第 十七 章 · FOUR THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE PACIFIC

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,

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 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 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.

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 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.”

CHAP