Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea
About five yards from me a shadow appeared, and sank to the ground. The
disquieting idea of sharks shot through my mind, but I was mistaken;
and once again it was not a monster of the ocean that we had anything
to do with.
It was a man, a living man, an Indian, a fisherman, a poor devil who, I
suppose, had come to glean before the harvest. I could see the bottom
of his canoe anchored some feet above his head. He dived and went up
successively. A stone held between his feet, cut in the shape of a
sugar loaf, whilst a rope fastened him to his boat, helped him to
descend more rapidly. This was all his apparatus. Reaching the bottom,
about five yards deep, he went on his knees and filled his bag with
oysters picked up at random. Then he went up, emptied it, pulled up his
stone, and began the operation once more, which lasted thirty seconds.
The diver did not see us. The shadow of the rock hid us from sight. And
how should this poor Indian ever dream that men, beings like himself,
should be there under the water watching his movements and losing no
detail of the fishing? Several times he went up in this way, and dived
again. He did not carry away more than ten at each plunge, for he was
obliged to pull them from the bank to which they adhered by means of
their strong byssus. And how many of those oysters for which he risked
his life had no pearl in them! I watched him closely; his manœuvres
were regular; and for the space of half an hour no danger appeared to
threaten him.
I was beginning to accustom myself to the sight of this interesting
fishing, when suddenly, as the Indian was on the ground, I saw him make
a gesture of terror, rise, and make a spring to return to the surface
of the sea.
I understood his dread. A gigantic shadow appeared just above the
unfortunate diver. It was a shark of enormous size advancing
diagonally, his eyes on fire, and his jaws open. I was mute with horror
and unable to move.
The voracious creature shot towards the Indian, who threw himself on
one side to avoid the shark’s fins; but not its tail, for it struck his
chest and stretched him on the ground.
This scene lasted but a few seconds: the shark returned, and, turning
on his back, prepared himself for cutting the Indian in two, when I saw
Captain Nemo rise suddenly, and then, dagger in hand, walk straight to
the monster, ready to fight face to face with him. The very moment the
shark was going to snap the unhappy fisherman in two, he perceived his
new adversary, and, turning over, made straight towards him.
I can still see Captain Nemo’s position. Holding himself well together,
he waited for the shark with admirable coolness; and, when it rushed at
him, threw himself on one side with wonderful quickness, avoiding the
shock, and burying his dagger deep into its side. But it was not all
over. A terrible combat ensued.
[Illustration] A terrible combat began
The shark had seemed to roar, if I might say so. The blood rushed in
torrents from its wound. The sea was dyed red, and through the opaque
liquid I could distinguish nothing more. Nothing more until the moment
when, like lightning, I saw the undaunted Captain hanging on to one of
the creature’s fins, struggling, as it were, hand to hand with the
monster, and dealing successive blows at his enemy, yet still unable to
give a decisive one.
The shark’s struggles agitated the water with such fury that the
rocking threatened to upset me.
I wanted to go to the Captain’s assistance, but, nailed to the spot
with horror, I could not stir.
I saw the haggard eye; I saw the different phases of the fight. The
Captain fell to the earth, upset by the enormous mass which leant upon
him. The shark’s jaws opened wide, like a pair of factory shears, and
it would have been all over with the Captain; but, quick as thought,
harpoon in hand, Ned Land rushed towards the shark and struck it with
its sharp point.
The waves were impregnated with a mass of blood. They rocked under the
shark’s movements, which beat them with indescribable fury. Ned Land
had not missed his aim. It was the monster’s death-rattle. Struck to
the heart, it struggled in dreadful convulsions, the shock of which
overthrew Conseil.
But Ned Land had disentangled the Captain, who, getting up without any
wound, went straight to the Indian, quickly cut the cord which held him
to his stone, took him in his arms, and, with a sharp blow of his heel,
mounted to the surface.
We all three followed in a few seconds, saved by a miracle, and reached
the fisherman’s boat.
Captain Nemo’s first care was to recall the unfortunate man to life
again. I did not think he could succeed. I hoped so, for the poor
creature’s immersion was not long; but the blow from the shark’s tail
might have been his death-blow.
Happily, with the Captain’s and Conseil’s sharp friction, I saw
consciousness return by degrees. He opened his eyes. What was his
surprise, his terror even, at seeing four great copper heads leaning
over him! And, above all, what must he have thought when Captain Nemo,
drawing from the pocket of his dress a bag of pearls, placed it in his
hand! This munificent charity from the man of the waters to the poor
Cingalese was accepted with a trembling hand. His wondering eyes showed
that he knew not to what super-human beings he owed both fortune and
life.
At a sign from the Captain we regained the bank, and, following the
road already traversed, came in about half an hour to the anchor which
held the canoe of the _Nautilus_ to the earth.
Once on board, we each, with the help of the sailors, got rid of the
heavy copper helmet.
Captain Nemo’s first word was to the Canadian.
“Thank you, Master Land,” said he.
“It was in revenge, Captain,” replied Ned Land. “I owed you that.”
A ghastly smile passed across the Captain’s lips, and that was all.
“To the _Nautilus_,” said he.
The boat flew over the waves. Some minutes after we met the shark’s
dead body floating. By the black marking of the extremity of its fins,
I recognised the terrible melanopteron of the Indian Seas, of the
species of shark so properly called. It was more than twenty-five feet
long; its enormous mouth occupied one-third of its body. It was an
adult, as was known by its six rows of teeth placed in an isosceles
triangle in the upper jaw.
Whilst I was contemplating this inert mass, a dozen of these voracious
beasts appeared round the boat; and, without noticing us, threw
themselves upon the dead body and fought with one another for the
pieces.
At half-past eight we were again on board the _Nautilus_. There I
reflected on the incidents which had taken place in our excursion to
the Manaar Bank.
Two conclusions I must inevitably draw from it—one bearing upon the
unparalleled courage of Captain Nemo, the other upon his devotion to a
human being, a representative of that race from which he fled beneath
the sea. Whatever he might say, this strange man had not yet succeeded
in entirely crushing his heart.
When I made this observation to him, he answered in a slightly moved
tone:
“That Indian, sir, is an inhabitant of an oppressed country; and I am
still, and shall be, to my last breath, one of them!”
CHAPTER IV
THE RED SEA
In the course of the day of the 29th of January, the island of Ceylon
disappeared under the horizon, and the _Nautilus_, at a speed of twenty
miles an hour, slid into the labyrinth of canals which separate the
Maldives from the Laccadives. It coasted even the Island of Kiltan, a
land originally coraline, discovered by Vasco da Gama in 1499, and one
of the nineteen principal islands of the Laccadive Archipelago,
situated between 10° and 14° 30′ N. lat., and 69° 50′ 72″ E. long.
We had made 16,220 miles, or 7,500 (French) leagues from our
starting-point in the Japanese Seas.
The next day (30th January), when the _Nautilus_ went to the surface of
the ocean there was no land in sight. Its course was N.N.E., in the
direction of the Sea of Oman, between Arabia and the Indian Peninsula,
which serves as an outlet to the Persian Gulf. It was evidently a block
without any possible egress. Where was Captain Nemo taking us to? I
could not say. This, however, did not satisfy the Canadian, who that
day came to me asking where we were going.
“We are going where our Captain’s fancy takes us, Master Ned.”
“His fancy cannot take us far, then,” said the Canadian. “The Persian
Gulf has no outlet: and, if we do go in, it will not be long before we
are out again.”
“Very well, then, we will come out again, Master Land; and if, after
the Persian Gulf, the _Nautilus_ would like to visit the Red Sea, the
Straits of Bab-el-mandeb are there to give us entrance.”
“I need not tell you, sir,” said Ned Land, “that the Red Sea is as much
closed as the Gulf, as the Isthmus of Suez is not yet cut; and, if it
was, a boat as mysterious as ours would not risk itself in a canal cut
with sluices. And again, the Red Sea is not the road to take us back to
Europe.”
“But I never said we were going back to Europe.”
“What do you suppose, then?”
“I suppose that, after visiting the curious coasts of Arabia and Egypt,
the _Nautilus_ will go down the Indian Ocean again, perhaps cross the
Channel of Mozambique, perhaps off the Mascarenhas, so as to gain the
Cape of Good Hope.”
“And once at the Cape of Good Hope?” asked the Canadian, with peculiar
emphasis.
“Well, we shall penetrate into that Atlantic which we do not yet know.
Ah! friend Ned, you are getting tired of this journey under the sea;
you are surfeited with the incessantly varying spectacle of submarine
wonders. For my part, I shall be sorry to see the end of a voyage which
it is given to so few men to make.”
For four days, till the 3rd of February, the _Nautilus_ scoured the Sea
of Oman, at various speeds and at various depths. It seemed to go at
random, as if hesitating as to which road it should follow, but we
never passed the Tropic of Cancer.
In quitting this sea we sighted Muscat for an instant, one of the most
important towns of the country of Oman. I admired its strange aspect,
surrounded by black rocks upon which its white houses and forts stood
in relief. I saw the rounded domes of its mosques, the elegant points
of its minarets, its fresh and verdant terraces. But it was only a
vision! The _Nautilus_ soon sank under the waves of that part of the
sea.
We passed along the Arabian coast of Mahrah and Hadramaut, for a
distance of six miles, its undulating line of mountains being
occasionally relieved by some ancient ruin. The 5th of February we at
last entered the Gulf of Aden, a perfect funnel introduced into the
neck of Bab-el-mandeb, through which the Indian waters entered the Red
Sea.
The 6th of February, the _Nautilus_ floated in sight of Aden, perched
upon a promontory which a narrow isthmus joins to the mainland, a kind
of inaccessible Gibraltar, the fortifications of which were rebuilt by
the English after taking possession in 1839. I caught a glimpse of the
octagon minarets of this town, which was at one time the richest
commercial magazine on the coast.
I certainly thought that Captain Nemo, arrived at this point, would
back out again; but I was mistaken, for he did no such thing, much to
my surprise.
The next day, the 7th of February, we entered the Straits of
Bab-el-mandeb, the name of which, in the Arab tongue, means The Gate of
Tears.
To twenty miles in breadth, it is only thirty-two in length. And for
the _Nautilus_, starting at full speed, the crossing was scarcely the
work of an hour. But I saw nothing, not even the Island of Perim, with
which the British Government has fortified the position of Aden. There
were too many English or French steamers of the line of Suez to Bombay,