die as
postmaster, or as blacksmith, or as postmaster and blacksmith both, the
people might stand it; but if he were to die all over, it would be a
frightful loss to the community.
Two miles beyond South Pass City we saw for the first time that
mysterious marvel which all Western untraveled boys have heard of and
fully believe in, but are sure to be astounded at when they see it with
their own eyes, nevertheless--banks of snow in dead summer time. We were
now far up toward the sky, and knew all the time that we must presently
encounter lofty summits clad in the "eternal snow" which was so common
place a matter of mention in books, and yet when I did see it glittering
in the sun on stately domes in the distance and knew the month was August
and that my coat was hanging up because it was too warm to wear it, I was
full as much amazed as if I never had heard of snow in August before.
Truly, "seeing is believing"--and many a man lives a long life through,
thinking he believes certain universally received and well established
things, and yet never suspects that if he were confronted by those things
once, he would discover that he did not really believe them before, but
only thought he believed them.
In a little while quite a number of peaks swung into view with long claws
of glittering snow clasping them; and with here and there, in the shade,
down the mountain side, a little solitary patch of snow looking no larger
than a lady's pocket-handkerchief but being in reality as large as a
"public square."
And now, at last, we were fairly in the renowned SOUTH PASS, and whirling
gayly along high above the common world. We were perched upon the
extreme summit of the great range of the Rocky Mountains, toward which we
had been climbing, patiently climbing, ceaselessly climbing, for days and
nights together--and about us was gathered a convention of Nature's kings
that stood ten, twelve, and even thirteen thousand feet high--grand old
fellows who would have to stoop to see Mount Washington, in the twilight.
We were in such an airy elevation above the creeping populations of the
earth, that now and then when the obstructing crags stood out of the way
it seemed that we could look around and abroad and contemplate the whole
great globe, with its dissolving views of mountains, seas and continents
stretching away through the mystery of the summer haze.
As a general thing the Pass was more suggestive of a valley than a
suspension bridge in the clouds--but it strongly suggested the latter at
one spot. At that place the upper third of one or two majestic purple
domes projected above our level on either hand and gave us a sense of a
hidden great deep of mountains and plains and valleys down about their
bases which we fancied we might see if we could step to the edge and look
over. These Sultans of the fastnesses were turbaned with tumbled volumes
of cloud, which shredded away from time to time and drifted off fringed
and torn, trailing their continents of shadow after them; and catching
presently on an intercepting peak, wrapped it about and brooded there--
then shredded away again and left the purple peak, as they had left the
purple domes, downy and white with new-laid snow. In passing, these
monstrous rags of cloud hung low and swept along right over the
spectator's head, swinging their tatters so nearly in his face that his
impulse was to shrink when they came closet. In the one place I speak
of, one could look below him upon a world of diminishing crags and
canyons leading down, down, and away to a vague plain with a thread in it
which was a road, and bunches of feathers in it which were trees,--a
pretty picture sleeping in the sunlight--but with a darkness stealing
over it and glooming its features deeper and deeper under the frown of a
coming storm; and then, while no film or shadow marred the noon
brightness of his high perch, he could watch the tempest break forth down
there and see the lightnings leap from crag to crag and the sheeted rain
drive along the canyon-sides, and hear the thunders peal and crash and
roar. We had this spectacle; a familiar one to many, but to us a
novelty.
We bowled along cheerily, and presently, at the very summit (though it
had been all summit to us, and all equally level, for half an hour or
more), we came to a spring which spent its water through two outlets and
sent it in opposite directions. The conductor said that one of those
streams which we were looking at, was just starting on a journey westward
to the Gulf of California and the Pacific Ocean, through hundreds and
even thousands of miles of desert solitudes. He said that the other was
just leaving its home among the snow-peaks on a similar journey eastward
--and we knew that long after we should have forgotten the simple rivulet
it would still be plodding its patient way down the mountain sides, and
canyon-beds, and between the banks of the Yellowstone; and by and by
would join the broad Missouri and flow through unknown plains and deserts
and unvisited wildernesses; and add a long and troubled pilgrimage among
snags and wrecks and sandbars; and enter the Mississippi, touch the
wharves of St. Louis and still drift on, traversing shoals and rocky
channels, then endless chains of bottomless and ample bends, walled with
unbroken forests, then mysterious byways and secret passages among woody
islands, then the chained bends again, bordered with wide levels of
shining sugar-cane in place of the sombre forests; then by New Orleans
and still other chains of bends--and finally, after two long months of
daily and nightly harassment, excitement, enjoyment, adventure, and awful
peril of parched throats, pumps and evaporation, pass the Gulf and enter
into its rest upon the bosom of the tropic sea, never to look upon its
snow-peaks again or regret them.
I freighted a leaf with a mental message for the friends at home, and
dropped it in the stream. But I put no stamp on it and it was held for
postage somewhere.
On the summit we overtook an emigrant train of many wagons, many tired
men and women, and many a disgusted sheep and cow.
In the wofully dusty horseman in charge of the expedition I recognized
John -----. Of all persons in the world to meet on top of the Rocky
Mountains thousands of miles from home, he was the last one I should have
looked for. We were school-boys together and warm friends for years.
But a boyish prank of mine had disruptured this friendship and it had
never been renewed. The act of which I speak was this. I had been
accustomed to visit occasionally an editor whose room was in the third
story of a building and overlooked the street. One day this editor gave
me a watermelon which I made preparations to devour on the spot, but
chancing to look out of the window, I saw John standing directly under it
and an irresistible desire came upon me to drop the melon on his head,
which I immediately did. I was the loser, for it spoiled the melon, and
John never forgave me and we dropped all intercourse and parted, but now
met again under these circumstances.
We recognized each other simultaneously, and hands were grasped as warmly
as if no coldness had ever existed between us, and no allusion was made
to any. All animosities were buried and the simple fact of meeting a
familiar face in that isolated spot so far from home, was sufficient to
make us forget all things but pleasant ones, and we parted again with
sincere "good-bye" and "God bless you" from both.
We had been climbing up the long shoulders of the Rocky Mountains for
many tedious hours--we started down them, now. And we went spinning away
at a round rate too.
We left the snowy Wind River Mountains and Uinta Mountains behind, and
sped away, always through splendid scenery but occasionally through long
ranks of white skeletons of mules and oxen--monuments of the huge
emigration of other days--and here and there were up-ended boards or
small piles of stones which the driver said marked the resting-place of
more precious remains.
It was the loneliest land for a grave! A land given over to the cayote
and the raven--which is but another name for desolation and utter
solitude. On damp, murky nights, these scattered skeletons gave forth a
soft, hideous glow, like very faint spots of moonlight starring the vague
desert. It was because of the phosphorus in the bones. But no
scientific explanation could keep a body from shivering when he drifted
by one of those ghostly lights and knew that a skull held it.
At midnight it began to rain, and I never saw anything like it--indeed, I
did not even see this, for it was too dark. We fastened down the
curtains and even caulked them with clothing, but the rain streamed in in
twenty places, nothwithstanding. There was no escape. If one moved his
feet out of a stream, he brought his body under one; and if he moved his
body he caught one somewhere else. If he struggled out of the drenched
blankets and sat up, he was bound to get one down the back of his neck.
Meantime the stage was wandering about a plain with gaping gullies in it,
for the driver could not see an inch before his face nor keep the road,
and the storm pelted so pitilessly that there was no keeping the horses
still. With the first abatement the conductor turned out with lanterns
to look for the road, and the first dash he made was into a chasm about
fourteen feet deep, his lantern following like a meteor. As soon as he
touched bottom he sang out frantically:
"Don't come here!"
To which the driver, who was looking over the precipice where he had
disappeared, replied, with an injured air: "Think I'm a dam fool?"
The conductor was more than an hour finding the road--a matter which
showed us how far we had wandered and what chances we had been taking.
He traced our wheel-tracks to the imminent verge of danger, in two
places. I have always been glad that we were not killed that night.
I do not know any particular reason, but I have always been glad.
In the morning, the tenth day out, we crossed Green River, a fine, large,
limpid stream--stuck in it with the water just up to the top of our mail-
bed, and waited till extra teams were put on to haul us up the steep
bank. But it was nice cool water, and besides it could not find any
fresh place on us to wet.
At the Green River station we had breakfast--hot biscuits, fresh antelope
steaks, and coffee--the only decent meal we tasted between the United
States and Great Salt Lake City, and the only one we were ever really
thankful for.
Think of the monotonous execrableness of the thirty that went before it,
to leave this one simple breakfast looming up in my memory like a shot-
tower after all these years have gone by!
At five P.M. we reached Fort Bridger, one hundred and seventeen miles
from the South Pass, and one thousand and twenty-five miles from St.
Joseph. Fifty-two miles further on, near the head of Echo Canyon, we met
sixty United States soldiers from Camp Floyd. The day before, they had
fired upon three hundred or four hundred Indians, whom they supposed
gathered together for no good purpose. In the fight that had ensued,
four Indians were captured, and the main body chased four miles, but
nobody killed. This looked like business. We had a notion to get out
and join the sixty soldiers, but upon reflecting that there were four
hundred of the Indians, we concluded to go on and join the Indians.
Echo Canyon is twenty miles long. It was like a long, smooth, narrow
street, with a gradual descending grade, and shut in by enormous
perpendicular walls of coarse conglomerate, four hundred feet high in
many places, and turreted like mediaeval castles. This was the most
faultless piece of road in the mountains, and the driver said he would
"let his team out." He did, and if the Pacific express trains whiz
through there now any faster than we did then in the stage-coach, I envy
the passengers the exhilaration of it. We fairly seemed to pick up our
wheels and fly--and the mail matter was lifted up free from everything
and held in solution! I am not given to exaggeration, and when I say a
thing I mean it.
However, time presses. At four in the afternoon we arrived on the summit
of Big Mountain, fifteen miles from Salt Lake City, when all the world
was glorified with the setting sun, and the most stupendous panorama of
mountain peaks yet encountered burst on our sight. We looked out upon
this sublime spectacle from under the arch of a brilliant rainbow! Even
the overland stage-driver stopped his horses and gazed!
Half an hour or an hour later, we changed horses, and took supper with a
Mormon "Destroying Angel."
"Destroying Angels," as I understand it, are Latter-Day Saints who are
set apart by the Church to conduct permanent disappearances of obnoxious
citizens. I had heard a deal about these Mormon Destroying Angels and
the dark and bloody deeds they had done, and when I entered this one's
house I had my shudder all ready. But alas for all our romances, he was
nothing but a loud, profane, offensive, old blackguard! He was murderous
enough, possibly, to fill the bill of a Destroyer, but would you have any
kind of an Angel devoid of dignity? Could you abide an Angel in an
unclean shirt and no suspenders? Could you respect an Angel with a
horse-laugh and a swagger like a buccaneer?
There were other blackguards present--comrades of this one. And there
was one person that looked like a gentleman--Heber C. Kimball's son, tall
and well made, and thirty years old, perhaps. A lot of slatternly women
flitted hither and thither in a hurry, with coffee-pots, plates of bread,
and other appurtenances to supper, and these were said to be the wives of
the Angel--or some of them, at least. And of course they were; for if
they had been hired "help" they would not have let an angel from above
storm and swear at them as he did, let alone one from the place this one
hailed from.
This was our first experience of the western "peculiar institution," and
it was not very prepossessing. We did not tarry long to observe it, but
hurried on to the home of the Latter-Day Saints, the stronghold of the
prophets, the capital of the only absolute monarch in America--Great Salt
Lake City. As the night closed in we took sanctuary in the Salt Lake
House and unpacked our baggage.
CHAPTER XIII.
We had a fine supper, of the freshest meats and fowls and vegetables--a
great variety and as great abundance. We walked about the streets some,
afterward, and glanced in at shops and stores; and there was fascination
in surreptitiously staring at every creature we took to be a Mormon.
This was fairy-land to us, to all intents and purposes--a land of
enchantment, and goblins, and awful mystery. We felt a curiosity to ask
every child how many mothers it had, and if it could tell them apart; and
we experienced a thrill every time a dwelling-house door opened and shut
as we passed, disclosing a glimpse of human heads and backs and
shoulders--for we so longed to have a good satisfying look at a Mormon
family in all its comprehensive ampleness, disposed in the customary
concentric rings of its home circle.
By and by the Acting Governor of the Territory introduced us to other
"Gentiles," and we spent a sociable hour with them. "Gentiles" are
people who are not Mormons. Our fellow-passenger, Bemis, took care of
himself, during this part of the evening, and did not make an
overpowering success of it, either, for he came into our room in the
hotel about eleven o'clock, full of cheerfulness, and talking loosely,
disjointedly and indiscriminately, and every now and then tugging out a
ragged word by the roots that had more hiccups than syllables in it.
This, together with his hanging his coat on the floor on one side of a
chair, and his vest on the floor on the other side, and piling his pants
on the floor just in front of the same chair, and then comtemplating the
general result with superstitious awe, and finally pronouncing it "too
many for him" and going to bed with his boots on, led us to fear that
something he had eaten had not agreed with him.
But we knew afterward that it was something he had been drinking. It was
the exclusively Mormon refresher, "valley tan."
Valley tan (or, at least, one form of valley tan) is a kind of whisky,
or first cousin to it; is of Mormon invention and manufactured only in
Utah. Tradition says it is made of (imported) fire and brimstone. If I
remember rightly no public drinking saloons were allowed in the kingdom
by Brigham Young, and no private drinking permitted among the faithful,
except they confined themselves to "valley tan."
Next day we strolled about everywhere through the broad, straight, level
streets, and enjoyed the pleasant strangeness of a city of fifteen
thousand inhabitants with no loafers perceptible in it; and no visible
drunkards or noisy people; a limpid stream rippling and dancing through
every street in place of a filthy gutter; block after block of trim
dwellings, built of "frame" and sunburned brick--a great thriving orchard
and garden behind every one of them, apparently--branches from the street
stream winding and sparkling among the garden beds and fruit trees--and a
grand general air of neatness, repair, thrift and comfort, around and
about and over the whole. And everywhere were workshops, factories, and
all manner of industries; and intent faces and busy hands were to be seen
wherever one looked; and in one's ears was the ceaseless clink of
hammers, the buzz of trade and the contented hum of drums and fly-wheels.
The armorial crest of my own State consisted of two dissolute bears
holding up the head of a dead and gone cask between them and making the
pertinent remark, "UNITED, WE STAND--(hic!)--DIVIDED, WE FALL." It was
always too figurative for the author of this book. But the Mormon crest
was easy. And it was simple, unostentatious, and fitted like a glove.
It was a representation of a GOLDEN BEEHIVE, with the bees all at work!
The city lies in the edge of a level plain as broad as the State of
Connecticut, and crouches close down to the ground under a curving wall
of mighty mountains whose heads are hidden in the clouds, and whose
shoulders bear relics of the snows of winter all the summer long.
Seen from one of these dizzy heights, twelve or fifteen miles off, Great
Salt Lake City is toned down and diminished till it is suggestive of a
child's toy-village reposing under the majestic protection of the Chinese
wall.
On some of those mountains, to the southwest, it had been raining every
day for two weeks, but not a drop had fallen in the city. And on hot
days in late spring and early autumn the citizens could quit fanning and
growling and go out and cool off by looking at the luxury of a glorious
snow-storm going on in the mountains. They could enjoy it at a distance,
at those seasons, every day, though no snow would fall in their streets,
or anywhere near them.
Salt Lake City was healthy--an extremely healthy city.
They declared there was only one physician in the place and he was
arrested every week regularly and held to answer under the vagrant act
for having "no visible means of support." They always give you a good
substantial article of truth in Salt Lake, and good measure and good
weight, too. [Very often, if you wished to weigh one of their airiest
little commonplace statements you would want the hay scales.]
We desired to visit the famous inland sea, the American "Dead Sea," the
great Salt Lake--seventeen miles, horseback, from the city--for we had
dreamed about it, and thought about it, and talked about it, and yearned
to see it, all the first part of our trip; but now when it was only arm's
length away it had suddenly lost nearly every bit of its interest. And
so we put it off, in a sort of general way, till next day--and that was
the last we ever thought of it. We dined with some hospitable Gentiles;
and visited the foundation of the prodigious temple; and talked long with
that shrewd Connecticut Yankee, Heber C. Kimball (since deceased), a
saint of high degree and a mighty man of commerce.
We saw the "Tithing-House," and the "Lion House," and I do not know or
remember how many more church and government buildings of various kinds
and curious names. We flitted hither and thither and enjoyed every hour,
and picked up a great deal of useful information and entertaining
nonsense, and went to bed at night satisfied.
The second day, we made the acquaintance of Mr. Street (since deceased)
and put on white shirts and went and paid a state visit to the king.
He seemed a quiet, kindly, easy-mannered, dignified, self-possessed old
gentleman of fifty-five or sixty, and had a gentle craft in his eye that
probably belonged there. He was very simply dressed and was just taking
off a straw hat as we entered. He talked about Utah, and the Indians,
and Nevada, and general American matters and questions, with our
secretary and certain government officials who came with us. But he
never paid any attention to me, notwithstanding I made several attempts
to "draw him out" on federal politics and his high handed attitude toward
Congress. I thought some of the things I said were rather fine. But he
merely looked around at me, at distant intervals, something as I have
seen a benignant old cat look around to see which kitten was meddling
with her tail.
By and by I subsided into an indignant silence, and so sat until the end,
hot and flushed, and execrating him in my heart for an ignorant savage.
But he was calm. His conversation with those gentlemen flowed on as
sweetly and peacefully and musically as any summer brook. When the
audience was ended and we were retiring from the presence, he put his
hand on my head, beamed down on me in an admiring way and said to my
brother:
"Ah--your child, I presume? Boy, or girl?"
CHAPTER XIV.
Mr. Street was very busy with his telegraphic matters--and considering
that he had eight or nine hundred miles of rugged, snowy, uninhabited
mountains, and waterless, treeless, melancholy deserts to traverse with
his wire, it was natural and needful that he should be as busy as
possible. He could not go comfortably along and cut his poles by the
road-side, either, but they had to be hauled by ox teams across those
exhausting deserts--and it was two days' journey from water to water, in
one or two of them. Mr. Street's contract was a vast work, every way one
looked at it; and yet to comprehend what the vague words "eight hundred
miles of rugged mountains and dismal deserts" mean, one must go over the
ground in person--pen and ink descriptions cannot convey the dreary
reality to the reader. And after all, Mr. S.'s mightiest difficulty
turned out to be one which he had never taken into the account at all.
Unto Mormons he had sub-let the hardest and heaviest half of his great
undertaking, and all of a sudden they concluded that they were going to
make little or nothing, and so they tranquilly threw their poles
overboard in mountain or desert, just as it happened when they took the
notion, and drove home and went about their customary business! They
were under written contract to Mr. Street, but they did not care anything
for that. They said they would "admire" to see a "Gentile" force a
Mormon to fulfil a losing contract in Utah! And they made themselves
very merry over the matter. Street said--for it was he that told us
these things:
"I was in dismay. I was under heavy bonds to complete my contract in a
given time, and this disaster looked very much like ruin. It was an
astounding thing; it was such a wholly unlooked-for difficulty, that I
was entirely nonplussed. I am a business man--have always been a
business man--do not know anything but business--and so you can imagine
how like being struck by lightning it was to find myself in a country
where written contracts were worthless!--that main security, that sheet-
anchor, that absolute necessity, of business. My confidence left me.
There was no use in making new contracts--that was plain. I talked with
first one prominent citizen and then another. They all sympathized with
me, first rate, but they did not know how to help me. But at last a
Gentile said, 'Go to Brigham Young!--these small fry cannot do you any
good.' I did not think much of the idea, for if the law could not help
me, what could an individual do who had not even anything to do with
either making the laws or executing them? He might be a very good
patriarch of a church and preacher in its tabernacle, but something
sterner than religion and moral suasion was needed to handle a hundred
refractory, half-civilized sub-contractors. But what was a man to do?
I thought if Mr. Young could not do anything else, he might probably be
able to give me some advice and a valuable hint or two, and so I went
straight to him and laid the whole case before him. He said very little,
but he showed strong interest all the way through. He examined all the
papers in detail, and whenever there seemed anything like a hitch, either
in the papers or my statement, he would go back and take up the thread
and follow it patiently out to an intelligent and satisfactory result.
Then he made a list of the contractors' names. Finally he said:
"'Mr. Street, this is all perfectly plain. These contracts are strictly
and legally drawn, and are duly signed and certified. These men
manifestly entered into them with their eyes open. I see no fault or
flaw anywhere.'
"Then Mr. Young turned to a man waiting at the other end of the room and
said: 'Take this list of names to So-and-so, and tell him to have these
men here at such-and-such an hour.'
"They were there, to the minute. So was I. Mr. Young asked them a
number of questions, and their answers made my statement good. Then he
said to them:
"'You signed these contracts and assumed these obligations of your own
free will and accord?'
"'Yes.'
"'Then carry them out to the letter, if it makes paupers of you! Go!'
"And they did go, too! They are strung across the deserts now, working
like bees. And I never hear a word out of them.
There is a batch of governors, and judges, and other officials here,
shipped from Washington, and they maintain the semblance of a republican
form of government--but the petrified truth is that Utah is an absolute
monarchy and Brigham Young is king!"
Mr. Street was a fine man, and I believe his story. I knew him well
during several years afterward in San Francisco.
Our stay in Salt Lake City amounted to only two days, and therefore we
had no time to make the customary inquisition into the workings of
polygamy and get up the usual statistics and deductions preparatory to
calling the attention of the nation at large once more to the matter.
I had the will to do it. With the gushing self-sufficiency of youth I
was feverish to plunge in headlong and achieve a great reform here--until
I saw the Mormon women. Then I was touched. My heart was wiser than my
head. It warmed toward these poor, ungainly and pathetically "homely"
creatures, and as I turned to hide the generous moisture in my eyes, I
said, "No--the man that marries one of them has done an act of Christian
charity which entitles him to the kindly applause of mankind, not their
harsh censure--and the man that marries sixty of them has done a deed of
open-handed generosity so sublime that the nations should stand uncovered
in his presence and worship in silence."
[For a brief sketch of Mormon history, and the noted Mountain Meadow
massacre, see Appendices A and B. ]
CHAPTER XV.
It is a luscious country for thrilling evening stories about
assassinations of intractable Gentiles. I cannot easily conceive of
anything more cosy than the night in Salt Lake which we spent in a
Gentile den, smoking pipes and listening to tales of how Burton galloped
in among the pleading and defenceless "Morisites" and shot them down, men
and women, like so many dogs. And how Bill Hickman, a Destroying Angel,
shot Drown and Arnold dead for bringing suit against him for a debt.
And how Porter Rockwell did this and that dreadful thing. And how
heedless people often come to Utah and make remarks about Brigham, or
polygamy, or some other sacred matter, and the very next morning at
daylight such parties are sure to be found lying up some back alley,
contentedly waiting for the hearse.
And the next most interesting thing is to sit and listen to these
Gentiles talk about polygamy; and how some portly old frog of an elder,
or a bishop, marries a girl--likes her, marries her sister--likes her,
marries another sister--likes her, takes another--likes her, marries her
mother--likes her, marries her father, grandfather, great grandfather,
and then comes back hungry and asks for more. And how the pert young
thing of eleven will chance to be the favorite wife and her own venerable
grandmother have to rank away down toward D 4 in their mutual husband's
esteem, and have to sleep in the kitchen, as like as not. And how this
dreadful sort of thing, this hiving together in one foul nest of mother
and daughters, and the making a young daughter superior to her own mother
in rank and authority, are things which Mormon women submit to because
their religion teaches them that the more wives a man has on earth, and
the more children he rears, the higher the place they will all have in
the world to come--and the warmer, maybe, though they do not seem to say
anything about that.
According to these Gentile friends of ours, Brigham Young's harem
contains twenty or thirty wives. They said that some of them had grown
old and gone out of active service, but were comfortably housed and cared
for in the henery--or the Lion House, as it is strangely named. Along
with each wife were her children--fifty altogether. The house was
perfectly quiet and orderly, when the children were still. They all took
their meals in one room, and a happy and home-like sight it was
pronounced to be. None of our party got an opportunity to take dinner
with Mr. Young, but a Gentile by the name of Johnson professed to have
enjoyed a sociable breakfast in the Lion House. He gave a preposterous
account of the "calling of the roll," and other preliminaries, and the
carnage that ensued when the buckwheat cakes came in. But he embellished
rather too much. He said that Mr. Young told him several smart sayings
of certain of his "two-year-olds," observing with some pride that for
many years he had been the heaviest contributor in that line to one of
the Eastern magazines; and then he wanted to show Mr. Johnson one of the
pets that had said the last good thing, but he could not find the child.
He searched the faces of the children in detail, but could not decide
which one it was. Finally he gave it up with a sigh and said:
"I thought I would know the little cub again but I don't." Mr. Johnson
said further, that Mr. Young observed that life was a sad, sad thing--
"because the joy of every new marriage a man contracted was so apt to be
blighted by the inopportune funeral of a less recent bride." And Mr.
Johnson said that while he and Mr. Young were pleasantly conversing in
private, one of the Mrs. Youngs came in and demanded a breast-pin,
remarking that she had found out that he had been giving a breast-pin to
No. 6, and she, for one, did not propose to let this partiality go on
without making a satisfactory amount of trouble about it. Mr. Young
reminded her that there was a stranger present. Mrs. Young said that if
the state of things inside the house was not agreeable to the stranger,
he could find room outside. Mr. Young promised the breast-pin, and she
went away. But in a minute or two another Mrs. Young came in and
demanded a breast-pin. Mr. Young began a remonstrance, but Mrs. Young
cut him short. She said No. 6 had got one, and No. 11 was promised one,
and it was "no use for him to try to impose on her--she hoped she knew
her rights." He gave his promise, and she went. And presently three
Mrs. Youngs entered in a body and opened on their husband a tempest of
tears, abuse, and entreaty. They had heard all about No. 6, No. 11, and
No. 14. Three more breast-pins were promised. They were hardly gone
when nine more Mrs. Youngs filed into the presence, and a new tempest
burst forth and raged round about the prophet and his guest. Nine
breast-pins were promised, and the weird sisters filed out again. And in
came eleven more, weeping and wailing and gnashing their teeth. Eleven
promised breast-pins purchased peace once more.
"That is a specimen," said Mr. Young. "You see how it is. You see what
a life I lead. A man can't be wise all the time. In a heedless moment I
gave my darling No. 6--excuse my calling her thus, as her other name has
escaped me for the moment--a breast-pin. It was only worth twenty-five
dollars--that is, apparently that was its whole cost--but its ultimate
cost was inevitably bound to be a good deal more. You yourself have seen
it climb up to six hundred and fifty dollars--and alas, even that is not
the end! For I have wives all over this Territory of Utah. I have
dozens of wives whose numbers, even, I do not know without looking in the
family Bible. They are scattered far and wide among the mountains and
valleys of my realm. And mark you, every solitary one of them will hear
of this wretched breast pin, and every last one of them will have one or
die. No. 6's breast pin will cost me twenty-five hundred dollars before
I see the end of it. And these creatures will compare these pins
together, and if one is a shade finer than the rest, they will all be
thrown on my hands, and I will have to order a new lot to keep peace in
the family. Sir, you probably did not know it, but all the time you were
present with my children your every movement was watched by vigilant
servitors of mine. If you had offered to give a child a dime, or a stick
of candy, or any trifle of the kind, you would have been snatched out of
the house instantly, provided it could be done before your gift left your
hand. Otherwise it would be absolutely necessary for you to make an
exactly similar gift to all my children--and knowing by experience the
importance of the thing, I would have stood by and seen to it myself that
you did it, and did it thoroughly. Once a gentleman gave one of my
children a tin whistle--a veritable invention of Satan, sir, and one
which I have an unspeakable horror of, and so would you if you had eighty
or ninety children in your house. But the deed was done--the man
escaped. I knew what the result was going to be, and I thirsted for
vengeance. I ordered out a flock of Destroying Angels, and they hunted
the man far into the fastnesses of the Nevada mountains. But they never
caught him. I am not cruel, sir--I am not vindictive except when sorely
outraged--but if I had caught him, sir, so help me Joseph Smith, I would
have locked him into the nursery till the brats whistled him to death.
By the slaughtered body of St. Parley Pratt (whom God assail!) there
was never anything on this earth like it! I knew who gave the whistle to
the child, but I could, not make those jealous mothers believe me. They
believed I did it, and the result was just what any man of reflection
could have foreseen: I had to order a hundred and ten whistles--I think
we had a hundred and ten children in the house then, but some of them are
off at college now--I had to order a hundred and ten of those shrieking
things, and I wish I may never speak another word if we didn't have to
talk on our fingers entirely, from that time forth until the children got
tired of the whistles. And if ever another man gives a whistle to a
child of mine and I get my hands on him, I will hang him higher than
Haman! That is the word with the bark on it! Shade of Nephi! You don't
know anything about married life. I am rich, and everybody knows it. I
am benevolent, and everybody takes advantage of it. I have a strong
fatherly instinct and all the foundlings are foisted on me.
Every time a woman wants to do well by her darling, she puzzles her brain
to cipher out some scheme for getting it into my hands. Why, sir, a
woman came here once with a child of a curious lifeless sort of
complexion (and so had the woman), and swore that the child was mine and
she my wife--that I had married her at such-and-such a time in such-and-
such a place, but she had forgotten her number, and of course I could not
remember her name. Well, sir, she called my attention to the fact that
the child looked like me, and really it did seem to resemble me--a common
thing in the Territory--and, to cut the story short, I put it in my
nursery, and she left. And by the ghost of Orson Hyde, when they came to
wash the paint off that child it was an Injun! Bless my soul, you don't
know anything about married life. It is a perfect dog's life, sir--a
perfect dog's life. You can't economize. It isn't possible. I have
tried keeping one set of bridal attire for all occasions. But it is of
no use. First you'll marry a combination of calico and consumption
that's as thin as a rail, and next you'll get a creature that's nothing
more than the dropsy in disguise, and then you've got to eke out that
bridal dress with an old balloon. That is the way it goes. And think of
the wash-bill--(excuse these tears)--nine hundred and eighty-four pieces
a week! No, sir, there is no such a thing as economy in a family like
mine. Why, just the one item of cradles--think of it! And vermifuge!
Soothing syrup! Teething rings! And 'papa's watches' for the babies to
play with! And things to scratch the furniture with! And lucifer
matches for them to eat, and pieces of glass to cut themselves with!
The item of glass alone would support your family, I venture to say, sir.
Let me scrimp and squeeze all I can, I still can't get ahead as fast as I
feel I ought to, with my opportunities. Bless you, sir, at a time when I
had seventy-two wives in this house, I groaned under the pressure of
keeping thousands of dollars tied up in seventy-two bedsteads when the
money ought to have been out at interest; and I just sold out the whole
stock, sir, at a sacrifice, and built a bedstead seven feet long and
ninety-six feet wide. But it was a failure, sir. I could not sleep.
It appeared to me that the whole seventy-two women snored at once.
The roar was deafening. And then the danger of it! That was what I was
looking at. They would all draw in their breath at once, and you could
actually see the walls of the house suck in--and then they would all
exhale their breath at once, and you could see the walls swell out, and
strain, and hear the rafters crack, and the shingles grind together.
My friend, take an old man's advice, and don't encumber yourself with a
large family--mind, I tell you, don't do it. In a small family, and in a
small family only, you will find that comfort and that peace of mind
which are the best at last of the blessings this world is able to afford
us, and for the lack of which no accumulation of wealth, and no
acquisition of fame, power, and greatness can ever compensate us.
Take my word for it, ten or eleven wives is all you need--never go over
it."
Some instinct or other made me set this Johnson down as being unreliable.
And yet he was a very entertaining person, and I doubt if some of the
information he gave us could have been acquired from any other source.
He was a pleasant contrast to those reticent Mormons.
CHAPTER XVI.
All men have heard of the Mormon Bible, but few except the "elect" have
seen it, or, at least, taken the trouble to read it. I brought away a
copy from Salt Lake. The book is a curiosity to me, it is such a
pretentious affair, and yet so "slow," so sleepy; such an insipid mess of
inspiration. It is chloroform in print. If Joseph Smith composed this
book, the act was a miracle--keeping awake while he did it was, at any
rate. If he, according to tradition, merely translated it from certain
ancient and mysteriously-engraved plates of copper, which he declares he
found under a stone, in an out-of-the-way locality, the work of
translating was equally a miracle, for the same reason.
The book seems to be merely a prosy detail of imaginary history, with the
Old Testament for a model; followed by a tedious plagiarism of the New
Testament. The author labored to give his words and phrases the quaint,
old-fashioned sound and structure of our King James's translation of the
Scriptures; and the result is a mongrel--half modern glibness, and half
ancient simplicity and gravity. The latter is awkward and constrained;
the former natural, but grotesque by the contrast. Whenever he found his
speech growing too modern--which was about every sentence or two--he
ladled in a few such Scriptural phrases as "exceeding sore," "and it came
to pass," etc., and made things satisfactory again. "And it came to
pass" was his pet. If he had left that out, his Bible would have been
only a pamphlet.
The title-page reads as follows:
THE BOOK OF MORMON: AN ACCOUNT WRITTEN BY THE HAND OF MORMON, UPON
PLATES TAKEN FROM THE PLATES OF NEPHI.
Wherefore it is an abridgment of the record of the people of Nephi,
and also of the Lamanites; written to the Lamanites, who are a
remnant of the House of Israel; and also to Jew and Gentile; written
by way of commandment, and also by the spirit of prophecy and of
revelation. Written and sealed up, and hid up unto the Lord, that
they might not be destroyed; to come forth by the gift and power of
God unto the interpretation thereof; sealed by the hand of Moroni,
and hid up unto the Lord, to come forth in due time by the way of
Gentile; the interpretation thereof by the gift of God. An
abridgment taken from the Book of Ether also; which is a record of
the people of Jared; who were scattered at the time the Lord
confounded the language of the people when they were building a
tower to get to Heaven.
"Hid up" is good. And so is "wherefore"--though why "wherefore"? Any
other word would have answered as well--though--in truth it would not
have sounded so Scriptural.
Next comes:
THE TESTIMONY OF THREE WITNESSES.
Be it known unto all nations, kindreds, tongues, and people unto
whom this work shall come, that we, through the grace of God the
Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, have seen the plates which
contain this record, which is a record of the people of Nephi, and
also of the Lamanites, their brethren, and also of the people of
Jared, who came from the tower of which hath been spoken; and we
also know that they have been translated by the gift and power of
God, for His voice hath declared it unto us; wherefore we know of a
surety that the work is true. And we also testify that we have seen
the engravings which are upon the plates; and they have been shown
unto us by the power of God, and not of man. And we declare with
words of soberness, that an angel of God came down from heaven, and
he brought and laid before our eyes, that we beheld and saw the
plates, and the engravings thereon; and we know that it is by the
grace of God the Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, that we beheld
and bear record that these things are true; and it is marvellous in
our eyes; nevertheless the voice of the Lord commanded us that we
should bear record of it; wherefore, to be obedient unto the
commandments of God, we bear testimony of these things. And we know
that if we are faithful in Christ, we shall rid our garments of the
blood of all men, and be found spotless before the judgment-seat of
Christ, and shall dwell with Him eternally in the heavens. And the
honor be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost, which
is one God. Amen.
OLIVER COWDERY,
DAVID WHITMER,
MARTIN HARRIS.
Some people have to have a world of evidence before they can come
anywhere in the neighborhood of believing anything; but for me, when a
man tells me that he has "seen the engravings which are upon the plates,"
and not only that, but an angel was there at the time, and saw him see
them, and probably took his receipt for it, I am very far on the road to
conviction, no matter whether I ever heard of that man before or not, and
even if I do not know the name of the angel, or his nationality either.
Next is this:
AND ALSO THE TESTIMONY OF EIGHT WITNESSES.
Be it known unto all nations, kindreds, tongues, and people unto
whom this work shall come, that Joseph Smith, Jr., the translator of
this work, has shown unto us the plates of which hath been spoken,
which have the appearance of gold; and as many of the leaves as the
said Smith has translated, we did handle with our hands; and we also
saw the engravings thereon, all of which has the appearance of
ancient work, and of curious workmanship. And this we bear record
with words of soberness, that the said Smith has shown unto us, for
we have seen and hefted, and know of a surety that the said Smith
has got the plates of which we have spoken. And we give our names
unto the world, to witness unto the world that which we have seen;
and we lie not, God bearing witness of it.
CHRISTIAN WHITMER,
JACOB WHITMER,
PETER WHITMER, JR.,
JOHN WHITMER,
HIRAM PAGE,
JOSEPH SMITH, SR.,
HYRUM SMITH,
SAMUEL H. SMITH.
And when I am far on the road to conviction, and eight men, be they
grammatical or otherwise, come forward and tell me that they have seen
the plates too; and not only seen those plates but "hefted" them, I am
convinced. I could not feel more satisfied and at rest if the entire
Whitmer family had testified.
The Mormon Bible consists of fifteen "books"--being the books of Jacob,
Enos, Jarom, Omni, Mosiah, Zeniff, Alma, Helaman, Ether, Moroni, two
"books" of Mormon, and three of Nephi.
In the first book of Nephi is a plagiarism of the Old Testament, which
gives an account of the exodus from Jerusalem of the "children of Lehi";
and it goes on to tell of their wanderings in the wilderness, during
eight years, and their supernatural protection by one of their number, a
party by the name of Nephi. They finally reached the land of
"Bountiful," and camped by the sea. After they had remained there "for
the space of many days"--which is more Scriptural than definite--Nephi
was commanded from on high to build a ship wherein to "carry the people
across the waters." He travestied Noah's ark--but he obeyed orders in
the matter of the plan. He finished the ship in a single day, while his
brethren stood by and made fun of it--and of him, too--"saying, our
brother is a fool, for he thinketh that he can build a ship." They did
not wait for the timbers to dry, but the whole tribe or nation sailed the
next day. Then a bit of genuine nature cropped out, and is revealed by
outspoken Nephi with Scriptural frankness--they all got on a spree!
They, "and also their wives, began to make themselves merry, insomuch
that they began to dance, and to sing, and to speak with much rudeness;
yea, they were lifted up unto exceeding rudeness."
Nephi tried to stop these scandalous proceedings; but they tied him neck
and heels, and went on with their lark. But observe how Nephi the
prophet circumvented them by the aid of the invisible powers:
And it came to pass that after they had bound me, insomuch that I
could not move, the compass, which had been prepared of the Lord,
did cease to work; wherefore, they knew not whither they should
steer the ship, insomuch that there arose a great storm, yea, a
great and terrible tempest, and we were driven back upon the waters
for the space of three days; and they began to be frightened
exceedingly, lest they should be drowned in the sea; nevertheless
they did not loose me. And on the fourth day, which we had been
driven back, the tempest began to be exceeding sore. And it came to
pass that we were about to be swallowed up in the depths of the sea.
Then they untied him.
And it came to pass after they had loosed me, behold, I took the
compass, and it did work whither I desired it. And it came to pass
that I prayed unto the Lord; and after I had prayed, the winds did
cease, and the storm did cease, and there was a great calm.
Equipped with their compass, these ancients appear to have had the
advantage of Noah.
Their voyage was toward a "promised land"--the only name they give it.
They reached it in safety.
Polygamy is a recent feature in the Mormon religion, and was added by
Brigham Young after Joseph Smith's death. Before that, it was regarded
as an "abomination." This verse from the Mormon Bible occurs in Chapter
II. of the book of Jacob:
For behold, thus saith the Lord, this people begin to wax in
iniquity; they understand not the Scriptures; for they seek to
excuse themselves in committing whoredoms, because of the things
which were written concerning David, and Solomon his son. Behold,
David and Solomon truly had many wives and concubines, which thing
was abominable before me, saith the Lord; wherefore, thus saith the
Lord, I have led this people forth out of the land of Jerusalem, by
the power of mine arm, that I might raise up unto me a righteous
branch from the fruit of the loins of Joseph. Wherefore, I the Lord
God, will no suffer that this people shall do like unto them of old.
However, the project failed--or at least the modern Mormon end of it--for
Brigham "suffers" it. This verse is from the same chapter:
Behold, the Lamanites your brethren, whom ye hate, because of their
filthiness and the cursings which hath come upon their skins, are
more righteous than you; for they have not forgotten the commandment
of the Lord, which was given unto our fathers, that they should
have, save it were one wife; and concubines they should have none.
The following verse (from Chapter IX. of the Book of Nephi) appears to
contain information not familiar to everybody:
And now it came to pass that when Jesus had ascended into heaven,
the multitude did disperse, and every man did take his wife and his
children, and did return to his own home.
And it came to pass that on the morrow, when the multitude was
gathered together, behold, Nephi and his brother whom he had raised
from the dead, whose name was Timothy, and also his son, whose name
was Jonas, and also Mathoni, and Mathonihah, his brother, and Kumen,
and Kumenenhi, and Jeremiah, and Shemnon, and Jonas, and Zedekiah,
and Isaiah; now these were the names of the disciples whom Jesus had
chosen.
In order that the reader may observe how much more grandeur and
picturesqueness (as seen by these Mormon twelve) accompanied on of the
tenderest episodes in the life of our Saviour than other eyes seem to
have been aware of, I quote the following from the same "book"--Nephi:
And it came to pass that Jesus spake unto them, and bade them arise.
And they arose from the earth, and He said unto them, Blessed are ye
because of your faith. And now behold, My joy is full. And when He
had said these words, He wept, and the multitude bear record of it,
and He took their little children, one by one, and blessed them, and
prayed unto the Father for them. And when He had done this He wept
again, and He spake unto the multitude, and saith unto them, Behold
your little ones. And as they looked to behold, they cast their
eyes toward heaven, and they saw the heavens open, and they saw
angels descending out of heaven as it were, in the midst of fire;
and they came down and encircled those little ones about, and they
were encircled about with fire; and the angels did minister unto
them, and the multitude did see and hear and bear record; and they
know that their record is true, for they all of them did see and
hear, every man for himself; and they were in number about two
thousand and five hundred souls; and they did consist of men, women,
and children.
And what else would they be likely to consist of?
The Book of Ether is an incomprehensible medley of if "history," much of
it relating to battles and sieges among peoples whom the reader has
possibly never heard of; and who inhabited a country which is not set
down in the geography. These was a King with the remarkable name of
Coriantumr,^^ and he warred with Shared, and Lib, and Shiz, and others,
in the "plains of Heshlon"; and the "valley of Gilgal"; and the
"wilderness of Akish"; and the "land of Moran"; and the "plains of
Agosh"; and "Ogath," and "Ramah," and the "land of Corihor," and the
"hill Comnor," by "the waters of Ripliancum," etc., etc., etc. "And it
came to pass," after a deal of fighting, that Coriantumr, upon making
calculation of his losses, found that "there had been slain two millions
of mighty men, and also their wives and their children"--say 5,000,000 or
6,000,000 in all--"and he began to sorrow in his heart." Unquestionably
it was time. So he wrote to Shiz, asking a cessation of hostilities, and
offering to give up his kingdom to save his people. Shiz declined,
except upon condition that Coriantumr would come and let him cut his head
off first--a thing which Coriantumr would not do. Then there was more
fighting for a season; then four years were devoted to gathering the
forces for a final struggle--after which ensued a battle, which, I take
it, is the most remarkable set forth in history,--except, perhaps, that
of the Kilkenny cats, which it resembles in some respects. This is the
account of the gathering and the battle:
7. And it came to pass that they did gather together all the
people, upon all the face of the land, who had not been slain, save
it was Ether. And it came to pass that Ether did behold all the
doings of the people; and he beheld that the people who were for
Coriantumr, were gathered together to the army of Coriantumr; and
the people who were for Shiz, were gathered together to the army of
Shiz; wherefore they were for the space of four years gathering
together the people, that they might get all who were upon the face
of the land, and that they might receive all the strength which it
was possible that they could receive. And it came to pass that when
they were all gathered together, every one to the army which he
would, with their wives and their children; both men, women, and
children being armed with weapons of war, having shields, and
breast-plates, and head-plates, and being clothed after the manner
of war, they did march forth one against another, to battle; and
they fought all that day, and conquered not. And it came to pass
that when it was night they were weary, and retired to their camps;
and after they had retired to their camps, they took up a howling
and a lamentation for the loss of the slain of their people; and so
great were their cries, their howlings and lamentations, that it did
rend the air exceedingly. And it came to pass that on the morrow
they did go again to battle, and great and terrible was that day;
nevertheless they conquered not, and when the night came again, they
did rend the air with their cries, and their howlings, and their
mournings, for the loss of the slain of their people.
8. And it came to pass that Coriantumr wrote again an epistle unto
Shiz, desiring that he would not come again to battle, but that he
would take the kingdom, and spare the lives of the people. But
behold, the Spirit of the Lord had ceased striving with them, and
Satan had full power over the hearts of the people, for they were
given up unto the hardness of their hearts, and the blindness of
their minds that they might be destroyed; wherefore they went again
to battle. And it came to pass that they fought all that day, and
when the night came they slept upon their swords; and on the morrow
they fought even until the night came; and when the night came they
were drunken with anger, even as a man who is drunken with wine; and
they slept again upon their swords; and on the morrow they fought
again; and when the night came they had all fallen by the sword save
it were fifty and two of the people of Coriantumr, and sixty and
nine of the people of Shiz. And it came to pass that they slept
upon their swords that night, and on the morrow they fought again,
and they contended in their mights with their swords, and with their
shields, all that day; and when the night came there were thirty and
two of the people of Shiz, and twenty and seven of the people of
Coriantumr.
9. And it came to pass that they ate and slept, and prepared for
death on the morrow. And they were large and mighty men, as to the
strength of men. And it came to pass that they fought for the space
of three hours, and they fainted with the loss of blood. And it
came to pass that when the men of Coriantumr had received sufficient
strength, that they could walk, they were about to flee for their
lives, but behold, Shiz arose, and also his men, and he swore in his
wrath that he would slay Coriantumr, or he would perish by the
sword: wherefore he did pursue them, and on the morrow he did
overtake them; and they fought again with the sword. And it came to
pass that when they had all fallen by the sword, save it were
Coriantumr and Shiz, behold Shiz had fainted with loss of blood.
And it came to pass that when Coriantumr had leaned upon his sword,
that he rested a little, he smote off the head of Shiz. And it came
to pass that after he had smote off the head of Shiz, that Shiz
raised upon his hands and fell; and after that he had struggled for
breath, he died. And it came to pass that Coriantumr fell to the
earth, and became as if he had no life. And the Lord spake unto
Ether, and said unto him, go forth. And he went forth, and beheld
that the words of the Lord had all been fulfilled; and he finished
his record; and the hundredth part I have not written.
It seems a pity he did not finish, for after all his dreary former
chapters of commonplace, he stopped just as he was in danger of becoming
interesting.
The Mormon Bible is rather stupid and tiresome to read, but there is
nothing vicious in its teachings. Its code of morals is unobjectionable-
-it is "smouched" [Milton] from the New Testament and no credit given.
CHAPTER XVII.
At the end of our two days' sojourn, we left Great Salt Lake City hearty
and well fed and happy--physically superb but not so very much wiser, as
regards the "Mormon question," than we were when we arrived, perhaps.
We had a deal more "information" than we had before, of course, but we
did not know what portion of it was reliable and what was not--for it all
came from acquaintances of a day--strangers, strictly speaking. We were
told, for instance, that the dreadful "Mountain Meadows Massacre" was the
work of the Indians entirely, and that the Gentiles had meanly tried to
fasten it upon the Mormons; we were told, likewise, that the Indians were
to blame, partly, and partly the Mormons; and we were told, likewise, and
just as positively, that the Mormons were almost if not wholly and
completely responsible for that most treacherous and pitiless butchery.
We got the story in all these different shapes, but it was not till
several years afterward that Mrs. Waite's book, "The Mormon Prophet,"
came out with Judge Cradlebaugh's trial of the accused parties in it and
revealed the truth that the latter version was the correct one and that
the Mormons were the assassins. All our "information" had three sides to
it, and so I gave up the idea that I could settle the "Mormon question"
in two days. Still I have seen newspaper correspondents do it in one.
I left Great Salt Lake a good deal confused as to what state of things
existed there--and sometimes even questioning in my own mind whether a
state of things existed there at all or not. But presently I remembered
with a lightening sense of relief that we had learned two or three
trivial things there which we could be certain of; and so the two days
were not wholly lost. For instance, we had learned that we were at last
in a pioneer land, in absolute and tangible reality.
The high prices charged for trifles were eloquent of high freights and
bewildering distances of freightage. In the east, in those days, the
smallest moneyed denomination was a penny and it represented the smallest
purchasable quantity of any commodity. West of Cincinnati the smallest
coin in use was the silver five-cent piece and no smaller quantity of an
article could be bought than "five cents' worth." In Overland City the
lowest coin appeared to be the ten-cent piece; but in Salt Lake there did
not seem to be any money in circulation smaller than a quarter, or any
smaller quantity purchasable of any commodity than twenty-five cents'
worth. We had always been used to half dimes and "five cents' worth" as
the minimum of financial negotiations; but in Salt Lake if one wanted a
cigar, it was a quarter; if he wanted a chalk pipe, it was a quarter; if
he wanted a peach, or a candle, or a newspaper, or a shave, or a little
Gentile whiskey to rub on his corns to arrest indigestion and keep him
from having the toothache, twenty-five cents was the price, every time.
When we looked at the shot-bag of silver, now and then, we seemed to be
wasting our substance in riotous living, but if we referred to the
expense account we could see that we had not been doing anything of the
kind.
But people easily get reconciled to big money and big prices, and fond
and vain of both--it is a descent to little coins and cheap prices that
is hardest to bear and slowest to take hold upon one's toleration. After
a month's acquaintance with the twenty-five cent minimum, the average
human being is ready to blush every time he thinks of his despicable
five-cent days. How sunburnt with blushes I used to get in gaudy Nevada,
every time I thought of my first financial experience in Salt Lake.
It was on this wise (which is a favorite expression of great authors, and
a very neat one, too, but I never hear anybody say on this wise when they
are talking). A young half-breed with a complexion like a yellow-jacket
asked me if I would have my boots blacked. It was at the Salt Lake House
the morning after we arrived. I said yes, and he blacked them. Then I
handed him a silver five-cent piece, with the benevolent air of a person
who is conferring wealth and blessedness upon poverty and suffering. The
yellow-jacket took it with what I judged to be suppressed emotion, and
laid it reverently down in the middle of his broad hand. Then he began
to contemplate it, much as a philosopher contemplates a gnat's ear in the
ample field of his microscope. Several mountaineers, teamsters, stage-
drivers, etc., drew near and dropped into the tableau and fell to
surveying the money with that attractive indifference to formality which
is noticeable in the hardy pioneer. Presently the yellow-jacket handed
the half dime back to me and told me I ought to keep my money in my
pocket-book instead of in my soul, and then I wouldn't get it cramped and
shriveled up so!
What a roar of vulgar laughter there was! I destroyed the mongrel
reptile on the spot, but I smiled and smiled all the time I was detaching
his scalp, for the remark he made was good for an "Injun."
Yes, we had learned in Salt Lake to be charged great prices without
letting the inward shudder appear on the surface--for even already we had
overheard and noted the tenor of conversations among drivers, conductors,
and hostlers, and finally among citizens of Salt Lake, until we were well
aware that these superior beings despised "emigrants." We permitted no
tell-tale shudders and winces in our countenances, for we wanted to seem
pioneers, or Mormons, half-breeds, teamsters, stage-drivers, Mountain
Meadow assassins--anything in the world that the plains and Utah
respected and admired--but we were wretchedly ashamed of being
"emigrants," and sorry enough that we had white shirts and could not
swear in the presence of ladies without looking the other way.
And many a time in Nevada, afterwards, we had occasion to remember with
humiliation that we were "emigrants," and consequently a low and inferior
sort of creatures. Perhaps the reader has visited Utah, Nevada, or
California, even in these latter days, and while communing with himself
upon the sorrowful banishment of these countries from what he considers
"the world," has had his wings clipped by finding that he is the one to
be pitied, and that there are entire populations around him ready and
willing to do it for him--yea, who are complacently doing it for him
already, wherever he steps his foot.
Poor thing, they are making fun of his hat; and the cut of his New York
coat; and his conscientiousness about his grammar; and his feeble
profanity; and his consumingly ludicrous ignorance of ores, shafts,
tunnels, and other things which he never saw before, and never felt
enough interest in to read about. And all the time that he is thinking
what a sad fate it is to be exiled to that far country, that lonely land,
the citizens around him are looking down on him with a blighting
compassion because he is an "emigrant" instead of that proudest and
blessedest creature that exists on all the earth, a "FORTY-NINER."
The accustomed coach life began again, now, and by midnight it almost
seemed as if we never had been out of our snuggery among the mail sacks
at all. We had made one alteration, however. We had provided enough
bread, boiled ham and hard boiled eggs to last double the six hundred
miles of staging we had still to do.
And it was comfort in those succeeding days to sit up and contemplate the
majestic panorama of mountains and valleys spread out below us and eat
ham and hard boiled eggs while our spiritual natures revelled alternately
in rainbows, thunderstorms, and peerless sunsets. Nothing helps scenery
like ham and eggs. Ham and eggs, and after these a pipe--an old, rank,
delicious pipe--ham and eggs and scenery, a "down grade," a flying coach,
a fragrant pipe and a contented heart--these make happiness. It is what
all the ages have struggled for.
CHAPTER XVIII.
At eight in the morning we reached the remnant and ruin of what had been
the important military station of "Camp Floyd," some forty-five or fifty
miles from Salt Lake City. At four P.M. we had doubled our distance and
were ninety or a hundred miles from Salt Lake. And now we entered upon
one of that species of deserts whose concentrated hideousness shames the
diffused and diluted horrors of Sahara--an "alkali" desert. For sixty-
eight miles there was but one break in it. I do not remember that this
was really a break; indeed it seems to me that it was nothing but a
watering depot in the midst of the stretch of sixty-eight miles. If my
memory serves me, there was no well or spring at this place, but the
water was hauled there by mule and ox teams from the further side of the
desert. There was a stage station there. It was forty-five miles from
the beginning of the desert, and twenty-three from the end of it.
We plowed and dragged and groped along, the whole live-long night, and at
the end of this uncomfortable twelve hours we finished the forty-five-
mile part of the desert and got to the stage station where the imported
water was. The sun was just rising. It was easy enough to cross a
desert in the night while we were asleep; and it was pleasant to reflect,
in the morning, that we in actual person had encountered an absolute
desert and could always speak knowingly of deserts in presence of the
ignorant thenceforward. And it was pleasant also to reflect that this
was not an obscure, back country desert, but a very celebrated one, the
metropolis itself, as you may say. All this was very well and very
comfortable and satisfactory--but now we were to cross a desert in
daylight. This was fine--novel--romantic--dramatically adventurous--
this, indeed, was worth living for, worth traveling for! We would write
home all about it.
This enthusiasm, this stern thirst for adventure, wilted under the sultry
August sun and did not last above one hour. One poor little hour--and
then we were ashamed that we had "gushed" so. The poetry was all in the
anticipation--there is none in the reality. Imagine a vast, waveless
ocean stricken dead and turned to ashes; imagine this solemn waste tufted
with ash-dusted sage-bushes; imagine the lifeless silence and solitude
that belong to such a place; imagine a coach, creeping like a bug through
the midst of this shoreless level, and sending up tumbled volumes of dust
as if it were a bug that went by steam; imagine this aching monotony of
toiling and plowing kept up hour after hour, and the shore still as far
away as ever, apparently; imagine team, driver, coach and passengers so
deeply coated with ashes that they are all one colorless color; imagine
ash-drifts roosting above moustaches and eyebrows like snow accumulations
on boughs and bushes. This is the reality of it.
The sun beats down with dead, blistering, relentless malignity; the
perspiration is welling from every pore in man and beast, but scarcely a
sign of it finds its way to the surface--it is absorbed before it gets
there; there is not the faintest breath of air stirring; there is not a
merciful shred of cloud in all the brilliant firmament; there is not a
living creature visible in any direction whither one searches the blank
level that stretches its monotonous miles on every hand; there is not a
sound--not a sigh--not a whisper--not a buzz, or a whir of wings, or
distant pipe of bird--not even a sob from the lost souls that doubtless
people that dead air. And so the occasional sneezing of the resting
mules, and the champing of the bits, grate harshly on the grim stillness,
not dissipating the spell but accenting it and making one feel more
lonesome and forsaken than before.
The mules, under violent swearing, coaxing and whip-cracking, would make
at stated intervals a "spurt," and drag the coach a hundred or may be two
hundred yards, stirring up a billowy cloud of dust that rolled back,
enveloping the vehicle to the wheel-tops or higher, and making it seem
afloat in a fog. Then a rest followed, with the usual sneezing and bit-
champing. Then another "spurt" of a hundred yards and another rest at
the end of it. All day long we kept this up, without water for the mules
and without ever changing the team. At least we kept it up ten hours,
which, I take it, is a day, and a pretty honest one, in an alkali desert.
It was from four in the morning till two in the afternoon. And it was so
hot! and so close! and our water canteens went dry in the middle of the
day and we got so thirsty! It was so stupid and tiresome and dull! and
the tedious hours did lag and drag and limp along with such a cruel
deliberation! It was so trying to give one's watch a good long
undisturbed spell and then take it out and find that it had been fooling
away the time and not trying to get ahead any! The alkali dust cut
through our lips, it persecuted our eyes, it ate through the delicate
membranes and made our noses bleed and kept them bleeding--and truly and
seriously the romance all faded far away and disappeared, and left the
desert trip nothing but a harsh reality--a thirsty, sweltering, longing,
hateful reality!
Two miles and a quarter an hour for ten hours--that was what we
accomplished. It was hard to bring the comprehension away down to such a
snail-pace as that, when we had been used to making eight and ten miles
an hour. When we reached the station on the farther verge of the desert,
we were glad, for the first time, that the dictionary was along, because
we never could have found language to tell how glad we were, in any sort
of dictionary but an unabridged one with pictures in it. But there could
not have been found in a whole library of dictionaries language
sufficient to tell how tired those mules were after their twenty-three
mile pull. To try to give the reader an idea of how thirsty they were,
would be to "gild refined gold or paint the lily."
Somehow, now that it is there, the quotation does not seem to fit--but no
matter, let it stay, anyhow. I think it is a graceful and attractive
thing, and therefore have tried time and time again to work it in where
it would fit, but could not succeed. These efforts have kept my mind
distracted and ill at ease, and made my narrative seem broken and
disjointed, in places. Under these circumstances it seems to me best to
leave it in, as above, since this will afford at least a temporary
respite from the wear and tear of trying to "lead up" to this really apt
and beautiful quotation.
CHAPTER XIX.
On the morning of the sixteenth day out from St. Joseph we arrived at the
entrance of Rocky Canyon, two hundred and fifty miles from Salt Lake.
It was along in this wild country somewhere, and far from any habitation
of white men, except the stage stations, that we came across the
wretchedest type of mankind I have ever seen, up to this writing. I
refer to the Goshoot Indians. From what we could see and all we could
learn, they are very considerably inferior to even the despised Digger
Indians of California; inferior to all races of savages on our continent;
inferior to even the Terra del Fuegans; inferior to the Hottentots, and
actually inferior in some respects to the Kytches of Africa. Indeed, I
have been obliged to look the bulky volumes of Wood's "Uncivilized Races
of Men" clear through in order to find a savage tribe degraded enough to
take rank with the Goshoots. I find but one people fairly open to that
shameful verdict. It is the Bosjesmans (Bushmen) of South Africa. Such
of the Goshoots as we saw, along the road and hanging about the stations,
were small, lean, "scrawny" creatures; in complexion a dull black like
the ordinary American negro; their faces and hands bearing dirt which
they had been hoarding and accumulating for months, years, and even
generations, according to the age of the proprietor; a silent, sneaking,
treacherous looking race; taking note of everything, covertly, like all
the other "Noble Red Men" that we (do not) read about, and betraying no
sign in their countenances; indolent, everlastingly patient and tireless,
like all other Indians; prideless beggars--for if the beggar instinct
were left out of an Indian he would not "go," any more than a clock
without a pendulum; hungry, always hungry, and yet never refusing
anything that a hog would eat, though often eating what a hog would
decline; hunters, but having no higher ambition than to kill and eat
jack-ass rabbits, crickets and grasshoppers, and embezzle carrion from
the buzzards and cayotes; savages who, when asked if they have the common
Indian belief in a Great Spirit show a something which almost amounts to
emotion, thinking whiskey is referred to; a thin, scattering race of
almost naked black children, these Goshoots are, who produce nothing at
all, and have no villages, and no gatherings together into strictly
defined tribal communities--a people whose only shelter is a rag cast on
a bush to keep off a portion of the snow, and yet who inhabit one of the
most rocky, wintry, repulsive wastes that our country or any other can
exhibit.
The Bushmen and our Goshoots are manifestly descended from the self-same
gorilla, or kangaroo, or Norway rat, which-ever animal--Adam the
Darwinians trace them to.
One would as soon expect the rabbits to fight as the Goshoots, and yet
they used to live off the offal and refuse of the stations a few months
and then come some dark night when no mischief was expected, and burn
down the buildings and kill the men from ambush as they rushed out.
And once, in the night, they attacked the stage-coach when a District
Judge, of Nevada Territory, was the only passenger, and with their first
volley of arrows (and a bullet or two) they riddled the stage curtains,
wounded a horse or two and mortally wounded the driver. The latter was
full of pluck, and so was his passenger. At the driver's call Judge Mott
swung himself out, clambered to the box and seized the reins of the team,
and away they plunged, through the racing mob of skeletons and under a
hurtling storm of missiles. The stricken driver had sunk down on the
boot as soon as he was wounded, but had held on to the reins and said he
would manage to keep hold of them until relieved.
And after they were taken from his relaxing grasp, he lay with his head
between Judge Mott's feet, and tranquilly gave directions about the road;
he said he believed he could live till the miscreants were outrun and
left behind, and that if he managed that, the main difficulty would be at
an end, and then if the Judge drove so and so (giving directions about
bad places in the road, and general course) he would reach the next
station without trouble. The Judge distanced the enemy and at last
rattled up to the station and knew that the night's perils were done; but
there was no comrade-in-arms for him to rejoice with, for the soldierly
driver was dead.
Let us forget that we have been saying harsh things about the Overland
drivers, now. The disgust which the Goshoots gave me, a disciple of
Cooper and a worshipper of the Red Man--even of the scholarly savages in
the "Last of the Mohicans" who are fittingly associated with backwoodsmen
who divide each sentence into two equal parts: one part critically
grammatical, refined and choice of language, and the other part just such
an attempt to talk like a hunter or a mountaineer, as a Broadway clerk
might make after eating an edition of Emerson Bennett's works and
studying frontier life at the Bowery Theatre a couple of weeks--I say
that the nausea which the Goshoots gave me, an Indian worshipper, set me
to examining authorities, to see if perchance I had been over-estimating
the Red Man while viewing him through the mellow moonshine of romance.
The revelations that came were disenchanting. It was curious to see how
quickly the paint and tinsel fell away from him and left him treacherous,
filthy and repulsive--and how quickly the evidences accumulated that
wherever one finds an Indian tribe he has only found Goshoots more or
less modified by circumstances and surroundings--but Goshoots, after all.
They deserve pity, poor creatures; and they can have mine--at this
distance. Nearer by, they never get anybody's.
There is an impression abroad that the Baltimore and Washington Railroad
Company and many of its employees are Goshoots; but it is an error.
There is only a plausible resemblance, which, while it is apt enough to
mislead the ignorant, cannot deceive parties who have contemplated both
tribes. But seriously, it was not only poor wit, but very wrong to start
the report referred to above; for however innocent the motive may have
been, the necessary effect was to injure the reputation of a class who
have a hard enough time of it in the pitiless deserts of the Rocky
Mountains, Heaven knows! If we cannot find it in our hearts to give
those poor naked creatures our Christian sympathy and compassion, in
God's name let us at least not throw mud at them.
CHAPTER XX.
On the seventeenth day we passed the highest mountain peaks we had yet
seen, and although the day was very warm the night that followed upon its
heels was wintry cold and blankets were next to useless.
On the eighteenth day we encountered the eastward-bound telegraph-
constructors at Reese River station and sent a message to his Excellency
Gov. Nye at Carson City (distant one hundred and fifty-six miles).
On the nineteenth day we crossed the Great American Desert--forty
memorable miles of bottomless sand, into which the coach wheels sunk from
six inches to a foot. We worked our passage most of the way across.
That is to say, we got out and walked. It was a dreary pull and a long
and thirsty one, for we had no water. From one extremity of this desert
to the other, the road was white with the bones of oxen and horses.
It would hardly be an exaggeration to say that we could have walked the
forty miles and set our feet on a bone at every step! The desert was one
prodigious graveyard. And the log-chains, wagon tyres, and rotting
wrecks of vehicles were almost as thick as the bones. I think we saw
log-chains enough rusting there in the desert, to reach across any State
in the Union. Do not these relics suggest something of an idea of the
fearful suffering and privation the early emigrants to California
endured?
At the border of the Desert lies Carson Lake, or The "Sink" of the
Carson, a shallow, melancholy sheet of water some eighty or a hundred
miles in circumference. Carson River empties into it and is lost--sinks
mysteriously into the earth and never appears in the light of the sun
again--for the lake has no outlet whatever.
There are several rivers in Nevada, and they all have this mysterious
fate. They end in various lakes or "sinks," and that is the last of
them. Carson Lake, Humboldt Lake, Walker Lake, Mono Lake, are all great
sheets of water without any visible outlet. Water is always flowing into
them; none is ever seen to flow out of them, and yet they remain always
level full, neither receding nor overflowing. What they do with their
surplus is only known to the Creator.
On the western verge of the Desert we halted a moment at Ragtown. It
consisted of one log house and is not set down on the map.
This reminds me of a circumstance. Just after we left Julesburg, on the
Platte, I was sitting with the driver, and he said:
"I can tell you a most laughable thing indeed, if you would like to
listen to it. Horace Greeley went over this road once. When he was
leaving Carson City he told the driver, Hank Monk, that he had an
engagement to lecture at Placerville and was very anxious to go through
quick. Hank Monk cracked his whip and started off at an awful pace.
The coach bounced up and down in such a terrific way that it jolted the
buttons all off of Horace's coat, and finally shot his head clean through
the roof of the stage, and then he yelled at Hank Monk and begged him to
go easier--said he warn't in as much of a hurry as he was awhile ago.
But Hank Monk said, 'Keep your seat, Horace, and I'll get you there on
time'--and you bet you he did, too, what was left of him!"
A day or two after that we picked up a Denver man at the cross roads, and
he told us a good deal about the country and the Gregory Diggings.
He seemed a very entertaining person and a man well posted in the affairs
of Colorado. By and by he remarked:
"I can tell you a most laughable thing indeed, if you would like to
listen to it. Horace Greeley went over this road once. When he was
leaving Carson City he told the driver, Hank Monk, that he had an
engagement to lecture at Placerville and was very anxious to go through
quick. Hank Monk cracked his whip and started off at an awful pace. The
coach bounced up and down in such a terrific way that it jolted the
buttons all off of Horace's coat, and finally shot his head clean through
the roof of the stage, and then he yelled at Hank Monk and begged him to
go easier--said he warn't in as much of a hurry as he was awhile ago.
But Hank Monk said, 'Keep your seat, Horace, and I'll get you there on
time!'--and you bet you he did, too, what was left of him!"
At Fort Bridger, some days after this, we took on board a cavalry
sergeant, a very proper and soldierly person indeed. From no other man
during the whole journey, did we gather such a store of concise and well-
arranged military information. It was surprising to find in the desolate
wilds of our country a man so thoroughly acquainted with everything
useful to know in his line of life, and yet of such inferior rank and
unpretentious bearing. For as much as three hours we listened to him
with unabated interest. Finally he got upon the subject of trans-
continental travel, and presently said:
"I can tell you a very laughable thing indeed, if you would like to
listen to it. Horace Greeley went over this road once. When he was
leaving Carson City he told the driver, Hank Monk, that he had an
engagement to lecture at Placerville and was very anxious to go through
quick. Hank Monk cracked his whip and started off at an awful pace. The
coach bounced up and down in such a terrific way that it jolted the
buttons all off of Horace's coat, and finally shot his head clean through
the roof of the stage, and then he yelled at Hank Monk and begged him to
go easier--said he warn't in as much of a hurry as he was awhile ago.
But Hank Monk said, 'Keep your seat, Horace, and I'll get you there on
time!'--and you bet you he did, too, what was left of him!"
When we were eight hours out from Salt Lake City a Mormon preacher got in
with us at a way station--a gentle, soft-spoken, kindly man, and one whom
any stranger would warm to at first sight. I can never forget the pathos
that was in his voice as he told, in simple language, the story of his
people's wanderings and unpitied sufferings. No pulpit eloquence was
ever so moving and so beautiful as this outcast's picture of the first
Mormon pilgrimage across the plains, struggling sorrowfully onward to the
land of its banishment and marking its desolate way with graves and
watering it with tears. His words so wrought upon us that it was a
relief to us all when the conversation drifted into a more cheerful
channel and the natural features of the curious country we were in came
under treatment. One matter after another was pleasantly discussed, and
at length the stranger said:
"I can tell you a most laughable thing indeed, if you would like to
listen to it. Horace Greeley went over this road once. When he was
leaving Carson City he told the driver, Hank Monk, that he had an
engagement to lecture in Placerville, and was very anxious to go through
quick. Hank Monk cracked his whip and started off at an awful pace. The
coach bounced up and down in such a terrific way that it jolted the
buttons all off of Horace's coat, and finally shot his head clean through
the roof of the stage, and then he yelled at Hank Monk and begged him to
go easier--said he warn't in as much of a hurry as he was awhile ago.
But Hank Monk said, 'Keep your seat, Horace, and I'll get you there on
time!'--and you bet you bet you he did, too, what was left of him!"
Ten miles out of Ragtown we found a poor wanderer who had lain down to
die. He had walked as long as he could, but his limbs had failed him at
last. Hunger and fatigue had conquered him. It would have been inhuman
to leave him there. We paid his fare to Carson and lifted him into the
coach. It was some little time before he showed any very decided signs
of life; but by dint of chafing him and pouring brandy between his lips
we finally brought him to a languid consciousness. Then we fed him a
little, and by and by he seemed to comprehend the situation and a
grateful light softened his eye. We made his mail-sack bed as
comfortable as possible, and constructed a pillow for him with our coats.
He seemed very thankful. Then he looked up in our faces, and said in a
feeble voice that had a tremble of honest emotion in it:
"Gentlemen, I know not who you are, but you have saved my life; and
although I can never be able to repay you for it, I feel that I can at
least make one hour of your long journey lighter. I take it you are
strangers to this great thorough fare, but I am entirely familiar with
it. In this connection I can tell you a most laughable thing indeed, if
you would like to listen to it. Horace Greeley----"
I said, impressively:
"Suffering stranger, proceed at your peril. You see in me the melancholy
wreck of a once stalwart and magnificent manhood. What has brought me to
this? That thing which you are about to tell. Gradually but surely,
that tiresome old anecdote has sapped my strength, undermined my
constitution, withered my life. Pity my helplessness. Spare me only
just this once, and tell me about young George Washington and his little
hatchet for a change."
We were saved. But not so the invalid. In trying to retain the anecdote
in his system he strained himself and died in our arms.
I am aware, now, that I ought not to have asked of the sturdiest citizen
of all that region, what I asked of that mere shadow of a man; for, after
seven years' residence on the Pacific coast, I know that no passenger or
driver on the Overland ever corked that anecdote in, when a stranger was
by, and survived. Within a period of six years I crossed and recrossed
the Sierras between Nevada and California thirteen times by stage and
listened to that deathless incident four hundred and eighty-one or
eighty-two times. I have the list somewhere. Drivers always told it,
conductors told it, landlords told it, chance passengers told it, the
very Chinamen and vagrant Indians recounted it. I have had the same
driver tell it to me two or three times in the same afternoon. It has
come to me in all the multitude of tongues that Babel bequeathed to
earth, and flavored with whiskey, brandy, beer, cologne, sozodont,
tobacco, garlic, onions, grasshoppers--everything that has a fragrance to
it through all the long list of things that are gorged or guzzled by the
sons of men. I never have smelt any anecdote as often as I have smelt
that one; never have smelt any anecdote that smelt so variegated as that
one. And you never could learn to know it by its smell, because every
time you thought you had learned the smell of it, it would turn up with a
different smell. Bayard Taylor has written about this hoary anecdote,
Richardson has published it; so have Jones, Smith, Johnson, Ross Browne,
and every other correspondence-inditing being that ever set his foot upon
the great overland road anywhere between Julesburg and San Francisco; and
I have heard that it is in the Talmud. I have seen it in print in nine
different foreign languages; I have been told that it is employed in the
inquisition in Rome; and I now learn with regret that it is going to be
set to music. I do not think that such things are right.
Stage-coaching on the Overland is no more, and stage drivers are a race
defunct. I wonder if they bequeathed that bald-headed anecdote to their
successors, the railroad brakemen and conductors, and if these latter
still persecute the helpless passenger with it until he concludes, as did
many a tourist of other days, that the real grandeurs of the Pacific
coast are not Yo Semite and the Big Trees, but Hank Monk and his
adventure with Horace Greeley. [And what makes that worn anecdote the
more aggravating, is, that the adventure it celebrates never occurred.
If it were a good anecdote, that seeming demerit would be its chiefest
virtue, for creative power belongs to greatness; but what ought to be
done to a man who would wantonly contrive so flat a one as this? If I
were to suggest what ought to be done to him, I should be called
extravagant--but what does the sixteenth chapter of Daniel say? Aha!]
CHAPTER XXI.
We were approaching the end of our long journey. It was the morning of
the twentieth day. At noon we would reach Carson City, the capital of
Nevada Territory. We were not glad, but sorry. It had been a fine
pleasure trip; we had fed fat on wonders every day; we were now well
accustomed to stage life, and very fond of it; so the idea of coming to a
stand-still and settling down to a humdrum existence in a village was not
agreeable, but on the contrary depressing.
Visibly our new home was a desert, walled in by barren, snow-clad
mountains. There was not a tree in sight. There was no vegetation but
the endless sage-brush and greasewood. All nature was gray with it. We
were plowing through great deeps of powdery alkali dust that rose in
thick clouds and floated across the plain like smoke from a burning
house.
We were coated with it like millers; so were the coach, the mules, the
mail-bags, the driver--we and the sage-brush and the other scenery were
all one monotonous color. Long trains of freight wagons in the distance
envelope in ascending masses of dust suggested pictures of prairies on
fire. These teams and their masters were the only life we saw.
Otherwise we moved in the midst of solitude, silence and desolation.
Every twenty steps we passed the skeleton of some dead beast of burthen,
with its dust-coated skin stretched tightly over its empty ribs.
Frequently a solemn raven sat upon the skull or the hips and contemplated
the passing coach with meditative serenity.
By and by Carson City was pointed out to us. It nestled in the edge of a
great plain and was a sufficient number of miles away to look like an
assemblage of mere white spots in the shadow of a grim range of mountains
overlooking it, whose summits seemed lifted clear out of companionship
and consciousness of earthly things.
We arrived, disembarked, and the stage went on. It was a "wooden" town;
its population two thousand souls. The main street consisted of four or
five blocks of little white frame stores which were too high to sit down
on, but not too high for various other purposes; in fact, hardly high
enough. They were packed close together, side by side, as if room were
scarce in that mighty plain.
The sidewalk was of boards that were more or less loose and inclined to
rattle when walked upon. In the middle of the town, opposite the stores,
was the "plaza" which is native to all towns beyond the Rocky Mountains--
a large, unfenced, level vacancy, with a liberty pole in it, and very
useful as a place for public auctions, horse trades, and mass meetings,
and likewise for teamsters to camp in. Two other sides of the plaza were
faced by stores, offices and stables.
The rest of Carson City was pretty scattering.
We were introduced to several citizens, at the stage-office and on the
way up to the Governor's from the hotel--among others, to a Mr. Harris,
who was on horseback; he began to say something, but interrupted himself
with the remark:
"I'll have to get you to excuse me a minute; yonder is the witness that
swore I helped to rob the California coach--a piece of impertinent
intermeddling, sir, for I am not even acquainted with the man."
Then he rode over and began to rebuke the stranger with a six-shooter,
and the stranger began to explain with another. When the pistols were
emptied, the stranger resumed his work (mending a whip-lash), and Mr.
Harris rode by with a polite nod, homeward bound, with a bullet through
one of his lungs, and several in his hips; and from them issued little
rivulets of blood that coursed down the horse's sides and made the animal
look quite picturesque. I never saw Harris shoot a man after that but it
recalled to mind that first day in Carson.
This was all we saw that day, for it was two o'clock, now, and according
to custom the daily "Washoe Zephyr" set in; a soaring dust-drift about
the size of the United States set up edgewise came with it, and the
capital of Nevada Territory disappeared from view.
Still, there were sights to be seen which were not wholly uninteresting
to new comers; for the vast dust cloud was thickly freckled with things
strange to the upper air--things living and dead, that flitted hither and
thither, going and coming, appearing and disappearing among the rolling
billows of dust--hats, chickens and parasols sailing in the remote
heavens; blankets, tin signs, sage-brush and shingles a shade lower;
door-mats and buffalo robes lower still; shovels and coal scuttles on the
next grade; glass doors, cats and little children on the next; disrupted
lumber yards, light buggies and wheelbarrows on the next; and down only
thirty or forty feet above ground was a scurrying storm of emigrating
roofs and vacant lots.
It was something to see that much. I could have seen more, if I could
have kept the dust out of my eyes.
But seriously a Washoe wind is by no means a trifling matter. It blows
flimsy houses down, lifts shingle roofs occasionally, rolls up tin ones
like sheet music, now and then blows a stage coach over and spills the
passengers; and tradition says the reason there are so many bald people
there, is, that the wind blows the hair off their heads while they are
looking skyward after their hats. Carson streets seldom look inactive on
Summer afternoons, because there are so many citizens skipping around
their escaping hats, like chambermaids trying to head off a spider.
The "Washoe Zephyr" (Washoe is a pet nickname for Nevada) is a peculiar
Scriptural wind, in that no man knoweth "whence it cometh." That is to
say, where it originates. It comes right over the mountains from the
West, but when one crosses the ridge he does not find any of it on the
other side! It probably is manufactured on the mountain-top for the
occasion, and starts from there. It is a pretty regular wind, in the
summer time. Its office hours are from two in the afternoon till two the
next morning; and anybody venturing abroad during those twelve hours
needs to allow for the wind or he will bring up a mile or two to leeward
of the point he is aiming at. And yet the first complaint a Washoe
visitor to San Francisco makes, is that the sea winds blow so, there!
There is a good deal of human nature in that.
We found the state palace of the Governor of Nevada Territory to consist
of a white frame one-story house with two small rooms in it and a
stanchion supported shed in front--for grandeur--it compelled the respect
of the citizen and inspired the Indians with awe. The newly arrived
Chief and Associate Justices of the Territory, and other machinery of the
government, were domiciled with less splendor. They were boarding around
privately, and had their offices in their bedrooms.
The Secretary and I took quarters in the "ranch" of a worthy French lady
by the name of Bridget O'Flannigan, a camp follower of his Excellency the
Governor. She had known him in his prosperity as commander-in-chief of
the Metropolitan Police of New York, and she would not desert him in his
adversity as Governor of Nevada.
Our room was on the lower floor, facing the plaza, and when we had got
our bed, a small table, two chairs, the government fire-proof safe, and
the Unabridged Dictionary into it, there was still room enough left for a
visitor--may be two, but not without straining the walls. But the walls
could stand it--at least the partitions could, for they consisted simply
of one thickness of white "cotton domestic" stretched from corner to
corner of the room. This was the rule in Carson--any other kind of
partition was the rare exception. And if you stood in a dark room and
your neighbors in the next had lights, the shadows on your canvas told
queer secrets sometimes! Very often these partitions were made of old
flour sacks basted together; and then the difference between the common
herd and the aristocracy was, that the common herd had unornamented
sacks, while the walls of the aristocrat were overpowering with
rudimental fresco--i.e., red and blue mill brands on the flour sacks.
Occasionally, also, the better classes embellished their canvas by
pasting pictures from Harper's Weekly on them. In many cases, too, the
wealthy and the cultured rose to spittoons and other evidences of a
sumptuous and luxurious taste. [Washoe people take a joke so hard that I
must explain that the above description was only the rule; there were
many honorable exceptions in Carson--plastered ceilings and houses that
had considerable furniture in them.--M. T.]
We had a carpet and a genuine queen's-ware washbowl. Consequently we
were hated without reserve by the other tenants of the O'Flannigan
"ranch." When we added a painted oilcloth window curtain, we simply took
our lives into our own hands. To prevent bloodshed I removed up stairs
and took up quarters with the untitled plebeians in one of the fourteen
white pine cot-bedsteads that stood in two long ranks in the one sole
room of which the second story consisted.
It was a jolly company, the fourteen. They were principally voluntary
camp-followers of the Governor, who had joined his retinue by their own
election at New York and San Francisco and came along, feeling that in
the scuffle for little territorial crumbs and offices they could not make
their condition more precarious than it was, and might reasonably expect
to make it better. They were popularly known as the "Irish Brigade,"
though there were only four or five Irishmen among all the Governor's
retainers.
His good-natured Excellency was much annoyed at the gossip his henchmen
created--especially when there arose a rumor that they were paid
assassins of his, brought along to quietly reduce the democratic vote
when desirable!
Mrs. O'Flannigan was boarding and lodging them at ten dollars a week
apiece, and they were cheerfully giving their notes for it. They were
perfectly satisfied, but Bridget presently found that notes that could
not be discounted were but a feeble constitution for a Carson boarding-
house. So she began to harry the Governor to find employment for the
"Brigade." Her importunities and theirs together drove him to a gentle
desperation at last, and he finally summoned the Brigade to the presence.
Then, said he:
"Gentlemen, I have planned a lucrative and useful service for you--a
service which will provide you with recreation amid noble landscapes, and
afford you never ceasing opportunities for enriching your minds by
observation and study. I want you to survey a railroad from Carson City
westward to a certain point! When the legislature meets I will have the
necessary bill passed and the remuneration arranged."
"What, a railroad over the Sierra Nevada Mountains?"
"Well, then, survey it eastward to a certain point!"
He converted them into surveyors, chain-bearers and so on, and turned
them loose in the desert. It was "recreation" with a vengeance!
Recreation on foot, lugging chains through sand and sage-brush, under a
sultry sun and among cattle bones, cayotes and tarantulas.
"Romantic adventure" could go no further. They surveyed very slowly,
very deliberately, very carefully. They returned every night during the
first week, dusty, footsore, tired, and hungry, but very jolly. They
brought in great store of prodigious hairy spiders--tarantulas--and
imprisoned them in covered tumblers up stairs in the "ranch." After the
first week, they had to camp on the field, for they were getting well
eastward. They made a good many inquiries as to the location of that
indefinite "certain point," but got no information. At last, to a
peculiarly urgent inquiry of "How far eastward?" Governor Nye
telegraphed back:
"To the Atlantic Ocean, blast you!--and then bridge it and go on!"
This brought back the dusty toilers, who sent in a report and ceased from
their labors. The Governor was always comfortable about it; he said Mrs.
O'Flannigan would hold him for the Brigade's board anyhow, and he
intended to get what entertainment he could out of the boys; he said,
with his old-time pleasant twinkle, that he meant to survey them into
Utah and then telegraph Brigham to hang them for trespass!
The surveyors brought back more tarantulas with them, and so we had quite
a menagerie arranged along the shelves of the room. Some of these
spiders could straddle over a common saucer with their hairy, muscular
legs, and when their feelings were hurt, or their dignity offended, they
were the wickedest-looking desperadoes the animal world can furnish.
If their glass prison-houses were touched ever so lightly they were up
and spoiling for a fight in a minute. Starchy?--proud? Indeed, they
would take up a straw and pick their teeth like a member of Congress.
There was as usual a furious "zephyr" blowing the first night of the
brigade's return, and about midnight the roof of an adjoining stable blew
off, and a corner of it came crashing through the side of our ranch.
There was a simultaneous awakening, and a tumultuous muster of the
brigade in the dark, and a general tumbling and sprawling over each other
in the narrow aisle between the bedrows. In the midst of the turmoil,
Bob H---- sprung up out of a sound sleep, and knocked down a shelf with
his head. Instantly he shouted:
"Turn out, boys--the tarantulas is loose!"
No warning ever sounded so dreadful. Nobody tried, any longer, to leave
the room, lest he might step on a tarantula. Every man groped for a
trunk or a bed, and jumped on it. Then followed the strangest silence--a
silence of grisly suspense it was, too--waiting, expectancy, fear. It
was as dark as pitch, and one had to imagine the spectacle of those
fourteen scant-clad men roosting gingerly on trunks and beds, for not a
thing could be seen. Then came occasional little interruptions of the
silence, and one could recognize a man and tell his locality by his
voice, or locate any other sound a sufferer made by his gropings or
changes of position. The occasional voices were not given to much
speaking--you simply heard a gentle ejaculation of "Ow!" followed by a
solid thump, and you knew the gentleman had felt a hairy blanket or
something touch his bare skin and had skipped from a bed to the floor.
Another silence. Presently you would hear a gasping voice say:
"Su--su--something's crawling up the back of my neck!"
Every now and then you could hear a little subdued scramble and a
sorrowful "O Lord!" and then you knew that somebody was getting away from
something he took for a tarantula, and not losing any time about it,
either. Directly a voice in the corner rang out wild and clear:
"I've got him! I've got him!" [Pause, and probable change of
circumstances.] "No, he's got me! Oh, ain't they never going to fetch a
lantern!"
The lantern came at that moment, in the hands of Mrs. O'Flannigan, whose
anxiety to know the amount of damage done by the assaulting roof had not
prevented her waiting a judicious interval, after getting out of bed and
lighting up, to see if the wind was done, now, up stairs, or had a larger
contract.
The landscape presented when the lantern flashed into the room was
picturesque, and might have been funny to some people, but was not to us.
Although we were perched so strangely upon boxes, trunks and beds, and so
strangely attired, too, we were too earnestly distressed and too
genuinely miserable to see any fun about it, and there was not the
semblance of a smile anywhere visible. I know I am not capable of
suffering more than I did during those few minutes of suspense in the
dark, surrounded by those creeping, bloody-minded tarantulas. I had
skipped from bed to bed and from box to box in a cold agony, and every
time I touched anything that was furzy I fancied I felt the fangs. I had
rather go to war than live that episode over again. Nobody was hurt.
The man who thought a tarantula had "got him" was mistaken--only a crack
in a box had caught his finger. Not one of those escaped tarantulas was
ever seen again. There were ten or twelve of them. We took candles and
hunted the place high and low for them, but with no success. Did we go
back to bed then? We did nothing of the kind. Money could not have
persuaded us to do it. We sat up the rest of the night playing cribbage
and keeping a sharp lookout for the enemy.
CHAPTER XXII.
It was the end of August, and the skies were cloudless and the weather
superb. In two or three weeks I had grown wonderfully fascinated with
the curious new country and concluded to put off my return to "the
States" awhile. I had grown well accustomed to wearing a damaged slouch
hat, blue woolen shirt, and pants crammed into boot-tops, and gloried in
the absence of coat, vest and braces. I felt rowdyish and "bully," (as
the historian Josephus phrases it, in his fine chapter upon the
destruction of the Temple). It seemed to me that nothing could be so
fine and so romantic. I had become an officer of the government, but
that was for mere sublimity. The office was an unique sinecure. I had
nothing to do and no salary. I was private Secretary to his majesty the
Secretary and there was not yet writing enough for two of us. So Johnny
K---- and I devoted our time to amusement. He was the young son of an
Ohio nabob and was out there for recreation. He got it. We had heard a
world of talk about the marvellous beauty of Lake Tahoe, and finally
curiosity drove us thither to see it. Three or four members of the
Brigade had been there and located some timber lands on its shores and
stored up a quantity of provisions in their camp. We strapped a couple
of blankets on our shoulders and took an axe apiece and started--for we
intended to take up a wood ranch or so ourselves and become wealthy.
We were on foot. The reader will find it advantageous to go horseback.
We were told that the distance was eleven miles. We tramped a long time
on level ground, and then toiled laboriously up a mountain about a
thousand miles high and looked over. No lake there. We descended on the
other side, crossed the valley and toiled up another mountain three or
four thousand miles high, apparently, and looked over again. No lake
yet. We sat down tired and perspiring, and hired a couple of Chinamen to
curse those people who had beguiled us. Thus refreshed, we presently
resumed the march with renewed vigor and determination. We plodded on,
two or three hours longer, and at last the Lake burst upon us--a noble
sheet of blue water lifted six thousand three hundred feet above the
level of the sea, and walled in by a rim of snow-clad mountain peaks that
towered aloft full three thousand feet higher still! It was a vast oval,
and one would have to use up eighty or a hundred good miles in traveling
around it. As it lay there with the shadows of the mountains brilliantly
photographed upon its still surface I thought it must surely be the
fairest picture the whole earth affords.
We found the small skiff belonging to the Brigade boys, and without loss
of time set out across a deep bend of the lake toward the landmarks that
signified the locality of the camp. I got Johnny to row--not because I
mind exertion myself, but because it makes me sick to ride backwards when
I am at work. But I steered. A three-mile pull brought us to the camp
just as the night fell, and we stepped ashore very tired and wolfishly
hungry. In a "cache" among the rocks we found the provisions and the
cooking utensils, and then, all fatigued as I was, I sat down on a
boulder and superintended while Johnny gathered wood and cooked supper.
Many a man who had gone through what I had, would have wanted to rest.
It was a delicious supper--hot bread, fried bacon, and black coffee. It
was a delicious solitude we were in, too. Three miles away was a saw-
mill and some workmen, but there were not fifteen other human beings
throughout the wide circumference of the lake. As the darkness closed
down and the stars came out and spangled the great mirror with jewels, we
smoked meditatively in the solemn hush and forgot our troubles and our
pains. In due time we spread our blankets in the warm sand between two
large boulders and soon feel asleep, careless of the procession of ants
that passed in through rents in our clothing and explored our persons.
Nothing could disturb the sleep that fettered us, for it had been fairly
earned, and if our consciences had any sins on them they had to adjourn
court for that night, any way. The wind rose just as we were losing
consciousness, and we were lulled to sleep by the beating of the surf
upon the shore.
It is always very cold on that lake shore in the night, but we had plenty
of blankets and were warm enough. We never moved a muscle all night, but
waked at early dawn in the original positions, and got up at once,
thoroughly refreshed, free from soreness, and brim full of friskiness.
There is no end of wholesome medicine in such an experience. That
morning we could have whipped ten such people as we were the day before--
sick ones at any rate. But the world is slow, and people will go to
"water cures" and "movement cures" and to foreign lands for health.
Three months of camp life on Lake Tahoe would restore an Egyptian mummy
to his pristine vigor, and give him an appetite like an alligator. I do
not mean the oldest and driest mummies, of course, but the fresher ones.
The air up there in the clouds is very pure and fine, bracing and
delicious. And why shouldn't it be?--it is the same the angels breathe.
I think that hardly any amount of fatigue can be gathered together that a
man cannot sleep off in one night on the sand by its side. Not under a
roof, but under the sky; it seldom or never rains there in the summer
time. I know a man who went there to die. But he made a failure of it.
He was a skeleton when he came, and could barely stand. He had no
appetite, and did nothing but read tracts and reflect on the future.
Three months later he was sleeping out of doors regularly, eating all he
could hold, three times a day, and chasing game over mountains three
thousand feet high for recreation. And he was a skeleton no longer, but
weighed part of a ton. This is no fancy sketch, but the truth. His
disease was consumption. I confidently commend his experience to other
skeletons.
I superintended again, and as soon as we had eaten breakfast we got in
the boat and skirted along the lake shore about three miles and
disembarked. We liked the appearance of the place, and so we claimed
some three hundred acres of it and stuck our "notices" on a tree. It was
yellow pine timber land--a dense forest of trees a hundred feet high and
from one to five feet through at the butt. It was necessary to fence our
property or we could not hold it. That is to say, it was necessary to
cut down trees here and there and make them fall in such a way as to form
a sort of enclosure (with pretty wide gaps in it). We cut down three
trees apiece, and found it such heart-breaking work that we decided to
"rest our case" on those; if they held the property, well and good; if
they didn't, let the property spill out through the gaps and go; it was
no use to work ourselves to death merely to save a few acres of land.
Next day we came back to build a house--for a house was also necessary,
in order to hold the property. We decided to build a substantial log-
house and excite the envy of the Brigade boys; but by the time we had cut
and trimmed the first log it seemed unnecessary to be so elaborate, and
so we concluded to build it of saplings. However, two saplings, duly cut
and trimmed, compelled recognition of the fact that a still modester
architecture would satisfy the law, and so we concluded to build a
"brush" house. We devoted the next day to this work, but we did so much
"sitting around" and discussing, that by the middle of the afternoon we
had achieved only a half-way sort of affair which one of us had to watch
while the other cut brush, lest if both turned our backs we might not be
able to find it again, it had such a strong family resemblance to the
surrounding vegetation. But we were satisfied with it.
We were land owners now, duly seized and possessed, and within the
protection of the law. Therefore we decided to take up our residence on
our own domain and enjoy that large sense of independence which only such
an experience can bring. Late the next afternoon, after a good long
rest, we sailed away from the Brigade camp with all the provisions and
cooking utensils we could carry off--borrow is the more accurate word--
and just as the night was falling we beached the boat at our own landing.
CHAPTER XXIII.
If there is any life that is happier than the life we led on our timber
ranch for the next two or three weeks, it must be a sort of life which I
have not read of in books or experienced in person. We did not see a
human being but ourselves during the time, or hear any sounds but those
that were made by the wind and the waves, the sighing of the pines, and
now and then the far-off thunder of an avalanche. The forest about us
was dense and cool, the sky above us was cloudless and brilliant with
sunshine, the broad lake before us was glassy and clear, or rippled and
breezy, or black and storm-tossed, according to Nature's mood; and its
circling border of mountain domes, clothed with forests, scarred with
land-slides, cloven by canons and valleys, and helmeted with glittering
snow, fitly framed and finished the noble picture. The view was always
fascinating, bewitching, entrancing. The eye was never tired of gazing,
night or day, in calm or storm; it suffered but one grief, and that was
that it could not look always, but must close sometimes in sleep.
We slept in the sand close to the water's edge, between two protecting
boulders, which took care of the stormy night-winds for us. We never
took any paregoric to make us sleep. At the first break of dawn we were
always up and running foot-races to tone down excess of physical vigor
and exuberance of spirits. That is, Johnny was--but I held his hat.
While smoking the pipe of peace after breakfast we watched the sentinel
peaks put on the glory of the sun, and followed the conquering light as
it swept down among the shadows, and set the captive crags and forests
free. We watched the tinted pictures grow and brighten upon the water
till every little detail of forest, precipice and pinnacle was wrought in
and finished, and the miracle of the enchanter complete. Then to
"business."
That is, drifting around in the boat. We were on the north shore.
There, the rocks on the bottom are sometimes gray, sometimes white.
This gives the marvelous transparency of the water a fuller advantage
than it has elsewhere on the lake. We usually pushed out a hundred yards
or so from shore, and then lay down on the thwarts, in the sun, and let
the boat drift by the hour whither it would. We seldom talked.
It interrupted the Sabbath stillness, and marred the dreams the luxurious
rest and indolence brought. The shore all along was indented with deep,
curved bays and coves, bordered by narrow sand-beaches; and where the
sand ended, the steep mountain-sides rose right up aloft into space--rose
up like a vast wall a little out of the perpendicular, and thickly wooded
with tall pines.
So singularly clear was the water, that where it was only twenty or
thirty feet deep the bottom was so perfectly distinct that the boat
seemed floating in the air! Yes, where it was even eighty feet deep.
Every little pebble was distinct, every speckled trout, every hand's-
breadth of sand. Often, as we lay on our faces, a granite boulder, as
large as a village church, would start out of the bottom apparently, and
seem climbing up rapidly to the surface, till presently it threatened to
touch our faces, and we could not resist the impulse to seize an oar and
avert the danger. But the boat would float on, and the boulder descend
again, and then we could see that when we had been exactly above it, it
must still have been twenty or thirty feet below the surface. Down
through the transparency of these great depths, the water was not merely
transparent, but dazzlingly, brilliantly so. All objects seen through it
had a bright, strong vividness, not only of outline, but of every minute
detail, which they would not have had when seen simply through the same
depth of atmosphere. So empty and airy did all spaces seem below us, and
so strong was the sense of floating high aloft in mid-nothingness, that
we called these boat-excursions "balloon-voyages."
We fished a good deal, but we did not average one fish a week. We could
see trout by the thousand winging about in the emptiness under us, or
sleeping in shoals on the bottom, but they would not bite--they could see
the line too plainly, perhaps. We frequently selected the trout we
wanted, and rested the bait patiently and persistently on the end of his
nose at a depth of eighty feet, but he would only shake it off with an
annoyed manner, and shift his position.
We bathed occasionally, but the water was rather chilly, for all it
looked so sunny. Sometimes we rowed out to the "blue water," a mile or
two from shore. It was as dead blue as indigo there, because of the
immense depth. By official measurement the lake in its centre is one
thousand five hundred and twenty-five feet deep!
Sometimes, on lazy afternoons, we lolled on the sand in camp, and smoked
pipes and read some old well-worn novels. At night, by the camp-fire, we
played euchre and seven-up to strengthen the mind--and played them with
cards so greasy and defaced that only a whole summer's acquaintance with
them could enable the student to tell the ace of clubs from the jack of
diamonds.
We never slept in our "house." It never recurred to us, for one thing;
and besides, it was built to hold the ground, and that was enough. We
did not wish to strain it.
By and by our provisions began to run short, and we went back to the old
camp and laid in a new supply. We were gone all day, and reached home
again about night-fall, pretty tired and hungry. While Johnny was
carrying the main bulk of the provisions up to our "house" for future
use, I took the loaf of bread, some slices of bacon, and the coffee-pot,
ashore, set them down by a tree, lit a fire, and went back to the boat to
get the frying-pan. While I was at this, I heard a shout from Johnny,
and looking up I saw that my fire was galloping all over the premises!
Johnny was on the other side of it. He had to run through the flames to
get to the lake shore, and then we stood helpless and watched the
devastation.
The ground was deeply carpeted with dry pine-needles, and the fire
touched them off as if they were gunpowder. It was wonderful to see with
what fierce speed the tall sheet of flame traveled! My coffee-pot was
gone, and everything with it. In a minute and a half the fire seized
upon a dense growth of dry manzanita chapparal six or eight feet high,
and then the roaring and popping and crackling was something terrific.
We were driven to the boat by the intense heat, and there we remained,
spell-bound.
Within half an hour all before us was a tossing, blinding tempest of
flame! It went surging up adjacent ridges--surmounted them and
disappeared in the canons beyond--burst into view upon higher and farther
ridges, presently--shed a grander illumination abroad, and dove again--
flamed out again, directly, higher and still higher up the mountain-side-
-threw out skirmishing parties of fire here and there, and sent them
trailing their crimson spirals away among remote ramparts and ribs and
gorges, till as far as the eye could reach the lofty mountain-fronts were
webbed as it were with a tangled network of red lava streams. Away
across the water the crags and domes were lit with a ruddy glare, and the
firmament above was a reflected hell!
Every feature of the spectacle was repeated in the glowing mirror of the
lake! Both pictures were sublime, both were beautiful; but that in the
lake had a bewildering richness about it that enchanted the eye and held
it with the stronger fascination.
We sat absorbed and motionless through four long hours. We never thought
of supper, and never felt fatigue. But at eleven o'clock the
conflagration had traveled beyond our range of vision, and then darkness
stole down upon the landscape again.
Hunger asserted itself now, but there was nothing to eat. The provisions
were all cooked, no doubt, but we did not go to see. We were homeless
wanderers again, without any property. Our fence was gone, our house
burned down; no insurance. Our pine forest was well scorched, the dead
trees all burned up, and our broad acres of manzanita swept away. Our
blankets were on our usual sand-bed, however, and so we lay down and went
to sleep. The next morning we started back to the old camp, but while
out a long way from shore, so great a storm came up that we dared not try
to land. So I baled out the seas we shipped, and Johnny pulled heavily
through the billows till we had reached a point three or four miles
beyond the camp. The storm was increasing, and it became evident that it
was better to take the hazard of beaching the boat than go down in a
hundred fathoms of water; so we ran in, with tall white-caps following,
and I sat down in the stern-sheets and pointed her head-on to the shore.
The instant the bow struck, a wave came over the stern that washed crew
and cargo ashore, and saved a deal of trouble. We shivered in the lee of
a boulder all the rest of the day, and froze all the night through. In
the morning the tempest had gone down, and we paddled down to the camp
without any unnecessary delay. We were so starved that we ate up the
rest of the Brigade's provisions, and then set out to Carson to tell them
about it and ask their forgiveness. It was accorded, upon payment of
damages.
We made many trips to the lake after that, and had many a hair-breadth
escape and blood-curdling adventure which will never be recorded in any
history.
CHAPTER XXIV.
I resolved to have a horse to ride. I had never seen such wild, free,
magnificent horsemanship outside of a circus as these picturesquely-clad
Mexicans, Californians and Mexicanized Americans displayed in Carson
streets every day. How they rode! Leaning just gently forward out of
the perpendicular, easy and nonchalant, with broad slouch-hat brim blown
square up in front, and long riata swinging above the head, they swept
through the town like the wind! The next minute they were only a sailing
puff of dust on the far desert. If they trotted, they sat up gallantly
and gracefully, and seemed part of the horse; did not go jiggering up and
down after the silly Miss-Nancy fashion of the riding-schools. I had
quickly learned to tell a horse from a cow, and was full of anxiety to
learn more. I was resolved to buy a horse.
While the thought was rankling in my mind, the auctioneer came skurrying
through the plaza on a black beast that had as many humps and corners on
him as a dromedary, and was necessarily uncomely; but he was "going,
going, at twenty-two!--horse, saddle and bridle at twenty-two dollars,
gentlemen!" and I could hardly resist.
A man whom I did not know (he turned out to be the auctioneer's brother)
noticed the wistful look in my eye, and observed that that was a very
remarkable horse to be going at such a price; and added that the saddle
alone was worth the money. It was a Spanish saddle, with ponderous
'tapidaros', and furnished with the ungainly sole-leather covering with
the unspellable name. I said I had half a notion to bid. Then this
keen-eyed person appeared to me to be "taking my measure"; but I
dismissed the suspicion when he spoke, for his manner was full of
guileless candor and truthfulness. Said he:
"I know that horse--know him well. You are a stranger, I take it, and so
you might think he was an American horse, maybe, but I assure you he is
not. He is nothing of the kind; but--excuse my speaking in a low voice,
other people being near--he is, without the shadow of a doubt, a Genuine
Mexican Plug!"
I did not know what a Genuine Mexican Plug was, but there was something
about this man's way of saying it, that made me swear inwardly that I
would own a Genuine Mexican Plug, or die.
"Has he any other--er--advantages?" I inquired, suppressing what
eagerness I could.
He hooked his forefinger in the pocket of my army-shirt, led me to one
side, and breathed in my ear impressively these words:
"He can out-buck anything in America!"
"Going, going, going--at twent--ty--four dollars and a half, gen--"
"Twenty-seven!" I shouted, in a frenzy.
"And sold!" said the auctioneer, and passed over the Genuine Mexican Plug
to me.
I could scarcely contain my exultation. I paid the money, and put the
animal in a neighboring livery-stable to dine and rest himself.
In the afternoon I brought the creature into the plaza, and certain
citizens held him by the head, and others by the tail, while I mounted
him. As soon as they let go, he placed all his feet in a bunch together,
lowered his back, and then suddenly arched it upward, and shot me
straight into the air a matter of three or four feet! I came as straight
down again, lit in the saddle, went instantly up again, came down almost
on the high pommel, shot up again, and came down on the horse's neck--all
in the space of three or four seconds. Then he rose and stood almost
straight up on his hind feet, and I, clasping his lean neck desperately,
slid back into the saddle and held on. He came down, and immediately
hoisted his heels into the air, delivering a vicious kick at the sky, and
stood on his forefeet. And then down he came once more, and began the
original exercise of shooting me straight up again. The third time I
went up I heard a stranger say:
"Oh, don't he buck, though!"
While I was up, somebody struck the horse a sounding thwack with a
leathern strap, and when I arrived again the Genuine Mexican Plug was not
there. A California youth chased him up and caught him, and asked if he
might have a ride. I granted him that luxury. He mounted the Genuine,
got lifted into the air once, but sent his spurs home as he descended,
and the horse darted away like a telegram. He soared over three fences
like a bird, and disappeared down the road toward the Washoe Valley.
I sat down on a stone, with a sigh, and by a natural impulse one of my
hands sought my forehead, and the other the base of my stomach. I
believe I never appreciated, till then, the poverty of the human
machinery--for I still needed a hand or two to place elsewhere. Pen
cannot describe how I was jolted up. Imagination cannot conceive how
disjointed I was--how internally, externally and universally I was
unsettled, mixed up and ruptured. There was a sympathetic crowd around
me, though.
One elderly-looking comforter said:
"Stranger, you've been taken in. Everybody in this camp knows that
horse. Any child, any Injun, could have told you that he'd buck; he is
the very worst devil to buck on the continent of America. You hear me.
I'm Curry. Old Curry. Old Abe Curry. And moreover, he is a simon-pure,
out-and-out, genuine d--d Mexican plug, and an uncommon mean one at that,
too. Why, you turnip, if you had laid low and kept dark, there's chances
to buy an American horse for mighty little more than you paid for that
bloody old foreign relic."
I gave no sign; but I made up my mind that if the auctioneer's brother's
funeral took place while I was in the Territory I would postpone all
other recreations and attend it.
After a gallop of sixteen miles the Californian youth and the Genuine
Mexican Plug came tearing into town again, shedding foam-flakes like the
spume-spray that drives before a typhoon, and, with one final skip over a
wheelbarrow and a Chinaman, cast anchor in front of the "ranch."
Such panting and blowing! Such spreading and contracting of the red
equine nostrils, and glaring of the wild equine eye! But was the
imperial beast subjugated? Indeed he was not.
His lordship the Speaker of the House thought he was, and mounted him to
go down to the Capitol; but the first dash the creature made was over a
pile of telegraph poles half as high as a church; and his time to the
Capitol--one mile and three quarters--remains unbeaten to this day. But
then he took an advantage--he left out the mile, and only did the three
quarters. That is to say, he made a straight cut across lots, preferring
fences and ditches to a crooked road; and when the Speaker got to the
Capitol he said he had been in the air so much he felt as if he had made
the trip on a comet.
In the evening the Speaker came home afoot for exercise, and got the
Genuine towed back behind a quartz wagon. The next day I loaned the
animal to the Clerk of the House to go down to the Dana silver mine, six
miles, and he walked back for exercise, and got the horse towed.
Everybody I loaned him to always walked back; they never could get enough
exercise any other way.
Still, I continued to loan him to anybody who was willing to borrow him,
my idea being to get him crippled, and throw him on the borrower's hands,
or killed, and make the borrower pay for him. But somehow nothing ever
happened to him. He took chances that no other horse ever took and
survived, but he always came out safe. It was his daily habit to try
experiments that had always before been considered impossible, but he
always got through. Sometimes he miscalculated a little, and did not get
his rider through intact, but he always got through himself. Of course I
had tried to sell him; but that was a stretch of simplicity which met
with little sympathy. The auctioneer stormed up and down the streets on
him for four days, dispersing the populace, interrupting business, and
destroying children, and never got a bid--at least never any but the
eighteen-dollar one he hired a notoriously substanceless bummer to make.
The people only smiled pleasantly, and restrained their desire to buy, if
they had any. Then the auctioneer brought in his bill, and I withdrew
the horse from the market. We tried to trade him off at private vendue
next, offering him at a sacrifice for second-hand tombstones, old iron,
temperance tracts--any kind of property. But holders were stiff, and we
retired from the market again. I never tried to ride the horse any more.
Walking was good enough exercise for a man like me, that had nothing the
matter with him except ruptures, internal injuries, and such things.
Finally I tried to give him away. But it was a failure. Parties said
earthquakes were handy enough on the Pacific coast--they did not wish to
own one. As a last resort I offered him to the Governor for the use of
the "Brigade." His face lit up eagerly at first, but toned down again,
and he said the thing would be too palpable.
Just then the livery stable man brought in his bill for six weeks'
keeping--stall-room for the horse, fifteen dollars; hay for the horse,
two hundred and fifty! The Genuine Mexican Plug had eaten a ton of the
article, and the man said he would have eaten a hundred if he had let
him.
I will remark here, in all seriousness, that the regular price of hay
during that year and a part of the next was really two hundred and fifty
dollars a ton. During a part of the previous year it had sold at five
hundred a ton, in gold, and during the winter before that there was such
scarcity of the article that in several instances small quantities had
brought eight hundred dollars a ton in coin! The consequence might be
guessed without my telling it: peopled turned their stock loose to
starve, and before the spring arrived Carson and Eagle valleys were
almost literally carpeted with their carcases! Any old settler there
will verify these statements.
I managed to pay the livery bill, and that same day I gave the Genuine
Mexican Plug to a passing Arkansas emigrant whom fortune delivered into
my hand. If this ever meets his eye, he will doubtless remember the
donation.
Now whoever has had the luck to ride a real Mexican plug will recognize
the animal depicted in this chapter, and hardly consider him exaggerated
--but the uninitiated will feel justified in regarding his portrait as a
fancy sketch, perhaps.
CHAPTER XXV.
Originally, Nevada was a part of Utah and was called Carson county; and a
pretty large county it was, too. Certain of its valleys produced no end
of hay, and this attracted small colonies of Mormon stock-raisers and
farmers to them. A few orthodox Americans straggled in from California,
but no love was lost between the two classes of colonists. There was
little or no friendly intercourse; each party staid to itself. The
Mormons were largely in the majority, and had the additional advantage of
being peculiarly under the protection of the Mormon government of the
Territory. Therefore they could afford to be distant, and even
peremptory toward their neighbors. One of the traditions of Carson
Valley illustrates the condition of things that prevailed at the time I
speak of. The hired girl of one of the American families was Irish, and
a Catholic; yet it was noted with surprise that she was the only person
outside of the Mormon ring who could get favors from the Mormons. She
asked kindnesses of them often, and always got them. It was a mystery to
everybody. But one day as she was passing out at the door, a large bowie
knife dropped from under her apron, and when her mistress asked for an
explanation she observed that she was going out to "borry a wash-tub from
the Mormons!"
In 1858 silver lodes were discovered in "Carson County," and then the
aspect of things changed. Californians began to flock in, and the
American element was soon in the majority. Allegiance to Brigham Young
and Utah was renounced, and a temporary territorial government for
"Washoe" was instituted by the citizens. Governor Roop was the first and
only chief magistrate of it. In due course of time Congress passed a
bill to organize "Nevada Territory," and President Lincoln sent out
Governor Nye to supplant Roop.
At this time the population of the Territory was about twelve or fifteen
thousand, and rapidly increasing. Silver mines were being vigorously
developed and silver mills erected. Business of all kinds was active and
prosperous and growing more so day by day.
The people were glad to have a legitimately constituted government, but
did not particularly enjoy having strangers from distant States put in
authority over them--a sentiment that was natural enough. They thought
the officials should have been chosen from among themselves from among
prominent citizens who had earned a right to such promotion, and who
would be in sympathy with the populace and likewise thoroughly acquainted
with the needs of the Territory. They were right in viewing the matter
thus, without doubt. The new officers were "emigrants," and that was no
title to anybody's affection or admiration either.
The new government was received with considerable coolness. It was not
only a foreign intruder, but a poor one. It was not even worth plucking
--except by the smallest of small fry office-seekers and such. Everybody
knew that Congress had appropriated only twenty thousand dollars a year
in greenbacks for its support--about money enough to run a quartz mill a
month. And everybody knew, also, that the first year's money was still
in Washington, and that the getting hold of it would be a tedious and
difficult process. Carson City was too wary and too wise to open up a
credit account with the imported bantling with anything like indecent
haste.
There is something solemnly funny about the struggles of a new-born
Territorial government to get a start in this world. Ours had a trying
time of it. The Organic Act and the "instructions" from the State
Department commanded that a legislature should be elected at such-and-
such a time, and its sittings inaugurated at such-and-such a date. It
was easy to get legislators, even at three dollars a day, although board
was four dollars and fifty cents, for distinction has its charm in Nevada
as well as elsewhere, and there were plenty of patriotic souls out of
employment; but to get a legislative hall for them to meet in was another
matter altogether. Carson blandly declined to give a room rent-free, or
let one to the government on credit.
But when Curry heard of the difficulty, he came forward, solitary and
alone, and shouldered the Ship of State over the bar and got her afloat
again. I refer to "Curry--Old Curry--Old Abe Curry." But for him the
legislature would have been obliged to sit in the desert. He offered his
large stone building just outside the capital limits, rent-free, and it
was gladly accepted. Then he built a horse-railroad from town to the
capitol, and carried the legislators gratis.
He also furnished pine benches and chairs for the legislature, and
covered the floors with clean saw-dust by way of carpet and spittoon
combined. But for Curry the government would have died in its tender
infancy. A canvas partition to separate the Senate from the House of
Representatives was put up by the Secretary, at a cost of three dollars
and forty cents, but the United States declined to pay for it. Upon
being reminded that the "instructions" permitted the payment of a liberal
rent for a legislative hall, and that that money was saved to the country
by Mr. Curry's generosity, the United States said that did not alter the
matter, and the three dollars and forty cents would be subtracted from
the Secretary's eighteen hundred dollar salary--and it was!
The matter of printing was from the beginning an interesting feature of
the new government's difficulties. The Secretary was sworn to obey his
volume of written "instructions," and these commanded him to do two
certain things without fail, viz.:
1. Get the House and Senate journals printed; and,
2. For this work, pay one dollar and fifty cents per "thousand" for
composition, and one dollar and fifty cents per "token" for press-work,
in greenbacks.
It was easy to swear to do these two things, but it was entirely
impossible to do more than one of them. When greenbacks had gone down to
forty cents on the dollar, the prices regularly charged everybody by
printing establishments were one dollar and fifty cents per "thousand"
and one dollar and fifty cents per "token," in gold. The "instructions"
commanded that the Secretary regard a paper dollar issued by the
government as equal to any other dollar issued by the government. Hence
the printing of the journals was discontinued. Then the United States
sternly rebuked the Secretary for disregarding the "instructions," and
warned him to correct his ways. Wherefore he got some printing done,
forwarded the bill to Washington with full exhibits of the high prices of
things in the Territory, and called attention to a printed market report
wherein it would be observed that even hay was two hundred and fifty
dollars a ton. The United States responded by subtracting the printing-
bill from the Secretary's suffering salary--and moreover remarked with
dense gravity that he would find nothing in his "instructions" requiring
him to purchase hay!
Nothing in this world is palled in such impenetrable obscurity as a U.S.
Treasury Comptroller's understanding. The very fires of the hereafter
could get up nothing more than a fitful glimmer in it. In the days I
speak of he never could be made to comprehend why it was that twenty
thousand dollars would not go as far in Nevada, where all commodities
ranged at an enormous figure, as it would in the other Territories, where
exceeding cheapness was the rule. He was an officer who looked out for
the little expenses all the time. The Secretary of the Territory kept
his office in his bedroom, as I before remarked; and he charged the
United States no rent, although his "instructions" provided for that item
and he could have justly taken advantage of it (a thing which I would
have done with more than lightning promptness if I had been Secretary
myself). But the United States never applauded this devotion. Indeed, I
think my country was ashamed to have so improvident a person in its
employ.
Those "instructions" (we used to read a chapter from them every morning,
as intellectual gymnastics, and a couple of chapters in Sunday school
every Sabbath, for they treated of all subjects under the sun and had
much valuable religious matter in them along with the other statistics)
those "instructions" commanded that pen-knives, envelopes, pens and
writing-paper be furnished the members of the legislature. So the
Secretary made the purchase and the distribution. The knives cost three
dollars apiece. There was one too many, and the Secretary gave it to the
Clerk of the House of Representatives. The United States said the Clerk
of the House was not a "member" of the legislature, and took that three
dollars out of the Secretary's salary, as usual.
White men charged three or four dollars a "load" for sawing up stove-
wood. The Secretary was sagacious enough to know that the United States
would never pay any such price as that; so he got an Indian to saw up a
load of office wood at one dollar and a half. He made out the usual
voucher, but signed no name to it--simply appended a note explaining that
an Indian had done the work, and had done it in a very capable and
satisfactory way, but could not sign the voucher owing to lack of ability
in the necessary direction. The Secretary had to pay that dollar and a
half. He thought the United States would admire both his economy and his
honesty in getting the work done at half price and not putting a
pretended Indian's signature to the voucher, but the United States did
not see it in that light.
The United States was too much accustomed to employing dollar-and-a-half
thieves in all manner of official capacities to regard his explanation of
the voucher as having any foundation in fact.
But the next time the Indian sawed wood for us I taught him to make a
cross at the bottom of the voucher--it looked like a cross that had been
drunk a year--and then I "witnessed" it and it went through all right.
The United States never said a word. I was sorry I had not made the
voucher for a thousand loads of wood instead of one.
The government of my country snubs honest simplicity but fondles artistic
villainy, and I think I might have developed into a very capable
pickpocket if I had remained in the public service a year or two.
That was a fine collection of sovereigns, that first Nevada legislature.
They levied taxes to the amount of thirty or forty thousand dollars and
ordered expenditures to the extent of about a million. Yet they had
their little periodical explosions of economy like all other bodies of
the kind. A member proposed to save three dollars a day to the nation by
dispensing with the Chaplain. And yet that short-sighted man needed the
Chaplain more than any other member, perhaps, for he generally sat with
his feet on his desk, eating raw turnips, during the morning prayer.
The legislature sat sixty days, and passed private tollroad franchises
all the time. When they adjourned it was estimated that every citizen
owned about three franchises, and it was believed that unless Congress
gave the Territory another degree of longitude there would not be room
enough to accommodate the toll-roads. The ends of them were hanging over
the boundary line everywhere like a fringe.
The fact is, the freighting business had grown to such important
proportions that there was nearly as much excitement over suddenly
acquired toll-road fortunes as over the wonderful silver mines.
CHAPTER XXVI.
By and by I was smitten with the silver fever. "Prospecting parties"
were leaving for the mountains every day, and discovering and taking
possession of rich silver-bearing lodes and ledges of quartz. Plainly
this was the road to fortune. The great "Gould and Curry" mine was held
at three or four hundred dollars a foot when we arrived; but in two
months it had sprung up to eight hundred. The "Ophir" had been worth
only a mere trifle, a year gone by, and now it was selling at nearly four
thousand dollars a foot! Not a mine could be named that had not
experienced an astonishing advance in value within a short time.
Everybody was talking about these marvels. Go where you would, you heard
nothing else, from morning till far into the night. Tom So-and-So had
sold out of the 'Amanda Smith" for $40,000--hadn't a cent when he "took
up" the ledge six months ago. John Jones had sold half his interest in
the "Bald Eagle and Mary Ann" for $65,000, gold coin, and gone to the
States for his family. The widow Brewster had "struck it rich" in the
"Golden Fleece" and sold ten feet for $18,000--hadn't money enough to buy
a crape bonnet when Sing-Sing Tommy killed her husband at Baldy Johnson's
wake last spring. The "Last Chance" had found a "clay casing" and knew
they were "right on the ledge"--consequence, "feet" that went begging
yesterday were worth a brick house apiece to-day, and seedy owners who
could not get trusted for a drink at any bar in the country yesterday
were roaring drunk on champagne to-day and had hosts of warm personal
friends in a town where they had forgotten how to bow or shake hands from
long-continued want of practice. Johnny Morgan, a common loafer, had
gone to sleep in the gutter and waked up worth a hundred thousand
dollars, in consequence of the decision in the "Lady Franklin and Rough
and Ready" lawsuit. And so on--day in and day out the talk pelted our
ears and the excitement waxed hotter and hotter around us.
I would have been more or less than human if I had not gone mad like the
rest. Cart-loads of solid silver bricks, as large as pigs of lead, were
arriving from the mills every day, and such sights as that gave substance
to the wild talk about me. I succumbed and grew as frenzied as the
craziest.
Every few days news would come of the discovery of a bran-new mining
region; immediately the papers would teem with accounts of its richness,
and away the surplus population would scamper to take possession. By the
time I was fairly inoculated with the disease, "Esmeralda" had just had a
run and "Humboldt" was beginning to shriek for attention. "Humboldt!
Humboldt!" was the new cry, and straightway Humboldt, the newest of the
new, the richest of the rich, the most marvellous of the marvellous
discoveries in silver-land was occupying two columns of the public prints
to "Esmeralda's" one. I was just on the point of starting to Esmeralda,
but turned with the tide and got ready for Humboldt. That the reader may
see what moved me, and what would as surely have moved him had he been
there, I insert here one of the newspaper letters of the day. It and
several other letters from the same calm hand were the main means of
converting me. I shall not garble the extract, but put it in just as it
appeared in the Daily Territorial Enterprise:
But what about our mines? I shall be candid with you. I shall
express an honest opinion, based upon a thorough examination.
Humboldt county is the richest mineral region upon God's footstool.
Each mountain range is gorged with the precious ores. Humboldt is
the true Golconda.
The other day an assay of mere croppings yielded exceeding four
thousand dollars to the ton. A week or two ago an assay of just
such surface developments made returns of seven thousand dollars to
the ton. Our mountains are full of rambling prospectors. Each day
and almost every hour reveals new and more startling evidences of
the profuse and intensified wealth of our favored county. The metal
is not silver alone. There are distinct ledges of auriferous ore.
A late discovery plainly evinces cinnabar. The coarser metals are
in gross abundance. Lately evidences of bituminous coal have been
detected. My theory has ever been that coal is a ligneous
formation. I told Col. Whitman, in times past, that the
neighborhood of Dayton (Nevada) betrayed no present or previous
manifestations of a ligneous foundation, and that hence I had no
confidence in his lauded coal mines. I repeated the same doctrine
to the exultant coal discoverers of Humboldt. I talked with my
friend Captain Burch on the subject. My pyrhanism vanished upon his
statement that in the very region referred to he had seen petrified
trees of the length of two hundred feet. Then is the fact
established that huge forests once cast their grim shadows over this
remote section. I am firm in the coal faith.
Have no fears of the mineral resources of Humboldt county. They are
immense--incalculable.
Let me state one or two things which will help the reader to better
comprehend certain items in the above. At this time, our near neighbor,
Gold Hill, was the most successful silver mining locality in Nevada. It
was from there that more than half the daily shipments of silver bricks
came. "Very rich" (and scarce) Gold Hill ore yielded from $100 to $400
to the ton; but the usual yield was only $20 to $40 per ton--that is to
say, each hundred pounds of ore yielded from one dollar to two dollars.
But the reader will perceive by the above extract, that in Humboldt from
one fourth to nearly half the mass was silver! That is to say, every one
hundred pounds of the ore had from two hundred dollars up to about three
hundred and fifty in it. Some days later this same correspondent wrote:
I have spoken of the vast and almost fabulous wealth of this
region--it is incredible. The intestines of our mountains are
gorged with precious ore to plethora. I have said that nature
has so shaped our mountains as to furnish most excellent
facilities for the working of our mines. I have also told you
that the country about here is pregnant with the finest mill
sites in the world. But what is the mining history of Humboldt?
The Sheba mine is in the hands of energetic San Francisco
capitalists. It would seem that the ore is combined with metals
that render it difficult of reduction with our imperfect mountain
machinery. The proprietors have combined the capital and labor
hinted at in my exordium. They are toiling and probing. Their
tunnel has reached the length of one hundred feet. From primal
assays alone, coupled with the development of the mine and public
confidence in the continuance of effort, the stock had reared
itself to eight hundred dollars market value. I do not know that
one ton of the ore has been converted into current metal. I do
know that there are many lodes in this section that surpass the
Sheba in primal assay value. Listen a moment to the calculations
of the Sheba operators. They purpose transporting the ore
concentrated to Europe. The conveyance from Star City (its
locality) to Virginia City will cost seventy dollars per ton;
from Virginia to San Francisco, forty dollars per ton; from
thence to Liverpool, its destination, ten dollars per ton. Their
idea is that its conglomerate metals will reimburse them their
cost of original extraction, the price of transportation, and the
expense of reduction, and that then a ton of the raw ore will net
them twelve hundred dollars. The estimate may be extravagant.
Cut it in twain, and the product is enormous, far transcending
any previous developments of our racy Territory.
A very common calculation is that many of our mines will yield
five hundred dollars to the ton. Such fecundity throws the Gould
& Curry, the Ophir and the Mexican, of your neighborhood, in the
darkest shadow. I have given you the estimate of the value of a
single developed mine. Its richness is indexed by its market
valuation. The people of Humboldt county are feet crazy. As I
write, our towns are near deserted. They look as languid as a
consumptive girl. What has become of our sinewy and athletic
fellow-citizens? They are coursing through ravines and over
mountain tops. Their tracks are visible in every direction.
Occasionally a horseman will dash among us. His steed betrays
hard usage. He alights before his adobe dwelling, hastily
exchanges courtesies with his townsmen, hurries to an assay
office and from thence to the District Recorder's. In the
morning, having renewed his provisional supplies, he is off again
on his wild and unbeaten route. Why, the fellow numbers already
his feet by the thousands. He is the horse-leech. He has the
craving stomach of the shark or anaconda. He would conquer
metallic worlds.
This was enough. The instant we had finished reading the above article,
four of us decided to go to Humboldt. We commenced getting ready at
once. And we also commenced upbraiding ourselves for not deciding
sooner--for we were in terror lest all the rich mines would be found and
secured before we got there, and we might have to put up with ledges that
would not yield more than two or three hundred dollars a ton, maybe. An
hour before, I would have felt opulent if I had owned ten feet in a Gold
Hill mine whose ore produced twenty-five dollars to the ton; now I was
already annoyed at the prospect of having to put up with mines the
poorest of which would be a marvel in Gold Hill.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Hurry, was the word! We wasted no time. Our party consisted of four
persons--a blacksmith sixty years of age, two young lawyers, and myself.
We bought a wagon and two miserable old horses. We put eighteen hundred
pounds of provisions and mining tools in the wagon and drove out of
Carson on a chilly December afternoon. The horses were so weak and old
that we soon found that it would be better if one or two of us got out
and walked. It was an improvement. Next, we found that it would be
better if a third man got out. That was an improvement also. It was at
this time that I volunteered to drive, although I had never driven a
harnessed horse before and many a man in such a position would have felt
fairly excused from such a responsibility. But in a little while it was
found that it would be a fine thing if the drive got out and walked also.
It was at this time that I resigned the position of driver, and never
resumed it again. Within the hour, we found that it would not only be
better, but was absolutely necessary, that we four, taking turns, two at
a time, should put our hands against the end of the wagon and push it
through the sand, leaving the feeble horses little to do but keep out of
the way and hold up the tongue. Perhaps it is well for one to know his
fate at first, and get reconciled to it. We had learned ours in one
afternoon. It was plain that we had to walk through the sand and shove
that wagon and those horses two hundred miles. So we accepted the
situation, and from that time forth we never rode. More than that, we
stood regular and nearly constant watches pushing up behind.
We made seven miles, and camped in the desert. Young Clagett (now member
of Congress from Montana) unharnessed and fed and watered the horses;
Oliphant and I cut sagebrush, built the fire and brought water to cook
with; and old Mr. Ballou the blacksmith did the cooking. This division
of labor, and this appointment, was adhered to throughout the journey.
We had no tent, and so we slept under our blankets in the open plain. We
were so tired that we slept soundly.
We were fifteen days making the trip--two hundred miles; thirteen,
rather, for we lay by a couple of days, in one place, to let the horses
rest.
We could really have accomplished the journey in ten days if we had towed
the horses behind the wagon, but we did not think of that until it was
too late, and so went on shoving the horses and the wagon too when we
might have saved half the labor. Parties who met us, occasionally,
advised us to put the horses in the wagon, but Mr. Ballou, through whose
iron-clad earnestness no sarcasm could pierce, said that that would not
do, because the provisions were exposed and would suffer, the horses
being "bituminous from long deprivation." The reader will excuse me from
translating. What Mr. Ballou customarily meant, when he used a long
word, was a secret between himself and his Maker. He was one of the best
and kindest hearted men that ever graced a humble sphere of life. He was
gentleness and simplicity itself--and unselfishness, too. Although he
was more than twice as old as the eldest of us, he never gave himself any
airs, privileges, or exemptions on that account. He did a young man's
share of the work; and did his share of conversing and entertaining from
the general stand-point of any age--not from the arrogant, overawing
summit-height of sixty years. His one striking peculiarity was his
Partingtonian fashion of loving and using big words for their own sakes,
and independent of any bearing they might have upon the thought he was
purposing to convey. He always let his ponderous syllables fall with an
easy unconsciousness that left them wholly without offensiveness.
In truth his air was so natural and so simple that one was always
catching himself accepting his stately sentences as meaning something,
when they really meant nothing in the world. If a word was long and
grand and resonant, that was sufficient to win the old man's love, and he
would drop that word into the most out-of-the-way place in a sentence or
a subject, and be as pleased with it as if it were perfectly luminous
with meaning.
We four always spread our common stock of blankets together on the frozen
ground, and slept side by side; and finding that our foolish, long-legged
hound pup had a deal of animal heat in him, Oliphant got to admitting him
to the bed, between himself and Mr. Ballou, hugging the dog's warm back
to his breast and finding great comfort in it. But in the night the pup
would get stretchy and brace his feet against the old man's back and
shove, grunting complacently the while; and now and then, being warm and
snug, grateful and happy, he would paw the old man's back simply in
excess of comfort; and at yet other times he would dream of the chase and
in his sleep tug at the old man's back hair and bark in his ear. The old
gentleman complained mildly about these familiarities, at last, and when
he got through with his statement he said that such a dog as that was not
a proper animal to admit to bed with tired men, because he was "so
meretricious in his movements and so organic in his emotions." We turned
the dog out.
It was a hard, wearing, toilsome journey, but it had its bright side; for
after each day was done and our wolfish hunger appeased with a hot supper
of fried bacon, bread, molasses and black coffee, the pipe-smoking, song-
singing and yarn-spinning around the evening camp-fire in the still
solitudes of the desert was a happy, care-free sort of recreation that
seemed the very summit and culmination of earthly luxury.
It is a kind of life that has a potent charm for all men, whether city or
country-bred. We are descended from desert-lounging Arabs, and countless
ages of growth toward perfect civilization have failed to root out of us
the nomadic instinct. We all confess to a gratified thrill at the
thought of "camping out."
Once we made twenty-five miles in a day, and once we made forty miles
(through the Great American Desert), and ten miles beyond--fifty in all--
in twenty-three hours, without halting to eat, drink or rest. To stretch
out and go to sleep, even on stony and frozen ground, after pushing a
wagon and two horses fifty miles, is a delight so supreme that for the
moment it almost seems cheap at the price.
We camped two days in the neighborhood of the "Sink of the Humboldt."
We tried to use the strong alkaline water of the Sink, but it would not
answer. It was like drinking lye, and not weak lye, either. It left a
taste in the mouth, bitter and every way execrable, and a burning in the
stomach that was very uncomfortable. We put molasses in it, but that
helped it very little; we added a pickle, yet the alkali was the
prominent taste and so it was unfit for drinking.
The coffee we made of this water was the meanest compound man has yet
invented. It was really viler to the taste than the unameliorated water
itself. Mr. Ballou, being the architect and builder of the beverage felt
constrained to endorse and uphold it, and so drank half a cup, by little
sips, making shift to praise it faintly the while, but finally threw out
the remainder, and said frankly it was "too technical for him."
But presently we found a spring of fresh water, convenient, and then,
with nothing to mar our enjoyment, and no stragglers to interrupt it, we
entered into our rest.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
After leaving the Sink, we traveled along the Humboldt river a little
way. People accustomed to the monster mile-wide Mississippi, grow
accustomed to associating the term "river" with a high degree of watery
grandeur. Consequently, such people feel rather disappointed when they
stand on the shores of the Humboldt or the Carson and find that a "river"
in Nevada is a sickly rivulet which is just the counterpart of the Erie
canal in all respects save that the canal is twice as long and four times
as deep. One of the pleasantest and most invigorating exercises one can
contrive is to run and jump across the Humboldt river till he is
overheated, and then drink it dry.
On the fifteenth day we completed our march of two hundred miles and
entered Unionville, Humboldt county, in the midst of a driving snow-
storm. Unionville consisted of eleven cabins and a liberty-pole. Six of
the cabins were strung along one side of a deep canyon, and the other
five faced them. The rest of the landscape was made up of bleak mountain
walls that rose so high into the sky from both sides of the canyon that
the village was left, as it were, far down in the bottom of a crevice.
It was always daylight on the mountain tops a long time before the
darkness lifted and revealed Unionville.
We built a small, rude cabin in the side of the crevice and roofed it
with canvas, leaving a corner open to serve as a chimney, through which
the cattle used to tumble occasionally, at night, and mash our furniture
and interrupt our sleep. It was very cold weather and fuel was scarce.
Indians brought brush and bushes several miles on their backs; and when
we could catch a laden Indian it was well--and when we could not (which
was the rule, not the exception), we shivered and bore it.
I confess, without shame, that I expected to find masses of silver lying
all about the ground. I expected to see it glittering in the sun on the
mountain summits. I said nothing about this, for some instinct told me
that I might possibly have an exaggerated idea about it, and so if I
betrayed my thought I might bring derision upon myself. Yet I was as
perfectly satisfied in my own mind as I could be of anything, that I was
going to gather up, in a day or two, or at furthest a week or two, silver
enough to make me satisfactorily wealthy--and so my fancy was already
busy with plans for spending this money. The first opportunity that
offered, I sauntered carelessly away from the cabin, keeping an eye on
the other boys, and stopping and contemplating the sky when they seemed
to be observing me; but as soon as the coast was manifestly clear, I fled
away as guiltily as a thief might have done and never halted till I was
far beyond sight and call. Then I began my search with a feverish
excitement that was brimful of expectation--almost of certainty.
I crawled about the ground, seizing and examining bits of stone, blowing
the dust from them or rubbing them on my clothes, and then peering at
them with anxious hope. Presently I found a bright fragment and my heart
bounded! I hid behind a boulder and polished it and scrutinized it with
a nervous eagerness and a delight that was more pronounced than absolute
certainty itself could have afforded. The more I examined the fragment
the more I was convinced that I had found the door to fortune. I marked
the spot and carried away my specimen. Up and down the rugged mountain
side I searched, with always increasing interest and always augmenting
gratitude that I had come to Humboldt and come in time. Of all the
experiences of my life, this secret search among the hidden treasures of
silver-land was the nearest to unmarred ecstasy. It was a delirious
revel.
By and by, in the bed of a shallow rivulet, I found a deposit of shining
yellow scales, and my breath almost forsook me! A gold mine, and in my
simplicity I had been content with vulgar silver! I was so excited that
I half believed my overwrought imagination was deceiving me. Then a fear
came upon me that people might be observing me and would guess my secret.
Moved by this thought, I made a circuit of the place, and ascended a
knoll to reconnoiter. Solitude. No creature was near. Then I returned
to my mine, fortifying myself against possible disappointment, but my
fears were groundless--the shining scales were still there. I set about
scooping them out, and for an hour I toiled down the windings of the
stream and robbed its bed. But at last the descending sun warned me to
give up the quest, and I turned homeward laden with wealth. As I walked
along I could not help smiling at the thought of my being so excited over
my fragment of silver when a nobler metal was almost under my nose. In
this little time the former had so fallen in my estimation that once or
twice I was on the point of throwing it away.
The boys were as hungry as usual, but I could eat nothing. Neither could
I talk. I was full of dreams and far away. Their conversation
interrupted the flow of my fancy somewhat, and annoyed me a little, too.
I despised the sordid and commonplace things they talked about. But as
they proceeded, it began to amuse me. It grew to be rare fun to hear
them planning their poor little economies and sighing over possible
privations and distresses when a gold mine, all our own, lay within sight
of the cabin and I could point it out at any moment. Smothered hilarity
began to oppress me, presently. It was hard to resist the impulse to
burst out with exultation and reveal everything; but I did resist. I
said within myself that I would filter the great news through my lips
calmly and be serene as a summer morning while I watched its effect in
their faces. I said:
"Where have you all been?"
"Prospecting."
"What did you find?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? What do you think of the country?"
"Can't tell, yet," said Mr. Ballou, who was an old gold miner, and had
likewise had considerable experience among the silver mines.
"Well, haven't you formed any sort of opinion?"
"Yes, a sort of a one. It's fair enough here, may be, but overrated.
Seven thousand dollar ledges are scarce, though.
That Sheba may be rich enough, but we don't own it; and besides, the rock
is so full of base metals that all the science in the world can't work
it. We'll not starve, here, but we'll not get rich, I'm afraid."
"So you think the prospect is pretty poor?"
"No name for it!"
"Well, we'd better go back, hadn't we?"
"Oh, not yet--of course not. We'll try it a riffle, first."
"Suppose, now--this is merely a supposition, you know--suppose you could
find a ledge that would yield, say, a hundred and fifty dollars a ton--
would that satisfy you?"
"Try us once!" from the whole party.
"Or suppose--merely a supposition, of course--suppose you were to find a
ledge that would yield two thousand dollars a ton--would that satisfy
you?"
"Here--what do you mean? What are you coming at? Is there some mystery
behind all this?"
"Never mind. I am not saying anything. You know perfectly well there
are no rich mines here--of course you do. Because you have been around
and examined for yourselves. Anybody would know that, that had been
around. But just for the sake of argument, suppose--in a kind of general
way--suppose some person were to tell you that two-thousand-dollar ledges
were simply contemptible--contemptible, understand--and that right yonder
in sight of this very cabin there were piles of pure gold and pure
silver--oceans of it--enough to make you all rich in twenty-four hours!
Come!"
"I should say he was as crazy as a loon!" said old Ballou, but wild with
excitement, nevertheless.
"Gentlemen," said I, "I don't say anything--I haven't been around, you
know, and of course don't know anything--but all I ask of you is to cast
your eye on that, for instance, and tell me what you think of it!" and I
tossed my treasure before them.
There was an eager scramble for it, and a closing of heads together over
it under the candle-light. Then old Ballou said:
"Think of it? I think it is nothing but a lot of granite rubbish and
nasty glittering mica that isn't worth ten cents an acre!"
So vanished my dream. So melted my wealth away. So toppled my airy
castle to the earth and left me stricken and forlorn.
Moralizing, I observed, then, that "all that glitters is not gold."
Mr. Ballou said I could go further than that, and lay it up among my
treasures of knowledge, that nothing that glitters is gold. So I learned
then, once for all, that gold in its native state is but dull,
unornamental stuff, and that only low-born metals excite the admiration
of the ignorant with an ostentatious glitter. However, like the rest of
the world, I still go on underrating men of gold and glorifying men of
mica. Commonplace human nature cannot rise above that.
CHAPTER XXIX.
True knowledge of the nature of silver mining came fast enough. We went
out "prospecting" with Mr. Ballou. We climbed the mountain sides, and
clambered among sage-brush, rocks and snow till we were ready to drop
with exhaustion, but found no silver--nor yet any gold. Day after day we
did this. Now and then we came upon holes burrowed a few feet into the
declivities and apparently abandoned; and now and then we found one or
two listless men still burrowing. But there was no appearance of silver.
These holes were the beginnings of tunnels, and the purpose was to drive
them hundreds of feet into the mountain, and some day tap the hidden
ledge where the silver was. Some day! It seemed far enough away, and
very hopeless and dreary. Day after day we toiled, and climbed and
searched, and we younger partners grew sicker and still sicker of the
promiseless toil. At last we halted under a beetling rampart of rock
which projected from the earth high upon the mountain. Mr. Ballou broke
off some fragments with a hammer, and examined them long and attentively
with a small eye-glass; threw them away and broke off more; said this
rock was quartz, and quartz was the sort of rock that contained silver.
Contained it! I had thought that at least it would be caked on the
outside of it like a kind of veneering. He still broke off pieces and
critically examined them, now and then wetting the piece with his tongue
and applying the glass. At last he exclaimed:
"We've got it!"
We were full of anxiety in a moment. The rock was clean and white, where
it was broken, and across it ran a ragged thread of blue. He said that
that little thread had silver in it, mixed with base metal, such as lead
and antimony, and other rubbish, and that there was a speck or two of
gold visible. After a great deal of effort we managed to discern some
little fine yellow specks, and judged that a couple of tons of them
massed together might make a gold dollar, possibly. We were not
jubilant, but Mr. Ballou said there were worse ledges in the world than
that. He saved what he called the "richest" piece of the rock, in order
to determine its value by the process called the "fire-assay." Then we
named the mine "Monarch of the Mountains" (modesty of nomenclature is not
a prominent feature in the mines), and Mr. Ballou wrote out and stuck up
the following "notice," preserving a copy to be entered upon the books in
the mining recorder's office in the town.
"NOTICE."
"We the undersigned claim three claims, of three hundred feet each
(and one for discovery), on this silver-bearing quartz lead or lode,
extending north and south from this notice, with all its dips,
spurs, and angles, variations and sinuosities, together with fifty
feet of ground on either side for working the same."
We put our names to it and tried to feel that our fortunes were made.
But when we talked the matter all over with Mr. Ballou, we felt depressed
and dubious. He said that this surface quartz was not all there was of
our mine; but that the wall or ledge of rock called the "Monarch of the
Mountains," extended down hundreds and hundreds of feet into the earth--
he illustrated by saying it was like a curb-stone, and maintained a
nearly uniform thickness-say twenty feet--away down into the bowels of
the earth, and was perfectly distinct from the casing rock on each side
of it; and that it kept to itself, and maintained its distinctive
character always, no matter how deep it extended into the earth or how
far it stretched itself through and across the hills and valleys. He
said it might be a mile deep and ten miles long, for all we knew; and
that wherever we bored into it above ground or below, we would find gold
and silver in it, but no gold or silver in the meaner rock it was cased
between. And he said that down in the great depths of the ledge was its
richness, and the deeper it went the richer it grew. Therefore, instead
of working here on the surface, we must either bore down into the rock
with a shaft till we came to where it was rich--say a hundred feet or so
--or else we must go down into the valley and bore a long tunnel into the
mountain side and tap the ledge far under the earth. To do either was
plainly the labor of months; for we could blast and bore only a few feet
a day--some five or six. But this was not all. He said that after we
got the ore out it must be hauled in wagons to a distant silver-mill,
ground up, and the silver extracted by a tedious and costly process. Our
fortune seemed a century away!
But we went to work. We decided to sink a shaft. So, for a week we
climbed the mountain, laden with picks, drills, gads, crowbars, shovels,
cans of blasting powder and coils of fuse and strove with might and main.
At first the rock was broken and loose and we dug it up with picks and
threw it out with shovels, and the hole progressed very well. But the
rock became more compact, presently, and gads and crowbars came into
play. But shortly nothing could make an impression but blasting powder.
That was the weariest work! One of us held the iron drill in its place
and another would strike with an eight-pound sledge--it was like driving
nails on a large scale. In the course of an hour or two the drill would
reach a depth of two or three feet, making a hole a couple of inches in
diameter. We would put in a charge of powder, insert half a yard of
fuse, pour in sand and gravel and ram it down, then light the fuse and
run. When the explosion came and the rocks and smoke shot into the air,
we would go back and find about a bushel of that hard, rebellious quartz
jolted out. Nothing more. One week of this satisfied me. I resigned.
Clagget and Oliphant followed. Our shaft was only twelve feet deep. We
decided that a tunnel was the thing we wanted.
So we went down the mountain side and worked a week; at the end of which
time we had blasted a tunnel about deep enough to hide a hogshead in, and
judged that about nine hundred feet more of it would reach the ledge.
I resigned again, and the other boys only held out one day longer.
We decided that a tunnel was not what we wanted. We wanted a ledge that
was already "developed." There were none in the camp.
We dropped the "Monarch" for the time being.
Meantime the camp was filling up with people, and there was a constantly
growing excitement about our Humboldt mines. We fell victims to the
epidemic and strained every nerve to acquire more "feet." We prospected
and took up new claims, put "notices" on them and gave them grandiloquent
names. We traded some of our "feet" for "feet" in other people's claims.
In a little while we owned largely in the "Gray Eagle," the "Columbiana,"
the "Branch Mint," the "Maria Jane," the "Universe," the "Root-Hog-or-
Die," the "Samson and Delilah," the "Treasure Trove," the "Golconda," the
"Sultana," the "Boomerang," the "Great Republic," the "Grand Mogul," and
fifty other "mines" that had never been molested by a shovel or scratched
with a pick. We had not less than thirty thousand "feet" apiece in the
"richest mines on earth" as the frenzied cant phrased it--and were in
debt to the butcher. We were stark mad with excitement--drunk with
happiness--smothered under mountains of prospective wealth--arrogantly
compassionate toward the plodding millions who knew not our marvellous
canyon--but our credit was not good at the grocer's.
It was the strangest phase of life one can imagine. It was a beggars'
revel. There was nothing doing in the district--no mining--no milling--
no productive effort--no income--and not enough money in the entire camp
to buy a corner lot in an eastern village, hardly; and yet a stranger
would have supposed he was walking among bloated millionaires.
Prospecting parties swarmed out of town with the first flush of dawn, and
swarmed in again at nightfall laden with spoil--rocks. Nothing but
rocks. Every man's pockets were full of them; the floor of his cabin was
littered with them; they were disposed in labeled rows on his shelves.
CHAPTER XXX.
I met men at every turn who owned from one thousand to thirty thousand
"feet" in undeveloped silver mines, every single foot of which they
believed would shortly be worth from fifty to a thousand dollars--and as
often as any other way they were men who had not twenty-five dollars in
the world. Every man you met had his new mine to boast of, and his
"specimens" ready; and if the opportunity offered, he would infallibly
back you into a corner and offer as a favor to you, not to him, to part
with just a few feet in the "Golden Age," or the "Sarah Jane," or some
other unknown stack of croppings, for money enough to get a "square meal"
with, as the phrase went. And you were never to reveal that he had made
you the offer at such a ruinous price, for it was only out of friendship
for you that he was willing to make the sacrifice. Then he would fish a
piece of rock out of his pocket, and after looking mysteriously around as
if he feared he might be waylaid and robbed if caught with such wealth in
his possession, he would dab the rock against his tongue, clap an
eyeglass to it, and exclaim:
"Look at that! Right there in that red dirt! See it? See the specks of
gold? And the streak of silver? That's from the Uncle Abe. There's a
hundred thousand tons like that in sight! Right in sight, mind you!
And when we get down on it and the ledge comes in solid, it will be the
richest thing in the world! Look at the assay! I don't want you to
believe me--look at the assay!"
Then he would get out a greasy sheet of paper which showed that the
portion of rock assayed had given evidence of containing silver and gold
in the proportion of so many hundreds or thousands of dollars to the ton.
I little knew, then, that the custom was to hunt out the richest piece of
rock and get it assayed! Very often, that piece, the size of a filbert,
was the only fragment in a ton that had a particle of metal in it--and
yet the assay made it pretend to represent the average value of the ton
of rubbish it came from!
On such a system of assaying as that, the Humboldt world had gone crazy.
On the authority of such assays its newspaper correspondents were
frothing about rock worth four and seven thousand dollars a ton!
And does the reader remember, a few pages back, the calculations, of a
quoted correspondent, whereby the ore is to be mined and shipped all the
way to England, the metals extracted, and the gold and silver contents
received back by the miners as clear profit, the copper, antimony and
other things in the ore being sufficient to pay all the expenses
incurred? Everybody's head was full of such "calculations" as those--
such raving insanity, rather. Few people took work into their
calculations--or outlay of money either; except the work and expenditures
of other people.
We never touched our tunnel or our shaft again. Why? Because we judged
that we had learned the real secret of success in silver mining--which
was, not to mine the silver ourselves by the sweat of our brows and the
labor of our hands, but to sell the ledges to the dull slaves of toil and
let them do the mining!
Before leaving Carson, the Secretary and I had purchased "feet" from
various Esmeralda stragglers. We had expected immediate returns of
bullion, but were only afflicted with regular and constant "assessments"
instead--demands for money wherewith to develop the said mines. These
assessments had grown so oppressive that it seemed necessary to look into
the matter personally. Therefore I projected a pilgrimage to Carson and
thence to Esmeralda. I bought a horse and started, in company with
Mr. Ballou and a gentleman named Ollendorff, a Prussian--not the party
who has inflicted so much suffering on the world with his wretched
foreign grammars, with their interminable repetitions of questions which
never have occurred and are never likely to occur in any conversation
among human beings. We rode through a snow-storm for two or three days,
and arrived at "Honey Lake Smith's," a sort of isolated inn on the Carson
river. It was a two-story log house situated on a small knoll in the
midst of the vast basin or desert through which the sickly Carson winds
its melancholy way. Close to the house were the Overland stage stables,
built of sun-dried bricks. There was not another building within several
leagues of the place. Towards sunset about twenty hay-wagons arrived and
camped around the house and all the teamsters came in to supper--a very,
very rough set. There were one or two Overland stage drivers there,
also, and half a dozen vagabonds and stragglers; consequently the house
was well crowded.
We walked out, after supper, and visited a small Indian camp in the
vicinity. The Indians were in a great hurry about something, and were
packing up and getting away as fast as they could. In their broken
English they said, "By'm-by, heap water!" and by the help of signs made
us understand that in their opinion a flood was coming. The weather was
perfectly clear, and this was not the rainy season. There was about a
foot of water in the insignificant river--or maybe two feet; the stream
was not wider than a back alley in a village, and its banks were scarcely
higher than a man's head.
So, where was the flood to come from? We canvassed the subject awhile
and then concluded it was a ruse, and that the Indians had some better
reason for leaving in a hurry than fears of a flood in such an
exceedingly dry time.
At seven in the evening we went to bed in the second story--with our
clothes on, as usual, and all three in the same bed, for every available
space on the floors, chairs, etc., was in request, and even then there
was barely room for the housing of the inn's guests. An hour later we
were awakened by a great turmoil, and springing out of bed we picked our
way nimbly among the ranks of snoring teamsters on the floor and got to
the front windows of the long room. A glance revealed a strange
spectacle, under the moonlight. The crooked Carson was full to the brim,
and its waters were raging and foaming in the wildest way--sweeping
around the sharp bends at a furious speed, and bearing on their surface a
chaos of logs, brush and all sorts of rubbish. A depression, where its
bed had once been, in other times, was already filling, and in one or two
places the water was beginning to wash over the main bank. Men were
flying hither and thither, bringing cattle and wagons close up to the
house, for the spot of high ground on which it stood extended only some
thirty feet in front and about a hundred in the rear. Close to the old
river bed just spoken of, stood a little log stable, and in this our
horses were lodged.
While we looked, the waters increased so fast in this place that in a few
minutes a torrent was roaring by the little stable and its margin
encroaching steadily on the logs. We suddenly realized that this flood
was not a mere holiday spectacle, but meant damage--and not only to the
small log stable but to the Overland buildings close to the main river,
for the waves had now come ashore and were creeping about the foundations
and invading the great hay-corral adjoining. We ran down and joined the
crowd of excited men and frightened animals. We waded knee-deep into the
log stable, unfastened the horses and waded out almost waist-deep, so
fast the waters increased. Then the crowd rushed in a body to the hay-
corral and began to tumble down the huge stacks of baled hay and roll the
bales up on the high ground by the house. Meantime it was discovered
that Owens, an overland driver, was missing, and a man ran to the large
stable, and wading in, boot-top deep, discovered him asleep in his bed,
awoke him, and waded out again. But Owens was drowsy and resumed his
nap; but only for a minute or two, for presently he turned in his bed,
his hand dropped over the side and came in contact with the cold water!
It was up level with the mattress! He waded out, breast-deep, almost,
and the next moment the sun-burned bricks melted down like sugar and the
big building crumbled to a ruin and was washed away in a twinkling.
At eleven o'clock only the roof of the little log stable was out of
water, and our inn was on an island in mid-ocean. As far as the eye
could reach, in the moonlight, there was no desert visible, but only a
level waste of shining water. The Indians were true prophets, but how
did they get their information? I am not able to answer the question.
We remained cooped up eight days and nights with that curious crew.
Swearing, drinking and card playing were the order of the day, and
occasionally a fight was thrown in for variety. Dirt and vermin--but let
us forget those features; their profusion is simply inconceivable--it is
better that they remain so.
There were two men----however, this chapter is long enough.
CHAPTER XXXI.
There were two men in the company who caused me particular discomfort.
One was a little Swede, about twenty-five years old, who knew only one
song, and he was forever singing it. By day we were all crowded into one
small, stifling bar-room, and so there was no escaping this person's
music. Through all the profanity, whisky-guzzling, "old sledge" and
quarreling, his monotonous song meandered with never a variation in its
tiresome sameness, and it seemed to me, at last, that I would be content
to die, in order to be rid of the torture. The other man was a stalwart
ruffian called "Arkansas," who carried two revolvers in his belt and a
bowie knife projecting from his boot, and who was always drunk and always
suffering for a fight. But he was so feared, that nobody would
accommodate him. He would try all manner of little wary ruses to entrap
somebody into an offensive remark, and his face would light up now and
then when he fancied he was fairly on the scent of a fight, but
invariably his victim would elude his toils and then he would show a
disappointment that was almost pathetic. The landlord, Johnson, was a
meek, well-meaning fellow, and Arkansas fastened on him early, as a
promising subject, and gave him no rest day or night, for awhile. On the
fourth morning, Arkansas got drunk and sat himself down to wait for an
opportunity. Presently Johnson came in, just comfortably sociable with
whisky, and said:
"I reckon the Pennsylvania 'lection--"
Arkansas raised his finger impressively and Johnson stopped. Arkansas
rose unsteadily and confronted him. Said he:
"Wha-what do you know a--about Pennsylvania? Answer me that. Wha--what
do you know 'bout Pennsylvania?"
"I was only goin' to say--"
"You was only goin' to say. You was! You was only goin' to say--what
was you goin' to say? That's it! That's what I want to know. I want to
know wha--what you ('ic) what you know about Pennsylvania, since you're
makin' yourself so d---d free. Answer me that!"
"Mr. Arkansas, if you'd only let me--"
"Who's a henderin' you? Don't you insinuate nothing agin me!--don't you
do it. Don't you come in here bullyin' around, and cussin' and goin' on
like a lunatic--don't you do it. 'Coz I won't stand it. If fight's what
you want, out with it! I'm your man! Out with it!"
Said Johnson, backing into a corner, Arkansas following, menacingly:
"Why, I never said nothing, Mr. Arkansas. You don't give a man no
chance. I was only goin' to say that Pennsylvania was goin' to have an
election next week--that was all--that was everything I was goin' to say
--I wish I may never stir if it wasn't."
"Well then why d'n't you say it? What did you come swellin' around that
way for, and tryin' to raise trouble?"
"Why I didn't come swellin' around, Mr. Arkansas--I just--"
"I'm a liar am I! Ger-reat Caesar's ghost--"
"Oh, please, Mr. Arkansas, I never meant such a thing as that, I wish I
may die if I did. All the boys will tell you that I've always spoke well
of you, and respected you more'n any man in the house. Ask Smith. Ain't
it so, Smith? Didn't I say, no longer ago than last night, that for a
man that was a gentleman all the time and every way you took him, give me
Arkansas? I'll leave it to any gentleman here if them warn't the very
words I used. Come, now, Mr. Arkansas, le's take a drink--le's shake
hands and take a drink. Come up--everybody! It's my treat. Come up,
Bill, Tom, Bob, Scotty--come up. I want you all to take a drink with me
and Arkansas--old Arkansas, I call him--bully old Arkansas. Gimme your
hand agin. Look at him, boys--just take a look at him. Thar stands the
whitest man in America!--and the man that denies it has got to fight me,
that's all. Gimme that old flipper agin!"
They embraced, with drunken affection on the landlord's part and
unresponsive toleration on the part of Arkansas, who, bribed by a drink,
was disappointed of his prey once more. But the foolish landlord was so
happy to have escaped butchery, that he went on talking when he ought to
have marched himself out of danger. The consequence was that Arkansas
shortly began to glower upon him dangerously, and presently said:
"Lan'lord, will you p-please make that remark over agin if you please?"
"I was a-sayin' to Scotty that my father was up'ards of eighty year old
when he died."
"Was that all that you said?"
"Yes, that was all."
"Didn't say nothing but that?"
"No--nothing."
Then an uncomfortable silence.
Arkansas played with his glass a moment, lolling on his elbows on the
counter. Then he meditatively scratched his left shin with his right
boot, while the awkward silence continued. But presently he loafed away
toward the stove, looking dissatisfied; roughly shouldered two or three
men out of a comfortable position; occupied it himself, gave a sleeping
dog a kick that sent him howling under a bench, then spread his long legs
and his blanket-coat tails apart and proceeded to warm his back. In a
little while he fell to grumbling to himself, and soon he slouched back
to the bar and said:
"Lan'lord, what's your idea for rakin' up old personalities and blowin'
about your father? Ain't this company agreeable to you? Ain't it? If
this company ain't agreeable to you, p'r'aps we'd better leave. Is that
your idea? Is that what you're coming at?"
"Why bless your soul, Arkansas, I warn't thinking of such a thing. My
father and my mother--"
"Lan'lord, don't crowd a man! Don't do it. If nothing'll do you but a
disturbance, out with it like a man ('ic)--but don't rake up old bygones
and fling'em in the teeth of a passel of people that wants to be
peaceable if they could git a chance. What's the matter with you this
mornin', anyway? I never see a man carry on so."
"Arkansas, I reely didn't mean no harm, and I won't go on with it if it's
onpleasant to you. I reckon my licker's got into my head, and what with
the flood, and havin' so many to feed and look out for--"
"So that's what's a-ranklin' in your heart, is it? You want us to leave
do you? There's too many on us. You want us to pack up and swim. Is
that it? Come!"
"Please be reasonable, Arkansas. Now you know that I ain't the man to--"
"Are you a threatenin' me? Are you? By George, the man don't live that
can skeer me! Don't you try to come that game, my chicken--'cuz I can
stand a good deal, but I won't stand that. Come out from behind that bar
till I clean you! You want to drive us out, do you, you sneakin'
underhanded hound! Come out from behind that bar! I'll learn you to
bully and badger and browbeat a gentleman that's forever trying to
befriend you and keep you out of trouble!"
"Please, Arkansas, please don't shoot! If there's got to be bloodshed--"
"Do you hear that, gentlemen? Do you hear him talk about bloodshed? So
it's blood you want, is it, you ravin' desperado! You'd made up your
mind to murder somebody this mornin'--I knowed it perfectly well. I'm
the man, am I? It's me you're goin' to murder, is it? But you can't do
it 'thout I get one chance first, you thievin' black-hearted, white-
livered son of a nigger! Draw your weepon!"
With that, Arkansas began to shoot, and the landlord to clamber over
benches, men and every sort of obstacle in a frantic desire to escape.
In the midst of the wild hubbub the landlord crashed through a glass
door, and as Arkansas charged after him the landlord's wife suddenly
appeared in the doorway and confronted the desperado with a pair of
scissors! Her fury was magnificent. With head erect and flashing eye
she stood a moment and then advanced, with her weapon raised. The
astonished ruffian hesitated, and then fell back a step. She followed.
She backed him step by step into the middle of the bar-room, and then,
while the wondering crowd closed up and gazed, she gave him such another
tongue-lashing as never a cowed and shamefaced braggart got before,
perhaps! As she finished and retired victorious, a roar of applause
shook the house, and every man ordered "drinks for the crowd" in one and
the same breath.
The lesson was entirely sufficient. The reign of terror was over, and
the Arkansas domination broken for good. During the rest of the season
of island captivity, there was one man who sat apart in a state of
permanent humiliation, never mixing in any quarrel or uttering a boast,
and never resenting the insults the once cringing crew now constantly
leveled at him, and that man was "Arkansas."
By the fifth or sixth morning the waters had subsided from the land, but
the stream in the old river bed was still high and swift and there was no
possibility of crossing it. On the eighth it was still too high for an
entirely safe passage, but life in the inn had become next to
insupportable by reason of the dirt, drunkenness, fighting, etc., and so
we made an effort to get away. In the midst of a heavy snow-storm we
embarked in a canoe, taking our saddles aboard and towing our horses
after us by their halters. The Prussian, Ollendorff, was in the bow,
with a paddle, Ballou paddled in the middle, and I sat in the stern
holding the halters. When the horses lost their footing and began to
swim, Ollendorff got frightened, for there was great danger that the
horses would make our aim uncertain, and it was plain that if we failed
to land at a certain spot the current would throw us off and almost
surely cast us into the main Carson, which was a boiling torrent, now.
Such a catastrophe would be death, in all probability, for we would be
swept to sea in the "Sink" or overturned and drowned. We warned
Ollendorff to keep his wits about him and handle himself carefully, but
it was useless; the moment the bow touched the bank, he made a spring and
the canoe whirled upside down in ten-foot water.
Ollendorff seized some brush and dragged himself ashore, but Ballou and I
had to swim for it, encumbered with our overcoats. But we held on to the
canoe, and although we were washed down nearly to the Carson, we managed
to push the boat ashore and make a safe landing. We were cold and water-
soaked, but safe. The horses made a landing, too, but our saddles were
gone, of course. We tied the animals in the sage-brush and there they
had to stay for twenty-four hours. We baled out the canoe and ferried
over some food and blankets for them, but we slept one more night in the
inn before making another venture on our journey.
The next morning it was still snowing furiously when we got away with our
new stock of saddles and accoutrements. We mounted and started. The
snow lay so deep on the ground that there was no sign of a road
perceptible, and the snow-fall was so thick that we could not see more
than a hundred yards ahead, else we could have guided our course by the
mountain ranges. The case looked dubious, but Ollendorff said his
instinct was as sensitive as any compass, and that he could "strike a
bee-line" for Carson city and never diverge from it. He said that if he
were to straggle a single point out of the true line his instinct would
assail him like an outraged conscience. Consequently we dropped into his
wake happy and content. For half an hour we poked along warily enough,
but at the end of that time we came upon a fresh trail, and Ollendorff
shouted proudly:
"I knew I was as dead certain as a compass, boys! Here we are, right in
somebody's tracks that will hunt the way for us without any trouble.
Let's hurry up and join company with the party."
So we put the horses into as much of a trot as the deep snow would allow,
and before long it was evident that we were gaining on our predecessors,
for the tracks grew more distinct. We hurried along, and at the end of
an hour the tracks looked still newer and fresher--but what surprised us
was, that the number of travelers in advance of us seemed to steadily
increase. We wondered how so large a party came to be traveling at such
a time and in such a solitude. Somebody suggested that it must be a
company of soldiers from the fort, and so we accepted that solution and
jogged along a little faster still, for they could not be far off now.
But the tracks still multiplied, and we began to think the platoon of
soldiers was miraculously expanding into a regiment--Ballou said they had
already increased to five hundred! Presently he stopped his horse and
said:
"Boys, these are our own tracks, and we've actually been circussing round
and round in a circle for more than two hours, out here in this blind
desert! By George this is perfectly hydraulic!"
Then the old man waxed wroth and abusive. He called Ollendorff all
manner of hard names--said he never saw such a lurid fool as he was, and
ended with the peculiarly venomous opinion that he "did not know as much
as a logarythm!"
We certainly had been following our own tracks. Ollendorff and his
"mental compass" were in disgrace from that moment.
After all our hard travel, here we were on the bank of the stream again,
with the inn beyond dimly outlined through the driving snow-fall. While
we were considering what to do, the young Swede landed from the canoe and
took his pedestrian way Carson-wards, singing his same tiresome song
about his "sister and his brother" and "the child in the grave with its
mother," and in a short minute faded and disappeared in the white
oblivion. He was never heard of again. He no doubt got bewildered and
lost, and Fatigue delivered him over to Sleep and Sleep betrayed him to
Death. Possibly he followed our treacherous tracks till he became
exhausted and dropped.
Presently the Overland stage forded the now fast receding stream and
started toward Carson on its first trip since the flood came. We
hesitated no longer, now, but took up our march in its wake, and trotted
merrily along, for we had good confidence in the driver's bump of
locality. But our horses were no match for the fresh stage team. We
were soon left out of sight; but it was no matter, for we had the deep
ruts the wheels made for a guide. By this time it was three in the
afternoon, and consequently it was not very long before night came--and
not with a lingering twilight, but with a sudden shutting down like a
cellar door, as is its habit in that country. The snowfall was still as
thick as ever, and of course we could not see fifteen steps before us;
but all about us the white glare of the snow-bed enabled us to discern
the smooth sugar-loaf mounds made by the covered sage-bushes, and just in
front of us the two faint grooves which we knew were the steadily filling
and slowly disappearing wheel-tracks.
Now those sage-bushes were all about the same height--three or four feet;
they stood just about seven feet apart, all over the vast desert; each of
them was a mere snow-mound, now; in any direction that you proceeded (the
same as in a well laid out orchard) you would find yourself moving down a
distinctly defined avenue, with a row of these snow-mounds an either side
of it--an avenue the customary width of a road, nice and level in its
breadth, and rising at the sides in the most natural way, by reason of
the mounds. But we had not thought of this. Then imagine the chilly
thrill that shot through us when it finally occurred to us, far in the
night, that since the last faint trace of the wheel-tracks had long ago
been buried from sight, we might now be wandering down a mere sage-brush
avenue, miles away from the road and diverging further and further away
from it all the time. Having a cake of ice slipped down one's back is
placid comfort compared to it. There was a sudden leap and stir of blood
that had been asleep for an hour, and as sudden a rousing of all the
drowsing activities in our minds and bodies. We were alive and awake at
once--and shaking and quaking with consternation, too. There was an
instant halting and dismounting, a bending low and an anxious scanning of
the road-bed. Useless, of course; for if a faint depression could not be
discerned from an altitude of four or five feet above it, it certainly
could not with one's nose nearly against it.
CHAPTER XXXII.
We seemed to be in a road, but that was no proof. We tested this by
walking off in various directions--the regular snow-mounds and the
regular avenues between them convinced each man that he had found the
true road, and that the others had found only false ones. Plainly the
situation was desperate. We were cold and stiff and the horses were
tired. We decided to build a sage-brush fire and camp out till morning.
This was wise, because if we were wandering from the right road and the
snow-storm continued another day our case would be the next thing to
hopeless if we kept on.
All agreed that a camp fire was what would come nearest to saving us,
now, and so we set about building it. We could find no matches, and so
we tried to make shift with the pistols. Not a man in the party had ever
tried to do such a thing before, but not a man in the party doubted that
it could be done, and without any trouble--because every man in the party
had read about it in books many a time and had naturally come to believe
it, with trusting simplicity, just as he had long ago accepted and
believed that other common book-fraud about Indians and lost hunters
making a fire by rubbing two dry sticks together.
We huddled together on our knees in the deep snow, and the horses put
their noses together and bowed their patient heads over us; and while the
feathery flakes eddied down and turned us into a group of white statuary,
we proceeded with the momentous experiment. We broke twigs from a sage
bush and piled them on a little cleared place in the shelter of our
bodies. In the course of ten or fifteen minutes all was ready, and then,
while conversation ceased and our pulses beat low with anxious suspense,
Ollendorff applied his revolver, pulled the trigger and blew the pile
clear out of the county! It was the flattest failure that ever was.
This was distressing, but it paled before a greater horror--the horses
were gone! I had been appointed to hold the bridles, but in my absorbing
anxiety over the pistol experiment I had unconsciously dropped them and
the released animals had walked off in the storm. It was useless to try
to follow them, for their footfalls could make no sound, and one could
pass within two yards of the creatures and never see them. We gave them
up without an effort at recovering them, and cursed the lying books that
said horses would stay by their masters for protection and companionship
in a distressful time like ours.
We were miserable enough, before; we felt still more forlorn, now.
Patiently, but with blighted hope, we broke more sticks and piled them,
and once more the Prussian shot them into annihilation. Plainly, to
light a fire with a pistol was an art requiring practice and experience,
and the middle of a desert at midnight in a snow-storm was not a good
place or time for the acquiring of the accomplishment. We gave it up and
tried the other. Each man took a couple of sticks and fell to chafing
them together. At the end of half an hour we were thoroughly chilled,
and so were the sticks. We bitterly execrated the Indians, the hunters
and the books that had betrayed us with the silly device, and wondered
dismally what was next to be done. At this critical moment Mr. Ballou
fished out four matches from the rubbish of an overlooked pocket. To
have found four gold bars would have seemed poor and cheap good luck
compared to this.
One cannot think how good a match looks under such circumstances--or how
lovable and precious, and sacredly beautiful to the eye. This time we
gathered sticks with high hopes; and when Mr. Ballou prepared to light
the first match, there was an amount of interest centred upon him that
pages of writing could not describe. The match burned hopefully a
moment, and then went out. It could not have carried more regret with it
if it had been a human life. The next match simply flashed and died.
The wind puffed the third one out just as it was on the imminent verge of
success. We gathered together closer than ever, and developed a
solicitude that was rapt and painful, as Mr. Ballou scratched our last
hope on his leg. It lit, burned blue and sickly, and then budded into a
robust flame. Shading it with his hands, the old gentleman bent
gradually down and every heart went with him--everybody, too, for that
matter--and blood and breath stood still. The flame touched the sticks
at last, took gradual hold upon them--hesitated--took a stronger hold--
hesitated again--held its breath five heart-breaking seconds, then gave a
sort of human gasp and went out.
Nobody said a word for several minutes. It was a solemn sort of silence;
even the wind put on a stealthy, sinister quiet, and made no more noise
than the falling flakes of snow. Finally a sad-voiced conversation
began, and it was soon apparent that in each of our hearts lay the
conviction that this was our last night with the living. I had so hoped
that I was the only one who felt so. When the others calmly acknowledged
their conviction, it sounded like the summons itself. Ollendorff said:
"Brothers, let us die together. And let us go without one hard feeling
towards each other. Let us forget and forgive bygones. I know that you
have felt hard towards me for turning over the canoe, and for knowing too
much and leading you round and round in the snow--but I meant well;
forgive me. I acknowledge freely that I have had hard feelings against
Mr. Ballou for abusing me and calling me a logarythm, which is a thing I
do not know what, but no doubt a thing considered disgraceful and
unbecoming in America, and it has scarcely been out of my mind and has
hurt me a great deal--but let it go; I forgive Mr. Ballou with all my
heart, and--"
Poor Ollendorff broke down and the tears came. He was not alone, for I
was crying too, and so was Mr. Ballou. Ollendorff got his voice again
and forgave me for things I had done and said. Then he got out his
bottle of whisky and said that whether he lived or died he would never
touch another drop. He said he had given up all hope of life, and
although ill-prepared, was ready to submit humbly to his fate; that he
wished he could be spared a little longer, not for any selfish reason,
but to make a thorough reform in his character, and by devoting himself
to helping the poor, nursing the sick, and pleading with the people to
guard themselves against the evils of intemperance, make his life a
beneficent example to the young, and lay it down at last with the
precious reflection that it had not been lived in vain. He ended by
saying that his reform should begin at this moment, even here in the
presence of death, since no longer time was to be vouchsafed wherein to
prosecute it to men's help and benefit--and with that he threw away the
bottle of whisky.
Mr. Ballou made remarks of similar purport, and began the reform he could
not live to continue, by throwing away the ancient pack of cards that had
solaced our captivity during the flood and made it bearable.
He said he never gambled, but still was satisfied that the meddling with
cards in any way was immoral and injurious, and no man could be wholly
pure and blemishless without eschewing them. "And therefore," continued
he, "in doing this act I already feel more in sympathy with that
spiritual saturnalia necessary to entire and obsolete reform." These
rolling syllables touched him as no intelligible eloquence could have
done, and the old man sobbed with a mournfulness not unmingled with
satisfaction.
My own remarks were of the same tenor as those of my comrades, and I know
that the feelings that prompted them were heartfelt and sincere. We were
all sincere, and all deeply moved and earnest, for we were in the
presence of death and without hope. I threw away my pipe, and in doing
it felt that at last I was free of a hated vice and one that had ridden
me like a tyrant all my days. While I yet talked, the thought of the
good I might have done in the world and the still greater good I might
now do, with these new incentives and higher and better aims to guide me
if I could only be spared a few years longer, overcame me and the tears
came again. We put our arms about each other's necks and awaited the
warning drowsiness that precedes death by freezing.
It came stealing over us presently, and then we bade each other a last
farewell. A delicious dreaminess wrought its web about my yielding
senses, while the snow-flakes wove a winding sheet about my conquered
body. Oblivion came. The battle of life was done.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
I do not know how long I was in a state of forgetfulness, but it seemed
an age. A vague consciousness grew upon me by degrees, and then came a
gathering anguish of pain in my limbs and through all my body. I
shuddered. The thought flitted through my brain, "this is death--this is
the hereafter."
Then came a white upheaval at my side, and a voice said, with bitterness:
"Will some gentleman be so good as to kick me behind?"
It was Ballou--at least it was a towzled snow image in a sitting posture,
with Ballou's voice.
I rose up, and there in the gray dawn, not fifteen steps from us, were
the frame buildings of a stage station, and under a shed stood our still
saddled and bridled horses!
An arched snow-drift broke up, now, and Ollendorff emerged from it, and
the three of us sat and stared at the houses without speaking a word.
We really had nothing to say. We were like the profane man who could not
"do the subject justice," the whole situation was so painfully ridiculous
and humiliating that words were tame and we did not know where to
commence anyhow.
The joy in our hearts at our deliverance was poisoned; well-nigh
dissipated, indeed. We presently began to grow pettish by degrees, and
sullen; and then, angry at each other, angry at ourselves, angry at
everything in general, we moodily dusted the snow from our clothing and
in unsociable single file plowed our way to the horses, unsaddled them,
and sought shelter in the station.
I have scarcely exaggerated a detail of this curious and absurd
adventure. It occurred almost exactly as I have stated it. We actually
went into camp in a snow-drift in a desert, at midnight in a storm,
forlorn and hopeless, within fifteen steps of a comfortable inn.
For two hours we sat apart in the station and ruminated in disgust.
The mystery was gone, now, and it was plain enough why the horses had
deserted us. Without a doubt they were under that shed a quarter of a
minute after they had left us, and they must have overheard and enjoyed
all our confessions and lamentations.
After breakfast we felt better, and the zest of life soon came back.
The world looked bright again, and existence was as dear to us as ever.
Presently an uneasiness came over me--grew upon me--assailed me without
ceasing. Alas, my regeneration was not complete--I wanted to smoke!
I resisted with all my strength, but the flesh was weak. I wandered away
alone and wrestled with myself an hour. I recalled my promises of reform
and preached to myself persuasively, upbraidingly, exhaustively. But it
was all vain, I shortly found myself sneaking among the snow-drifts
hunting for my pipe. I discovered it after a considerable search, and
crept away to hide myself and enjoy it. I remained behind the barn a
good while, asking myself how I would feel if my braver, stronger, truer
comrades should catch me in my degradation. At last I lit the pipe, and
no human being can feel meaner and baser than I did then. I was ashamed
of being in my own pitiful company. Still dreading discovery, I felt
that perhaps the further side of the barn would be somewhat safer, and so
I turned the corner. As I turned the one corner, smoking, Ollendorff
turned the other with his bottle to his lips, and between us sat
unconscious Ballou deep in a game of "solitaire" with the old greasy
cards!
Absurdity could go no farther. We shook hands and agreed to say no more
about "reform" and "examples to the rising generation."
The station we were at was at the verge of the Twenty-six-Mile Desert.
If we had approached it half an hour earlier the night before, we must
have heard men shouting there and firing pistols; for they were expecting
some sheep drovers and their flocks and knew that they would infallibly
get lost and wander out of reach of help unless guided by sounds.
While we remained at the station, three of the drovers arrived, nearly
exhausted with their wanderings, but two others of their party were never
heard of afterward.
We reached Carson in due time, and took a rest. This rest, together with
preparations for the journey to Esmeralda, kept us there a week, and the
delay gave us the opportunity to be present at the trial of the great
land-slide case of Hyde vs. Morgan--an episode which is famous in Nevada
to this day. After a word or two of necessary explanation, I will set
down the history of this singular affair just as it transpired.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
The mountains are very high and steep about Carson, Eagle and Washoe
Valleys--very high and very steep, and so when the snow gets to melting
off fast in the Spring and the warm surface-earth begins to moisten and
soften, the disastrous land-slides commence. The reader cannot know what
a land-slide is, unless he has lived in that country and seen the whole
side of a mountain taken off some fine morning and deposited down in the
valley, leaving a vast, treeless, unsightly scar upon the mountain's
front to keep the circumstance fresh in his memory all the years that he
may go on living within seventy miles of that place.
General Buncombe was shipped out to Nevada in the invoice of Territorial
officers, to be United States Attorney. He considered himself a lawyer
of parts, and he very much wanted an opportunity to manifest it--partly
for the pure gratification of it and partly because his salary was
Territorially meagre (which is a strong expression). Now the older
citizens of a new territory look down upon the rest of the world with a
calm, benevolent compassion, as long as it keeps out of the way--when it
gets in the way they snub it. Sometimes this latter takes the shape of a
practical joke.
One morning Dick Hyde rode furiously up to General Buncombe's door in
Carson city and rushed into his presence without stopping to tie his
horse. He seemed much excited. He told the General that he wanted him
to conduct a suit for him and would pay him five hundred dollars if he
achieved a victory. And then, with violent gestures and a world of
profanity, he poured out his grief. He said it was pretty well known
that for some years he had been farming (or ranching as the more
customary term is) in Washoe District, and making a successful thing of
it, and furthermore it was known that his ranch was situated just in the
edge of the valley, and that Tom Morgan owned a ranch immediately above
it on the mountain side.
And now the trouble was, that one of those hated and dreaded land-slides
had come and slid Morgan's ranch, fences, cabins, cattle, barns and
everything down on top of his ranch and exactly covered up every single
vestige of his property, to a depth of about thirty-eight feet. Morgan
was in possession and refused to vacate the premises--said he was
occupying his own cabin and not interfering with anybody else's--and said
the cabin was standing on the same dirt and same ranch it had always
stood on, and he would like to see anybody make him vacate.
"And when I reminded him," said Hyde, weeping, "that it was on top of my
ranch and that he was trespassing, he had the infernal meanness to ask me
why didn't I stay on my ranch and hold possession when I see him
a-coming! Why didn't I stay on it, the blathering lunatic--by George,
when I heard that racket and looked up that hill it was just like the
whole world was a-ripping and a-tearing down that mountain side--
splinters, and cord-wood, thunder and lightning, hail and snow, odds and
ends of hay stacks, and awful clouds of dust!--trees going end over end
in the air, rocks as big as a house jumping 'bout a thousand feet high
and busting into ten million pieces, cattle turned inside out and
a-coming head on with their tails hanging out between their teeth!--and
in the midst of all that wrack and destruction sot that cussed Morgan on
his gate-post, a-wondering why I didn't stay and hold possession! Laws
bless me, I just took one glimpse, General, and lit out'n the county in
three jumps exactly.
"But what grinds me is that that Morgan hangs on there and won't move
off'n that ranch--says it's his'n and he's going to keep it--likes it
better'n he did when it was higher up the hill. Mad! Well, I've been so
mad for two days I couldn't find my way to town--been wandering around in
the brush in a starving condition--got anything here to drink, General?
But I'm here now, and I'm a-going to law. You hear me!"
Never in all the world, perhaps, were a man's feelings so outraged as
were the General's. He said he had never heard of such high-handed
conduct in all his life as this Morgan's. And he said there was no use
in going to law--Morgan had no shadow of right to remain where he was--
nobody in the wide world would uphold him in it, and no lawyer would take
his case and no judge listen to it. Hyde said that right there was where
he was mistaken--everybody in town sustained Morgan; Hal Brayton, a very
smart lawyer, had taken his case; the courts being in vacation, it was to
be tried before a referee, and ex-Governor Roop had already been
appointed to that office and would open his court in a large public hall
near the hotel at two that afternoon.
The General was amazed. He said he had suspected before that the people
of that Territory were fools, and now he knew it. But he said rest easy,
rest easy and collect the witnesses, for the victory was just as certain
as if the conflict were already over. Hyde wiped away his tears and
left.
At two in the afternoon referee Roop's Court opened and Roop appeared
throned among his sheriffs, the witnesses, and spectators, and wearing
upon his face a solemnity so awe-inspiring that some of his fellow-
conspirators had misgivings that maybe he had not comprehended, after
all, that this was merely a joke. An unearthly stillness prevailed, for
at the slightest noise the judge uttered sternly the command:
"Order in the Court!
And the sheriffs promptly echoed it. Presently the General elbowed his
way through the crowd of spectators, with his arms full of law-books, and
on his ears fell an order from the judge which was the first respectful
recognition of his high official dignity that had ever saluted them, and
it trickled pleasantly through his whole system:
"Way for the United States Attorney!
The witnesses were called--legislators, high government officers,
ranchmen, miners, Indians, Chinamen, negroes. Three fourths of them were
called by the defendant Morgan, but no matter, their testimony invariably
went in favor of the plaintiff Hyde. Each new witness only added new
testimony to the absurdity of a man's claiming to own another man's
property because his farm had slid down on top of it. Then the Morgan
lawyers made their speeches, and seemed to make singularly weak ones--
they did really nothing to help the Morgan cause. And now the General,
with exultation in his face, got up and made an impassioned effort; he
pounded the table, he banged the law-books, he shouted, and roared, and
howled, he quoted from everything and everybody, poetry, sarcasm,
statistics, history, pathos, bathos, blasphemy, and wound up with a grand
war-whoop for free speech, freedom of the press, free schools, the
Glorious Bird of America and the principles of eternal justice!
[Applause.]
When the General sat down, he did it with the conviction that if there
was anything in good strong testimony, a great speech and believing and
admiring countenances all around, Mr. Morgan's case was killed. Ex-
Governor Roop leant his head upon his hand for some minutes, thinking,
and the still audience waited for his decision. Then he got up and stood
erect, with bended head, and thought again. Then he walked the floor
with long, deliberate strides, his chin in his hand, and still the
audience waited. At last he returned to his throne, seated himself, and
began impressively:
"Gentlemen, I feel the great responsibility that rests upon me this day.
This is no ordinary case. On the contrary it is plain that it is the
most solemn and awful that ever man was called upon to decide.
Gentlemen, I have listened attentively to the evidence, and have
perceived that the weight of it, the overwhelming weight of it, is in
favor of the plaintiff Hyde. I have listened also to the remarks of
counsel, with high interest--and especially will I commend the masterly
and irrefutable logic of the distinguished gentleman who represents the
plaintiff. But gentlemen, let us beware how we allow mere human
testimony, human ingenuity in argument and human ideas of equity, to
influence us at a moment so solemn as this. Gentlemen, it ill becomes
us, worms as we are, to meddle with the decrees of Heaven. It is plain
to me that Heaven, in its inscrutable wisdom, has seen fit to move this
defendant's ranch for a purpose. We are but creatures, and we must
submit. If Heaven has chosen to favor the defendant Morgan in this
marked and wonderful manner; and if Heaven, dissatisfied with the
position of the Morgan ranch upon the mountain side, has chosen to remove
it to a position more eligible and more advantageous for its owner, it
ill becomes us, insects as we are, to question the legality of the act or
inquire into the reasons that prompted it. No--Heaven created the
ranches and it is Heaven's prerogative to rearrange them, to experiment
with them around at its pleasure. It is for us to submit, without
repining.
I warn you that this thing which has happened is a thing with which the
sacrilegious hands and brains and tongues of men must not meddle.
Gentlemen, it is the verdict of this court that the plaintiff, Richard
Hyde, has been deprived of his ranch by the visitation of God! And from
this decision there is no appeal."
Buncombe seized his cargo of law-books and plunged out of the court-room
frantic with indignation. He pronounced Roop to be a miraculous fool, an
inspired idiot. In all good faith he returned at night and remonstrated
with Roop upon his extravagant decision, and implored him to walk the
floor and think for half an hour, and see if he could not figure out some
sort of modification of the verdict. Roop yielded at last and got up to
walk. He walked two hours and a half, and at last his face lit up
happily and he told Buncombe it had occurred to him that the ranch
underneath the new Morgan ranch still belonged to Hyde, that his title to
the ground was just as good as it had ever been, and therefore he was of
opinion that Hyde had a right to dig it out from under there and--
The General never waited to hear the end of it. He was always an
impatient and irascible man, that way. At the end of two months the fact
that he had been played upon with a joke had managed to bore itself, like
another Hoosac Tunnel, through the solid adamant of his understanding.
CHAPTER XXXV.
When we finally left for Esmeralda, horseback, we had an addition to the
company in the person of Capt. John Nye, the Governor's brother. He had
a good memory, and a tongue hung in the middle. This is a combination
which gives immortality to conversation. Capt. John never suffered the
talk to flag or falter once during the hundred and twenty miles of the
journey. In addition to his conversational powers, he had one or two
other endowments of a marked character. One was a singular "handiness"
about doing anything and everything, from laying out a railroad or
organizing a political party, down to sewing on buttons, shoeing a horse,
or setting a broken leg, or a hen. Another was a spirit of accommodation
that prompted him to take the needs, difficulties and perplexities of
anybody and everybody upon his own shoulders at any and all times, and
dispose of them with admirable facility and alacrity--hence he always
managed to find vacant beds in crowded inns, and plenty to eat in the
emptiest larders. And finally, wherever he met a man, woman or child, in
camp, inn or desert, he either knew such parties personally or had been
acquainted with a relative of the same. Such another traveling comrade
was never seen before. I cannot forbear giving a specimen of the way in
which he overcame difficulties. On the second day out, we arrived, very
tired and hungry, at a poor little inn in the desert, and were told that
the house was full, no provisions on hand, and neither hay nor barley to
spare for the horses--must move on. The rest of us wanted to hurry on
while it was yet light, but Capt. John insisted on stopping awhile.
We dismounted and entered. There was no welcome for us on any face.
Capt. John began his blandishments, and within twenty minutes he had
accomplished the following things, viz.: found old acquaintances in three
teamsters; discovered that he used to go to school with the landlord's
mother; recognized his wife as a lady whose life he had saved once in
California, by stopping her runaway horse; mended a child's broken toy
and won the favor of its mother, a guest of the inn; helped the hostler
bleed a horse, and prescribed for another horse that had the "heaves";
treated the entire party three times at the landlord's bar; produced a
later paper than anybody had seen for a week and sat himself down to read
the news to a deeply interested audience. The result, summed up, was as
follows: The hostler found plenty of feed for our horses; we had a trout
supper, an exceedingly sociable time after it, good beds to sleep in, and
a surprising breakfast in the morning--and when we left, we left lamented
by all! Capt. John had some bad traits, but he had some uncommonly
valuable ones to offset them with.
Esmeralda was in many respects another Humboldt, but in a little more
forward state. The claims we had been paying assessments on were
entirely worthless, and we threw them away. The principal one cropped
out of the top of a knoll that was fourteen feet high, and the inspired
Board of Directors were running a tunnel under that knoll to strike the
ledge. The tunnel would have to be seventy feet long, and would then
strike the ledge at the same dept that a shaft twelve feet deep would
have reached! The Board were living on the "assessments." [N.B.--This
hint comes too late for the enlightenment of New York silver miners; they
have already learned all about this neat trick by experience.] The Board
had no desire to strike the ledge, knowing that it was as barren of
silver as a curbstone. This reminiscence calls to mind Jim Townsend's
tunnel. He had paid assessments on a mine called the "Daley" till he was
well-nigh penniless. Finally an assessment was levied to run a tunnel
two hundred and fifty feet on the Daley, and Townsend went up on the hill
to look into matters.
He found the Daley cropping out of the apex of an exceedingly sharp-
pointed peak, and a couple of men up there "facing" the proposed tunnel.
Townsend made a calculation. Then he said to the men:
"So you have taken a contract to run a tunnel into this hill two hundred
and fifty feet to strike this ledge?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, do you know that you have got one of the most expensive and
arduous undertakings before you that was ever conceived by man?"
"Why no--how is that?"
"Because this hill is only twenty-five feet through from side to side;
and so you have got to build two hundred and twenty-five feet of your
tunnel on trestle-work!"
The ways of silver mining Boards are exceedingly dark and sinuous.
We took up various claims, and commenced shafts and tunnels on them, but
never finished any of them. We had to do a certain amount of work on
each to "hold" it, else other parties could seize our property after the
expiration of ten days. We were always hunting up new claims and doing a
little work on them and then waiting for a buyer--who never came. We
never found any ore that would yield more than fifty dollars a ton; and
as the mills charged fifty dollars a ton for working ore and extracting
the silver, our pocket-money melted steadily away and none returned to
take its place. We lived in a little cabin and cooked for ourselves; and
altogether it was a hard life, though a hopeful one--for we never ceased
to expect fortune and a customer to burst upon us some day.
At last, when flour reached a dollar a pound, and money could not be
borrowed on the best security at less than eight per cent a month (I
being without the security, too), I abandoned mining and went to milling.
That is to say, I went to work as a common laborer in a quartz mill, at
ten dollars a week and board.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
I had already learned how hard and long and dismal a task it is to burrow
down into the bowels of the earth and get out the coveted ore; and now I
learned that the burrowing was only half the work; and that to get the
silver out of the ore was the dreary and laborious other half of it.
We had to turn out at six in the morning and keep at it till dark.
This mill was a six-stamp affair, driven by steam. Six tall, upright
rods of iron, as large as a man's ankle, and heavily shod with a mass of
iron and steel at their lower ends, were framed together like a gate, and
these rose and fell, one after the other, in a ponderous dance, in an
iron box called a "battery." Each of these rods or stamps weighed six
hundred pounds. One of us stood by the battery all day long, breaking up
masses of silver-bearing rock with a sledge and shoveling it into the
battery. The ceaseless dance of the stamps pulverized the rock to
powder, and a stream of water that trickled into the battery turned it to
a creamy paste. The minutest particles were driven through a fine wire
screen which fitted close around the battery, and were washed into great
tubs warmed by super-heated steam--amalgamating pans, they are called.
The mass of pulp in the pans was kept constantly stirred up by revolving
"mullers." A quantity of quicksilver was kept always in the battery, and
this seized some of the liberated gold and silver particles and held on
to them; quicksilver was shaken in a fine shower into the pans, also,
about every half hour, through a buckskin sack. Quantities of coarse
salt and sulphate of copper were added, from time to time to assist the
amalgamation by destroying base metals which coated the gold and silver
and would not let it unite with the quicksilver.
All these tiresome things we had to attend to constantly. Streams of
dirty water flowed always from the pans and were carried off in broad
wooden troughs to the ravine. One would not suppose that atoms of gold
and silver would float on top of six inches of water, but they did; and
in order to catch them, coarse blankets were laid in the troughs, and
little obstructing "riffles" charged with quicksilver were placed here
and there across the troughs also. These riffles had to be cleaned and
the blankets washed out every evening, to get their precious
accumulations--and after all this eternity of trouble one third of the
silver and gold in a ton of rock would find its way to the end of the
troughs in the ravine at last and have to be worked over again some day.
There is nothing so aggravating as silver milling. There never was any
idle time in that mill. There was always something to do. It is a pity
that Adam could not have gone straight out of Eden into a quartz mill, in
order to understand the full force of his doom to "earn his bread by the
sweat of his brow." Every now and then, during the day, we had to scoop
some pulp out of the pans, and tediously "wash" it in a horn spoon--wash
it little by little over the edge till at last nothing was left but some
little dull globules of quicksilver in the bottom. If they were soft and
yielding, the pan needed some salt or some sulphate of copper or some
other chemical rubbish to assist digestion; if they were crisp to the
touch and would retain a dint, they were freighted with all the silver
and gold they could seize and hold, and consequently the pan needed a
fresh charge of quicksilver. When there was nothing else to do, one
could always "screen tailings." That is to say, he could shovel up the
dried sand that had washed down to the ravine through the troughs and
dash it against an upright wire screen to free it from pebbles and
prepare it for working over.
The process of amalgamation differed in the various mills, and this
included changes in style of pans and other machinery, and a great
diversity of opinion existed as to the best in use, but none of the
methods employed, involved the principle of milling ore without
"screening the tailings." Of all recreations in the world, screening
tailings on a hot day, with a long-handled shovel, is the most
undesirable.
At the end of the week the machinery was stopped and we "cleaned up."
That is to say, we got the pulp out of the pans and batteries, and washed
the mud patiently away till nothing was left but the long accumulating
mass of quicksilver, with its imprisoned treasures. This we made into
heavy, compact snow-balls, and piled them up in a bright, luxurious heap
for inspection. Making these snow-balls cost me a fine gold ring--that
and ignorance together; for the quicksilver invaded the ring with the
same facility with which water saturates a sponge--separated its
particles and the ring crumbled to pieces.
We put our pile of quicksilver balls into an iron retort that had a pipe
leading from it to a pail of water, and then applied a roasting heat.
The quicksilver turned to vapor, escaped through the pipe into the pail,
and the water turned it into good wholesome quicksilver again.
Quicksilver is very costly, and they never waste it. On opening the
retort, there was our week's work--a lump of pure white, frosty looking
silver, twice as large as a man's head. Perhaps a fifth of the mass was
gold, but the color of it did not show--would not have shown if two
thirds of it had been gold. We melted it up and made a solid brick of it
by pouring it into an iron brick-mould.
By such a tedious and laborious process were silver bricks obtained.
This mill was but one of many others in operation at the time. The first
one in Nevada was built at Egan Canyon and was a small insignificant
affair and compared most unfavorably with some of the immense
establishments afterwards located at Virginia City and elsewhere.
From our bricks a little corner was chipped off for the "fire-assay"--a
method used to determine the proportions of gold, silver and base metals
in the mass. This is an interesting process. The chip is hammered out
as thin as paper and weighed on scales so fine and sensitive that if you
weigh a two-inch scrap of paper on them and then write your name on the
paper with a course, soft pencil and weigh it again, the scales will take
marked notice of the addition.
Then a little lead (also weighed) is rolled up with the flake of silver
and the two are melted at a great heat in a small vessel called a cupel,
made by compressing bone ashes into a cup-shape in a steel mold. The
base metals oxydize and are absorbed with the lead into the pores of the
cupel. A button or globule of perfectly pure gold and silver is left
behind, and by weighing it and noting the loss, the assayer knows the
proportion of base metal the brick contains. He has to separate the gold
from the silver now. The button is hammered out flat and thin, put in
the furnace and kept some time at a red heat; after cooling it off it is
rolled up like a quill and heated in a glass vessel containing nitric
acid; the acid dissolves the silver and leaves the gold pure and ready to
be weighed on its own merits. Then salt water is poured into the vessel
containing the dissolved silver and the silver returns to palpable form
again and sinks to the bottom. Nothing now remains but to weigh it; then
the proportions of the several metals contained in the brick are known,
and the assayer stamps the value of the brick upon its surface.
The sagacious reader will know now, without being told, that the
speculative miner, in getting a "fire-assay" made of a piece of rock from
his mine (to help him sell the same), was not in the habit of picking out
the least valuable fragment of rock on his dump-pile, but quite the
contrary. I have seen men hunt over a pile of nearly worthless quartz
for an hour, and at last find a little piece as large as a filbert, which
was rich in gold and silver--and this was reserved for a fire-assay! Of
course the fire-assay would demonstrate that a ton of such rock would
yield hundreds of dollars--and on such assays many an utterly worthless
mine was sold.
Assaying was a good business, and so some men engaged in it,
occasionally, who were not strictly scientific and capable. One assayer
got such rich results out of all specimens brought to him that in time he
acquired almost a monopoly of the business. But like all men who achieve
success, he became an object of envy and suspicion. The other assayers
entered into a conspiracy against him, and let some prominent citizens
into the secret in order to show that they meant fairly. Then they broke
a little fragment off a carpenter's grindstone and got a stranger to take
it to the popular scientist and get it assayed. In the course of an hour
the result came--whereby it appeared that a ton of that rock would yield
$1,184.40 in silver and $366.36 in gold!
Due publication of the whole matter was made in the paper, and the
popular assayer left town "between two days."
I will remark, in passing, that I only remained in the milling business
one week. I told my employer I could not stay longer without an advance
in my wages; that I liked quartz milling, indeed was infatuated with it;
that I had never before grown so tenderly attached to an occupation in so
short a time; that nothing, it seemed to me, gave such scope to
intellectual activity as feeding a battery and screening tailings, and
nothing so stimulated the moral attributes as retorting bullion and
washing blankets--still, I felt constrained to ask an increase of salary.
He said he was paying me ten dollars a week, and thought it a good round
sum. How much did I want?
I said about four hundred thousand dollars a month, and board, was about
all I could reasonably ask, considering the hard times.
I was ordered off the premises! And yet, when I look back to those days
and call to mind the exceeding hardness of the labor I performed in that
mill, I only regret that I did not ask him seven hundred thousand.
Shortly after this I began to grow crazy, along with the rest of the
population, about the mysterious and wonderful "cement mine," and to make
preparations to take advantage of any opportunity that might offer to go
and help hunt for it.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
It was somewhere in the neighborhood of Mono Lake that the marvellous
Whiteman cement mine was supposed to lie. Every now and then it would be
reported that Mr. W. had passed stealthily through Esmeralda at dead of
night, in disguise, and then we would have a wild excitement--because he
must be steering for his secret mine, and now was the time to follow him.
In less than three hours after daylight all the horses and mules and
donkeys in the vicinity would be bought, hired or stolen, and half the
community would be off for the mountains, following in the wake of
Whiteman. But W. would drift about through the mountain gorges for days
together, in a purposeless sort of way, until the provisions of the
miners ran out, and they would have to go back home. I have known it
reported at eleven at night, in a large mining camp, that Whiteman had
just passed through, and in two hours the streets, so quiet before, would
be swarming with men and animals. Every individual would be trying to be
very secret, but yet venturing to whisper to just one neighbor that W.
had passed through. And long before daylight--this in the dead of
Winter--the stampede would be complete, the camp deserted, and the whole
population gone chasing after W.
The tradition was that in the early immigration, more than twenty years
ago, three young Germans, brothers, who had survived an Indian massacre
on the Plains, wandered on foot through the deserts, avoiding all trails
and roads, and simply holding a westerly direction and hoping to find
California before they starved, or died of fatigue. And in a gorge in
the mountains they sat down to rest one day, when one of them noticed a
curious vein of cement running along the ground, shot full of lumps of
dull yellow metal. They saw that it was gold, and that here was a
fortune to be acquired in a single day. The vein was about as wide as a
curbstone, and fully two thirds of it was pure gold. Every pound of the
wonderful cement was worth well-nigh $200.
Each of the brothers loaded himself with about twenty-five pounds of it,
and then they covered up all traces of the vein, made a rude drawing of
the locality and the principal landmarks in the vicinity, and started
westward again. But troubles thickened about them. In their wanderings
one brother fell and broke his leg, and the others were obliged to go on
and leave him to die in the wilderness. Another, worn out and starving,
gave up by and by, and laid down to die, but after two or three weeks of
incredible hardships, the third reached the settlements of California
exhausted, sick, and his mind deranged by his sufferings. He had thrown
away all his cement but a few fragments, but these were sufficient to set
everybody wild with excitement. However, he had had enough of the cement
country, and nothing could induce him to lead a party thither. He was
entirely content to work on a farm for wages. But he gave Whiteman his
map, and described the cement region as well as he could and thus
transferred the curse to that gentleman--for when I had my one accidental
glimpse of Mr. W. in Esmeralda he had been hunting for the lost mine, in
hunger and thirst, poverty and sickness, for twelve or thirteen years.
Some people believed he had found it, but most people believed he had
not. I saw a piece of cement as large as my fist which was said to have
been given to Whiteman by the young German, and it was of a seductive
nature. Lumps of virgin gold were as thick in it as raisins in a slice
of fruit cake. The privilege of working such a mine one week would be
sufficient for a man of reasonable desires.
A new partner of ours, a Mr. Higbie, knew Whiteman well by sight, and a
friend of ours, a Mr. Van Dorn, was well acquainted with him, and not
only that, but had Whiteman's promise that he should have a private hint
in time to enable him to join the next cement expedition. Van Dorn had
promised to extend the hint to us. One evening Higbie came in greatly
excited, and said he felt certain he had recognized Whiteman, up town,
disguised and in a pretended state of intoxication. In a little while
Van Dorn arrived and confirmed the news; and so we gathered in our cabin
and with heads close together arranged our plans in impressive whispers.
We were to leave town quietly, after midnight, in two or three small
parties, so as not to attract attention, and meet at dawn on the "divide"
overlooking Mono Lake, eight or nine miles distant. We were to make no
noise after starting, and not speak above a whisper under any
circumstances. It was believed that for once Whiteman's presence was
unknown in the town and his expedition unsuspected. Our conclave broke
up at nine o'clock, and we set about our preparation diligently and with
profound secrecy. At eleven o'clock we saddled our horses, hitched them
with their long riatas (or lassos), and then brought out a side of bacon,
a sack of beans, a small sack of coffee, some sugar, a hundred pounds of
flour in sacks, some tin cups and a coffee pot, frying pan and some few
other necessary articles. All these things were "packed" on the back of
a led horse--and whoever has not been taught, by a Spanish adept, to pack
an animal, let him never hope to do the thing by natural smartness. That
is impossible. Higbie had had some experience, but was not perfect. He
put on the pack saddle (a thing like a saw-buck), piled the property on
it and then wound a rope all over and about it and under it, "every which
way," taking a hitch in it every now and then, and occasionally surging
back on it till the horse's sides sunk in and he gasped for breath--but
every time the lashings grew tight in one place they loosened in another.
We never did get the load tight all over, but we got it so that it would
do, after a fashion, and then we started, in single file, close order,
and without a word. It was a dark night. We kept the middle of the
road, and proceeded in a slow walk past the rows of cabins, and whenever
a miner came to his door I trembled for fear the light would shine on us
an excite curiosity. But nothing happened. We began the long winding
ascent of the canyon, toward the "divide," and presently the cabins began
to grow infrequent, and the intervals between them wider and wider, and
then I began to breathe tolerably freely and feel less like a thief and a
murderer. I was in the rear, leading the pack horse. As the ascent grew
steeper he grew proportionately less satisfied with his cargo, and began
to pull back on his riata occasionally and delay progress. My comrades
were passing out of sight in the gloom. I was getting anxious. I coaxed
and bullied the pack horse till I presently got him into a trot, and then
the tin cups and pans strung about his person frightened him and he ran.
His riata was wound around the pummel of my saddle, and so, as he went by
he dragged me from my horse and the two animals traveled briskly on
without me. But I was not alone--the loosened cargo tumbled overboard
from the pack horse and fell close to me. It was abreast of almost the
last cabin.
A miner came out and said:
"Hello!"
I was thirty steps from him, and knew he could not see me, it was so very
dark in the shadow of the mountain. So I lay still. Another head
appeared in the light of the cabin door, and presently the two men walked
toward me. They stopped within ten steps of me, and one said:
"Sh! Listen."
I could not have been in a more distressed state if I had been escaping
justice with a price on my head. Then the miners appeared to sit down on
a boulder, though I could not see them distinctly enough to be very sure
what they did. One said:
"I heard a noise, as plain as I ever heard anything. It seemed to be
about there--"
A stone whizzed by my head. I flattened myself out in the dust like a
postage stamp, and thought to myself if he mended his aim ever so little
he would probably hear another noise. In my heart, now, I execrated
secret expeditions. I promised myself that this should be my last,
though the Sierras were ribbed with cement veins. Then one of the men
said:
"I'll tell you what! Welch knew what he was talking about when he said
he saw Whiteman to-day. I heard horses--that was the noise. I am going
down to Welch's, right away."
They left and I was glad. I did not care whither they went, so they
went. I was willing they should visit Welch, and the sooner the better.
As soon as they closed their cabin door my comrades emerged from the
gloom; they had caught the horses and were waiting for a clear coast
again. We remounted the cargo on the pack horse and got under way, and
as day broke we reached the "divide" and joined Van Dorn. Then we
journeyed down into the valley of the Lake, and feeling secure, we halted
to cook breakfast, for we were tired and sleepy and hungry. Three hours
later the rest of the population filed over the "divide" in a long
procession, and drifted off out of sight around the borders of the Lake!
Whether or not my accident had produced this result we never knew, but at
least one thing was certain--the secret was out and Whiteman would not
enter upon a search for the cement mine this time. We were filled with
chagrin.
We held a council and decided to make the best of our misfortune and
enjoy a week's holiday on the borders of the curious Lake. Mono, it is
sometimes called, and sometimes the "Dead Sea of California." It is one
of the strangest freaks of Nature to be found in any land, but it is
hardly ever mentioned in print and very seldom visited, because it lies
away off the usual routes of travel and besides is so difficult to get at
that only men content to endure the roughest life will consent to take
upon themselves the discomforts of such a trip. On the morning of our
second day, we traveled around to a remote and particularly wild spot on
the borders of the Lake, where a stream of fresh, ice-cold water entered
it from the mountain side, and then we went regularly into camp. We
hired a large boat and two shot-guns from a lonely ranchman who lived
some ten miles further on, and made ready for comfort and recreation.
We soon got thoroughly acquainted with the Lake and all its
peculiarities.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Mono Lake lies in a lifeless, treeless, hideous desert, eight thousand
feet above the level of the sea, and is guarded by mountains two thousand
feet higher, whose summits are always clothed in clouds. This solemn,
silent, sail-less sea--this lonely tenant of the loneliest spot on earth
--is little graced with the picturesque. It is an unpretending expanse
of grayish water, about a hundred miles in circumference, with two
islands in its centre, mere upheavals of rent and scorched and blistered
lava, snowed over with gray banks and drifts of pumice-stone and ashes,
the winding sheet of the dead volcano, whose vast crater the lake has
seized upon and occupied.
The lake is two hundred feet deep, and its sluggish waters are so strong
with alkali that if you only dip the most hopelessly soiled garment into
them once or twice, and wring it out, it will be found as clean as if it
had been through the ablest of washerwomen's hands. While we camped
there our laundry work was easy. We tied the week's washing astern of
our boat, and sailed a quarter of a mile, and the job was complete, all
to the wringing out. If we threw the water on our heads and gave them a
rub or so, the white lather would pile up three inches high. This water
is not good for bruised places and abrasions of the skin. We had a
valuable dog. He had raw places on him. He had more raw places on him
than sound ones. He was the rawest dog I almost ever saw. He jumped
overboard one day to get away from the flies. But it was bad judgment.
In his condition, it would have been just as comfortable to jump into the
fire.
The alkali water nipped him in all the raw places simultaneously, and he
struck out for the shore with considerable interest. He yelped and
barked and howled as he went--and by the time he got to the shore there
was no bark to him--for he had barked the bark all out of his inside, and
the alkali water had cleaned the bark all off his outside, and he
probably wished he had never embarked in any such enterprise. He ran
round and round in a circle, and pawed the earth and clawed the air, and
threw double somersaults, sometimes backward and sometimes forward, in
the most extraordinary manner. He was not a demonstrative dog, as a
general thing, but rather of a grave and serious turn of mind, and I
never saw him take so much interest in anything before. He finally
struck out over the mountains, at a gait which we estimated at about two
hundred and fifty miles an hour, and he is going yet. This was about
nine years ago. We look for what is left of him along here every day.
A white man cannot drink the water of Mono Lake, for it is nearly pure
lye. It is said that the Indians in the vicinity drink it sometimes,
though. It is not improbable, for they are among the purest liars I ever
saw. [There will be no additional charge for this joke, except to
parties requiring an explanation of it. This joke has received high
commendation from some of the ablest minds of the age.]
There are no fish in Mono Lake--no frogs, no snakes, no polliwigs--
nothing, in fact, that goes to make life desirable. Millions of wild
ducks and sea-gulls swim about the surface, but no living thing exists
under the surface, except a white feathery sort of worm, one half an inch
long, which looks like a bit of white thread frayed out at the sides. If
you dip up a gallon of water, you will get about fifteen thousand of
these. They give to the water a sort of grayish-white appearance. Then
there is a fly, which looks something like our house fly. These settle
on the beach to eat the worms that wash ashore--and any time, you can see
there a belt of flies an inch deep and six feet wide, and this belt
extends clear around the lake--a belt of flies one hundred miles long.
If you throw a stone among them, they swarm up so thick that they look
dense, like a cloud. You can hold them under water as long as you
please--they do not mind it--they are only proud of it. When you let
them go, they pop up to the surface as dry as a patent office report, and
walk off as unconcernedly as if they had been educated especially with a
view to affording instructive entertainment to man in that particular
way. Providence leaves nothing to go by chance. All things have their
uses and their part and proper place in Nature's economy: the ducks eat
the flies--the flies eat the worms--the Indians eat all three--the wild
cats eat the Indians--the white folks eat the wild cats--and thus all
things are lovely.
Mono Lake is a hundred miles in a straight line from the ocean--and
between it and the ocean are one or two ranges of mountains--yet
thousands of sea-gulls go there every season to lay their eggs and rear
their young. One would as soon expect to find sea-gulls in Kansas.
And in this connection let us observe another instance of Nature's
wisdom. The islands in the lake being merely huge masses of lava, coated
over with ashes and pumice-stone, and utterly innocent of vegetation or
anything that would burn; and sea-gull's eggs being entirely useless to
anybody unless they be cooked, Nature has provided an unfailing spring of
boiling water on the largest island, and you can put your eggs in there,
and in four minutes you can boil them as hard as any statement I have
made during the past fifteen years. Within ten feet of the boiling
spring is a spring of pure cold water, sweet and wholesome.
So, in that island you get your board and washing free of charge--and if
nature had gone further and furnished a nice American hotel clerk who was
crusty and disobliging, and didn't know anything about the time tables,
or the railroad routes--or--anything--and was proud of it--I would not
wish for a more desirable boarding-house.
Half a dozen little mountain brooks flow into Mono Lake, but not a stream
of any kind flows out of it. It neither rises nor falls, apparently, and
what it does with its surplus water is a dark and bloody mystery.
There are only two seasons in the region round about Mono Lake--and these
are, the breaking up of one Winter and the beginning of the next. More
than once (in Esmeralda) I have seen a perfectly blistering morning open
up with the thermometer at ninety degrees at eight o'clock, and seen the
snow fall fourteen inches deep and that same identical thermometer go
down to forty-four degrees under shelter, before nine o'clock at night.
Under favorable circumstances it snows at least once in every single
month in the year, in the little town of Mono. So uncertain is the
climate in Summer that a lady who goes out visiting cannot hope to be
prepared for all emergencies unless she takes her fan under one arm and
her snow shoes under the other. When they have a Fourth of July
procession it generally snows on them, and they do say that as a general
thing when a man calls for a brandy toddy there, the bar keeper chops it
off with a hatchet and wraps it up in a paper, like maple sugar. And it
is further reported that the old soakers haven't any teeth--wore them out
eating gin cocktails and brandy punches. I do not endorse that
statement--I simply give it for what it is worth--and it is worth--well,
I should say, millions, to any man who can believe it without straining
himself. But I do endorse the snow on the Fourth of July--because I know
that to be true.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
About seven o'clock one blistering hot morning--for it was now dead
summer time--Higbie and I took the boat and started on a voyage of
discovery to the two islands. We had often longed to do this, but had
been deterred by the fear of storms; for they were frequent, and severe
enough to capsize an ordinary row-boat like ours without great
difficulty--and once capsized, death would ensue in spite of the bravest
swimming, for that venomous water would eat a man's eyes out like fire,
and burn him out inside, too, if he shipped a sea. It was called twelve
miles, straight out to the islands--a long pull and a warm one--but the
morning was so quiet and sunny, and the lake so smooth and glassy and
dead, that we could not resist the temptation. So we filled two large
tin canteens with water (since we were not acquainted with the locality
of the spring said to exist on the large island), and started. Higbie's
brawny muscles gave the boat good speed, but by the time we reached our
destination we judged that we had pulled nearer fifteen miles than
twelve.
We landed on the big island and went ashore. We tried the water in the
canteens, now, and found that the sun had spoiled it; it was so brackish
that we could not drink it; so we poured it out and began a search for
the spring--for thirst augments fast as soon as it is apparent that one
has no means at hand of quenching it. The island was a long, moderately
high hill of ashes--nothing but gray ashes and pumice-stone, in which we
sunk to our knees at every step--and all around the top was a forbidding
wall of scorched and blasted rocks. When we reached the top and got
within the wall, we found simply a shallow, far-reaching basin, carpeted
with ashes, and here and there a patch of fine sand. In places,
picturesque jets of steam shot up out of crevices, giving evidence that
although this ancient crater had gone out of active business, there was
still some fire left in its furnaces. Close to one of these jets of
steam stood the only tree on the island--a small pine of most graceful
shape and most faultless symmetry; its color was a brilliant green, for
the steam drifted unceasingly through its branches and kept them always
moist. It contrasted strangely enough, did this vigorous and beautiful
outcast, with its dead and dismal surroundings. It was like a cheerful
spirit in a mourning household.
We hunted for the spring everywhere, traversing the full length of the
island (two or three miles), and crossing it twice--climbing ash-hills
patiently, and then sliding down the other side in a sitting posture,
plowing up smothering volumes of gray dust. But we found nothing but
solitude, ashes and a heart-breaking silence. Finally we noticed that
the wind had risen, and we forgot our thirst in a solicitude of greater
importance; for, the lake being quiet, we had not taken pains about
securing the boat. We hurried back to a point overlooking our landing
place, and then--but mere words cannot describe our dismay--the boat was
gone! The chances were that there was not another boat on the entire
lake. The situation was not comfortable--in truth, to speak plainly, it
was frightful. We were prisoners on a desolate island, in aggravating
proximity to friends who were for the present helpless to aid us; and
what was still more uncomfortable was the reflection that we had neither
food nor water. But presently we sighted the boat. It was drifting
along, leisurely, about fifty yards from shore, tossing in a foamy sea.
It drifted, and continued to drift, but at the same safe distance from
land, and we walked along abreast it and waited for fortune to favor us.
At the end of an hour it approached a jutting cape, and Higbie ran ahead
and posted himself on the utmost verge and prepared for the assault. If
we failed there, there was no hope for us. It was driving gradually
shoreward all the time, now; but whether it was driving fast enough to
make the connection or not was the momentous question. When it got
within thirty steps of Higbie I was so excited that I fancied I could
hear my own heart beat. When, a little later, it dragged slowly along
and seemed about to go by, only one little yard out of reach, it seemed
as if my heart stood still; and when it was exactly abreast him and began
to widen away, and he still standing like a watching statue, I knew my
heart did stop. But when he gave a great spring, the next instant, and
lit fairly in the stern, I discharged a war-whoop that woke the
solitudes!
But it dulled my enthusiasm, presently, when he told me he had not been
caring whether the boat came within jumping distance or not, so that it
passed within eight or ten yards of him, for he had made up his mind to
shut his eyes and mouth and swim that trifling distance. Imbecile that I
was, I had not thought of that. It was only a long swim that could be
fatal.
The sea was running high and the storm increasing. It was growing late,
too--three or four in the afternoon. Whether to venture toward the
mainland or not, was a question of some moment. But we were so
distressed by thirst that we decide to try it, and so Higbie fell to work
and I took the steering-oar. When we had pulled a mile, laboriously,
we were evidently in serious peril, for the storm had greatly augmented;
the billows ran very high and were capped with foaming crests,
the heavens were hung with black, and the wind blew with great fury.
We would have gone back, now, but we did not dare to turn the boat
around, because as soon as she got in the trough of the sea she would
upset, of course. Our only hope lay in keeping her head-on to the seas.
It was hard work to do this, she plunged so, and so beat and belabored
the billows with her rising and falling bows. Now and then one of
Higbie's oars would trip on the top of a wave, and the other one would
snatch the boat half around in spite of my cumbersome steering apparatus.
We were drenched by the sprays constantly, and the boat occasionally
shipped water. By and by, powerful as my comrade was, his great
exertions began to tell on him, and he was anxious that I should change
places with him till he could rest a little. But I told him this was
impossible; for if the steering oar were dropped a moment while we
changed, the boat would slue around into the trough of the sea, capsize,
and in less than five minutes we would have a hundred gallons of soap-
suds in us and be eaten up so quickly that we could not even be present
at our own inquest.
But things cannot last always. Just as the darkness shut down we came
booming into port, head on. Higbie dropped his oars to hurrah--I dropped
mine to help--the sea gave the boat a twist, and over she went!
The agony that alkali water inflicts on bruises, chafes and blistered
hands, is unspeakable, and nothing but greasing all over will modify it--
but we ate, drank and slept well, that night, notwithstanding.
In speaking of the peculiarities of Mono Lake, I ought to have mentioned
that at intervals all around its shores stand picturesque turret-looking
masses and clusters of a whitish, coarse-grained rock that resembles
inferior mortar dried hard; and if one breaks off fragments of this rock
he will find perfectly shaped and thoroughly petrified gulls' eggs deeply
imbedded in the mass. How did they get there? I simply state the fact--
for it is a fact--and leave the geological reader to crack the nut at his
leisure and solve the problem after his own fashion.
At the end of a week we adjourned to the Sierras on a fishing excursion,
and spent several days in camp under snowy Castle Peak, and fished
successfully for trout in a bright, miniature lake whose surface was
between ten and eleven thousand feet above the level of the sea; cooling
ourselves during the hot August noons by sitting on snow banks ten feet
deep, under whose sheltering edges fine grass and dainty flowers
flourished luxuriously; and at night entertaining ourselves by almost
freezing to death. Then we returned to Mono Lake, and finding that the
cement excitement was over for the present, packed up and went back to
Esmeralda. Mr. Ballou reconnoitred awhile, and not liking the prospect,
set out alone for Humboldt.
About this time occurred a little incident which has always had a sort of
interest to me, from the fact that it came so near "instigating" my
funeral. At a time when an Indian attack had been expected, the citizens
hid their gunpowder where it would be safe and yet convenient to hand
when wanted. A neighbor of ours hid six cans of rifle powder in the
bake-oven of an old discarded cooking stove which stood on the open
ground near a frame out-house or shed, and from and after that day never
thought of it again. We hired a half-tamed Indian to do some washing for
us, and he took up quarters under the shed with his tub. The ancient
stove reposed within six feet of him, and before his face. Finally it
occurred to him that hot water would be better than cold, and he went out
and fired up under that forgotten powder magazine and set on a kettle of
water. Then he returned to his tub.
I entered the shed presently and threw down some more clothes, and was
about to speak to him when the stove blew up with a prodigious crash, and
disappeared, leaving not a splinter behind. Fragments of it fell in the
streets full two hundred yards away. Nearly a third of the shed roof
over our heads was destroyed, and one of the stove lids, after cutting a
small stanchion half in two in front of the Indian, whizzed between us
and drove partly through the weather-boarding beyond. I was as white as
a sheet and as weak as a kitten and speechless. But the Indian betrayed
no trepidation, no distress, not even discomfort. He simply stopped
washing, leaned forward and surveyed the clean, blank ground a moment,
and then remarked:
"Mph! Dam stove heap gone!"--and resumed his scrubbing as placidly as if
it were an entirely customary thing for a stove to do. I will explain,
that "heap" is "Injun-English" for "very much." The reader will perceive
the exhaustive expressiveness of it in the present instance.
CHAPTER XL.
I now come to a curious episode--the most curious, I think, that had yet
accented my slothful, valueless, heedless career. Out of a hillside
toward the upper end of the town, projected a wall of reddish looking
quartz-croppings, the exposed comb of a silver-bearing ledge that
extended deep down into the earth, of course. It was owned by a company
entitled the "Wide West." There was a shaft sixty or seventy feet deep
on the under side of the croppings, and everybody was acquainted with the
rock that came from it--and tolerably rich rock it was, too, but nothing
extraordinary. I will remark here, that although to the inexperienced
stranger all the quartz of a particular "district" looks about alike, an
old resident of the camp can take a glance at a mixed pile of rock,
separate the fragments and tell you which mine each came from, as easily
as a confectioner can separate and classify the various kinds and
qualities of candy in a mixed heap of the article.
All at once the town was thrown into a state of extraordinary excitement.
In mining parlance the Wide West had "struck it rich!" Everybody went to
see the new developments, and for some days there was such a crowd of
people about the Wide West shaft that a stranger would have supposed
there was a mass meeting in session there. No other topic was discussed
but the rich strike, and nobody thought or dreamed about anything else.
Every man brought away a specimen, ground it up in a hand mortar, washed
it out in his horn spoon, and glared speechless upon the marvelous
result. It was not hard rock, but black, decomposed stuff which could be
crumbled in the hand like a baked potato, and when spread out on a paper
exhibited a thick sprinkling of gold and particles of "native" silver.
Higbie brought a handful to the cabin, and when he had washed it out his
amazement was beyond description. Wide West stock soared skywards. It
was said that repeated offers had been made for it at a thousand dollars
a foot, and promptly refused. We have all had the "blues"--the mere sky-
blues--but mine were indigo, now--because I did not own in the Wide West.
The world seemed hollow to me, and existence a grief. I lost my
appetite, and ceased to take an interest in anything. Still I had to
stay, and listen to other people's rejoicings, because I had no money to
get out of the camp with.
The Wide West company put a stop to the carrying away of "specimens," and
well they might, for every handful of the ore was worth a sun of some
consequence. To show the exceeding value of the ore, I will remark that
a sixteen-hundred-pounds parcel of it was sold, just as it lay, at the
mouth of the shaft, at one dollar a pound; and the man who bought it
"packed" it on mules a hundred and fifty or two hundred miles, over the
mountains, to San Francisco, satisfied that it would yield at a rate that
would richly compensate him for his trouble. The Wide West people also
commanded their foreman to refuse any but their own operatives permission
to enter the mine at any time or for any purpose. I kept up my "blue"
meditations and Higbie kept up a deal of thinking, too, but of a
different sort. He puzzled over the "rock," examined it with a glass,
inspected it in different lights and from different points of view, and
after each experiment delivered himself, in soliloquy, of one and the
same unvarying opinion in the same unvarying formula:
"It is not Wide West rock!"
He said once or twice that he meant to have a look into the Wide West
shaft if he got shot for it. I was wretched, and did not care whether he
got a look into it or not. He failed that day, and tried again at night;
failed again; got up at dawn and tried, and failed again. Then he lay in
ambush in the sage brush hour after hour, waiting for the two or three
hands to adjourn to the shade of a boulder for dinner; made a start once,
but was premature--one of the men came back for something; tried it
again, but when almost at the mouth of the shaft, another of the men rose
up from behind the boulder as if to reconnoitre, and he dropped on the
ground and lay quiet; presently he crawled on his hands and knees to the
mouth of the shaft, gave a quick glance around, then seized the rope and
slid down the shaft.
He disappeared in the gloom of a "side drift" just as a head appeared in
the mouth of the shaft and somebody shouted "Hello!"--which he did not
answer. He was not disturbed any more. An hour later he entered the
cabin, hot, red, and ready to burst with smothered excitement, and
exclaimed in a stage whisper:
"I knew it! We are rich! IT'S A BLIND LEAD!"
I thought the very earth reeled under me. Doubt--conviction--doubt
again--exultation--hope, amazement, belief, unbelief--every emotion
imaginable swept in wild procession through my heart and brain, and I
could not speak a word. After a moment or two of this mental fury, I
shook myself to rights, and said:
"Say it again!"
"It's blind lead!"
"Cal, let's--let's burn the house--or kill somebody! Let's get out where
there's room to hurrah! But what is the use? It is a hundred times too
good to be true."
"It's a blind lead, for a million!--hanging wall--foot wall--clay
casings--everything complete!" He swung his hat and gave three cheers,
and I cast doubt to the winds and chimed in with a will. For I was worth
a million dollars, and did not care "whether school kept or not!"
But perhaps I ought to explain. A "blind lead" is a lead or ledge that
does not "crop out" above the surface. A miner does not know where to
look for such leads, but they are often stumbled upon by accident in the
course of driving a tunnel or sinking a shaft. Higbie knew the Wide West
rock perfectly well, and the more he had examined the new developments
the more he was satisfied that the ore could not have come from the Wide
West vein. And so had it occurred to him alone, of all the camp, that
there was a blind lead down in the shaft, and that even the Wide West
people themselves did not suspect it. He was right. When he went down
the shaft, he found that the blind lead held its independent way through
the Wide West vein, cutting it diagonally, and that it was enclosed in
its own well-defined casing-rocks and clay. Hence it was public
property. Both leads being perfectly well defined, it was easy for any
miner to see which one belonged to the Wide West and which did not.
We thought it well to have a strong friend, and therefore we brought the
foreman of the Wide West to our cabin that night and revealed the great
surprise to him. Higbie said:
"We are going to take possession of this blind lead, record it and
establish ownership, and then forbid the Wide West company to take out
any more of the rock. You cannot help your company in this matter--
nobody can help them. I will go into the shaft with you and prove to
your entire satisfaction that it is a blind lead. Now we propose to take
you in with us, and claim the blind lead in our three names. What do you
say?"
What could a man say who had an opportunity to simply stretch forth his
hand and take possession of a fortune without risk of any kind and
without wronging any one or attaching the least taint of dishonor to his
name? He could only say, "Agreed."
The notice was put up that night, and duly spread upon the recorder's
books before ten o'clock. We claimed two hundred feet each--six hundred
feet in all--the smallest and compactest organization in the district,
and the easiest to manage.
No one can be so thoughtless as to suppose that we slept, that night.
Higbie and I went to bed at midnight, but it was only to lie broad awake
and think, dream, scheme. The floorless, tumble-down cabin was a palace,
the ragged gray blankets silk, the furniture rosewood and mahogany.
Each new splendor that burst out of my visions of the future whirled me
bodily over in bed or jerked me to a sitting posture just as if an
electric battery had been applied to me. We shot fragments of
conversation back and forth at each other. Once Higbie said:
"When are you going home--to the States?"
"To-morrow!"--with an evolution or two, ending with a sitting position.
"Well--no--but next month, at furthest."
"We'll go in the same steamer."
"Agreed."
A pause.
"Steamer of the 10th?"
"Yes. No, the 1st."
"All right."
Another pause.
"Where are you going to live?" said Higbie.
"San Francisco."
"That's me!"
Pause.
"Too high--too much climbing"--from Higbie.
"What is?"
"I was thinking of Russian Hill--building a house up there."
"Too much climbing? Shan't you keep a carriage?"
"Of course. I forgot that."
Pause.
"Cal., what kind of a house are you going to build?"
"I was thinking about that. Three-story and an attic."
"But what kind?"
"Well, I don't hardly know. Brick, I suppose."
"Brick--bosh."
"Why? What is your idea?"
"Brown stone front--French plate glass--billiard-room off the dining-
room--statuary and paintings--shrubbery and two-acre grass plat--
greenhouse--iron dog on the front stoop--gray horses--landau, and a
coachman with a bug on his hat!"
"By George!"
A long pause.
"Cal., when are you going to Europe?"
"Well--I hadn't thought of that. When are you?"
"In the Spring."
"Going to be gone all summer?"
"All summer! I shall remain there three years."
"No--but are you in earnest?"
"Indeed I am."
"I will go along too."
"Why of course you will."
"What part of Europe shall you go to?"
"All parts. France, England, Germany--Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Syria,
Greece, Palestine, Arabia, Persia, Egypt--all over--everywhere."
"I'm agreed."
"All right."
"Won't it be a swell trip!"
"We'll spend forty or fifty thousand dollars trying to make it one,
anyway."
Another long pause.
"Higbie, we owe the butcher six dollars, and he has been threatening to
stop our--"
"Hang the butcher!"
"Amen."
And so it went on. By three o'clock we found it was no use, and so we
got up and played cribbage and smoked pipes till sunrise. It was my week
to cook. I always hated cooking--now, I abhorred it.
The news was all over town. The former excitement was great--this one
was greater still. I walked the streets serene and happy. Higbie said
the foreman had been offered two hundred thousand dollars for his third
of the mine. I said I would like to see myself selling for any such
price. My ideas were lofty. My figure was a million. Still, I honestly
believe that if I had been offered it, it would have had no other effect
than to make me hold off for more.
I found abundant enjoyment in being rich. A man offered me a three-
hundred-dollar horse, and wanted to take my simple, unendorsed note for
it. That brought the most realizing sense I had yet had that I was
actually rich, beyond shadow of doubt. It was followed by numerous other
evidences of a similar nature--among which I may mention the fact of the
butcher leaving us a double supply of meat and saying nothing about
money.
By the laws of the district, the "locators" or claimants of a ledge were
obliged to do a fair and reasonable amount of work on their new property
within ten days after the date of the location, or the property was
forfeited, and anybody could go and seize it that chose. So we
determined to go to work the next day. About the middle of the
afternoon, as I was coming out of the post office, I met a Mr. Gardiner,
who told me that Capt. John Nye was lying dangerously ill at his place
(the "Nine-Mile Ranch"), and that he and his wife were not able to give
him nearly as much care and attention as his case demanded. I said if he
would wait for me a moment, I would go down and help in the sick room.
I ran to the cabin to tell Higbie. He was not there, but I left a note
on the table for him, and a few minutes later I left town in Gardiner's
wagon.
CHAPTER XLI.
Captain Nye was very ill indeed, with spasmodic rheumatism. But the old
gentleman was himself--which is to say, he was kind-hearted and agreeable
when comfortable, but a singularly violent wild-cat when things did not
go well. He would be smiling along pleasantly enough, when a sudden
spasm of his disease would take him and he would go out of his smile into
a perfect fury. He would groan and wail and howl with the anguish, and
fill up the odd chinks with the most elaborate profanity that strong
convictions and a fine fancy could contrive. With fair opportunity he
could swear very well and handle his adjectives with considerable
judgment; but when the spasm was on him it was painful to listen to him,
he was so awkward. However, I had seen him nurse a sick man himself and
put up patiently with the inconveniences of the situation, and
consequently I was willing that he should have full license now that his
own turn had come. He could not disturb me, with all his raving and
ranting, for my mind had work on hand, and it labored on diligently,
night and day, whether my hands were idle or employed. I was altering
and amending the plans for my house, and thinking over the propriety of
having the billard-room in the attic, instead of on the same floor with
the dining-room; also, I was trying to decide between green and blue for
the upholstery of the drawing-room, for, although my preference was blue
I feared it was a color that would be too easily damaged by dust and
sunlight; likewise while I was content to put the coachman in a modest
livery, I was uncertain about a footman--I needed one, and was even
resolved to have one, but wished he could properly appear and perform his
functions out of livery, for I somewhat dreaded so much show; and yet,
inasmuch as my late grandfather had had a coachman and such things, but
no liveries, I felt rather drawn to beat him;--or beat his ghost, at any
rate; I was also systematizing the European trip, and managed to get it
all laid out, as to route and length of time to be devoted to it--
everything, with one exception--namely, whether to cross the desert from
Cairo to Jerusalem per camel, or go by sea to Beirut, and thence down
through the country per caravan. Meantime I was writing to the friends
at home every day, instructing them concerning all my plans and
intentions, and directing them to look up a handsome homestead for my
mother and agree upon a price for it against my coming, and also
directing them to sell my share of the Tennessee land and tender the
proceeds to the widows' and orphans' fund of the typographical union of
which I had long been a member in good standing. [This Tennessee land
had been in the possession of the family many years, and promised to
confer high fortune upon us some day; it still promises it, but in a less
violent way.]
When I had been nursing the Captain nine days he was somewhat better,
but very feeble. During the afternoon we lifted him into a chair and
gave him an alcoholic vapor bath, and then set about putting him on the
bed again. We had to be exceedingly careful, for the least jar produced
pain. Gardiner had his shoulders and I his legs; in an unfortunate
moment I stumbled and the patient fell heavily on the bed in an agony of
torture. I never heard a man swear so in my life. He raved like a
maniac, and tried to snatch a revolver from the table--but I got it.
He ordered me out of the house, and swore a world of oaths that he would
kill me wherever he caught me when he got on his feet again. It was
simply a passing fury, and meant nothing. I knew he would forget it in
an hour, and maybe be sorry for it, too; but it angered me a little, at
the moment. So much so, indeed, that I determined to go back to
Esmeralda. I thought he was able to get along alone, now, since he was
on the war path. I took supper, and as soon as the moon rose, began my
nine-mile journey, on foot.
Even millionaires needed no horses, in those days, for a mere nine-mile
jaunt without baggage.
As I "raised the hill" overlooking the town, it lacked fifteen minutes of
twelve. I glanced at the hill over beyond the canyon, and in the bright
moonlight saw what appeared to be about half the population of the
village massed on and around the Wide West croppings. My heart gave an
exulting bound, and I said to myself, "They have made a new strike to-
night--and struck it richer than ever, no doubt." I started over there,
but gave it up. I said the "strick" would keep, and I had climbed hill
enough for one night. I went on down through the town, and as I was
passing a little German bakery, a woman ran out and begged me to come in
and help her. She said her husband had a fit. I went in, and judged she
was right--he appeared to have a hundred of them, compressed into one.
Two Germans were there, trying to hold him, and not making much of a
success of it. I ran up the street half a block or so and routed out a
sleeping doctor, brought him down half dressed, and we four wrestled with
the maniac, and doctored, drenched and bled him, for more than an hour,
and the poor German woman did the crying. He grew quiet, now, and the
doctor and I withdrew and left him to his friends.
It was a little after one o'clock. As I entered the cabin door, tired
but jolly, the dingy light of a tallow candle revealed Higbie, sitting by
the pine table gazing stupidly at my note, which he held in his fingers,
and looking pale, old, and haggard. I halted, and looked at him. He
looked at me, stolidly. I said:
"Higbie, what--what is it?"
"We're ruined--we didn't do the work--THE BLIND LEAD'S RELOCATED!"
It was enough. I sat down sick, grieved--broken-hearted, indeed. A
minute before, I was rich and brimful of vanity; I was a pauper now, and
very meek. We sat still an hour, busy with thought, busy with vain and
useless self-upbraidings, busy with "Why didn't I do this, and why didn't
I do that," but neither spoke a word. Then we dropped into mutual
explanations, and the mystery was cleared away. It came out that Higbie
had depended on me, as I had on him, and as both of us had on the
foreman. The folly of it! It was the first time that ever staid and
steadfast Higbie had left an important matter to chance or failed to be
true to his full share of a responsibility.
But he had never seen my note till this moment, and this moment was the
first time he had been in the cabin since the day he had seen me last.
He, also, had left a note for me, on that same fatal afternoon--had
ridden up on horseback, and looked through the window, and being in a
hurry and not seeing me, had tossed the note into the cabin through a
broken pane. Here it was, on the floor, where it had remained
undisturbed for nine days:
"Don't fail to do the work before the ten days expire. W.
has passed through and given me notice. I am to join him at
Mono Lake, and we shall go on from there to-night. He says
he will find it this time, sure. CAL."
"W." meant Whiteman, of course. That thrice accursed "cement!"
That was the way of it. An old miner, like Higbie, could no more
withstand the fascination of a mysterious mining excitement like this
"cement" foolishness, than he could refrain from eating when he was
famishing. Higbie had been dreaming about the marvelous cement for
months; and now, against his better judgment, he had gone off and "taken
the chances" on my keeping secure a mine worth a million undiscovered
cement veins. They had not been followed this time. His riding out of
town in broad daylight was such a common-place thing to do that it had
not attracted any attention. He said they prosecuted their search in the
fastnesses of the mountains during nine days, without success; they could
not find the cement. Then a ghastly fear came over him that something
might have happened to prevent the doing of the necessary work to hold
the blind lead (though indeed he thought such a thing hardly possible),
and forthwith he started home with all speed. He would have reached
Esmeralda in time, but his horse broke down and he had to walk a great
part of the distance. And so it happened that as he came into Esmeralda
by one road, I entered it by another. His was the superior energy,
however, for he went straight to the Wide West, instead of turning aside
as I had done--and he arrived there about five or ten minutes too late!
The "notice" was already up, the "relocation" of our mine completed
beyond recall, and the crowd rapidly dispersing. He learned some facts
before he left the ground. The foreman had not been seen about the
streets since the night we had located the mine--a telegram had called
him to California on a matter of life and death, it was said. At any
rate he had done no work and the watchful eyes of the community were
taking note of the fact. At midnight of this woful tenth day, the ledge
would be "relocatable," and by eleven o'clock the hill was black with men
prepared to do the relocating. That was the crowd I had seen when I
fancied a new "strike" had been made--idiot that I was.
[We three had the same right to relocate the lead that other people had,
provided we were quick enough.] As midnight was announced, fourteen men,
duly armed and ready to back their proceedings, put up their "notice" and
proclaimed their ownership of the blind lead, under the new name of the
"Johnson." But A. D. Allen our partner (the foreman) put in a sudden
appearance about that time, with a cocked revolver in his hand, and said
his name must be added to the list, or he would "thin out the Johnson
company some." He was a manly, splendid, determined fellow, and known to
be as good as his word, and therefore a compromise was effected. They
put in his name for a hundred feet, reserving to themselves the customary
two hundred feet each. Such was the history of the night's events, as
Higbie gathered from a friend on the way home.
Higbie and I cleared out on a new mining excitement the next morning,
glad to get away from the scene of our sufferings, and after a month or
two of hardship and disappointment, returned to Esmeralda once more.
Then we learned that the Wide West and the Johnson companies had
consolidated; that the stock, thus united, comprised five thousand feet,
or shares; that the foreman, apprehending tiresome litigation, and
considering such a huge concern unwieldy, had sold his hundred feet for
ninety thousand dollars in gold and gone home to the States to enjoy it.
If the stock was worth such a gallant figure, with five thousand shares
in the corporation, it makes me dizzy to think what it would have been
worth with only our original six hundred in it. It was the difference
between six hundred men owning a house and five thousand owning it. We
would have been millionaires if we had only worked with pick and spade
one little day on our property and so secured our ownership!
It reads like a wild fancy sketch, but the evidence of many witnesses,
and likewise that of the official records of Esmeralda District, is
easily obtainable in proof that it is a true history. I can always have
it to say that I was absolutely and unquestionably worth a million
dollars, once, for ten days.
A year ago my esteemed and in every way estimable old millionaire
partner, Higbie, wrote me from an obscure little mining camp in
California that after nine or ten years of buffetings and hard striving,
he was at last in a position where he could command twenty-five hundred
dollars, and said he meant to go into the fruit business in a modest way.
How such a thought would have insulted him the night we lay in our cabin
planning European trips and brown stone houses on Russian Hill!
CHAPTER XLII.
What to do next?
It was a momentous question. I had gone out into the world to shift for
myself, at the age of thirteen (for my father had endorsed for friends;
and although he left us a sumptuous legacy of pride in his fine Virginian
stock and its national distinction, I presently found that I could not
live on that alone without occasional bread to wash it down with). I had
gained a livelihood in various vocations, but had not dazzled anybody
with my successes; still the list was before me, and the amplest liberty
in the matter of choosing, provided I wanted to work--which I did not,
after being so wealthy. I had once been a grocery clerk, for one day,
but had consumed so much sugar in that time that I was relieved from
further duty by the proprietor; said he wanted me outside, so that he
could have my custom. I had studied law an entire week, and then given
it up because it was so prosy and tiresome. I had engaged briefly in the
study of blacksmithing, but wasted so much time trying to fix the bellows
so that it would blow itself, that the master turned me adrift in
disgrace, and told me I would come to no good. I had been a bookseller's
clerk for awhile, but the customers bothered me so much I could not read
with any comfort, and so the proprietor gave me a furlough and forgot to
put a limit to it. I had clerked in a drug store part of a summer, but
my prescriptions were unlucky, and we appeared to sell more stomach pumps
than soda water. So I had to go. I had made of myself a tolerable
printer, under the impression that I would be another Franklin some day,
but somehow had missed the connection thus far. There was no berth open
in the Esmeralda Union, and besides I had always been such a slow
compositor that I looked with envy upon the achievements of apprentices
of two years' standing; and when I took a "take," foremen were in the
habit of suggesting that it would be wanted "some time during the year."
I was a good average St. Louis and New Orleans pilot and by no means
ashamed of my abilities in that line; wages were two hundred and fifty
dollars a month and no board to pay, and I did long to stand behind a
wheel again and never roam any more--but I had been making such an ass of
myself lately in grandiloquent letters home about my blind lead and my
European excursion that I did what many and many a poor disappointed
miner had done before; said "It is all over with me now, and I will never
go back home to be pitied--and snubbed." I had been a private secretary,
a silver miner and a silver mill operative, and amounted to less than
nothing in each, and now--
What to do next?
I yielded to Higbie's appeals and consented to try the mining once more.
We climbed far up on the mountain side and went to work on a little
rubbishy claim of ours that had a shaft on it eight feet deep. Higbie
descended into it and worked bravely with his pick till he had loosened
up a deal of rock and dirt and then I went down with a long-handled
shovel (the most awkward invention yet contrived by man) to throw it out.
You must brace the shovel forward with the side of your knee till it is
full, and then, with a skilful toss, throw it backward over your left
shoulder. I made the toss, and landed the mess just on the edge of the
shaft and it all came back on my head and down the back of my neck.
I never said a word, but climbed out and walked home. I inwardly
resolved that I would starve before I would make a target of myself and
shoot rubbish at it with a long-handled shovel.
I sat down, in the cabin, and gave myself up to solid misery--so to
speak. Now in pleasanter days I had amused myself with writing letters
to the chief paper of the Territory, the Virginia Daily Territorial
Enterprise, and had always been surprised when they appeared in print.
My good opinion of the editors had steadily declined; for it seemed to me
that they might have found something better to fill up with than my
literature. I had found a letter in the post office as I came home from
the hill side, and finally I opened it. Eureka! [I never did know what
Eureka meant, but it seems to be as proper a word to heave in as any when
no other that sounds pretty offers.] It was a deliberate offer to me of
Twenty-Five Dollars a week to come up to Virginia and be city editor of
the Enterprise.
I would have challenged the publisher in the "blind lead" days--I wanted
to fall down and worship him, now. Twenty-Five Dollars a week--it looked
like bloated luxury--a fortune a sinful and lavish waste of money.
But my transports cooled when I thought of my inexperience and consequent
unfitness for the position--and straightway, on top of this, my long
array of failures rose up before me. Yet if I refused this place I must
presently become dependent upon somebody for my bread, a thing
necessarily distasteful to a man who had never experienced such a
humiliation since he was thirteen years old. Not much to be proud of,
since it is so common--but then it was all I had to be proud of. So I
was scared into being a city editor. I would have declined, otherwise.
Necessity is the mother of "taking chances." I do not doubt that if, at
that time, I had been offered a salary to translate the Talmud from the
original Hebrew, I would have accepted--albeit with diffidence and some
misgivings--and thrown as much variety into it as I could for the money.
I went up to Virginia and entered upon my new vocation. I was a rusty
looking city editor, I am free to confess--coatless, slouch hat, blue
woolen shirt, pantaloons stuffed into boot-tops, whiskered half down to
the waist, and the universal navy revolver slung to my belt. But I
secured a more Christian costume and discarded the revolver.
I had never had occasion to kill anybody, nor ever felt a desire to do
so, but had worn the thing in deference to popular sentiment, and in
order that I might not, by its absence, be offensively conspicuous, and a
subject of remark. But the other editors, and all the printers, carried
revolvers. I asked the chief editor and proprietor (Mr. Goodman, I will
call him, since it describes him as well as any name could do) for some
instructions with regard to my duties, and he told me to go all over town
and ask all sorts of people all sorts of questions, make notes of the
information gained, and write them out for publication. And he added:
"Never say 'We learn' so-and-so, or 'It is reported, or 'It is rumored,'
or 'We understand' so-and-so, but go to headquarters and get the absolute
facts, and then speak out and say 'It is so-and-so." Otherwise, people
will not put confidence in your news. Unassailable certainly is the
thing that gives a newspaper the firmest and most valuable reputation."
It was the whole thing in a nut-shell; and to this day when I find a
reporter commencing his article with "We understand," I gather a
suspicion that he has not taken as much pains to inform himself as he
ought to have done. I moralize well, but I did not always practise well
when I was a city editor; I let fancy get the upper hand of fact too
often when there was a dearth of news. I can never forget my first day's
experience as a reporter. I wandered about town questioning everybody,
boring everybody, and finding out that nobody knew anything. At the end
of five hours my notebook was still barren. I spoke to Mr. Goodman. He
said:
"Dan used to make a good thing out of the hay wagons in a dry time when
there were no fires or inquests. Are there no hay wagons in from the
Truckee? If there are, you might speak of the renewed activity and all
that sort of thing, in the hay business, you know.
It isn't sensational or exciting, but it fills up and looks business
like."
I canvassed the city again and found one wretched old hay truck dragging
in from the country. But I made affluent use of it. I multiplied it by
sixteen, brought it into town from sixteen different directions, made
sixteen separate items out of it, and got up such another sweat about hay
as Virginia City had never seen in the world before.
This was encouraging. Two nonpareil columns had to be filled, and I was
getting along. Presently, when things began to look dismal again, a
desperado killed a man in a saloon and joy returned once more. I never
was so glad over any mere trifle before in my life. I said to the
murderer:
"Sir, you are a stranger to me, but you have done me a kindness this day
which I can never forget. If whole years of gratitude can be to you any
slight compensation, they shall be yours. I was in trouble and you have
relieved me nobly and at a time when all seemed dark and drear. Count me
your friend from this time forth, for I am not a man to forget a favor."
If I did not really say that to him I at least felt a sort of itching
desire to do it. I wrote up the murder with a hungry attention to
details, and when it was finished experienced but one regret--namely,
that they had not hanged my benefactor on the spot, so that I could work
him up too.
Next I discovered some emigrant wagons going into camp on the plaza and
found that they had lately come through the hostile Indian country and
had fared rather roughly. I made the best of the item that the
circumstances permitted, and felt that if I were not confined within
rigid limits by the presence of the reporters of the other papers I could
add particulars that would make the article much more interesting.
However, I found one wagon that was going on to California, and made some
judicious inquiries of the proprietor. When I learned, through his short
and surly answers to my cross-questioning, that he was certainly going on
and would not be in the city next day to make trouble, I got ahead of the
other papers, for I took down his list of names and added his party to
the killed and wounded. Having more scope here, I put this wagon through
an Indian fight that to this day has no parallel in history.
My two columns were filled. When I read them over in the morning I felt
that I had found my legitimate occupation at last. I reasoned within
myself that news, and stirring news, too, was what a paper needed, and I
felt that I was peculiarly endowed with the ability to furnish it.
Mr. Goodman said that I was as good a reporter as Dan. I desired no
higher commendation. With encouragement like that, I felt that I could
take my pen and murder all the immigrants on the plains if need be and
the interests of the paper demanded it.
CHAPTER XLIII.
However, as I grew better acquainted with the business and learned the
run of the sources of information I ceased to require the aid of fancy to
any large extent, and became able to fill my columns without diverging
noticeably from the domain of fact.
I struck up friendships with the reporters of the other journals, and we
swapped "regulars" with each other and thus economized work. "Regulars"
are permanent sources of news, like courts, bullion returns, "clean-ups"
at the quartz mills, and inquests. Inasmuch as everybody went armed, we
had an inquest about every day, and so this department was naturally set
down among the "regulars." We had lively papers in those days. My great
competitor among the reporters was Boggs of the Union. He was an
excellent reporter. Once in three or four months he would get a little
intoxicated, but as a general thing he was a wary and cautious drinker
although always ready to tamper a little with the enemy. He had the
advantage of me in one thing; he could get the monthly public school
report and I could not, because the principal hated the Enterprise.
One snowy night when the report was due, I started out sadly wondering
how I was going to get it. Presently, a few steps up the almost deserted
street I stumbled on Boggs and asked him where he was going.
"After the school report."
"I'll go along with you."
"No, sir. I'll excuse you."
"Just as you say."
A saloon-keeper's boy passed by with a steaming pitcher of hot punch, and
Boggs snuffed the fragrance gratefully. He gazed fondly after the boy
and saw him start up the Enterprise stairs. I said:
"I wish you could help me get that school business, but since you can't,
I must run up to the Union office and see if I can get them to let me
have a proof of it after they have set it up, though I don't begin to
suppose they will. Good night."
"Hold on a minute. I don't mind getting the report and sitting around
with the boys a little, while you copy it, if you're willing to drop down
to the principal's with me."
"Now you talk like a rational being. Come along."
We plowed a couple of blocks through the snow, got the report and
returned to our office. It was a short document and soon copied.
Meantime Boggs helped himself to the punch. I gave the manuscript back
to him and we started out to get an inquest, for we heard pistol shots
near by. We got the particulars with little loss of time, for it was
only an inferior sort of bar-room murder, and of little interest to the
public, and then we separated. Away at three o'clock in the morning,
when we had gone to press and were having a relaxing concert as usual--
for some of the printers were good singers and others good performers on
the guitar and on that atrocity the accordion--the proprietor of the
Union strode in and desired to know if anybody had heard anything of
Boggs or the school report. We stated the case, and all turned out to
help hunt for the delinquent. We found him standing on a table in a
saloon, with an old tin lantern in one hand and the school report in the
other, haranguing a gang of intoxicated Cornish miners on the iniquity of
squandering the public moneys on education "when hundreds and hundreds of
honest hard-working men are literally starving for whiskey." [Riotous
applause.] He had been assisting in a regal spree with those parties for
hours. We dragged him away and put him to bed.
Of course there was no school report in the Union, and Boggs held me
accountable, though I was innocent of any intention or desire to compass
its absence from that paper and was as sorry as any one that the
misfortune had occurred.
But we were perfectly friendly. The day that the school report was next
due, the proprietor of the "Genessee" mine furnished us a buggy and asked
us to go down and write something about the property--a very common
request and one always gladly acceded to when people furnished buggies,
for we were as fond of pleasure excursions as other people. In due time
we arrived at the "mine"--nothing but a hole in the ground ninety feet
deep, and no way of getting down into it but by holding on to a rope and
being lowered with a windlass. The workmen had just gone off somewhere
to dinner. I was not strong enough to lower Boggs's bulk; so I took an
unlighted candle in my teeth, made a loop for my foot in the end of the
rope, implored Boggs not to go to sleep or let the windlass get the start
of him, and then swung out over the shaft. I reached the bottom muddy
and bruised about the elbows, but safe. I lit the candle, made an
examination of the rock, selected some specimens and shouted to Boggs to
hoist away. No answer. Presently a head appeared in the circle of
daylight away aloft, and a voice came down:
"Are you all set?"
"All set--hoist away."
"Are you comfortable?"
"Perfectly."
"Could you wait a little?"
"Oh certainly--no particular hurry."
"Well--good by."
"Why? Where are you going?"
"After the school report!"
And he did. I staid down there an hour, and surprised the workmen when
they hauled up and found a man on the rope instead of a bucket of rock.
I walked home, too--five miles--up hill. We had no school report next
morning; but the Union had.
Six months after my entry into journalism the grand "flush times" of
Silverland began, and they continued with unabated splendor for three
years. All difficulty about filling up the "local department" ceased,
and the only trouble now was how to make the lengthened columns hold the
world of incidents and happenings that came to our literary net every
day. Virginia had grown to be the "livest" town, for its age and
population, that America had ever produced. The sidewalks swarmed with
people--to such an extent, indeed, that it was generally no easy matter
to stem the human tide. The streets themselves were just as crowded with
quartz wagons, freight teams and other vehicles. The procession was
endless. So great was the pack, that buggies frequently had to wait half
an hour for an opportunity to cross the principal street. Joy sat on
every countenance, and there was a glad, almost fierce, intensity in
every eye, that told of the money-getting schemes that were seething in
every brain and the high hope that held sway in every heart. Money was
as plenty as dust; every individual considered himself wealthy, and a
melancholy countenance was nowhere to be seen. There were military
companies, fire companies, brass bands, banks, hotels, theatres, "hurdy-
gurdy houses," wide-open gambling palaces, political pow-wows, civic
processions, street fights, murders, inquests, riots, a whiskey mill
every fifteen steps, a Board of Aldermen, a Mayor, a City Surveyor, a
City Engineer, a Chief of the Fire Department, with First, Second and
Third Assistants, a Chief of Police, City Marshal and a large police
force, two Boards of Mining Brokers, a dozen breweries and half a dozen
jails and station-houses in full operation, and some talk of building a
church. The "flush times" were in magnificent flower! Large fire-proof
brick buildings were going up in the principal streets, and the wooden
suburbs were spreading out in all directions. Town lots soared up to
prices that were amazing.
The great "Comstock lode" stretched its opulent length straight through
the town from north to south, and every mine on it was in diligent
process of development. One of these mines alone employed six hundred
and seventy-five men, and in the matter of elections the adage was, "as
the 'Gould and Curry' goes, so goes the city." Laboring men's wages were
four and six dollars a day, and they worked in three "shifts" or gangs,
and the blasting and picking and shoveling went on without ceasing, night
and day.
The "city" of Virginia roosted royally midway up the steep side of Mount
Davidson, seven thousand two hundred feet above the level of the sea, and
in the clear Nevada atmosphere was visible from a distance of fifty
miles! It claimed a population of fifteen thousand to eighteen thousand,
and all day long half of this little army swarmed the streets like bees
and the other half swarmed among the drifts and tunnels of the
"Comstock," hundreds of feet down in the earth directly under those same
streets. Often we felt our chairs jar, and heard the faint boom of a
blast down in the bowels of the earth under the office.
The mountain side was so steep that the entire town had a slant to it
like a roof. Each street was a terrace, and from each to the next street
below the descent was forty or fifty feet. The fronts of the houses were
level with the street they faced, but their rear first floors were
propped on lofty stilts; a man could stand at a rear first floor window
of a C street house and look down the chimneys of the row of houses below
him facing D street. It was a laborious climb, in that thin atmosphere,
to ascend from D to A street, and you were panting and out of breath when
you got there; but you could turn around and go down again like a house
a-fire--so to speak. The atmosphere was so rarified, on account of the
great altitude, that one's blood lay near the surface always, and the
scratch of a pin was a disaster worth worrying about, for the chances
were that a grievous erysipelas would ensue. But to offset this, the
thin atmosphere seemed to carry healing to gunshot wounds, and therefore,
to simply shoot your adversary through both lungs was a thing not likely
to afford you any permanent satisfaction, for he would be nearly certain
to be around looking for you within the month, and not with an opera
glass, either.
From Virginia's airy situation one could look over a vast, far-reaching
panorama of mountain ranges and deserts; and whether the day was bright
or overcast, whether the sun was rising or setting, or flaming in the
zenith, or whether night and the moon held sway, the spectacle was always
impressive and beautiful. Over your head Mount Davidson lifted its gray
dome, and before and below you a rugged canyon clove the battlemented
hills, making a sombre gateway through which a soft-tinted desert was
glimpsed, with the silver thread of a river winding through it, bordered
with trees which many miles of distance diminished to a delicate fringe;
and still further away the snowy mountains rose up and stretched their
long barrier to the filmy horizon--far enough beyond a lake that burned
in the desert like a fallen sun, though that, itself, lay fifty miles
removed. Look from your window where you would, there was fascination in
the picture. At rare intervals--but very rare--there were clouds in our
skies, and then the setting sun would gild and flush and glorify this
mighty expanse of scenery with a bewildering pomp of color that held the
eye like a spell and moved the spirit like music.
CHAPTER XLIV.
My salary was increased to forty dollars a week. But I seldom drew it.
I had plenty of other resources, and what were two broad twenty-dollar
gold pieces to a man who had his pockets full of such and a cumbersome
abundance of bright half dollars besides? [Paper money has never come
into use on the Pacific coast.] Reporting was lucrative, and every man
in the town was lavish with his money and his "feet." The city and all
the great mountain side were riddled with mining shafts. There were more
mines than miners. True, not ten of these mines were yielding rock worth
hauling to a mill, but everybody said, "Wait till the shaft gets down
where the ledge comes in solid, and then you will see!" So nobody was
discouraged. These were nearly all "wild cat" mines, and wholly
worthless, but nobody believed it then. The "Ophir," the "Gould &
Curry," the "Mexican," and other great mines on the Comstock lead in
Virginia and Gold Hill were turning out huge piles of rich rock every
day, and every man believed that his little wild cat claim was as good as
any on the "main lead" and would infallibly be worth a thousand dollars a
foot when he "got down where it came in solid." Poor fellow, he was
blessedly blind to the fact that he never would see that day. So the
thousand wild cat shafts burrowed deeper and deeper into the earth day by
day, and all men were beside themselves with hope and happiness. How
they labored, prophesied, exulted! Surely nothing like it was ever seen
before since the world began. Every one of these wild cat mines--not
mines, but holes in the ground over imaginary mines--was incorporated and
had handsomely engraved "stock" and the stock was salable, too. It was
bought and sold with a feverish avidity in the boards every day. You
could go up on the mountain side, scratch around and find a ledge (there
was no lack of them), put up a "notice" with a grandiloquent name in it,
start a shaft, get your stock printed, and with nothing whatever to prove
that your mine was worth a straw, you could put your stock on the market
and sell out for hundreds and even thousands of dollars. To make money,
and make it fast, was as easy as it was to eat your dinner.
Every man owned "feet" in fifty different wild cat mines and considered
his fortune made. Think of a city with not one solitary poor man in it!
One would suppose that when month after month went by and still not a
wild cat mine (by wild cat I mean, in general terms, any claim not
located on the mother vein, i.e., the "Comstock") yielded a ton of rock
worth crushing, the people would begin to wonder if they were not putting
too much faith in their prospective riches; but there was not a thought
of such a thing. They burrowed away, bought and sold, and were happy.
New claims were taken up daily, and it was the friendly custom to run
straight to the newspaper offices, give the reporter forty or fifty
"feet," and get them to go and examine the mine and publish a notice of
it. They did not care a fig what you said about the property so you said
something. Consequently we generally said a word or two to the effect
that the "indications" were good, or that the ledge was "six feet wide,"
or that the rock "resembled the Comstock" (and so it did--but as a
general thing the resemblance was not startling enough to knock you
down). If the rock was moderately promising, we followed the custom of
the country, used strong adjectives and frothed at the mouth as if a very
marvel in silver discoveries had transpired. If the mine was a
"developed" one, and had no pay ore to show (and of course it hadn't), we
praised the tunnel; said it was one of the most infatuating tunnels in
the land; driveled and driveled about the tunnel till we ran entirely out
of ecstasies--but never said a word about the rock. We would squander
half a column of adulation on a shaft, or a new wire rope, or a dressed
pine windlass, or a fascinating force pump, and close with a burst of
admiration of the "gentlemanly and efficient Superintendent" of the mine
--but never utter a whisper about the rock. And those people were always
pleased, always satisfied. Occasionally we patched up and varnished our
reputation for discrimination and stern, undeviating accuracy, by giving
some old abandoned claim a blast that ought to have made its dry bones
rattle--and then somebody would seize it and sell it on the fleeting
notoriety thus conferred upon it.
There was nothing in the shape of a mining claim that was not salable.
We received presents of "feet" every day. If we needed a hundred dollars
or so, we sold some; if not, we hoarded it away, satisfied that it would
ultimately be worth a thousand dollars a foot. I had a trunk about half
full of "stock." When a claim made a stir in the market and went up to a
high figure, I searched through my pile to see if I had any of its stock
--and generally found it.
The prices rose and fell constantly; but still a fall disturbed us
little, because a thousand dollars a foot was our figure, and so we were
content to let it fluctuate as much as it pleased till it reached it.
My pile of stock was not all given to me by people who wished their
claims "noticed." At least half of it was given me by persons who had no
thought of such a thing, and looked for nothing more than a simple verbal
"thank you;" and you were not even obliged by law to furnish that.
If you are coming up the street with a couple of baskets of apples in
your hands, and you meet a friend, you naturally invite him to take a
few. That describes the condition of things in Virginia in the "flush
times." Every man had his pockets full of stock, and it was the actual
custom of the country to part with small quantities of it to friends
without the asking.
Very often it was a good idea to close the transaction instantly, when a
man offered a stock present to a friend, for the offer was only good and
binding at that moment, and if the price went to a high figure shortly
afterward the procrastination was a thing to be regretted. Mr. Stewart
(Senator, now, from Nevada) one day told me he would give me twenty feet
of "Justis" stock if I would walk over to his office. It was worth five
or ten dollars a foot. I asked him to make the offer good for next day,
as I was just going to dinner. He said he would not be in town; so I
risked it and took my dinner instead of the stock. Within the week the
price went up to seventy dollars and afterward to a hundred and fifty,
but nothing could make that man yield. I suppose he sold that stock of
mine and placed the guilty proceeds in his own pocket. [My revenge will
be found in the accompanying portrait.] I met three friends one
afternoon, who said they had been buying "Overman" stock at auction at
eight dollars a foot. One said if I would come up to his office he would
give me fifteen feet; another said he would add fifteen; the third said
he would do the same. But I was going after an inquest and could not
stop. A few weeks afterward they sold all their "Overman" at six hundred
dollars a foot and generously came around to tell me about it--and also
to urge me to accept of the next forty-five feet of it that people tried
to force on me.
These are actual facts, and I could make the list a long one and still
confine myself strictly to the truth. Many a time friends gave us as
much as twenty-five feet of stock that was selling at twenty-five dollars
a foot, and they thought no more of it than they would of offering a
guest a cigar. These were "flush times" indeed! I thought they were
going to last always, but somehow I never was much of a prophet.
To show what a wild spirit possessed the mining brain of the community,
I will remark that "claims" were actually "located" in excavations for
cellars, where the pick had exposed what seemed to be quartz veins--and
not cellars in the suburbs, either, but in the very heart of the city;
and forthwith stock would be issued and thrown on the market. It was
small matter who the cellar belonged to--the "ledge" belonged to the
finder, and unless the United States government interfered (inasmuch as
the government holds the primary right to mines of the noble metals in
Nevada--or at least did then), it was considered to be his privilege to
work it. Imagine a stranger staking out a mining claim among the costly
shrubbery in your front yard and calmly proceeding to lay waste the
ground with pick and shovel and blasting powder! It has been often done
in California. In the middle of one of the principal business streets of
Virginia, a man "located" a mining claim and began a shaft on it. He
gave me a hundred feet of the stock and I sold it for a fine suit of
clothes because I was afraid somebody would fall down the shaft and sue
for damages. I owned in another claim that was located in the middle of
another street; and to show how absurd people can be, that "East India"
stock (as it was called) sold briskly although there was an ancient
tunnel running directly under the claim and any man could go into it and
see that it did not cut a quartz ledge or anything that remotely
resembled one.
One plan of acquiring sudden wealth was to "salt" a wild cat claim and
sell out while the excitement was up. The process was simple.
The schemer located a worthless ledge, sunk a shaft on it, bought a wagon
load of rich "Comstock" ore, dumped a portion of it into the shaft and
piled the rest by its side, above ground. Then he showed the property to
a simpleton and sold it to him at a high figure. Of course the wagon
load of rich ore was all that the victim ever got out of his purchase.
A most remarkable case of "salting" was that of the "North Ophir."
It was claimed that this vein was a remote extension" of the original
"Ophir," a valuable mine on the "Comstock." For a few days everybody was
talking about the rich developments in the North Ophir. It was said that
it yielded perfectly pure silver in small, solid lumps. I went to the
place with the owners, and found a shaft six or eight feet deep, in the
bottom of which was a badly shattered vein of dull, yellowish,
unpromising rock. One would as soon expect to find silver in a
grindstone. We got out a pan of the rubbish and washed it in a puddle,
and sure enough, among the sediment we found half a dozen black, bullet-
looking pellets of unimpeachable "native" silver. Nobody had ever heard
of such a thing before; science could not account for such a queer
novelty. The stock rose to sixty-five dollars a foot, and at this figure
the world-renowned tragedian, McKean Buchanan, bought a commanding
interest and prepared to quit the stage once more--he was always doing
that. And then it transpired that the mine had been "salted"--and not in
any hackneyed way, either, but in a singularly bold, barefaced and
peculiarly original and outrageous fashion. On one of the lumps of
"native" silver was discovered the minted legend, "TED STATES OF," and
then it was plainly apparent that the mine had been "salted" with melted
half-dollars! The lumps thus obtained had been blackened till they
resembled native silver, and were then mixed with the shattered rock in
the bottom of the shaft. It is literally true. Of course the price of
the stock at once fell to nothing, and the tragedian was ruined. But for
this calamity we might have lost McKean Buchanan from the stage.
CHAPTER XLV.
The "flush times" held bravely on. Something over two years before, Mr.
Goodman and another journeyman printer, had borrowed forty dollars and
set out from San Francisco to try their fortunes in the new city of
Virginia. They found the Territorial Enterprise, a poverty-stricken
weekly journal, gasping for breath and likely to die. They bought it,
type, fixtures, good-will and all, for a thousand dollars, on long time.
The editorial sanctum, news-room, press-room, publication office, bed-
chamber, parlor, and kitchen were all compressed into one apartment and
it was a small one, too. The editors and printers slept on the floor, a
Chinaman did their cooking, and the "imposing-stone" was the general
dinner table. But now things were changed. The paper was a great daily,
printed by steam; there were five editors and twenty-three compositors;
the subscription price was sixteen dollars a year; the advertising rates
were exorbitant, and the columns crowded. The paper was clearing from
six to ten thousand dollars a month, and the "Enterprise Building" was
finished and ready for occupation--a stately fireproof brick. Every day
from five all the way up to eleven columns of "live" advertisements were
left out or crowded into spasmodic and irregular "supplements."
The "Gould & Curry" company were erecting a monster hundred-stamp mill at
a cost that ultimately fell little short of a million dollars. Gould &
Curry stock paid heavy dividends--a rare thing, and an experience
confined to the dozen or fifteen claims located on the "main lead," the
"Comstock." The Superintendent of the Gould & Curry lived, rent free, in
a fine house built and furnished by the company. He drove a fine pair of
horses which were a present from the company, and his salary was twelve
thousand dollars a year. The superintendent of another of the great
mines traveled in grand state, had a salary of twenty-eight thousand
dollars a year, and in a law suit in after days claimed that he was to
have had one per cent. on the gross yield of the bullion likewise.
Money was wonderfully plenty. The trouble was, not how to get it,--but
how to spend it, how to lavish it, get rid of it, squander it. And so it
was a happy thing that just at this juncture the news came over the wires
that a great United States Sanitary Commission had been formed and money
was wanted for the relief of the wounded sailors and soldiers of the
Union languishing in the Eastern hospitals. Right on the heels of it
came word that San Francisco had responded superbly before the telegram
was half a day old. Virginia rose as one man! A Sanitary Committee was
hurriedly organized, and its chairman mounted a vacant cart in C street
and tried to make the clamorous multitude understand that the rest of the
committee were flying hither and thither and working with all their might
and main, and that if the town would only wait an hour, an office would
be ready, books opened, and the Commission prepared to receive
contributions. His voice was drowned and his information lost in a
ceaseless roar of cheers, and demands that the money be received now--
they swore they would not wait. The chairman pleaded and argued, but,
deaf to all entreaty, men plowed their way through the throng and rained
checks of gold coin into the cart and skurried away for more. Hands
clutching money, were thrust aloft out of the jam by men who hoped this
eloquent appeal would cleave a road their strugglings could not open.
The very Chinamen and Indians caught the excitement and dashed their half
dollars into the cart without knowing or caring what it was all about.
Women plunged into the crowd, trimly attired, fought their way to the
cart with their coin, and emerged again, by and by, with their apparel in
a state of hopeless dilapidation. It was the wildest mob Virginia had
ever seen and the most determined and ungovernable; and when at last it
abated its fury and dispersed, it had not a penny in its pocket.
To use its own phraseology, it came there "flush" and went away "busted."
After that, the Commission got itself into systematic working order, and
for weeks the contributions flowed into its treasury in a generous
stream. Individuals and all sorts of organizations levied upon
themselves a regular weekly tax for the sanitary fund, graduated
according to their means, and there was not another grand universal
outburst till the famous "Sanitary Flour Sack" came our way. Its history
is peculiar and interesting. A former schoolmate of mine, by the name of
Reuel Gridley, was living at the little city of Austin, in the Reese
river country, at this time, and was the Democratic candidate for mayor.
He and the Republican candidate made an agreement that the defeated man
should be publicly presented with a fifty-pound sack of flour by the
successful one, and should carry it home on his shoulder. Gridley was
defeated. The new mayor gave him the sack of flour, and he shouldered it
and carried it a mile or two, from Lower Austin to his home in Upper
Austin, attended by a band of music and the whole population. Arrived
there, he said he did not need the flour, and asked what the people
thought he had better do with it. A voice said:
"Sell it to the highest bidder, for the benefit of the Sanitary fund."
The suggestion was greeted with a round of applause, and Gridley mounted
a dry-goods box and assumed the role of auctioneer. The bids went higher
and higher, as the sympathies of the pioneers awoke and expanded, till at
last the sack was knocked down to a mill man at two hundred and fifty
dollars, and his check taken. He was asked where he would have the flour
delivered, and he said:
"Nowhere--sell it again."
Now the cheers went up royally, and the multitude were fairly in the
spirit of the thing. So Gridley stood there and shouted and perspired
till the sun went down; and when the crowd dispersed he had sold the sack
to three hundred different people, and had taken in eight thousand
dollars in gold. And still the flour sack was in his possession.
The news came to Virginia, and a telegram went back:
"Fetch along your flour sack!
Thirty-six hours afterward Gridley arrived, and an afternoon mass meeting
was held in the Opera House, and the auction began. But the sack had
come sooner than it was expected; the people were not thoroughly aroused,
and the sale dragged. At nightfall only five thousand dollars had been
secured, and there was a crestfallen feeling in the community. However,
there was no disposition to let the matter rest here and acknowledge
vanquishment at the hands of the village of Austin. Till late in the
night the principal citizens were at work arranging the morrow's
campaign, and when they went to bed they had no fears for the result.
At eleven the next morning a procession of open carriages, attended by
clamorous bands of music and adorned with a moving display of flags,
filed along C street and was soon in danger of blockade by a huzzaing
multitude of citizens. In the first carriage sat Gridley, with the flour
sack in prominent view, the latter splendid with bright paint and gilt
lettering; also in the same carriage sat the mayor and the recorder.
The other carriages contained the Common Council, the editors and
reporters, and other people of imposing consequence. The crowd pressed
to the corner of C and Taylor streets, expecting the sale to begin there,
but they were disappointed, and also unspeakably surprised; for the
cavalcade moved on as if Virginia had ceased to be of importance, and
took its way over the "divide," toward the small town of Gold Hill.
Telegrams had gone ahead to Gold Hill, Silver City and Dayton, and those
communities were at fever heat and rife for the conflict. It was a very
hot day, and wonderfully dusty. At the end of a short half hour we
descended into Gold Hill with drums beating and colors flying, and
enveloped in imposing clouds of dust. The whole population--men, women
and children, Chinamen and Indians, were massed in the main street, all
the flags in town were at the mast head, and the blare of the bands was
drowned in cheers. Gridley stood up and asked who would make the first
bid for the National Sanitary Flour Sack. Gen. W. said:
"The Yellow Jacket silver mining company offers a thousand dollars,
coin!"
A tempest of applause followed. A telegram carried the news to Virginia,
and fifteen minutes afterward that city's population was massed in the
streets devouring the tidings--for it was part of the programme that the
bulletin boards should do a good work that day. Every few minutes a new
dispatch was bulletined from Gold Hill, and still the excitement grew.
Telegrams began to return to us from Virginia beseeching Gridley to bring
back the flour sack; but such was not the plan of the campaign. At the
end of an hour Gold Hill's small population had paid a figure for the
flour sack that awoke all the enthusiasm of Virginia when the grand total
was displayed upon the bulletin boards. Then the Gridley cavalcade moved
on, a giant refreshed with new lager beer and plenty of it--for the
people brought it to the carriages without waiting to measure it--and
within three hours more the expedition had carried Silver City and Dayton
by storm and was on its way back covered with glory. Every move had been
telegraphed and bulletined, and as the procession entered Virginia and
filed down C street at half past eight in the evening the town was abroad
in the thoroughfares, torches were glaring, flags flying, bands playing,
cheer on cheer cleaving the air, and the city ready to surrender at
discretion. The auction began, every bid was greeted with bursts of
applause, and at the end of two hours and a half a population of fifteen
thousand souls had paid in coin for a fifty-pound sack of flour a sum
equal to forty thousand dollars in greenbacks! It was at a rate in the
neighborhood of three dollars for each man, woman and child of the
population. The grand total would have been twice as large, but the
streets were very narrow, and hundreds who wanted to bid could not get
within a block of the stand, and could not make themselves heard. These
grew tired of waiting and many of them went home long before the auction
was over. This was the greatest day Virginia ever saw, perhaps.
Gridley sold the sack in Carson city and several California towns; also
in San Francisco. Then he took it east and sold it in one or two
Atlantic cities, I think. I am not sure of that, but I know that he
finally carried it to St. Louis, where a monster Sanitary Fair was being
held, and after selling it there for a large sum and helping on the
enthusiasm by displaying the portly silver bricks which Nevada's donation
had produced, he had the flour baked up into small cakes and retailed
them at high prices.
It was estimated that when the flour sack's mission was ended it had been
sold for a grand total of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in
greenbacks! This is probably the only instance on record where common
family flour brought three thousand dollars a pound in the public market.
It is due to Mr. Gridley's memory to mention that the expenses of his
sanitary flour sack expedition of fifteen thousand miles, going and
returning, were paid in large part if not entirely, out of his own
pocket. The time he gave to it was not less than three months.
Mr. Gridley was a soldier in the Mexican war and a pioneer Californian.
He died at Stockton, California, in December, 1870, greatly regretted.
CHAPTER XLVI.
There were nabobs in those days--in the "flush times," I mean. Every
rich strike in the mines created one or two. I call to mind several of
these. They were careless, easy-going fellows, as a general thing, and
the community at large was as much benefited by their riches as they were
themselves--possibly more, in some cases.
Two cousins, teamsters, did some hauling for a man and had to take a
small segregated portion of a silver mine in lieu of $300 cash. They
gave an outsider a third to open the mine, and they went on teaming. But
not long. Ten months afterward the mine was out of debt and paying each
owner $8,000 to $10,000 a month--say $100,000 a year.
One of the earliest nabobs that Nevada was delivered of wore $6,000 worth
of diamonds in his bosom, and swore he was unhappy because he could not
spend his money as fast as he made it.
Another Nevada nabob boasted an income that often reached $16,000 a
month; and he used to love to tell how he had worked in the very mine
that yielded it, for five dollars a day, when he first came to the
country.
The silver and sage-brush State has knowledge of another of these pets of
fortune--lifted from actual poverty to affluence almost in a single
night--who was able to offer $100,000 for a position of high official
distinction, shortly afterward, and did offer it--but failed to get it,
his politics not being as sound as his bank account.
Then there was John Smith. He was a good, honest, kind-hearted soul,
born and reared in the lower ranks of life, and miraculously ignorant.
He drove a team, and owned a small ranch--a ranch that paid him a
comfortable living, for although it yielded but little hay, what little
it did yield was worth from $250 to $300 in gold per ton in the market.
Presently Smith traded a few acres of the ranch for a small undeveloped
silver mine in Gold Hill. He opened the mine and built a little
unpretending ten-stamp mill. Eighteen months afterward he retired from
the hay business, for his mining income had reached a most comfortable
figure. Some people said it was $30,000 a month, and others said it was
$60,000. Smith was very rich at any rate.
And then he went to Europe and traveled. And when he came back he was
never tired of telling about the fine hogs he had seen in England, and
the gorgeous sheep he had seen in Spain, and the fine cattle he had
noticed in the vicinity of Rome. He was full of wonders of the old
world, and advised everybody to travel. He said a man never imagined
what surprising things there were in the world till he had traveled.
One day, on board ship, the passengers made up a pool of $500, which was
to be the property of the man who should come nearest to guessing the run
of the vessel for the next twenty-four hours. Next day, toward noon, the
figures were all in the purser's hands in sealed envelopes. Smith was
serene and happy, for he had been bribing the engineer. But another
party won the prize! Smith said:
Here, that won't do! He guessed two miles wider of the mark than I did."
The purser said, "Mr. Smith, you missed it further than any man on board.
We traveled two hundred and eight miles yesterday."
"Well, sir," said Smith, "that's just where I've got you, for I guessed
two hundred and nine. If you'll look at my figgers again you'll find a 2
and two 0's, which stands for 200, don't it?--and after 'em you'll find a
9 (2009), which stands for two hundred and nine. I reckon I'll take that
money, if you please."
The Gould & Curry claim comprised twelve hundred feet, and it all
belonged originally to the two men whose names it bears. Mr. Curry owned
two thirds of it--and he said that he sold it out for twenty-five hundred
dollars in cash, and an old plug horse that ate up his market value in
hay and barley in seventeen days by the watch. And he said that Gould
sold out for a pair of second-hand government blankets and a bottle of
whisky that killed nine men in three hours, and that an unoffending
stranger that smelt the cork was disabled for life. Four years afterward
the mine thus disposed of was worth in the San Francisco market seven
millions six hundred thousand dollars in gold coin.
In the early days a poverty-stricken Mexican who lived in a canyon
directly back of Virginia City, had a stream of water as large as a man's
wrist trickling from the hill-side on his premises. The Ophir Company
segregated a hundred feet of their mine and traded it to him for the
stream of water. The hundred feet proved to be the richest part of the
entire mine; four years after the swap, its market value (including its
mill) was $1,500,000.
An individual who owned twenty feet in the Ophir mine before its great
riches were revealed to men, traded it for a horse, and a very sorry
looking brute he was, too. A year or so afterward, when Ophir stock went
up to $3,000 a foot, this man, who had not a cent, used to say he was the
most startling example of magnificence and misery the world had ever
seen--because he was able to ride a sixty-thousand-dollar horse--yet
could not scrape up cash enough to buy a saddle, and was obliged to
borrow one or ride bareback. He said if fortune were to give him another
sixty-thousand-dollar horse it would ruin him.
A youth of nineteen, who was a telegraph operator in Virginia on a salary
of a hundred dollars a month, and who, when he could not make out German
names in the list of San Francisco steamer arrivals, used to ingeniously
select and supply substitutes for them out of an old Berlin city
directory, made himself rich by watching the mining telegrams that passed
through his hands and buying and selling stocks accordingly, through a
friend in San Francisco. Once when a private dispatch was sent from
Virginia announcing a rich strike in a prominent mine and advising that
the matter be kept secret till a large amount of the stock could be
secured, he bought forty "feet" of the stock at twenty dollars a foot,
and afterward sold half of it at eight hundred dollars a foot and the
rest at double that figure. Within three months he was worth $150,000,
and had resigned his telegraphic position.
Another telegraph operator who had been discharged by the company for
divulging the secrets of the office, agreed with a moneyed man in San
Francisco to furnish him the result of a great Virginia mining lawsuit
within an hour after its private reception by the parties to it in San
Francisco. For this he was to have a large percentage of the profits on
purchases and sales made on it by his fellow-conspirator. So he went,
disguised as a teamster, to a little wayside telegraph office in the
mountains, got acquainted with the operator, and sat in the office day
after day, smoking his pipe, complaining that his team was fagged out and
unable to travel--and meantime listening to the dispatches as they passed
clicking through the machine from Virginia. Finally the private dispatch
announcing the result of the lawsuit sped over the wires, and as soon as
he heard it he telegraphed his friend in San Francisco:
"Am tired waiting. Shall sell the team and go home."
It was the signal agreed upon. The word "waiting" left out, would have
signified that the suit had gone the other way.
The mock teamster's friend picked up a deal of the mining stock, at low
figures, before the news became public, and a fortune was the result.
For a long time after one of the great Virginia mines had been
incorporated, about fifty feet of the original location were still in the
hands of a man who had never signed the incorporation papers. The stock
became very valuable, and every effort was made to find this man, but he
had disappeared. Once it was heard that he was in New York, and one or
two speculators went east but failed to find him. Once the news came
that he was in the Bermudas, and straightway a speculator or two hurried
east and sailed for Bermuda--but he was not there. Finally he was heard
of in Mexico, and a friend of his, a bar-keeper on a salary, scraped
together a little money and sought him out, bought his "feet" for a
hundred dollars, returned and sold the property for $75,000.
But why go on? The traditions of Silverland are filled with instances
like these, and I would never get through enumerating them were I to
attempt do it. I only desired to give, the reader an idea of a
peculiarity of the "flush times" which I could not present so strikingly
in any other way, and which some mention of was necessary to a realizing
comprehension of the time and the country.
I was personally acquainted with the majority of the nabobs I have
referred to, and so, for old acquaintance sake, I have shifted their
occupations and experiences around in such a way as to keep the Pacific
public from recognizing these once notorious men. No longer notorious,
for the majority of them have drifted back into poverty and obscurity
again.
In Nevada there used to be current the story of an adventure of two of
her nabobs, which may or may not have occurred. I give it for what it is
worth:
Col. Jim had seen somewhat of the world, and knew more or less of its
ways; but Col. Jack was from the back settlements of the States, had led
a life of arduous toil, and had never seen a city. These two, blessed
with sudden wealth, projected a visit to New York,--Col. Jack to see the
sights, and Col. Jim to guard his unsophistication from misfortune. They
reached San Francisco in the night, and sailed in the morning. Arrived
in New York, Col. Jack said:
"I've heard tell of carriages all my life, and now I mean to have a ride
in one; I don't care what it costs. Come along."
They stepped out on the sidewalk, and Col. Jim called a stylish barouche.
But Col. Jack said:
"No, sir! None of your cheap-John turn-outs for me. I'm here to have a
good time, and money ain't any object. I mean to have the nobbiest rig
that's going. Now here comes the very trick. Stop that yaller one with
the pictures on it--don't you fret--I'll stand all the expenses myself."
So Col. Jim stopped an empty omnibus, and they got in. Said Col. Jack:
"Ain't it gay, though? Oh, no, I reckon not! Cushions, and windows, and
pictures, till you can't rest. What would the boys say if they could see
us cutting a swell like this in New York? By George, I wish they could
see us."
Then he put his head out of the window, and shouted to the driver:
"Say, Johnny, this suits me!--suits yours truly, you bet, you! I want
this shebang all day. I'm on it, old man! Let 'em out! Make 'em go!
We'll make it all right with you, sonny!"
The driver passed his hand through the strap-hole, and tapped for his
fare--it was before the gongs came into common use. Col. Jack took the
hand, and shook it cordially. He said:
"You twig me, old pard! All right between gents. Smell of that, and see
how you like it!"
And he put a twenty-dollar gold piece in the driver's hand. After a
moment the driver said he could not make change.
"Bother the change! Ride it out. Put it in your pocket."
Then to Col. Jim, with a sounding slap on his thigh:
"Ain't it style, though? Hanged if I don't hire this thing every day for
a week."
The omnibus stopped, and a young lady got in. Col. Jack stared a moment,
then nudged Col. Jim with his elbow:
"Don't say a word," he whispered. "Let her ride, if she wants to.
Gracious, there's room enough."
The young lady got out her porte-monnaie, and handed her fare to Col.
Jack.
"What's this for?" said he.
"Give it to the driver, please."
"Take back your money, madam. We can't allow it. You're welcome to ride
here as long as you please, but this shebang's chartered, and we can't
let you pay a cent."
The girl shrunk into a corner, bewildered. An old lady with a basket
climbed in, and proffered her fare.
"Excuse me," said Col. Jack. "You're perfectly welcome here, madam, but
we can't allow you to pay. Set right down there, mum, and don't you be
the least uneasy. Make yourself just as free as if you was in your own
turn-out."
Within two minutes, three gentlemen, two fat women, and a couple of
children, entered.
"Come right along, friends," said Col. Jack; "don't mind us. This is a
free blow-out." Then he whispered to Col. Jim,
"New York ain't no sociable place, I don't reckon--it ain't no name for
it!"
He resisted every effort to pass fares to the driver, and made everybody
cordially welcome. The situation dawned on the people, and they pocketed
their money, and delivered themselves up to covert enjoyment of the
episode. Half a dozen more passengers entered.
"Oh, there's plenty of room," said Col. Jack. "Walk right in, and make
yourselves at home. A blow-out ain't worth anything as a blow-out,
unless a body has company." Then in a whisper to Col. Jim: "But ain't
these New Yorkers friendly? And ain't they cool about it, too? Icebergs
ain't anywhere. I reckon they'd tackle a hearse, if it was going their
way."
More passengers got in; more yet, and still more. Both seats were
filled, and a file of men were standing up, holding on to the cleats
overhead. Parties with baskets and bundles were climbing up on the roof.
Half-suppressed laughter rippled up from all sides.
"Well, for clean, cool, out-and-out cheek, if this don't bang anything
that ever I saw, I'm an Injun!" whispered Col. Jack.
A Chinaman crowded his way in.
"I weaken!" said Col. Jack. "Hold on, driver! Keep your seats, ladies,
and gents. Just make yourselves free--everything's paid for. Driver,
rustle these folks around as long as they're a mind to go--friends of
ours, you know. Take them everywheres--and if you want more money, come
to the St. Nicholas, and we'll make it all right. Pleasant journey to
you, ladies and gents--go it just as long as you please--it shan't cost
you a cent!"
The two comrades got out, and Col. Jack said:
"Jimmy, it's the sociablest place I ever saw. The Chinaman waltzed in as
comfortable as anybody. If we'd staid awhile, I reckon we'd had some
niggers. B' George, we'll have to barricade our doors to-night, or some
of these ducks will be trying to sleep with us."
CHAPTER XLVII.
Somebody has said that in order to know a community, one must observe the
style of its funerals and know what manner of men they bury with most
ceremony. I cannot say which class we buried with most eclat in our
"flush times," the distinguished public benefactor or the distinguished
rough--possibly the two chief grades or grand divisions of society
honored their illustrious dead about equally; and hence, no doubt the
philosopher I have quoted from would have needed to see two
representative funerals in Virginia before forming his estimate of the
people.
There was a grand time over Buck Fanshaw when he died. He was a
representative citizen. He had "killed his man"--not in his own quarrel,
it is true, but in defence of a stranger unfairly beset by numbers.
He had kept a sumptuous saloon. He had been the proprietor of a dashing
helpmeet whom he could have discarded without the formality of a divorce.
He had held a high position in the fire department and been a very
Warwick in politics. When he died there was great lamentation throughout
the town, but especially in the vast bottom-stratum of society.
On the inquest it was shown that Buck Fanshaw, in the delirium of a
wasting typhoid fever, had taken arsenic, shot himself through the body,
cut his throat, and jumped out of a four-story window and broken his
neck--and after due deliberation, the jury, sad and tearful, but with
intelligence unblinded by its sorrow, brought in a verdict of death "by
the visitation of God." What could the world do without juries?
Prodigious preparations were made for the funeral. All the vehicles in
town were hired, all the saloons put in mourning, all the municipal and
fire-company flags hung at half-mast, and all the firemen ordered to
muster in uniform and bring their machines duly draped in black. Now--
let us remark in parenthesis--as all the peoples of the earth had
representative adventurers in the Silverland, and as each adventurer had
brought the slang of his nation or his locality with him, the combination
made the slang of Nevada the richest and the most infinitely varied and
copious that had ever existed anywhere in the world, perhaps, except in
the mines of California in the "early days." Slang was the language of
Nevada. It was hard to preach a sermon without it, and be understood.
Such phrases as "You bet!" "Oh, no, I reckon not!" "No Irish need
apply," and a hundred others, became so common as to fall from the lips
of a speaker unconsciously--and very often when they did not touch the
subject under discussion and consequently failed to mean anything.
After Buck Fanshaw's inquest, a meeting of the short-haired brotherhood
was held, for nothing can be done on the Pacific coast without a public
meeting and an expression of sentiment. Regretful resolutions were
passed and various committees appointed; among others, a committee of one
was deputed to call on the minister, a fragile, gentle, spiritual new
fledgling from an Eastern theological seminary, and as yet unacquainted
with the ways of the mines. The committeeman, "Scotty" Briggs, made his
visit; and in after days it was worth something to hear the minister tell
about it. Scotty was a stalwart rough, whose customary suit, when on
weighty official business, like committee work, was a fire helmet,
flaming red flannel shirt, patent leather belt with spanner and revolver
attached, coat hung over arm, and pants stuffed into boot tops.
He formed something of a contrast to the pale theological student. It is
fair to say of Scotty, however, in passing, that he had a warm heart, and
a strong love for his friends, and never entered into a quarrel when he
could reasonably keep out of it. Indeed, it was commonly said that
whenever one of Scotty's fights was investigated, it always turned out
that it had originally been no affair of his, but that out of native
good-heartedness he had dropped in of his own accord to help the man who
was getting the worst of it. He and Buck Fanshaw were bosom friends, for
years, and had often taken adventurous "pot-luck" together. On one
occasion, they had thrown off their coats and taken the weaker side in a
fight among strangers, and after gaining a hard-earned victory, turned
and found that the men they were helping had deserted early, and not only
that, but had stolen their coats and made off with them! But to return
to Scotty's visit to the minister. He was on a sorrowful mission, now,
and his face was the picture of woe. Being admitted to the presence he
sat down before the clergyman, placed his fire-hat on an unfinished
manuscript sermon under the minister's nose, took from it a red silk
handkerchief, wiped his brow and heaved a sigh of dismal impressiveness,
explanatory of his business.
He choked, and even shed tears; but with an effort he mastered his voice
and said in lugubrious tones:
"Are you the duck that runs the gospel-mill next door?"
"Am I the--pardon me, I believe I do not understand?"
With another sigh and a half-sob, Scotty rejoined:
"Why you see we are in a bit of trouble, and the boys thought maybe you
would give us a lift, if we'd tackle you--that is, if I've got the rights
of it and you are the head clerk of the doxology-works next door."
"I am the shepherd in charge of the flock whose fold is next door."
"The which?"
"The spiritual adviser of the little company of believers whose sanctuary
adjoins these premises."
Scotty scratched his head, reflected a moment, and then said:
"You ruther hold over me, pard. I reckon I can't call that hand. Ante
and pass the buck."
"How? I beg pardon. What did I understand you to say?"
"Well, you've ruther got the bulge on me. Or maybe we've both got the
bulge, somehow. You don't smoke me and I don't smoke you. You see, one
of the boys has passed in his checks and we want to give him a good send-
off, and so the thing I'm on now is to roust out somebody to jerk a
little chin-music for us and waltz him through handsome."
"My friend, I seem to grow more and more bewildered. Your observations
are wholly incomprehensible to me. Cannot you simplify them in some way?
At first I thought perhaps I understood you, but I grope now. Would it
not expedite matters if you restricted yourself to categorical statements
of fact unencumbered with obstructing accumulations of metaphor and
allegory?"
Another pause, and more reflection. Then, said Scotty:
"I'll have to pass, I judge."
"How?"
"You've raised me out, pard."
"I still fail to catch your meaning."
"Why, that last lead of yourn is too many for me--that's the idea. I
can't neither-trump nor follow suit."
The clergyman sank back in his chair perplexed. Scotty leaned his head
on his hand and gave himself up to thought.
Presently his face came up, sorrowful but confident.
"I've got it now, so's you can savvy," he said. "What we want is a
gospel-sharp. See?"
"A what?"
"Gospel-sharp. Parson."
"Oh! Why did you not say so before? I am a clergyman--a parson."
"Now you talk! You see my blind and straddle it like a man. Put it
there!"--extending a brawny paw, which closed over the minister's small
hand and gave it a shake indicative of fraternal sympathy and fervent
gratification.
"Now we're all right, pard. Let's start fresh. Don't you mind my
snuffling a little--becuz we're in a power of trouble. You see, one of
the boys has gone up the flume--"
"Gone where?"
"Up the flume--throwed up the sponge, you understand."
"Thrown up the sponge?"
"Yes--kicked the bucket--"
"Ah--has departed to that mysterious country from whose bourne no
traveler returns."
"Return! I reckon not. Why pard, he's dead!"
"Yes, I understand."
"Oh, you do? Well I thought maybe you might be getting tangled some
more. Yes, you see he's dead again--"
"Again? Why, has he ever been dead before?"
"Dead before? No! Do you reckon a man has got as many lives as a cat?
But you bet you he's awful dead now, poor old boy, and I wish I'd never
seen this day. I don't want no better friend than Buck Fanshaw.
I knowed him by the back; and when I know a man and like him, I freeze to
him--you hear me. Take him all round, pard, there never was a bullier
man in the mines. No man ever knowed Buck Fanshaw to go back on a
friend. But it's all up, you know, it's all up. It ain't no use.
They've scooped him."
"Scooped him?"
"Yes--death has. Well, well, well, we've got to give him up. Yes
indeed. It's a kind of a hard world, after all, ain't it? But pard, he
was a rustler! You ought to seen him get started once. He was a bully
boy with a glass eye! Just spit in his face and give him room according
to his strength, and it was just beautiful to see him peel and go in.
He was the worst son of a thief that ever drawed breath. Pard, he was on
it! He was on it bigger than an Injun!"
"On it? On what?"
"On the shoot. On the shoulder. On the fight, you understand.
He didn't give a continental for any body. Beg your pardon, friend, for
coming so near saying a cuss-word--but you see I'm on an awful strain, in
this palaver, on account of having to cramp down and draw everything so
mild. But we've got to give him up. There ain't any getting around
that, I don't reckon. Now if we can get you to help plant him--"
"Preach the funeral discourse? Assist at the obsequies?"
"Obs'quies is good. Yes. That's it--that's our little game. We are
going to get the thing up regardless, you know. He was always nifty
himself, and so you bet you his funeral ain't going to be no slouch--
solid silver door-plate on his coffin, six plumes on the hearse, and a
nigger on the box in a biled shirt and a plug hat--how's that for high?
And we'll take care of you, pard. We'll fix you all right. There'll be
a kerridge for you; and whatever you want, you just 'scape out and we'll
'tend to it. We've got a shebang fixed up for you to stand behind, in
No. 1's house, and don't you be afraid. Just go in and toot your horn,
if you don't sell a clam. Put Buck through as bully as you can, pard,
for anybody that knowed him will tell you that he was one of the whitest
men that was ever in the mines. You can't draw it too strong. He never
could stand it to see things going wrong. He's done more to make this
town quiet and peaceable than any man in it. I've seen him lick four
Greasers in eleven minutes, myself. If a thing wanted regulating, he
warn't a man to go browsing around after somebody to do it, but he would
prance in and regulate it himself. He warn't a Catholic. Scasely. He
was down on 'em. His word was, 'No Irish need apply!' But it didn't
make no difference about that when it came down to what a man's rights
was--and so, when some roughs jumped the Catholic bone-yard and started
in to stake out town-lots in it he went for 'em! And he cleaned 'em,
too! I was there, pard, and I seen it myself."
"That was very well indeed--at least the impulse was--whether the act was
strictly defensible or not. Had deceased any religious convictions?
That is to say, did he feel a dependence upon, or acknowledge allegiance
to a higher power?'
More reflection.
"I reckon you've stumped me again, pard. Could you say it over once
more, and say it slow?"
"Well, to simplify it somewhat, was he, or rather had he ever been
connected with any organization sequestered from secular concerns and
devoted to self-sacrifice in the interests of morality?"
"All down but nine--set 'em up on the other alley, pard."
"What did I understand you to say?"
"Why, you're most too many for me, you know. When you get in with your
left I hunt grass every time. Every time you draw, you fill; but I don't
seem to have any luck. Lets have a new deal."
"How? Begin again?"
"That's it."
"Very well. Was he a good man, and--"
"There--I see that; don't put up another chip till I look at my hand.
A good man, says you? Pard, it ain't no name for it. He was the best
man that ever--pard, you would have doted on that man. He could lam any
galoot of his inches in America. It was him that put down the riot last
election before it got a start; and everybody said he was the only man
that could have done it. He waltzed in with a spanner in one hand and a
trumpet in the other, and sent fourteen men home on a shutter in less
than three minutes. He had that riot all broke up and prevented nice
before anybody ever got a chance to strike a blow. He was always for
peace, and he would have peace--he could not stand disturbances. Pard,
he was a great loss to this town. It would please the boys if you could
chip in something like that and do him justice. Here once when the Micks
got to throwing stones through the Methodis' Sunday school windows, Buck
Fanshaw, all of his own notion, shut up his saloon and took a couple of
six-shooters and mounted guard over the Sunday school. Says he, 'No
Irish need apply!' And they didn't. He was the bulliest man in the
mountains, pard! He could run faster, jump higher, hit harder, and hold
more tangle-foot whisky without spilling it than any man in seventeen
counties. Put that in, pard--it'll please the boys more than anything
you could say. And you can say, pard, that he never shook his mother."
"Never shook his mother?"
"That's it--any of the boys will tell you so."
"Well, but why should he shake her?"
"That's what I say--but some people does."
"Not people of any repute?"
"Well, some that averages pretty so-so."
"In my opinion the man that would offer personal violence to his own
mother, ought to--"
"Cheese it, pard; you've banked your ball clean outside the string.
What I was a drivin' at, was, that he never throwed off on his mother--
don't you see? No indeedy. He give her a house to live in, and town
lots, and plenty of money; and he looked after her and took care of her
all the time; and when she was down with the small-pox I'm d---d if he
didn't set up nights and nuss her himself! Beg your pardon for saying
it, but it hopped out too quick for yours truly.
You've treated me like a gentleman, pard, and I ain't the man to hurt
your feelings intentional. I think you're white. I think you're a
square man, pard. I like you, and I'll lick any man that don't. I'll
lick him till he can't tell himself from a last year's corpse! Put it
there!" [Another fraternal hand-shake--and exit.]
The obsequies were all that "the boys" could desire. Such a marvel of
funeral pomp had never been seen in Virginia. The plumed hearse, the
dirge-breathing brass bands, the closed marts of business, the flags
drooping at half mast, the long, plodding procession of uniformed secret
societies, military battalions and fire companies, draped engines,
carriages of officials, and citizens in vehicles and on foot, attracted
multitudes of spectators to the sidewalks, roofs and windows; and for
years afterward, the degree of grandeur attained by any civic display in
Virginia was determined by comparison with Buck Fanshaw's funeral.
Scotty Briggs, as a pall-bearer and a mourner, occupied a prominent place
at the funeral, and when the sermon was finished and the last sentence of
the prayer for the dead man's soul ascended, he responded, in a low
voice, but with feelings:
"AMEN. No Irish need apply."
As the bulk of the response was without apparent relevancy, it was
probably nothing more than a humble tribute to the memory of the friend
that was gone; for, as Scotty had once said, it was "his word."
Scotty Briggs, in after days, achieved the distinction of becoming the
only convert to religion that was ever gathered from the Virginia roughs;
and it transpired that the man who had it in him to espouse the quarrel
of the weak out of inborn nobility of spirit was no mean timber whereof
to construct a Christian. The making him one did not warp his generosity
or diminish his courage; on the contrary it gave intelligent direction to
the one and a broader field to the other.
If his Sunday-school class progressed faster than the other classes, was
it matter for wonder? I think not. He talked to his pioneer small-fry
in a language they understood! It was my large privilege, a month before
he died, to hear him tell the beautiful story of Joseph and his brethren
to his class "without looking at the book." I leave it to the reader to
fancy what it was like, as it fell, riddled with slang, from the lips of
that grave, earnest teacher, and was listened to by his little learners
with a consuming interest that showed that they were as unconscious as he
was that any violence was being done to the sacred proprieties!
CHAPTER XLVIII.
The first twenty-six graves in the Virginia cemetery were occupied by
murdered men. So everybody said, so everybody believed, and so they will
always say and believe. The reason why there was so much slaughtering
done, was, that in a new mining district the rough element predominates,
and a person is not respected until he has "killed his man." That was
the very expression used.
If an unknown individual arrived, they did not inquire if he was capable,
honest, industrious, but--had he killed his man? If he had not, he
gravitated to his natural and proper position, that of a man of small
consequence; if he had, the cordiality of his reception was graduated
according to the number of his dead. It was tedious work struggling up
to a position of influence with bloodless hands; but when a man came with
the blood of half a dozen men on his soul, his worth was recognized at
once and his acquaintance sought.
In Nevada, for a time, the lawyer, the editor, the banker, the chief
desperado, the chief gambler, and the saloon keeper, occupied the same
level in society, and it was the highest. The cheapest and easiest way
to become an influential man and be looked up to by the community at
large, was to stand behind a bar, wear a cluster-diamond pin, and sell
whisky. I am not sure but that the saloon-keeper held a shade higher
rank than any other member of society. His opinion had weight. It was
his privilege to say how the elections should go. No great movement
could succeed without the countenance and direction of the saloon-
keepers. It was a high favor when the chief saloon-keeper consented to
serve in the legislature or the board of aldermen.
Youthful ambition hardly aspired so much to the honors of the law, or the
army and navy as to the dignity of proprietorship in a saloon.
To be a saloon-keeper and kill a man was to be illustrious. Hence the
reader will not be surprised to learn that more than one man was killed
in Nevada under hardly the pretext of provocation, so impatient was the
slayer to achieve reputation and throw off the galling sense of being
held in indifferent repute by his associates. I knew two youths who
tried to "kill their men" for no other reason--and got killed themselves
for their pains. "There goes the man that killed Bill Adams" was higher
praise and a sweeter sound in the ears of this sort of people than any
other speech that admiring lips could utter.
The men who murdered Virginia's original twenty-six cemetery-occupants
were never punished. Why? Because Alfred the Great, when he invented
trial by jury and knew that he had admirably framed it to secure justice
in his age of the world, was not aware that in the nineteenth century the
condition of things would be so entirely changed that unless he rose from
the grave and altered the jury plan to meet the emergency, it would prove
the most ingenious and infallible agency for defeating justice that human
wisdom could contrive. For how could he imagine that we simpletons would
go on using his jury plan after circumstances had stripped it of its
usefulness, any more than he could imagine that we would go on using his
candle-clock after we had invented chronometers? In his day news could
not travel fast, and hence he could easily find a jury of honest,
intelligent men who had not heard of the case they were called to try--
but in our day of telegraphs and newspapers his plan compels us to swear
in juries composed of fools and rascals, because the system rigidly
excludes honest men and men of brains.
I remember one of those sorrowful farces, in Virginia, which we call a
jury trial. A noted desperado killed Mr. B., a good citizen, in the most
wanton and cold-blooded way. Of course the papers were full of it, and
all men capable of reading, read about it. And of course all men not
deaf and dumb and idiotic, talked about it. A jury-list was made out,
and Mr. B. L., a prominent banker and a valued citizen, was questioned
precisely as he would have been questioned in any court in America:
"Have you heard of this homicide?"
"Yes."
"Have you held conversations upon the subject?"
"Yes."
"Have you formed or expressed opinions about it?"
"Yes."
"Have you read the newspaper accounts of it?"
"Yes."
"We do not want you."
A minister, intelligent, esteemed, and greatly respected; a merchant of
high character and known probity; a mining superintendent of intelligence
and unblemished reputation; a quartz mill owner of excellent standing,
were all questioned in the same way, and all set aside. Each said the
public talk and the newspaper reports had not so biased his mind but that
sworn testimony would overthrow his previously formed opinions and enable
him to render a verdict without prejudice and in accordance with the
facts. But of course such men could not be trusted with the case.
Ignoramuses alone could mete out unsullied justice.
When the peremptory challenges were all exhausted, a jury of twelve men
was impaneled--a jury who swore they had neither heard, read, talked
about nor expressed an opinion concerning a murder which the very cattle
in the corrals, the Indians in the sage-brush and the stones in the
streets were cognizant of! It was a jury composed of two desperadoes,
two low beer-house politicians, three bar-keepers, two ranchmen who could
not read, and three dull, stupid, human donkeys! It actually came out
afterward, that one of these latter thought that incest and arson were
the same thing.
The verdict rendered by this jury was, Not Guilty. What else could one
expect?
The jury system puts a ban upon intelligence and honesty, and a premium
upon ignorance, stupidity and perjury. It is a shame that we must
continue to use a worthless system because it was good a thousand years
ago. In this age, when a gentleman of high social standing, intelligence
and probity, swears that testimony given under solemn oath will outweigh,
with him, street talk and newspaper reports based upon mere hearsay, he
is worth a hundred jurymen who will swear to their own ignorance and
stupidity, and justice would be far safer in his hands than in theirs.
Why could not the jury law be so altered as to give men of brains and
honesty and equal chance with fools and miscreants? Is it right to show
the present favoritism to one class of men and inflict a disability on
another, in a land whose boast is that all its citizens are free and
equal? I am a candidate for the legislature. I desire to tamper with
the jury law. I wish to so alter it as to put a premium on intelligence
and character, and close the jury box against idiots, blacklegs, and
people who do not read newspapers. But no doubt I shall be defeated--
every effort I make to save the country "misses fire."
My idea, when I began this chapter, was to say something about
desperadoism in the "flush times" of Nevada. To attempt a portrayal of
that era and that land, and leave out the blood and carnage, would be
like portraying Mormondom and leaving out polygamy. The desperado
stalked the streets with a swagger graded according to the number of his
homicides, and a nod of recognition from him was sufficient to make a
humble admirer happy for the rest of the day. The deference that was
paid to a desperado of wide reputation, and who "kept his private
graveyard," as the phrase went, was marked, and cheerfully accorded.
When he moved along the sidewalk in his excessively long-tailed frock-
coat, shiny stump-toed boots, and with dainty little slouch hat tipped
over left eye, the small-fry roughs made room for his majesty; when he
entered the restaurant, the waiters deserted bankers and merchants to
overwhelm him with obsequious service; when he shouldered his way to a
bar, the shouldered parties wheeled indignantly, recognized him, and--
apologized.
They got a look in return that froze their marrow, and by that time a
curled and breast-pinned bar keeper was beaming over the counter, proud
of the established acquaintanceship that permitted such a familiar form
of speech as:
"How're ye, Billy, old fel? Glad to see you. What'll you take--the old
thing?"
The "old thing" meant his customary drink, of course.
The best known names in the Territory of Nevada were those belonging to
these long-tailed heroes of the revolver. Orators, Governors,
capitalists and leaders of the legislature enjoyed a degree of fame, but
it seemed local and meagre when contrasted with the fame of such men as
Sam Brown, Jack Williams, Billy Mulligan, Farmer Pease, Sugarfoot Mike,
Pock Marked Jake, El Dorado Johnny, Jack McNabb, Joe McGee, Jack Harris,
Six-fingered Pete, etc., etc. There was a long list of them. They were
brave, reckless men, and traveled with their lives in their hands. To
give them their due, they did their killing principally among themselves,
and seldom molested peaceable citizens, for they considered it small
credit to add to their trophies so cheap a bauble as the death of a man
who was "not on the shoot," as they phrased it. They killed each other
on slight provocation, and hoped and expected to be killed themselves--
for they held it almost shame to die otherwise than "with their boots
on," as they expressed it.
I remember an instance of a desperado's contempt for such small game as a
private citizen's life. I was taking a late supper in a restaurant one
night, with two reporters and a little printer named--Brown, for
instance--any name will do. Presently a stranger with a long-tailed coat
on came in, and not noticing Brown's hat, which was lying in a chair, sat
down on it. Little Brown sprang up and became abusive in a moment. The
stranger smiled, smoothed out the hat, and offered it to Brown with
profuse apologies couched in caustic sarcasm, and begged Brown not to
destroy him. Brown threw off his coat and challenged the man to fight--
abused him, threatened him, impeached his courage, and urged and even
implored him to fight; and in the meantime the smiling stranger placed
himself under our protection in mock distress. But presently he assumed
a serious tone, and said:
"Very well, gentlemen, if we must fight, we must, I suppose. But don't
rush into danger and then say I gave you no warning. I am more than a
match for all of you when I get started. I will give you proofs, and
then if my friend here still insists, I will try to accommodate him."
The table we were sitting at was about five feet long, and unusually
cumbersome and heavy. He asked us to put our hands on the dishes and
hold them in their places a moment--one of them was a large oval dish
with a portly roast on it. Then he sat down, tilted up one end of the
table, set two of the legs on his knees, took the end of the table
between his teeth, took his hands away, and pulled down with his teeth
till the table came up to a level position, dishes and all! He said he
could lift a keg of nails with his teeth. He picked up a common glass
tumbler and bit a semi-circle out of it. Then he opened his bosom and
showed us a net-work of knife and bullet scars; showed us more on his
arms and face, and said he believed he had bullets enough in his body to
make a pig of lead. He was armed to the teeth. He closed with the
remark that he was Mr.---- of Cariboo--a celebrated name whereat we shook
in our shoes. I would publish the name, but for the suspicion that he
might come and carve me. He finally inquired if Brown still thirsted for
blood. Brown turned the thing over in his mind a moment, and then--asked
him to supper.
With the permission of the reader, I will group together, in the next
chapter, some samples of life in our small mountain village in the old
days of desperadoism. I was there at the time. The reader will observe
peculiarities in our official society; and he will observe also, an
instance of how, in new countries, murders breed murders.
CHAPTER XLIX.
An extract or two from the newspapers of the day will furnish a
photograph that can need no embellishment:
FATAL SHOOTING AFFRAY.--An affray occurred, last evening, in a
billiard saloon on C street, between Deputy Marshal Jack Williams
and Wm. Brown, which resulted in the immediate death of the latter.
There had been some difficulty between the parties for several
months.
An inquest was immediately held, and the following testimony
adduced:
Officer GEO. BIRDSALL, sworn, says:--I was told Wm. Brown was drunk
and was looking for Jack Williams; so soon as I heard that I started
for the parties to prevent a collision; went into the billiard
saloon; saw Billy Brown running around, saying if anybody had
anything against him to show cause; he was talking in a boisterous
manner, and officer Perry took him to the other end of the room to
talk to him; Brown came back to me; remarked to me that he thought
he was as good as anybody, and knew how to take care of himself; he
passed by me and went to the bar; don't know whether he drank or
not; Williams was at the end of the billiard-table, next to the
stairway; Brown, after going to the bar, came back and said he was
as good as any man in the world; he had then walked out to the end
of the first billiard-table from the bar; I moved closer to them,
supposing there would be a fight; as Brown drew his pistol I caught
hold of it; he had fired one shot at Williams; don't know the effect
of it; caught hold of him with one hand, and took hold of the pistol
and turned it up; think he fired once after I caught hold of the
pistol; I wrenched the pistol from him; walked to the end of the
billiard-table and told a party that I had Brown's pistol, and to
stop shooting; I think four shots were fired in all; after walking
out, Mr. Foster remarked that Brown was shot dead.
Oh, there was no excitement about it--he merely "remarked" the small
circumstance!
Four months later the following item appeared in the same paper (the
Enterprise). In this item the name of one of the city officers above
referred to (Deputy Marshal Jack Williams) occurs again:
ROBBERY AND DESPERATE AFFRAY.--On Tuesday night, a German named
Charles Hurtzal, engineer in a mill at Silver City, came to this
place, and visited the hurdy-gurdy house on B street. The music,
dancing and Teutonic maidens awakened memories of Faderland until
our German friend was carried away with rapture. He evidently had
money, and was spending if freely. Late in the evening Jack
Williams and Andy Blessington invited him down stairs to take a cup
of coffee. Williams proposed a game of cards and went up stairs to
procure a deck, but not finding any returned. On the stairway he
met the German, and drawing his pistol knocked him down and rifled
his pockets of some seventy dollars. Hurtzal dared give no alarm,
as he was told, with a pistol at his head, if he made any noise or
exposed them, they would blow his brains out. So effectually was he
frightened that he made no complaint, until his friends forced him.
Yesterday a warrant was issued, but the culprits had disappeared.
This efficient city officer, Jack Williams, had the common reputation of
being a burglar, a highwayman and a desperado. It was said that he had
several times drawn his revolver and levied money contributions on
citizens at dead of night in the public streets of Virginia.
Five months after the above item appeared, Williams was assassinated
while sitting at a card table one night; a gun was thrust through the
crack of the door and Williams dropped from his chair riddled with balls.
It was said, at the time, that Williams had been for some time aware that
a party of his own sort (desperadoes) had sworn away his life; and it was
generally believed among the people that Williams's friends and enemies
would make the assassination memorable--and useful, too--by a wholesale
destruction of each other.
It did not so happen, but still, times were not dull during the next
twenty-four hours, for within that time a woman was killed by a pistol
shot, a man was brained with a slung shot, and a man named Reeder was
also disposed of permanently. Some matters in the Enterprise account of
the killing of Reeder are worth nothing--especially the accommodating
complaisance of a Virginia justice of the peace. The italics in the
following narrative are mine:
MORE CUTTING AND SHOOTING.--The devil seems to have again broken
loose in our town. Pistols and guns explode and knives gleam in our
streets as in early times. When there has been a long season of
quiet, people are slow to wet their hands in blood; but once blood
is spilled, cutting and shooting come easy. Night before last Jack
Williams was assassinated, and yesterday forenoon we had more bloody
work, growing out of the killing of Williams, and on the same street
in which he met his death. It appears that Tom Reeder, a friend of
Williams, and George Gumbert were talking, at the meat market of the
latter, about the killing of Williams the previous night, when
Reeder said it was a most cowardly act to shoot a man in such a way,
giving him "no show." Gumbert said that Williams had "as good a
show as he gave Billy Brown," meaning the man killed by Williams
last March. Reeder said it was a d---d lie, that Williams had no
show at all. At this, Gumbert drew a knife and stabbed Reeder,
cutting him in two places in the back. One stroke of the knife cut
into the sleeve of Reeder's coat and passed downward in a slanting
direction through his clothing, and entered his body at the small of
the back; another blow struck more squarely, and made a much more
dangerous wound. Gumbert gave himself up to the officers of
justice, and was shortly after discharged by Justice Atwill, on his
own recognizance, to appear for trial at six o'clock in the evening.
In the meantime Reeder had been taken into the office of Dr. Owens,
where his wounds were properly dressed. One of his wounds was
considered quite dangerous, and it was thought by many that it would
prove fatal. But being considerably under the influence of liquor,
Reeder did not feel his wounds as he otherwise would, and he got up
and went into the street. He went to the meat market and renewed
his quarrel with Gumbert, threatening his life. Friends tried to
interfere to put a stop to the quarrel and get the parties away from
each other. In the Fashion Saloon Reeder made threats against the
life of Gumbert, saying he would kill him, and it is said that he
requested the officers not to arrest Gumbert, as he intended to kill
him. After these threats Gumbert went off and procured a double-
barreled shot gun, loaded with buck-shot or revolver balls, and went
after Reeder. Two or three persons were assisting him along the
street, trying to get him home, and had him just in front of the
store of Klopstock & Harris, when Gumbert came across toward him
from the opposite side of the street with his gun. He came up
within about ten or fifteen feet of Reeder, and called out to those
with him to "look out! get out of the way!" and they had only time
to heed the warning, when he fired. Reeder was at the time
attempting to screen himself behind a large cask, which stood
against the awning post of Klopstock & Harris's store, but some of
the balls took effect in the lower part of his breast, and he reeled
around forward and fell in front of the cask. Gumbert then raised
his gun and fired the second barrel, which missed Reeder and entered
the ground. At the time that this occurred, there were a great many
persons on the street in the vicinity, and a number of them called
out to Gumbert, when they saw him raise his gun, to "hold on," and
"don't shoot!" The cutting took place about ten o'clock and the
shooting about twelve. After the shooting the street was instantly
crowded with the inhabitants of that part of the town, some
appearing much excited and laughing--declaring that it looked like
the "good old times of '60." Marshal Perry and officer Birdsall
were near when the shooting occurred, and Gumbert was immediately
arrested and his gun taken from him, when he was marched off to
jail. Many persons who were attracted to the spot where this bloody
work had just taken place, looked bewildered and seemed to be asking
themselves what was to happen next, appearing in doubt as to whether
the killing mania had reached its climax, or whether we were to turn
in and have a grand killing spell, shooting whoever might have given
us offence. It was whispered around that it was not all over yet--
five or six more were to be killed before night. Reeder was taken
to the Virginia City Hotel, and doctors called in to examine his
wounds. They found that two or three balls had entered his right
side; one of them appeared to have passed through the substance of
the lungs, while another passed into the liver. Two balls were also
found to have struck one of his legs. As some of the balls struck
the cask, the wounds in Reeder's leg were probably from these,
glancing downwards, though they might have been caused by the second
shot fired. After being shot, Reeder said when he got on his feet--
smiling as he spoke--"It will take better shooting than that to kill
me." The doctors consider it almost impossible for him to recover,
but as he has an excellent constitution he may survive,
notwithstanding the number and dangerous character of the wounds he
has received. The town appears to be perfectly quiet at present, as
though the late stormy times had cleared our moral atmosphere; but
who can tell in what quarter clouds are lowering or plots ripening?
Reeder--or at least what was left of him--survived his wounds two days!
Nothing was ever done with Gumbert.
Trial by jury is the palladium of our liberties. I do not know what a
palladium is, having never seen a palladium, but it is a good thing no
doubt at any rate. Not less than a hundred men have been murdered in
Nevada--perhaps I would be within bounds if I said three hundred--and as
far as I can learn, only two persons have suffered the death penalty
there. However, four or five who had no money and no political influence
have been punished by imprisonment--one languished in prison as much as
eight months, I think. However, I do not desire to be extravagant--it
may have been less.
However, one prophecy was verified, at any rate. It was asserted by the
desperadoes that one of their brethren (Joe McGee, a special policeman)
was known to be the conspirator chosen by lot to assassinate Williams;
and they also asserted that doom had been pronounced against McGee, and
that he would be assassinated in exactly the same manner that had been
adopted for the destruction of Williams--a prophecy which came true a
year later. After twelve months of distress (for McGee saw a fancied
assassin in every man that approached him), he made the last of many
efforts to get out of the country unwatched. He went to Carson and sat
down in a saloon to wait for the stage--it would leave at four in the
morning. But as the night waned and the crowd thinned, he grew uneasy,
and told the bar-keeper that assassins were on his track. The bar-keeper
told him to stay in the middle of the room, then, and not go near the
door, or the window by the stove. But a fatal fascination seduced him to
the neighborhood of the stove every now and then, and repeatedly the bar-
keeper brought him back to the middle of the room and warned him to
remain there. But he could not. At three in the morning he again
returned to the stove and sat down by a stranger. Before the bar-keeper
could get to him with another warning whisper, some one outside fired
through the window and riddled McGee's breast with slugs, killing him
almost instantly. By the same discharge the stranger at McGee's side
also received attentions which proved fatal in the course of two or three
days.
CHAPTER L.
These murder and jury statistics remind me of a certain very
extraordinary trial and execution of twenty years ago; it is a scrap of
history familiar to all old Californians, and worthy to be known by other
peoples of the earth that love simple, straightforward justice
unencumbered with nonsense. I would apologize for this digression but
for the fact that the information I am about to offer is apology enough
in itself. And since I digress constantly anyhow, perhaps it is as well
to eschew apologies altogether and thus prevent their growing irksome.
Capt. Ned Blakely--that name will answer as well as any other fictitious
one (for he was still with the living at last accounts, and may not
desire to be famous)--sailed ships out of the harbor of San Francisco for
many years. He was a stalwart, warm-hearted, eagle-eyed veteran, who had
been a sailor nearly fifty years--a sailor from early boyhood. He was a
rough, honest creature, full of pluck, and just as full of hard-headed
simplicity, too. He hated trifling conventionalities--"business" was the
word, with him. He had all a sailor's vindictiveness against the quips
and quirks of the law, and steadfastly believed that the first and last
aim and object of the law and lawyers was to defeat justice.
He sailed for the Chincha Islands in command of a guano ship. He had a
fine crew, but his negro mate was his pet--on him he had for years
lavished his admiration and esteem. It was Capt. Ned's first voyage to
the Chinchas, but his fame had gone before him--the fame of being a man
who would fight at the dropping of a handkerchief, when imposed upon, and
would stand no nonsense. It was a fame well earned. Arrived in the
islands, he found that the staple of conversation was the exploits of one
Bill Noakes, a bully, the mate of a trading ship. This man had created a
small reign of terror there. At nine o'clock at night, Capt. Ned, all
alone, was pacing his deck in the starlight. A form ascended the side,
and approached him. Capt. Ned said:
"Who goes there?"
"I'm Bill Noakes, the best man in the islands."
"What do you want aboard this ship?"
"I've heard of Capt. Ned Blakely, and one of us is a better man than
'tother--I'll know which, before I go ashore."
"You've come to the right shop--I'm your man. I'll learn you to come
aboard this ship without an invite."
He seized Noakes, backed him against the mainmast, pounded his face to a
pulp, and then threw him overboard.
Noakes was not convinced. He returned the next night, got the pulp
renewed, and went overboard head first, as before.
He was satisfied.
A week after this, while Noakes was carousing with a sailor crowd on
shore, at noonday, Capt. Ned's colored mate came along, and Noakes tried
to pick a quarrel with him. The negro evaded the trap, and tried to get
away. Noakes followed him up; the negro began to run; Noakes fired on
him with a revolver and killed him. Half a dozen sea-captains witnessed
the whole affair. Noakes retreated to the small after-cabin of his ship,
with two other bullies, and gave out that death would be the portion of
any man that intruded there. There was no attempt made to follow the
villains; there was no disposition to do it, and indeed very little
thought of such an enterprise. There were no courts and no officers;
there was no government; the islands belonged to Peru, and Peru was far
away; she had no official representative on the ground; and neither had
any other nation.
However, Capt. Ned was not perplexing his head about such things. They
concerned him not. He was boiling with rage and furious for justice.
At nine o'clock at night he loaded a double-barreled gun with slugs,
fished out a pair of handcuffs, got a ship's lantern, summoned his
quartermaster, and went ashore. He said:
"Do you see that ship there at the dock?"
"Ay-ay, sir."
"It's the Venus."
"Ay-ay, sir."
"You--you know me."
"Ay-ay, sir."
"Very well, then. Take the lantern. Carry it just under your chin.
I'll walk behind you and rest this gun-barrel on your shoulder, p'inting
forward--so. Keep your lantern well up so's I can see things ahead of
you good. I'm going to march in on Noakes--and take him--and jug the
other chaps. If you flinch--well, you know me."
"Ay-ay, sir."
In this order they filed aboard softly, arrived at Noakes's den, the
quartermaster pushed the door open, and the lantern revealed the three
desperadoes sitting on the floor. Capt. Ned said:
"I'm Ned Blakely. I've got you under fire. Don't you move without
orders--any of you. You two kneel down in the corner; faces to the wall
--now. Bill Noakes, put these handcuffs on; now come up close.
Quartermaster, fasten 'em. All right. Don't stir, sir. Quartermaster,
put the key in the outside of the door. Now, men, I'm going to lock you
two in; and if you try to burst through this door--well, you've heard of
me. Bill Noakes, fall in ahead, and march. All set. Quartermaster,
lock the door."
Noakes spent the night on board Blakely's ship, a prisoner under strict
guard. Early in the morning Capt. Ned called in all the sea-captains in
the harbor and invited them, with nautical ceremony, to be present on
board his ship at nine o'clock to witness the hanging of Noakes at the
yard-arm!
"What! The man has not been tried."
"Of course he hasn't. But didn't he kill the nigger?"
"Certainly he did; but you are not thinking of hanging him without a
trial?"
"Trial! What do I want to try him for, if he killed the nigger?"
"Oh, Capt. Ned, this will never do. Think how it will sound."
"Sound be hanged! Didn't he kill the nigger?"
"Certainly, certainly, Capt. Ned,--nobody denies that,--but--"
"Then I'm going to hang him, that's all. Everybody I've talked to talks
just the same way you do. Everybody says he killed the nigger, everybody
knows he killed the nigger, and yet every lubber of you wants him tried
for it. I don't understand such bloody foolishness as that. Tried!
Mind you, I don't object to trying him, if it's got to be done to give
satisfaction; and I'll be there, and chip in and help, too; but put it
off till afternoon--put it off till afternoon, for I'll have my hands
middling full till after the burying--"
"Why, what do you mean? Are you going to hang him any how--and try him
afterward?"
"Didn't I say I was going to hang him? I never saw such people as you.
What's the difference? You ask a favor, and then you ain't satisfied
when you get it. Before or after's all one--you know how the trial will
go. He killed the nigger. Say--I must be going. If your mate would
like to come to the hanging, fetch him along. I like him."
There was a stir in the camp. The captains came in a body and pleaded
with Capt. Ned not to do this rash thing. They promised that they would
create a court composed of captains of the best character; they would
empanel a jury; they would conduct everything in a way becoming the
serious nature of the business in hand, and give the case an impartial
hearing and the accused a fair trial. And they said it would be murder,
and punishable by the American courts if he persisted and hung the
accused on his ship. They pleaded hard. Capt. Ned said:
"Gentlemen, I'm not stubborn and I'm not unreasonable. I'm always
willing to do just as near right as I can. How long will it take?"
"Probably only a little while."
"And can I take him up the shore and hang him as soon as you are done?"
"If he is proven guilty he shall be hanged without unnecessary delay."
"If he's proven guilty. Great Neptune, ain't he guilty? This beats my
time. Why you all know he's guilty."
But at last they satisfied him that they were projecting nothing
underhanded. Then he said:
"Well, all right. You go on and try him and I'll go down and overhaul
his conscience and prepare him to go--like enough he needs it, and I
don't want to send him off without a show for hereafter."
This was another obstacle. They finally convinced him that it was
necessary to have the accused in court. Then they said they would send a
guard to bring him.
"No, sir, I prefer to fetch him myself--he don't get out of my hands.
Besides, I've got to go to the ship to get a rope, anyway."
The court assembled with due ceremony, empaneled a jury, and presently
Capt. Ned entered, leading the prisoner with one hand and carrying a
Bible and a rope in the other. He seated himself by the side of his
captive and told the court to "up anchor and make sail." Then he turned
a searching eye on the jury, and detected Noakes's friends, the two
bullies.
He strode over and said to them confidentially:
"You're here to interfere, you see. Now you vote right, do you hear?--or
else there'll be a double-barreled inquest here when this trial's off,
and your remainders will go home in a couple of baskets."
The caution was not without fruit. The jury was a unit--the verdict.
"Guilty."
Capt. Ned sprung to his feet and said:
"Come along--you're my meat now, my lad, anyway. Gentlemen you've done
yourselves proud. I invite you all to come and see that I do it all
straight. Follow me to the canyon, a mile above here."
The court informed him that a sheriff had been appointed to do the
hanging, and--
Capt. Ned's patience was at an end. His wrath was boundless. The
subject of a sheriff was judiciously dropped.
When the crowd arrived at the canyon, Capt. Ned climbed a tree and
arranged the halter, then came down and noosed his man. He opened his
Bible, and laid aside his hat. Selecting a chapter at random, he read it
through, in a deep bass voice and with sincere solemnity. Then he said:
"Lad, you are about to go aloft and give an account of yourself; and the
lighter a man's manifest is, as far as sin's concerned, the better for
him. Make a clean breast, man, and carry a log with you that'll bear
inspection. You killed the nigger?"
No reply. A long pause.
The captain read another chapter, pausing, from time to time, to impress
the effect. Then he talked an earnest, persuasive sermon to him, and
ended by repeating the question:
"Did you kill the nigger?"
No reply--other than a malignant scowl. The captain now read the first
and second chapters of Genesis, with deep feeling--paused a moment,
closed the book reverently, and said with a perceptible savor of
satisfaction:
"There. Four chapters. There's few that would have took the pains with
you that I have."
Then he swung up the condemned, and made the rope fast; stood by and
timed him half an hour with his watch, and then delivered the body to the
court. A little after, as he stood contemplating the motionless figure,
a doubt came into his face; evidently he felt a twinge of conscience--a
misgiving--and he said with a sigh:
"Well, p'raps I ought to burnt him, maybe. But I was trying to do for
the best."
When the history of this affair reached California (it was in the "early
days") it made a deal of talk, but did not diminish the captain's
popularity in any degree. It increased it, indeed. California had a
population then that "inflicted" justice after a fashion that was
simplicity and primitiveness itself, and could therefore admire
appreciatively when the same fashion was followed elsewhere.
CHAPTER LI.
Vice flourished luxuriantly during the hey-day of our "flush times." The
saloons were overburdened with custom; so were the police courts, the
gambling dens, the brothels and the jails--unfailing signs of high
prosperity in a mining region--in any region for that matter. Is it not
so? A crowded police court docket is the surest of all signs that trade
is brisk and money plenty. Still, there is one other sign; it comes
last, but when it does come it establishes beyond cavil that the "flush
times" are at the flood. This is the birth of the "literary" paper.
The Weekly Occidental, "devoted to literature," made its appearance in
Virginia. All the literary people were engaged to write for it. Mr. F.
was to edit it. He was a felicitous skirmisher with a pen, and a man who
could say happy things in a crisp, neat way. Once, while editor of the
Union, he had disposed of a labored, incoherent, two-column attack made
upon him by a contemporary, with a single line, which, at first glance,
seemed to contain a solemn and tremendous compliment--viz.: "THE LOGIC OF
OUR ADVERSARY RESEMBLES THE PEACE OF GOD,"--and left it to the reader's
memory and after-thought to invest the remark with another and "more
different" meaning by supplying for himself and at his own leisure the
rest of the Scripture--" in that it passeth understanding." He once said
of a little, half-starved, wayside community that had no subsistence
except what they could get by preying upon chance passengers who stopped
over with them a day when traveling by the overland stage, that in their
Church service they had altered the Lord's Prayer to read: "Give us this
day our daily stranger!"
We expected great things of the Occidental. Of course it could not get
along without an original novel, and so we made arrangements to hurl into
the work the full strength of the company. Mrs. F. was an able romancist
of the ineffable school--I know no other name to apply to a school whose
heroes are all dainty and all perfect. She wrote the opening chapter,
and introduced a lovely blonde simpleton who talked nothing but pearls
and poetry and who was virtuous to the verge of eccentricity. She also
introduced a young French Duke of aggravated refinement, in love with the
blonde. Mr. F. followed next week, with a brilliant lawyer who set about
getting the Duke's estates into trouble, and a sparkling young lady of
high society who fell to fascinating the Duke and impairing the appetite
of the blonde. Mr. D., a dark and bloody editor of one of the dailies,
followed Mr. F., the third week, introducing a mysterious Roscicrucian
who transmuted metals, held consultations with the devil in a cave at
dead of night, and cast the horoscope of the several heroes and heroines
in such a way as to provide plenty of trouble for their future careers
and breed a solemn and awful public interest in the novel. He also
introduced a cloaked and masked melodramatic miscreant, put him on a
salary and set him on the midnight track of the Duke with a poisoned
dagger. He also created an Irish coachman with a rich brogue and placed
him in the service of the society-young-lady with an ulterior mission to
carry billet-doux to the Duke.
About this time there arrived in Virginia a dissolute stranger with a
literary turn of mind--rather seedy he was, but very quiet and
unassuming; almost diffident, indeed. He was so gentle, and his manners
were so pleasing and kindly, whether he was sober or intoxicated, that he
made friends of all who came in contact with him. He applied for
literary work, offered conclusive evidence that he wielded an easy and
practiced pen, and so Mr. F. engaged him at once to help write the novel.
His chapter was to follow Mr. D.'s, and mine was to come next. Now what
does this fellow do but go off and get drunk and then proceed to his
quarters and set to work with his imagination in a state of chaos, and
that chaos in a condition of extravagant activity. The result may be
guessed. He scanned the chapters of his predecessors, found plenty of
heroes and heroines already created, and was satisfied with them; he
decided to introduce no more; with all the confidence that whisky
inspires and all the easy complacency it gives to its servant, he then
launched himself lovingly into his work: he married the coachman to the
society-young-lady for the sake of the scandal; married the Duke to the
blonde's stepmother, for the sake of the sensation; stopped the
desperado's salary; created a misunderstanding between the devil and the
Roscicrucian; threw the Duke's property into the wicked lawyer's hands;
made the lawyer's upbraiding conscience drive him to drink, thence to
delirium tremens, thence to suicide; broke the coachman's neck; let his
widow succumb to contumely, neglect, poverty and consumption; caused the
blonde to drown herself, leaving her clothes on the bank with the
customary note pinned to them forgiving the Duke and hoping he would be
happy; revealed to the Duke, by means of the usual strawberry mark on
left arm, that he had married his own long-lost mother and destroyed his
long-lost sister; instituted the proper and necessary suicide of the Duke
and the Duchess in order to compass poetical justice; opened the earth
and let the Roscicrucian through, accompanied with the accustomed smoke
and thunder and smell of brimstone, and finished with the promise that in
the next chapter, after holding a general inquest, he would take up the
surviving character of the novel and tell what became of the devil!
It read with singular smoothness, and with a "dead" earnestness that was
funny enough to suffocate a body. But there was war when it came in.
The other novelists were furious. The mild stranger, not yet more than
half sober, stood there, under a scathing fire of vituperation, meek and
bewildered, looking from one to another of his assailants, and wondering
what he could have done to invoke such a storm. When a lull came at
last, he said his say gently and appealingly--said he did not rightly
remember what he had written, but was sure he had tried to do the best he
could, and knew his object had been to make the novel not only pleasant
and plausible but instructive and----
The bombardment began again. The novelists assailed his ill-chosen
adjectives and demolished them with a storm of denunciation and ridicule.
And so the siege went on. Every time the stranger tried to appease the
enemy he only made matters worse. Finally he offered to rewrite the
chapter. This arrested hostilities. The indignation gradually quieted
down, peace reigned again and the sufferer retired in safety and got him
to his own citadel.
But on the way thither the evil angel tempted him and he got drunk again.
And again his imagination went mad. He led the heroes and heroines a
wilder dance than ever; and yet all through it ran that same convincing
air of honesty and earnestness that had marked his first work. He got
the characters into the most extraordinary situations, put them through
the most surprising performances, and made them talk the strangest talk!
But the chapter cannot be described. It was symmetrically crazy; it was
artistically absurd; and it had explanatory footnotes that were fully as
curious as the text. I remember one of the "situations," and will offer
it as an example of the whole. He altered the character of the brilliant
lawyer, and made him a great-hearted, splendid fellow; gave him fame and
riches, and set his age at thirty-three years. Then he made the blonde
discover, through the help of the Roscicrucian and the melodramatic
miscreant, that while the Duke loved her money ardently and wanted it, he
secretly felt a sort of leaning toward the society-young-lady. Stung to
the quick, she tore her affections from him and bestowed them with
tenfold power upon the lawyer, who responded with consuming zeal. But
the parents would none of it. What they wanted in the family was a Duke;
and a Duke they were determined to have; though they confessed that next
to the Duke the lawyer had their preference. Necessarily the blonde now
went into a decline. The parents were alarmed. They pleaded with her to
marry the Duke, but she steadfastly refused, and pined on. Then they
laid a plan. They told her to wait a year and a day, and if at the end
of that time she still felt that she could not marry the Duke, she might
marry the lawyer with their full consent. The result was as they had
foreseen: gladness came again, and the flush of returning health. Then
the parents took the next step in their scheme. They had the family
physician recommend a long sea voyage and much land travel for the
thorough restoration of the blonde's strength; and they invited the Duke
to be of the party. They judged that the Duke's constant presence and
the lawyer's protracted absence would do the rest--for they did not
invite the lawyer.
So they set sail in a steamer for America--and the third day out, when
their sea-sickness called truce and permitted them to take their first
meal at the public table, behold there sat the lawyer! The Duke and
party made the best of an awkward situation; the voyage progressed, and
the vessel neared America.
But, by and by, two hundred miles off New Bedford, the ship took fire;
she burned to the water's edge; of all her crew and passengers, only
thirty were saved. They floated about the sea half an afternoon and all
night long. Among them were our friends. The lawyer, by superhuman
exertions, had saved the blonde and her parents, swimming back and forth
two hundred yards and bringing one each time--(the girl first). The Duke
had saved himself. In the morning two whale ships arrived on the scene
and sent their boats. The weather was stormy and the embarkation was
attended with much confusion and excitement. The lawyer did his duty
like a man; helped his exhausted and insensible blonde, her parents and
some others into a boat (the Duke helped himself in); then a child fell
overboard at the other end of the raft and the lawyer rushed thither and
helped half a dozen people fish it out, under the stimulus of its
mother's screams. Then he ran back--a few seconds too late--the blonde's
boat was under way. So he had to take the other boat, and go to the
other ship. The storm increased and drove the vessels out of sight of
each other--drove them whither it would.
When it calmed, at the end of three days, the blonde's ship was seven
hundred miles north of Boston and the other about seven hundred south of
that port. The blonde's captain was bound on a whaling cruise in the
North Atlantic and could not go back such a distance or make a port
without orders; such being nautical law. The lawyer's captain was to
cruise in the North Pacific, and he could not go back or make a port
without orders. All the lawyer's money and baggage were in the blonde's
boat and went to the blonde's ship--so his captain made him work his
passage as a common sailor. When both ships had been cruising nearly a
year, the one was off the coast of Greenland and the other in Behring's
Strait. The blonde had long ago been well-nigh persuaded that her lawyer
had been washed overboard and lost just before the whale ships reached
the raft, and now, under the pleadings of her parents and the Duke she
was at last beginning to nerve herself for the doom of the covenant, and
prepare for the hated marriage.
But she would not yield a day before the date set. The weeks dragged on,
the time narrowed, orders were given to deck the ship for the wedding--a
wedding at sea among icebergs and walruses. Five days more and all would
be over. So the blonde reflected, with a sigh and a tear. Oh where was
her true love--and why, why did he not come and save her? At that moment
he was lifting his harpoon to strike a whale in Behring's Strait, five
thousand miles away, by the way of the Arctic Ocean, or twenty thousand
by the way of the Horn--that was the reason. He struck, but not with
perfect aim--his foot slipped and he fell in the whale's mouth and went
down his throat. He was insensible five days. Then he came to himself
and heard voices; daylight was streaming through a hole cut in the
whale's roof. He climbed out and astonished the sailors who were
hoisting blubber up a ship's side. He recognized the vessel, flew
aboard, surprised the wedding party at the altar and exclaimed:
"Stop the proceedings--I'm here! Come to my arms, my own!"
There were foot-notes to this extravagant piece of literature wherein the
author endeavored to show that the whole thing was within the
possibilities; he said he got the incident of the whale traveling from
Behring's Strait to the coast of Greenland, five thousand miles in five
days, through the Arctic Ocean, from Charles Reade's "Love Me Little Love
Me Long," and considered that that established the fact that the thing
could be done; and he instanced Jonah's adventure as proof that a man
could live in a whale's belly, and added that if a preacher could stand
it three days a lawyer could surely stand it five!
There was a fiercer storm than ever in the editorial sanctum now, and the
stranger was peremptorily discharged, and his manuscript flung at his
head. But he had already delayed things so much that there was not time
for some one else to rewrite the chapter, and so the paper came out
without any novel in it. It was but a feeble, struggling, stupid
journal, and the absence of the novel probably shook public confidence;
at any rate, before the first side of the next issue went to press, the
Weekly Occidental died as peacefully as an infant.
An effort was made to resurrect it, with the proposed advantage of a
telling new title, and Mr. F. said that The Phenix would be just the name
for it, because it would give the idea of a resurrection from its dead
ashes in a new and undreamed of condition of splendor; but some low-
priced smarty on one of the dailies suggested that we call it the
Lazarus; and inasmuch as the people were not profound in Scriptural
matters but thought the resurrected Lazarus and the dilapidated mendicant
that begged in the rich man's gateway were one and the same person, the
name became the laughing stock of the town, and killed the paper for good
and all.
I was sorry enough, for I was very proud of being connected with a
literary paper--prouder than I have ever been of anything since, perhaps.
I had written some rhymes for it--poetry I considered it--and it was a
great grief to me that the production was on the "first side" of the
issue that was not completed, and hence did not see the light. But time
brings its revenges--I can put it in here; it will answer in place of a
tear dropped to the memory of the lost Occidental. The idea (not the
chief idea, but the vehicle that bears it) was probably suggested by the
old song called "The Raging Canal," but I cannot remember now. I do
remember, though, that at that time I thought my doggerel was one of the
ablest poems of the age:
THE AGED PILOT MAN.
On the Erie Canal, it was,
All on a summer's day,
I sailed forth with my parents
Far away to Albany.
From out the clouds at noon that day
There came a dreadful storm,
That piled the billows high about,
And filled us with alarm.
A man came rushing from a house,
Saying, "Snub up your boat I pray,
[The customary canal technicality for "tie up."]
Snub up your boat, snub up, alas,
Snub up while yet you may."
Our captain cast one glance astern,
Then forward glanced he,
And said, "My wife and little ones
I never more shall see."
Said Dollinger the pilot man,
In noble words, but few,--
"Fear not, but lean on Dollinger,
And he will fetch you through."
The boat drove on, the frightened mules
Tore through the rain and wind,
And bravely still, in danger's post,
The whip-boy strode behind.
"Come 'board, come 'board," the captain cried,
"Nor tempt so wild a storm;"
But still the raging mules advanced,
And still the boy strode on.
Then said the captain to us all,
"Alas, 'tis plain to me,
The greater danger is not there,
But here upon the sea.
So let us strive, while life remains,
To save all souls on board,
And then if die at last we must,
Let . . . . I cannot speak the word!"
Said Dollinger the pilot man,
Tow'ring above the crew,
"Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,
And he will fetch you through."
"Low bridge! low bridge!" all heads went down,
The laboring bark sped on;
A mill we passed, we passed church,
Hamlets, and fields of corn;
And all the world came out to see,
And chased along the shore
Crying, "Alas, alas, the sheeted rain,
The wind, the tempest's roar!
Alas, the gallant ship and crew,
Can nothing help them more?"
And from our deck sad eyes looked out
Across the stormy scene:
The tossing wake of billows aft,
The bending forests green,
The chickens sheltered under carts
In lee of barn the cows,
The skurrying swine with straw in mouth,
The wild spray from our bows!
"She balances!
She wavers!
Now let her go about!
If she misses stays and broaches to,
We're all"--then with a shout,]
"Huray! huray!
Avast! belay!
Take in more sail!
Lord, what a gale!
Ho, boy, haul taut on the hind mule's tail!"
"Ho! lighten ship! ho! man the pump!
Ho, hostler, heave the lead!
"A quarter-three!--'tis shoaling fast!
Three feet large!--t-h-r-e-e feet!--
Three feet scant!" I cried in fright
"Oh, is there no retreat?"
Said Dollinger, the pilot man,
As on the vessel flew,
"Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,
And he will fetch you through."
A panic struck the bravest hearts,
The boldest cheek turned pale;
For plain to all, this shoaling said
A leak had burst the ditch's bed!
And, straight as bolt from crossbow sped,
Our ship swept on, with shoaling lead,
Before the fearful gale!
"Sever the tow-line! Cripple the mules!"
Too late! There comes a shock!
Another length, and the fated craft
Would have swum in the saving lock!
Then gathered together the shipwrecked crew
And took one last embrace,
While sorrowful tears from despairing eyes
Ran down each hopeless face;
And some did think of their little ones
Whom they never more might see,
And others of waiting wives at home,
And mothers that grieved would be.
But of all the children of misery there
On that poor sinking frame,
But one spake words of hope and faith,
And I worshipped as they came:
Said Dollinger the pilot man,--
(O brave heart, strong and true!)--
"Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,
For he will fetch you through."
Lo! scarce the words have passed his lips
The dauntless prophet say'th,
When every soul about him seeth
A wonder crown his faith!
And count ye all, both great and small,
As numbered with the dead:
For mariner for forty year,
On Erie, boy and man,
I never yet saw such a storm,
Or one't with it began!"
So overboard a keg of nails
And anvils three we threw,
Likewise four bales of gunny-sacks,
Two hundred pounds of glue,
Two sacks of corn, four ditto wheat,
A box of books, a cow,
A violin, Lord Byron's works,
A rip-saw and a sow.
A curve! a curve! the dangers grow!
"Labbord!--stabbord!--s-t-e-a-d-y!--so!--
Hard-a-port, Dol!--hellum-a-lee!
Haw the head mule!--the aft one gee!
Luff!--bring her to the wind!"
For straight a farmer brought a plank,--
(Mysteriously inspired)--
And laying it unto the ship,
In silent awe retired.
Then every sufferer stood amazed
That pilot man before;
A moment stood. Then wondering turned,
And speechless walked ashore.
CHAPTER LII.
Since I desire, in this chapter, to say an instructive word or two about
the silver mines, the reader may take this fair warning and skip, if he
chooses. The year 1863 was perhaps the very top blossom and culmination
of the "flush times." Virginia swarmed with men and vehicles to that
degree that the place looked like a very hive--that is when one's vision
could pierce through the thick fog of alkali dust that was generally
blowing in summer. I will say, concerning this dust, that if you drove
ten miles through it, you and your horses would be coated with it a
sixteenth of an inch thick and present an outside appearance that was a
uniform pale yellow color, and your buggy would have three inches of dust
in it, thrown there by the wheels. The delicate scales used by the
assayers were inclosed in glass cases intended to be air-tight, and yet
some of this dust was so impalpable and so invisibly fine that it would
get in, somehow, and impair the accuracy of those scales.
Speculation ran riot, and yet there was a world of substantial business
going on, too. All freights were brought over the mountains from
California (150 miles) by pack-train partly, and partly in huge wagons
drawn by such long mule teams that each team amounted to a procession,
and it did seem, sometimes, that the grand combined procession of animals
stretched unbroken from Virginia to California. Its long route was
traceable clear across the deserts fo the Territory by the writhing
serpent of dust it lifted up. By these wagons, freights over that
hundred and fifty miles were $200 a ton for small lots (same price for
all express matter brought by stage), and $100 a ton for full loads.
One Virginia firm received one hundred tons of freight a month, and paid
$10,000 a month freightage. In the winter the freights were much higher.
All the bullion was shipped in bars by stage to San Francisco (a bar was
usually about twice the size of a pig of lead and contained from $1,500
to $3,000 according to the amount of gold mixed with the silver), and the
freight on it (when the shipment was large) was one and a quarter per
cent. of its intrinsic value.
So, the freight on these bars probably averaged something more than $25
each. Small shippers paid two per cent. There were three stages a day,
each way, and I have seen the out-going stages carry away a third of a
ton of bullion each, and more than once I saw them divide a two-ton lot
and take it off. However, these were extraordinary events.
[Mr. Valentine, Wells Fargo's agent, has handled all the bullion shipped
through the Virginia office for many a month. To his memory--which is
excellent--we are indebted for the following exhibit of the company's
business in the Virginia office since the first of January, 1862: From
January 1st to April 1st, about $270,000 worth of bullion passed through
that office, during the next quarter, $570,000; next quarter, $800,000;
next quarter, $956,000; next quarter, $1,275,000; and for the quarter
ending on the 30th of last June, about $1,600,000. Thus in a year and a
half, the Virginia office only shipped $5,330,000 in bullion. During the
year 1862 they shipped $2,615,000, so we perceive the average shipments
have more than doubled in the last six months. This gives us room to
promise for the Virginia office $500,000 a month for the year 1863
(though perhaps, judging by the steady increase in the business, we are
under estimating, somewhat). This gives us $6,000,000 for the year.
Gold Hill and Silver City together can beat us--we will give them
$10,000,000. To Dayton, Empire City, Ophir and Carson City, we will
allow an aggregate of $8,000,000, which is not over the mark, perhaps,
and may possibly be a little under it. To Esmeralda we give $4,000,000.
To Reese River and Humboldt $2,000,000, which is liberal now, but may not
be before the year is out. So we prognosticate that the yield of bullion
this year will be about $30,000,000. Placing the number of mills in the
Territory at one hundred, this gives to each the labor of producing
$300,000 in bullion during the twelve months. Allowing them to run three
hundred days in the year (which none of them more than do), this makes
their work average $1,000 a day. Say the mills average twenty tons of
rock a day and this rock worth $50 as a general thing, and you have the
actual work of our one hundred mills figured down "to a spot"--$1,000 a
day each, and $30,000,000 a year in the aggregate.--Enterprise.
[A considerable over estimate--M. T.]]
Two tons of silver bullion would be in the neighborhood of forty bars,
and the freight on it over $1,000. Each coach always carried a deal of
ordinary express matter beside, and also from fifteen to twenty
passengers at from $25 to $30 a head. With six stages going all the
time, Wells, Fargo and Co.'s Virginia City business was important and
lucrative.
All along under the centre of Virginia and Gold Hill, for a couple of
miles, ran the great Comstock silver lode--a vein of ore from fifty to
eighty feet thick between its solid walls of rock--a vein as wide as some
of New York's streets. I will remind the reader that in Pennsylvania a
coal vein only eight feet wide is considered ample.
Virginia was a busy city of streets and houses above ground. Under it
was another busy city, down in the bowels of the earth, where a great
population of men thronged in and out among an intricate maze of tunnels
and drifts, flitting hither and thither under a winking sparkle of
lights, and over their heads towered a vast web of interlocking timbers
that held the walls of the gutted Comstock apart. These timbers were as
large as a man's body, and the framework stretched upward so far that no
eye could pierce to its top through the closing gloom. It was like
peering up through the clean-picked ribs and bones of some colossal
skeleton. Imagine such a framework two miles long, sixty feet wide, and
higher than any church spire in America. Imagine this stately lattice-
work stretching down Broadway, from the St. Nicholas to Wall street, and
a Fourth of July procession, reduced to pigmies, parading on top of it
and flaunting their flags, high above the pinnacle of Trinity steeple.
One can imagine that, but he cannot well imagine what that forest of
timbers cost, from the time they were felled in the pineries beyond
Washoe Lake, hauled up and around Mount Davidson at atrocious rates of
freightage, then squared, let down into the deep maw of the mine and
built up there. Twenty ample fortunes would not timber one of the
greatest of those silver mines. The Spanish proverb says it requires a
gold mine to "run" a silver one, and it is true. A beggar with a silver
mine is a pitiable pauper indeed if he cannot sell.
I spoke of the underground Virginia as a city. The Gould and Curry is
only one single mine under there, among a great many others; yet the
Gould and Curry's streets of dismal drifts and tunnels were five miles in
extent, altogether, and its population five hundred miners. Taken as a
whole, the underground city had some thirty miles of streets and a
population of five or six thousand. In this present day some of those
populations are at work from twelve to sixteen hundred feet under
Virginia and Gold Hill, and the signal-bells that tell them what the
superintendent above ground desires them to do are struck by telegraph as
we strike a fire alarm. Sometimes men fall down a shaft, there, a
thousand feet deep. In such cases, the usual plan is to hold an inquest.
If you wish to visit one of those mines, you may walk through a tunnel
about half a mile long if you prefer it, or you may take the quicker plan
of shooting like a dart down a shaft, on a small platform. It is like
tumbling down through an empty steeple, feet first. When you reach the
bottom, you take a candle and tramp through drifts and tunnels where
throngs of men are digging and blasting; you watch them send up tubs full
of great lumps of stone--silver ore; you select choice specimens from the
mass, as souvenirs; you admire the world of skeleton timbering; you
reflect frequently that you are buried under a mountain, a thousand feet
below daylight; being in the bottom of the mine you climb from "gallery"
to "gallery," up endless ladders that stand straight up and down; when
your legs fail you at last, you lie down in a small box-car in a cramped
"incline" like a half-up-ended sewer and are dragged up to daylight
feeling as if you are crawling through a coffin that has no end to it.
Arrived at the top, you find a busy crowd of men receiving the ascending
cars and tubs and dumping the ore from an elevation into long rows of
bins capable of holding half a dozen tons each; under the bins are rows
of wagons loading from chutes and trap-doors in the bins, and down the
long street is a procession of these wagons wending toward the silver
mills with their rich freight. It is all "done," now, and there you are.
You need never go down again, for you have seen it all. If you have
forgotten the process of reducing the ore in the mill and making the
silver bars, you can go back and find it again in my Esmeralda chapters
if so disposed.
Of course these mines cave in, in places, occasionally, and then it is
worth one's while to take the risk of descending into them and observing
the crushing power exerted by the pressing weight of a settling mountain.
I published such an experience in the Enterprise, once, and from it I
will take an extract:
AN HOUR IN THE CAVED MINES.--We journeyed down into the Ophir mine,
yesterday, to see the earthquake. We could not go down the deep
incline, because it still has a propensity to cave in places.
Therefore we traveled through the long tunnel which enters the hill
above the Ophir office, and then by means of a series of long
ladders, climbed away down from the first to the fourth gallery.
Traversing a drift, we came to the Spanish line, passed five sets of
timbers still uninjured, and found the earthquake. Here was as
complete a chaos as ever was seen--vast masses of earth and
splintered and broken timbers piled confusedly together, with
scarcely an aperture left large enough for a cat to creep through.
Rubbish was still falling at intervals from above, and one timber
which had braced others earlier in the day, was now crushed down out
of its former position, showing that the caving and settling of the
tremendous mass was still going on. We were in that portion of the
Ophir known as the "north mines." Returning to the surface, we
entered a tunnel leading into the Central, for the purpose of
getting into the main Ophir. Descending a long incline in this
tunnel, we traversed a drift or so, and then went down a deep shaft
from whence we proceeded into the fifth gallery of the Ophir. From
a side-drift we crawled through a small hole and got into the midst
of the earthquake again--earth and broken timbers mingled together
without regard to grace or symmetry. A large portion of the second,
third and fourth galleries had caved in and gone to destruction--the
two latter at seven o'clock on the previous evening.
At the turn-table, near the northern extremity of the fifth gallery,
two big piles of rubbish had forced their way through from the fifth
gallery, and from the looks of the timbers, more was about to come.
These beams are solid--eighteen inches square; first, a great beam
is laid on the floor, then upright ones, five feet high, stand on
it, supporting another horizontal beam, and so on, square above
square, like the framework of a window. The superincumbent weight
was sufficient to mash the ends of those great upright beams fairly
into the solid wood of the horizontal ones three inches, compressing
and bending the upright beam till it curved like a bow. Before the
Spanish caved in, some of their twelve-inch horizontal timbers were
compressed in this way until they were only five inches thick!
Imagine the power it must take to squeeze a solid log together in
that way. Here, also, was a range of timbers, for a distance of
twenty feet, tilted six inches out of the perpendicular by the
weight resting upon them from the caved galleries above. You could
hear things cracking and giving way, and it was not pleasant to know
that the world overhead was slowly and silently sinking down upon
you. The men down in the mine do not mind it, however.
Returning along the fifth gallery, we struck the safe part of the
Ophir incline, and went down it to the sixth; but we found ten
inches of water there, and had to come back. In repairing the
damage done to the incline, the pump had to be stopped for two
hours, and in the meantime the water gained about a foot. However,
the pump was at work again, and the flood-water was decreasing.
We climbed up to the fifth gallery again and sought a deep shaft,
whereby we might descend to another part of the sixth, out of reach
of the water, but suffered disappointment, as the men had gone to
dinner, and there was no one to man the windlass. So, having seen
the earthquake, we climbed out at the Union incline and tunnel, and
adjourned, all dripping with candle grease and perspiration, to
lunch at the Ophir office.
During the great flush year of 1863, Nevada [claims to have]
produced $25,000,000 in bullion--almost, if not quite, a round
million to each thousand inhabitants, which is very well,
considering that she was without agriculture and manufactures.
Silver mining was her sole productive industry. [Since the above was
in type, I learn from an official source that the above figure is
too high, and that the yield for 1863 did not exceed $20,000,000.
However, the day for large figures is approaching; the Sutro Tunnel
is to plow through the Comstock lode from end to end, at a depth of
two thousand feet, and then mining will be easy and comparatively
inexpensive; and the momentous matters of drainage, and hoisting and
hauling of ore will cease to be burdensome. This vast work will
absorb many years, and millions of dollars, in its completion; but
it will early yield money, for that desirable epoch will begin as
soon as it strikes the first end of the vein. The tunnel will be
some eight miles long, and will develop astonishing riches. Cars
will carry the ore through the tunnel and dump it in the mills and
thus do away with the present costly system of double handling and
transportation by mule teams. The water from the tunnel will
furnish the motive power for the mills. Mr. Sutro, the originator
of this prodigious enterprise, is one of the few men in the world
who is gifted with the pluck and perseverance necessary to follow up
and hound such an undertaking to its completion. He has converted
several obstinate Congresses to a deserved friendliness toward his
important work, and has gone up and down and to and fro in Europe
until he has enlisted a great moneyed interest in it there.
CHAPTER LIII.
Every now and then, in these days, the boys used to tell me I ought to
get one Jim Blaine to tell me the stirring story of his grandfather's old
ram--but they always added that I must not mention the matter unless Jim
was drunk at the time--just comfortably and sociably drunk. They kept
this up until my curiosity was on the rack to hear the story. I got to
haunting Blaine; but it was of no use, the boys always found fault with
his condition; he was often moderately but never satisfactorily drunk.
I never watched a man's condition with such absorbing interest, such
anxious solicitude; I never so pined to see a man uncompromisingly drunk
before. At last, one evening I hurried to his cabin, for I learned that
this time his situation was such that even the most fastidious could find
no fault with it--he was tranquilly, serenely, symmetrically drunk--not a
hiccup to mar his voice, not a cloud upon his brain thick enough to
obscure his memory. As I entered, he was sitting upon an empty powder-
keg, with a clay pipe in one hand and the other raised to command
silence. His face was round, red, and very serious; his throat was bare
and his hair tumbled; in general appearance and costume he was a stalwart
miner of the period. On the pine table stood a candle, and its dim light
revealed "the boys" sitting here and there on bunks, candle-boxes,
powder-kegs, etc. They said:
"Sh--! Don't speak--he's going to commence."
THE STORY OF THE OLD RAM.
I found a seat at once, and Blaine said:
'I don't reckon them times will ever come again. There never was a more
bullier old ram than what he was. Grandfather fetched him from Illinois
--got him of a man by the name of Yates--Bill Yates--maybe you might have
heard of him; his father was a deacon--Baptist--and he was a rustler,
too; a man had to get up ruther early to get the start of old Thankful
Yates; it was him that put the Greens up to jining teams with my
grandfather when he moved west.
Seth Green was prob'ly the pick of the flock; he married a Wilkerson--
Sarah Wilkerson--good cretur, she was--one of the likeliest heifers that
was ever raised in old Stoddard, everybody said that knowed her. She
could heft a bar'l of flour as easy as I can flirt a flapjack. And spin?
Don't mention it! Independent? Humph! When Sile Hawkins come a
browsing around her, she let him know that for all his tin he couldn't
trot in harness alongside of her. You see, Sile Hawkins was--no, it
warn't Sile Hawkins, after all--it was a galoot by the name of Filkins--
I disremember his first name; but he was a stump--come into pra'r meeting
drunk, one night, hooraying for Nixon, becuz he thought it was a primary;
and old deacon Ferguson up and scooted him through the window and he lit
on old Miss Jefferson's head, poor old filly. She was a good soul--had a
glass eye and used to lend it to old Miss Wagner, that hadn't any, to
receive company in; it warn't big enough, and when Miss Wagner warn't
noticing, it would get twisted around in the socket, and look up, maybe,
or out to one side, and every which way, while t' other one was looking
as straight ahead as a spy-glass.
Grown people didn't mind it, but it most always made the children cry, it
was so sort of scary. She tried packing it in raw cotton, but it
wouldn't work, somehow--the cotton would get loose and stick out and look
so kind of awful that the children couldn't stand it no way. She was
always dropping it out, and turning up her old dead-light on the company
empty, and making them oncomfortable, becuz she never could tell when it
hopped out, being blind on that side, you see. So somebody would have to
hunch her and say, "Your game eye has fetched loose. Miss Wagner dear"--
and then all of them would have to sit and wait till she jammed it in
again--wrong side before, as a general thing, and green as a bird's egg,
being a bashful cretur and easy sot back before company. But being wrong
side before warn't much difference, anyway; becuz her own eye was sky-
blue and the glass one was yaller on the front side, so whichever way she
turned it it didn't match nohow.
Old Miss Wagner was considerable on the borrow, she was. When she had a
quilting, or Dorcas S'iety at her house she gen'ally borrowed Miss
Higgins's wooden leg to stump around on; it was considerable shorter than
her other pin, but much she minded that. She said she couldn't abide
crutches when she had company, becuz they were so slow; said when she had
company and things had to be done, she wanted to get up and hump herself.
She was as bald as a jug, and so she used to borrow Miss Jacops's wig--
Miss Jacops was the coffin-peddler's wife--a ratty old buzzard, he was,
that used to go roosting around where people was sick, waiting for 'em;
and there that old rip would sit all day, in the shade, on a coffin that
he judged would fit the can'idate; and if it was a slow customer and kind
of uncertain, he'd fetch his rations and a blanket along and sleep in the
coffin nights. He was anchored out that way, in frosty weather, for
about three weeks, once, before old Robbins's place, waiting for him; and
after that, for as much as two years, Jacops was not on speaking terms
with the old man, on account of his disapp'inting him. He got one of his
feet froze, and lost money, too, becuz old Robbins took a favorable turn
and got well. The next time Robbins got sick, Jacops tried to make up
with him, and varnished up the same old coffin and fetched it along; but
old Robbins was too many for him; he had him in, and 'peared to be
powerful weak; he bought the coffin for ten dollars and Jacops was to pay
it back and twenty-five more besides if Robbins didn't like the coffin
after he'd tried it. And then Robbins died, and at the funeral he
bursted off the lid and riz up in his shroud and told the parson to let
up on the performances, becuz he could not stand such a coffin as that.
You see he had been in a trance once before, when he was young, and he
took the chances on another, cal'lating that if he made the trip it was
money in his pocket, and if he missed fire he couldn't lose a cent. And
by George he sued Jacops for the rhino and got jedgment; and he set up
the coffin in his back parlor and said he 'lowed to take his time, now.
It was always an aggravation to Jacops, the way that miserable old thing
acted. He moved back to Indiany pretty soon--went to Wellsville--
Wellsville was the place the Hogadorns was from. Mighty fine family.
Old Maryland stock. Old Squire Hogadorn could carry around more mixed
licker, and cuss better than most any man I ever see. His second wife
was the widder Billings--she that was Becky Martin; her dam was deacon
Dunlap's first wife. Her oldest child, Maria, married a missionary and
died in grace--et up by the savages. They et him, too, poor feller--
biled him. It warn't the custom, so they say, but they explained to
friends of his'n that went down there to bring away his things, that
they'd tried missionaries every other way and never could get any good
out of 'em--and so it annoyed all his relations to find out that that
man's life was fooled away just out of a dern'd experiment, so to speak.
But mind you, there ain't anything ever reely lost; everything that
people can't understand and don't see the reason of does good if you only
hold on and give it a fair shake; Prov'dence don't fire no blank
ca'tridges, boys. That there missionary's substance, unbeknowns to
himself, actu'ly converted every last one of them heathens that took a
chance at the barbacue. Nothing ever fetched them but that. Don't tell
me it was an accident that he was biled. There ain't no such a thing as
an accident.
When my uncle Lem was leaning up agin a scaffolding once, sick, or drunk,
or suthin, an Irishman with a hod full of bricks fell on him out of the
third story and broke the old man's back in two places. People said it
was an accident. Much accident there was about that. He didn't know
what he was there for, but he was there for a good object. If he hadn't
been there the Irishman would have been killed. Nobody can ever make me
believe anything different from that. Uncle Lem's dog was there. Why
didn't the Irishman fall on the dog? Becuz the dog would a seen him a
coming and stood from under. That's the reason the dog warn't appinted.
A dog can't be depended on to carry out a special providence. Mark my
words it was a put-up thing. Accidents don't happen, boys. Uncle Lem's
dog--I wish you could a seen that dog. He was a reglar shepherd--or
ruther he was part bull and part shepherd--splendid animal; belonged to
parson Hagar before Uncle Lem got him. Parson Hagar belonged to the
Western Reserve Hagars; prime family; his mother was a Watson; one of his
sisters married a Wheeler; they settled in Morgan county, and he got
nipped by the machinery in a carpet factory and went through in less than
a quarter of a minute; his widder bought the piece of carpet that had his
remains wove in, and people come a hundred mile to 'tend the funeral.
There was fourteen yards in the piece.
She wouldn't let them roll him up, but planted him just so--full length.
The church was middling small where they preached the funeral, and they
had to let one end of the coffin stick out of the window. They didn't
bury him--they planted one end, and let him stand up, same as a monument.
And they nailed a sign on it and put--put on--put on it--sacred to--the
m-e-m-o-r-y--of fourteen y-a-r-d-s--of three-ply--car---pet--containing
all that was--m-o-r-t-a-l--of--of--W-i-l-l-i-a-m--W-h-e--"
Jim Blaine had been growing gradually drowsy and drowsier--his head
nodded, once, twice, three times--dropped peacefully upon his breast, and
he fell tranquilly asleep. The tears were running down the boys' cheeks
--they were suffocating with suppressed laughter--and had been from the
start, though I had never noticed it. I perceived that I was "sold."
I learned then that Jim Blaine's peculiarity was that whenever he reached
a certain stage of intoxication, no human power could keep him from
setting out, with impressive unction, to tell about a wonderful adventure
which he had once had with his grandfather's old ram--and the mention of
the ram in the first sentence was as far as any man had ever heard him
get, concerning it. He always maundered off, interminably, from one
thing to another, till his whisky got the best of him and he fell asleep.
What the thing was that happened to him and his grandfather's old ram is
a dark mystery to this day, for nobody has ever yet found out.
CHAPTER LIV.
Of course there was a large Chinese population in Virginia--it is the
case with every town and city on the Pacific coast. They are a harmless
race when white men either let them alone or treat them no worse than
dogs; in fact they are almost entirely harmless anyhow, for they seldom
think of resenting the vilest insults or the cruelest injuries. They are
quiet, peaceable, tractable, free from drunkenness, and they are as
industrious as the day is long. A disorderly Chinaman is rare, and a
lazy one does not exist. So long as a Chinaman has strength to use his
hands he needs no support from anybody; white men often complain of want
of work, but a Chinaman offers no such complaint; he always manages to
find something to do. He is a great convenience to everybody--even to
the worst class of white men, for he bears the most of their sins,
suffering fines for their petty thefts, imprisonment for their robberies,
and death for their murders. Any white man can swear a Chinaman's life
away in the courts, but no Chinaman can testify against a white man.
Ours is the "land of the free"--nobody denies that--nobody challenges it.
[Maybe it is because we won't let other people testify.] As I write, news
comes that in broad daylight in San Francisco, some boys have stoned an
inoffensive Chinaman to death, and that although a large crowd witnessed
the shameful deed, no one interfered.
There are seventy thousand (and possibly one hundred thousand) Chinamen
on the Pacific coast. There were about a thousand in Virginia. They
were penned into a "Chinese quarter"--a thing which they do not
particularly object to, as they are fond of herding together. Their
buildings were of wood; usually only one story high, and set thickly
together along streets scarcely wide enough for a wagon to pass through.
Their quarter was a little removed from the rest of the town. The chief
employment of Chinamen in towns is to wash clothing. They always send a
bill, like this below, pinned to the clothes. It is mere ceremony, for
it does not enlighten the customer much. Their price for washing was
$2.50 per dozen--rather cheaper than white people could afford to wash
for at that time. A very common sign on the Chinese houses was: "See
Yup, Washer and Ironer"; "Hong Wo, Washer"; "Sam Sing & Ah Hop, Washing."
The house servants, cooks, etc., in California and Nevada, were chiefly
Chinamen. There were few white servants and no Chinawomen so employed.
Chinamen make good house servants, being quick, obedient, patient, quick
to learn and tirelessly industrious. They do not need to be taught a
thing twice, as a general thing. They are imitative. If a Chinaman were
to see his master break up a centre table, in a passion, and kindle a
fire with it, that Chinaman would be likely to resort to the furniture
for fuel forever afterward.
All Chinamen can read, write and cipher with easy facility--pity but all
our petted voters could. In California they rent little patches of
ground and do a deal of gardening. They will raise surprising crops of
vegetables on a sand pile. They waste nothing. What is rubbish to a
Christian, a Chinaman carefully preserves and makes useful in one way or
another. He gathers up all the old oyster and sardine cans that white
people throw away, and procures marketable tin and solder from them by
melting. He gathers up old bones and turns them into manure.
In California he gets a living out of old mining claims that white men
have abandoned as exhausted and worthless--and then the officers come
down on him once a month with an exorbitant swindle to which the
legislature has given the broad, general name of "foreign" mining tax,
but it is usually inflicted on no foreigners but Chinamen. This swindle
has in some cases been repeated once or twice on the same victim in the
course of the same month--but the public treasury was no additionally
enriched by it, probably.
Chinamen hold their dead in great reverence--they worship their departed
ancestors, in fact. Hence, in China, a man's front yard, back yard, or
any other part of his premises, is made his family burying ground, in
order that he may visit the graves at any and all times. Therefore that
huge empire is one mighty cemetery; it is ridged and wringled from its
centre to its circumference with graves--and inasmuch as every foot of
ground must be made to do its utmost, in China, lest the swarming
population suffer for food, the very graves are cultivated and yield a
harvest, custom holding this to be no dishonor to the dead. Since the
departed are held in such worshipful reverence, a Chinaman cannot bear
that any indignity be offered the places where they sleep.
Mr. Burlingame said that herein lay China's bitter opposition to
railroads; a road could not be built anywhere in the empire without
disturbing the graves of their ancestors or friends.
A Chinaman hardly believes he could enjoy the hereafter except his body
lay in his beloved China; also, he desires to receive, himself, after
death, that worship with which he has honored his dead that preceded him.
Therefore, if he visits a foreign country, he makes arrangements to have
his bones returned to China in case he dies; if he hires to go to a
foreign country on a labor contract, there is always a stipulation that
his body shall be taken back to China if he dies; if the government sells
a gang of Coolies to a foreigner for the usual five-year term, it is
specified in the contract that their bodies shall be restored to China in
case of death. On the Pacific coast the Chinamen all belong to one or
another of several great companies or organizations, and these companies
keep track of their members, register their names, and ship their bodies
home when they die. The See Yup Company is held to be the largest of
these. The Ning Yeong Company is next, and numbers eighteen thousand
members on the coast. Its headquarters are at San Francisco, where it
has a costly temple, several great officers (one of whom keeps regal
state in seclusion and cannot be approached by common humanity), and a
numerous priesthood. In it I was shown a register of its members, with
the dead and the date of their shipment to China duly marked. Every ship
that sails from San Francisco carries away a heavy freight of Chinese
corpses--or did, at least, until the legislature, with an ingenious
refinement of Christian cruelty, forbade the shipments, as a neat
underhanded way of deterring Chinese immigration. The bill was offered,
whether it passed or not. It is my impression that it passed. There was
another bill--it became a law--compelling every incoming Chinaman to be
vaccinated on the wharf and pay a duly appointed quack (no decent doctor
would defile himself with such legalized robbery) ten dollars for it.
As few importers of Chinese would want to go to an expense like that, the
law-makers thought this would be another heavy blow to Chinese
immigration.
What the Chinese quarter of Virginia was like--or, indeed, what the
Chinese quarter of any Pacific coast town was and is like--may be
gathered from this item which I printed in the Enterprise while reporting
for that paper:
CHINATOWN.--Accompanied by a fellow reporter, we made a trip through
our Chinese quarter the other night. The Chinese have built their
portion of the city to suit themselves; and as they keep neither
carriages nor wagons, their streets are not wide enough, as a
general thing, to admit of the passage of vehicles. At ten o'clock
at night the Chinaman may be seen in all his glory. In every little
cooped-up, dingy cavern of a hut, faint with the odor of burning
Josh-lights and with nothing to see the gloom by save the sickly,
guttering tallow candle, were two or three yellow, long-tailed
vagabonds, coiled up on a sort of short truckle-bed, smoking opium,
motionless and with their lustreless eyes turned inward from excess
of satisfaction--or rather the recent smoker looks thus, immediately
after having passed the pipe to his neighbor--for opium-smoking is a
comfortless operation, and requires constant attention. A lamp sits
on the bed, the length of the long pipe-stem from the smoker's
mouth; he puts a pellet of opium on the end of a wire, sets it on
fire, and plasters it into the pipe much as a Christian would fill a
hole with putty; then he applies the bowl to the lamp and proceeds
to smoke--and the stewing and frying of the drug and the gurgling of
the juices in the stem would well-nigh turn the stomach of a statue.
John likes it, though; it soothes him, he takes about two dozen
whiffs, and then rolls over to dream, Heaven only knows what, for we
could not imagine by looking at the soggy creature. Possibly in his
visions he travels far away from the gross world and his regular
washing, and feast on succulent rats and birds'-nests in Paradise.
Mr. Ah Sing keeps a general grocery and provision store at No. 13 Wang
street. He lavished his hospitality upon our party in the friendliest
way. He had various kinds of colored and colorless wines and brandies,
with unpronouncable names, imported from China in little crockery jugs,
and which he offered to us in dainty little miniature wash-basins of
porcelain. He offered us a mess of birds'-nests; also, small, neat
sausages, of which we could have swallowed several yards if we had chosen
to try, but we suspected that each link contained the corpse of a mouse,
and therefore refrained. Mr. Sing had in his store a thousand articles
of merchandise, curious to behold, impossible to imagine the uses of, and
beyond our ability to describe.
His ducks, however, and his eggs, we could understand; the former were
split open and flattened out like codfish, and came from China in that
shape, and the latter were plastered over with some kind of paste which
kept them fresh and palatable through the long voyage.
We found Mr. Hong Wo, No. 37 Chow-chow street, making up a lottery
scheme--in fact we found a dozen others occupied in the same way in
various parts of the quarter, for about every third Chinaman runs a
lottery, and the balance of the tribe "buck" at it. "Tom," who speaks
faultless English, and used to be chief and only cook to the Territorial
Enterprise, when the establishment kept bachelor's hall two years ago,
said that "Sometime Chinaman buy ticket one dollar hap, ketch um two tree
hundred, sometime no ketch um anything; lottery like one man fight um
seventy--may-be he whip, may-be he get whip heself, welly good."
However, the percentage being sixty-nine against him, the chances are,
as a general thing, that "he get whip heself." We could not see that
these lotteries differed in any respect from our own, save that the
figures being Chinese, no ignorant white man might ever hope to succeed
in telling "t'other from which;" the manner of drawing is similar to
ours.
Mr. See Yup keeps a fancy store on Live Fox street. He sold us fans of
white feathers, gorgeously ornamented; perfumery that smelled like
Limburger cheese, Chinese pens, and watch-charms made of a stone
unscratchable with steel instruments, yet polished and tinted like the
inner coat of a sea-shell. As tokens of his esteem, See Yup presented
the party with gaudy plumes made of gold tinsel and trimmed with
peacocks' feathers.
We ate chow-chow with chop-sticks in the celestial restaurants; our
comrade chided the moon-eyed damsels in front of the houses for their
want of feminine reserve; we received protecting Josh-lights from our
hosts and "dickered" for a pagan God or two. Finally, we were impressed
with the genius of a Chinese book-keeper; he figured up his accounts on a
machine like a gridiron with buttons strung on its bars; the different
rows represented units, tens, hundreds and thousands. He fingered them
with incredible rapidity--in fact, he pushed them from place to place as
fast as a musical professor's fingers travel over the keys of a piano.
They are a kindly disposed, well-meaning race, and are respected and well
treated by the upper classes, all over the Pacific coast. No Californian
gentleman or lady ever abuses or oppresses a Chinaman, under any
circumstances, an explanation that seems to be much needed in the East.
Only the scum of the population do it--they and their children; they,
and, naturally and consistently, the policemen and politicians, likewise,
for these are the dust-licking pimps and slaves of the scum, there as
well as elsewhere in America.
CHAPTER LV.
I began to get tired of staying in one place so long.
There was no longer satisfying variety in going down to Carson to report
the proceedings of the legislature once a year, and horse-races and
pumpkin-shows once in three months; (they had got to raising pumpkins and
potatoes in Washoe Valley, and of course one of the first achievements of
the legislature was to institute a ten-thousand-dollar Agricultural Fair
to show off forty dollars' worth of those pumpkins in--however, the
territorial legislature was usually spoken of as the "asylum"). I wanted
to see San Francisco. I wanted to go somewhere. I wanted--I did not
know what I wanted. I had the "spring fever" and wanted a change,
principally, no doubt. Besides, a convention had framed a State
Constitution; nine men out of every ten wanted an office; I believed that
these gentlemen would "treat" the moneyless and the irresponsible among
the population into adopting the constitution and thus well-nigh killing
the country (it could not well carry such a load as a State government,
since it had nothing to tax that could stand a tax, for undeveloped mines
could not, and there were not fifty developed ones in the land, there was
but little realty to tax, and it did seem as if nobody was ever going to
think of the simple salvation of inflicting a money penalty on murder).
I believed that a State government would destroy the "flush times," and I
wanted to get away. I believed that the mining stocks I had on hand
would soon be worth $100,000, and thought if they reached that before the
Constitution was adopted, I would sell out and make myself secure from
the crash the change of government was going to bring. I considered
$100,000 sufficient to go home with decently, though it was but a small
amount compared to what I had been expecting to return with. I felt
rather down-hearted about it, but I tried to comfort myself with the
reflection that with such a sum I could not fall into want. About this
time a schoolmate of mine whom I had not seen since boyhood, came
tramping in on foot from Reese River, a very allegory of Poverty.
The son of wealthy parents, here he was, in a strange land, hungry,
bootless, mantled in an ancient horse-blanket, roofed with a brimless
hat, and so generally and so extravagantly dilapidated that he could have
"taken the shine out of the Prodigal Son himself," as he pleasantly
remarked.
He wanted to borrow forty-six dollars--twenty-six to take him to San
Francisco, and twenty for something else; to buy some soap with, maybe,
for he needed it. I found I had but little more than the amount wanted,
in my pocket; so I stepped in and borrowed forty-six dollars of a banker
(on twenty days' time, without the formality of a note), and gave it him,
rather than walk half a block to the office, where I had some specie laid
up. If anybody had told me that it would take me two years to pay back
that forty-six dollars to the banker (for I did not expect it of the
Prodigal, and was not disappointed), I would have felt injured. And so
would the banker.
I wanted a change. I wanted variety of some kind. It came. Mr. Goodman
went away for a week and left me the post of chief editor. It destroyed
me. The first day, I wrote my "leader" in the forenoon. The second day,
I had no subject and put it off till the afternoon. The third day I put
it off till evening, and then copied an elaborate editorial out of the
"American Cyclopedia," that steadfast friend of the editor, all over this
land. The fourth day I "fooled around" till midnight, and then fell back
on the Cyclopedia again. The fifth day I cudgeled my brain till
midnight, and then kept the press waiting while I penned some bitter
personalities on six different people. The sixth day I labored in
anguish till far into the night and brought forth--nothing. The paper
went to press without an editorial. The seventh day I resigned. On the
eighth, Mr. Goodman returned and found six duels on his hands--my
personalities had borne fruit.
Nobody, except he has tried it, knows what it is to be an editor. It is
easy to scribble local rubbish, with the facts all before you; it is easy
to clip selections from other papers; it is easy to string out a
correspondence from any locality; but it is unspeakable hardship to write
editorials. Subjects are the trouble--the dreary lack of them, I mean.
Every day, it is drag, drag, drag--think, and worry and suffer--all the
world is a dull blank, and yet the editorial columns must be filled.
Only give the editor a subject, and his work is done--it is no trouble to
write it up; but fancy how you would feel if you had to pump your brains
dry every day in the week, fifty-two weeks in the year. It makes one low
spirited simply to think of it. The matter that each editor of a daily
paper in America writes in the course of a year would fill from four to
eight bulky volumes like this book! Fancy what a library an editor's
work would make, after twenty or thirty years' service. Yet people often
marvel that Dickens, Scott, Bulwer, Dumas, etc., have been able to
produce so many books. If these authors had wrought as voluminously as
newspaper editors do, the result would be something to marvel at, indeed.
How editors can continue this tremendous labor, this exhausting
consumption of brain fibre (for their work is creative, and not a mere
mechanical laying-up of facts, like reporting), day after day and year
after year, is incomprehensible. Preachers take two months' holiday in
midsummer, for they find that to produce two sermons a week is wearing,
in the long run. In truth it must be so, and is so; and therefore, how
an editor can take from ten to twenty texts and build upon them from ten
to twenty painstaking editorials a week and keep it up all the year
round, is farther beyond comprehension than ever. Ever since I survived
my week as editor, I have found at least one pleasure in any newspaper
that comes to my hand; it is in admiring the long columns of editorial,
and wondering to myself how in the mischief he did it!
Mr. Goodman's return relieved me of employment, unless I chose to become
a reporter again. I could not do that; I could not serve in the ranks
after being General of the army. So I thought I would depart and go
abroad into the world somewhere. Just at this juncture, Dan, my
associate in the reportorial department, told me, casually, that two
citizens had been trying to persuade him to go with them to New York and
aid in selling a rich silver mine which they had discovered and secured
in a new mining district in our neighborhood. He said they offered to
pay his expenses and give him one third of the proceeds of the sale.
He had refused to go. It was the very opportunity I wanted. I abused
him for keeping so quiet about it, and not mentioning it sooner. He said
it had not occurred to him that I would like to go, and so he had
recommended them to apply to Marshall, the reporter of the other paper.
I asked Dan if it was a good, honest mine, and no swindle. He said the
men had shown him nine tons of the rock, which they had got out to take
to New York, and he could cheerfully say that he had seen but little rock
in Nevada that was richer; and moreover, he said that they had secured a
tract of valuable timber and a mill-site, near the mine. My first idea
was to kill Dan. But I changed my mind, notwithstanding I was so angry,
for I thought maybe the chance was not yet lost. Dan said it was by no
means lost; that the men were absent at the mine again, and would not be
in Virginia to leave for the East for some ten days; that they had
requested him to do the talking to Marshall, and he had promised that he
would either secure Marshall or somebody else for them by the time they
got back; he would now say nothing to anybody till they returned, and
then fulfil his promise by furnishing me to them.
It was splendid. I went to bed all on fire with excitement; for nobody
had yet gone East to sell a Nevada silver mine, and the field was white
for the sickle. I felt that such a mine as the one described by Dan
would bring a princely sum in New York, and sell without delay or
difficulty. I could not sleep, my fancy so rioted through its castles in
the air. It was the "blind lead" come again.
Next day I got away, on the coach, with the usual eclat attending
departures of old citizens,--for if you have only half a dozen friends
out there they will make noise for a hundred rather than let you seem to
go away neglected and unregretted--and Dan promised to keep strict watch
for the men that had the mine to sell.
The trip was signalized but by one little incident, and that occurred
just as we were about to start. A very seedy looking vagabond passenger
got out of the stage a moment to wait till the usual ballast of silver
bricks was thrown in. He was standing on the pavement, when an awkward
express employee, carrying a brick weighing a hundred pounds, stumbled
and let it fall on the bummer's foot. He instantly dropped on the ground
and began to howl in the most heart-breaking way. A sympathizing crowd
gathered around and were going to pull his boot off; but he screamed
louder than ever and they desisted; then he fell to gasping, and between
the gasps ejaculated "Brandy! for Heaven's sake, brandy!" They poured
half a pint down him, and it wonderfully restored and comforted him.
Then he begged the people to assist him to the stage, which was done.
The express people urged him to have a doctor at their expense, but he
declined, and said that if he only had a little brandy to take along with
him, to soothe his paroxyms of pain when they came on, he would be
grateful and content. He was quickly supplied with two bottles, and we
drove off. He was so smiling and happy after that, that I could not
refrain from asking him how he could possibly be so comfortable with a
crushed foot.
"Well," said he, "I hadn't had a drink for twelve hours, and hadn't a
cent to my name. I was most perishing--and so, when that duffer dropped
that hundred-pounder on my foot, I see my chance. Got a cork leg, you
know!" and he pulled up his pantaloons and proved it.
He was as drunk as a lord all day long, and full of chucklings over his
timely ingenuity.
One drunken man necessarily reminds one of another. I once heard a
gentleman tell about an incident which he witnessed in a Californian bar-
room. He entitled it "Ye Modest Man Taketh a Drink." It was nothing but
a bit of acting, but it seemed to me a perfect rendering, and worthy of
Toodles himself. The modest man, tolerably far gone with beer and other
matters, enters a saloon (twenty-five cents is the price for anything and
everything, and specie the only money used) and lays down a half dollar;
calls for whiskey and drinks it; the bar-keeper makes change and lays the
quarter in a wet place on the counter; the modest man fumbles at it with
nerveless fingers, but it slips and the water holds it; he contemplates
it, and tries again; same result; observes that people are interested in
what he is at, blushes; fumbles at the quarter again--blushes--puts his
forefinger carefully, slowly down, to make sure of his aim--pushes the
coin toward the bar-keeper, and says with a sigh:
"Gimme a cigar!"
Naturally, another gentleman present told about another drunken man. He
said he reeled toward home late at night; made a mistake and entered the
wrong gate; thought he saw a dog on the stoop; and it was--an iron one.
He stopped and considered; wondered if it was a dangerous dog; ventured
to say "Be (hic) begone!" No effect. Then he approached warily, and
adopted conciliation; pursed up his lips and tried to whistle, but
failed; still approached, saying, "Poor dog!--doggy, doggy, doggy!--poor
doggy-dog!" Got up on the stoop, still petting with fond names; till
master of the advantages; then exclaimed, "Leave, you thief!"--planted a
vindictive kick in his ribs, and went head-over-heels overboard, of
course. A pause; a sigh or two of pain, and then a remark in a
reflective voice:
"Awful solid dog. What could he ben eating? ('ic!) Rocks, p'raps.
Such animals is dangerous.--' At's what I say--they're dangerous. If a
man--('ic!)--if a man wants to feed a dog on rocks, let him feed him on
rocks; 'at's all right; but let him keep him at home--not have him layin'
round promiscuous, where ('ic!) where people's liable to stumble over him
when they ain't noticin'!"
It was not without regret that I took a last look at the tiny flag (it
was thirty-five feet long and ten feet wide) fluttering like a lady's
handkerchief from the topmost peak of Mount Davidson, two thousand feet
above Virginia's roofs, and felt that doubtless I was bidding a permanent
farewell to a city which had afforded me the most vigorous enjoyment of
life I had ever experienced. And this reminds me of an incident which
the dullest memory Virginia could boast at the time it happened must
vividly recall, at times, till its possessor dies. Late one summer
afternoon we had a rain shower.
That was astonishing enough, in itself, to set the whole town buzzing,
for it only rains (during a week or two weeks) in the winter in Nevada,
and even then not enough at a time to make it worth while for any
merchant to keep umbrellas for sale. But the rain was not the chief
wonder. It only lasted five or ten minutes; while the people were still
talking about it all the heavens gathered to themselves a dense blackness
as of midnight. All the vast eastern front of Mount Davidson, over-
looking the city, put on such a funereal gloom that only the nearness and
solidity of the mountain made its outlines even faintly distinguishable
from the dead blackness of the heavens they rested against. This
unaccustomed sight turned all eyes toward the mountain; and as they
looked, a little tongue of rich golden flame was seen waving and
quivering in the heart of the midnight, away up on the extreme summit!
In a few minutes the streets were packed with people, gazing with hardly
an uttered word, at the one brilliant mote in the brooding world of
darkness. It flicked like a candle-flame, and looked no larger; but with
such a background it was wonderfully bright, small as it was. It was the
flag!--though no one suspected it at first, it seemed so like a
supernatural visitor of some kind--a mysterious messenger of good
tidings, some were fain to believe. It was the nation's emblem
transfigured by the departing rays of a sun that was entirely palled from
view; and on no other object did the glory fall, in all the broad
panorama of mountain ranges and deserts. Not even upon the staff of the
flag--for that, a needle in the distance at any time, was now untouched
by the light and undistinguishable in the gloom. For a whole hour the
weird visitor winked and burned in its lofty solitude, and still the
thousands of uplifted eyes watched it with fascinated interest. How the
people were wrought up! The superstition grew apace that this was a
mystic courier come with great news from the war--the poetry of the idea
excusing and commending it--and on it spread, from heart to heart, from
lip to lip and from street to street, till there was a general impulse to
have out the military and welcome the bright waif with a salvo of
artillery!
And all that time one sorely tried man, the telegraph operator sworn to
official secrecy, had to lock his lips and chain his tongue with a
silence that was like to rend them; for he, and he only, of all the
speculating multitude, knew the great things this sinking sun had seen
that day in the east--Vicksburg fallen, and the Union arms victorious at
Gettysburg!
But for the journalistic monopoly that forbade the slightest revealment
of eastern news till a day after its publication in the California
papers, the glorified flag on Mount Davidson would have been saluted and
re-saluted, that memorable evening, as long as there was a charge of
powder to thunder with; the city would have been illuminated, and every
man that had any respect for himself would have got drunk,--as was the
custom of the country on all occasions of public moment. Even at this
distant day I cannot think of this needlessly marred supreme opportunity
without regret. What a time we might have had!
CHAPTER LVI.
We rumbled over the plains and valleys, climbed the Sierras to the
clouds, and looked down upon summer-clad California. And I will remark
here, in passing, that all scenery in California requires distance to
give it its highest charm. The mountains are imposing in their sublimity
and their majesty of form and altitude, from any point of view--but one
must have distance to soften their ruggedness and enrich their tintings;
a Californian forest is best at a little distance, for there is a sad
poverty of variety in species, the trees being chiefly of one monotonous
family--redwood, pine, spruce, fir--and so, at a near view there is a
wearisome sameness of attitude in their rigid arms, stretched down ward
and outward in one continued and reiterated appeal to all men to "Sh!--
don't say a word!--you might disturb somebody!" Close at hand, too,
there is a reliefless and relentless smell of pitch and turpentine; there
is a ceaseless melancholy in their sighing and complaining foliage; one
walks over a soundless carpet of beaten yellow bark and dead spines of
the foliage till he feels like a wandering spirit bereft of a footfall;
he tires of the endless tufts of needles and yearns for substantial,
shapely leaves; he looks for moss and grass to loll upon, and finds none,
for where there is no bark there is naked clay and dirt, enemies to
pensive musing and clean apparel. Often a grassy plain in California, is
what it should be, but often, too, it is best contemplated at a distance,
because although its grass blades are tall, they stand up vindictively
straight and self-sufficient, and are unsociably wide apart, with
uncomely spots of barren sand between.
One of the queerest things I know of, is to hear tourists from "the
States" go into ecstasies over the loveliness of "ever-blooming
California." And they always do go into that sort of ecstasies. But
perhaps they would modify them if they knew how old Californians, with
the memory full upon them of the dust-covered and questionable summer
greens of Californian "verdure," stand astonished, and filled with
worshipping admiration, in the presence of the lavish richness, the
brilliant green, the infinite freshness, the spend-thrift variety of form
and species and foliage that make an Eastern landscape a vision of
Paradise itself. The idea of a man falling into raptures over grave and
sombre California, when that man has seen New England's meadow-expanses
and her maples, oaks and cathedral-windowed elms decked in summer attire,
or the opaline splendors of autumn descending upon her forests, comes
very near being funny--would be, in fact, but that it is so pathetic.
No land with an unvarying climate can be very beautiful. The tropics are
not, for all the sentiment that is wasted on them. They seem beautiful
at first, but sameness impairs the charm by and by. Change is the
handmaiden Nature requires to do her miracles with. The land that has
four well-defined seasons, cannot lack beauty, or pall with monotony.
Each season brings a world of enjoyment and interest in the watching of
its unfolding, its gradual, harmonious development, its culminating
graces--and just as one begins to tire of it, it passes away and a
radical change comes, with new witcheries and new glories in its train.
And I think that to one in sympathy with nature, each season, in its
turn, seems the loveliest.
San Francisco, a truly fascinating city to live in, is stately and
handsome at a fair distance, but close at hand one notes that the
architecture is mostly old-fashioned, many streets are made up of
decaying, smoke-grimed, wooden houses, and the barren sand-hills toward
the outskirts obtrude themselves too prominently. Even the kindly
climate is sometimes pleasanter when read about than personally
experienced, for a lovely, cloudless sky wears out its welcome by and by,
and then when the longed for rain does come it stays. Even the playful
earthquake is better contemplated at a dis--
However there are varying opinions about that.
The climate of San Francisco is mild and singularly equable. The
thermometer stands at about seventy degrees the year round. It hardly
changes at all. You sleep under one or two light blankets Summer and
Winter, and never use a mosquito bar. Nobody ever wears Summer clothing.
You wear black broadcloth--if you have it--in August and January, just
the same. It is no colder, and no warmer, in the one month than the
other. You do not use overcoats and you do not use fans. It is as
pleasant a climate as could well be contrived, take it all around, and is
doubtless the most unvarying in the whole world. The wind blows there a
good deal in the summer months, but then you can go over to Oakland, if
you choose--three or four miles away--it does not blow there. It has
only snowed twice in San Francisco in nineteen years, and then it only
remained on the ground long enough to astonish the children, and set them
to wondering what the feathery stuff was.
During eight months of the year, straight along, the skies are bright and
cloudless, and never a drop of rain falls. But when the other four
months come along, you will need to go and steal an umbrella. Because
you will require it. Not just one day, but one hundred and twenty days
in hardly varying succession. When you want to go visiting, or attend
church, or the theatre, you never look up at the clouds to see whether it
is likely to rain or not--you look at the almanac. If it is Winter, it
will rain--and if it is Summer, it won't rain, and you cannot help it.
You never need a lightning-rod, because it never thunders and it never
lightens. And after you have listened for six or eight weeks, every
night, to the dismal monotony of those quiet rains, you will wish in your
heart the thunder would leap and crash and roar along those drowsy skies
once, and make everything alive--you will wish the prisoned lightnings
would cleave the dull firmament asunder and light it with a blinding
glare for one little instant. You would give anything to hear the old
familiar thunder again and see the lightning strike somebody. And along
in the Summer, when you have suffered about four months of lustrous,
pitiless sunshine, you are ready to go down on your knees and plead for
rain--hail--snow--thunder and lightning--anything to break the monotony--
you will take an earthquake, if you cannot do any better. And the
chances are that you'll get it, too.
San Francisco is built on sand hills, but they are prolific sand hills.
They yield a generous vegetation. All the rare flowers which people in
"the States" rear with such patient care in parlor flower-pots and green-
houses, flourish luxuriantly in the open air there all the year round.
Calla lilies, all sorts of geraniums, passion flowers, moss roses--I do
not know the names of a tenth part of them. I only know that while New
Yorkers are burdened with banks and drifts of snow, Californians are
burdened with banks and drifts of flowers, if they only keep their hands
off and let them grow. And I have heard that they have also that rarest
and most curious of all the flowers, the beautiful Espiritu Santo, as the
Spaniards call it--or flower of the Holy Spirit--though I thought it grew
only in Central America--down on the Isthmus. In its cup is the
daintiest little facsimile of a dove, as pure as snow. The Spaniards
have a superstitious reverence for it. The blossom has been conveyed to
the States, submerged in ether; and the bulb has been taken thither also,
but every attempt to make it bloom after it arrived, has failed.
I have elsewhere spoken of the endless Winter of Mono, California, and
but this moment of the eternal Spring of San Francisco. Now if we travel
a hundred miles in a straight line, we come to the eternal Summer of
Sacramento. One never sees Summer-clothing or mosquitoes in San
Francisco--but they can be found in Sacramento. Not always and
unvaryingly, but about one hundred and forty-three months out of twelve
years, perhaps. Flowers bloom there, always, the reader can easily
believe--people suffer and sweat, and swear, morning, noon and night, and
wear out their stanchest energies fanning themselves. It gets hot there,
but if you go down to Fort Yuma you will find it hotter. Fort Yuma is
probably the hottest place on earth. The thermometer stays at one
hundred and twenty in the shade there all the time--except when it varies
and goes higher. It is a U.S. military post, and its occupants get so
used to the terrific heat that they suffer without it. There is a
tradition (attributed to John Phenix [It has been purloined by fifty
different scribblers who were too poor to invent a fancy but not ashamed
to steal one.--M. T.]) that a very, very wicked soldier died there,
once, and of course, went straight to the hottest corner of perdition,--
and the next day he telegraphed back for his blankets. There is no doubt
about the truth of this statement--there can be no doubt about it. I
have seen the place where that soldier used to board. In Sacramento it
is fiery Summer always, and you can gather roses, and eat strawberries
and ice-cream, and wear white linen clothes, and pant and perspire, at
eight or nine o'clock in the morning, and then take the cars, and at noon
put on your furs and your skates, and go skimming over frozen Donner
Lake, seven thousand feet above the valley, among snow banks fifteen feet
deep, and in the shadow of grand mountain peaks that lift their frosty
crags ten thousand feet above the level of the sea.
There is a transition for you! Where will you find another like it in
the Western hemisphere? And some of us have swept around snow-walled
curves of the Pacific Railroad in that vicinity, six thousand feet above
the sea, and looked down as the birds do, upon the deathless Summer of
the Sacramento Valley, with its fruitful fields, its feathery foliage,
its silver streams, all slumbering in the mellow haze of its enchanted
atmosphere, and all infinitely softened and spiritualized by distance--a
dreamy, exquisite glimpse of fairyland, made all the more charming and
striking that it was caught through a forbidden gateway of ice and snow,
and savage crags and precipices.
CHAPTER LVII.
It was in this Sacramento Valley, just referred to, that a deal of the
most lucrative of the early gold mining was done, and you may still see,
in places, its grassy slopes and levels torn and guttered and disfigured
by the avaricious spoilers of fifteen and twenty years ago. You may see
such disfigurements far and wide over California--and in some such
places, where only meadows and forests are visible--not a living
creature, not a house, no stick or stone or remnant of a ruin, and not a
sound, not even a whisper to disturb the Sabbath stillness--you will find
it hard to believe that there stood at one time a fiercely-flourishing
little city, of two thousand or three thousand souls, with its newspaper,
fire company, brass band, volunteer militia, bank, hotels, noisy Fourth
of July processions and speeches, gambling hells crammed with tobacco
smoke, profanity, and rough-bearded men of all nations and colors, with
tables heaped with gold dust sufficient for the revenues of a German
principality--streets crowded and rife with business--town lots worth
four hundred dollars a front foot--labor, laughter, music, dancing,
swearing, fighting, shooting, stabbing--a bloody inquest and a man for
breakfast every morning--everything that delights and adorns existence--
all the appointments and appurtenances of a thriving and prosperous and
promising young city,--and now nothing is left of it all but a lifeless,
homeless solitude. The men are gone, the houses have vanished, even the
name of the place is forgotten. In no other land, in modern times, have
towns so absolutely died and disappeared, as in the old mining regions of
California.
It was a driving, vigorous, restless population in those days. It was a
curious population. It was the only population of the kind that the
world has ever seen gathered together, and it is not likely that the
world will ever see its like again. For observe, it was an assemblage of
two hundred thousand young men--not simpering, dainty, kid-gloved
weaklings, but stalwart, muscular, dauntless young braves, brimful of
push and energy, and royally endowed with every attribute that goes to
make up a peerless and magnificent manhood--the very pick and choice of
the world's glorious ones. No women, no children, no gray and stooping
veterans,--none but erect, bright-eyed, quick-moving, strong-handed young
giants--the strangest population, the finest population, the most gallant
host that ever trooped down the startled solitudes of an unpeopled land.
And where are they now? Scattered to the ends of the earth--or
prematurely aged and decrepit--or shot or stabbed in street affrays--or
dead of disappointed hopes and broken hearts--all gone, or nearly all--
victims devoted upon the altar of the golden calf--the noblest holocaust
that ever wafted its sacrificial incense heavenward. It is pitiful to
think upon.
It was a splendid population--for all the slow, sleepy, sluggish-brained
sloths staid at home--you never find that sort of people among pioneers--
you cannot build pioneers out of that sort of material. It was that
population that gave to California a name for getting up astounding
enterprises and rushing them through with a magnificent dash and daring
and a recklessness of cost or consequences, which she bears unto this
day--and when she projects a new surprise, the grave world smiles as
usual, and says "Well, that is California all over."
But they were rough in those times! They fairly reveled in gold, whisky,
fights, and fandangoes, and were unspeakably happy. The honest miner
raked from a hundred to a thousand dollars out of his claim a day, and
what with the gambling dens and the other entertainments, he hadn't a
cent the next morning, if he had any sort of luck. They cooked their own
bacon and beans, sewed on their own buttons, washed their own shirts--
blue woollen ones; and if a man wanted a fight on his hands without any
annoying delay, all he had to do was to appear in public in a white shirt
or a stove-pipe hat, and he would be accommodated. For those people
hated aristocrats. They had a particular and malignant animosity toward
what they called a "biled shirt."
It was a wild, free, disorderly, grotesque society! Men--only swarming
hosts of stalwart men--nothing juvenile, nothing feminine, visible
anywhere!
In those days miners would flock in crowds to catch a glimpse of that
rare and blessed spectacle, a woman! Old inhabitants tell how, in a
certain camp, the news went abroad early in the morning that a woman was
come! They had seen a calico dress hanging out of a wagon down at the
camping-ground--sign of emigrants from over the great plains. Everybody
went down there, and a shout went up when an actual, bona fide dress was
discovered fluttering in the wind! The male emigrant was visible. The
miners said:
"Fetch her out!"
He said: "It is my wife, gentlemen--she is sick--we have been robbed of
money, provisions, everything, by the Indians--we want to rest."
"Fetch her out! We've got to see her!"
"But, gentlemen, the poor thing, she--"
"FETCH HER OUT!"
He "fetched her out," and they swung their hats and sent up three rousing
cheers and a tiger; and they crowded around and gazed at her, and touched
her dress, and listened to her voice with the look of men who listened to
a memory rather than a present reality--and then they collected twenty-
five hundred dollars in gold and gave it to the man, and swung their hats
again and gave three more cheers, and went home satisfied.
Once I dined in San Francisco with the family of a pioneer, and talked
with his daughter, a young lady whose first experience in San Francisco
was an adventure, though she herself did not remember it, as she was only
two or three years old at the time. Her father said that, after landing
from the ship, they were walking up the street, a servant leading the
party with the little girl in her arms. And presently a huge miner,
bearded, belted, spurred, and bristling with deadly weapons--just down
from a long campaign in the mountains, evidently-barred the way, stopped
the servant, and stood gazing, with a face all alive with gratification
and astonishment. Then he said, reverently:
"Well, if it ain't a child!" And then he snatched a little leather sack
out of his pocket and said to the servant:
"There's a hundred and fifty dollars in dust, there, and I'll give it to
you to let me kiss the child!"
That anecdote is true.
But see how things change. Sitting at that dinner-table, listening to
that anecdote, if I had offered double the money for the privilege of
kissing the same child, I would have been refused. Seventeen added years
have far more than doubled the price.
And while upon this subject I will remark that once in Star City, in the
Humboldt Mountains, I took my place in a sort of long, post-office single
file of miners, to patiently await my chance to peep through a crack in
the cabin and get a sight of the splendid new sensation--a genuine, live
Woman! And at the end of half of an hour my turn came, and I put my eye
to the crack, and there she was, with one arm akimbo, and tossing flap-
jacks in a frying-pan with the other.
And she was one hundred and sixty-five [Being in calmer mood, now, I
voluntarily knock off a hundred from that.--M.T.] years old, and hadn't a
tooth in her head.
CHAPTER LVIII.
For a few months I enjoyed what to me was an entirely new phase of
existence--a butterfly idleness; nothing to do, nobody to be responsible
to, and untroubled with financial uneasiness. I fell in love with the
most cordial and sociable city in the Union. After the sage-brush and
alkali deserts of Washoe, San Francisco was Paradise to me. I lived at
the best hotel, exhibited my clothes in the most conspicuous places,
infested the opera, and learned to seem enraptured with music which
oftener afflicted my ignorant ear than enchanted it, if I had had the
vulgar honesty to confess it. However, I suppose I was not greatly worse
than the most of my countrymen in that. I had longed to be a butterfly,
and I was one at last. I attended private parties in sumptuous evening
dress, simpered and aired my graces like a born beau, and polkad and
schottisched with a step peculiar to myself--and the kangaroo. In a
word, I kept the due state of a man worth a hundred thousand dollars
(prospectively,) and likely to reach absolute affluence when that silver-
mine sale should be ultimately achieved in the East. I spent money with
a free hand, and meantime watched the stock sales with an interested eye
and looked to see what might happen in Nevada.
Something very important happened. The property holders of Nevada voted
against the State Constitution; but the folks who had nothing to lose
were in the majority, and carried the measure over their heads. But
after all it did not immediately look like a disaster, though
unquestionably it was one I hesitated, calculated the chances, and then
concluded not to sell. Stocks went on rising; speculation went mad;
bankers, merchants, lawyers, doctors, mechanics, laborers, even the very
washerwomen and servant girls, were putting up their earnings on silver
stocks, and every sun that rose in the morning went down on paupers
enriched and rich men beggared. What a gambling carnival it was! Gould
and Curry soared to six thousand three hundred dollars a foot! And then
--all of a sudden, out went the bottom and everything and everybody went
to ruin and destruction! The wreck was complete.
The bubble scarcely left a microscopic moisture behind it. I was an
early beggar and a thorough one. My hoarded stocks were not worth the
paper they were printed on. I threw them all away. I, the cheerful
idiot that had been squandering money like water, and thought myself
beyond the reach of misfortune, had not now as much as fifty dollars when
I gathered together my various debts and paid them. I removed from the
hotel to a very private boarding house. I took a reporter's berth and
went to work. I was not entirely broken in spirit, for I was building
confidently on the sale of the silver mine in the east. But I could not
hear from Dan. My letters miscarried or were not answered.
One day I did not feel vigorous and remained away from the office. The
next day I went down toward noon as usual, and found a note on my desk
which had been there twenty-four hours. It was signed "Marshall"--the
Virginia reporter--and contained a request that I should call at the
hotel and see him and a friend or two that night, as they would sail for
the east in the morning. A postscript added that their errand was a big
mining speculation! I was hardly ever so sick in my life. I abused
myself for leaving Virginia and entrusting to another man a matter I
ought to have attended to myself; I abused myself for remaining away from
the office on the one day of all the year that I should have been there.
And thus berating myself I trotted a mile to the steamer wharf and
arrived just in time to be too late. The ship was in the stream and
under way.
I comforted myself with the thought that may be the speculation would
amount to nothing--poor comfort at best--and then went back to my
slavery, resolved to put up with my thirty-five dollars a week and forget
all about it.
A month afterward I enjoyed my first earthquake. It was one which was
long called the "great" earthquake, and is doubtless so distinguished
till this day. It was just after noon, on a bright October day. I was
coming down Third street. The only objects in motion anywhere in sight
in that thickly built and populous quarter, were a man in a buggy behind
me, and a street car wending slowly up the cross street. Otherwise, all
was solitude and a Sabbath stillness. As I turned the corner, around a
frame house, there was a great rattle and jar, and it occurred to me that
here was an item!--no doubt a fight in that house. Before I could turn
and seek the door, there came a really terrific shock; the ground seemed
to roll under me in waves, interrupted by a violent joggling up and down,
and there was a heavy grinding noise as of brick houses rubbing together.
I fell up against the frame house and hurt my elbow. I knew what it was,
now, and from mere reportorial instinct, nothing else, took out my watch
and noted the time of day; at that moment a third and still severer shock
came, and as I reeled about on the pavement trying to keep my footing,
I saw a sight! The entire front of a tall four-story brick building in
Third street sprung outward like a door and fell sprawling across the
street, raising a dust like a great volume of smoke! And here came the
buggy--overboard went the man, and in less time than I can tell it the
vehicle was distributed in small fragments along three hundred yards of
street.
One could have fancied that somebody had fired a charge of chair-rounds
and rags down the thoroughfare. The street car had stopped, the horses
were rearing and plunging, the passengers were pouring out at both ends,
and one fat man had crashed half way through a glass window on one side
of the car, got wedged fast and was squirming and screaming like an
impaled madman. Every door, of every house, as far as the eye could
reach, was vomiting a stream of human beings; and almost before one could
execute a wink and begin another, there was a massed multitude of people
stretching in endless procession down every street my position commanded.
Never was solemn solitude turned into teeming life quicker.
Of the wonders wrought by "the great earthquake," these were all that
came under my eye; but the tricks it did, elsewhere, and far and wide
over the town, made toothsome gossip for nine days.
The destruction of property was trifling--the injury to it was wide-
spread and somewhat serious.
The "curiosities" of the earthquake were simply endless. Gentlemen and
ladies who were sick, or were taking a siesta, or had dissipated till a
late hour and were making up lost sleep, thronged into the public streets
in all sorts of queer apparel, and some without any at all. One woman
who had been washing a naked child, ran down the street holding it by the
ankles as if it were a dressed turkey. Prominent citizens who were
supposed to keep the Sabbath strictly, rushed out of saloons in their
shirt-sleeves, with billiard cues in their hands. Dozens of men with
necks swathed in napkins, rushed from barber-shops, lathered to the eyes
or with one cheek clean shaved and the other still bearing a hairy
stubble. Horses broke from stables, and a frightened dog rushed up a
short attic ladder and out on to a roof, and when his scare was over had
not the nerve to go down again the same way he had gone up.
A prominent editor flew down stairs, in the principal hotel, with nothing
on but one brief undergarment--met a chambermaid, and exclaimed:
"Oh, what shall I do! Where shall I go!"
She responded with naive serenity:
"If you have no choice, you might try a clothing-store!"
A certain foreign consul's lady was the acknowledged leader of fashion,
and every time she appeared in anything new or extraordinary, the ladies
in the vicinity made a raid on their husbands' purses and arrayed
themselves similarly. One man who had suffered considerably and growled
accordingly, was standing at the window when the shocks came, and the
next instant the consul's wife, just out of the bath, fled by with no
other apology for clothing than--a bath-towel! The sufferer rose
superior to the terrors of the earthquake, and said to his wife:
"Now that is something like! Get out your towel my dear!"
The plastering that fell from ceilings in San Francisco that day, would
have covered several acres of ground. For some days afterward, groups of
eyeing and pointing men stood about many a building, looking at long zig-
zag cracks that extended from the eaves to the ground. Four feet of the
tops of three chimneys on one house were broken square off and turned
around in such a way as to completely stop the draft.
A crack a hundred feet long gaped open six inches wide in the middle of
one street and then shut together again with such force, as to ridge up
the meeting earth like a slender grave. A lady sitting in her rocking
and quaking parlor, saw the wall part at the ceiling, open and shut
twice, like a mouth, and then-drop the end of a brick on the floor like a
tooth. She was a woman easily disgusted with foolishness, and she arose
and went out of there. One lady who was coming down stairs was
astonished to see a bronze Hercules lean forward on its pedestal as if to
strike her with its club. They both reached the bottom of the flight at
the same time,--the woman insensible from the fright. Her child, born
some little time afterward, was club-footed. However--on second
thought,--if the reader sees any coincidence in this, he must do it at
his own risk.
The first shock brought down two or three huge organ-pipes in one of the
churches. The minister, with uplifted hands, was just closing the
services. He glanced up, hesitated, and said:
"However, we will omit the benediction!"--and the next instant there was
a vacancy in the atmosphere where he had stood.
After the first shock, an Oakland minister said:
"Keep your seats! There is no better place to die than this"--
And added, after the third:
"But outside is good enough!" He then skipped out at the back door.
Such another destruction of mantel ornaments and toilet bottles as the
earthquake created, San Francisco never saw before. There was hardly a
girl or a matron in the city but suffered losses of this kind. Suspended
pictures were thrown down, but oftener still, by a curious freak of the
earthquake's humor, they were whirled completely around with their faces
to the wall! There was great difference of opinion, at first, as to the
course or direction the earthquake traveled, but water that splashed out
of various tanks and buckets settled that. Thousands of people were made
so sea-sick by the rolling and pitching of floors and streets that they
were weak and bed-ridden for hours, and some few for even days
afterward.--Hardly an individual escaped nausea entirely.
The queer earthquake--episodes that formed the staple of San Francisco
gossip for the next week would fill a much larger book than this, and so
I will diverge from the subject.
By and by, in the due course of things, I picked up a copy of the
Enterprise one day, and fell under this cruel blow:
NEVADA MINES IN NEW YORK.--G. M. Marshall, Sheba Hurs and Amos H.
Rose, who left San Francisco last July for New York City, with ores
from mines in Pine Wood District, Humboldt County, and on the Reese
River range, have disposed of a mine containing six thousand feet
and called the Pine Mountains Consolidated, for the sum of
$3,000,000. The stamps on the deed, which is now on its way to
Humboldt County, from New York, for record, amounted to $3,000,
which is said to be the largest amount of stamps ever placed on one
document. A working capital of $1,000,000 has been paid into the
treasury, and machinery has already been purchased for a large
quartz mill, which will be put up as soon as possible. The stock in
this company is all full paid and entirely unassessable. The ores
of the mines in this district somewhat resemble those of the Sheba
mine in Humboldt. Sheba Hurst, the discoverer of the mines, with
his friends corralled all the best leads and all the land and timber
they desired before making public their whereabouts. Ores from
there, assayed in this city, showed them to be exceedingly rich in
silver and gold--silver predominating. There is an abundance of
wood and water in the District. We are glad to know that New York
capital has been enlisted in the development of the mines of this
region. Having seen the ores and assays, we are satisfied that the
mines of the District are very valuable--anything but wild-cat.
Once more native imbecility had carried the day, and I had lost a
million! It was the "blind lead" over again.
Let us not dwell on this miserable matter. If I were inventing these
things, I could be wonderfully humorous over them; but they are too true
to be talked of with hearty levity, even at this distant day. [True, and
yet not exactly as given in the above figures, possibly. I saw Marshall,
months afterward, and although he had plenty of money he did not claim to
have captured an entire million. In fact I gathered that he had not then
received $50,000. Beyond that figure his fortune appeared to consist of
uncertain vast expectations rather than prodigious certainties. However,
when the above item appeared in print I put full faith in it, and
incontinently wilted and went to seed under it.] Suffice it that I so
lost heart, and so yielded myself up to repinings and sighings and
foolish regrets, that I neglected my duties and became about worthless,
as a reporter for a brisk newspaper. And at last one of the proprietors
took me aside, with a charity I still remember with considerable respect,
and gave me an opportunity to resign my berth and so save myself the
disgrace of a dismissal.
CHAPTER LIX.
For a time I wrote literary screeds for the Golden Era. C. H. Webb had
established a very excellent literary weekly called the Californian, but
high merit was no guaranty of success; it languished, and he sold out to
three printers, and Bret Harte became editor at $20 a week, and I was
employed to contribute an article a week at $12. But the journal still
languished, and the printers sold out to Captain Ogden, a rich man and a
pleasant gentleman who chose to amuse himself with such an expensive
luxury without much caring about the cost of it. When he grew tired of
the novelty, he re-sold to the printers, the paper presently died a
peaceful death, and I was out of work again. I would not mention these
things but for the fact that they so aptly illustrate the ups and downs
that characterize life on the Pacific coast. A man could hardly stumble
into such a variety of queer vicissitudes in any other country.
For two months my sole occupation was avoiding acquaintances; for during
that time I did not earn a penny, or buy an article of any kind, or pay
my board. I became a very adept at "slinking." I slunk from back street
to back street, I slunk away from approaching faces that looked familiar,
I slunk to my meals, ate them humbly and with a mute apology for every
mouthful I robbed my generous landlady of, and at midnight, after
wanderings that were but slinkings away from cheerfulness and light, I
slunk to my bed. I felt meaner, and lowlier and more despicable than the
worms. During all this time I had but one piece of money--a silver ten
cent piece--and I held to it and would not spend it on any account, lest
the consciousness coming strong upon me that I was entirely penniless,
might suggest suicide. I had pawned every thing but the clothes I had
on; so I clung to my dime desperately, till it was smooth with handling.
However, I am forgetting. I did have one other occupation beside that of
"slinking." It was the entertaining of a collector (and being
entertained by him,) who had in his hands the Virginia banker's bill for
forty-six dollars which I had loaned my schoolmate, the "Prodigal." This
man used to call regularly once a week and dun me, and sometimes oftener.
He did it from sheer force of habit, for he knew he could get nothing.
He would get out his bill, calculate the interest for me, at five per
cent a month, and show me clearly that there was no attempt at fraud in
it and no mistakes; and then plead, and argue and dun with all his might
for any sum--any little trifle--even a dollar--even half a dollar, on
account. Then his duty was accomplished and his conscience free. He
immediately dropped the subject there always; got out a couple of cigars
and divided, put his feet in the window, and then we would have a long,
luxurious talk about everything and everybody, and he would furnish me a
world of curious dunning adventures out of the ample store in his memory.
By and by he would clap his hat on his head, shake hands and say briskly:
"Well, business is business--can't stay with you always!"--and was off in
a second.
The idea of pining for a dun! And yet I used to long for him to come,
and would get as uneasy as any mother if the day went by without his
visit, when I was expecting him. But he never collected that bill, at
last nor any part of it. I lived to pay it to the banker myself.
Misery loves company. Now and then at night, in out-of-the way, dimly
lighted places, I found myself happening on another child of misfortune.
He looked so seedy and forlorn, so homeless and friendless and forsaken,
that I yearned toward him as a brother. I wanted to claim kinship with
him and go about and enjoy our wretchedness together. The drawing toward
each other must have been mutual; at any rate we got to falling together
oftener, though still seemingly by accident; and although we did not
speak or evince any recognition, I think the dull anxiety passed out of
both of us when we saw each other, and then for several hours we would
idle along contentedly, wide apart, and glancing furtively in at home
lights and fireside gatherings, out of the night shadows, and very much
enjoying our dumb companionship.
Finally we spoke, and were inseparable after that. For our woes were
identical, almost. He had been a reporter too, and lost his berth, and
this was his experience, as nearly as I can recollect it. After losing
his berth he had gone down, down, down, with never a halt: from a
boarding house on Russian Hill to a boarding house in Kearney street;
from thence to Dupont; from thence to a low sailor den; and from thence
to lodgings in goods boxes and empty hogsheads near the wharves. Then;
for a while, he had gained a meagre living by sewing up bursted sacks of
grain on the piers; when that failed he had found food here and there as
chance threw it in his way. He had ceased to show his face in daylight,
now, for a reporter knows everybody, rich and poor, high and low, and
cannot well avoid familiar faces in the broad light of day.
This mendicant Blucher--I call him that for convenience--was a splendid
creature. He was full of hope, pluck and philosophy; he was well read
and a man of cultivated taste; he had a bright wit and was a master of
satire; his kindliness and his generous spirit made him royal in my eyes
and changed his curb-stone seat to a throne and his damaged hat to a
crown.
He had an adventure, once, which sticks fast in my memory as the most
pleasantly grotesque that ever touched my sympathies. He had been
without a penny for two months. He had shirked about obscure streets,
among friendly dim lights, till the thing had become second nature to
him. But at last he was driven abroad in daylight. The cause was
sufficient; he had not tasted food for forty-eight hours, and he could
not endure the misery of his hunger in idle hiding. He came along a back
street, glowering at the loaves in bake-shop windows, and feeling that he
could trade his life away for a morsel to eat. The sight of the bread
doubled his hunger; but it was good to look at it, any how, and imagine
what one might do if one only had it.
Presently, in the middle of the street he saw a shining spot--looked
again--did not, and could not, believe his eyes--turned away, to try
them, then looked again. It was a verity--no vain, hunger-inspired
delusion--it was a silver dime!
He snatched it--gloated over it; doubted it--bit it--found it genuine--
choked his heart down, and smothered a halleluiah. Then he looked
around--saw that nobody was looking at him--threw the dime down where it
was before--walked away a few steps, and approached again, pretending he
did not know it was there, so that he could re-enjoy the luxury of
finding it. He walked around it, viewing it from different points; then
sauntered about with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the signs
and now and then glancing at it and feeling the old thrill again.
Finally he took it up, and went away, fondling it in his pocket. He
idled through unfrequented streets, stopping in doorways and corners to
take it out and look at it. By and by he went home to his lodgings--an
empty queens-ware hogshead,--and employed himself till night trying to
make up his mind what to buy with it. But it was hard to do. To get the
most for it was the idea. He knew that at the Miner's Restaurant he
could get a plate of beans and a piece of bread for ten cents; or a fish-
ball and some few trifles, but they gave "no bread with one fish-ball"
there. At French Pete's he could get a veal cutlet, plain, and some
radishes and bread, for ten cents; or a cup of coffee--a pint at least--
and a slice of bread; but the slice was not thick enough by the eighth of
an inch, and sometimes they were still more criminal than that in the
cutting of it. At seven o'clock his hunger was wolfish; and still his
mind was not made up. He turned out and went up Merchant street, still
ciphering; and chewing a bit of stick, as is the way of starving men.
He passed before the lights of Martin's restaurant, the most aristocratic
in the city, and stopped. It was a place where he had often dined, in
better days, and Martin knew him well. Standing aside, just out of the
range of the light, he worshiped the quails and steaks in the show
window, and imagined that may be the fairy times were not gone yet and
some prince in disguise would come along presently and tell him to go in
there and take whatever he wanted. He chewed his stick with a hungry
interest as he warmed to his subject. Just at this juncture he was
conscious of some one at his side, sure enough; and then a finger touched
his arm. He looked up, over his shoulder, and saw an apparition--a very
allegory of Hunger! It was a man six feet high, gaunt, unshaven, hung
with rags; with a haggard face and sunken cheeks, and eyes that pleaded
piteously. This phantom said:
"Come with me--please."
He locked his arm in Blucher's and walked up the street to where the
passengers were few and the light not strong, and then facing about, put
out his hands in a beseeching way, and said:
"Friend--stranger--look at me! Life is easy to you--you go about, placid
and content, as I did once, in my day--you have been in there, and eaten
your sumptuous supper, and picked your teeth, and hummed your tune, and
thought your pleasant thoughts, and said to yourself it is a good world--
but you've never suffered! You don't know what trouble is--you don't
know what misery is--nor hunger! Look at me! Stranger have pity on a
poor friendless, homeless dog! As God is my judge, I have not tasted
food for eight and forty hours!--look in my eyes and see if I lie! Give
me the least trifle in the world to keep me from starving--anything--
twenty-five cents! Do it, stranger--do it, please. It will be nothing
to you, but life to me. Do it, and I will go down on my knees and lick
the dust before you! I will kiss your footprints--I will worship the
very ground you walk on! Only twenty-five cents! I am famishing--
perishing--starving by inches! For God's sake don't desert me!"
Blucher was bewildered--and touched, too--stirred to the depths. He
reflected. Thought again. Then an idea struck him, and he said:
"Come with me."
He took the outcast's arm, walked him down to Martin's restaurant, seated
him at a marble table, placed the bill of fare before him, and said:
"Order what you want, friend. Charge it to me, Mr. Martin."
"All right, Mr. Blucher," said Martin.
Then Blucher stepped back and leaned against the counter and watched the
man stow away cargo after cargo of buckwheat cakes at seventy-five cents
a plate; cup after cup of coffee, and porter house steaks worth two
dollars apiece; and when six dollars and a half's worth of destruction
had been accomplished, and the stranger's hunger appeased, Blucher went
down to French Pete's, bought a veal cutlet plain, a slice of bread, and
three radishes, with his dime, and set to and feasted like a king!
Take the episode all around, it was as odd as any that can be culled from
the myriad curiosities of Californian life, perhaps.
CHAPTER LX.
By and by, an old friend of mine, a miner, came down from one of the
decayed mining camps of Tuolumne, California, and I went back with him.
We lived in a small cabin on a verdant hillside, and there were not five
other cabins in view over the wide expanse of hill and forest. Yet a
flourishing city of two or three thousand population had occupied this
grassy dead solitude during the flush times of twelve or fifteen years
before, and where our cabin stood had once been the heart of the teeming
hive, the centre of the city. When the mines gave out the town fell into
decay, and in a few years wholly disappeared--streets, dwellings, shops,
everything--and left no sign. The grassy slopes were as green and smooth
and desolate of life as if they had never been disturbed. The mere
handful of miners still remaining, had seen the town spring up spread,
grow and flourish in its pride; and they had seen it sicken and die, and
pass away like a dream. With it their hopes had died, and their zest of
life. They had long ago resigned themselves to their exile, and ceased
to correspond with their distant friends or turn longing eyes toward
their early homes. They had accepted banishment, forgotten the world and
been forgotten of the world. They were far from telegraphs and
railroads, and they stood, as it were, in a living grave, dead to the
events that stirred the globe's great populations, dead to the common
interests of men, isolated and outcast from brotherhood with their kind.
It was the most singular, and almost the most touching and melancholy
exile that fancy can imagine.--One of my associates in this locality, for
two or three months, was a man who had had a university education; but
now for eighteen years he had decayed there by inches, a bearded, rough-
clad, clay-stained miner, and at times, among his sighings and
soliloquizings, he unconsciously interjected vaguely remembered Latin and
Greek sentences--dead and musty tongues, meet vehicles for the thoughts
of one whose dreams were all of the past, whose life was a failure; a
tired man, burdened with the present, and indifferent to the future; a
man without ties, hopes, interests, waiting for rest and the end.
In that one little corner of California is found a species of mining
which is seldom or never mentioned in print. It is called "pocket
mining" and I am not aware that any of it is done outside of that little
corner. The gold is not evenly distributed through the surface dirt, as
in ordinary placer mines, but is collected in little spots, and they are
very wide apart and exceedingly hard to find, but when you do find one
you reap a rich and sudden harvest. There are not now more than twenty
pocket miners in that entire little region. I think I know every one of
them personally. I have known one of them to hunt patiently about the
hill-sides every day for eight months without finding gold enough to make
a snuff-box--his grocery bill running up relentlessly all the time--and
then find a pocket and take out of it two thousand dollars in two dips of
his shovel. I have known him to take out three thousand dollars in two
hours, and go and pay up every cent of his indebtedness, then enter on a
dazzling spree that finished the last of his treasure before the night
was gone. And the next day he bought his groceries on credit as usual,
and shouldered his pan and shovel and went off to the hills hunting
pockets again happy and content. This is the most fascinating of all the
different kinds of mining, and furnishes a very handsome percentage of
victims to the lunatic asylum.
Pocket hunting is an ingenious process. You take a spadeful of earth
from the hill-side and put it in a large tin pan and dissolve and wash it
gradually away till nothing is left but a teaspoonful of fine sediment.
Whatever gold was in that earth has remained, because, being the
heaviest, it has sought the bottom. Among the sediment you will find
half a dozen yellow particles no larger than pin-heads. You are
delighted. You move off to one side and wash another pan. If you find
gold again, you move to one side further, and wash a third pan. If you
find no gold this time, you are delighted again, because you know you are
on the right scent.
You lay an imaginary plan, shaped like a fan, with its handle up the
hill--for just where the end of the handle is, you argue that the rich
deposit lies hidden, whose vagrant grains of gold have escaped and been
washed down the hill, spreading farther and farther apart as they
wandered. And so you proceed up the hill, washing the earth and
narrowing your lines every time the absence of gold in the pan shows that
you are outside the spread of the fan; and at last, twenty yards up the
hill your lines have converged to a point--a single foot from that point
you cannot find any gold. Your breath comes short and quick, you are
feverish with excitement; the dinner-bell may ring its clapper off, you
pay no attention; friends may die, weddings transpire, houses burn down,
they are nothing to you; you sweat and dig and delve with a frantic
interest--and all at once you strike it! Up comes a spadeful of earth
and quartz that is all lovely with soiled lumps and leaves and sprays of
gold. Sometimes that one spadeful is all--$500. Sometimes the nest
contains $10,000, and it takes you three or four days to get it all out.
The pocket-miners tell of one nest that yielded $60,000 and two men
exhausted it in two weeks, and then sold the ground for $10,000 to a
party who never got $300 out of it afterward.
The hogs are good pocket hunters. All the summer they root around the
bushes, and turn up a thousand little piles of dirt, and then the miners
long for the rains; for the rains beat upon these little piles and wash
them down and expose the gold, possibly right over a pocket. Two pockets
were found in this way by the same man in one day. One had $5,000 in it
and the other $8,000. That man could appreciate it, for he hadn't had a
cent for about a year.
In Tuolumne lived two miners who used to go to the neighboring village in
the afternoon and return every night with household supplies. Part of
the distance they traversed a trail, and nearly always sat down to rest
on a great boulder that lay beside the path. In the course of thirteen
years they had worn that boulder tolerably smooth, sitting on it. By and
by two vagrant Mexicans came along and occupied the seat. They began to
amuse themselves by chipping off flakes from the boulder with a sledge-
hammer. They examined one of these flakes and found it rich with gold.
That boulder paid them $800 afterward. But the aggravating circumstance
was that these "Greasers" knew that there must be more gold where that
boulder came from, and so they went panning up the hill and found what
was probably the richest pocket that region has yet produced. It took
three months to exhaust it, and it yielded $120,000. The two American
miners who used to sit on the boulder are poor yet, and they take turn
about in getting up early in the morning to curse those Mexicans--and
when it comes down to pure ornamental cursing, the native American is
gifted above the sons of men.
I have dwelt at some length upon this matter of pocket mining because it
is a subject that is seldom referred to in print, and therefore I judged
that it would have for the reader that interest which naturally attaches
to novelty.
CHAPTER LXI.
One of my comrades there--another of those victims of eighteen years of
unrequited toil and blighted hopes--was one of the gentlest spirits that
ever bore its patient cross in a weary exile: grave and simple Dick
Baker, pocket-miner of Dead-House Gulch.--He was forty-six, gray as a
rat, earnest, thoughtful, slenderly educated, slouchily dressed and clay-
soiled, but his heart was finer metal than any gold his shovel ever
brought to light--than any, indeed, that ever was mined or minted.
Whenever he was out of luck and a little down-hearted, he would fall to
mourning over the loss of a wonderful cat he used to own (for where women
and children are not, men of kindly impulses take up with pets, for they
must love something). And he always spoke of the strange sagacity of
that cat with the air of a man who believed in his secret heart that
there was something human about it--may be even supernatural.
I heard him talking about this animal once. He said:
"Gentlemen, I used to have a cat here, by the name of Tom Quartz, which
you'd a took an interest in I reckon--most any body would. I had him
here eight year--and he was the remarkablest cat I ever see. He was a
large gray one of the Tom specie, an' he had more hard, natchral sense
than any man in this camp--'n' a power of dignity--he wouldn't let the
Gov'ner of Californy be familiar with him. He never ketched a rat in his
life--'peared to be above it. He never cared for nothing but mining.
He knowed more about mining, that cat did, than any man I ever, ever see.
You couldn't tell him noth'n 'bout placer diggin's--'n' as for pocket
mining, why he was just born for it.
He would dig out after me an' Jim when we went over the hills
prospect'n', and he would trot along behind us for as much as five mile,
if we went so fur. An' he had the best judgment about mining ground--why
you never see anything like it. When we went to work, he'd scatter a
glance around, 'n' if he didn't think much of the indications, he would
give a look as much as to say, 'Well, I'll have to get you to excuse me,'
'n' without another word he'd hyste his nose into the air 'n' shove for
home. But if the ground suited him, he would lay low 'n' keep dark till
the first pan was washed, 'n' then he would sidle up 'n' take a look, an'
if there was about six or seven grains of gold he was satisfied--he
didn't want no better prospect 'n' that--'n' then he would lay down on
our coats and snore like a steamboat till we'd struck the pocket, an'
then get up 'n' superintend. He was nearly lightnin' on superintending.
"Well, bye an' bye, up comes this yer quartz excitement. Every body was
into it--every body was pick'n' 'n' blast'n' instead of shovelin' dirt on
the hill side--every body was put'n' down a shaft instead of scrapin' the
surface. Noth'n' would do Jim, but we must tackle the ledges, too, 'n'
so we did. We commenced put'n' down a shaft, 'n' Tom Quartz he begin to
wonder what in the Dickens it was all about. He hadn't ever seen any
mining like that before, 'n' he was all upset, as you may say--he
couldn't come to a right understanding of it no way--it was too many for
him. He was down on it, too, you bet you--he was down on it powerful--
'n' always appeared to consider it the cussedest foolishness out. But
that cat, you know, was always agin new fangled arrangements--somehow he
never could abide'em. You know how it is with old habits. But by an' by
Tom Quartz begin to git sort of reconciled a little, though he never
could altogether understand that eternal sinkin' of a shaft an' never
pannin' out any thing. At last he got to comin' down in the shaft,
hisself, to try to cipher it out. An' when he'd git the blues, 'n' feel
kind o'scruffy, 'n' aggravated 'n' disgusted--knowin' as he did, that the
bills was runnin' up all the time an' we warn't makin' a cent--he would
curl up on a gunny sack in the corner an' go to sleep. Well, one day
when the shaft was down about eight foot, the rock got so hard that we
had to put in a blast--the first blast'n' we'd ever done since Tom Quartz
was born. An' then we lit the fuse 'n' clumb out 'n' got off 'bout fifty
yards--'n' forgot 'n' left Tom Quartz sound asleep on the gunny sack.
In 'bout a minute we seen a puff of smoke bust up out of the hole, 'n'
then everything let go with an awful crash, 'n' about four million ton of
rocks 'n' dirt 'n' smoke 'n; splinters shot up 'bout a mile an' a half
into the air, an' by George, right in the dead centre of it was old Tom
Quartz a goin' end over end, an' a snortin' an' a sneez'n', an' a clawin'
an' a reachin' for things like all possessed. But it warn't no use, you
know, it warn't no use. An' that was the last we see of him for about
two minutes 'n' a half, an' then all of a sudden it begin to rain rocks
and rubbage, an' directly he come down ker-whop about ten foot off f'm
where we stood Well, I reckon he was p'raps the orneriest lookin' beast
you ever see. One ear was sot back on his neck, 'n' his tail was stove
up, 'n' his eye-winkers was swinged off, 'n' he was all blacked up with
powder an' smoke, an' all sloppy with mud 'n' slush f'm one end to the
other.
Well sir, it warn't no use to try to apologize--we couldn't say a word.
He took a sort of a disgusted look at hisself, 'n' then he looked at us--
an' it was just exactly the same as if he had said--'Gents, may be you
think it's smart to take advantage of a cat that 'ain't had no experience
of quartz minin', but I think different'--an' then he turned on his heel
'n' marched off home without ever saying another word.
"That was jest his style. An' may be you won't believe it, but after
that you never see a cat so prejudiced agin quartz mining as what he was.
An' by an' bye when he did get to goin' down in the shaft agin, you'd 'a
been astonished at his sagacity. The minute we'd tetch off a blast 'n'
the fuse'd begin to sizzle, he'd give a look as much as to say: 'Well,
I'll have to git you to excuse me,' an' it was surpris'n' the way he'd
shin out of that hole 'n' go f'r a tree. Sagacity? It ain't no name for
it. 'Twas inspiration!"
I said, "Well, Mr. Baker, his prejudice against quartz-mining was
remarkable, considering how he came by it. Couldn't you ever cure him of
it?"
"Cure him! No! When Tom Quartz was sot once, he was always sot--and you
might a blowed him up as much as three million times 'n' you'd never a
broken him of his cussed prejudice agin quartz mining."
The affection and the pride that lit up Baker's face when he delivered
this tribute to the firmness of his humble friend of other days, will
always be a vivid memory with me.
At the end of two months we had never "struck" a pocket. We had panned
up and down the hillsides till they looked plowed like a field; we could
have put in a crop of grain, then, but there would have been no way to
get it to market. We got many good "prospects," but when the gold gave
out in the pan and we dug down, hoping and longing, we found only
emptiness--the pocket that should have been there was as barren as our
own.--At last we shouldered our pans and shovels and struck out over the
hills to try new localities. We prospected around Angel's Camp, in
Calaveras county, during three weeks, but had no success. Then we
wandered on foot among the mountains, sleeping under the trees at night,
for the weather was mild, but still we remained as centless as the last
rose of summer. That is a poor joke, but it is in pathetic harmony with
the circumstances, since we were so poor ourselves. In accordance with
the custom of the country, our door had always stood open and our board
welcome to tramping miners--they drifted along nearly every day, dumped
their paust shovels by the threshold and took "pot luck" with us--and now
on our own tramp we never found cold hospitality.
Our wanderings were wide and in many directions; and now I could give the
reader a vivid description of the Big Trees and the marvels of the Yo
Semite--but what has this reader done to me that I should persecute him?
I will deliver him into the hands of less conscientious tourists and take
his blessing. Let me be charitable, though I fail in all virtues else.
Note: Some of the phrases in the above are mining technicalities, purely,
and may be a little obscure to the general reader. In "placer diggings"
the gold is scattered all through the surface dirt; in "pocket" diggings
it is concentrated in one little spot; in "quartz" the gold is in a
solid, continuous vein of rock, enclosed between distinct walls of some
other kind of stone--and this is the most laborious and expensive of all
the different kinds of mining. "Prospecting" is hunting for a "placer";
"indications" are signs of its presence; "panning out" refers to the
washing process by which the grains of gold are separated from the dirt;
a "prospect" is what one finds in the first panful of dirt--and its value
determines whether it is a good or a bad prospect, and whether it is
worth while to tarry there or seek further.
CHAPTER LXII.
After a three months' absence, I found myself in San Francisco again,
without a cent. When my credit was about exhausted, (for I had become
too mean and lazy, now, to work on a morning paper, and there were no
vacancies on the evening journals,) I was created San Francisco
correspondent of the Enterprise, and at the end of five months I was out
of debt, but my interest in my work was gone; for my correspondence being
a daily one, without rest or respite, I got unspeakably tired of it.
I wanted another change. The vagabond instinct was strong upon me.
Fortune favored and I got a new berth and a delightful one. It was to go
down to the Sandwich Islands and write some letters for the Sacramento
Union, an excellent journal and liberal with employees.
We sailed in the propeller Ajax, in the middle of winter. The almanac
called it winter, distinctly enough, but the weather was a compromise
between spring and summer. Six days out of port, it became summer
altogether. We had some thirty passengers; among them a cheerful soul
by the name of Williams, and three sea-worn old whaleship captains going
down to join their vessels. These latter played euchre in the smoking
room day and night, drank astonishing quantities of raw whisky without
being in the least affected by it, and were the happiest people I think
I ever saw. And then there was "the old Admiral--" a retired whaleman.
He was a roaring, terrific combination of wind and lightning and thunder,
and earnest, whole-souled profanity. But nevertheless he was tender-
hearted as a girl. He was a raving, deafening, devastating typhoon,
laying waste the cowering seas but with an unvexed refuge in the centre
where all comers were safe and at rest. Nobody could know the "Admiral"
without liking him; and in a sudden and dire emergency I think no friend
of his would know which to choose--to be cursed by him or prayed for by a
less efficient person.
His Title of "Admiral" was more strictly "official" than any ever worn by
a naval officer before or since, perhaps--for it was the voluntary
offering of a whole nation, and came direct from the people themselves
without any intermediate red tape--the people of the Sandwich Islands.
It was a title that came to him freighted with affection, and honor, and
appreciation of his unpretending merit. And in testimony of the
genuineness of the title it was publicly ordained that an exclusive flag
should be devised for him and used solely to welcome his coming and wave
him God-speed in his going. From that time forth, whenever his ship was
signaled in the offing, or he catted his anchor and stood out to sea,
that ensign streamed from the royal halliards on the parliament house and
the nation lifted their hats to it with spontaneous accord.
Yet he had never fired a gun or fought a battle in his life. When I knew
him on board the Ajax, he was seventy-two years old and had plowed the
salt water sixty-one of them. For sixteen years he had gone in and out
of the harbor of Honolulu in command of a whaleship, and for sixteen more
had been captain of a San Francisco and Sandwich Island passenger packet
and had never had an accident or lost a vessel. The simple natives knew
him for a friend who never failed them, and regarded him as children
regard a father. It was a dangerous thing to oppress them when the
roaring Admiral was around.
Two years before I knew the Admiral, he had retired from the sea on a
competence, and had sworn a colossal nine-jointed oath that he would
"never go within smelling distance of the salt water again as long as he
lived." And he had conscientiously kept it. That is to say, he
considered he had kept it, and it would have been more than dangerous to
suggest to him, even in the gentlest way, that making eleven long sea
voyages, as a passenger, during the two years that had transpired since
he "retired," was only keeping the general spirit of it and not the
strict letter.
The Admiral knew only one narrow line of conduct to pursue in any and all
cases where there was a fight, and that was to shoulder his way straight
in without an inquiry as to the rights or the merits of it, and take the
part of the weaker side.--And this was the reason why he was always sure
to be present at the trial of any universally execrated criminal to
oppress and intimidate the jury with a vindictive pantomime of what he
would do to them if he ever caught them out of the box. And this was why
harried cats and outlawed dogs that knew him confidently took sanctuary
under his chair in time of trouble. In the beginning he was the most
frantic and bloodthirsty Union man that drew breath in the shadow of the
Flag; but the instant the Southerners began to go down before the sweep
of the Northern armies, he ran up the Confederate colors and from that
time till the end was a rampant and inexorable secessionist.
He hated intemperance with a more uncompromising animosity than any
individual I have ever met, of either sex; and he was never tired of
storming against it and beseeching friends and strangers alike to be wary
and drink with moderation. And yet if any creature had been guileless
enough to intimate that his absorbing nine gallons of "straight" whiskey
during our voyage was any fraction short of rigid or inflexible
abstemiousness, in that self-same moment the old man would have spun him
to the uttermost parts of the earth in the whirlwind of his wrath. Mind,
I am not saying his whisky ever affected his head or his legs, for it did
not, in even the slightest degree. He was a capacious container, but he
did not hold enough for that. He took a level tumblerful of whisky every
morning before he put his clothes on--"to sweeten his bilgewater," he
said.--He took another after he got the most of his clothes on, "to
settle his mind and give him his bearings." He then shaved, and put on a
clean shirt; after which he recited the Lord's Prayer in a fervent,
thundering bass that shook the ship to her kelson and suspended all
conversation in the main cabin. Then, at this stage, being invariably
"by the head," or "by the stern," or "listed to port or starboard," he
took one more to "put him on an even keel so that he would mind his
hellum and not miss stays and go about, every time he came up in the
wind."--And now, his state-room door swung open and the sun of his
benignant face beamed redly out upon men and women and children, and he
roared his "Shipmets a'hoy!" in a way that was calculated to wake the
dead and precipitate the final resurrection; and forth he strode, a
picture to look at and a presence to enforce attention. Stalwart and
portly; not a gray hair; broadbrimmed slouch hat; semi-sailor toggery of
blue navy flannel--roomy and ample; a stately expanse of shirt-front and
a liberal amount of black silk neck-cloth tied with a sailor knot; large
chain and imposing seals impending from his fob; awe-inspiring feet, and
"a hand like the hand of Providence," as his whaling brethren expressed
it; wrist-bands and sleeves pushed back half way to the elbow, out of
respect for the warm weather, and exposing hairy arms, gaudy with red and
blue anchors, ships, and goddesses of liberty tattooed in India ink.
But these details were only secondary matters--his face was the lodestone
that chained the eye. It was a sultry disk, glowing determinedly out
through a weather beaten mask of mahogany, and studded with warts, seamed
with scars, "blazed" all over with unfailing fresh slips of the razor;
and with cheery eyes, under shaggy brows, contemplating the world from
over the back of a gnarled crag of a nose that loomed vast and lonely out
of the undulating immensity that spread away from its foundations.
At his heels frisked the darling of his bachelor estate, his terrier
"Fan," a creature no larger than a squirrel. The main part of his daily
life was occupied in looking after "Fan," in a motherly way, and
doctoring her for a hundred ailments which existed only in his
imagination.
The Admiral seldom read newspapers; and when he did he never believed
anything they said. He read nothing, and believed in nothing, but "The
Old Guard," a secession periodical published in New York. He carried a
dozen copies of it with him, always, and referred to them for all
required information. If it was not there, he supplied it himself, out
of a bountiful fancy, inventing history, names, dates, and every thing
else necessary to make his point good in an argument. Consequently he
was a formidable antagonist in a dispute. Whenever he swung clear of the
record and began to create history, the enemy was helpless and had to
surrender. Indeed, the enemy could not keep from betraying some little
spark of indignation at his manufactured history--and when it came to
indignation, that was the Admiral's very "best hold." He was always
ready for a political argument, and if nobody started one he would do it
himself. With his third retort his temper would begin to rise, and
within five minutes he would be blowing a gale, and within fifteen his
smoking-room audience would be utterly stormed away and the old man left
solitary and alone, banging the table with his fist, kicking the chairs,
and roaring a hurricane of profanity. It got so, after a while, that
whenever the Admiral approached, with politics in his eye, the passengers
would drop out with quiet accord, afraid to meet him; and he would camp
on a deserted field.
But he found his match at last, and before a full company. At one time
or another, everybody had entered the lists against him and been routed,
except the quiet passenger Williams. He had never been able to get an
expression of opinion out of him on politics. But now, just as the
Admiral drew near the door and the company were about to slip out,
Williams said:
"Admiral, are you certain about that circumstance concerning the
clergymen you mentioned the other day?"--referring to a piece of the
Admiral's manufactured history.
Every one was amazed at the man's rashness. The idea of deliberately
inviting annihilation was a thing incomprehensible. The retreat came to
a halt; then everybody sat down again wondering, to await the upshot of
it. The Admiral himself was as surprised as any one. He paused in the
door, with his red handkerchief half raised to his sweating face, and
contemplated the daring reptile in the corner.
"Certain of it? Am I certain of it? Do you think I've been lying about
it? What do you take me for? Anybody that don't know that circumstance,
don't know anything; a child ought to know it. Read up your history!
Read it up-----, and don't come asking a man if he's certain about a bit
of ABC stuff that the very southern niggers know all about."
Here the Admiral's fires began to wax hot, the atmosphere thickened, the
coming earthquake rumbled, he began to thunder and lighten. Within three
minutes his volcano was in full irruption and he was discharging flames
and ashes of indignation, belching black volumes of foul history aloft,
and vomiting red-hot torrents of profanity from his crater. Meantime
Williams sat silent, and apparently deeply and earnestly interested in
what the old man was saying. By and by, when the lull came, he said in
the most deferential way, and with the gratified air of a man who has had
a mystery cleared up which had been puzzling him uncomfortably:
"Now I understand it. I always thought I knew that piece of history well
enough, but was still afraid to trust it, because there was not that
convincing particularity about it that one likes to have in history; but
when you mentioned every name, the other day, and every date, and every
little circumstance, in their just order and sequence, I said to myself,
this sounds something like--this is history--this is putting it in a
shape that gives a man confidence; and I said to myself afterward, I will
just ask the Admiral if he is perfectly certain about the details, and if
he is I will come out and thank him for clearing this matter up for me.
And that is what I want to do now--for until you set that matter right it
was nothing but just a confusion in my mind, without head or tail to it."
Nobody ever saw the Admiral look so mollified before, and so pleased.
Nobody had ever received his bogus history as gospel before; its
genuineness had always been called in question either by words or looks;
but here was a man that not only swallowed it all down, but was grateful
for the dose. He was taken a back; he hardly knew what to say; even his
profanity failed him. Now, Williams continued, modestly and earnestly:
"But Admiral, in saying that this was the first stone thrown, and that
this precipitated the war, you have overlooked a circumstance which you
are perfectly familiar with, but which has escaped your memory. Now I
grant you that what you have stated is correct in every detail--to wit:
that on the 16th of October, 1860, two Massachusetts clergymen, named
Waite and Granger, went in disguise to the house of John Moody, in
Rockport, at dead of night, and dragged forth two southern women and
their two little children, and after tarring and feathering them conveyed
them to Boston and burned them alive in the State House square; and I
also grant your proposition that this deed is what led to the secession
of South Carolina on the 20th of December following. Very well." [Here
the company were pleasantly surprised to hear Williams proceed to come
back at the Admiral with his own invincible weapon--clean, pure,
manufactured history, without a word of truth in it.] "Very well, I say.
But Admiral, why overlook the Willis and Morgan case in South Carolina?
You are too well informed a man not to know all about that circumstance.
Your arguments and your conversations have shown you to be intimately
conversant with every detail of this national quarrel. You develop
matters of history every day that show plainly that you are no smatterer
in it, content to nibble about the surface, but a man who has searched
the depths and possessed yourself of everything that has a bearing upon
the great question. Therefore, let me just recall to your mind that
Willis and Morgan case--though I see by your face that the whole thing is
already passing through your memory at this moment. On the 12th of
August, 1860, two months before the Waite and Granger affair, two South
Carolina clergymen, named John H. Morgan and Winthrop L. Willis, one a
Methodist and the other an Old School Baptist, disguised themselves, and
went at midnight to the house of a planter named Thompson--Archibald F.
Thompson, Vice President under Thomas Jefferson,--and took thence, at
midnight, his widowed aunt, (a Northern woman,) and her adopted child, an
orphan--named Mortimer Highie, afflicted with epilepsy and suffering at
the time from white swelling on one of his legs, and compelled to walk on
crutches in consequence; and the two ministers, in spite of the pleadings
of the victims, dragged them to the bush, tarred and feathered them, and
afterward burned them at the stake in the city of Charleston. You
remember perfectly well what a stir it made; you remember perfectly well
that even the Charleston Courier stigmatized the act as being unpleasant,
of questionable propriety, and scarcely justifiable, and likewise that it
would not be matter of surprise if retaliation ensued. And you remember
also, that this thing was the cause of the Massachusetts outrage. Who,
indeed, were the two Massachusetts ministers? and who were the two
Southern women they burned? I do not need to remind you, Admiral, with
your intimate knowledge of history, that Waite was the nephew of the
woman burned in Charleston; that Granger was her cousin in the second
degree, and that the woman they burned in Boston was the wife of John H.
Morgan, and the still loved but divorced wife of Winthrop L. Willis.
Now, Admiral, it is only fair that you should acknowledge that the first
provocation came from the Southern preachers and that the Northern ones
were justified in retaliating. In your arguments you never yet have
shown the least disposition to withhold a just verdict or be in anywise
unfair, when authoritative history condemned your position, and therefore
I have no hesitation in asking you to take the original blame from the
Massachusetts ministers, in this matter, and transfer it to the South
Carolina clergymen where it justly belongs."
The Admiral was conquered. This sweet spoken creature who swallowed his
fraudulent history as if it were the bread of life; basked in his furious
blasphemy as if it were generous sunshine; found only calm, even-handed
justice in his rampart partisanship; and flooded him with invented
history so sugarcoated with flattery and deference that there was no
rejecting it, was "too many" for him. He stammered some awkward, profane
sentences about the-----Willis and Morgan business having escaped his
memory, but that he "remembered it now," and then, under pretence of
giving Fan some medicine for an imaginary cough, drew out of the battle
and went away, a vanquished man. Then cheers and laughter went up, and
Williams, the ship's benefactor was a hero. The news went about the
vessel, champagne was ordered, and enthusiastic reception instituted in
the smoking room, and everybody flocked thither to shake hands with the
conqueror. The wheelman said afterward, that the Admiral stood up behind
the pilot house and "ripped and cursed all to himself" till he loosened
the smokestack guys and becalmed the mainsail.
The Admiral's power was broken. After that, if he began argument,
somebody would bring Williams, and the old man would grow weak and begin
to quiet down at once. And as soon as he was done, Williams in his
dulcet, insinuating way, would invent some history (referring for proof,
to the old man's own excellent memory and to copies of "The Old Guard"
known not to be in his possession) that would turn the tables completely
and leave the Admiral all abroad and helpless. By and by he came to so
dread Williams and his gilded tongue that he would stop talking when he
saw him approach, and finally ceased to mention politics altogether, and
from that time forward there was entire peace and serenity in the ship.
CHAPTER LXIII.
On a certain bright morning the Islands hove in sight, lying low on the
lonely sea, and everybody climbed to the upper deck to look. After two
thousand miles of watery solitude the vision was a welcome one. As we
approached, the imposing promontory of Diamond Head rose up out of the
ocean its rugged front softened by the hazy distance, and presently the
details of the land began to make themselves manifest: first the line of
beach; then the plumed coacoanut trees of the tropics; then cabins of the
natives; then the white town of Honolulu, said to contain between twelve
and fifteen thousand inhabitants spread over a dead level; with streets
from twenty to thirty feet wide, solid and level as a floor, most of them
straight as a line and few as crooked as a corkscrew.
The further I traveled through the town the better I liked it. Every
step revealed a new contrast--disclosed something I was unaccustomed to.
In place of the grand mud-colored brown fronts of San Francisco, I saw
dwellings built of straw, adobies, and cream-colored pebble-and-shell-
conglomerated coral, cut into oblong blocks and laid in cement; also a
great number of neat white cottages, with green window-shutters; in place
of front yards like billiard-tables with iron fences around them, I saw
these homes surrounded by ample yards, thickly clad with green grass, and
shaded by tall trees, through whose dense foliage the sun could scarcely
penetrate; in place of the customary geranium, calla lily, etc.,
languishing in dust and general debility, I saw luxurious banks and
thickets of flowers, fresh as a meadow after a rain, and glowing with the
richest dyes; in place of the dingy horrors of San Francisco's pleasure
grove, the "Willows," I saw huge-bodied, wide-spreading forest trees,
with strange names and stranger appearance--trees that cast a shadow like
a thunder-cloud, and were able to stand alone without being tied to green
poles; in place of gold fish, wiggling around in glass globes, assuming
countless shades and degrees of distortion through the magnifying and
diminishing qualities of their transparent prison houses, I saw cats--
Tom-cats, Mary Ann cats, long-tailed cats, bob-tailed cats, blind cats,
one-eyed cats, wall-eyed cats, cross-eyed cats, gray cats, black cats,
white cats, yellow cats, striped cats, spotted cats, tame cats, wild
cats, singed cats, individual cats, groups of cats, platoons of cats,
companies of cats, regiments of cats, armies of cats, multitudes of cats,
millions of cats, and all of them sleek, fat, lazy and sound asleep.
I looked on a multitude of people, some white, in white coats, vests,
pantaloons, even white cloth shoes, made snowy with chalk duly laid on
every morning; but the majority of the people were almost as dark as
negroes--women with comely features, fine black eyes, rounded forms,
inclining to the voluptuous, clad in a single bright red or white garment
that fell free and unconfined from shoulder to heel, long black hair
falling loose, gypsy hats, encircled with wreaths of natural flowers of a
brilliant carmine tint; plenty of dark men in various costumes, and some
with nothing on but a battered stove-pipe hat tilted on the nose, and a
very scant breech-clout;--certain smoke-dried children were clothed in
nothing but sunshine--a very neat fitting and picturesque apparel indeed.
In place of roughs and rowdies staring and blackguarding on the corners,
I saw long-haired, saddle-colored Sandwich Island maidens sitting on the
ground in the shade of corner houses, gazing indolently at whatever or
whoever happened along; instead of wretched cobble-stone pavements, I
walked on a firm foundation of coral, built up from the bottom of the sea
by the absurd but persevering insect of that name, with a light layer of
lava and cinders overlying the coral, belched up out of fathomless
perdition long ago through the seared and blackened crater that stands
dead and harmless in the distance now; instead of cramped and crowded
street-cars, I met dusky native women sweeping by, free as the wind, on
fleet horses and astride, with gaudy riding-sashes, streaming like
banners behind them; instead of the combined stenches of Chinadom and
Brannan street slaughter-houses, I breathed the balmy fragrance of
jessamine, oleander, and the Pride of India; in place of the hurry and
bustle and noisy confusion of San Francisco, I moved in the midst of a
Summer calm as tranquil as dawn in the Garden of Eden; in place of the
Golden City's skirting sand hills and the placid bay, I saw on the one
side a frame-work of tall, precipitous mountains close at hand, clad in
refreshing green, and cleft by deep, cool, chasm-like valleys--and in
front the grand sweep of the ocean; a brilliant, transparent green near
the shore, bound and bordered by a long white line of foamy spray dashing
against the reef, and further out the dead blue water of the deep sea,
flecked with "white caps," and in the far horizon a single, lonely sail--
a mere accent-mark to emphasize a slumberous calm and a solitude that
were without sound or limit. When the sun sunk down--the one intruder
from other realms and persistent in suggestions of them--it was tranced
luxury to sit in the perfumed air and forget that there was any world but
these enchanted islands.
It was such ecstacy to dream, and dream--till you got a bite.
A scorpion bite. Then the first duty was to get up out of the grass and
kill the scorpion; and the next to bathe the bitten place with alcohol or
brandy; and the next to resolve to keep out of the grass in future. Then
came an adjournment to the bed-chamber and the pastime of writing up the
day's journal with one hand and the destruction of mosquitoes with the
other--a whole community of them at a slap. Then, observing an enemy
approaching,--a hairy tarantula on stilts--why not set the spittoon on
him? It is done, and the projecting ends of his paws give a luminous
idea of the magnitude of his reach. Then to bed and become a promenade
for a centipede with forty-two legs on a side and every foot hot enough
to burn a hole through a raw-hide. More soaking with alcohol, and a
resolution to examine the bed before entering it, in future. Then wait,
and suffer, till all the mosquitoes in the neighborhood have crawled in
under the bar, then slip out quickly, shut them in and sleep peacefully
on the floor till morning. Meantime it is comforting to curse the
tropics in occasional wakeful intervals.
We had an abundance of fruit in Honolulu, of course. Oranges, pine-
apples, bananas, strawberries, lemons, limes, mangoes, guavas, melons,
and a rare and curious luxury called the chirimoya, which is
deliciousness itself. Then there is the tamarind. I thought tamarinds
were made to eat, but that was probably not the idea. I ate several, and
it seemed to me that they were rather sour that year. They pursed up my
lips, till they resembled the stem-end of a tomato, and I had to take my
sustenance through a quill for twenty-four hours.
They sharpened my teeth till I could have shaved with them, and gave them
a "wire edge" that I was afraid would stay; but a citizen said "no, it
will come off when the enamel does"--which was comforting, at any rate.
I found, afterward, that only strangers eat tamarinds--but they only eat
them once.
CHAPTER LXIV.
In my diary of our third day in Honolulu, I find this:
I am probably the most sensitive man in Hawaii to-night--especially about
sitting down in the presence of my betters. I have ridden fifteen or
twenty miles on horse-back since 5 P.M. and to tell the honest truth, I
have a delicacy about sitting down at all.
An excursion to Diamond Head and the King's Coacoanut Grove was planned
to-day--time, 4:30 P.M.--the party to consist of half a dozen gentlemen
and three ladies. They all started at the appointed hour except myself.
I was at the Government prison, (with Captain Fish and another whaleship-
skipper, Captain Phillips,) and got so interested in its examination that
I did not notice how quickly the time was passing. Somebody remarked
that it was twenty minutes past five o'clock, and that woke me up. It
was a fortunate circumstance that Captain Phillips was along with his
"turn out," as he calls a top-buggy that Captain Cook brought here in
1778, and a horse that was here when Captain Cook came. Captain Phillips
takes a just pride in his driving and in the speed of his horse, and to
his passion for displaying them I owe it that we were only sixteen
minutes coming from the prison to the American Hotel--a distance which
has been estimated to be over half a mile. But it took some fearful
driving. The Captain's whip came down fast, and the blows started so
much dust out of the horse's hide that during the last half of the
journey we rode through an impenetrable fog, and ran by a pocket compass
in the hands of Captain Fish, a whaler of twenty-six years experience,
who sat there through the perilous voyage as self-possessed as if he had
been on the euchre-deck of his own ship, and calmly said, "Port your
helm--port," from time to time, and "Hold her a little free--steady--so--
so," and "Luff--hard down to starboard!" and never once lost his presence
of mind or betrayed the least anxiety by voice or manner. When we came
to anchor at last, and Captain Phillips looked at his watch and said,
"Sixteen minutes--I told you it was in her! that's over three miles an
hour!" I could see he felt entitled to a compliment, and so I said I had
never seen lightning go like that horse. And I never had.
The landlord of the American said the party had been gone nearly an hour,
but that he could give me my choice of several horses that could overtake
them. I said, never mind--I preferred a safe horse to a fast one--I
would like to have an excessively gentle horse--a horse with no spirit
whatever--a lame one, if he had such a thing. Inside of five minutes I
was mounted, and perfectly satisfied with my outfit. I had no time to
label him "This is a horse," and so if the public took him for a sheep I
cannot help it. I was satisfied, and that was the main thing. I could
see that he had as many fine points as any man's horse, and so I hung my
hat on one of them, behind the saddle, and swabbed the perspiration from
my face and started. I named him after this island, "Oahu" (pronounced
O-waw-hee). The first gate he came to he started in; I had neither whip
nor spur, and so I simply argued the case with him. He resisted
argument, but ultimately yielded to insult and abuse. He backed out of
that gate and steered for another one on the other side of the street.
I triumphed by my former process. Within the next six hundred yards he
crossed the street fourteen times and attempted thirteen gates, and in
the meantime the tropical sun was beating down and threatening to cave
the top of my head in, and I was literally dripping with perspiration.
He abandoned the gate business after that and went along peaceably
enough, but absorbed in meditation. I noticed this latter circumstance,
and it soon began to fill me with apprehension. I said to my self, this
creature is planning some new outrage, some fresh deviltry or other--no
horse ever thought over a subject so profoundly as this one is doing just
for nothing. The more this thing preyed upon my mind the more uneasy I
became, until the suspense became almost unbearable and I dismounted to
see if there was anything wild in his eye--for I had heard that the eye
of this noblest of our domestic animals is very expressive.
I cannot describe what a load of anxiety was lifted from my mind when I
found that he was only asleep. I woke him up and started him into a
faster walk, and then the villainy of his nature came out again. He
tried to climb over a stone wall, five or six feet high. I saw that I
must apply force to this horse, and that I might as well begin first as
last. I plucked a stout switch from a tamarind tree, and the moment he
saw it, he surrendered. He broke into a convulsive sort of a canter,
which had three short steps in it and one long one, and reminded me
alternately of the clattering shake of the great earthquake, and the
sweeping plunging of the Ajax in a storm.
And now there can be no fitter occasion than the present to pronounce a
left-handed blessing upon the man who invented the American saddle.
There is no seat to speak of about it--one might as well sit in a shovel-
-and the stirrups are nothing but an ornamental nuisance. If I were to
write down here all the abuse I expended on those stirrups, it would make
a large book, even without pictures. Sometimes I got one foot so far
through, that the stirrup partook of the nature of an anklet; sometimes
both feet were through, and I was handcuffed by the legs; and sometimes
my feet got clear out and left the stirrups wildly dangling about my
shins. Even when I was in proper position and carefully balanced upon
the balls of my feet, there was no comfort in it, on account of my
nervous dread that they were going to slip one way or the other in a
moment. But the subject is too exasperating to write about.
A mile and a half from town, I came to a grove of tall cocoanut trees,
with clean, branchless stems reaching straight up sixty or seventy feet
and topped with a spray of green foliage sheltering clusters of cocoa-
nuts--not more picturesque than a forest of collossal ragged parasols,
with bunches of magnified grapes under them, would be.
I once heard a gouty northern invalid say that a cocoanut tree might be
poetical, possibly it was; but it looked like a feather-duster struck by
lightning. I think that describes it better than a picture--and yet,
without any question, there is something fascinating about a cocoa-nut
tree--and graceful, too.
About a dozen cottages, some frame and the others of native grass,
nestled sleepily in the shade here and there. The grass cabins are of a
grayish color, are shaped much like our own cottages, only with higher
and steeper roofs usually, and are made of some kind of weed strongly
bound together in bundles. The roofs are very thick, and so are the
walls; the latter have square holes in them for windows. At a little
distance these cabins have a furry appearance, as if they might be made
of bear skins. They are very cool and pleasant inside. The King's flag
was flying from the roof of one of the cottages, and His Majesty was
probably within. He owns the whole concern thereabouts, and passes his
time there frequently, on sultry days "laying off." The spot is called
"The King's Grove."
Near by is an interesting ruin--the meagre remains of an ancient heathen
temple--a place where human sacrifices were offered up in those old
bygone days when the simple child of nature, yielding momentarily to sin
when sorely tempted, acknowledged his error when calm reflection had
shown it him, and came forward with noble frankness and offered up his
grandmother as an atoning sacrifice--in those old days when the luckless
sinner could keep on cleansing his conscience and achieving periodical
happiness as long as his relations held out; long, long before the
missionaries braved a thousand privations to come and make them
permanently miserable by telling them how beautiful and how blissful a
place heaven is, and how nearly impossible it is to get there; and showed
the poor native how dreary a place perdition is and what unnecessarily
liberal facilities there are for going to it; showed him how, in his
ignorance he had gone and fooled away all his kinfolks to no purpose;
showed him what rapture it is to work all day long for fifty cents to buy
food for next day with, as compared with fishing for pastime and lolling
in the shade through eternal Summer, and eating of the bounty that nobody
labored to provide but Nature. How sad it is to think of the multitudes
who have gone to their graves in this beautiful island and never knew
there was a hell!
This ancient temple was built of rough blocks of lava, and was simply a
roofless inclosure a hundred and thirty feet long and seventy wide--
nothing but naked walls, very thick, but not much higher than a man's
head. They will last for ages no doubt, if left unmolested. Its three
altars and other sacred appurtenances have crumbled and passed away years
ago. It is said that in the old times thousands of human beings were
slaughtered here, in the presence of naked and howling savages. If these
mute stones could speak, what tales they could tell, what pictures they
could describe, of fettered victims writhing under the knife; of massed
forms straining forward out of the gloom, with ferocious faces lit up by
the sacrificial fires; of the background of ghostly trees; of the dark
pyramid of Diamond Head standing sentinel over the uncanny scene, and the
peaceful moon looking down upon it through rifts in the cloud-rack!
When Kamehameha (pronounced Ka-may-ha-may-ah) the Great--who was a sort
of a Napoleon in military genius and uniform success--invaded this island
of Oahu three quarters of a century ago, and exterminated the army sent
to oppose him, and took full and final possession of the country, he
searched out the dead body of the King of Oahu, and those of the
principal chiefs, and impaled their heads on the walls of this temple.
Those were savage times when this old slaughter-house was in its prime.
The King and the chiefs ruled the common herd with a rod of iron; made
them gather all the provisions the masters needed; build all the houses
and temples; stand all the expenses, of whatever kind; take kicks and
cuffs for thanks; drag out lives well flavored with misery, and then
suffer death for trifling offences or yield up their lives on the
sacrificial altars to purchase favors from the gods for their hard
rulers. The missionaries have clothed them, educated them, broken up the
tyrannous authority of their chiefs, and given them freedom and the right
to enjoy whatever their hands and brains produce with equal laws for all,
and punishment for all alike who transgress them. The contrast is so
strong--the benefit conferred upon this people by the missionaries is so
prominent, so palpable and so unquestionable, that the frankest
compliment I can pay them, and the best, is simply to point to the
condition of the Sandwich Islanders of Captain Cook's time, and their
condition to-day.
Their work speaks for itself.
CHAPTER LXV.
By and by, after a rugged climb, we halted on the summit of a hill which
commanded a far-reaching view. The moon rose and flooded mountain and
valley and ocean with a mellow radiance, and out of the shadows of the
foliage the distant lights of Honolulu glinted like an encampment of
fireflies. The air was heavy with the fragrance of flowers. The halt
was brief.--Gayly laughing and talking, the party galloped on, and I
clung to the pommel and cantered after. Presently we came to a place
where no grass grew--a wide expanse of deep sand. They said it was an
old battle ground. All around everywhere, not three feet apart, the
bleached bones of men gleamed white in the moonlight. We picked up a lot
of them for mementoes. I got quite a number of arm bones and leg bones--
of great chiefs, may be, who had fought savagely in that fearful battle
in the old days, when blood flowed like wine where we now stood--and wore
the choicest of them out on Oahu afterward, trying to make him go. All
sorts of bones could be found except skulls; but a citizen said,
irreverently, that there had been an unusual number of "skull-hunters"
there lately--a species of sportsmen I had never heard of before.
Nothing whatever is known about this place--its story is a secret that
will never be revealed. The oldest natives make no pretense of being
possessed of its history. They say these bones were here when they were
children. They were here when their grandfathers were children--but how
they came here, they can only conjecture. Many people believe this spot
to be an ancient battle-ground, and it is usual to call it so; and they
believe that these skeletons have lain for ages just where their
proprietors fell in the great fight. Other people believe that
Kamehameha I. fought his first battle here. On this point, I have heard
a story, which may have been taken from one of the numerous books which
have been written concerning these islands--I do not know where the
narrator got it. He said that when Kamehameha (who was at first merely a
subordinate chief on the island of Hawaii), landed here, he brought a
large army with him, and encamped at Waikiki. The Oahuans marched
against him, and so confident were they of success that they readily
acceded to a demand of their priests that they should draw a line where
these bones now lie, and take an oath that, if forced to retreat at all,
they would never retreat beyond this boundary. The priests told them
that death and everlasting punishment would overtake any who violated the
oath, and the march was resumed. Kamehameha drove them back step by
step; the priests fought in the front rank and exhorted them both by
voice and inspiriting example to remember their oath--to die, if need be,
but never cross the fatal line. The struggle was manfully maintained,
but at last the chief priest fell, pierced to the heart with a spear, and
the unlucky omen fell like a blight upon the brave souls at his back;
with a triumphant shout the invaders pressed forward--the line was
crossed--the offended gods deserted the despairing army, and, accepting
the doom their perjury had brought upon them, they broke and fled over
the plain where Honolulu stands now--up the beautiful Nuuanu Valley--
paused a moment, hemmed in by precipitous mountains on either hand and
the frightful precipice of the Pari in front, and then were driven over--
a sheer plunge of six hundred feet!
The story is pretty enough, but Mr. Jarves' excellent history says the
Oahuans were intrenched in Nuuanu Valley; that Kamehameha ousted them,
routed them, pursued them up the valley and drove them over the
precipice. He makes no mention of our bone-yard at all in his book.
Impressed by the profound silence and repose that rested over the
beautiful landscape, and being, as usual, in the rear, I gave voice to my
thoughts. I said:
"What a picture is here slumbering in the solemn glory of the moon! How
strong the rugged outlines of the dead volcano stand out against the
clear sky! What a snowy fringe marks the bursting of the surf over the
long, curved reef! How calmly the dim city sleeps yonder in the plain!
How soft the shadows lie upon the stately mountains that border the
dream-haunted Mauoa Valley! What a grand pyramid of billowy clouds
towers above the storied Pari! How the grim warriors of the past seem
flocking in ghostly squadrons to their ancient battlefield again--how the
wails of the dying well up from the--"
At this point the horse called Oahu sat down in the sand. Sat down to
listen, I suppose. Never mind what he heard, I stopped apostrophising
and convinced him that I was not a man to allow contempt of Court on the
part of a horse. I broke the back-bone of a Chief over his rump and set
out to join the cavalcade again.
Very considerably fagged out we arrived in town at 9 o'clock at night,
myself in the lead--for when my horse finally came to understand that he
was homeward bound and hadn't far to go, he turned his attention strictly
to business.
This is a good time to drop in a paragraph of information. There is no
regular livery stable in Honolulu, or, indeed, in any part of the Kingdom
of Hawaii; therefore unless you are acquainted with wealthy residents
(who all have good horses), you must hire animals of the wretchedest
description from the Kanakas. (i.e. natives.) Any horse you hire, even
though it be from a white man, is not often of much account, because it
will be brought in for you from some ranch, and has necessarily been
leading a hard life. If the Kanakas who have been caring for him
(inveterate riders they are) have not ridden him half to death every day
themselves, you can depend upon it they have been doing the same thing by
proxy, by clandestinely hiring him out. At least, so I am informed. The
result is, that no horse has a chance to eat, drink, rest, recuperate, or
look well or feel well, and so strangers go about the Islands mounted as
I was to-day.
In hiring a horse from a Kanaka, you must have all your eyes about you,
because you can rest satisfied that you are dealing with a shrewd
unprincipled rascal. You may leave your door open and your trunk
unlocked as long as you please, and he will not meddle with your
property; he has no important vices and no inclination to commit robbery
on a large scale; but if he can get ahead of you in the horse business,
he will take a genuine delight in doing it. This traits is
characteristic of horse jockeys, the world over, is it not? He will
overcharge you if he can; he will hire you a fine-looking horse at night
(anybody's--may be the King's, if the royal steed be in convenient view),
and bring you the mate to my Oahu in the morning, and contend that it is
the same animal. If you make trouble, he will get out by saying it was
not himself who made the bargain with you, but his brother, "who went out
in the country this morning." They have always got a "brother" to shift
the responsibility upon. A victim said to one of these fellows one day:
"But I know I hired the horse of you, because I noticed that scar on your
cheek."
The reply was not bad: "Oh, yes--yes--my brother all same--we twins!"
A friend of mine, J. Smith, hired a horse yesterday, the Kanaka
warranting him to be in excellent condition.
Smith had a saddle and blanket of his own, and he ordered the Kanaka to
put these on the horse. The Kanaka protested that he was perfectly
willing to trust the gentleman with the saddle that was already on the
animal, but Smith refused to use it. The change was made; then Smith
noticed that the Kanaka had only changed the saddles, and had left the
original blanket on the horse; he said he forgot to change the blankets,
and so, to cut the bother short, Smith mounted and rode away. The horse
went lame a mile from town, and afterward got to cutting up some
extraordinary capers. Smith got down and took off the saddle, but the
blanket stuck fast to the horse--glued to a procession of raw places.
The Kanaka's mysterious conduct stood explained.
Another friend of mine bought a pretty good horse from a native, a day or
two ago, after a tolerably thorough examination of the animal. He
discovered today that the horse was as blind as a bat, in one eye. He
meant to have examined that eye, and came home with a general notion that
he had done it; but he remembers now that every time he made the attempt
his attention was called to something else by his victimizer.
One more instance, and then I will pass to something else. I am informed
that when a certain Mr. L., a visiting stranger, was here, he bought a
pair of very respectable-looking match horses from a native. They were
in a little stable with a partition through the middle of it--one horse
in each apartment. Mr. L. examined one of them critically through a
window (the Kanaka's "brother" having gone to the country with the key),
and then went around the house and examined the other through a window on
the other side. He said it was the neatest match he had ever seen, and
paid for the horses on the spot. Whereupon the Kanaka departed to join
his brother in the country. The fellow had shamefully swindled L. There
was only one "match" horse, and he had examined his starboard side
through one window and his port side through another! I decline to
believe this story, but I give it because it is worth something as a
fanciful illustration of a fixed fact--namely, that the Kanaka horse-
jockey is fertile in invention and elastic in conscience.
You can buy a pretty good horse for forty or fifty dollars, and a good
enough horse for all practical purposes for two dollars and a half. I
estimate "Oahu" to be worth somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty-five
cents. A good deal better animal than he is was sold here day before
yesterday for a dollar and seventy-five cents, and sold again to-day for
two dollars and twenty-five cents; Williams bought a handsome and lively
little pony yesterday for ten dollars; and about the best common horse on
the island (and he is a really good one) sold yesterday, with Mexican
saddle and bridle, for seventy dollars--a horse which is well and widely
known, and greatly respected for his speed, good disposition and
everlasting bottom.
You give your horse a little grain once a day; it comes from San
Francisco, and is worth about two cents a pound; and you give him as much
hay as he wants; it is cut and brought to the market by natives, and is
not very good it is baled into long, round bundles, about the size of a
large man; one of them is stuck by the middle on each end of a six foot
pole, and the Kanaka shoulders the pole and walks about the streets
between the upright bales in search of customers. These hay bales, thus
carried, have a general resemblance to a colossal capital 'H.'
The hay-bundles cost twenty-five cents apiece, and one will last a horse
about a day. You can get a horse for a song, a week's hay for another
song, and you can turn your animal loose among the luxuriant grass in
your neighbor's broad front yard without a song at all--you do it at
midnight, and stable the beast again before morning. You have been at no
expense thus far, but when you come to buy a saddle and bridle they will
cost you from twenty to thirty-five dollars. You can hire a horse,
saddle and bridle at from seven to ten dollars a week, and the owner will
take care of them at his own expense.
It is time to close this day's record--bed time. As I prepare for sleep,
a rich voice rises out of the still night, and, far as this ocean rock is
toward the ends of the earth, I recognize a familiar home air. But the
words seem somewhat out of joint:
"Waikiki lantoni oe Kaa hooly hooly wawhoo."
Translated, that means "When we were marching through Georgia."
CHAPTER LXVI.
Passing through the market place we saw that feature of Honolulu under
its most favorable auspices--that is, in the full glory of Saturday
afternoon, which is a festive day with the natives. The native girls by
twos and threes and parties of a dozen, and sometimes in whole platoons
and companies, went cantering up and down the neighboring streets astride
of fleet but homely horses, and with their gaudy riding habits streaming
like banners behind them. Such a troop of free and easy riders, in their
natural home, the saddle, makes a gay and graceful spectacle. The riding
habit I speak of is simply a long, broad scarf, like a tavern table cloth
brilliantly colored, wrapped around the loins once, then apparently
passed between the limbs and each end thrown backward over the same, and
floating and flapping behind on both sides beyond the horse's tail like a
couple of fancy flags; then, slipping the stirrup-irons between her toes,
the girl throws her chest for ward, sits up like a Major General and goes
sweeping by like the wind.
The girls put on all the finery they can on Saturday afternoon--fine
black silk robes; flowing red ones that nearly put your eyes out; others
as white as snow; still others that discount the rainbow; and they wear
their hair in nets, and trim their jaunty hats with fresh flowers, and
encircle their dusky throats with home-made necklaces of the brilliant
vermillion-tinted blossom of the ohia; and they fill the markets and the
adjacent street with their bright presences, and smell like a rag factory
on fire with their offensive cocoanut oil.
Occasionally you see a heathen from the sunny isles away down in the
South Seas, with his face and neck tatooed till he looks like the
customary mendicant from Washoe who has been blown up in a mine. Some
are tattooed a dead blue color down to the upper lip--masked, as it were
--leaving the natural light yellow skin of Micronesia unstained from
thence down; some with broad marks drawn down from hair to neck, on both
sides of the face, and a strip of the original yellow skin, two inches
wide, down the center--a gridiron with a spoke broken out; and some with
the entire face discolored with the popular mortification tint, relieved
only by one or two thin, wavy threads of natural yellow running across
the face from ear to ear, and eyes twinkling out of this darkness, from
under shadowing hat-brims, like stars in the dark of the moon.
Moving among the stirring crowds, you come to the poi merchants,
squatting in the shade on their hams, in true native fashion, and
surrounded by purchasers. (The Sandwich Islanders always squat on their
hams, and who knows but they may be the old original "ham sandwiches?"
The thought is pregnant with interest.) The poi looks like common flour
paste, and is kept in large bowls formed of a species of gourd, and
capable of holding from one to three or four gallons. Poi is the chief
article of food among the natives, and is prepared from the taro plant.
The taro root looks like a thick, or, if you please, a corpulent sweet
potato, in shape, but is of a light purple color when boiled. When
boiled it answers as a passable substitute for bread. The buck Kanakas
bake it under ground, then mash it up well with a heavy lava pestle, mix
water with it until it becomes a paste, set it aside and let if ferment,
and then it is poi--and an unseductive mixture it is, almost tasteless
before it ferments and too sour for a luxury afterward. But nothing is
more nutritious. When solely used, however, it produces acrid humors, a
fact which sufficiently accounts for the humorous character of the
Kanakas. I think there must be as much of a knack in handling poi as
there is in eating with chopsticks. The forefinger is thrust into the
mess and stirred quickly round several times and drawn as quickly out,
thickly coated, just as it it were poulticed; the head is thrown back,
the finger inserted in the mouth and the delicacy stripped off and
swallowed--the eye closing gently, meanwhile, in a languid sort of
ecstasy. Many a different finger goes into the same bowl and many a
different kind of dirt and shade and quality of flavor is added to the
virtues of its contents.
Around a small shanty was collected a crowd of natives buying the awa
root. It is said that but for the use of this root the destruction of
the people in former times by certain imported diseases would have been
far greater than it was, and by others it is said that this is merely a
fancy. All agree that poi will rejuvenate a man who is used up and his
vitality almost annihilated by hard drinking, and that in some kinds of
diseases it will restore health after all medicines have failed; but all
are not willing to allow to the awa the virtues claimed for it. The
natives manufacture an intoxicating drink from it which is fearful in its
effects when persistently indulged in. It covers the body with dry,
white scales, inflames the eyes, and causes premature decripitude.
Although the man before whose establishment we stopped has to pay a
Government license of eight hundred dollars a year for the exclusive
right to sell awa root, it is said that he makes a small fortune every
twelve-month; while saloon keepers, who pay a thousand dollars a year for
the privilege of retailing whiskey, etc., only make a bare living.
We found the fish market crowded; for the native is very fond of fish,
and eats the article raw and alive! Let us change the subject.
In old times here Saturday was a grand gala day indeed. All the native
population of the town forsook their labors, and those of the surrounding
country journeyed to the city. Then the white folks had to stay indoors,
for every street was so packed with charging cavaliers and cavalieresses
that it was next to impossible to thread one's way through the cavalcades
without getting crippled.
At night they feasted and the girls danced the lascivious hula hula--a
dance that is said to exhibit the very perfection of educated notion of
limb and arm, hand, head and body, and the exactest uniformity of
movement and accuracy of "time." It was performed by a circle of girls
with no raiment on them to speak of, who went through an infinite variety
of motions and figures without prompting, and yet so true was their
"time," and in such perfect concert did they move that when they were
placed in a straight line, hands, arms, bodies, limbs and heads waved,
swayed, gesticulated, bowed, stooped, whirled, squirmed, twisted and
undulated as if they were part and parcel of a single individual; and it
was difficult to believe they were not moved in a body by some exquisite
piece of mechanism.
Of late years, however, Saturday has lost most of its quondam gala
features. This weekly stampede of the natives interfered too much with
labor and the interests of the white folks, and by sticking in a law
here, and preaching a sermon there, and by various other means, they
gradually broke it up. The demoralizing hula hula was forbidden to be
performed, save at night, with closed doors, in presence of few
spectators, and only by permission duly procured from the authorities and
the payment of ten dollars for the same. There are few girls now-a-days
able to dance this ancient national dance in the highest perfection of
the art.
The missionaries have christianized and educated all the natives. They
all belong to the Church, and there is not one of them, above the age of
eight years, but can read and write with facility in the native tongue.
It is the most universally educated race of people outside of China.
They have any quantity of books, printed in the Kanaka language, and all
the natives are fond of reading. They are inveterate church-goers--
nothing can keep them away. All this ameliorating cultivation has at
last built up in the native women a profound respect for chastity--in
other people. Perhaps that is enough to say on that head. The national
sin will die out when the race does, but perhaps not earlier.--But
doubtless this purifying is not far off, when we reflect that contact
with civilization and the whites has reduced the native population from
four hundred thousand (Captain Cook's estimate,) to fifty-five thousand
in something over eighty years!
Society is a queer medley in this notable missionary, whaling and
governmental centre. If you get into conversation with a stranger and
experience that natural desire to know what sort of ground you are
treading on by finding out what manner of man your stranger is, strike
out boldly and address him as "Captain." Watch him narrowly, and if you
see by his countenance that you are on the wrong tack, ask him where he
preaches. It is a safe bet that he is either a missionary or captain of
a whaler. I am now personally acquainted with seventy-two captains and
ninety-six missionaries. The captains and ministers form one-half of the
population; the third fourth is composed of common Kanakas and mercantile
foreigners and their families, and the final fourth is made up of high
officers of the Hawaiian Government. And there are just about cats
enough for three apiece all around.
A solemn stranger met me in the suburbs the other day, and said:
"Good morning, your reverence. Preach in the stone church yonder, no
doubt?"
"No, I don't. I'm not a preacher."
"Really, I beg your pardon, Captain. I trust you had a good season. How
much oil"--
"Oil? What do you take me for? I'm not a whaler."
"Oh, I beg a thousand pardons, your Excellency.
Major General in the household troops, no doubt? Minister of the
Interior, likely? Secretary of war? First Gentleman of the Bed-chamber?
Commissioner of the Royal"--
"Stuff! I'm no official. I'm not connected in any way with the
Government."
"Bless my life! Then, who the mischief are you? what the mischief are
you? and how the mischief did you get here, and where in thunder did you
come from?"
"I'm only a private personage--an unassuming stranger--lately arrived
from America."
"No? Not a missionary! Not a whaler! not a member of his Majesty's
Government! not even Secretary of the Navy! Ah, Heaven! it is too
blissful to be true; alas, I do but dream. And yet that noble, honest
countenance--those oblique, ingenuous eyes--that massive head, incapable
of--of--anything; your hand; give me your hand, bright waif. Excuse
these tears. For sixteen weary years I have yearned for a moment like
this, and"--
Here his feelings were too much for him, and he swooned away. I pitied
this poor creature from the bottom of my heart. I was deeply moved. I
shed a few tears on him and kissed him for his mother. I then took what
small change he had and "shoved".
CHAPTER LXVII.
I still quote from my journal:
I found the national Legislature to consist of half a dozen white men and
some thirty or forty natives. It was a dark assemblage. The nobles and
Ministers (about a dozen of them altogether) occupied the extreme left of
the hall, with David Kalakaua (the King's Chamberlain) and Prince William
at the head. The President of the Assembly, His Royal Highness M.
Kekuanaoa, [Kekuanaoa is not of the blood royal. He derives his princely
rank from his wife, who was a daughter of Kamehameha the Great. Under
other monarchies the male line takes precedence of the female in tracing
genealogies, but here the opposite is the case--the female line takes
precedence. Their reason for this is exceedingly sensible, and I
recommend it to the aristocracy of Europe: They say it is easy to know
who a man's mother was, but, etc., etc.] and the Vice President (the
latter a white man,) sat in the pulpit, if I may so term it.
The President is the King's father. He is an erect, strongly built,
massive featured, white-haired, tawny old gentleman of eighty years of
age or thereabouts. He was simply but well dressed, in a blue cloth coat
and white vest, and white pantaloons, without spot, dust or blemish upon
them. He bears himself with a calm, stately dignity, and is a man of
noble presence. He was a young man and a distinguished warrior under
that terrific fighter, Kamehameha I., more than half a century ago. A
knowledge of his career suggested some such thought as this: "This man,
naked as the day he was born, and war-club and spear in hand, has charged
at the head of a horde of savages against other hordes of savages more
than a generation and a half ago, and reveled in slaughter and carnage;
has worshipped wooden images on his devout knees; has seen hundreds of
his race offered up in heathen temples as sacrifices to wooden idols, at
a time when no missionary's foot had ever pressed this soil, and he had
never heard of the white man's God; has believed his enemy could secretly
pray him to death; has seen the day, in his childhood, when it was a
crime punishable by death for a man to eat with his wife, or for a
plebeian to let his shadow fall upon the King--and now look at him; an
educated Christian; neatly and handsomely dressed; a high-minded, elegant
gentleman; a traveler, in some degree, and one who has been the honored
guest of royalty in Europe; a man practiced in holding the reins of an
enlightened government, and well versed in the politics of his country
and in general, practical information. Look at him, sitting there
presiding over the deliberations of a legislative body, among whom are
white men--a grave, dignified, statesmanlike personage, and as seemingly
natural and fitted to the place as if he had been born in it and had
never been out of it in his life time. How the experiences of this old
man's eventful life shame the cheap inventions of romance!"
The christianizing of the natives has hardly even weakened some of their
barbarian superstitions, much less destroyed them. I have just referred
to one of these. It is still a popular belief that if your enemy can get
hold of any article belonging to you he can get down on his knees over it
and pray you to death. Therefore many a native gives up and dies merely
because he imagines that some enemy is putting him through a course of
damaging prayer. This praying an individual to death seems absurb enough
at a first glance, but then when we call to mind some of the pulpit
efforts of certain of our own ministers the thing looks plausible.
In former times, among the Islanders, not only a plurality of wives was
customary, but a plurality of husbands likewise. Some native women of
noble rank had as many as six husbands. A woman thus supplied did not
reside with all her husbands at once, but lived several months with each
in turn. An understood sign hung at her door during these months. When
the sign was taken down, it meant "NEXT."
In those days woman was rigidly taught to "know her place." Her place
was to do all the work, take all the cuffs, provide all the food, and
content herself with what was left after her lord had finished his
dinner. She was not only forbidden, by ancient law, and under penalty of
death, to eat with her husband or enter a canoe, but was debarred, under
the same penalty, from eating bananas, pine-apples, oranges and other
choice fruits at any time or in any place. She had to confine herself
pretty strictly to "poi" and hard work. These poor ignorant heathen seem
to have had a sort of groping idea of what came of woman eating fruit in
the garden of Eden, and they did not choose to take any more chances.
But the missionaries broke up this satisfactory arrangement of things.
They liberated woman and made her the equal of man.
The natives had a romantic fashion of burying some of their children
alive when the family became larger than necessary. The missionaries
interfered in this matter too, and stopped it.
To this day the natives are able to lie down and die whenever they want
to, whether there is anything the matter with them or not. If a Kanaka
takes a notion to die, that is the end of him; nobody can persuade him to
hold on; all the doctors in the world could not save him.
A luxury which they enjoy more than anything else, is a large funeral.
If a person wants to get rid of a troublesome native, it is only
necessary to promise him a fine funeral and name the hour and he will be
on hand to the minute--at least his remains will.
All the natives are Christians, now, but many of them still desert to the
Great Shark God for temporary succor in time of trouble. An irruption of
the great volcano of Kilauea, or an earthquake, always brings a deal of
latent loyalty to the Great Shark God to the surface. It is common
report that the King, educated, cultivated and refined Christian
gentleman as he undoubtedly is, still turns to the idols of his fathers
for help when disaster threatens. A planter caught a shark, and one of
his christianized natives testified his emancipation from the thrall of
ancient superstition by assisting to dissect the shark after a fashion
forbidden by his abandoned creed. But remorse shortly began to torture
him. He grew moody and sought solitude; brooded over his sin, refused
food, and finally said he must die and ought to die, for he had sinned
against the Great Shark God and could never know peace any more. He was
proof against persuasion and ridicule, and in the course of a day or two
took to his bed and died, although he showed no symptom of disease.
His young daughter followed his lead and suffered a like fate within the
week. Superstition is ingrained in the native blood and bone and it is
only natural that it should crop out in time of distress. Wherever one
goes in the Islands, he will find small piles of stones by the wayside,
covered with leafy offerings, placed there by the natives to appease evil
spirits or honor local deities belonging to the mythology of former days.
In the rural districts of any of the Islands, the traveler hourly comes
upon parties of dusky maidens bathing in the streams or in the sea
without any clothing on and exhibiting no very intemperate zeal in the
matter of hiding their nakedness. When the missionaries first took up
their residence in Honolulu, the native women would pay their families
frequent friendly visits, day by day, not even clothed with a blush.
It was found a hard matter to convince them that this was rather
indelicate. Finally the missionaries provided them with long, loose
calico robes, and that ended the difficulty--for the women would troop
through the town, stark naked, with their robes folded under their arms,
march to the missionary houses and then proceed to dress!--The natives
soon manifested a strong proclivity for clothing, but it was shortly
apparent that they only wanted it for grandeur. The missionaries
imported a quantity of hats, bonnets, and other male and female wearing
apparel, instituted a general distribution, and begged the people not to
come to church naked, next Sunday, as usual. And they did not; but the
national spirit of unselfishness led them to divide up with neighbors who
were not at the distribution, and next Sabbath the poor preachers could
hardly keep countenance before their vast congregations. In the midst of
the reading of a hymn a brown, stately dame would sweep up the aisle with
a world of airs, with nothing in the world on but a "stovepipe" hat and a
pair of cheap gloves; another dame would follow, tricked out in a man's
shirt, and nothing else; another one would enter with a flourish, with
simply the sleeves of a bright calico dress tied around her waist and the
rest of the garment dragging behind like a peacock's tail off duty; a
stately "buck" Kanaka would stalk in with a woman's bonnet on, wrong side
before--only this, and nothing more; after him would stride his fellow,
with the legs of a pair of pantaloons tied around his neck, the rest of
his person untrammeled; in his rear would come another gentleman simply
gotten up in a fiery neck-tie and a striped vest.
The poor creatures were beaming with complacency and wholly unconscious
of any absurdity in their appearance. They gazed at each other with
happy admiration, and it was plain to see that the young girls were
taking note of what each other had on, as naturally as if they had always
lived in a land of Bibles and knew what churches were made for; here was
the evidence of a dawning civilization. The spectacle which the
congregation presented was so extraordinary and withal so moving, that
the missionaries found it difficult to keep to the text and go on with
the services; and by and by when the simple children of the sun began a
general swapping of garments in open meeting and produced some
irresistibly grotesque effects in the course of re-dressing, there was
nothing for it but to cut the thing short with the benediction and
dismiss the fantastic assemblage.
In our country, children play "keep house;" and in the same high-sounding
but miniature way the grown folk here, with the poor little material of
slender territory and meagre population, play "empire." There is his
royal Majesty the King, with a New York detective's income of thirty or
thirty-five thousand dollars a year from the "royal civil list" and the
"royal domain." He lives in a two-story frame "palace."
And there is the "royal family"--the customary hive of royal brothers,
sisters, cousins and other noble drones and vagrants usual to monarchy,--
all with a spoon in the national pap-dish, and all bearing such titles as
his or her Royal Highness the Prince or Princess So-and-so. Few of them
can carry their royal splendors far enough to ride in carriages, however;
they sport the economical Kanaka horse or "hoof it" with the plebeians.
Then there is his Excellency the "royal Chamberlain"--a sinecure, for his
majesty dresses himself with his own hands, except when he is ruralizing
at Waikiki and then he requires no dressing.
Next we have his Excellency the Commander-in-chief of the Household
Troops, whose forces consist of about the number of soldiers usually
placed under a corporal in other lands.
Next comes the royal Steward and the Grand Equerry in Waiting--high
dignitaries with modest salaries and little to do.
Then we have his Excellency the First Gentleman of the Bed-chamber--an
office as easy as it is magnificent.
Next we come to his Excellency the Prime Minister, a renegade American
from New Hampshire, all jaw, vanity, bombast and ignorance, a lawyer of
"shyster" calibre, a fraud by nature, a humble worshiper of the sceptre
above him, a reptile never tired of sneering at the land of his birth or
glorifying the ten-acre kingdom that has adopted him--salary, $4,000 a
year, vast consequence, and no perquisites.
Then we have his Excellency the Imperial Minister of Finance, who handles
a million dollars of public money a year, sends in his annual "budget"
with great ceremony, talks prodigiously of "finance," suggests imposing
schemes for paying off the "national debt" (of $150,000,) and does it all
for $4,000 a year and unimaginable glory.
Next we have his Excellency the Minister of War, who holds sway over the
royal armies--they consist of two hundred and thirty uniformed Kanakas,
mostly Brigadier Generals, and if the country ever gets into trouble with
a foreign power we shall probably hear from them. I knew an American
whose copper-plate visiting card bore this impressive legend:
"Lieutenant-Colonel in the Royal Infantry. To say that he was proud of
this distinction is stating it but tamely. The Minister of War has also
in his charge some venerable swivels on Punch-Bowl Hill wherewith royal
salutes are fired when foreign vessels of war enter the port.
Next comes his Excellency the Minister of the Navy--a nabob who rules the
"royal fleet," (a steam-tug and a sixty-ton schooner.)
And next comes his Grace the Lord Bishop of Honolulu, the chief dignitary
of the "Established Church"--for when the American Presbyterian
missionaries had completed the reduction of the nation to a compact
condition of Christianity, native royalty stepped in and erected the
grand dignity of an "Established (Episcopal) Church" over it, and
imported a cheap ready-made Bishop from England to take charge. The
chagrin of the missionaries has never been comprehensively expressed, to
this day, profanity not being admissible.
Next comes his Excellency the Minister of Public Instruction.
Next, their Excellencies the Governors of Oahu, Hawaii, etc., and after
them a string of High Sheriffs and other small fry too numerous for
computation.
Then there are their Excellencies the Envoy Extraordinary and Minister
Plenipotentiary of his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of the French; her
British Majesty's Minister; the Minister Resident, of the United States;
and some six or eight representatives of other foreign nations, all with
sounding titles, imposing dignity and prodigious but economical state.
Imagine all this grandeur in a play-house "kingdom" whose population
falls absolutely short of sixty thousand souls!
The people are so accustomed to nine-jointed titles and colossal magnates
that a foreign prince makes very little more stir in Honolulu than a
Western Congressman does in New York.
And let it be borne in mind that there is a strictly defined "court
costume" of so "stunning" a nature that it would make the clown in a
circus look tame and commonplace by comparison; and each Hawaiian
official dignitary has a gorgeous vari-colored, gold-laced uniform
peculiar to his office--no two of them are alike, and it is hard to tell
which one is the "loudest." The King had a "drawing-room" at stated
intervals, like other monarchs, and when these varied uniforms congregate
there--weak-eyed people have to contemplate the spectacle through smoked
glass. Is there not a gratifying contrast between this latter-day
exhibition and the one the ancestors of some of these magnates afforded
the missionaries the Sunday after the old-time distribution of clothing?
Behold what religion and civilization have wrought!
CHAPTER LXVIII.
While I was in Honolulu I witnessed the ceremonious funeral of the King's
sister, her Royal Highness the Princess Victoria. According to the royal
custom, the remains had lain in state at the palace thirty days, watched
day and night by a guard of honor. And during all that time a great
multitude of natives from the several islands had kept the palace grounds
well crowded and had made the place a pandemonium every night with their
howlings and wailings, beating of tom-toms and dancing of the (at other
times) forbidden "hula-hula" by half-clad maidens to the music of songs
of questionable decency chanted in honor of the deceased. The printed
programme of the funeral procession interested me at the time; and after
what I have just said of Hawaiian grandiloquence in the matter of
"playing empire," I am persuaded that a perusal of it may interest the
reader:
After reading the long list of dignitaries, etc., and remembering
the sparseness of the population, one is almost inclined to wonder
where the material for that portion of the procession devoted to
"Hawaiian Population Generally" is going to be procured:
Undertaker.
Royal School. Kawaiahao School. Roman Catholic School. Maemae School.
Honolulu Fire Department.
Mechanics' Benefit Union.
Attending Physicians.
Knonohikis (Superintendents) of the Crown Lands, Konohikis of the Private
Lands of His Majesty Konohikis of the Private Lands of Her late Royal
Highness.
Governor of Oahu and Staff.
Hulumanu (Military Company).
Household Troops.
The Prince of Hawaii's Own (Military Company).
The King's household servants.
Servants of Her late Royal Highness.
Protestant Clergy. The Clergy of the Roman Catholic Church.
His Lordship Louis Maigret, The Right Rev. Bishop of Arathea, Vicar-
Apostolic of the Hawaiian Islands.
The Clergy of the Hawaiian Reformed Catholic Church.
His Lordship the Right Rev. Bishop of Honolulu.
Her Majesty Queen Emma's Carriage.
His Majesty's Staff.
Carriage of Her late Royal Highness.
Carriage of Her Majesty the Queen Dowager.
The King's Chancellor.
Cabinet Ministers.
His Excellency the Minister Resident of the United States.
H. B. M's Commissioner.
H. B. M's Acting Commissioner.
Judges of Supreme Court.
Privy Councillors.
Members of Legislative Assembly.
Consular Corps.
Circuit Judges.
Clerks of Government Departments.
Members of the Bar.
Collector General, Custom-house Officers and Officers of the Customs.
Marshal and Sheriffs of the different Islands.
King's Yeomanry.
Foreign Residents.
Ahahui Kaahumanu.
Hawaiian Population Generally.
Hawaiian Cavalry.
Police Force.
I resume my journal at the point where the procession arrived at the
royal mausoleum:
As the procession filed through the gate, the military deployed
handsomely to the right and left and formed an avenue through which
the long column of mourners passed to the tomb. The coffin was
borne through the door of the mausoleum, followed by the King and
his chiefs, the great officers of the kingdom, foreign Consuls,
Embassadors and distinguished guests (Burlingame and General Van
Valkenburgh). Several of the kahilis were then fastened to a frame-
work in front of the tomb, there to remain until they decay and fall
to pieces, or, forestalling this, until another scion of royalty
dies. At this point of the proceedings the multitude set up such a
heart-broken wailing as I hope never to hear again.
The soldiers fired three volleys of musketry--the wailing being
previously silenced to permit of the guns being heard. His Highness
Prince William, in a showy military uniform (the "true prince," this--
scion of the house over-thrown by the present dynasty--he was formerly
betrothed to the Princess but was not allowed to marry her), stood guard
and paced back and forth within the door. The privileged few who
followed the coffin into the mausoleum remained sometime, but the King
soon came out and stood in the door and near one side of it. A stranger
could have guessed his rank (although he was so simply and
unpretentiously dressed) by the profound deference paid him by all
persons in his vicinity; by seeing his high officers receive his quiet
orders and suggestions with bowed and uncovered heads; and by observing
how careful those persons who came out of the mausoleum were to avoid
"crowding" him (although there was room enough in the doorway for a wagon
to pass, for that matter); how respectfully they edged out sideways,
scraping their backs against the wall and always presenting a front view
of their persons to his Majesty, and never putting their hats on until
they were well out of the royal presence.
He was dressed entirely in black--dress-coat and silk hat--and looked
rather democratic in the midst of the showy uniforms about him. On his
breast he wore a large gold star, which was half hidden by the lapel of
his coat. He remained at the door a half hour, and occasionally gave an
order to the men who were erecting the kahilis [Ranks of long-handled
mops made of gaudy feathers--sacred to royalty. They are stuck in the
ground around the tomb and left there.] before the tomb. He had the
good taste to make one of them substitute black crape for the ordinary
hempen rope he was about to tie one of them to the frame-work with.
Finally he entered his carriage and drove away, and the populace shortly
began to drop into his wake. While he was in view there was but one man
who attracted more attention than himself, and that was Harris (the
Yankee Prime Minister). This feeble personage had crape enough around
his hat to express the grief of an entire nation, and as usual he
neglected no opportunity of making himself conspicuous and exciting the
admiration of the simple Kanakas. Oh! noble ambition of this modern
Richelieu!
It is interesting to contrast the funeral ceremonies of the Princess
Victoria with those of her noted ancestor Kamehameha the Conqueror, who
died fifty years ago--in 1819, the year before the first missionaries
came.
"On the 8th of May, 1819, at the age of sixty-six, he died, as he
had lived, in the faith of his country. It was his misfortune not
to have come in contact with men who could have rightly influenced
his religious aspirations. Judged by his advantages and compared
with the most eminent of his countrymen he may be justly styled not
only great, but good. To this day his memory warms the heart and
elevates the national feelings of Hawaiians. They are proud of
their old warrior King; they love his name; his deeds form their
historical age; and an enthusiasm everywhere prevails, shared even
by foreigners who knew his worth, that constitutes the firmest
pillar of the throne of his dynasty.
"In lieu of human victims (the custom of that age), a sacrifice of
three hundred dogs attended his obsequies--no mean holocaust when
their national value and the estimation in which they were held are
considered. The bones of Kamehameha, after being kept for a while,
were so carefully concealed that all knowledge of their final
resting place is now lost. There was a proverb current among the
common people that the bones of a cruel King could not be hid; they
made fish-hooks and arrows of them, upon which, in using them, they
vented their abhorrence of his memory in bitter execrations."
The account of the circumstances of his death, as written by the native
historians, is full of minute detail, but there is scarcely a line of it
which does not mention or illustrate some by-gone custom of the country.
In this respect it is the most comprehensive document I have yet met
with. I will quote it entire:
"When Kamehameha was dangerously sick, and the priests were unable
to cure him, they said: 'Be of good courage and build a house for
the god' (his own private god or idol), that thou mayest recover.'
The chiefs corroborated this advice of the priests, and a place of
worship was prepared for Kukailimoku, and consecrated in the
evening. They proposed also to the King, with a view to prolong his
life, that human victims should be sacrificed to his deity; upon
which the greater part of the people absconded through fear of
death, and concealed themselves in hiding places till the tabu [Tabu
(pronounced tah-boo,) means prohibition (we have borrowed it,) or
sacred. The tabu was sometimes permanent, sometimes temporary; and
the person or thing placed under tabu was for the time being sacred
to the purpose for which it was set apart. In the above case the
victims selected under the tabu would be sacred to the sacrifice]
in which destruction impended, was past. It is doubtful whether
Kamehameha approved of the plan of the chiefs and priests to
sacrifice men, as he was known to say, 'The men are sacred for the
King;' meaning that they were for the service of his successor.
This information was derived from Liholiho, his son.
"After this, his sickness increased to such a degree that he had not
strength to turn himself in his bed. When another season,
consecrated for worship at the new temple (heiau) arrived, he said
to his son, Liholiho, 'Go thou and make supplication to thy god; I
am not able to go, and will offer my prayers at home.' When his
devotions to his feathered god, Kukailimoku, were concluded, a
certain religiously disposed individual, who had a bird god,
suggested to the King that through its influence his sickness might
be removed. The name of this god was Pua; its body was made of a
bird, now eaten by the Hawaiians, and called in their language alae.
Kamehameha was willing that a trial should be made, and two houses
were constructed to facilitate the experiment; but while dwelling in
them he became so very weak as not to receive food. After lying
there three days, his wives, children and chiefs, perceiving that he
was very low, returned him to his own house. In the evening he was
carried to the eating house, where he took a little food in his
mouth which he did not swallow; also a cup of water. The chiefs
requested him to give them his counsel; but he made no reply, and
was carried back to the dwelling house; but when near midnight--ten
o'clock, perhaps--he was carried again to the place to eat; but, as
before, he merely tasted of what was presented to him. Then
Kaikioewa addressed him thus: 'Here we all are, your younger
brethren, your son Liholiho and your foreigner; impart to us your
dying charge, that Liholiho and Kaahumanu may hear.' Then Kamehameha
inquired, 'What do you say?' Kaikioewa repeated, 'Your counsels for
us.'
"He then said, 'Move on in my good way and--.' He could proceed no
further. The foreigner, Mr. Young, embraced and kissed him.
Hoapili also embraced him, whispering something in his ear, after
which he was taken back to the house. About twelve he was carried
once more to the house for eating, into which his head entered,
while his body was in the dwelling house immediately adjoining. It
should be remarked that this frequent carrying of a sick chief from
one house to another resulted from the tabu system, then in force.
There were at that time six houses (huts) connected with an
establishment--one was for worship, one for the men to eat in, an
eating house for the women, a house to sleep in, a house in which to
manufacture kapa (native cloth) and one where, at certain intervals,
the women might dwell in seclusion.
"The sick was once more taken to his house, when he expired; this
was at two o'clock, a circumstance from which Leleiohoku derived his
name. As he breathed his last, Kalaimoku came to the eating house
to order those in it to go out. There were two aged persons thus
directed to depart; one went, the other remained on account of love
to the King, by whom he had formerly been kindly sustained. The
children also were sent away. Then Kalaimoku came to the house, and
the chiefs had a consultation. One of them spoke thus: 'This is my
thought--we will eat him raw. [This sounds suspicious, in view of
the fact that all Sandwich Island historians, white and black,
protest that cannibalism never existed in the islands. However,
since they only proposed to "eat him raw" we "won't count that".
But it would certainly have been cannibalism if they had cooked
him.--M. T.] Kaahumanu (one of the dead King's widows) replied,
'Perhaps his body is not at our disposal; that is more properly with
his successor. Our part in him--his breath--has departed; his
remains will be disposed of by Liholiho.'
"After this conversation the body was taken into the consecrated
house for the performance of the proper rites by the priest and the
new King. The name of this ceremony is uko; and when the sacred hog
was baked the priest offered it to the dead body, and it became a
god, the King at the same time repeating the customary prayers.
"Then the priest, addressing himself to the King and chiefs, said:
'I will now make known to you the rules to be observed respecting
persons to be sacrificed on the burial of this body. If you obtain
one man before the corpse is removed, one will be sufficient; but
after it leaves this house four will be required. If delayed until
we carry the corpse to the grave there must be ten; but after it is
deposited in the grave there must be fifteen. To-morrow morning
there will be a tabu, and, if the sacrifice be delayed until that
time, forty men must die.'
"Then the high priest, Hewahewa, inquired of the chiefs, 'Where
shall be the residence of King Liholiho?' They replied, 'Where,
indeed? You, of all men, ought to know.' Then the priest observed,
'There are two suitable places; one is Kau, the other is Kohala.'
The chiefs preferred the latter, as it was more thickly inhabited.
The priest added, 'These are proper places for the King's residence;
but he must not remain in Kona, for it is polluted.' This was
agreed to. It was now break of day. As he was being carried to the
place of burial the people perceived that their King was dead, and
they wailed. When the corpse was removed from the house to the
tomb, a distance of one chain, the procession was met by a certain
man who was ardently attached to the deceased. He leaped upon the
chiefs who were carrying the King's body; he desired to die with him
on account of his love. The chiefs drove him away. He persisted in
making numerous attempts, which were unavailing. Kalaimoka also had
it in his heart to die with him, but was prevented by Hookio.
"The morning following Kamehameha's death, Liholiho and his train
departed for Kohala, according to the suggestions of the priest, to
avoid the defilement occasioned by the dead. At this time if a
chief died the land was polluted, and the heirs sought a residence
in another part of the country until the corpse was dissected and
the bones tied in a bundle, which being done, the season of
defilement terminated. If the deceased were not a chief, the house
only was defiled which became pure again on the burial of the body.
Such were the laws on this subject.
"On the morning on which Liholiho sailed in his canoe for Kohala,
the chiefs and people mourned after their manner on occasion of a
chief's death, conducting themselves like madmen and like beasts.
Their conduct was such as to forbid description; The priests, also,
put into action the sorcery apparatus, that the person who had
prayed the King to death might die; for it was not believed that
Kamehameha's departure was the effect either of sickness or old age.
When the sorcerers set up by their fire-places sticks with a strip
of kapa flying at the top, the chief Keeaumoku, Kaahumaun's brother,
came in a state of intoxication and broke the flag-staff of the
sorcerers, from which it was inferred that Kaahumanu and her friends
had been instrumental in the King's death. On this account they
were subjected to abuse."
You have the contrast, now, and a strange one it is. This great Queen,
Kaahumanu, who was "subjected to abuse" during the frightful orgies that
followed the King's death, in accordance with ancient custom, afterward
became a devout Christian and a steadfast and powerful friend of the
missionaries.
Dogs were, and still are, reared and fattened for food, by the natives--
hence the reference to their value in one of the above paragraphs.
Forty years ago it was the custom in the Islands to suspend all law for a
certain number of days after the death of a royal personage; and then a
saturnalia ensued which one may picture to himself after a fashion, but
not in the full horror of the reality. The people shaved their heads,
knocked out a tooth or two, plucked out an eye sometimes, cut, bruised,
mutilated or burned their flesh, got drunk, burned each other's huts,
maimed or murdered one another according to the caprice of the moment,
and both sexes gave themselves up to brutal and unbridled licentiousness.
And after it all, came a torpor from which the nation slowly emerged
bewildered and dazed, as if from a hideous half-remembered nightmare.
They were not the salt of the earth, those "gentle children of the sun."
The natives still keep up an old custom of theirs which cannot be
comforting to an invalid. When they think a sick friend is going to die,
a couple of dozen neighbors surround his hut and keep up a deafening
wailing night and day till he either dies or gets well. No doubt this
arrangement has helped many a subject to a shroud before his appointed
time.
They surround a hut and wail in the same heart-broken way when its
occupant returns from a journey. This is their dismal idea of a welcome.
A very little of it would go a great way with most of us.
CHAPTER LXIX.
Bound for Hawaii (a hundred and fifty miles distant,) to visit the great
volcano and behold the other notable things which distinguish that island
above the remainder of the group, we sailed from Honolulu on a certain
Saturday afternoon, in the good schooner Boomerang.
The Boomerang was about as long as two street cars, and about as wide as
one. She was so small (though she was larger than the majority of the
inter-island coasters) that when I stood on her deck I felt but little
smaller than the Colossus of Rhodes must have felt when he had a man-of-
war under him. I could reach the water when she lay over under a strong
breeze. When the Captain and my comrade (a Mr. Billings), myself and
four other persons were all assembled on the little after portion of the
deck which is sacred to the cabin passengers, it was full--there was not
room for any more quality folks. Another section of the deck, twice as
large as ours, was full of natives of both sexes, with their customary
dogs, mats, blankets, pipes, calabashes of poi, fleas, and other luxuries
and baggage of minor importance. As soon as we set sail the natives all
lay down on the deck as thick as negroes in a slave-pen, and smoked,
conversed, and spit on each other, and were truly sociable.
The little low-ceiled cabin below was rather larger than a hearse, and as
dark as a vault. It had two coffins on each side--I mean two bunks.
A small table, capable of accommodating three persons at dinner, stood
against the forward bulkhead, and over it hung the dingiest whale oil
lantern that ever peopled the obscurity of a dungeon with ghostly shapes.
The floor room unoccupied was not extensive. One might swing a cat in
it, perhaps, but not a long cat. The hold forward of the bulkhead had
but little freight in it, and from morning till night a portly old
rooster, with a voice like Baalam's ass, and the same disposition to use
it, strutted up and down in that part of the vessel and crowed. He
usually took dinner at six o'clock, and then, after an hour devoted to
meditation, he mounted a barrel and crowed a good part of the night.
He got hoarser all the time, but he scorned to allow any personal
consideration to interfere with his duty, and kept up his labors in
defiance of threatened diphtheria.
Sleeping was out of the question when he was on watch. He was a source
of genuine aggravation and annoyance. It was worse than useless to shout
at him or apply offensive epithets to him--he only took these things for
applause, and strained himself to make more noise. Occasionally, during
the day, I threw potatoes at him through an aperture in the bulkhead, but
he only dodged and went on crowing.
The first night, as I lay in my coffin, idly watching the dim lamp
swinging to the rolling of the ship, and snuffing the nauseous odors of
bilge water, I felt something gallop over me. I turned out promptly.
However, I turned in again when I found it was only a rat. Presently
something galloped over me once more. I knew it was not a rat this time,
and I thought it might be a centipede, because the Captain had killed one
on deck in the afternoon. I turned out. The first glance at the pillow
showed me repulsive sentinel perched upon each end of it--cockroaches as
large as peach leaves--fellows with long, quivering antennae and fiery,
malignant eyes. They were grating their teeth like tobacco worms, and
appeared to be dissatisfied about something. I had often heard that
these reptiles were in the habit of eating off sleeping sailors' toe
nails down to the quick, and I would not get in the bunk any more. I lay
down on the floor. But a rat came and bothered me, and shortly afterward
a procession of cockroaches arrived and camped in my hair. In a few
moments the rooster was crowing with uncommon spirit and a party of fleas
were throwing double somersaults about my person in the wildest disorder,
and taking a bite every time they struck. I was beginning to feel really
annoyed. I got up and put my clothes on and went on deck.
The above is not overdrawn; it is a truthful sketch of inter-island
schooner life. There is no such thing as keeping a vessel in elegant
condition, when she carries molasses and Kanakas.
It was compensation for my sufferings to come unexpectedly upon so
beautiful a scene as met my eye--to step suddenly out of the sepulchral
gloom of the cabin and stand under the strong light of the moon--in the
centre, as it were, of a glittering sea of liquid silver--to see the
broad sails straining in the gale, the ship heeled over on her side, the
angry foam hissing past her lee bulwarks, and sparkling sheets of spray
dashing high over her bows and raining upon her decks; to brace myself
and hang fast to the first object that presented itself, with hat jammed
down and coat tails whipping in the breeze, and feel that exhilaration
that thrills in one's hair and quivers down his back bone when he knows
that every inch of canvas is drawing and the vessel cleaving through the
waves at her utmost speed. There was no darkness, no dimness, no
obscurity there. All was brightness, every object was vividly defined.
Every prostrate Kanaka; every coil of rope; every calabash of poi; every
puppy; every seam in the flooring; every bolthead; every object; however
minute, showed sharp and distinct in its every outline; and the shadow of
the broad mainsail lay black as a pall upon the deck, leaving Billings's
white upturned face glorified and his body in a total eclipse.
Monday morning we were close to the island of Hawaii. Two of its high
mountains were in view--Mauna Loa and Hualaiai.
The latter is an imposing peak, but being only ten thousand feet high is
seldom mentioned or heard of. Mauna Loa is said to be sixteen thousand
feet high. The rays of glittering snow and ice, that clasped its summit
like a claw, looked refreshing when viewed from the blistering climate we
were in. One could stand on that mountain (wrapped up in blankets and
furs to keep warm), and while he nibbled a snowball or an icicle to
quench his thirst he could look down the long sweep of its sides and see
spots where plants are growing that grow only where the bitter cold of
Winter prevails; lower down he could see sections devoted to production
that thrive in the temperate zone alone; and at the bottom of the
mountain he could see the home of the tufted cocoa-palms and other
species of vegetation that grow only in the sultry atmosphere of eternal
Summer. He could see all the climes of the world at a single glance of
the eye, and that glance would only pass over a distance of four or five
miles as the bird flies!
By and by we took boat and went ashore at Kailua, designing to ride
horseback through the pleasant orange and coffee region of Kona, and
rejoin the vessel at a point some leagues distant. This journey is well
worth taking. The trail passes along on high ground--say a thousand feet
above sea level--and usually about a mile distant from the ocean, which
is always in sight, save that occasionally you find yourself buried in
the forest in the midst of a rank tropical vegetation and a dense growth
of trees, whose great bows overarch the road and shut out sun and sea and
everything, and leave you in a dim, shady tunnel, haunted with invisible
singing birds and fragrant with the odor of flowers. It was pleasant to
ride occasionally in the warm sun, and feast the eye upon the ever-
changing panorama of the forest (beyond and below us), with its many
tints, its softened lights and shadows, its billowy undulations sweeping
gently down from the mountain to the sea. It was pleasant also, at
intervals, to leave the sultry sun and pass into the cool, green depths
of this forest and indulge in sentimental reflections under the
inspiration of its brooding twilight and its whispering foliage.
We rode through one orange grove that had ten thousand tree in it!
They were all laden with fruit.
At one farmhouse we got some large peaches of excellent flavor.
This fruit, as a general thing, does not do well in the Sandwich Islands.
It takes a sort of almond shape, and is small and bitter. It needs
frost, they say, and perhaps it does; if this be so, it will have a good
opportunity to go on needing it, as it will not be likely to get it.
The trees from which the fine fruit I have spoken of, came, had been
planted and replanted sixteen times, and to this treatment the proprietor
of the orchard attributed his-success.
We passed several sugar plantations--new ones and not very extensive.
The crops were, in most cases, third rattoons. [NOTE.--The first crop is
called "plant cane;" subsequent crops which spring from the original
roots, without replanting, are called "rattoons."] Almost everywhere on
the island of Hawaii sugar-cane matures in twelve months, both rattoons
and plant, and although it ought to be taken off as soon as it tassels,
no doubt, it is not absolutely necessary to do it until about four months
afterward. In Kona, the average yield of an acre of ground is two tons
of sugar, they say. This is only a moderate yield for these islands, but
would be astounding for Louisiana and most other sugar growing countries.
The plantations in Kona being on pretty high ground--up among the light
and frequent rains--no irrigation whatever is required.
CHAPTER LXX.
We stopped some time at one of the plantations, to rest ourselves and
refresh the horses. We had a chatty conversation with several gentlemen
present; but there was one person, a middle aged man, with an absent look
in his face, who simply glanced up, gave us good-day and lapsed again
into the meditations which our coming had interrupted. The planters
whispered us not to mind him--crazy. They said he was in the Islands for
his health; was a preacher; his home, Michigan. They said that if he
woke up presently and fell to talking about a correspondence which he had
some time held with Mr. Greeley about a trifle of some kind, we must
humor him and listen with interest; and we must humor his fancy that this
correspondence was the talk of the world.
It was easy to see that he was a gentle creature and that his madness had
nothing vicious in it. He looked pale, and a little worn, as if with
perplexing thought and anxiety of mind. He sat a long time, looking at
the floor, and at intervals muttering to himself and nodding his head
acquiescingly or shaking it in mild protest. He was lost in his thought,
or in his memories. We continued our talk with the planters, branching
from subject to subject. But at last the word "circumstance," casually
dropped, in the course of conversation, attracted his attention and
brought an eager look into his countenance. He faced about in his chair
and said:
"Circumstance? What circumstance? Ah, I know--I know too well. So you
have heard of it too." [With a sigh.] "Well, no matter--all the world
has heard of it. All the world. The whole world. It is a large world,
too, for a thing to travel so far in--now isn't it? Yes, yes--the
Greeley correspondence with Erickson has created the saddest and
bitterest controversy on both sides of the ocean--and still they keep it
up! It makes us famous, but at what a sorrowful sacrifice! I was so
sorry when I heard that it had caused that bloody and distressful war
over there in Italy. It was little comfort to me, after so much
bloodshed, to know that the victors sided with me, and the vanquished
with Greeley.--It is little comfort to know that Horace Greeley is
responsible for the battle of Sadowa, and not me.
"Queen Victoria wrote me that she felt just as I did about it--she said
that as much as she was opposed to Greeley and the spirit he showed in
the correspondence with me, she would not have had Sadowa happen for
hundreds of dollars. I can show you her letter, if you would like to see
it. But gentlemen, much as you may think you know about that unhappy
correspondence, you cannot know the straight of it till you hear it from
my lips. It has always been garbled in the journals, and even in
history. Yes, even in history--think of it! Let me--please let me, give
you the matter, exactly as it occurred. I truly will not abuse your
confidence."
Then he leaned forward, all interest, all earnestness, and told his
story--and told it appealingly, too, and yet in the simplest and most
unpretentious way; indeed, in such a way as to suggest to one, all the
time, that this was a faithful, honorable witness, giving evidence in the
sacred interest of justice, and under oath. He said:
"Mrs. Beazeley--Mrs. Jackson Beazeley, widow, of the village of
Campbellton, Kansas,--wrote me about a matter which was near her heart
--a matter which many might think trivial, but to her it was a thing of
deep concern. I was living in Michigan, then--serving in the ministry.
She was, and is, an estimable woman--a woman to whom poverty and hardship
have proven incentives to industry, in place of discouragements.
Her only treasure was her son William, a youth just verging upon manhood;
religious, amiable, and sincerely attached to agriculture. He was the
widow's comfort and her pride. And so, moved by her love for him, she
wrote me about a matter, as I have said before, which lay near her heart
--because it lay near her boy's. She desired me to confer with
Mr. Greeley about turnips. Turnips were the dream of her child's young
ambition. While other youths were frittering away in frivolous
amusements the precious years of budding vigor which God had given them
for useful preparation, this boy was patiently enriching his mind with
information concerning turnips. The sentiment which he felt toward the
turnip was akin to adoration. He could not think of the turnip without
emotion; he could not speak of it calmly; he could not contemplate it
without exaltation. He could not eat it without shedding tears. All the
poetry in his sensitive nature was in sympathy with the gracious
vegetable. With the earliest pipe of dawn he sought his patch, and when
the curtaining night drove him from it he shut himself up with his books
and garnered statistics till sleep overcame him. On rainy days he sat
and talked hours together with his mother about turnips. When company
came, he made it his loving duty to put aside everything else and
converse with them all the day long of his great joy in the turnip.
And yet, was this joy rounded and complete? Was there no secret alloy of
unhappiness in it? Alas, there was. There was a canker gnawing at his
heart; the noblest inspiration of his soul eluded his endeavor--viz: he
could not make of the turnip a climbing vine. Months went by; the bloom
forsook his cheek, the fire faded out of his eye; sighings and
abstraction usurped the place of smiles and cheerful converse. But a
watchful eye noted these things and in time a motherly sympathy unsealed
the secret. Hence the letter to me. She pleaded for attention--she said
her boy was dying by inches.
"I was a stranger to Mr. Greeley, but what of that? The matter was
urgent. I wrote and begged him to solve the difficult problem if
possible and save the student's life. My interest grew, until it partook
of the anxiety of the mother. I waited in much suspense.--At last the
answer came.
"I found that I could not read it readily, the handwriting being
unfamiliar and my emotions somewhat wrought up. It seemed to refer in
part to the boy's case, but chiefly to other and irrelevant matters--such
as paving-stones, electricity, oysters, and something which I took to be
'absolution' or 'agrarianism,' I could not be certain which; still, these
appeared to be simply casual mentions, nothing more; friendly in spirit,
without doubt, but lacking the connection or coherence necessary to make
them useful.--I judged that my understanding was affected by my feelings,
and so laid the letter away till morning.
"In the morning I read it again, but with difficulty and uncertainty
still, for I had lost some little rest and my mental vision seemed
clouded. The note was more connected, now, but did not meet the
emergency it was expected to meet. It was too discursive. It appeared
to read as follows, though I was not certain of some of the words:
"Polygamy dissembles majesty; extracts redeem polarity; causes
hitherto exist. Ovations pursue wisdom, or warts inherit and
condemn. Boston, botany, cakes, folony undertakes, but who shall
allay? We fear not. Yrxwly,
HEVACE EVEELOJ.'
"But there did not seem to be a word about turnips. There seemed to be
no suggestion as to how they might be made to grow like vines. There was
not even a reference to the Beazeleys. I slept upon the matter; I ate no
supper, neither any breakfast next morning. So I resumed my work with a
brain refreshed, and was very hopeful. Now the letter took a different
aspect-all save the signature, which latter I judged to be only a
harmless affectation of Hebrew. The epistle was necessarily from Mr.
Greeley, for it bore the printed heading of The Tribune, and I had
written to no one else there. The letter, I say, had taken a different
aspect, but still its language was eccentric and avoided the issue. It
now appeared to say:
"Bolivia extemporizes mackerel; borax esteems polygamy; sausages
wither in the east. Creation perdu, is done; for woes inherent one
can damn. Buttons, buttons, corks, geology underrates but we shall
allay. My beer's out. Yrxwly,
HEVACE EVEELOJ.'
"I was evidently overworked. My comprehension was impaired. Therefore I
gave two days to recreation, and then returned to my task greatly
refreshed. The letter now took this form:
"Poultices do sometimes choke swine; tulips reduce posterity; causes
leather to resist. Our notions empower wisdom, her let's afford
while we can. Butter but any cakes, fill any undertaker, we'll wean
him from his filly. We feel hot.
Yrxwly, HEVACE EVEELOJ.'
"I was still not satisfied. These generalities did not meet the
question. They were crisp, and vigorous, and delivered with a confidence
that almost compelled conviction; but at such a time as this, with a
human life at stake, they seemed inappropriate, worldly, and in bad
taste. At any other time I would have been not only glad, but proud, to
receive from a man like Mr. Greeley a letter of this kind, and would have
studied it earnestly and tried to improve myself all I could; but now,
with that poor boy in his far home languishing for relief, I had no heart
for learning.
"Three days passed by, and I read the note again. Again its tenor had
changed. It now appeared to say:
"Potations do sometimes wake wines; turnips restrain passion; causes
necessary to state. Infest the poor widow; her lord's effects will
be void. But dirt, bathing, etc., etc., followed unfairly, will
worm him from his folly--so swear not.
Yrxwly, HEVACE EVEELOJ.'
"This was more like it. But I was unable to proceed. I was too much
worn. The word 'turnips' brought temporary joy and encouragement, but my
strength was so much impaired, and the delay might be so perilous for the
boy, that I relinquished the idea of pursuing the translation further,
and resolved to do what I ought to have done at first. I sat down and
wrote Mr. Greeley as follows:
"DEAR SIR: I fear I do not entirely comprehend your kind note. It
cannot be possible, Sir, that 'turnips restrain passion'--at least
the study or contemplation of turnips cannot--for it is this very
employment that has scorched our poor friend's mind and sapped his
bodily strength.--But if they do restrain it, will you bear with us
a little further and explain how they should be prepared? I observe
that you say 'causes necessary to state,' but you have omitted to
state them.
"Under a misapprehension, you seem to attribute to me interested
motives in this matter--to call it by no harsher term. But I assure
you, dear sir, that if I seem to be 'infesting the widow,' it is all
seeming, and void of reality. It is from no seeking of mine that I
am in this position. She asked me, herself, to write you. I never
have infested her--indeed I scarcely know her. I do not infest
anybody. I try to go along, in my humble way, doing as near right
as I can, never harming anybody, and never throwing out
insinuations. As for 'her lord and his effects,' they are of no
interest to me. I trust I have effects enough of my own--shall
endeavor to get along with them, at any rate, and not go mousing
around to get hold of somebody's that are 'void.' But do you not
see?--this woman is a widow--she has no 'lord.' He is dead--or
pretended to be, when they buried him. Therefore, no amount of
'dirt, bathing,' etc., etc., howsoever 'unfairly followed' will be
likely to 'worm him from his folly'--if being dead and a ghost is
'folly.' Your closing remark is as unkind as it was uncalled for;
and if report says true you might have applied it to yourself, sir,
with more point and less impropriety.
Very Truly Yours, SIMON ERICKSON.
"In the course of a few days, Mr. Greely did what would have saved a
world of trouble, and much mental and bodily suffering and
misunderstanding, if he had done it sooner. To wit, he sent an
intelligible rescript or translation of his original note, made in a
plain hand by his clerk. Then the mystery cleared, and I saw that his
heart had been right, all the time. I will recite the note in its
clarified form:
[Translation.]
'Potatoes do sometimes make vines; turnips remain passive: cause
unnecessary to state. Inform the poor widow her lad's efforts will
be vain. But diet, bathing, etc. etc., followed uniformly, will
wean him from his folly--so fear not.
Yours, HORACE GREELEY.'
"But alas, it was too late, gentlemen--too late. The criminal delay had
done its work--young Beazely was no more. His spirit had taken its
flight to a land where all anxieties shall be charmed away, all desires
gratified, all ambitions realized. Poor lad, they laid him to his rest
with a turnip in each hand."
So ended Erickson, and lapsed again into nodding, mumbling, and
abstraction. The company broke up, and left him so.... But they did not
say what drove him crazy. In the momentary confusion, I forgot to ask.
CHAPTER LXXI.
At four o'clock in the afternoon we were winding down a mountain of
dreary and desolate lava to the sea, and closing our pleasant land
journey. This lava is the accumulation of ages; one torrent of fire
after another has rolled down here in old times, and built up the island
structure higher and higher. Underneath, it is honey-combed with caves;
it would be of no use to dig wells in such a place; they would not hold
water--you would not find any for them to hold, for that matter.
Consequently, the planters depend upon cisterns.
The last lava flow occurred here so long ago that there are none now
living who witnessed it. In one place it enclosed and burned down a
grove of cocoa-nut trees, and the holes in the lava where the trunks
stood are still visible; their sides retain the impression of the bark;
the trees fell upon the burning river, and becoming partly submerged,
left in it the perfect counterpart of every knot and branch and leaf,
and even nut, for curiosity seekers of a long distant day to gaze upon
and wonder at.
There were doubtless plenty of Kanaka sentinels on guard hereabouts at
that time, but they did not leave casts of their figures in the lava as
the Roman sentinels at Herculaneum and Pompeii did. It is a pity it is
so, because such things are so interesting; but so it is. They probably
went away. They went away early, perhaps. However, they had their
merits; the Romans exhibited the higher pluck, but the Kanakas showed the
sounder judgment.
Shortly we came in sight of that spot whose history is so familiar to
every school-boy in the wide world--Kealakekua Bay--the place where
Captain Cook, the great circumnavigator, was killed by the natives,
nearly a hundred years ago. The setting sun was flaming upon it, a
Summer shower was falling, and it was spanned by two magnificent
rainbows. Two men who were in advance of us rode through one of these
and for a moment their garments shone with a more than regal splendor.
Why did not Captain Cook have taste enough to call his great discovery
the Rainbow Islands? These charming spectacles are present to you at
every turn; they are common in all the islands; they are visible every
day, and frequently at night also--not the silvery bow we see once in an
age in the States, by moonlight, but barred with all bright and beautiful
colors, like the children of the sun and rain. I saw one of them a few
nights ago. What the sailors call "raindogs"--little patches of rainbow
--are often seen drifting about the heavens in these latitudes, like
stained cathedral windows.
Kealakekua Bay is a little curve like the last kink of a snail-shell,
winding deep into the land, seemingly not more than a mile wide from
shore to shore. It is bounded on one side--where the murder was done--by
a little flat plain, on which stands a cocoanut grove and some ruined
houses; a steep wall of lava, a thousand feet high at the upper end and
three or four hundred at the lower, comes down from the mountain and
bounds the inner extremity of it. From this wall the place takes its
name, Kealakekua, which in the native tongue signifies "The Pathway of
the Gods." They say, (and still believe, in spite of their liberal
education in Christianity), that the great god Lono, who used to live
upon the hillside, always traveled that causeway when urgent business
connected with heavenly affairs called him down to the seashore in a
hurry.
As the red sun looked across the placid ocean through the tall, clean
stems of the cocoanut trees, like a blooming whiskey bloat through the
bars of a city prison, I went and stood in the edge of the water on the
flat rock pressed by Captain Cook's feet when the blow was dealt which
took away his life, and tried to picture in my mind the doomed man
struggling in the midst of the multitude of exasperated savages--the men
in the ship crowding to the vessel's side and gazing in anxious dismay
toward the shore--the--but I discovered that I could not do it.
It was growing dark, the rain began to fall, we could see that the
distant Boomerang was helplessly becalmed at sea, and so I adjourned to
the cheerless little box of a warehouse and sat down to smoke and think,
and wish the ship would make the land--for we had not eaten much for ten
hours and were viciously hungry.
Plain unvarnished history takes the romance out of Captain Cook's
assassination, and renders a deliberate verdict of justifiable homicide.
Wherever he went among the islands, he was cordially received and
welcomed by the inhabitants, and his ships lavishly supplied with all
manner of food. He returned these kindnesses with insult and ill-
treatment. Perceiving that the people took him for the long vanished and
lamented god Lono, he encouraged them in the delusion for the sake of the
limitless power it gave him; but during the famous disturbance at this
spot, and while he and his comrades were surrounded by fifteen thousand
maddened savages, he received a hurt and betrayed his earthly origin with
a groan. It was his death-warrant. Instantly a shout went up: "He
groans!--he is not a god!" So they closed in upon him and dispatched him.
His flesh was stripped from the bones and burned (except nine pounds of
it which were sent on board the ships). The heart was hung up in a
native hut, where it was found and eaten by three children, who mistook
it for the heart of a dog. One of these children grew to be a very old
man, and died in Honolulu a few years ago. Some of Cook's bones were
recovered and consigned to the deep by the officers of the ships.
Small blame should attach to the natives for the killing of Cook.
They treated him well. In return, he abused them. He and his men
inflicted bodily injury upon many of them at different times, and killed
at least three of them before they offered any proportionate retaliation.
Near the shore we found "Cook's Monument"--only a cocoanut stump, four
feet high and about a foot in diameter at the butt. It had lava boulders
piled around its base to hold it up and keep it in its place, and it was
entirely sheathed over, from top to bottom, with rough, discolored sheets
of copper, such as ships' bottoms are coppered with. Each sheet had a
rude inscription scratched upon it--with a nail, apparently--and in every
case the execution was wretched. Most of these merely recorded the
visits of British naval commanders to the spot, but one of them bore this
legend:
"Near this spot fell
CAPTAIN JAMES COOK,
The Distinguished Circumnavigator, who Discovered these Islands
A. D. 1778.
After Cook's murder, his second in command, on board the ship, opened
fire upon the swarms of natives on the beach, and one of his cannon balls
cut this cocoanut tree short off and left this monumental stump standing.
It looked sad and lonely enough to us, out there in the rainy twilight.
But there is no other monument to Captain Cook. True, up on the mountain
side we had passed by a large inclosure like an ample hog-pen, built of
lava blocks, which marks the spot where Cook's flesh was stripped from
his bones and burned; but this is not properly a monument since it was
erected by the natives themselves, and less to do honor to the
circumnavigator than for the sake of convenience in roasting him.
A thing like a guide-board was elevated above this pen on a tall pole,
and formerly there was an inscription upon it describing the memorable
occurrence that had there taken place; but the sun and the wind have long
ago so defaced it as to render it illegible.
Toward midnight a fine breeze sprang up and the schooner soon worked
herself into the bay and cast anchor. The boat came ashore for us, and
in a little while the clouds and the rain were all gone. The moon was
beaming tranquilly down on land and sea, and we two were stretched upon
the deck sleeping the refreshing sleep and dreaming the happy dreams that
are only vouchsafed to the weary and the innocent.
CHAPTER LXXII.
In the breezy morning we went ashore and visited the ruined temple of the
last god Lono. The high chief cook of this temple--the priest who
presided over it and roasted the human sacrifices--was uncle to Obookia,
and at one time that youth was an apprentice-priest under him. Obookia
was a young native of fine mind, who, together with three other native
boys, was taken to New England by the captain of a whaleship during the
reign of Kamehameha I, and they were the means of attracting the
attention of the religious world to their country. This resulted in the
sending of missionaries there. And this Obookia was the very same
sensitive savage who sat down on the church steps and wept because his
people did not have the Bible. That incident has been very elaborately
painted in many a charming Sunday School book--aye, and told so
plaintively and so tenderly that I have cried over it in Sunday School
myself, on general principles, although at a time when I did not know
much and could not understand why the people of the Sandwich Islands
needed to worry so much about it as long as they did not know there was a
Bible at all.
Obookia was converted and educated, and was to have returned to his
native land with the first missionaries, had he lived. The other native
youths made the voyage, and two of them did good service, but the third,
William Kanui, fell from grace afterward, for a time, and when the gold
excitement broke out in California he journeyed thither and went to
mining, although he was fifty years old. He succeeded pretty well, but
the failure of Page, Bacon & Co. relieved him of six thousand dollars,
and then, to all intents and purposes, he was a bankrupt in his old age
and he resumed service in the pulpit again. He died in Honolulu in 1864.
Quite a broad tract of land near the temple, extending from the sea to
the mountain top, was sacred to the god Lono in olden times--so sacred
that if a common native set his sacrilegious foot upon it it was
judicious for him to make his will, because his time had come. He might
go around it by water, but he could not cross it. It was well sprinkled
with pagan temples and stocked with awkward, homely idols carved out of
logs of wood. There was a temple devoted to prayers for rain--and with
fine sagacity it was placed at a point so well up on the mountain side
that if you prayed there twenty-four times a day for rain you would be
likely to get it every time. You would seldom get to your Amen before
you would have to hoist your umbrella.
And there was a large temple near at hand which was built in a single
night, in the midst of storm and thunder and rain, by the ghastly hands
of dead men! Tradition says that by the weird glare of the lightning a
noiseless multitude of phantoms were seen at their strange labor far up
the mountain side at dead of night--flitting hither and thither and
bearing great lava-blocks clasped in their nerveless fingers--appearing
and disappearing as the pallid lustre fell upon their forms and faded
away again. Even to this day, it is said, the natives hold this dread
structure in awe and reverence, and will not pass by it in the night.
At noon I observed a bevy of nude native young ladies bathing in the sea,
and went and sat down on their clothes to keep them from being stolen.
I begged them to come out, for the sea was rising and I was satisfied
that they were running some risk. But they were not afraid, and
presently went on with their sport. They were finished swimmers and
divers, and enjoyed themselves to the last degree.
They swam races, splashed and ducked and tumbled each other about, and
filled the air with their laughter. It is said that the first thing an
Islander learns is how to swim; learning to walk being a matter of
smaller consequence, comes afterward. One hears tales of native men and
women swimming ashore from vessels many miles at sea--more miles, indeed,
than I dare vouch for or even mention. And they tell of a native diver
who went down in thirty or forty-foot waters and brought up an anvil!
I think he swallowed the anvil afterward, if my memory serves me.
However I will not urge this point.
I have spoken, several times, of the god Lono--I may as well furnish two
or three sentences concerning him.
The idol the natives worshipped for him was a slender, unornamented staff
twelve feet long. Tradition says he was a favorite god on the Island of
Hawaii--a great king who had been deified for meritorious services--just
our own fashion of rewarding heroes, with the difference that we would
have made him a Postmaster instead of a god, no doubt. In an angry
moment he slew his wife, a goddess named Kaikilani Aiii. Remorse of
conscience drove him mad, and tradition presents us the singular
spectacle of a god traveling "on the shoulder;" for in his gnawing grief
he wandered about from place to place boxing and wrestling with all whom
he met. Of course this pastime soon lost its novelty, inasmuch as it
must necessarily have been the case that when so powerful a deity sent a
frail human opponent "to grass" he never came back any more. Therefore,
he instituted games called makahiki, and ordered that they should be held
in his honor, and then sailed for foreign lands on a three-cornered raft,
stating that he would return some day--and that was the last of Lono.
He was never seen any more; his raft got swamped, perhaps. But the
people always expected his return, and thus they were easily led to
accept Captain Cook as the restored god.
Some of the old natives believed Cook was Lono to the day of their death;
but many did not, for they could not understand how he could die if he
was a god.
Only a mile or so from Kealakekua Bay is a spot of historic interest--the
place where the last battle was fought for idolatry. Of course we
visited it, and came away as wise as most people do who go and gaze upon
such mementoes of the past when in an unreflective mood.
While the first missionaries were on their way around the Horn, the
idolatrous customs which had obtained in the island, as far back as
tradition reached were suddenly broken up. Old Kamehameha I., was dead,
and his son, Liholiho, the new King was a free liver, a roystering,
dissolute fellow, and hated the restraints of the ancient tabu. His
assistant in the Government, Kaahumanu, the Queen dowager, was proud and
high-spirited, and hated the tabu because it restricted the privileges of
her sex and degraded all women very nearly to the level of brutes.
So the case stood. Liholiho had half a mind to put his foot down,
Kaahumahu had a whole mind to badger him into doing it, and whiskey did
the rest. It was probably the rest. It was probably the first time
whiskey ever prominently figured as an aid to civilization. Liholiho
came up to Kailua as drunk as a piper, and attended a great feast; the
determined Queen spurred his drunken courage up to a reckless pitch, and
then, while all the multitude stared in blank dismay, he moved
deliberately forward and sat down with the women!
They saw him eat from the same vessel with them, and were appalled!
Terrible moments drifted slowly by, and still the King ate, still he
lived, still the lightnings of the insulted gods were withheld!
Then conviction came like a revelation--the superstitions of a hundred
generations passed from before the people like a cloud, and a shout went
up, "the tabu is broken! the tabu is broken!"
Thus did King Liholiho and his dreadful whiskey preach the first sermon
and prepare the way for the new gospel that was speeding southward over
the waves of the Atlantic.
The tabu broken and destruction failing to follow the awful sacrilege,
the people, with that childlike precipitancy which has always
characterized them, jumped to the conclusion that their gods were a weak
and wretched swindle, just as they formerly jumped to the conclusion that
Captain Cook was no god, merely because he groaned, and promptly killed
him without stopping to inquire whether a god might not groan as well as
a man if it suited his convenience to do it; and satisfied that the idols
were powerless to protect themselves they went to work at once and pulled
them down--hacked them to pieces--applied the torch--annihilated them!
The pagan priests were furious. And well they might be; they had held
the fattest offices in the land, and now they were beggared; they had
been great--they had stood above the chiefs--and now they were vagabonds.
They raised a revolt; they scared a number of people into joining their
standard, and Bekuokalani, an ambitious offshoot of royalty, was easily
persuaded to become their leader.
In the first skirmish the idolaters triumphed over the royal army sent
against them, and full of confidence they resolved to march upon Kailua.
The King sent an envoy to try and conciliate them, and came very near
being an envoy short by the operation; the savages not only refused to
listen to him, but wanted to kill him. So the King sent his men forth
under Major General Kalaimoku and the two host met a Kuamoo. The battle
was long and fierce--men and women fighting side by side, as was the
custom--and when the day was done the rebels were flying in every
direction in hopeless panic, and idolatry and the tabu were dead in the
land!
The royalists marched gayly home to Kailua glorifying the new
dispensation. "There is no power in the gods," said they; "they are a
vanity and a lie. The army with idols was weak; the army without idols
was strong and victorious!"
The nation was without a religion.
The missionary ship arrived in safety shortly afterward, timed by
providential exactness to meet the emergency, and the Gospel was planted
as in a virgin soil.
CHAPTER LXXIII.
At noon, we hired a Kanaka to take us down to the ancient ruins at
Honaunan in his canoe--price two dollars--reasonable enough, for a sea
voyage of eight miles, counting both ways.
The native canoe is an irresponsible looking contrivance. I cannot think
of anything to liken it to but a boy's sled runner hollowed out, and that
does not quite convey the correct idea. It is about fifteen feet long,
high and pointed at both ends, is a foot and a half or two feet deep, and
so narrow that if you wedged a fat man into it you might not get him out
again. It sits on top of the water like a duck, but it has an outrigger
and does not upset easily, if you keep still. This outrigger is formed
of two long bent sticks like plow handles, which project from one side,
and to their outer ends is bound a curved beam composed of an extremely
light wood, which skims along the surface of the water and thus saves you
from an upset on that side, while the outrigger's weight is not so easily
lifted as to make an upset on the other side a thing to be greatly
feared. Still, until one gets used to sitting perched upon this
knifeblade, he is apt to reason within himself that it would be more
comfortable if there were just an outrigger or so on the other side also.
I had the bow seat, and Billings sat amidships and faced the Kanaka, who
occupied the stern of the craft and did the paddling. With the first
stroke the trim shell of a thing shot out from the shore like an arrow.
There was not much to see. While we were on the shallow water of the
reef, it was pastime to look down into the limpid depths at the large
bunches of branching coral--the unique shrubbery of the sea. We lost
that, though, when we got out into the dead blue water of the deep. But
we had the picture of the surf, then, dashing angrily against the crag-
bound shore and sending a foaming spray high into the air.
There was interest in this beetling border, too, for it was honey-combed
with quaint caves and arches and tunnels, and had a rude semblance of the
dilapidated architecture of ruined keeps and castles rising out of the
restless sea. When this novelty ceased to be a novelty, we turned our
eyes shoreward and gazed at the long mountain with its rich green forests
stretching up into the curtaining clouds, and at the specks of houses in
the rearward distance and the diminished schooner riding sleepily at
anchor. And when these grew tiresome we dashed boldly into the midst of
a school of huge, beastly porpoises engaged at their eternal game of
arching over a wave and disappearing, and then doing it over again and
keeping it up--always circling over, in that way, like so many well-
submerged wheels. But the porpoises wheeled themselves away, and then we
were thrown upon our own resources. It did not take many minutes to
discover that the sun was blazing like a bonfire, and that the weather
was of a melting temperature. It had a drowsing effect, too.
In one place we came upon a large company of naked natives, of both sexes
and all ages, amusing themselves with the national pastime of surf-
bathing. Each heathen would paddle three or four hundred yards out to
sea, (taking a short board with him), then face the shore and wait for a
particularly prodigious billow to come along; at the right moment he
would fling his board upon its foamy crest and himself upon the board,
and here he would come whizzing by like a bombshell! It did not seem
that a lightning express train could shoot along at a more hair-lifting
speed. I tried surf-bathing once, subsequently, but made a failure of
it. I got the board placed right, and at the right moment, too; but
missed the connection myself.--The board struck the shore in three
quarters of a second, without any cargo, and I struck the bottom about
the same time, with a couple of barrels of water in me. None but natives
ever master the art of surf-bathing thoroughly.
At the end of an hour, we had made the four miles, and landed on a level
point of land, upon which was a wide extent of old ruins, with many a
tall cocoanut tree growing among them. Here was the ancient City of
Refuge--a vast inclosure, whose stone walls were twenty feet thick at the
base, and fifteen feet high; an oblong square, a thousand and forty feet
one way and a fraction under seven hundred the other. Within this
inclosure, in early times, has been three rude temples; each two hundred
and ten feet long by one hundred wide, and thirteen high.
In those days, if a man killed another anywhere on the island the
relatives were privileged to take the murderer's life; and then a chase
for life and liberty began--the outlawed criminal flying through pathless
forests and over mountain and plain, with his hopes fixed upon the
protecting walls of the City of Refuge, and the avenger of blood
following hotly after him!
Sometimes the race was kept up to the very gates of the temple, and the
panting pair sped through long files of excited natives, who watched the
contest with flashing eye and dilated nostril, encouraging the hunted
refugee with sharp, inspiriting ejaculations, and sending up a ringing
shout of exultation when the saving gates closed upon him and the cheated
pursuer sank exhausted at the threshold. But sometimes the flying
criminal fell under the hand of the avenger at the very door, when one
more brave stride, one more brief second of time would have brought his
feet upon the sacred ground and barred him against all harm. Where did
these isolated pagans get this idea of a City of Refuge--this ancient
Oriental custom?
This old sanctuary was sacred to all--even to rebels in arms and invading
armies. Once within its walls, and confession made to the priest and
absolution obtained, the wretch with a price upon his head could go forth
without fear and without danger--he was tabu, and to harm him was death.
The routed rebels in the lost battle for idolatry fled to this place to
claim sanctuary, and many were thus saved.
Close to the corner of the great inclosure is a round structure of stone,
some six or eight feet high, with a level top about ten or twelve in
diameter. This was the place of execution. A high palisade of cocoanut
piles shut out the cruel scenes from the vulgar multitude. Here
criminals were killed, the flesh stripped from the bones and burned, and
the bones secreted in holes in the body of the structure. If the man had
been guilty of a high crime, the entire corpse was burned.
The walls of the temple are a study. The same food for speculation that
is offered the visitor to the Pyramids of Egypt he will find here--the
mystery of how they were constructed by a people unacquainted with
science and mechanics. The natives have no invention of their own for
hoisting heavy weights, they had no beasts of burden, and they have never
even shown any knowledge of the properties of the lever. Yet some of the
lava blocks quarried out, brought over rough, broken ground, and built
into this wall, six or seven feet from the ground, are of prodigious size
and would weigh tons. How did they transport and how raise them?
Both the inner and outer surfaces of the walls present a smooth front and
are very creditable specimens of masonry. The blocks are of all manner
of shapes and sizes, but yet are fitted together with the neatest
exactness. The gradual narrowing of the wall from the base upward is
accurately preserved.
No cement was used, but the edifice is firm and compact and is capable of
resisting storm and decay for centuries. Who built this temple, and how
was it built, and when, are mysteries that may never be unraveled.
Outside of these ancient walls lies a sort of coffin-shaped stone eleven
feet four inches long and three feet square at the small end (it would
weigh a few thousand pounds), which the high chief who held sway over
this district many centuries ago brought thither on his shoulder one day
to use as a lounge! This circumstance is established by the most
reliable traditions. He used to lie down on it, in his indolent way, and
keep an eye on his subjects at work for him and see that there was no
"soldiering" done. And no doubt there was not any done to speak of,
because he was a man of that sort of build that incites to attention to
business on the part of an employee.
He was fourteen or fifteen feet high. When he stretched himself at full
length on his lounge, his legs hung down over the end, and when he snored
he woke the dead. These facts are all attested by irrefragable
tradition.
On the other side of the temple is a monstrous seven-ton rock, eleven
feet long, seven feet wide and three feet thick. It is raised a foot or
a foot and a half above the ground, and rests upon half a dozen little
stony pedestals. The same old fourteen-footer brought it down from the
mountain, merely for fun (he had his own notions about fun), and propped
it up as we find it now and as others may find it a century hence, for it
would take a score of horses to budge it from its position. They say
that fifty or sixty years ago the proud Queen Kaahumanu used to fly to
this rock for safety, whenever she had been making trouble with her
fierce husband, and hide under it until his wrath was appeased. But
these Kanakas will lie, and this statement is one of their ablest
efforts--for Kaahumanu was six feet high--she was bulky--she was built
like an ox--and she could no more have squeezed herself under that rock
than she could have passed between the cylinders of a sugar mill. What
could she gain by it, even if she succeeded? To be chased and abused by
a savage husband could not be otherwise than humiliating to her high
spirit, yet it could never make her feel so flat as an hour's repose
under that rock would.
We walked a mile over a raised macadamized road of uniform width; a road
paved with flat stones and exhibiting in its every detail a considerable
degree of engineering skill. Some say that that wise old pagan,
Kamehameha I planned and built it, but others say it was built so long
before his time that the knowledge of who constructed it has passed out
of the traditions. In either case, however, as the handiwork of an
untaught and degraded race it is a thing of pleasing interest. The
stones are worn and smooth, and pushed apart in places, so that the road
has the exact appearance of those ancient paved highways leading out of
Rome which one sees in pictures.
The object of our tramp was to visit a great natural curiosity at the
base of the foothills--a congealed cascade of lava. Some old forgotten
volcanic eruption sent its broad river of fire down the mountain side
here, and it poured down in a great torrent from an overhanging bluff
some fifty feet high to the ground below. The flaming torrent cooled in
the winds from the sea, and remains there to-day, all seamed, and frothed
and rippled a petrified Niagara. It is very picturesque, and withal so
natural that one might almost imagine it still flowed. A smaller stream
trickled over the cliff and built up an isolated pyramid about thirty
feet high, which has the semblance of a mass of large gnarled and knotted
vines and roots and stems intricately twisted and woven together.
We passed in behind the cascade and the pyramid, and found the bluff
pierced by several cavernous tunnels, whose crooked courses we followed a
long distance.
Two of these winding tunnels stand as proof of Nature's mining abilities.
Their floors are level, they are seven feet wide, and their roofs are
gently arched. Their height is not uniform, however. We passed through
one a hundred feet long, which leads through a spur of the hill and opens
out well up in the sheer wall of a precipice whose foot rests in the
waves of the sea. It is a commodious tunnel, except that there are
occasional places in it where one must stoop to pass under. The roof is
lava, of course, and is thickly studded with little lava-pointed icicles
an inch long, which hardened as they dripped. They project as closely
together as the iron teeth of a corn-sheller, and if one will stand up
straight and walk any distance there, he can get his hair combed free of
charge.
CHAPTER LXXIV.
We got back to the schooner in good time, and then sailed down to Kau,
where we disembarked and took final leave of the vessel. Next day we
bought horses and bent our way over the summer-clad mountain-terraces,
toward the great volcano of Kilauea (Ke-low-way-ah). We made nearly a
two days' journey of it, but that was on account of laziness. Toward
sunset on the second day, we reached an elevation of some four thousand
feet above sea level, and as we picked our careful way through billowy
wastes of lava long generations ago stricken dead and cold in the climax
of its tossing fury, we began to come upon signs of the near presence of
the volcano--signs in the nature of ragged fissures that discharged jets
of sulphurous vapor into the air, hot from the molten ocean down in the
bowels of the mountain.
Shortly the crater came into view. I have seen Vesuvius since, but it
was a mere toy, a child's volcano, a soup-kettle, compared to this.
Mount Vesuvius is a shapely cone thirty-six hundred feet high; its crater
an inverted cone only three hundred feet deep, and not more than a
thousand feet in diameter, if as much as that; its fires meagre, modest,
and docile.--But here was a vast, perpendicular, walled cellar, nine
hundred feet deep in some places, thirteen hundred in others, level-
floored, and ten miles in circumference! Here was a yawning pit upon
whose floor the armies of Russia could camp, and have room to spare.
Perched upon the edge of the crater, at the opposite end from where we
stood, was a small look-out house--say three miles away. It assisted us,
by comparison, to comprehend and appreciate the great depth of the basin
--it looked like a tiny martin-box clinging at the eaves of a cathedral.
After some little time spent in resting and looking and ciphering, we
hurried on to the hotel.
By the path it is half a mile from the Volcano House to the lookout-
house. After a hearty supper we waited until it was thoroughly dark and
then started to the crater. The first glance in that direction revealed
a scene of wild beauty. There was a heavy fog over the crater and it was
splendidly illuminated by the glare from the fires below. The
illumination was two miles wide and a mile high, perhaps; and if you
ever, on a dark night and at a distance beheld the light from thirty or
forty blocks of distant buildings all on fire at once, reflected strongly
against over-hanging clouds, you can form a fair idea of what this looked
like.
A colossal column of cloud towered to a great height in the air
immediately above the crater, and the outer swell of every one of its
vast folds was dyed with a rich crimson luster, which was subdued to a
pale rose tint in the depressions between. It glowed like a muffled
torch and stretched upward to a dizzy height toward the zenith. I
thought it just possible that its like had not been seen since the
children of Israel wandered on their long march through the desert so
many centuries ago over a path illuminated by the mysterious "pillar of
fire." And I was sure that I now had a vivid conception of what the
majestic "pillar of fire" was like, which almost amounted to a
revelation.
Arrived at the little thatched lookout house, we rested our elbows on the
railing in front and looked abroad over the wide crater and down over the
sheer precipice at the seething fires beneath us. The view was a
startling improvement on my daylight experience. I turned to see the
effect on the balance of the company and found the reddest-faced set of
men I almost ever saw. In the strong light every countenance glowed like
red-hot iron, every shoulder was suffused with crimson and shaded
rearward into dingy, shapeless obscurity! The place below looked like
the infernal regions and these men like half-cooled devils just come up
on a furlough.
I turned my eyes upon the volcano again. The "cellar" was tolerably well
lighted up. For a mile and a half in front of us and half a mile on
either side, the floor of the abyss was magnificently illuminated; beyond
these limits the mists hung down their gauzy curtains and cast a
deceptive gloom over all that made the twinkling fires in the remote
corners of the crater seem countless leagues removed--made them seem like
the camp-fires of a great army far away. Here was room for the
imagination to work! You could imagine those lights the width of a
continent away--and that hidden under the intervening darkness were
hills, and winding rivers, and weary wastes of plain and desert--and even
then the tremendous vista stretched on, and on, and on!--to the fires and
far beyond! You could not compass it--it was the idea of eternity made
tangible--and the longest end of it made visible to the naked eye!
The greater part of the vast floor of the desert under us was as black as
ink, and apparently smooth and level; but over a mile square of it was
ringed and streaked and striped with a thousand branching streams of
liquid and gorgeously brilliant fire! It looked like a colossal railroad
map of the State of Massachusetts done in chain lightning on a midnight
sky. Imagine it--imagine a coal-black sky shivered into a tangled net-
work of angry fire!
Here and there were gleaming holes a hundred feet in diameter, broken in
the dark crust, and in them the melted lava--the color a dazzling white
just tinged with yellow--was boiling and surging furiously; and from
these holes branched numberless bright torrents in many directions, like
the spokes of a wheel, and kept a tolerably straight course for a while
and then swept round in huge rainbow curves, or made a long succession of
sharp worm-fence angles, which looked precisely like the fiercest jagged
lightning. These streams met other streams, and they mingled with and
crossed and recrossed each other in every conceivable direction, like
skate tracks on a popular skating ground. Sometimes streams twenty or
thirty feet wide flowed from the holes to some distance without dividing
--and through the opera-glasses we could see that they ran down small,
steep hills and were genuine cataracts of fire, white at their source,
but soon cooling and turning to the richest red, grained with alternate
lines of black and gold. Every now and then masses of the dark crust
broke away and floated slowly down these streams like rafts down a river.
Occasionally the molten lava flowing under the superincumbent crust broke
through--split a dazzling streak, from five hundred to a thousand feet
long, like a sudden flash of lightning, and then acre after acre of the
cold lava parted into fragments, turned up edgewise like cakes of ice
when a great river breaks up, plunged downward and were swallowed in the
crimson cauldron. Then the wide expanse of the "thaw" maintained a ruddy
glow for a while, but shortly cooled and became black and level again.
During a "thaw," every dismembered cake was marked by a glittering white
border which was superbly shaded inward by aurora borealis rays, which
were a flaming yellow where they joined the white border, and from thence
toward their points tapered into glowing crimson, then into a rich, pale
carmine, and finally into a faint blush that held its own a moment and
then dimmed and turned black. Some of the streams preferred to mingle
together in a tangle of fantastic circles, and then they looked something
like the confusion of ropes one sees on a ship's deck when she has just
taken in sail and dropped anchor--provided one can imagine those ropes on
fire.
Through the glasses, the little fountains scattered about looked very
beautiful. They boiled, and coughed, and spluttered, and discharged
sprays of stringy red fire--of about the consistency of mush, for
instance--from ten to fifteen feet into the air, along with a shower of
brilliant white sparks--a quaint and unnatural mingling of gouts of blood
and snow-flakes!
We had circles and serpents and streaks of lightning all twined and
wreathed and tied together, without a break throughout an area more than
a mile square (that amount of ground was covered, though it was not
strictly "square"), and it was with a feeling of placid exultation that
we reflected that many years had elapsed since any visitor had seen such
a splendid display--since any visitor had seen anything more than the now
snubbed and insignificant "North" and "South" lakes in action. We had
been reading old files of Hawaiian newspapers and the "Record Book" at
the Volcano House, and were posted.
I could see the North Lake lying out on the black floor away off in the
outer edge of our panorama, and knitted to it by a web-work of lava
streams. In its individual capacity it looked very little more
respectable than a schoolhouse on fire. True, it was about nine hundred
feet long and two or three hundred wide, but then, under the present
circumstances, it necessarily appeared rather insignificant, and besides
it was so distant from us.
I forgot to say that the noise made by the bubbling lava is not great,
heard as we heard it from our lofty perch. It makes three distinct
sounds--a rushing, a hissing, and a coughing or puffing sound; and if you
stand on the brink and close your eyes it is no trick at all to imagine
that you are sweeping down a river on a large low-pressure steamer, and
that you hear the hissing of the steam about her boilers, the puffing
from her escape-pipes and the churning rush of the water abaft her
wheels. The smell of sulphur is strong, but not unpleasant to a sinner.
We left the lookout house at ten o'clock in a half cooked condition,
because of the heat from Pele's furnaces, and wrapping up in blankets,
for the night was cold, we returned to our Hotel.
CHAPTER LXXV.
The next night was appointed for a visit to the bottom of the crater, for
we desired to traverse its floor and see the "North Lake" (of fire) which
lay two miles away, toward the further wall. After dark half a dozen of
us set out, with lanterns and native guides, and climbed down a crazy,
thousand-foot pathway in a crevice fractured in the crater wall, and
reached the bottom in safety.
The irruption of the previous evening had spent its force and the floor
looked black and cold; but when we ran out upon it we found it hot yet,
to the feet, and it was likewise riven with crevices which revealed the
underlying fires gleaming vindictively. A neighboring cauldron was
threatening to overflow, and this added to the dubiousness of the
situation. So the native guides refused to continue the venture, and
then every body deserted except a stranger named Marlette. He said he
had been in the crater a dozen times in daylight and believed he could
find his way through it at night. He thought that a run of three hundred
yards would carry us over the hottest part of the floor and leave us our
shoe-soles. His pluck gave me back-bone. We took one lantern and
instructed the guides to hang the other to the roof of the look-out house
to serve as a beacon for us in case we got lost, and then the party
started back up the precipice and Marlette and I made our run.
We skipped over the hot floor and over the red crevices with brisk
dispatch and reached the cold lava safe but with pretty warm feet. Then
we took things leisurely and comfortably, jumping tolerably wide and
probably bottomless chasms, and threading our way through picturesque
lava upheavals with considerable confidence. When we got fairly away
from the cauldrons of boiling fire, we seemed to be in a gloomy desert,
and a suffocatingly dark one, surrounded by dim walls that seemed to
tower to the sky. The only cheerful objects were the glinting stars high
overhead.
By and by Marlette shouted "Stop!" I never stopped quicker in my life.
I asked what the matter was. He said we were out of the path. He said
we must not try to go on till we found it again, for we were surrounded
with beds of rotten lava through which we could easily break and plunge
down a thousand feet. I thought eight hundred would answer for me, and
was about to say so when Marlette partly proved his statement by
accidentally crushing through and disappearing to his arm-pits.
He got out and we hunted for the path with the lantern. He said there
was only one path and that it was but vaguely defined. We could not find
it. The lava surface was all alike in the lantern light. But he was an
ingenious man. He said it was not the lantern that had informed him that
we were out of the path, but his feet. He had noticed a crisp grinding
of fine lava-needles under his feet, and some instinct reminded him that
in the path these were all worn away. So he put the lantern behind him,
and began to search with his boots instead of his eyes. It was good
sagacity. The first time his foot touched a surface that did not grind
under it he announced that the trail was found again; and after that we
kept up a sharp listening for the rasping sound and it always warned us
in time.
It was a long tramp, but an exciting one. We reached the North Lake
between ten and eleven o'clock, and sat down on a huge overhanging lava-
shelf, tired but satisfied. The spectacle presented was worth coming
double the distance to see. Under us, and stretching away before us, was
a heaving sea of molten fire of seemingly limitless extent. The glare
from it was so blinding that it was some time before we could bear to
look upon it steadily.
It was like gazing at the sun at noon-day, except that the glare was not
quite so white. At unequal distances all around the shores of the lake
were nearly white-hot chimneys or hollow drums of lava, four or five feet
high, and up through them were bursting gorgeous sprays of lava-gouts and
gem spangles, some white, some red and some golden--a ceaseless
bombardment, and one that fascinated the eye with its unapproachable
splendor. The mere distant jets, sparkling up through an intervening
gossamer veil of vapor, seemed miles away; and the further the curving
ranks of fiery fountains receded, the more fairy-like and beautiful they
appeared.
Now and then the surging bosom of the lake under our noses would calm
down ominously and seem to be gathering strength for an enterprise; and
then all of a sudden a red dome of lava of the bulk of an ordinary
dwelling would heave itself aloft like an escaping balloon, then burst
asunder, and out of its heart would flit a pale-green film of vapor, and
float upward and vanish in the darkness--a released soul soaring homeward
from captivity with the damned, no doubt. The crashing plunge of the
ruined dome into the lake again would send a world of seething billows
lashing against the shores and shaking the foundations of our perch. By
and by, a loosened mass of the hanging shelf we sat on tumbled into the
lake, jarring the surroundings like an earthquake and delivering a
suggestion that may have been intended for a hint, and may not. We did
not wait to see.
We got lost again on our way back, and were more than an hour hunting for
the path. We were where we could see the beacon lantern at the look-out
house at the time, but thought it was a star and paid no attention to it.
We reached the hotel at two o'clock in the morning pretty well fagged
out.
Kilauea never overflows its vast crater, but bursts a passage for its
lava through the mountain side when relief is necessary, and then the
destruction is fearful. About 1840 it rent its overburdened stomach and
sent a broad river of fire careering down to the sea, which swept away
forests, huts, plantations and every thing else that lay in its path.
The stream was five miles broad, in places, and two hundred feet deep,
and the distance it traveled was forty miles. It tore up and bore away
acre-patches of land on its bosom like rafts--rocks, trees and all
intact. At night the red glare was visible a hundred miles at sea; and
at a distance of forty miles fine print could be read at midnight. The
atmosphere was poisoned with sulphurous vapors and choked with falling
ashes, pumice stones and cinders; countless columns of smoke rose up and
blended together in a tumbled canopy that hid the heavens and glowed with
a ruddy flush reflected from the fires below; here and there jets of lava
sprung hundreds of feet into the air and burst into rocket-sprays that
returned to earth in a crimson rain; and all the while the laboring
mountain shook with Nature's great palsy and voiced its distress in
moanings and the muffled booming of subterranean thunders.
Fishes were killed for twenty miles along the shore, where the lava
entered the sea. The earthquakes caused some loss of human life, and a
prodigious tidal wave swept inland, carrying every thing before it and
drowning a number of natives. The devastation consummated along the
route traversed by the river of lava was complete and incalculable. Only
a Pompeii and a Herculaneum were needed at the foot of Kilauea to make
the story of the irruption immortal.
CHAPTER LXXVI.
We rode horseback all around the island of Hawaii (the crooked road
making the distance two hundred miles), and enjoyed the journey very
much. We were more than a week making the trip, because our Kanaka
horses would not go by a house or a hut without stopping--whip and spur
could not alter their minds about it, and so we finally found that it
economized time to let them have their way. Upon inquiry the mystery was
explained: the natives are such thorough-going gossips that they never
pass a house without stopping to swap news, and consequently their horses
learn to regard that sort of thing as an essential part of the whole duty
of man, and his salvation not to be compassed without it. However, at a
former crisis of my life I had once taken an aristocratic young lady out
driving, behind a horse that had just retired from a long and honorable
career as the moving impulse of a milk wagon, and so this present
experience awoke a reminiscent sadness in me in place of the exasperation
more natural to the occasion. I remembered how helpless I was that day,
and how humiliated; how ashamed I was of having intimated to the girl
that I had always owned the horse and was accustomed to grandeur; how
hard I tried to appear easy, and even vivacious, under suffering that was
consuming my vitals; how placidly and maliciously the girl smiled, and
kept on smiling, while my hot blushes baked themselves into a permanent
blood-pudding in my face; how the horse ambled from one side of the
street to the other and waited complacently before every third house two
minutes and a quarter while I belabored his back and reviled him in my
heart; how I tried to keep him from turning corners and failed; how I
moved heaven and earth to get him out of town, and did not succeed; how
he traversed the entire settlement and delivered imaginary milk at a
hundred and sixty-two different domiciles, and how he finally brought up
at a dairy depot and refused to budge further, thus rounding and
completing the revealment of what the plebeian service of his life had
been; how, in eloquent silence, I walked the girl home, and how, when I
took leave of her, her parting remark scorched my soul and appeared to
blister me all over: she said that my horse was a fine, capable animal,
and I must have taken great comfort in him in my time--but that if I
would take along some milk-tickets next time, and appear to deliver them
at the various halting places, it might expedite his movements a little.
There was a coolness between us after that.
In one place in the island of Hawaii, we saw a laced and ruffled cataract
of limpid water leaping from a sheer precipice fifteen hundred feet high;
but that sort of scenery finds its stanchest ally in the arithmetic
rather than in spectacular effect. If one desires to be so stirred by a
poem of Nature wrought in the happily commingled graces of picturesque
rocks, glimpsed distances, foliage, color, shifting lights and shadows,
and failing water, that the tears almost come into his eyes so potent is
the charm exerted, he need not go away from America to enjoy such an
experience. The Rainbow Fall, in Watkins Glen (N.Y.), on the Erie
railway, is an example. It would recede into pitiable insignificance if
the callous tourist drew on arithmetic on it; but left to compete for the
honors simply on scenic grace and beauty--the grand, the august and the
sublime being barred the contest--it could challenge the old world and
the new to produce its peer.
In one locality, on our journey, we saw some horses that had been born
and reared on top of the mountains, above the range of running water, and
consequently they had never drank that fluid in their lives, but had been
always accustomed to quenching their thirst by eating dew-laden or
shower-wetted leaves. And now it was destructively funny to see them
sniff suspiciously at a pail of water, and then put in their noses and
try to take a bite out of the fluid, as if it were a solid. Finding it
liquid, they would snatch away their heads and fall to trembling,
snorting and showing other evidences of fright. When they became
convinced at last that the water was friendly and harmless, they thrust
in their noses up to their eyes, brought out a mouthful of water, and
proceeded to chew it complacently. We saw a man coax, kick and spur one
of them five or ten minutes before he could make it cross a running
stream. It spread its nostrils, distended its eyes and trembled all
over, just as horses customarily do in the presence of a serpent--and for
aught I know it thought the crawling stream was a serpent.
In due course of time our journey came to an end at Kawaehae (usually
pronounced To-a-hi--and before we find fault with this elaborate
orthographical method of arriving at such an unostentatious result, let
us lop off the ugh from our word "though"). I made this horseback trip
on a mule. I paid ten dollars for him at Kau (Kah-oo), added four to get
him shod, rode him two hundred miles, and then sold him for fifteen
dollars. I mark the circumstance with a white stone (in the absence of
chalk--for I never saw a white stone that a body could mark anything
with, though out of respect for the ancients I have tried it often
enough); for up to that day and date it was the first strictly commercial
transaction I had ever entered into, and come out winner. We returned to
Honolulu, and from thence sailed to the island of Maui, and spent several
weeks there very pleasantly. I still remember, with a sense of indolent
luxury, a picnicing excursion up a romantic gorge there, called the Iao
Valley. The trail lay along the edge of a brawling stream in the bottom
of the gorge--a shady route, for it was well roofed with the verdant
domes of forest trees. Through openings in the foliage we glimpsed
picturesque scenery that revealed ceaseless changes and new charms with
every step of our progress. Perpendicular walls from one to three
thousand feet high guarded the way, and were sumptuously plumed with
varied foliage, in places, and in places swathed in waving ferns.
Passing shreds of cloud trailed their shadows across these shining
fronts, mottling them with blots; billowy masses of white vapor hid the
turreted summits, and far above the vapor swelled a background of
gleaming green crags and cones that came and went, through the veiling
mists, like islands drifting in a fog; sometimes the cloudy curtain
descended till half the canon wall was hidden, then shredded gradually
away till only airy glimpses of the ferny front appeared through it--then
swept aloft and left it glorified in the sun again. Now and then, as our
position changed, rocky bastions swung out from the wall, a mimic ruin of
castellated ramparts and crumbling towers clothed with mosses and hung
with garlands of swaying vines, and as we moved on they swung back again
and hid themselves once more in the foliage. Presently a verdure-clad
needle of stone, a thousand feet high, stepped out from behind a corner,
and mounted guard over the mysteries of the valley. It seemed to me that
if Captain Cook needed a monument, here was one ready made--therefore,
why not put up his sign here, and sell out the venerable cocoanut stump?
But the chief pride of Maui is her dead volcano of Haleakala--which
means, translated, "the house of the sun." We climbed a thousand feet up
the side of this isolated colossus one afternoon; then camped, and next
day climbed the remaining nine thousand feet, and anchored on the summit,
where we built a fire and froze and roasted by turns, all night. With
the first pallor of dawn we got up and saw things that were new to us.
Mounted on a commanding pinnacle, we watched Nature work her silent
wonders. The sea was spread abroad on every hand, its tumbled surface
seeming only wrinkled and dimpled in the distance. A broad valley below
appeared like an ample checker-board, its velvety green sugar plantations
alternating with dun squares of barrenness and groves of trees diminished
to mossy tufts. Beyond the valley were mountains picturesquely grouped
together; but bear in mind, we fancied that we were looking up at these
things--not down. We seemed to sit in the bottom of a symmetrical bowl
ten thousand feet deep, with the valley and the skirting sea lifted away
into the sky above us! It was curious; and not only curious, but
aggravating; for it was having our trouble all for nothing, to climb ten
thousand feet toward heaven and then have to look up at our scenery.
However, we had to be content with it and make the best of it; for, all
we could do we could not coax our landscape down out of the clouds.
Formerly, when I had read an article in which Poe treated of this
singular fraud perpetrated upon the eye by isolated great altitudes,
I had looked upon the matter as an invention of his own fancy.
I have spoken of the outside view--but we had an inside one, too. That
was the yawning dead crater, into which we now and then tumbled rocks,
half as large as a barrel, from our perch, and saw them go careering down
the almost perpendicular sides, bounding three hundred feet at a jump;
kicking up cast-clouds wherever they struck; diminishing to our view as
they sped farther into distance; growing invisible, finally, and only
betraying their course by faint little puffs of dust; and coming to a
halt at last in the bottom of the abyss, two thousand five hundred feet
down from where they started! It was magnificent sport. We wore
ourselves out at it.
The crater of Vesuvius, as I have before remarked, is a modest pit about
a thousand feet deep and three thousand in circumference; that of Kilauea
is somewhat deeper, and ten miles in circumference. But what are either
of them compared to the vacant stomach of Haleakala? I will not offer
any figures of my own, but give official ones--those of Commander Wilkes,
U.S.N., who surveyed it and testifies that it is twenty-seven miles in
circumference! If it had a level bottom it would make a fine site for a
city like London. It must have afforded a spectacle worth contemplating
in the old days when its furnaces gave full rein to their anger.
Presently vagrant white clouds came drifting along, high over the sea and
the valley; then they came in couples and groups; then in imposing
squadrons; gradually joining their forces, they banked themselves solidly
together, a thousand feet under us, and totally shut out land and ocean--
not a vestige of anything was left in view but just a little of the rim
of the crater, circling away from the pinnacle whereon we sat (for a
ghostly procession of wanderers from the filmy hosts without had drifted
through a chasm in the crater wall and filed round and round, and
gathered and sunk and blended together till the abyss was stored to the
brim with a fleecy fog). Thus banked, motion ceased, and silence
reigned. Clear to the horizon, league on league, the snowy floor
stretched without a break--not level, but in rounded folds, with shallow
creases between, and with here and there stately piles of vapory
architecture lifting themselves aloft out of the common plain--some near
at hand, some in the middle distances, and others relieving the monotony
of the remote solitudes. There was little conversation, for the
impressive scene overawed speech. I felt like the Last Man, neglected of
the judgment, and left pinnacled in mid-heaven, a forgotten relic of a
vanished world.
While the hush yet brooded, the messengers of the coming resurrection
appeared in the East. A growing warmth suffused the horizon, and soon
the sun emerged and looked out over the cloud-waste, flinging bars of
ruddy light across it, staining its folds and billow-caps with blushes,
purpling the shaded troughs between, and glorifying the massy vapor-
palaces and cathedrals with a wasteful splendor of all blendings and
combinations of rich coloring.
It was the sublimest spectacle I ever witnessed, and I think the memory
of it will remain with me always.
CHAPTER LXXVII.
I stumbled upon one curious character in the Island of Mani. He became a
sore annoyance to me in the course of time. My first glimpse of him was
in a sort of public room in the town of Lahaina. He occupied a chair at
the opposite side of the apartment, and sat eyeing our party with
interest for some minutes, and listening as critically to what we were
saying as if he fancied we were talking to him and expecting him to
reply. I thought it very sociable in a stranger. Presently, in the
course of conversation, I made a statement bearing upon the subject under
discussion--and I made it with due modesty, for there was nothing
extraordinary about it, and it was only put forth in illustration of a
point at issue. I had barely finished when this person spoke out with
rapid utterance and feverish anxiety:
"Oh, that was certainly remarkable, after a fashion, but you ought to
have seen my chimney--you ought to have seen my chimney, sir! Smoke!
I wish I may hang if--Mr. Jones, you remember that chimney--you must
remember that chimney! No, no--I recollect, now, you warn't living on
this side of the island then. But I am telling you nothing but the
truth, and I wish I may never draw another breath if that chimney didn't
smoke so that the smoke actually got caked in it and I had to dig it out
with a pickaxe! You may smile, gentlemen, but the High Sheriff's got a
hunk of it which I dug out before his eyes, and so it's perfectly easy
for you to go and examine for yourselves."
The interruption broke up the conversation, which had already begun to
lag, and we presently hired some natives and an out-rigger canoe or two,
and went out to overlook a grand surf-bathing contest.
Two weeks after this, while talking in a company, I looked up and
detected this same man boring through and through me with his intense
eye, and noted again his twitching muscles and his feverish anxiety to
speak. The moment I paused, he said:
"Beg your pardon, sir, beg your pardon, but it can only be considered
remarkable when brought into strong outline by isolation. Sir,
contrasted with a circumstance which occurred in my own experience, it
instantly becomes commonplace. No, not that--for I will not speak so
discourteously of any experience in the career of a stranger and a
gentleman--but I am obliged to say that you could not, and you would not
ever again refer to this tree as a large one, if you could behold, as I
have, the great Yakmatack tree, in the island of Ounaska, sea of
Kamtchatka--a tree, sir, not one inch less than four hundred and fifteen
feet in solid diameter!--and I wish I may die in a minute if it isn't so!
Oh, you needn't look so questioning, gentlemen; here's old Cap Saltmarsh
can say whether I know what I'm talking about or not. I showed him the
tree."
Captain Saltmarsh--"Come, now, cat your anchor, lad--you're heaving too
taut. You promised to show me that stunner, and I walked more than
eleven mile with you through the cussedest jungle I ever see, a hunting
for it; but the tree you showed me finally warn't as big around as a beer
cask, and you know that your own self, Markiss."
"Hear the man talk! Of course the tree was reduced that way, but didn't
I explain it? Answer me, didn't I? Didn't I say I wished you could have
seen it when I first saw it? When you got up on your ear and called me
names, and said I had brought you eleven miles to look at a sapling,
didn't I explain to you that all the whale-ships in the North Seas had
been wooding off of it for more than twenty-seven years? And did you
s'pose the tree could last for-ever, con-found it? I don't see why you
want to keep back things that way, and try to injure a person that's
never done you any harm."
Somehow this man's presence made me uncomfortable, and I was glad when a
native arrived at that moment to say that Muckawow, the most
companionable and luxurious among the rude war-chiefs of the Islands,
desired us to come over and help him enjoy a missionary whom he had found
trespassing on his grounds.
I think it was about ten days afterward that, as I finished a statement I
was making for the instruction of a group of friends and acquaintances,
and which made no pretence of being extraordinary, a familiar voice
chimed instantly in on the heels of my last word, and said:
"But, my dear sir, there was nothing remarkable about that horse, or the
circumstance either--nothing in the world! I mean no sort of offence
when I say it, sir, but you really do not know anything whatever about
speed. Bless your heart, if you could only have seen my mare Margaretta;
there was a beast!--there was lightning for you! Trot! Trot is no name
for it--she flew! How she could whirl a buggy along! I started her out
once, sir--Colonel Bilgewater, you recollect that animal perfectly well--
I started her out about thirty or thirty-five yards ahead of the
awfullest storm I ever saw in my life, and it chased us upwards of
eighteen miles! It did, by the everlasting hills! And I'm telling you
nothing but the unvarnished truth when I say that not one single drop of
rain fell on me--not a single drop, sir! And I swear to it! But my dog
was a-swimming behind the wagon all the way!"
For a week or two I stayed mostly within doors, for I seemed to meet this
person everywhere, and he had become utterly hateful to me. But one
evening I dropped in on Captain Perkins and his friends, and we had a
sociable time. About ten o'clock I chanced to be talking about a
merchant friend of mine, and without really intending it, the remark
slipped out that he was a little mean and parsimonious about paying his
workmen. Instantly, through the steam of a hot whiskey punch on the
opposite side of the room, a remembered voice shot--and for a moment I
trembled on the imminent verge of profanity:
"Oh, my dear sir, really you expose yourself when you parade that as a
surprising circumstance. Bless your heart and hide, you are ignorant of
the very A B C of meanness! ignorant as the unborn babe! ignorant as
unborn twins! You don't know anything about it! It is pitiable to see
you, sir, a well-spoken and prepossessing stranger, making such an
enormous pow-wow here about a subject concerning which your ignorance is
perfectly humiliating! Look me in the eye, if you please; look me in the
eye. John James Godfrey was the son of poor but honest parents in the
State of Mississippi--boyhood friend of mine--bosom comrade in later
years. Heaven rest his noble spirit, he is gone from us now. John James
Godfrey was hired by the Hayblossom Mining Company in California to do
some blasting for them--the "Incorporated Company of Mean Men," the boys
used to call it.
Well, one day he drilled a hole about four feet deep and put in an awful
blast of powder, and was standing over it ramming it down with an iron
crowbar about nine foot long, when the cussed thing struck a spark and
fired the powder, and scat! away John Godfrey whizzed like a skyrocket,
him and his crowbar! Well, sir, he kept on going up in the air higher
and higher, till he didn't look any bigger than a boy--and he kept going
on up higher and higher, till he didn't look any bigger than a doll--and
he kept on going up higher and higher, till he didn't look any bigger
than a little small bee--and then he went out of sight! Presently he
came in sight again, looking like a little small bee--and he came along
down further and further, till he looked as big as a doll again--and down
further and further, till he was as big as a boy again--and further and
further, till he was a full-sized man once more; and then him and his
crowbar came a wh-izzing down and lit right exactly in the same old
tracks and went to r-ramming down, and r-ramming down, and r-ramming down
again, just the same as if nothing had happened! Now do you know, that
poor cuss warn't gone only sixteen minutes, and yet that Incorporated
Company of Mean Men DOCKED HIM FOR THE LOST TIME!"
I said I had the headache, and so excused myself and went home. And on
my diary I entered "another night spoiled" by this offensive loafer.
And a fervent curse was set down with it to keep the item company. And
the very next day I packed up, out of all patience, and left the Island.
Almost from the very beginning, I regarded that man as a liar.
The line of points represents an interval of years. At the end of which
time the opinion hazarded in that last sentence came to be gratifyingly
and remarkably endorsed, and by wholly disinterested persons. The man
Markiss was found one morning hanging to a beam of his own bedroom (the
doors and windows securely fastened on the inside), dead; and on his
breast was pinned a paper in his own handwriting begging his friends to
suspect no innocent person of having any thing to do with his death, for
that it was the work of his own hands entirely. Yet the jury brought in
the astounding verdict that deceased came to his death "by the hands of
some person or persons unknown!" They explained that the perfectly
undeviating consistency of Markiss's character for thirty years towered
aloft as colossal and indestructible testimony, that whatever statement
he chose to make was entitled to instant and unquestioning acceptance as
a lie. And they furthermore stated their belief that he was not dead,
and instanced the strong circumstantial evidence of his own word that he
was dead--and beseeched the coroner to delay the funeral as long as
possible, which was done. And so in the tropical climate of Lahaina the
coffin stood open for seven days, and then even the loyal jury gave him
up. But they sat on him again, and changed their verdict to "suicide
induced by mental aberration"--because, said they, with penetration, "he
said he was dead, and he was dead; and would he have told the truth if he
had been in his right mind? No, sir."
CHAPTER LXXVIII.
After half a year's luxurious vagrancy in the islands, I took shipping in
a sailing vessel, and regretfully returned to San Francisco--a voyage in
every way delightful, but without an incident: unless lying two long
weeks in a dead calm, eighteen hundred miles from the nearest land, may
rank as an incident. Schools of whales grew so tame that day after day
they played about the ship among the porpoises and the sharks without the
least apparent fear of us, and we pelted them with empty bottles for lack
of better sport. Twenty-four hours afterward these bottles would be
still lying on the glassy water under our noses, showing that the ship
had not moved out of her place in all that time. The calm was absolutely
breathless, and the surface of the sea absolutely without a wrinkle.
For a whole day and part of a night we lay so close to another ship that
had drifted to our vicinity, that we carried on conversations with her
passengers, introduced each other by name, and became pretty intimately
acquainted with people we had never heard of before, and have never heard
of since. This was the only vessel we saw during the whole lonely
voyage. We had fifteen passengers, and to show how hard pressed they
were at last for occupation and amusement, I will mention that the
gentlemen gave a good part of their time every day, during the calm, to
trying to sit on an empty champagne bottle (lying on its side), and
thread a needle without touching their heels to the deck, or falling
over; and the ladies sat in the shade of the mainsail, and watched the
enterprise with absorbing interest. We were at sea five Sundays; and
yet, but for the almanac, we never would have known but that all the
other days were Sundays too.
I was home again, in San Francisco, without means and without employment.
I tortured my brain for a saving scheme of some kind, and at last a
public lecture occurred to me! I sat down and wrote one, in a fever of
hopeful anticipation. I showed it to several friends, but they all shook
their heads. They said nobody would come to hear me, and I would make a
humiliating failure of it.
They said that as I had never spoken in public, I would break down in the
delivery, anyhow. I was disconsolate now. But at last an editor slapped
me on the back and told me to "go ahead." He said, "Take the largest
house in town, and charge a dollar a ticket." The audacity of the
proposition was charming; it seemed fraught with practical worldly
wisdom, however. The proprietor of the several theatres endorsed the
advice, and said I might have his handsome new opera-house at half price
--fifty dollars. In sheer desperation I took it--on credit, for
sufficient reasons. In three days I did a hundred and fifty dollars'
worth of printing and advertising, and was the most distressed and
frightened creature on the Pacific coast. I could not sleep--who could,
under such circumstances? For other people there was facetiousness in
the last line of my posters, but to me it was plaintive with a pang when
I wrote it:
"Doors open at 7 1/2. The trouble will begin at 8."
That line has done good service since. Showmen have borrowed it
frequently. I have even seen it appended to a newspaper advertisement
reminding school pupils in vacation what time next term would begin. As
those three days of suspense dragged by, I grew more and more unhappy.
I had sold two hundred tickets among my personal friends, but I feared
they might not come. My lecture, which had seemed "humorous" to me, at
first, grew steadily more and more dreary, till not a vestige of fun
seemed left, and I grieved that I could not bring a coffin on the stage
and turn the thing into a funeral. I was so panic-stricken, at last,
that I went to three old friends, giants in stature, cordial by nature,
and stormy-voiced, and said:
"This thing is going to be a failure; the jokes in it are so dim that
nobody will ever see them; I would like to have you sit in the parquette,
and help me through."
They said they would. Then I went to the wife of a popular citizen, and
said that if she was willing to do me a very great kindness, I would be
glad if she and her husband would sit prominently in the left-hand stage-
box, where the whole house could see them. I explained that I should
need help, and would turn toward her and smile, as a signal, when I had
been delivered of an obscure joke--"and then," I added, "don't wait to
investigate, but respond!"
She promised. Down the street I met a man I never had seen before. He
had been drinking, and was beaming with smiles and good nature. He said:
"My name's Sawyer. You don't know me, but that don't matter. I haven't
got a cent, but if you knew how bad I wanted to laugh, you'd give me a
ticket. Come, now, what do you say?"
"Is your laugh hung on a hair-trigger?--that is, is it critical, or can
you get it off easy?"
My drawling infirmity of speech so affected him that he laughed a
specimen or two that struck me as being about the article I wanted, and I
gave him a ticket, and appointed him to sit in the second circle, in the
centre, and be responsible for that division of the house. I gave him
minute instructions about how to detect indistinct jokes, and then went
away, and left him chuckling placidly over the novelty of the idea.
I ate nothing on the last of the three eventful days--I only suffered.
I had advertised that on this third day the box-office would be opened
for the sale of reserved seats. I crept down to the theater at four in
the afternoon to see if any sales had been made. The ticket seller was
gone, the box-office was locked up. I had to swallow suddenly, or my
heart would have got out. "No sales," I said to myself; "I might have
known it." I thought of suicide, pretended illness, flight. I thought
of these things in earnest, for I was very miserable and scared. But of
course I had to drive them away, and prepare to meet my fate. I could
not wait for half-past seven--I wanted to face the horror, and end it--
the feeling of many a man doomed to hang, no doubt. I went down back
streets at six o'clock, and entered the theatre by the back door.
I stumbled my way in the dark among the ranks of canvas scenery, and
stood on the stage. The house was gloomy and silent, and its emptiness
depressing. I went into the dark among the scenes again, and for an hour
and a half gave myself up to the horrors, wholly unconscious of
everything else. Then I heard a murmur; it rose higher and higher, and
ended in a crash, mingled with cheers. It made my hair raise, it was so
close to me, and so loud.
There was a pause, and then another; presently came a third, and before I
well knew what I was about, I was in the middle of the stage, staring at
a sea of faces, bewildered by the fierce glare of the lights, and quaking
in every limb with a terror that seemed like to take my life away. The
house was full, aisles and all!
The tummult in my heart and brain and legs continued a full minute before
I could gain any command over myself. Then I recognized the charity and
the friendliness in the faces before me, and little by little my fright
melted away, and I began to talk Within three or four minutes I was
comfortable, and even content. My three chief allies, with three
auxiliaries, were on hand, in the parquette, all sitting together, all
armed with bludgeons, and all ready to make an onslaught upon the
feeblest joke that might show its head. And whenever a joke did fall,
their bludgeons came down and their faces seemed to split from ear to
ear.
Sawyer, whose hearty countenance was seen looming redly in the centre of
the second circle, took it up, and the house was carried handsomely.
Inferior jokes never fared so royally before. Presently I delivered a
bit of serious matter with impressive unction (it was my pet), and the
audience listened with an absorbed hush that gratified me more than any
applause; and as I dropped the last word of the clause, I happened to
turn and catch Mrs.--'s intent and waiting eye; my conversation with her
flashed upon me, and in spite of all I could do I smiled. She took it
for the signal, and promptly delivered a mellow laugh that touched off
the whole audience; and the explosion that followed was the triumph of
the evening. I thought that that honest man Sawyer would choke himself;
and as for the bludgeons, they performed like pile-drivers. But my poor
little morsel of pathos was ruined. It was taken in good faith as an
intentional joke, and the prize one of the entertainment, and I wisely
let it go at that.
All the papers were kind in the morning; my appetite returned; I had a
abundance of money. All's well that ends well.
CHAPTER LXXIX.
I launched out as a lecturer, now, with great boldness. I had the field
all to myself, for public lectures were almost an unknown commodity in
the Pacific market. They are not so rare, now, I suppose. I took an old
personal friend along to play agent for me, and for two or three weeks we
roamed through Nevada and California and had a very cheerful time of it.
Two days before I lectured in Virginia City, two stagecoaches were robbed
within two miles of the town. The daring act was committed just at dawn,
by six masked men, who sprang up alongside the coaches, presented
revolvers at the heads of the drivers and passengers, and commanded a
general dismount. Everybody climbed down, and the robbers took their
watches and every cent they had. Then they took gunpowder and blew up
the express specie boxes and got their contents. The leader of the
robbers was a small, quick-spoken man, and the fame of his vigorous
manner and his intrepidity was in everybody's mouth when we arrived.
The night after instructing Virginia, I walked over the desolate "divide"
and down to Gold Hill, and lectured there. The lecture done, I stopped
to talk with a friend, and did not start back till eleven. The "divide"
was high, unoccupied ground, between the towns, the scene of twenty
midnight murders and a hundred robberies. As we climbed up and stepped
out on this eminence, the Gold Hill lights dropped out of sight at our
backs, and the night closed down gloomy and dismal. A sharp wind swept
the place, too, and chilled our perspiring bodies through.
"I tell you I don't like this place at night," said Mike the agent.
"Well, don't speak so loud," I said. "You needn't remind anybody that we
are here."
Just then a dim figure approached me from the direction of Virginia--a
man, evidently. He came straight at me, and I stepped aside to let him
pass; he stepped in the way and confronted me again. Then I saw that he
had a mask on and was holding something in my face--I heard a click-click
and recognized a revolver in dim outline. I pushed the barrel aside with
my hand and said:
"Don't!"
He ejaculated sharply:
"Your watch! Your money!"
I said:
"You can have them with pleasure--but take the pistol away from my face,
please. It makes me shiver."
"No remarks! Hand out your money!"
"Certainly--I--"
"Put up your hands! Don't you go for a weapon! Put 'em up! Higher!"
I held them above my head.
A pause. Then:
"Are you going to hand out your money or not?"
I dropped my hands to my pockets and said:
Certainly! I--"
"Put up your hands ! Do you want your head blown off? Higher!"
I put them above my head again.
Another pause.
Are you going to hand out your money or not? Ah-ah--again? Put up your
hands! By George, you want the head shot off you awful bad!"
"Well, friend, I'm trying my best to please you. You tell me to give up
my money, and when I reach for it you tell me to put up my hands. If you
would only--. Oh, now--don't! All six of you at me! That other man
will get away while.--Now please take some of those revolvers out of my
face--do, if you please! Every time one of them clicks, my liver comes
up into my throat! If you have a mother--any of you--or if any of you
have ever had a mother--or a--grandmother--or a--"
"Cheese it! Will you give up your money, or have we got to--. There--
there--none of that! Put up your hands!"
"Gentlemen--I know you are gentlemen by your--"
"Silence! If you want to be facetious, young man, there are times and
places more fitting. This is a serious business."
"You prick the marrow of my opinion. The funerals I have attended in my
time were comedies compared to it. Now I think--"
"Curse your palaver! Your money!--your money!--your money! Hold!--put
up your hands!"
"Gentlemen, listen to reason. You see how I am situated--now don't put
those pistols so close--I smell the powder.
You see how I am situated. If I had four hands--so that I could hold up
two and--"
"Throttle him! Gag him! Kill him!"
"Gentlemen, don't! Nobody's watching the other fellow. Why don't some
of you--. Ouch! Take it away, please!
Gentlemen, you see that I've got to hold up my hands; and so I can't take
out my money--but if you'll be so kind as to take it out for me, I will
do as much for you some--"
"Search him Beauregard--and stop his jaw with a bullet, quick, if he wags
it again. Help Beauregard, Stonewall."
Then three of them, with the small, spry leader, adjourned to Mike and
fell to searching him. I was so excited that my lawless fancy tortured
me to ask my two men all manner of facetious questions about their rebel
brother-generals of the South, but, considering the order they had
received, it was but common prudence to keep still. When everything had
been taken from me,--watch, money, and a multitude of trifles of small
value,--I supposed I was free, and forthwith put my cold hands into my
empty pockets and began an inoffensive jig to warm my feet and stir up
some latent courage--but instantly all pistols were at my head, and the
order came again:
They stood Mike up alongside of me, with strict orders to keep his hands
above his head, too, and then the chief highwayman said:
"Beauregard, hide behind that boulder; Phil Sheridan, you hide behind
that other one; Stonewall Jackson, put yourself behind that sage-bush
there. Keep your pistols bearing on these fellows, and if they take down
their hands within ten minutes, or move a single peg, let them have it!"
Then three disappeared in the gloom toward the several ambushes, and the
other three disappeared down the road toward Virginia.
It was depressingly still, and miserably cold. Now this whole thing was
a practical joke, and the robbers were personal friends of ours in
disguise, and twenty more lay hidden within ten feet of us during the
whole operation, listening. Mike knew all this, and was in the joke, but
I suspected nothing of it. To me it was most uncomfortably genuine.
When we had stood there in the middle of the road five minutes, like a
couple of idiots, with our hands aloft, freezing to death by inches,
Mike's interest in the joke began to wane. He said:
"The time's up, now, aint it?"
"No, you keep still. Do you want to take any chances with these bloody
savages?"
Presently Mike said:
"Now the time's up, anyway. I'm freezing."
"Well freeze. Better freeze than carry your brains home in a basket.
Maybe the time is up, but how do we know?--got no watch to tell by.
I mean to give them good measure. I calculate to stand here fifteen
minutes or die. Don't you move."
So, without knowing it, I was making one joker very sick of his contract.
When we took our arms down at last, they were aching with cold and
fatigue, and when we went sneaking off, the dread I was in that the time
might not yet be up and that we would feel bullets in a moment, was not
sufficient to draw all my attention from the misery that racked my
stiffened body.
The joke of these highwayman friends of ours was mainly a joke upon
themselves; for they had waited for me on the cold hill-top two full
hours before I came, and there was very little fun in that; they were so
chilled that it took them a couple of weeks to get warm again. Moreover,
I never had a thought that they would kill me to get money which it was
so perfectly easy to get without any such folly, and so they did not
really frighten me bad enough to make their enjoyment worth the trouble
they had taken. I was only afraid that their weapons would go off
accidentally. Their very numbers inspired me with confidence that no
blood would be intentionally spilled. They were not smart; they ought to
have sent only one highwayman, with a double-barrelled shot gun, if they
desired to see the author of this volume climb a tree.
However, I suppose that in the long run I got the largest share of the
joke at last; and in a shape not foreseen by the highwaymen; for the
chilly exposure on the "divide" while I was in a perspiration gave me a
cold which developed itself into a troublesome disease and kept my hands
idle some three months, besides costing me quite a sum in doctor's bills.
Since then I play no practical jokes on people and generally lose my
temper when one is played upon me.
When I returned to San Francisco I projected a pleasure journey to Japan
and thence westward around the world; but a desire to see home again
changed my mind, and I took a berth in the steamship, bade good-bye to
the friendliest land and livest, heartiest community on our continent,
and came by the way of the Isthmus to New York--a trip that was not much
of a pic-nic excursion, for the cholera broke out among us on the passage
and we buried two or three bodies at sea every day. I found home a
dreary place after my long absence; for half the children I had known
were now wearing whiskers or waterfalls, and few of the grown people I
had been acquainted with remained at their hearthstones prosperous and
happy--some of them had wandered to other scenes, some were in jail, and
the rest had been hanged. These changes touched me deeply, and I went
away and joined the famous Quaker City European Excursion and carried my
tears to foreign lands.
Thus, after seven years of vicissitudes, ended a "pleasure trip" to the
silver mines of Nevada which had originally been intended to occupy only
three months. However, I usually miss my calculations further than that.
MORAL.
If the reader thinks he is done, now, and that this book has no moral to
it, he is in error. The moral of it is this: If you are of any account,
stay at home and make your way by faithful diligence; but if you are "no
account," go away from home, and then you will have to work, whether you
want to or not. Thus you become a blessing to your friends by ceasing to
be a nuisance to them--if the people you go among suffer by the
operation.
APPENDIX. A.
BRIEF SKETCH OF MORMON HISTORY.
Mormonism is only about forty years old, but its career has been full of
stir and adventure from the beginning, and is likely to remain so to the
end. Its adherents have been hunted and hounded from one end of the
country to the other, and the result is that for years they have hated
all "Gentiles" indiscriminately and with all their might. Joseph Smith,
the finder of the Book of Mormon and founder of the religion, was driven
from State to State with his mysterious copperplates and the miraculous
stones he read their inscriptions with. Finally he instituted his
"church" in Ohio and Brigham Young joined it. The neighbors began to
persecute, and apostasy commenced. Brigham held to the faith and worked
hard. He arrested desertion. He did more--he added converts in the
midst of the trouble. He rose in favor and importance with the brethren.
He was made one of the Twelve Apostles of the Church. He shortly fought
his way to a higher post and a more powerful--President of the Twelve.
The neighbors rose up and drove the Mormons out of Ohio, and they settled
in Missouri. Brigham went with them. The Missourians drove them out and
they retreated to Nauvoo, Illinois. They prospered there, and built a
temple which made some pretensions to architectural grace and achieved
some celebrity in a section of country where a brick court-house with a
tin dome and a cupola on it was contemplated with reverential awe.
But the Mormons were badgered and harried again by their neighbors.
All the proclamations Joseph Smith could issue denouncing polygamy and
repudiating it as utterly anti-Mormon were of no avail; the people of the
neighborhood, on both sides of the Mississippi, claimed that polygamy was
practised by the Mormons, and not only polygamy but a little of
everything that was bad. Brigham returned from a mission to England,
where he had established a Mormon newspaper, and he brought back with him
several hundred converts to his preaching. His influence among the
brethren augmented with every move he made. Finally Nauvoo was invaded
by the Missouri and Illinois Gentiles, and Joseph Smith killed. A Mormon
named Rigdon assumed the Presidency of the Mormon church and government,
in Smith's place, and even tried his hand at a prophecy or two. But a
greater than he was at hand. Brigham seized the advantage of the hour
and without other authority than superior brain and nerve and will,
hurled Rigdon from his high place and occupied it himself. He did more.
He launched an elaborate curse at Rigdon and his disciples; and he
pronounced Rigdon's "prophecies" emanations from the devil, and ended by
"handing the false prophet over to the buffetings of Satan for a thousand
years"--probably the longest term ever inflicted in Illinois. The people
recognized their master. They straightway elected Brigham Young
President, by a prodigious majority, and have never faltered in their
devotion to him from that day to this. Brigham had forecast--a quality
which no other prominent Mormon has probably ever possessed.
He recognized that it was better to move to the wilderness than be moved.
By his command the people gathered together their meagre effects, turned
their backs upon their homes, and their faces toward the wilderness, and
on a bitter night in February filed in sorrowful procession across the
frozen Mississippi, lighted on their way by the glare from their burning
temple, whose sacred furniture their own hands had fired! They camped,
several days afterward, on the western verge of Iowa, and poverty, want,
hunger, cold, sickness, grief and persecution did their work, and many
succumbed and died--martyrs, fair and true, whatever else they might have
been. Two years the remnant remained there, while Brigham and a small
party crossed the country and founded Great Salt Lake City, purposely
choosing a land which was outside the ownership and jurisdiction of the
hated American nation. Note that. This was in 1847. Brigham moved his
people there and got them settled just in time to see disaster fall
again. For the war closed and Mexico ceded Brigham's refuge to the
enemy--the United States! In 1849 the Mormons organized a "free and
independent" government and erected the "State of Deseret," with Brigham
Young as its head. But the very next year Congress deliberately snubbed
it and created the "Territory of Utah" out of the same accumulation of
mountains, sage-brush, alkali and general desolation,--but made Brigham
Governor of it. Then for years the enormous migration across the plains
to California poured through the land of the Mormons and yet the church
remained staunch and true to its lord and master. Neither hunger,
thirst, poverty, grief, hatred, contempt, nor persecution could drive the
Mormons from their faith or their allegiance; and even the thirst for
gold, which gleaned the flower of the youth and strength of many nations
was not able to entice them! That was the final test. An experiment
that could survive that was an experiment with some substance to it
somewhere.
Great Salt Lake City throve finely, and so did Utah. One of the last
things which Brigham Young had done before leaving Iowa, was to appear in
the pulpit dressed to personate the worshipped and lamented prophet
Smith, and confer the prophetic succession, with all its dignities,
emoluments and authorities, upon "President Brigham Young!" The people
accepted the pious fraud with the maddest enthusiasm, and Brigham's power
was sealed and secured for all time. Within five years afterward he
openly added polygamy to the tenets of the church by authority of a
"revelation" which he pretended had been received nine years before by
Joseph Smith, albeit Joseph is amply on record as denouncing polygamy to
the day of his death.
Now was Brigham become a second Andrew Johnson in the small beginning and
steady progress of his official grandeur. He had served successively as
a disciple in the ranks; home missionary; foreign missionary; editor and
publisher; Apostle; President of the Board of Apostles; President of all
Mormondom, civil and ecclesiastical; successor to the great Joseph by the
will of heaven; "prophet," "seer," "revelator." There was but one
dignity higher which he could aspire to, and he reached out modestly and
took that--he proclaimed himself a God!
He claims that he is to have a heaven of his own hereafter, and that he
will be its God, and his wives and children its goddesses, princes and
princesses. Into it all faithful Mormons will be admitted, with their
families, and will take rank and consequence according to the number of
their wives and children. If a disciple dies before he has had time to
accumulate enough wives and children to enable him to be respectable in
the next world any friend can marry a few wives and raise a few children
for him after he is dead, and they are duly credited to his account and
his heavenly status advanced accordingly.
Let it be borne in mind that the majority of the Mormons have always been
ignorant, simple, of an inferior order of intellect, unacquainted with
the world and its ways; and let it be borne in mind that the wives of
these Mormons are necessarily after the same pattern and their children
likely to be fit representatives of such a conjunction; and then let it
be remembered that for forty years these creatures have been driven,
driven, driven, relentlessly! and mobbed, beaten, and shot down; cursed,
despised, expatriated; banished to a remote desert, whither they
journeyed gaunt with famine and disease, disturbing the ancient solitudes
with their lamentations and marking the long way with graves of their
dead--and all because they were simply trying to live and worship God in
the way which they believed with all their hearts and souls to be the
true one. Let all these things be borne in mind, and then it will not be
hard to account for the deathless hatred which the Mormons bear our
people and our government.
That hatred has "fed fat its ancient grudge" ever since Mormon Utah
developed into a self-supporting realm and the church waxed rich and
strong. Brigham as Territorial Governor made it plain that Mormondom was
for the Mormons. The United States tried to rectify all that by
appointing territorial officers from New England and other anti-Mormon
localities, but Brigham prepared to make their entrance into his
dominions difficult. Three thousand United States troops had to go
across the plains and put these gentlemen in office. And after they were
in office they were as helpless as so many stone images. They made laws
which nobody minded and which could not be executed. The federal judges
opened court in a land filled with crime and violence and sat as holiday
spectacles for insolent crowds to gape at--for there was nothing to try,
nothing to do nothing on the dockets! And if a Gentile brought a suit,
the Mormon jury would do just as it pleased about bringing in a verdict,
and when the judgment of the court was rendered no Mormon cared for it
and no officer could execute it. Our Presidents shipped one cargo of
officials after another to Utah, but the result was always the same--they
sat in a blight for awhile they fairly feasted on scowls and insults day
by day, they saw every attempt to do their official duties find its
reward in darker and darker looks, and in secret threats and warnings of
a more and more dismal nature--and at last they either succumbed and
became despised tools and toys of the Mormons, or got scared and
discomforted beyond all endurance and left the Territory. If a brave
officer kept on courageously till his pluck was proven, some pliant
Buchanan or Pierce would remove him and appoint a stick in his place.
In 1857 General Harney came very near being appointed Governor of Utah.
And so it came very near being Harney governor and Cradlebaugh judge!--
two men who never had any idea of fear further than the sort of murky
comprehension of it which they were enabled to gather from the
dictionary. Simply (if for nothing else) for the variety they would have
made in a rather monotonous history of Federal servility and
helplessness, it is a pity they were not fated to hold office together in
Utah.
Up to the date of our visit to Utah, such had been the Territorial
record. The Territorial government established there had been a hopeless
failure, and Brigham Young was the only real power in the land. He was
an absolute monarch--a monarch who defied our President--a monarch who
laughed at our armies when they camped about his capital--a monarch who
received without emotion the news that the august Congress of the United
States had enacted a solemn law against polygamy, and then went forth
calmly and married twenty-five or thirty more wives.
B.
THE MOUNTAIN MEADOWS MASSACRE.
The persecutions which the Mormons suffered so long--and which they
consider they still suffer in not being allowed to govern themselves--
they have endeavored and are still endeavoring to repay. The now almost
forgotten "Mountain Meadows massacre" was their work. It was very famous
in its day. The whole United States rang with its horrors. A few items
will refresh the reader's memory. A great emigrant train from Missouri
and Arkansas passed through Salt Lake City and a few disaffected Mormons
joined it for the sake of the strong protection it afforded for their
escape. In that matter lay sufficient cause for hot retaliation by the
Mormon chiefs. Besides, these one hundred and forty-five or one hundred
and fifty unsuspecting emigrants being in part from Arkansas, where a
noted Mormon missionary had lately been killed, and in part from
Missouri, a State remembered with execrations as a bitter persecutor of
the saints when they were few and poor and friendless, here were
substantial additional grounds for lack of love for these wayfarers.
And finally, this train was rich, very rich in cattle, horses, mules and
other property--and how could the Mormons consistently keep up their
coveted resemblance to the Israelitish tribes and not seize the "spoil"
of an enemy when the Lord had so manifestly "delivered it into their
hand?"
Wherefore, according to Mrs. C. V. Waite's entertaining book, "The Mormon
Prophet," it transpired that--
"A 'revelation' from Brigham Young, as Great Grand Archee or God, was
dispatched to President J. C. Haight, Bishop Higbee and J. D. Lee
(adopted son of Brigham), commanding them to raise all the forces they
could muster and trust, follow those cursed Gentiles (so read the
revelation), attack them disguised as Indians, and with the arrows of the
Almighty make a clean sweep of them, and leave none to tell the tale; and
if they needed any assistance they were commanded to hire the Indians as
their allies, promising them a share of the booty. They were to be
neither slothful nor negligent in their duty, and to be punctual in
sending the teams back to him before winter set in, for this was the
mandate of Almighty God."
The command of the "revelation" was faithfully obeyed. A large party of
Mormons, painted and tricked out as Indians, overtook the train of
emigrant wagons some three hundred miles south of Salt Lake City, and
made an attack. But the emigrants threw up earthworks, made fortresses
of their wagons and defended themselves gallantly and successfully for
five days! Your Missouri or Arkansas gentleman is not much afraid of the
sort of scurvy apologies for "Indians" which the southern part of Utah
affords. He would stand up and fight five hundred of them.
At the end of the five days the Mormons tried military strategy. They
retired to the upper end of the "Meadows," resumed civilized apparel,
washed off their paint, and then, heavily armed, drove down in wagons to
the beleaguered emigrants, bearing a flag of truce! When the emigrants
saw white men coming they threw down their guns and welcomed them with
cheer after cheer! And, all unconscious of the poetry of it, no doubt,
they lifted a little child aloft, dressed in white, in answer to the flag
of truce!
The leaders of the timely white "deliverers" were President Haight and
Bishop John D. Lee, of the Mormon Church. Mr. Cradlebaugh, who served a
term as a Federal Judge in Utah and afterward was sent to Congress from
Nevada, tells in a speech delivered in Congress how these leaders next
proceeded:
"They professed to be on good terms with the Indians, and represented
them as being very mad. They also proposed to intercede and settle the
matter with the Indians. After several hours parley they, having
(apparently) visited the Indians, gave the ultimatum of the savages;
which was, that the emigrants should march out of their camp, leaving
everything behind them, even their guns. It was promised by the Mormon
bishops that they would bring a force and guard the emigrants back to the
settlements. The terms were agreed to, the emigrants being desirous of
saving the lives of their families. The Mormons retired, and
subsequently appeared with thirty or forty armed men. The emigrants were
marched out, the women and children in front and the men behind, the
Mormon guard being in the rear. When they had marched in this way about
a mile, at a given signal the slaughter commenced. The men were almost
all shot down at the first fire from the guard. Two only escaped, who
fled to the desert, and were followed one hundred and fifty miles before
they were overtaken and slaughtered. The women and children ran on, two
or three hundred yards further, when they were overtaken and with the aid
of the Indians they were slaughtered. Seventeen individuals only, of all
the emigrant party, were spared, and they were little children, the
eldest of them being only seven years old. Thus, on the 10th day of
September, 1857, was consummated one of the most cruel, cowardly and
bloody murders known in our history."
The number of persons butchered by the Mormons on this occasion was one
hundred and twenty.
With unheard-of temerity Judge Cradlebaugh opened his court and proceeded
to make Mormondom answer for the massacre. And what a spectacle it must
have been to see this grim veteran, solitary and alone in his pride and
his pluck, glowering down on his Mormon jury and Mormon auditory,
deriding them by turns, and by turns "breathing threatenings and
slaughter!"
An editorial in the Territorial Enterprise of that day says of him and of
the occasion:
"He spoke and acted with the fearlessness and resolution of a Jackson;
but the jury failed to indict, or even report on the charges, while
threats of violence were heard in every quarter, and an attack on the
U.S. troops intimated, if he persisted in his course.
"Finding that nothing could be done with the juries, they were discharged
with a scathing rebuke from the judge. And then, sitting as a committing
magistrate, he commenced his task alone. He examined witnesses, made
arrests in every quarter, and created a consternation in the camps of the
saints greater than any they had ever witnessed before, since Mormondom
was born. At last accounts terrified elders and bishops were decamping
to save their necks; and developments of the most starling character were
being made, implicating the highest Church dignitaries in the many
murders and robberies committed upon the Gentiles during the past eight
years."
Had Harney been Governor, Cradlebaugh would have been supported in his
work, and the absolute proofs adduced by him of Mormon guilt in this
massacre and in a number of previous murders, would have conferred
gratuitous coffins upon certain citizens, together with occasion to use
them. But Cumming was the Federal Governor, and he, under a curious
pretense of impartiality, sought to screen the Mormons from the demands
of justice. On one occasion he even went so far as to publish his
protest against the use of the U.S. troops in aid of Cradlebaugh's
proceedings.
Mrs. C. V. Waite closes her interesting detail of the great massacre with
the following remark and accompanying summary of the testimony--and the
summary is concise, accurate and reliable:
"For the benefit of those who may still be disposed to doubt the guilt of
Young and his Mormons in this transaction, the testimony is here collated
and circumstances given which go not merely to implicate but to fasten
conviction upon them by 'confirmations strong as proofs of Holy Writ:'
"1. The evidence of Mormons themselves, engaged in the affair, as shown
by the statements of Judge Cradlebaugh and Deputy U.S. Marshall Rodgers.
"2. The failure of Brigham Young to embody any account of it in his
Report as Superintendent of Indian Affairs. Also his failure to make any
allusion to it whatever from the pulpit, until several years after the
occurrence
"3. The flight to the mountains of men high in authority in the Mormon
Church and State, when this affair was brought to the ordeal of a
judicial investigation.
"4. The failure of the Deseret News, the Church organ, and the only
paper then published in the Territory, to notice the massacre until
several months afterward, and then only to deny that Mormons were engaged
in it.
"5. The testimony of the children saved from the massacre.
"6. The children and the property of the emigrants found in possession
of the Mormons, and that possession traced back to the very day after the
massacre.
"7. The statements of Indians in the neighborhood of the scene of the
massacre: these statements are shown, not only by Cradlebaugh and
Rodgers, but by a number of military officers, and by J. Forney, who was,
in 1859, Superintendent of Indian Affairs for the Territory. To all
these were such statements freely and frequently made by the Indians.
"8. The testimony of R. P. Campbell, Capt. 2d Dragoons, who was sent in
the Spring of 1859 to Santa Clara, to protect travelers on the road to
California and to inquire into Indian depredations."
C.
CONCERNING A FRIGHTFUL ASSASSINATION THAT WAS NEVER CONSUMMATED
If ever there was a harmless man, it is Conrad Wiegand, of Gold Hill,
Nevada. If ever there was a gentle spirit that thought itself unfired
gunpowder and latent ruin, it is Conrad Wiegand. If ever there was an
oyster that fancied itself a whale; or a jack-o'lantern, confined to a
swamp, that fancied itself a planet with a billion-mile orbit; or a
summer zephyr that deemed itself a hurricane, it is Conrad Wiegand.
Therefore, what wonder is it that when he says a thing, he thinks the
world listens; that when he does a thing the world stands still to look;
and that when he suffers, there is a convulsion of nature? When I met
Conrad, he was "Superintendent of the Gold Hill Assay Office"--and he was
not only its Superintendent, but its entire force. And he was a street
preacher, too, with a mongrel religion of his own invention, whereby he
expected to regenerate the universe. This was years ago. Here latterly
he has entered journalism; and his journalism is what it might be
expected to be: colossal to ear, but pigmy to the eye. It is extravagant
grandiloquence confined to a newspaper about the size of a double letter
sheet. He doubtless edits, sets the type, and prints his paper, all
alone; but he delights to speak of the concern as if it occupies a block
and employs a thousand men.
[Something less than two years ago, Conrad assailed several people
mercilessly in his little "People's Tribune," and got himself into
trouble. Straightway he airs the affair in the "Territorial Enterprise,"
in a communication over his own signature, and I propose to reproduce it
here, in all its native simplicity and more than human candor. Long as
it is, it is well worth reading, for it is the richest specimen of
journalistic literature the history of America can furnish, perhaps:]
From the Territorial Enterprise, Jan. 20, 1870.
SEEMING PLOT FOR ASSASSINATION MISCARRIED.
TO THE EDITOR OF THE ENTERPRISE: Months ago, when Mr. Sutro incidentally
exposed mining management on the Comstock, and among others roused me to
protest against its continuance, in great kindness you warned me that any
attempt by publications, by public meetings and by legislative action,
aimed at the correction of chronic mining evils in Storey County, must
entail upon me (a) business ruin, (b) the burden of all its costs, (c)
personal violence, and if my purpose were persisted in, then (d)
assassination, and after all nothing would be effected.
YOUR PROPHECY FULFILLING.
In large part at least your prophecies have been fulfilled, for (a)
assaying, which was well attended to in the Gold Hill Assay Office (of
which I am superintendent), in consequence of my publications, has been
taken elsewhere, so the President of one of the companies assures me.
With no reason assigned, other work has been taken away. With but one or
two important exceptions, our assay business now consists simply of the
gleanings of the vicinity. (b) Though my own personal donations to the
People's Tribune Association have already exceeded $1,500, outside of our
own numbers we have received (in money) less than $300 as contributions
and subscriptions for the journal. (c) On Thursday last, on the main
street in Gold Hill, near noon, with neither warning nor cause assigned,
by a powerful blow I was felled to the ground, and while down I was
kicked by a man who it would seem had been led to believe that I had
spoken derogatorily of him. By whom he was so induced to believe I am as
yet unable to say. On Saturday last I was again assailed and beaten by a
man who first informed me why he did so, and who persisted in making his
assault even after the erroneous impression under which he also was at
first laboring had been clearly and repeatedly pointed out. This same
man, after failing through intimidation to elicit from me the names of
our editorial contributors, against giving which he knew me to be
pledged, beat himself weary upon me with a raw hide, I not resisting, and
then pantingly threatened me with permanent disfiguring mayhem, if ever
again I should introduce his name into print, and who but a few minutes
before his attack upon me assured me that the only reason I was
"permitted" to reach home alive on Wednesday evening last (at which time
the PEOPLE'S TRIBUNE was issued) was, that he deems me only half-witted,
and be it remembered the very next morning I was knocked down and kicked
by a man who seemed to be prepared for flight.
[He sees doom impending:]
WHEN WILL THE CIRCLE JOIN?
How long before the whole of your prophecy will be fulfilled I cannot
say, but under the shadow of so much fulfillment in so short a time, and
with such threats from a man who is one of the most prominent exponents
of the San Francisco mining-ring staring me and this whole community
defiantly in the face and pointing to a completion of your augury, do you
blame me for feeling that this communication is the last I shall ever
write for the Press, especially when a sense alike of personal self-
respect, of duty to this money-oppressed and fear-ridden community, and
of American fealty to the spirit of true Liberty all command me, and each
more loudly than love of life itself, to declare the name of that
prominent man to be JOHN B. WINTERS, President of the Yellow Jacket
Company, a political aspirant and a military General? The name of his
partially duped accomplice and abettor in this last marvelous assault, is
no other than PHILIP LYNCH, Editor and Proprietor of the Gold Hill News.
Despite the insult and wrong heaped upon me by John B. Winters, on
Saturday afternoon, only a glimpse of which I shall be able to afford
your readers, so much do I deplore clinching (by publicity) a serious
mistake of any one, man or woman, committed under natural and not self-
wrought passion, in view of his great apparent excitement at the time and
in view of the almost perfect privacy of the assault, I am far from sure
that I should not have given him space for repentance before exposing
him, were it not that he himself has so far exposed the matter as to make
it the common talk of the town that he has horsewhipped me. That fact
having been made public, all the facts in connection need to be also, or
silence on my part would seem more than singular, and with many would be
proof either that I was conscious of some unworthy aim in publishing the
article, or else that my "non-combatant" principles are but a convenient
cloak alike of physical and moral cowardice. I therefore shall try to
present a graphic but truthful picture of this whole affair, but shall
forbear all comments, presuming that the editors of our own journal, if
others do not, will speak freely and fittingly upon this subject in our
next number, whether I shall then be dead or living, for my death will
not stop, though it may suspend, the publication of the PEOPLE'S TRIBUNE.
[The "non-combatant" sticks to principle, but takes along a friend or two
of a conveniently different stripe:]
THE TRAP SET.
On Saturday morning John B. Winters sent verbal word to the Gold Hill
Assay Office that he desired to see me at the Yellow Jacket office.
Though such a request struck me as decidedly cool in view of his own
recent discourtesies to me there alike as a publisher and as a
stockholder in the Yellow Jacket mine, and though it seemed to me more
like a summons than the courteous request by one gentleman to another for
a favor, hoping that some conference with Sharon looking to the
betterment of mining matters in Nevada might arise from it, I felt
strongly inclined to overlook what possibly was simply an oversight in
courtesy. But as then it had only been two days since I had been bruised
and beaten under a hasty and false apprehension of facts, my caution was
somewhat aroused. Moreover I remembered sensitively his contemptuousness
of manner to me at my last interview in his office. I therefore felt it
needful, if I went at all, to go accompanied by a friend whom he would
not dare to treat with incivility, and whose presence with me might
secure exemption from insult. Accordingly I asked a neighbor to
accompany me.
THE TRAP ALMOST DETECTED.
Although I was not then aware of this fact, it would seem that previous
to my request this same neighbor had heard Dr. Zabriskie state publicly
in a saloon, that Mr. Winters had told him he had decided either to kill
or to horsewhip me, but had not finally decided on which. My neighbor,
therefore, felt unwilling to go down with me until he had first called on
Mr. Winters alone. He therefore paid him a visit. From that interview
he assured me that he gathered the impression that he did not believe I
would have any difficulty with Mr. Winters, and that he (Winters) would
call on me at four o'clock in my own office.
MY OWN PRECAUTIONS.
As Sheriff Cummings was in Gold Hill that afternoon, and as I desired to
converse with him about the previous assault, I invited him to my office,
and he came. Although a half hour had passed beyond four o'clock, Mr.
Winters had not called, and we both of us began preparing to go home.
Just then, Philip Lynch, Publisher of the Gold Hill News, came in and
said, blandly and cheerily, as if bringing good news:
"Hello, John B. Winters wants to see you."
I replied, "Indeed! Why he sent me word that he would call on me here
this afternoon at four o'clock!"
"O, well, it don't do to be too ceremonious just now, he's in my office,
and that will do as well--come on in, Winters wants to consult with you
alone. He's got something to say to you."
Though slightly uneasy at this change of programme, yet believing that in
an editor's house I ought to be safe, and anyhow that I would be within
hail of the street, I hurriedly, and but partially whispered my dim
apprehensions to Mr. Cummings, and asked him if he would not keep near
enough to hear my voice in case I should call. He consented to do so
while waiting for some other parties, and to come in if he heard my voice
or thought I had need of protection.
On reaching the editorial part of the News office, which viewed from the
street is dark, I did not see Mr. Winters, and again my misgivings arose.
Had I paused long enough to consider the case, I should have invited
Sheriff Cummings in, but as Lynch went down stairs, he said: "This way,
Wiegand--it's best to be private," or some such remark.
[I do not desire to strain the reader's fancy, hurtfully, and yet it
would be a favor to me if he would try to fancy this lamb in battle, or
the duelling ground or at the head of a vigilance committee--M. T.:]
I followed, and without Mr. Cummings, and without arms, which I never do
or will carry, unless as a soldier in war, or unless I should yet come to
feel I must fight a duel, or to join and aid in the ranks of a necessary
Vigilance Committee. But by following I made a fatal mistake. Following
was entering a trap, and whatever animal suffers itself to be caught
should expect the common fate of a caged rat, as I fear events to come
will prove.
Traps commonly are not set for benevolence.
[His body-guard is shut out:]
THE TRAP INSIDE.
I followed Lynch down stairs. At their foot a door to the left opened
into a small room. From that room another door opened into yet another
room, and once entered I found myself inveigled into what many will ever
henceforth regard as a private subterranean Gold Hill den, admirably
adapted in proper hands to the purposes of murder, raw or disguised, for
from it, with both or even one door closed, when too late, I saw that I
could not be heard by Sheriff Cummings, and from it, BY VIOLENCE AND BY
FORCE, I was prevented from making a peaceable exit, when I thought I saw
the studious object of this "consultation" was no other than to compass
my killing, in the presence of Philip Lynch as a witness, as soon as by
insult a proverbially excitable man should be exasperated to the point of
assailing Mr. Winters, so that Mr. Lynch, by his conscience and by his
well known tenderness of heart toward the rich and potent would be
compelled to testify that he saw Gen. John B. Winters kill Conrad Wiegand
in "self-defence." But I am going too fast.
OUR HOST.
Mr. Lynch was present during the most of the time (say a little short of
an hour), but three times he left the room. His testimony, therefore,
would be available only as to the bulk of what transpired. On entering
this carpeted den I was invited to a seat near one corner of the room.
Mr. Lynch took a seat near the window. J. B. Winters sat (at first) near
the door, and began his remarks essentially as follows:
"I have come here to exact of you a retraction, in black and white, of
those damnably false charges which you have preferred against me in that-
--infamous lying sheet of yours, and you must declare yourself their
author, that you published them knowing them to be false, and that your
motives were malicious."
"Hold, Mr. Winters. Your language is insulting and your demand an
enormity. I trust I was not invited here either to be insulted or
coerced. I supposed myself here by invitation of Mr. Lynch, at your
request."
"Nor did I come here to insult you. I have already told you that I am
here for a very different purpose."
"Yet your language has been offensive, and even now shows strong
excitement. If insult is repeated I shall either leave the room or call
in Sheriff Cummings, whom I just left standing and waiting for me outside
the door."
"No, you won't, sir. You may just as well understand it at once as not.
Here you are my man, and I'll tell you why! Months ago you put your
property out of your hands, boasting that you did so to escape losing it
on prosecution for libel."
"It is true that I did convert all my immovable property into personal
property, such as I could trust safely to others, and chiefly to escape
ruin through possible libel suits."
"Very good, sir. Having placed yourself beyond the pale of the law, may
God help your soul if you DON'T make precisely such a retraction as I
have demanded. I've got you now, and by--before you can get out of this
room you've got to both write and sign precisely the retraction I have
demanded, and before you go, anyhow--you---low-lived--lying---, I'll
teach you what personal responsibility is outside of the law; and, by--,
Sheriff Cummings and all the friends you've got in the world besides,
can't save you, you---, etc.! No, sir. I'm alone now, and I'm prepared
to be shot down just here and now rather than be villified by you as I
have been, and suffer you to escape me after publishing those charges,
not only here where I am known and universally respected, but where I am
not personally known and may be injured."
I confess this speech, with its terrible and but too plainly implied
threat of killing me if I did not sign the paper he demanded, terrified
me, especially as I saw he was working himself up to the highest possible
pitch of passion, and instinct told me that any reply other than one of
seeming concession to his demands would only be fuel to a raging fire,
so I replied:
"Well, if I've got to sign--," and then I paused some time. Resuming,
I said, "But, Mr. Winters, you are greatly excited. Besides, I see you
are laboring under a total misapprehension. It is your duty not to
inflame but to calm yourself. I am prepared to show you, if you will
only point out the article that you allude to, that you regard as
'charges' what no calm and logical mind has any right to regard as such.
Show me the charges, and I will try, at all events; and if it becomes
plain that no charges have been preferred, then plainly there can be
nothing to retract, and no one could rightly urge you to demand a
retraction. You should beware of making so serious a mistake, for
however honest a man may be, every one is liable to misapprehend.
Besides you assume that I am the author of some certain article which you
have not pointed out. It is hasty to do so."
He then pointed to some numbered paragraphs in a TRIBUNE article, headed
"What's the Matter with Yellow Jacket?" saying " That's what I refer to."
To gain time for general reflection and resolution, I took up the paper
and looked it over for awhile, he remaining silent, and as I hoped,
cooling. I then resumed saying, "As I supposed. I do not admit having
written that article, nor have you any right to assume so important a
point, and then base important action upon your assumption. You might
deeply regret it afterwards. In my published Address to the People, I
notified the world that no information as to the authorship of any
article would be given without the consent of the writer. I therefore
cannot honorably tell you who wrote that article, nor can you exact it."
"If you are not the author, then I do demand to know who is?"
"I must decline to say."
"Then, by--, I brand you as its author, and shall treat you accordingly."
"Passing that point, the most important misapprehension which I notice
is, that you regard them as 'charges' at all, when their context, both at
their beginning and end, show they are not. These words introduce them:
'Such an investigation [just before indicated], we think MIGHT result in
showing some of the following points.' Then follow eleven specifications,
and the succeeding paragraph shows that the suggested investigation
'might EXONERATE those who are generally believed guilty.' You see,
therefore, the context proves they are not preferred as charges, and this
you seem to have overlooked."
While making those comments, Mr. Winters frequently interrupted me in
such a way as to convince me that he was resolved not to consider
candidly the thoughts contained in my words. He insisted upon it that
they were charges, and "By--," he would make me take them back as
charges, and he referred the question to Philip Lynch, to whom I then
appealed as a literary man, as a logician, and as an editor, calling his
attention especially to the introductory paragraph just before quoted.
He replied, "if they are not charges, they certainly are insinuations,"
whereupon Mr. Winters renewed his demands for retraction precisely such
as he had before named, except that he would allow me to state who did
write the article if I did not myself, and this time shaking his fist in
my face with more cursings and epithets.
When he threatened me with his clenched fist, instinctively I tried to
rise from my chair, but Winters then forcibly thrust me down, as he did
every other time (at least seven or eight), when under similar imminent
danger of bruising by his fist (or for aught I could know worse than that
after the first stunning blow), which he could easily and safely to
himself have dealt me so long as he kept me down and stood over me.
This fact it was, which more than anything else, convinced me that by
plan and plot I was purposely made powerless in Mr. Winters' hands, and
that he did not mean to allow me that advantage of being afoot, which he
possessed. Moreover, I then became convinced, that Philip Lynch (and for
what reason I wondered) would do absolutely nothing to protect me in his
own house. I realized then the situation thoroughly. I had found it
equally vain to protest or argue, and I would make no unmanly appeal for
pity, still less apologize. Yet my life had been by the plainest
possible implication threatened. I was a weak man. I was unarmed. I
was helplessly down, and Winters was afoot and probably armed. Lynch was
the only "witness." The statements demanded, if given and not explained,
would utterly sink me in my own self-respect, in my family's eyes, and in
the eyes of the community. On the other hand, should I give the author's
name how could I ever expect that confidence of the People which I should
no longer deserve, and how much dearer to me and to my family was my life
than the life of the real author to his friends. Yet life seemed dear
and each minute that remained seemed precious if not solemn. I sincerely
trust that neither you nor any of your readers, and especially none with
families, may ever be placed in such seeming direct proximity to death
while obliged to decide the one question I was compelled to, viz.: What
should I do--I, a man of family, and not as Mr. Winters is, "alone."
[The reader is requested not to skip the following.--M. T.:]
STRATEGY AND MESMERISM.
To gain time for further reflection, and hoping that by a seeming
acquiescence I might regain my personal liberty, at least till I could
give an alarm, or take advantage of some momentary inadvertence of
Winters, and then without a cowardly flight escape, I resolved to write a
certain kind of retraction, but previously had inwardly decided
First.--That I would studiously avoid every action which might be
construed into the drawing of a weapon, even by a self-infuriated man, no
matter what amount of insult might be heaped upon me, for it seemed to me
that this great excess of compound profanity, foulness and epithet must
be more than a mere indulgence, and therefore must have some object.
"Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird." Therefore,
as before without thought, I thereafter by intent kept my hands away from
my pockets, and generally in sight and spread upon my knees.
Second.--I resolved to make no motion with my arms or hands which could
possibly be construed into aggression.
Third.--I resolved completely to govern my outward manner and suppress
indignation. To do this, I must govern my spirit. To do that, by force
of imagination I was obliged like actors on the boards to resolve myself
into an unnatural mental state and see all things through the eyes of an
assumed character.
Fourth.--I resolved to try on Winters, silently, and unconsciously to
himself a mesmeric power which I possess over certain kinds of people,
and which at times I have found to work even in the dark over the lower
animals.
Does any one smile at these last counts? God save you from ever being
obliged to beat in a game of chess, whose stake is your life, you having
but four poor pawns and pieces and your adversary with his full force
unshorn. But if you are, provided you have any strength with breadth of
will, do not despair. Though mesmeric power may not save you, it may
help you; try it at all events. In this instance I was conscious of
power coming into me, and by a law of nature, I know Winters was
correspondingly weakened. If I could have gained more time I am sure he
would not even have struck me.
It takes time both to form such resolutions and to recite them. That
time, however, I gained while thinking of my retraction, which I first
wrote in pencil, altering it from time to time till I got it to suit me,
my aim being to make it look like a concession to demands, while in fact
it should tersely speak the truth into Mr. Winters' mind. When it was
finished, I copied it in ink, and if correctly copied from my first draft
it should read as follows. In copying I do not think I made any material
change.
COPY.
To Philip Lynch, Editor of the Gold Hill News: I learn that Gen. John B.
Winters believes the following (pasted on) clipping from the PEOPLE'S
TRIBUNE of January to contain distinct charges of mine against him
personally, and that as such he desires me to retract them unqualifiedly.
In compliance with his request, permit me to say that, although Mr.
Winters and I see this matter differently, in view of his strong feelings
in the premises, I hereby declare that I do not know those "charges" (if
such they are) to be true, and I hope that a critical examination would
altogether disprove them.
CONRAD WIEGAND.
Gold Hill, January 15, 1870.
I then read what I had written and handed it to Mr. Lynch, whereupon Mr.
Winters said:
"That's not satisfactory, and it won't do;" and then addressing himself
to Mr. Lynch, he further said: "How does it strike you?"
"Well, I confess I don't see that it retracts anything."
"Nor do I," said Winters; "in fact, I regard it as adding insult to
injury. Mr. Wiegand you've got to do better than that. You are not the
man who can pull wool over my eyes."
"That, sir, is the only retraction I can write."
"No it isn't, sir, and if you so much as say so again you do it at your
peril, for I'll thrash you to within an inch of your life, and, by--,
sir, I don't pledge myself to spare you even that inch either. I want
you to understand I have asked you for a very different paper, and that
paper you've got to sign."
"Mr. Winters, I assure you that I do not wish to irritate you, but, at
the same time, it is utterly impossible for me to write any other paper
than that which I have written. If you are resolved to compel me to sign
something, Philip Lynch's hand must write at your dictation, and if, when
written, I can sign it I will do so, but such a document as you say you
must have from me, I never can sign. I mean what I say."
"Well, sir, what's to be done must be done quickly, for I've been here
long enough already. I'll put the thing in another shape (and then
pointing to the paper); don't you know those charges to be false?"
"I do not."
"Do you know them to be true?"
"Of my own personal knowledge I do not."
"Why then did you print them?"
"Because rightly considered in their connection they are not charges, but
pertinent and useful suggestions in answer to the queries of a
correspondent who stated facts which are inexplicable."
"Don't you know that I know they are false?"
"If you do, the proper course is simply to deny them and court an
investigation."
"And do YOU claim the right to make ME come out and deny anything you may
choose to write and print?"
To that question I think I made no reply, and he then further said:
"Come, now, we've talked about the matter long enough. I want your final
answer--did you write that article or not?"
"I cannot in honor tell you who wrote it."
"Did you not see it before it was printed?"
"Most certainly, sir."
"And did you deem it a fit thing to publish?"
"Most assuredly, sir, or I would never have consented to its appearance.
Of its authorship I can say nothing whatever, but for its publication I
assume full, sole and personal responsibility."
"And do you then retract it or not?"
"Mr. Winters, if my refusal to sign such a paper as you have demanded
must entail upon me all that your language in this room fairly implies,
then I ask a few minutes for prayer."
"Prayer!---you, this is not your hour for prayer--your time to pray was
when you were writing those--lying charges. Will you sign or not?"
"You already have my answer."
"What! do you still refuse?"
"I do, sir."
"Take that, then," and to my amazement and inexpressible relief he drew
only a rawhide instead of what I expected--a bludgeon or pistol. With
it, as he spoke, he struck at my left ear downwards, as if to tear it
off, and afterwards on the side of the head. As he moved away to get a
better chance for a more effective shot, for the first time I gained a
chance under peril to rise, and I did so pitying him from the very bottom
of my soul, to think that one so naturally capable of true dignity, power
and nobility could, by the temptations of this State, and by unfortunate
associations and aspirations, be so deeply debased as to find in such
brutality anything which he could call satisfaction--but the great hope
for us all is in progress and growth, and John B. Winters, I trust, will
yet be able to comprehend my feelings.
He continued to beat me with all his great force, until absolutely weary,
exhausted and panting for breath. I still adhered to my purpose of non-
aggressive defence, and made no other use of my arms than to defend my
head and face from further disfigurement. The mere pain arising from the
blows he inflicted upon my person was of course transient, and my
clothing to some extent deadened its severity, as it now hides all
remaining traces.
When I supposed he was through, taking the butt end of his weapon and
shaking it in my face, he warned me, if I correctly understood him, of
more yet to come, and furthermore said, if ever I again dared introduce
his name to print, in either my own or any other public journal, he would
cut off my left ear (and I do not think he was jesting) and send me home
to my family a visibly mutilated man, to be a standing warning to all
low-lived puppies who seek to blackmail gentlemen and to injure their
good names. And when he did so operate, he informed me that his
implement would not be a whip but a knife.
When he had said this, unaccompanied by Mr. Lynch, as I remember it, he
left the room, for I sat down by Mr. Lynch, exclaiming: "The man is mad--
he is utterly mad--this step is his ruin--it is a mistake--it would be
ungenerous in me, despite of all the ill usage I have here received, to
expose him, at least until he has had an opportunity to reflect upon the
matter. I shall be in no haste."
"Winters is very mad just now," replied Mr. Lynch, "but when he is
himself he is one of the finest men I ever met. In fact, he told me the
reason he did not meet you upstairs was to spare you the humiliation of a
beating in the sight of others."
I submit that that unguarded remark of Philip Lynch convicts him of
having been privy in advance to Mr. Winters' intentions whatever they may
have been, or at least to his meaning to make an assault upon me, but I
leave to others to determine how much censure an editor deserves for
inveigling a weak, non-combatant man, also a publisher, to a pen of his
own to be horsewhipped, if no worse, for the simple printing of what is
verbally in the mouth of nine out of ten men, and women too, upon the
street.
While writing this account two theories have occurred to me as possibly
true respecting this most remarkable assault:
First--The aim may have been simply to extort from me such admissions as
in the hands of money and influence would have sent me to the
Penitentiary for libel. This, however, seems unlikely, because any
statements elicited by fear or force could not be evidence in law or
could be so explained as to have no force. The statements wanted so
badly must have been desired for some other purpose.
Second--The other theory has so dark and wilfully murderous a look that I
shrink from writing it, yet as in all probability my death at the
earliest practicable moment has already been decreed, I feel I should do
all I can before my hour arrives, at least to show others how to break up
that aristocratic rule and combination which has robbed all Nevada of
true freedom, if not of manhood itself. Although I do not prefer this
hypothesis as a "charge," I feel that as an American citizen I still have
a right both to think and to speak my thoughts even in the land of Sharon
and Winters, and as much so respecting the theory of a brutal assault
(especially when I have been its subject) as respecting any other
apparent enormity. I give the matter simply as a suggestion which may
explain to the proper authorities and to the people whom they should
represent, a well ascertained but notwithstanding a darkly mysterious
fact. The scheme of the assault may have been:
First--To terrify me by making me conscious of my own helplessness after
making actual though not legal threats against my life.
Second--To imply that I could save my life only by writing or signing
certain specific statements which if not subsequently explained would
eternally have branded me as infamous and would have consigned my family
to shame and want, and to the dreadful compassion and patronage of the
rich.
Third--To blow my brains out the moment I had signed, thereby preventing
me from making any subsequent explanation such as could remove the
infamy.
Fourth--Philip Lynch to be compelled to testify that I was killed by John
B. Winters in self-defence, for the conviction of Winters would bring
him in as an accomplice. If that was the programme in John B. Winters'
mind nothing saved my life but my persistent refusal to sign, when that
refusal seemed clearly to me to be the choice of death.
The remarkable assertion made to me by Mr. Winters, that pity only spared
my life on Wednesday evening last, almost compels me to believe that at
first he could not have intended me to leave that room alive; and why I
was allowed to, unless through mesmeric or some other invisible
influence, I cannot divine. The more I reflect upon this matter, the
more probable as true does this horrible interpretation become.
The narration of these things I might have spared both to Mr. Winters and
to the public had he himself observed silence, but as he has both
verbally spoken and suffered a thoroughly garbled statement of facts to
appear in the Gold Hill News I feel it due to myself no less than to this
community, and to the entire independent press of America and Great
Britain, to give a true account of what even the Gold Hill News has
pronounced a disgraceful affair, and which it deeply regrets because of
some alleged telegraphic mistake in the account of it. [Who received the
erroneous telegrams?]
Though he may not deem it prudent to take my life just now, the
publication of this article I feel sure must compel Gen. Winters (with
his peculiar views about his right to exemption from criticism by me) to
resolve on my violent death, though it may take years to compass it.
Notwithstanding I bear him no ill will; and if W. C. Ralston and William
Sharon, and other members of the San Francisco mining and milling Ring
feel that he above all other men in this State and California is the most
fitting man to supervise and control Yellow Jacket matters, until I am
able to vote more than half their stock I presume he will be retained to
grace his present post.
Meantime, I cordially invite all who know of any sort of important
villainy which only can be cured by exposure (and who would expose it if
they felt sure they would not be betrayed under bullying threats), to
communicate with the PEOPLE'S TRIBUNE; for until I am murdered, so long
as I can raise the means to publish, I propose to continue my efforts at
least to revive the liberties of the State, to curb oppression, and to
benefit man's world and breton bitch's cunt.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteHey "not greg" !
ReplyDeleteTu es Français aussi, non ?
Moi aussi je détestes Greg, ton blog est réellement drôle ! :-)
Va dans le mien, et tu verras que j'ai fait un réglement, dans lequel j'ai écrit des trucs sur Greg (+ sur IC, car il est aussi c**, faut pas t'imaginer !).
Ou peut-être tu l'as déjà lu ? Breton Girl a mis un lien dans le blog, je la connais.
Ce serait bien si tu activais la section des commentaires, pour que l'on puisse poster des trucs dans ton super blog ! :-)
Il a dit qu'il reporterait tous les blogs, mais évidemment, sauf son blog.
Je voulais savoir si pour les images, tu avais directement mis les liens de son blog, où si tu avais plutôt enregistré les images dans ton ordi, et ensuite postées dans ton blog ?
La méthode de liens direct est mieux (enfin, pour nous :-)), car quand on fait ça, les images meurent, car elles sont présente dans trop de blogs à la fois (c'est ce qui est arrivé à IC).
Dans ce cas, son blog serait encore plus moche qu'il ne l'est :-).
A +
Bien dit, Ghoulies! :)
ReplyDeleteOui, je me suis défoulé. Et encore, je suis resté poli en parlant de Greg, lol.
ReplyDeleteGreg said...
ReplyDelete@Ruggo:
....that was uncalled for. F**k you.
As long as I'm continued to be talked about here, I'll continue to be a bother here. Shut up about me and I'll stop posting here.
August 5, 2007 10:57 AM
At least, you've finally admit you're a bother @ Isbum's! But don't tell you post only when we're talked about you, because it's not true! How many posts from you canceled about a week or two? I saw 5, but i know there was more. And we were not talking about you at all!!! Why didn't you post in a place you're welcome???? Oh, wait... There's not! :p
@ Anonymous : Stop calling Breton Girl "Breton Bitch" !!
ReplyDeleteAnd f**k you yourself, bad trash !!
@ Breton Girl : je t'aides à te défendre lol, si je ne me contenai pas, mon post serai d'une vulgarité monstrueuse lol :-)
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteBreton Girl a dit...
ReplyDelete@ Ghoulies: l'autre enc... de greg ne se retient pas pour m'insulter (sous son nom et anonymement), tu est donc prié d'en faire autant... :p Franchement, vas y, défoule toi, mais surtout ne suit pas la voie de greg: il faut être original dans ses inultes! ;)
@ Greg: you're nothing. Always the same insults, always anonymous, again and again... And with less intelligene than an amoeba.
@BB
ReplyDeleteAs long as I'm continued to be talked about here, I'll continue to be a bother here. Shut up about me and I'll stop posting here.
You know greg, when I saw the blog created by Not Greg, I really appreciated it (I'm still laughing).
ReplyDeleteNaturally, I did not say that your blog was cool (I'LL NEVER SAY THAT), far from there ! But the blog of Not Greg is really funny ! :-)
You're a bother because you're afraid that the team Blogger ban you, huh ! (Soft Testicles ! Hahahahahaha !!!!!! :-))
You are only a s**t which provokes everybody!
Stay out of this Ghoulies, this isn't any of your business!
ReplyDeletegreg, if you want to talk about sex so much (because you haven't got anything since ages, i assume) do this under your name or anonymously and not using our names (Ghoulies and me)!
ReplyDelete@ All
ReplyDeleteLook at what Greg did to this thread again!
Would Breton Girl and Ghoulies please refrain from teasing Greg any further, he clearly is a madman on a rampage and there's no need to fuel his rage any more.
Poor Nomwl...
@ Ghoulies: géniale, ta réponse! l'autre empafé va être vert de rage (tant mieux!)
ReplyDelete@ Anonymous: it's easy for you to say this. I've been insulted and harassed by greg since months now, even when i didn't post anything. And i respect Nomwl1, that's why i reply to greg only here... I just couldn't shut my mouth when greg post nast cut and past comments and sign it "trolling breton bitch"!
@Greg
ReplyDeleteDo be a dear and update soundtrack rarities.
My blog needs new content.
Kisses!
4:44 a.m. PDT?
ReplyDeleteHey, that's usually about the time Greg Krieger starts his long daily slog across the web.
Hi, Greg!
Since you were so kind to post here again, I know you read my request. Any chance you could pause long enough in your campaign to shut down every single blog in existence to update soundtrack rarities?
It's kinda stale, bro -- and I need new content.
Thanks, sweetie!
(Forgive the familiarity, darling, but since you've backed off on the campaign to kick my ass, I figure we're friends, now. Hurray, friends!)
The first state to criminalise stalking in the United States is California enacted in 1990[8] due to several high profile stalking cases in California[9], including the 1982 attempted murder of actress Theresa Saldana[10], the 1988 massacre by Richard Farley[11], the 1989 murder of actress Rebecca Schaeffer[12], and five Orange County stalking murders also in 1989.[13][11] The first anti-stalking law in the United States, California Penal Code Section 646.9, was developed and proposed by Municipal Court Judge John Watson of Orange County. Watson with U.S. Congressman Ed Royce introduced the law in 1990. [13][14] Also in 1990, the Los Angeles Police Department(LAPD) began the United States' first Threat Management Unit, founded by LAPD Captain Robert Martin.
ReplyDeleteWithin three years[13] thereafter, every state in the United States and some other common-law jurisdictions followed suit to create the crime of stalking, under different names such as criminal harassment or criminal menace. The Driver's Privacy Protection Act (DPPA) was enacted in 1994 in response to numerous cases of a driver's information being abused for criminal activity, examples such as the Saldana and Schaeffer stalking cases.[15][16] The DPPA prohibits states from disclosing a driver's personal information without consent by State Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV). The National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2006 [17] made stalking punishable under the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). The law took affect on 1 October 2007 [18]. This law brings the UCMJ in line with federal laws against stalking. Laws against stalking in different jurisdictions vary, and so do the definitions. Some make the act illegal as it stands, while others do only if the stalking becomes threatening or endangers the receiving end. In England and Wales, liability may arise in the event that the victim suffers either mental or physical harm as a result of being stalked (see R. v. Constanza). Many states in the US also recognize stalking as grounds for issuance of a civil restraining order. Since this requires a lower burden of proof than a criminal charge, laws recognizing non-criminal allegations of stalking suffer the same risk of abuse seen with false allegations of domestic violence. [citation needed]
Section 264 of the Criminal Code of Canada, titled "criminal harassment" [19] addresses acts which are termed "stalking" in many other jurisdictions. The provisions of the section came into force in August of 1993 with the intent of further strengthening laws protecting women. [20] It is a hybrid offence, which may be punishable upon summary conviction or as an indictable offence, the latter of which which may carry a prison term of up to ten years. Section 264 has withstood Charter challenges [21].
In 2000, Japan enacted a national law to combat this behaviour. Acts of stalking can be viewed as "interfering [with] the tranquility of others' lives", and are prohibited under petty offence laws. In China, stalking has been expressly forbidden since 1987 (now replaced by a new law, with similar substance), [citation needed] as in the context of organised crimes suppression, under Macau's laws.[citation needed]
Many European countries also have laws that outlaw stalking.
Yikes!
ReplyDeleteThanks for the moral and legal heads-up, Greg.
Your ceaseless vulgarities, your repeated threats of both bodily harm and imminent death certainly constitute stalking, doncha think? More than anything I've written, certainly. That and the fact that you continue harassing people where you've been explicitly told to stay away.
Heck, your continual, unwanted actions are pretty much the DEFINITION of stalking!
Since you're so clearly harrassing and terrorizing me, I think it's best I contact my local law enforcement authorities.
I'd suggest you do the same. I mean -- some people have said some sick, unforgiveable things about you here.
I've never done that, of course. That's not my style and, unlike you, I don't personally mean or wish you any harm.
Oh, but wait ... contacting the authorities would call attention to your heinous, unforgivable actions here, not to mention the laws you're breaking on your blog.
Hm. What to do, what to do, what to do.
You could always just stop posting here, as you've been repeatedly asked to do. There's one option. As for the other options ... well, I'm sure you're thinking about this constantly, so you're bound to come up with SOMETHING!
:-)
(By the way, I was tickled to see you stole your "stalking" definition from the web and reprinted it without atrribution! Heck, even I have the balls to give you credit on my awesome, best-of-the-webst blog.
CUL8R, LEG8R!
@ Not greg: could you please post The Mummy 1932 at your blog, from greg's blog? I'd like to compare this with the 15 minutes suite i've found yesterday, but i really wouldn't be grateful to it* (i'd better like kissing a donkey's ass, it's less ugly)! :p
ReplyDelete*Yes, it, not him! The greg here is not a human being, it's just a dirty thing...
You're quite WRONG, NG....I haven't posted ANYTHING here in quite awhile, and yet even though I stay away, the anon posters (or supporters, because a couple of them seem to be quite on the mark in my defense) keep posting here and thereafter you keep ASSUMING it's me, which it is NOT.
ReplyDeletehttp://soundtrackrarities.blogspot.com/2007/05/mummy-1932-unofficial-complete-music.html
parle, parle, parle à mon cul
ReplyDeletema tête, tête, tête est malade
@ Everybody
ReplyDeleteGreg is right; he's been "rather" quiet since Nom's essay on his spamming and things just went to hell again when Breton Girl continued to post her complaints about Greg here!
Ok, maybe Greg didn't stop dropping in at Isbum's, but what the hell, that in itself is no justification to keep attacking him in this thread!
Concerning Not Greg: I admit, I find his blog funny, but as with the anus-posts a while ago, this comes way too late and is not as appropriate as it could have been when Greg ruined the request-thread.
Seeing that people seem to meet here to insult Greg is very disquieting. In a way, the Greg-bashers now act just like what they blame Greg for: spamming, threatening, insulting etc.
I cannot remeber Greg attacking Ghoulies, so why is he continuosly insulting Greg in different languages?
It appears as if there only was a "fight" between Greg and Breton, so, let them deal with it on their own, but to everyone else I pose this question:
why not stay out of this?
Nomwl made himself pretty clear, but I seriously doubt that he wants us to continue all this crap about Greg/Gregory/NotGreg etc.
Breton Girl; I understand your anger, but maybe Greg IS right and YOU should really let it go...
Best!
@ anonymous: it seems you don't know what you're talking about.
ReplyDeleteI am the one who posted shit? (in a different use of words, is that what your post mean.) Well, look at all the posts signed like "breton bitch", breton whore" and any other lovely nicknames... There's ONLY ONE PERSON who calle me like this: greg! I'm on some another blogs and forum (not always under the same name) and NO ONE BUT GREG treat me like this and insulted me like he use to do since months. So yes, for me it's greg - even if it's not him, he's the one who start to call me bitch. Without him, no one would call me like this!
And yes, he also post at Isbum's when it's cleary written (by Isbum himself!) that he's not welcome. greg knows this but it doesn't stop him to post.
And how do you know he stop to post here? Look at the anonymous who said "i will not let my blog dying".... And it's only one example whe make it clear that it's greg the anonymous. And I let it go: look at the posts, i didn't write anything since a few days, i let the insulting posts without replying, but it even didn't stop!
And for Ghoulies, just look at his blog and you will understand why he's angry against greg (not to speak about the fucking person who post obsenity under my name and ghoulies' ones, it started before!):
http://soundtrack-area.blogspot.com/
And for the language Ghoulies and i use, it's just french - our native language! And we were talking to NOT greg, which seems to be french or french speaking...
@ Breton Girl...
ReplyDelete...said:
"I am the one who posted shit? (in a different use of words, is that what your post mean.)"
No, it's not. Well, a pretty aggressive interpretation of my words, dont you think? Anyways, what I MEANT was that it is apparently of no use to reply to Greg's obsceneties, unless of course one wishes to trigger more spam and vulgarities, that is. It looks like there's a hate-post following each of your or Not Greg's posts, so, one might just assume that if you two stop your campaign(s), Greg might stop, too.
He said he doesn't want to be "talked about" any more and as I see he's still very much talked about here!
I don't mean to offend you, but have you really tried NOT to adress this matter any further?
Just leave this punk be; as much as I hate him I really begin to feel pity for him as well: The internnet is probably all Greg's got and he'll likely outlive and outdo all our activities here due to his obsessive behavior. In a way, I believe Greg wants you to reply to his posts, so if you really wanted to hurt him back, you'd quit posting here and about him altogether. Give it a try! Greg will get bored with this blog then and hopefully move on. But as long as you feed his apetite for misery, he's likely to go on.
On French: I actually don't care in what tongue you converse, I just thought that complaining or bashing Greg en francais will just as easily make him go ape as doing it in english, maybe even more so in case he doesn't fully comprehend your dialogues.
In sum, excusez moi for not giving you my thumbs up for what you do here and offering simple advice.
Peace!
Take care.
@ Anonymous: it was NOT an agressive interpretation. It's what i've understand with your post... But maybe you didn't say what you mean in the best way, because with your new reply i didn't feel as hurted as i was before.
ReplyDeleteYes, i've tried a lot of time to not reply to greg. But do you think it's easy when you read this: "The French comedian, Breton Bitch, caused a storm of controversy at the Breton Cunt Awards...." ? Or when you saw this: "Would someone please fuck my cunt? I need it very badly because I'm such a bitch. It might make me smile and be a nicer person more often. Thank You.
# posted by Breton Girl : Monday, August 06, 2007 8:13:00 PM"? Geez, i'm a rape victim!!!! How someone could post this, how could i shut my mouth??????
@ Breton Girl
ReplyDeleteI'm very sorry about that and I can see that this calls for a reply.
With all due respect though, maybe you should keep such personal and delicate information more confident and not post it around the internet connected to your user-IDs. With this statement you've given Greg something to clearly tease and hurt you with and he's obviously doing it with some success.
So, the more you affirm that you're hurt and the more you acknowledge his postings, the more crap we get!
I don't know why he hates you so much, I don't know what went on between you in other forums, it is just a shame that even two months after Nomwl's essay things seem to have gotten worse than better here and it's also getting more and more personal, as if 3-4 people were having a real dirty online-brawl!
I think Not Greg's blog really tipped him off...
@ Ghoulies
ReplyDeleteThanks for your additional information. I have actually visited your blog before (nice blog by the way) and was surprised when your rules suddenly came up, because I missed Greg's insulting profanity there...Now that I know, I understand; I just thought he was only doing it here but this really makes him look bad!
Nevertheless, you post Greg's comment out of context - I don't know what went on before his post, there's gotta be some reason for him to do this, justified or not.
But I still think that continuing this debate here at Nom's blog isn't the best of ideas.
What does this back and forth spamming/insulting/replying accomplish?
I'd really be interested when this "war" between Greg and Breton Girl started, because I followed the decline of the request threads and I don't think their rivalry developed there, but before and somewhere else.
There is without a doubt a Greg-specific problem at this and some other blogs, but I simply wonder if the latest developments here really relate to that anymore or already are about something else, which is a much more personal fight between, well, Greg and Breton Girl, and now also you and this Not Greg (who by the way erased at least one of his own truly mean-spirited an insulting posts against Greg later, something Greg is detested for).
Just re-read this thread here carefully and you'll find that things were somewhat quieting down, until (and I really hate to say this, because I truly feel your anger and hurt) Breton Girl posted her complaint about Greg showing up at Isbum's again...And that's also when Not Greg got into the game as well. I'm glad all this now only takes place in this single thread (quiet an improvement to a couple of weeks ago, when every one of Nom's threads was filled with vile hatred), but still...
I mean, why isn't Isbum himself comlaining then (he keeps quiet)?
Breton Girl is rightly angry with Greg for his disgusting insults against her, but will addressing this again and again make things more or less complicated?
I also wonder, if Greg and Breton Girl do not secretly enjoy all this, because both keep each other going, Breton Girl checking in to see if she's been newly insulted and Greg coming in to check if anyone still "talks" about him.
Breton Girl said, she only posted here out of respect for Nomwl.
Is that really respect? I remeber Nomwl asking to ignore all of Greg's posts (spam included) until he gets a chance to erase it. And I figure if we followed this advice there'd be less trouble here.
I really don't mean to offend you two Ghoulies and Breton, but save yourself all this anger by just stopping to participate in Greg's childish war-games. Ignore him and he'll leave, he also must grow tired of this, don't you think?
Someone once compared Greg to a vampire, feeding of people's negative energy - well, starve him out!
As for IC, I luckily have never run into anything offensive. I enjoyed his blog while it was open but the behavior you document really doesn't seem very appropriate, I admit.
So, as we all knew all along, Greg is a bad person who likes to anoy everyone. So what can we do about it? Post more insults?
Yeah, you're right anonymous, we should ignore this guy, he will maybe stop insulting and threating everyone there (and in others places ...).
ReplyDeleteBut unfortunately, I see that he still continues to post vulgarities, and this time, it is against you anonymmous ...
If I was you, I think I'll not answer this, it's my opinion.
Because if not, the war will continues for many months ! And it's not good to speak with him.
Bye !
Words spread fast:
ReplyDeletehttp://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=16861787&blogID=286425879
http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.
ReplyDeleteview&friendID=16861787&blogID=286425879
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteI think Greg will never stop that, it is a pleasure for him, this war in comments, so I think I can't ignore him, he continues to uses our names (Breton Girl & me), to post sexual things !
ReplyDeleteAnd I got this message in my blog from him, this morning :
GREG HAS POSTED THAT IN MY BLOG
_______________
parle, parle, parle à mon cul
parle, parle, parle à mon cul
parle, parle, parle à mon cul
parle, parle, parle à mon cul
parle, parle, parle à mon cul
parle, parle, parle à mon cul
baises toi, clochard, baises toi
baises toi, clochard, baises toi
baises toi, clochard, baises toi
baises toi, clochard, baises toi
baises toi, clochard, baises toi
baises toi, clochard, baises toi
____________
I can't believe that this big shit can speak French, he used a translator, poor guy, asshole ! you're a loser, man !
I answered you in my blog, I hope an alien will fuck you, because I think you are in lack of sex !
How original! The first part of greg's message came from me, and the second part means nothing!
ReplyDeleteif you like sex so much, greg, take some money with you and go to see a prostitute for a few hours, you'll be better!
And now you couldn't say you're not the anonymous, because you are posting the same.
@ Anonymous: i was thinking about not replying to do, but i need to clarify a few things...
ReplyDelete*For Ghoulies's blog, yes the post was out of context, but greg's first post was in the same way! I was just trying to explain to greg that he was wrong, nothing more. And his reply was the one Ghoulies quoted here!
* I assure you, i never met greg before he came here! You could see the whole thing in this blog!
*You're right, Isbum didn't post anything here about greg. But he also could put greg's comment in the right places, the garbage. and i'm not the only one who pointed this, look at Filmpac (and a few others). And no, it didn't stop during this time. There was just less insulting posts, and it was also posted on other parts of this blog.
*No, i did not enjoy (secretly or not) greg's insults. My reason to return here is to see if he STOP to insult me. Yes, i'm pretty much naive, i know...
*You're right, Nomwl1 ask to not reply to greg. He also said that in case we could use this "thread"...
And last thing, look at greg's reply (signed bullshit spotter) just after your post. Happy about this?...
Breton Girl is right. I second what she said. Greg provokes us, when we wants to stop that war, he continues to inslut us ! It'll never finishing, if he does not understand that we hate him, and that we aren't hurted by his repetitives insults, it's rather funny to see that he's in lack of sex ! (etc ...)
ReplyDeleteWell, I writed a second article about him and IC. There's a link in this page, this is the "Soundtrack's Area - Banned Members" one.
Check out my new blog:
ReplyDeletehttp://bretonbitchsbullshit.blogspot.com/
@ anonymous: look at the last greg's attempt to hurt me... Do you still think i need to shut my mouth?????
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteÀ tous
ReplyDeleteJe ne suis pas Greg!
Jetez juste un coup d'œil à mon blog et vous pouvez voir que je ne pouvais pas Greg. Ai-je posté des SFX à mon blog ? Non.
Je spam blog de quiconque ? Non.
Je suis une chienne, c'est tout. ;p
Au revoir.
It's unfortunate that things are getting heated up once more although I'd hoped that all the hostilities would end.
ReplyDeleteI do wonder why some people visit this place even though they're only getting hurt by the comments and then respond with angry comments which further fuel the trolls' spam. If Nom wants people to ignore the hostile comments, then let's do what he asks and move on.
So, how about a change of topic? I think people have discussed Greg and the trolls and whatnot long enough, so it'd be like a breath of fresh air to talk about something else, say, something along the lines of the scores of Pirates of the Caribbean films, perhaps (just one suggestion out of many)? After all, isn't this blog about music and other stuff than spam and insults?
Anyway, that's just what I feel about this matter. :)
@ Breton Bitch (Greg) :
ReplyDeleteHowever, two things is showing to us that you're the real Greg.
Your language :
You use a translator to speak French, and like Greg, you don't change faults that the translator did, it is ridiculous !!! I guess you used Lexilogos or BabelFish ? Those ones aren't great translators, I never understood anything when I tried to translate something.
Second thing, you only put your ennemies' blog in your "friend's blog" list.
Me, Not Greg, YDHTVTB, this discussion, and your first blog SOUNDTRACK RARITIES. After that, you say you aren't Greg ?
Ridiculous ...
@ Ghoulies
ReplyDeleteI need to address several things it seems:
1. I am not Greg!
That is an insult.
Do you really believe Greg would create a blog such as mine where he offends himself by re-posting Khan's dirty poem, breton girl's baby language-attack and the funny A.N.U.S.-post? And take a look at my polls! You think Greg is doing this to himself? Think again.
Then Not Greg could be Greg, too.
Maybe I'm Not Greg, since he likes to create "funny" blogs so much, that doesn't sound so unlikely, does it?
Whoever I am, I ain't Greg...
2. Your logic is pretty cheap.
Yes, I do use a translator, because my French is very weak, I only had a couple of years in school, my grammar sucks and I hardly have any vocabulary, but je comprend plus que je parle, mon amie!
I did not use any of the translators you mention, but you are right, they don't work very well - that's why I didn't correct the mistakes, if I could correct those, then I wouldn't have to use a translator, would I?
So, back to your reasoning: If I use a translator, I am Greg? From now on I will try to write french
only on my own, but it might be even less comprehensible...;p
3. I did not ONLY add links to my "enemies" at my blog. I don't have any enemies (except maybe Greg). You might have noticed that I also linked Not Greg's blog and several others I like and enjoy (like yours & isbum's). My blog just went live two days ago, so excuse me if the links are not pefectly representative of my interest as of now. By the way, that comment by constantino at my blog IS authentic, just click on his profile to see it is the real constantino. So why do you accuse me of faking it at your blog?
Constantino apparently is the only own who understood the intention of my blog, so kudos to his humor and intelligence!
Also, you post that GREG send you an invitation to come to MY blog! That is a lie, because I sent the invitation and I also sent one to Greg but he of course didn't post my invitation at his blog (for obvious reasons).
4. Check out my blog again!!
Do you know about the terms irony, sarcasm, and cynicism? If not, don't use a translator but do visit by all means! ;p
Ghoulies, I have not insulted or threatened you, neither have I spammed any blog.
I admit my nickname and profile might offend breton girl, but if she feels offended, she is wrong, because I am not Greg trying to hurt her, but I am a woman who is tired of Greg's mysogynist hatred and that is why I created the "breton bitch" in order to give Greg (and possibly others?) a new object for their attacks. So, from now on, there's no more need to insult breton girl as "bitch", because now there actually IS a "breton bitch" and she is gonna be more bitchy than Greg could ever imagine! She is going to be everything Greg accuses breton girl of. Again, I do not mean you any harm. Try to expand your perception for one moment and you'll clearly see that I could not possibly be Greg!
@ breton girl
Sorry, mate, but this is supposed to help you actually!
From now on you don't need to come here in order to see if Greg insulted you again, he will be insulting ME!
And if he wants to give his harassment a sexual touch, then I guess that's what I will deliver!
So rest easy.
@ kossage
Very good point!
Second that.
Everyone who still hasn't gotten his/her share of Greg-related bullshit, vulgarity, obsceneties and all that stuff, please visit my new blog at:
http://bretonbitchsbullshit.blogspot.com/
There you can feel free to post anything you like, no matter how idiotic and offensive and this great place here can maybe become free of Greg at last!
You all are invited.
Thanks.
See you soon.
@ Ghoulies
ReplyDeleteI just read your comments at your blog.
That constantino thing: just ask him, if he posted it, because I simply didn't. Why would I pick constantino? Why only him? If I faked it, wouldn't I have written more positive stuff, used more aliases?
The few comments at my blog are real - I wish there were more, but give it time. At least people participate in my polls.
Since I am not Greg, I thought I wasn't banned from your blog.
If you don't want me to post there again, I won't.
You know where to find me for further help against Greg.
Yeah, yeah ...
ReplyDeleteBut you know, anyway, you sound like Greg.
I have the doubt, but ...
And Greg has always posted anonymously, so I don't believe you. You're able to create a new account only to disturbe us.
For Constantino, you lie.
Read the Breton Girl's comment in my blog, she has many proofs to say that, if that is Constantino or not, the profil of the user is showing.
So that means nothing !
And I have a proof !
You posted "Check out my blog" only in blogs that you hate (mine, there and Isbum). A newcomer (particulary a bitch like you pretend to be) always post at every blogs to say "go to my blog please, it is new !".
But you only choosen blogs where Greg made war.
And you also put a link to this page (incredibly long essay), the most famous Greg's exploits are there !! Strange, huh ?
And the only links you put are my blog and the others you hate.
This is strange, and you suddenly appeared yesterday, after last Greg's comments.
You began your blog Friday, but you only showed it yesterday.
And between the creation of your blog and your first post there, Greg has posted exactly : "Friday, August 10, 2007 5:22:00 PM "
Also, if Greg isn't you, why did he not insulted you in your blog yet ? Because if he reads all the things you say in your blog, it won't be a pleasure for him, and he should insults you of many insults !
So, I think Greg is Breton Bitch and Breton Bitch is YOU !!!
If you made this blog, this is your revenge against the Not Greg's one.
I want a proof about your indentity, from where are connected at Internet ?
How do you know Greg, and why do you hate him, like how we hate him ?
It is not funny, if you tell us the true, I won't be bad, Greg or a bitch ...
So if you are Greg, tell it !
We've (Ghoulies and me) got some strong doubts that you're not greg - but also a little doubt that you may could be another people. So please post at Ghoulies's blog a little bit more about you, a give us a kind of proof that you're not greg (as an example, tell us why you start your blog only now, and why this blog instead of posting at Nomwl1's, etc). Your message will not be published on the blog, but we could send a pm to each other on a forum we're both, and we'll be the only ones to read more about you. We're waiting for you now!
ReplyDeleteAwww ... poor little Krieg-ee Wieg-ee, so frustrated at spinning his useless mental gears in a hostile environment -- the one last place in the whole of the World Wide Web that'll still have him -- the one place created SPECIFICALLY out of hatred for him.
ReplyDeleteSo frustrated he has to come HERE and post more obvious, gradeschool profanity.
You're over, Krieger.
You've spread your sick sanctimonious hatred over too many forums over too many years to run away any more.
You sad, pathetic, tiny TINY man.
Suck it, Greg.
Suck it HARD.
*poof!*
(BTW, BB -- AWESOME blog. Best on the net, I'd say.
Well ... next to mine!
Keep up the great work!)
Do you hate what has happened to this greatest of all veteran-blogs and its many defiled comment sections?
ReplyDeleteIs anger boiling up within you at the pathtic mysogynist troll who keeps doing this?
Do you love and respect Nomwl1 and his democratic vision of blogging and want to give him a chance to recover from Gregory's disgusting exploits?
Would you like to vent off some of the hatred and nauseau Greg generates in most of us without offending anyone?
Do you enjoy rare score and a friendly community?
If your answer to any of the above questions is "yes", feel free to visit my blog and join the fun!
You are all welcome!
BB
Ahhh, Greg's throwing a fit and talking to himself again....;)
ReplyDeleteGreggie-boy, let me just say this:
YOU KEEP GOIN' - I KEEP GOIN'
..............;)
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