The Mysterious Island
But how happened it that Cyrus Harding had recognized Captain Nemo? why
had the latter so suddenly risen on hearing this name uttered, a name
which he had believed known to none?--
The captain had resumed his position on the divan, and leaning on his
arm, he regarded the engineer, seated near him.
“You know the name I formerly bore, sir?” he asked.
“I do,” answered Cyrus Harding, “and also that of this wonderful
submarine vessel--”
“The ‘Nautilus’?” said the captain, with a faint smile.
“The ‘Nautilus.’”
“But do you--do you know who I am?”
“I do.”
“It is nevertheless many years since I have held any communication with
the inhabited world; three long years have I passed in the depth of
the sea, the only place where I have found liberty! Who then can have
betrayed my secret?”
“A man who was bound to you by no tie, Captain Nemo, and who,
consequently, cannot be accused of treachery.”
“The Frenchman who was cast on board my vessel by chance sixteen years
since?”
“The same.”
“He and his two companions did not then perish in the maelstrom, in the
midst of which the ‘Nautilus’ was struggling?”
“They escaped, and a book has appeared under the title of ‘Twenty
Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,’ which contains your history.”
“The history of a few months only of my life!” interrupted the captain
impetuously.
“It is true,” answered Cyrus Harding, “but a few months of that strange
life have sufficed to make you known.”
“As a great criminal, doubtless!” said Captain Nemo, a haughty smile
curling his lips. “Yes, a rebel, perhaps an outlaw against humanity!”
The engineer was silent.
“Well, sir?”
“It is not for me to judge you, Captain Nemo,” answered Cyrus Harding,
“at any rate as regards your past life. I am, with the rest of the
world, ignorant of the motives which induced you to adopt this strange
mode of existence, and I cannot judge of effects without knowing their
causes; but what I do know is, that a beneficent hand has constantly
protected us since our arrival on Lincoln Island, that we all owe our
lives to a good, generous, and powerful being, and that this being so
powerful, good and generous, Captain Nemo, is yourself!”
“It is I,” answered the captain simply.
The engineer and the reporter rose. Their companions had drawn near, and
the gratitude with which their hearts were charged was about to express
itself in their gestures and words.
Captain Nemo stopped them by a sign, and in a voice which betrayed more
emotion than he doubtless intended to show.
“Wait till you have heard all,” he said.
And the captain, in a few concise sentences, ran over the events of his
life.
His narrative was short, yet he was obliged to summon up his whole
remaining energy to arrive at the end. He was evidently contending
against extreme weakness. Several times Cyrus Harding entreated him to
repose for a while, but he shook his head as a man to whom the morrow
may never come, and when the reporter offered his assistance,--
“It is useless,” he said; “my hours are numbered.”
Captain Nemo was an Indian, the Prince Dakkar, son of a rajah of the
then independent territory of Bundelkund. His father sent him, when ten
years of age, to Europe, in order that he might receive an education
in all respects complete, and in the hopes that by his talents and
knowledge he might one day take a leading part in raising his long
degraded and heathen country to a level with the nations of Europe.
From the age of ten years to that of thirty Prince Dakkar, endowed by
Nature with her richest gifts of intellect, accumulated knowledge of
every kind, and in science, literature, and art his researches were
extensive and profound.
He traveled over the whole of Europe. His rank and fortune caused him to
be everywhere sought after; but the pleasures of the world had for him
no attractions. Though young and possessed of every personal advantage,
he was ever grave--somber even--devoured by an unquenchable thirst for
knowledge, and cherishing in the recesses of his heart the hope that
he might become a great and powerful ruler of a free and enlightened
people.
Still, for long the love of science triumphed over all other feelings.
He became an artist deeply impressed by the marvels of art, a
philosopher to whom no one of the higher sciences was unknown, a
statesman versed in the policy of European courts. To the eyes of those
who observed him superficially he might have passed for one of those
cosmopolitans, curious of knowledge, but disdaining action; one of those
opulent travelers, haughty and cynical, who move incessantly from place
to place, and are of no country.
The history of Captain Nemo has, in fact, been published under the title
of “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.” Here, therefore, will apply
the observation already made as to the adventures of Ayrton with regard
to the discrepancy of dates. Readers should therefore refer to the note
already published on this point.
This artist, this philosopher, this man was, however, still cherishing
the hope instilled into him from his earliest days.
Prince Dakkar returned to Bundelkund in the year 1849. He married a
noble Indian lady, who was imbued with an ambition not less ardent than
that by which he was inspired. Two children were born to them, whom they
tenderly loved. But domestic happiness did not prevent him from seeking
to carry out the object at which he aimed. He waited an opportunity. At
length, as he vainly fancied, it presented itself.
Instigated by princes equally ambitious and less sagacious and more
unscrupulous than he was, the people of India were persuaded that they
might successfully rise against their English rulers, who had brought
them out of a state of anarchy and constant warfare and misery, and had
established peace and prosperity in their country. Their ignorance and
gross superstition made them the facile tools of their designing chiefs.
In 1857 the great sepoy revolt broke out. Prince Dakkar, under the
belief that he should thereby have the opportunity of attaining the
object of his long-cherished ambition, was easily drawn into it. He
forthwith devoted his talents and wealth to the service of this cause.
He aided it in person; he fought in the front ranks; he risked his life
equally with the humblest of the wretched and misguided fanatics; he was
ten times wounded in twenty engagements, seeking death but finding it
not, but at length the sanguinary rebels were utterly defeated, and the
atrocious mutiny was brought to an end.
Never before had the British power in India been exposed to such danger,
and if, as they had hoped, the sepoys had received assistance from
without, the influence and supremacy in Asia of the United Kingdom would
have been a thing of the past.
The name of Prince Dakkar was at that time well known. He had fought
openly and without concealment. A price was set upon his head, but he
managed to escape from his pursuers.
Civilization never recedes; the law of necessity ever forces it onwards.
The sepoys were vanquished, and the land of the rajahs of old fell again
under the rule of England.
Prince Dakkar, unable to find that death he courted, returned to the
mountain fastnesses of Bundelkund. There, alone in the world, overcome
by disappointment at the destruction of all his vain hopes, a prey
to profound disgust for all human beings, filled with hatred of the
civilized world, he realized the wreck of his fortune, assembled some
score of his most faithful companions, and one day disappeared, leaving
no trace behind.
Where, then, did he seek that liberty denied him upon the inhabited
earth? Under the waves, in the depths of the ocean, where none could
follow.
The warrior became the man of science. Upon a deserted island of the
Pacific he established his dockyard, and there a submarine vessel was
constructed from his designs. By methods which will at some future
day be revealed he had rendered subservient the illimitable forces of
electricity, which, extracted from inexhaustible sources, was employed
for all the requirements of his floating equipage, as a moving,
lighting, and heating agent. The sea, with its countless treasures, its
myriads of fish, its numberless wrecks, its enormous mammalia, and not
only all that nature supplied, but also all that man had lost in its
depths, sufficed for every want of the prince and his crew--and thus was
his most ardent desire accomplished, never again to hold communication
with the earth. He named his submarine vessel the “Nautilus,” called
himself simply Captain Nemo, and disappeared beneath the seas.
During many years this strange being visited every ocean, from pole to
pole. Outcast of the inhabited earth in these unknown worlds he gathered
incalculable treasures. The millions lost in the Bay of Vigo, in 1702,
by the galleons of Spain, furnished him with a mine of inexhaustible
riches which he devoted always, anonymously, in favor of those nations
who fought for the independence of their country.
(This refers to the resurrection of the Candiotes, who were, in
fact, largely assisted by Captain Nemo.)
For long, however, he had held no communication with his
fellow-creatures, when, during the night of the 6th of November, 1866,
three men were cast on board his vessel. They were a French professor,
his servant, and a Canadian fisherman. These three men had been hurled
overboard by a collision which had taken place between the “Nautilus”
and the United States frigate “Abraham Lincoln,” which had chased her.
Captain Nemo learned from this professor that the “Nautilus,” taken now
for a gigantic mammal of the whale species, now for a submarine vessel
carrying a crew of pirates, was sought for in every sea.
He might have returned these three men to the ocean, from whence chance
had brought them in contact with his mysterious existence. Instead of
doing this he kept them prisoners, and during seven months they were
enabled to behold all the wonders of a voyage of twenty thousand leagues
under the sea.
One day, the 22nd of June, 1867, these three men, who knew nothing of
the past history of Captain Nemo, succeeded in escaping in one of the
“Nautilus’s” boats. But as at this time the “Nautilus” was drawn into
the vortex of the maelstrom, off the coast of Norway, the captain
naturally believed that the fugitives, engulfed in that frightful
whirlpool, found their death at the bottom of the abyss. He was unaware
that the Frenchman and his two companions had been miraculously cast
on shore, that the fishermen of the Lofoten Islands had rendered
them assistance, and that the professor, on his return to France, had
published that work in which seven months of the strange and eventful
navigation of the “Nautilus” were narrated and exposed to the curiosity
of the public.
For a long time after this, Captain Nemo continued to live thus,
traversing every sea. But one by one his companions died, and found
their last resting-place in their cemetery of coral, in the bed of the
Pacific. At last Captain Nemo remained the solitary survivor of all
those who had taken refuge with him in the depths of the ocean.
He was now sixty years of age. Although alone, he succeeded in
navigating the “Nautilus” towards one of those submarine caverns which
had sometimes served him as a harbor.
One of these ports was hollowed beneath Lincoln Island, and at this
moment furnished an asylum to the “Nautilus.”
The captain had now remained there six years, navigating the ocean no
longer, but awaiting death, and that moment when he should rejoin his
former companions, when by chance he observed the descent of the balloon
which carried the prisoners of the Confederates. Clad in his diving