الفصل الفصل 43 · FROM LATITUDE 47° 24′ TO LONGITUDE 17° 28′

LATITUDE 47° 24′ TO LONGITUDE 17° 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 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 an other 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 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 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 remained invisible. After having

shown the Canadian a glimpse of American shores, was he going to show

me the coast of France?

But the _Nautilus_ was still going southward. On the 30th of May, it

passed in sight of Land’s End, between the extreme point of England and

the Scilly Isles, which were left to starboard. If we wished to enter

the Manche, he must go straight to the east. He did not do so.

During the whole of the 31st of May, the _Nautilus_ described a series

of circles on the water, which greatly interested me. It seemed to be

seeking a spot it had some trouble in finding. At noon, Captain Nemo

himself came to work the ship’s log. He spoke no word to me, but seemed

gloomier than ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his 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, 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.

CHAPT