الفصل الفصل 45 · THE LAST WORDS OF CAPTAIN NEMO

AST WORDS OF CAPTAIN NEMO

The panels had closed on this dreadful vision, but light had not

returned to the saloon: all was silence and darkness within the

_Nautilus_. At wonderful speed, a hundred feet beneath the water, it

was leaving this desolate spot. Whither was it going? To the north or

south? Where was the man flying to after such dreadful retaliation? I

had returned to my room, where Ned and Conseil had remained silent

enough. I felt an insurmountable horror for Captain Nemo. Whatever he

had suffered at the hands of these men, he had no right to punish thus.

He had made me, if not an accomplice, at least a witness of his

vengeance. At eleven the electric light reappeared. I passed into the

saloon. It was deserted. I consulted the different instruments. The

_Nautilus_ was flying northward at the rate of twenty-five miles an

hour, now on the surface, and now thirty feet below it. On taking the

bearings by the chart, I saw that we were passing the mouth of the

Manche, and that our course was hurrying us towards the northern seas

at a frightful speed. That night we had crossed two hundred leagues of

the Atlantic. The shadows fell, and the sea was covered with darkness

until the rising of the moon. I went to my room, but could not sleep. I

was troubled with dreadful nightmare. The horrible scene of destruction

was continually before my eyes. From that day, who could tell into what

part of the North Atlantic basin the _Nautilus_ would take us? Still

with unaccountable speed. Still in the midst of these northern fogs.

Would it touch at Spitzbergen, or on the shores of Nova Zembla? Should

we explore those unknown seas, the White Sea, the Sea of Kara, the Gulf

of Obi, the Archipelago of Liarrov, and the unknown coast of Asia? I

could not say. I could no longer judge of the time that was passing.

The clocks had been stopped on board. It seemed, as in polar countries,

that night and day no longer followed their regular course. I felt

myself being drawn into that strange region where the foundered

imagination of Edgar Poe roamed at will. Like the fabulous Gordon Pym,

at every moment I expected to see “that veiled human figure, of larger

proportions than those of any inhabitant of the earth, thrown across

the cataract which defends the approach to the pole.” I estimated

(though, perhaps, I may be mistaken)—I estimated this adventurous

course of the _Nautilus_ to have lasted fifteen or twenty days. And I

know not how much longer it might have lasted, had it not been for the

catastrophe which ended this voyage. Of Captain Nemo I saw nothing

whatever now, nor of his second. Not a man of the crew was visible for

an instant. The _Nautilus_ was almost incessantly under water. When we

came to the surface to renew the air, the panels opened and shut

mechanically. There were no more marks on the planisphere. I knew not

where we were. And the Canadian, too, his strength and patience at an

end, appeared no more. Conseil could not draw a word from him; and,

fearing that, in a dreadful fit of madness, he might kill himself,

watched him with constant devotion. One morning (what date it was I

could not say) I had fallen into a heavy sleep towards the early hours,

a sleep both painful and unhealthy, when I suddenly awoke. Ned Land was

leaning over me, saying, in a low voice, “We are going to fly.” I sat

up.

“When shall we go?” I asked.

“To-night. All inspection on board the _Nautilus_ seems to have ceased.

All appear to be stupefied. You will be ready, sir?”

“Yes; where are we?”

“In sight of land. I took the reckoning this morning in the fog—twenty

miles to the east.”

“What country is it?”

“I do not know; but, whatever it is, we will take refuge there.”

“Yes, Ned, yes. We will fly to-night, even if the sea should swallow us

up.”

“The sea is bad, the wind violent, but twenty miles in that light boat

of the _Nautilus_ does not frighten me. Unknown to the crew, I have

been able to procure food and some bottles of water.”

“I will follow you.”

“But,” continued the Canadian, “if I am surprised, I will defend

myself; I will force them to kill me.”

“We will die together, friend Ned.”

I had made up my mind to all. The Canadian left me. I reached the

platform, on which I could with difficulty support myself against the

shock of the waves. The sky was threatening; but, as land was in those

thick brown shadows, we must fly. I returned to the saloon, fearing and

yet hoping to see Captain Nemo, wishing and yet not wishing to see him.

What could I have said to him? Could I hide the involuntary horror with

which he inspired me? No. It was better that I should not meet him face

to face; better to forget him. And yet—— How long seemed that day, the

last that I should pass in the _Nautilus_. I remained alone. Ned Land

and Conseil avoided speaking, for fear of betraying themselves. At six

I dined, but I was not hungry; I forced myself to eat in spite of my

disgust, that I might not weaken myself. At half-past six Ned Land came

to my room, saying, “We shall not see each other again before our

departure. At ten the moon will not be risen. We will profit by the

darkness. Come to the boat; Conseil and I will wait for you.”

The Canadian went out without giving me time to answer. Wishing to

verify the course of the _Nautilus_, I went to the saloon. We were

running N.N.E. at frightful speed, and more than fifty yards deep. I

cast a last look on these wonders of nature, on the riches of art

heaped up in this museum, upon the unrivalled collection destined to

perish at the bottom of the sea, with him who had formed it. I wished

to fix an indelible impression of it in my mind. I remained an hour

thus, bathed in the light of that luminous ceiling, and passing in

review those treasures shining under their glasses. Then I returned to

my room.

I dressed myself in strong sea clothing. I collected my notes, placing

them carefully about me. My heart beat loudly. I could not check its

pulsations. Certainly my trouble and agitation would have betrayed me

to Captain Nemo’s eyes. What was he doing at this moment? I listened at

the door of his room. I heard steps. Captain Nemo was there. He had not

gone to rest. At every moment I expected to see him appear, and ask me

why I wished to fly. I was constantly on the alert. My imagination

magnified everything. The impression became at last so poignant that I

asked myself if it would not be better to go to the Captain’s room, see

him face to face, and brave him with look and gesture.

It was the inspiration of a madman; fortunately I resisted the desire,

and stretched myself on my bed to quiet my bodily agitation. My nerves

were somewhat calmer, but in my excited brain I saw over again all my

existence on board the _Nautilus;_ every incident, either happy or

unfortunate, which had happened since my disappearance from the

_Abraham Lincoln_—the submarine hunt, the Torres Straits, the savages

of Papua, the running ashore, the coral cemetery, the passage of Suez,

the Island of Santorin, the Cretan diver, Vigo Bay, Atlantis, the

iceberg, the South Pole, the imprisonment in the ice, the fight among

the poulps, the storm in the Gulf Stream, the Avenger, and the horrible

scene of the vessel sunk with all her crew. All these events passed

before my eyes like scenes in a drama. Then Captain Nemo seemed to grow

enormously, his features to assume superhuman proportions. He was no

longer my equal, but a man of the waters, the genie of the sea.

It was then half-past nine. I held my head between my hands to keep it

from bursting. I closed my eyes; I would not think any longer. There

was another half-hour to wait, another half-hour of a nightmare, which

might drive me mad.

At that moment I heard the distant strains of the organ, a sad harmony

to an undefinable chant, the wail of a soul longing to break these

earthly bonds. I listened with every sense, scarcely breathing;

plunged, like Captain Nemo, in that musical ecstasy, which was drawing

him in spirit to the end of life.

Then a sudden thought terrified me. Captain Nemo had left his room. He

was in the saloon, which I must cross to fly. There I should meet him

for the last time. He would see me, perhaps speak to me. A gesture of

his might destroy me, a single word chain me on board.

But ten was about to strike. The moment had come for me to leave my

room, and join my companions.

I must not hesitate, even if Captain Nemo himself should rise before

me. I opened my door carefully; and even then, as it turned on its

hinges, it seemed to me to make a dreadful noise. Perhaps it only

existed in my own imagination.

I crept along the dark stairs of the _Nautilus_, stopping at each step

to check the beating of my heart. I reached the door of the saloon, and

opened it gently. It was plunged in profound darkness. The strains of

the organ sounded faintly. Captain Nemo was there. He did not see me.

In the full light I do not think he would have noticed me, so entirely

was he absorbed in the ecstasy.

I crept along the carpet, avoiding the slightest sound which might

betray my presence. I was at least five minutes reaching the door, at

the opposite side, opening into the library.

I was going to open it, when a sigh from Captain Nemo nailed me to the

spot. I knew that he was rising. I could even see him, for the light

from the library came through to the saloon. He came towards me

silently, with his arms crossed, gliding like a spectre rather than

walking. His breast was swelling with sobs; and I heard him murmur

these words (the last which ever struck my ear):

“Almighty God! enough! enough!”

Was it a confession of remorse which thus escaped from this man’s

conscience?

In desperation, I rushed through the library, mounted the central

staircase, and, following the upper flight, reached the boat. I crept

through the opening, which had already admitted my two companions.

“Let us go! let us go!” I exclaimed.

“Directly!” replied the Canadian.

The orifice in the plates of the _Nautilus_ was first closed, and

fastened down by means of a false key, with which Ned Land had provided

himself; the opening in the boat was also closed. The Canadian began to

loosen the bolts which still held us to the submarine boat.

Suddenly a noise was heard. Voices were answering each other loudly.

What was the matter? Had they discovered our flight? I felt Ned Land

slipping a dagger into my hand.

“Yes,” I murmured, “we know how to die!”

The Canadian had stopped in his work. But one word many times repeated,

a dreadful word, revealed the cause of the agitation spreading on board

the _Nautilus_. It was not we the crew were looking after!

“The maelstrom! the maelstrom!” Could a more dreadful word in a more

dreadful situation have sounded in our ears! We were then upon the

dangerous coast of Norway. Was the _Nautilus_ being drawn into this

gulf at the moment our boat was going to leave its sides? We knew that

at the tide the pent-up waters between the islands of Ferroe and

Loffoden rush with irresistible violence, forming a whirlpool from

which no vessel ever escapes. From every point of the horizon enormous

waves were meeting, forming a gulf justly called the “Navel of the

Ocean,” whose power of attraction extends to a distance of twelve

miles. There, not only vessels, but whales are sacrificed, as well as

white bears from the northern regions.

It is thither that the _Nautilus_, voluntarily or involuntarily, had

been run by the Captain.

It was describing a spiral, the circumference of which was lessening by

degrees, and the boat, which was still fastened to its side, was

carried along with giddy speed. I felt that sickly giddiness which

arises from long-continued whirling round.

We were in dread. Our horror was at its height, circulation had

stopped, all nervous influence was annihilated, and we were covered

with cold sweat, like a sweat of agony! And what noise around our frail

bark! What roarings repeated by the echo miles away! What an uproar was

that of the waters broken on the sharp rocks at the bottom, where the

hardest bodies are crushed, and trees worn away, “with all the fur

rubbed off,” according to the Norwegian phrase!

What a situation to be in! We rocked frightfully. The _Nautilus_

defended itself like a human being. Its steel muscles cracked.

Sometimes it seemed to stand upright, and we with it!

“We must hold on,” said Ned, “and look after the bolts. We may still be

saved if we stick to the _Nautilus_.”

He had not finished the words, when we heard a crashing noise, the

bolts gave way, and the boat, torn from its groove, was hurled like a

stone from a sling into the midst of the whirlpool.

My head struck on a piece of iron, and with the violent shock I lost

all consciousness.

CHAPT