TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA


by JULES VERNE

PART ONE

CHAPTER I

A SHIFTING REEF

The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious
and 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 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-holes 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 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 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 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 II

PRO AND CON

At the period when these events took place, I had just returned
from a scientific research in the disagreeable territory
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 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, 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
had 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."

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 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 III

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 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.

"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 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 IV

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, 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 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 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 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 power fully 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?"

"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?"

CHAPTER V

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 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 105d 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
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 taffrail, 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 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 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 VI

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 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 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 reappeared 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.

"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.
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 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 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 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 VII

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 (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
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 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.

"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."

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 over thrown
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 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 VIII

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 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 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 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."

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
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.

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 IX

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 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?"

"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.

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 X

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, 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 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?
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 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 my self,
"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 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.

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 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
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.

"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. The several schools of the old masters were represented by a
Madonna of Raphael, a Virgin of Leonardo da Vinci, a nymph of Corregio,
a woman of Titan, an Adoration of Veronese, an Assumption of Murillo, a
portrait of Holbein, a monk of Velasquez, a martyr of Ribera, a fair of
Rubens, two Flemish landscapes of Teniers, three little "genre" pictures
of Gerard Dow, Metsu, and Paul Potter, two specimens of Gericault and
Prudhon, and some sea-pieces of Backhuysen and Vernet. Amongst the
works of modern painters were pictures with the signatures of Delacroix,
Ingres, Decamps, Troyon, Meissonier, Daubigny, etc.; and 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."

"And these musicians?" said I, pointing out some works of Weber,
Rossini, Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, Meyerbeer, Herold, Wagner, Auber,
Gounod, and a number of others, scattered over a large model piano-organ
which occupied one of the panels of the drawing-room.

"These musicians," replied Captain Nemo, "are the contemporaries of
Orpheus; for in the memory of the dead all chronological differences are
effaced; and I am dead, Professor; as much dead as those of your friends
who are sleeping six feet under the earth!"

Captain Nemo was silent, and seemed lost in a profound reverie. I
contemplated him with deep interest, analysing in silence the strange
expression of his countenance. Leaning on his elbow against an angle of
a costly mosaic table, he no longer saw me,--he had forgotten my
presence.

I did not disturb this reverie, and continued my observation of the
curiosities which enriched this drawing-room.

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.

The division containing the zoophytes presented the most curious
specimens of the two groups of polypi and echinodermes. In the first
group, the tubipores, were gorgones arranged like a fan, soft sponges of
Syria, ises of the Moluccas, pennatules, an admirable virgularia of the
Norwegian seas, variegated unbellulairae, alcyonariae, a whole series
of madrepores, which my master Milne Edwards has so cleverly classified,
amongst which I remarked some wonderful flabellinae oculinae of the
Island of Bourbon, the "Neptune's car" of the Antilles, superb varieties
of corals--in short, every species of those curious polypi of which
entire islands are formed, which will one day become continents. Of the
echinodermes, remarkable for their coating of spines, asteri, sea-stars,
pantacrinae, comatules, asterophons, echini, holothuri, etc.,
represented individually a complete collection of this group.

A somewhat nervous conchyliologist would certainly have fainted before
other more numerous cases, in which were classified the specimens of
molluscs. It was a collection of inestimable value, which time fails me
to describe minutely. Amongst these specimens I will quote from memory
only the elegant royal hammer-fish of the Indian Ocean, whose regular
white spots stood out brightly on a red and brown ground, an imperial
spondyle, bright-coloured, bristling with spines, a rare specimen in the
European museums--(I estimated its value at not less than £1000); a
common hammer-fish of the seas of New Holland, which is only procured
with difficulty; exotic buccardia of Senegal; fragile white bivalve
shells, which a breath might shatter like a soap-bubble; several
varieties of the aspirgillum of Java, a kind of calcareous tube, edged
with leafy folds, and much debated by amateurs; a whole series of
trochi, some a greenish-yellow, found in the American seas, others a
reddish-brown, natives of Australian waters; others from the Gulf of
Mexico, remarkable for their imbricated shell; stellari found in the
Southern Seas; and last, the rarest of all, the magnificent spur of New
Zealand; and every description of delicate and fragile shells to which
science has given appropriate names.

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 of the haliotyde iris; 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 which had been gathered from the rarest pintadines.
Some of these pearls were larger than a pigeon's egg, and were worth as
much, and more than that which the traveller Tavernier sold to the Shah
of Persia for three millions, and surpassed the one in the possession of
the Imaum of Muscat, which I had believed to be unrivalled in the world.

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:

"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:

CHAPTER XI

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.

"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